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Miya has been acting weird.

Weirder than normal, that is. Normal weird for Miya included randomly cackling at his own inside jokes during the middle of practice or asking Bokuto to whip him with a towel to build up his endurance against Osamu's abuse.

This is a different kind of weird though. It's the kind that makes Miya stand a little closer to Kiyoomi than what is usual. Glance his way a little more often. Whisper in his ear more when they’re standing together on the sidelines during their breaks at practice. He’s just been more…talkative than usual. And only to Kiyoomi.

Which is weird.

Sure, they’re friends. As much as one could be friends with a person like Kiyoomi, that is. Which means they text occasionally or sometimes grab a meal together on the way back from practice, but Miya has never acted this close to Kiyoomi before. 

It unnerves him because he has no clue why Miya is acting this way–at least, that's what Kiyoomi tells himself. More importantly, though, he has no idea what it means.

—

The team has a rare day off from work after one of their away games, meaning that all of MSBY is free to hang out in the hotel and relax to their heart’s content. Luckily for Kiyoomi, his orange-haired roommate decided to spend the day exploring the local city with Bokuto, doing whatever extroverts do to pass the time, leaving Kiyoomi to peacefully sleep away the morning and spend the rest of the day scrolling through his phone until dinner rolls around.

He doesn’t have any fancy plans besides grabbing something to eat in the hotel restaurant so he takes his time getting ready. After a quick shower he pampers himself with a meticulous seven-step skincare routine that leaves him feeling more awake than he has the whole day. Watching in the mirror as he styles his curls, he runs through a list of potential ways he could spend the evening after dinner.

He obviously isn't going to take the Hinata route and choose to go bar-hopping amidst crowds of sweaty people, nor does he feel like climbing back into bed. Now that he’s up, he feels the need to expend at least a little bit of the energy he's stored up from lying around all day.

A few minutes is all he needs to decide on his post-dinner plans. By the time his meal is digested, it will be later in the night, the perfect time for Kiyoomi to make use of the hotel’s indoor pool without being interrupted.

With all that sorted out, Kiyoomi makes his way to the restaurant dressed in casual clothes that are nice enough to be respectable but not to the point where he looks like a snob. The dinner itself is what one would expect from hotel food, but Kiyoomi was never one to care much about flavour, so he walks away a satisfied man–a sentiment that would probably send Miya’s brother into a coma if Kiyoomi ever were to express it aloud.

He takes some time after eating to walk around the hotel, eventually making his way back to the room so he can change before going to the pool. Hopefully his assumption is right and nobody else is using the facility this late at night. 

Hopefully.

Sporting a pair of black swim trunks and a white t-shirt, Kiyoomi makes his way down to the pool, ready to get a few laps in and maybe relax in the hot tub while he’s at it. 

Warm, humid air wraps around him when he steps through the door to the pool. The growing moisture dampens his skin, reminding Kiyoomi that the longer he stays above water in the steamy environment, the more time his curls have to frizz up.

He quickly surveys the expansive pool in front of him, noting its emptiness with a self-satisfied smirk. 

Just like he predicted.

Eager to finally take a swim, he grabs a clean towel from the shelves to the right of him and turns to take his pick of any empty lounge chair to drop it on. As he scans through the row of identical options, his eyes gradually drift to the left corner of the room where a hot tub sits tucked away in a little alcove.

Unlike the pool, however, the hot tub is not empty.

Kiyoomi doesn’t know whether it’s dread or anxiety or annoyance that overcomes him. What he does know is that his heart seizes up for a good three seconds and his lungs choke on the surrounding muggy air as he realizes that, yes, Miya fucking Atsumu is lounging away in the hot tub looking perfectly smug and content as bubbles and steam dance around his annoyingly naked torso.

“Heya, Omi. Here for a late night swim?”

Fuck Kiyoomi’s stupid fucking life.

—

Practice today was grueling. Kiyoomi prides himself on diligently maintaining a fit and healthy body, but even he was walking around on shaky legs by the time Foster finally let the team free that afternoon. 

Now, all he wants to do is quickly shower and go home. He made chicken with umeboshi the other night and the leftovers are calling his name from their far away location in Kiyoomi’s fridge. If he could just manage to avoid any sort of conversation with his teammates, he’ll be able to satisfy his hunger in no more than half an hour.

But the universe does not care about Kiyoomi’s dinner plans. Nor does it care about his sanity, because as he walks back to his locker after a fast yet thorough shower, he sees the current subject of his spiraling thoughts waiting there wearing nothing but a skimpy towel around his waist.

Miya is leaning casually with his side against the locker, arms folded across his chest. Kiyoomi tries not to notice how the position accentuates the soft muscle of his upper arms and chest. He certainly pays no mind to how his biceps compress his pectorals, essentially functioning as a natural push up bra that puts one of Miya’s best assets on display.

Yeah. Kiyoomi is definitely, one hundred percent, not looking.

Kiyoomi gets to his locker and Miya visibly perks up at his arrival. The word “cute” flashes through Kiyoomi’s mind before he wrangles the thought by its neck and strangles it to death.

Miya interrupts Kiyoomi’s homicidal thoughts with a smile. 

“Omi! I was waitin’ for ya,” he says easily, like his words don’t make Kiyoomi’s head go all fuzzy. “Wanted to catch ya before ya left. Almost thought I wouldn’t make it in time, but lucky for me ya take the extra time changing in the stalls.”

Kiyoomi had been focused on packing up his bag to make a quick exit but chances a glance at the man next to him upon hearing the humour in his voice. Damn Kiyoomi and his habitual need to seek out Miya’s smile.

Like he anticipated, the setter is looking at Kiyoomi with a teasing grin on his face, its edges softened by something Kiyoomi might say is fondness, but that’s a thought he’s so not going to entertain right now. Ergo, he resorts to his usual deflection method of sharp banter.

“I’m not surprised you got out here before me,” he states. “I never once thought your shower routine consisted of more than a quick rinse with 5-in-1.”

That’s a lie. Kiyoomi knows Miya takes his personal hygiene quite seriously. His hair products take up their own separate backpack when they travel, plus the setter always carries the scent of sandalwood with a subtle floral note, likely a combination of his cologne and whatever hair products or detergent he uses. Not that Kiyoomi pays attention to what Miya smells like or anything.

Whatever train of thought Kiyoomi was about to go down is thankfully derailed by a shout from the man next to him. 

“Ya know damn well I ain’t using some shitty 5-in-1 combo,” he defends, hands now on his hips, which gives Kiyoomi a full frontal of Miya’s admittedly attractive torso.

“Sure, Miya. Whatever you say.”

“Tch. Yer a real bastard, ya know that?”

Head tucked away in his bag as he takes longer than necessary to make sure he has everything packed, Kiyoomi allows a small smile to tug at his lips.

“Takes one to know one,” he replies.

Another huff of laughter from Miya. If Kiyoomi feels a little prideful that he was the one to cause it, nobody has to know.

“Anywho,” Miya begins. “I wanted to see if ya wanna come over for dinner? I can order from Samu’s and pick it up on my way back. That’d give you, like, an hour–hour and a half–to get settled? We can watch some of this week’s highlights while we eat.”

Kiyoomi has to actually look at Miya now, because did he really just invite Kiyoomi over? They’ve never hung out like that before. Alone. Together. In one of their apartments.

It appears that Miya is aware of the same thing because he avoids eye contact and has his arms crossed again, this time more tightly like he’s bracing for rejection.

Kiyoomi doesn’t want to reject him. But he also kind of does.

Because he’s Sakusa Kiyoomi and he doesn’t know how to do this sort of thing. He’s not charming and he’s not a conversationalist, yet here Miya is asking him to come over for dinner, which is obviously going to be followed by an invitation to have sex. And as Kiyoomi has told himself and others multiple times, he does not do casual sex. Rather, he can't.

He’s wholly unprepared for this moment. Not to mention the offer essentially throws a wrench in what Kiyoomi already has planned for his post practice schedule. His panicking self can’t do anything more than blurt out a flimsy excuse.

“Sorry. I have plans tonight.” Which isn’t entirely untrue, but Kiyoomi knows eating dinner alone while watching TV is hardly considered a binding contract.

At the lukewarm response, a pitiful look crosses Miya’s face. If Kiyoomi had to describe it, it's like staring into the eyes of a kicked puppy.

“Ah. I get it. No worries, Omi-kun.”

Now Miya starts to slowly shift away from the locker, his eyes once again looking anywhere but at the man who basically just rejected him.

Kiyoomi hopes that Miya will extend an offer for a rain check. That he’ll sense the want buried deep beneath the layers of stone and ice Kiyoomi refuses to break through himself. He prays that Miya will put his observant social skills to use and understand that Kiyoomi does want to hang out but that he’s scared.

But the longer the silence between them drags on, the more Kiyoomi realizes that Miya can’t read him the way he wishes he could. So, in a brave moment of vulnerability, Kiyoomi speaks up.

“Another time, though?” he offers.

It’s only three words–not even a promising three at that–but it’s enough to make Miya’s whole face light up with eager anticipation.

“Yeah! That’s totally–uh–cool,” he stumbles in excitement. His expression softens after the initial shock of Kiyoomi reciprocating a social invite. “Yeah, cool.”

With that matter somewhat settled, Miya skips back over to his locker to finish getting dressed. Kiyoomi has long since been ready to head out, only having stayed because of Miya’s impromptu visit, so he hoists his duffel bag over his shoulder and walks out, waving politely as the rest of his teammates shout their goodbyes.

He slides into the driver’s seat of his car in silence, closing the door before finally letting himself crack just a little bit now that he’s alone. Heart beating rapidly in his chest, he drops his forehead on the steering wheel, breathing deeply and wondering what the hell is going on with Miya Atsumu.

—

After half an hour of swimming, Kiyoomi hops out of the pool and grabs his towel to dry off a bit before finally walking over to the hot tub where, to his dismay, Miya is still relaxing. 

He approaches with brisk steps, prepared to demand that Miya get out so Kiyoomi can enjoy his peace and quiet. He stops once he reaches the edge of the tub, glaring at Miya’s cocky grin.

“‘Sup, Omi. Finally decide to join me?”

Kiyoomi scowls. “No. I’ve come to tell you to get out. You’ve been in here for well over thirty minutes. I would greatly appreciate it if you would leave so I could use the hot tub.”

Miya doesn’t move. 

Kiyoomi’s scowl deepens. “Alone,” he adds.

“Hmmmm…” Miya pretends to be deep in thought, stroking his chin before responding. “Nah, I think I’m good right here. Yer welcome to join me, though, Omi-Omi.”

Again, Kiyoomi scowls. At this rate, it's going to become a permanent fixture on his face. 

“Did you miss the part where I said I wanted to use it alone? You’ve had plenty of time by yourself and it would be common courtesy to let your teammate have a turn. Leave or else I’ll drag you out myself.”

“Answer’s still the same, Omi. I’m good where I am.”

Ugh. Why does Miya always have to be so difficult? Kiyoomi is going to have to switch up his tactics if he wants to get anywhere with him.

Taking a page from the other man's book, Kiyoomi dons his own teasing look as he peers over into the steaming water and begins his new method of attack.

“What, are you naked under there or something? Is that why you refuse to get out?” he taunts. “Honestly, Miya. I knew you were shameless but I never expected you to skinny dip in public.”

What Kiyoomi had been expecting was for Miya to jump up from his seat in a rage and start defending himself with pointed words and embarrassing gestures to prove just how clothed he really was.

That’s what Kiyoomi had expected Miya to do. But that’s not what Miya does. 

Rather, he becomes even more resolute to staying in place. Averting his gaze, Miya’s entire body tenses except for his arms, which swiftly move to rest his hands on his lap.

Kiyoomi narrows his eyes. 

No, Miya isn’t resting his hands on his lap. He’s…

“What the fuck, Miya?!” Kiyoomi shouts. “Are you seriously hard right now?”

A furious blush consumes Miya’s tan skin, turning its pinkened state from the hot steam into an even darker shade of red. His eyes snap back to Kiyoomi’s in a panic as he makes an attempt to rationalize the situation.

“It’s not my fault!” he cries. “I’ve been pent up for a while cuz of how busy the schedule’s been, and then here ya come with yer skimpy little swim shorts on and ya start taking off yer shirt–which is basically the equivalent of a private strip show cuz of how how horny I’ve been–and THEN ya start doing laps in the pool with yer muscles flexing and water dripping all over yer body and can ya blame a guy for getting turned on by that after he hasn’t jerked off in, like, a week?”

Kiyoomi stands still, flabbergasted and a tad bit embarrassed by what Miya has just admitted.

“Oh, I most certainly can blame a guy and I most certainly will,” he snaps. “I can’t believe how disgusting you are!”

Miya has to avert his gaze again as the looming figure before him continues to berate him.

“Now that I’ve unfortunately been made aware of your current state, you should have no problem getting the fuck out of my sight since there’s nothing left to hide. You can go back to your room and we can forget about this ever happening.”

Miya looks back shyly, opening his mouth to acquiesce. The expression on his face really has Kiyoomi thinking he was finally going to get some alone time in the hot tub.

But then Miya’s eyes flick down and a devilish grin stretches across his face.

“Seems like I ain’t the only one who’s been pent up, Omi,” he smirks.

Huh? 

What the hell was Miya on about? Kiyoomi has been perfectly satisfied as of late and the only reason for Miya to suggest otherwise would be if Kiyoomi is–

Shit. He is hard.

In a futile attempt to maintain some of his dignity, he hastily covers his groin with his towel. The damage has already been done, though, and Miya is going to grab onto this rare moment of evident Sakusa shame and milk it for all that it’s worth.

“Hah! Look at you, Mr. I’m-so-prim-an-proper,” he laughs. “Gettin’ all shy on me now that I know yer dirty little secret?”

“No,” Kiyoomi denies gruffly. 

If only it wasn’t obvious to them both that he was lying through his teeth.

Miya lets out a dramatic sigh, finally relaxing now that he isn’t the one under scrutiny. He slips back against the tiled wall, scooting his lower half further out as his arms rest lazily on the edge. In this position, his chest is on full display, glistening with droplets of water and sweat. With damp hair slicked back, Miya looks like a literal wet dream.

Ok. This really isn’t doing anything to help Kiyoomi’s boner.

“Well, seeing as how we’re both now aware of our…predicaments,” Miya continues smoothly, “I see no reason why we can’t just enjoy the hot tub together.”

Kiyoomi raises an eyebrow. “You’re telling me that you see nothing wrong with two men sitting in a jacuzzi together while they’re both knowingly hard? Seriously?”

“What, don’t tell me yer homophobic now, Omi,” Miya teases.

“I’m literally gay, Miya,” Kiyoomi scoffs. “And that’s besides the point. In no universe is what you're suggesting socially acceptable. Seriously, have you no shame? I was joking before when I said I wouldn’t be surprised if you were naked, but now I think that would be a totally believable thing for you to do. Suggesting we sit in the same enclosed space while we’re both aware of our hard-ons? You really are a piece of work.”

Realizing that Miya hasn’t said a single word during his rambling, Kiyoomi draws his focus back to the man across from him. 

The reason why he hasn’t said a peep is because throughout Kiyoomi’s entire spiel his attention had been directed elsewhere. Elsewhere being his cock.

Watching Miya lazily palm his dick through his swim trunks, Kiyoomi’s mouth dries up immediately. His eyes widen. His face flushes. His heart thumps loudly in his chest and his own traitor of a dick stiffens more at the sight before him.

“You–” Kiyoomi sucks in a breath. “What are you doing?”

A low hum escapes Miya’s lips.

“Appreciatin’ the view, that’s all.” 

Like it’s a totally normal thing to do, Miya continues working his hand over his groin. Kiyoomi doesn’t have a good view of what’s happening under the churning water, but he can only imagine how hard he’s getting. The shifting muscles of his arm make it pretty clear how strongly he squeezes, pulls, grinds his palm against, or does whatever he’s currently doing to his dick.

“Miya.” Kiyoomi breathes. He had meant for it to sound like a warning but instead it comes out like a plea.

“Atsumu.”

Kiyoomi blinks. “What?”

“Call me Atsumu.”

—

Miya’s odd attachment to Kiyoomi only increases as the days go on, leaving Kiyoomi reeling in funny emotions and confusion every time Miya says or does something that makes it feel like their relationship is more than that of just friends.

To be honest, Kiyoomi is becoming increasingly frustrated by Miya’s antics. What exactly does the blond want from him? Is he just feeling extra friendly since their unspeakable night together in the hot tub? Or is he trying to get more from Kiyoomi? Maybe he decided that Kiyoomi was easy, or some sex-shy lock only he knew how to pick. Maybe he just wants to get into Kiyoomi’s pants so he can brag about how he managed to fuck the ever-cautious Sakusa Kiyoomi.

The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He had never thought lowly of Miya. Well, at least not since they had become acquaintances on MSBY. Kiyoomi doesn’t actually think Miya is a sleazy guy, but he just can’t shake the gross feeling that he’s being baited. Like his hopes are going to be built up only to be crushed later on.

Kiyoomi supposes this line of thinking is a combination of his anxiety and past experiences he’s had dealing with charming guys like Miya who would try to sweet-talk their way into getting something from Kiyoomi only to switch their attitude upon discovering how obstinate of a man he was. And although Kiyoomi knows Miya isn’t like that, that he’s more like Kiyoomi than their initial impressions suggest, he can’t help but nurture that seed of doubt in the pit of his heart. The one that tells him he’s being teased–and not in the typical Miya fashion that Kiyoomi has reluctantly grown to enjoy.

So, as usual, Kiyoomi’s immediate response is to go on the defensive. With every lingering touch from Miya, Kiyoomi shrinks back inside himself. Every time Miya whispers some joke in his ear at the expense of one of their teammates, Kiyoomi buries the laugh that used to come so naturally to him during their conversations together.

Unfortunately, this defense mechanism only seems to make Miya more persistent. He isn’t so painfully obvious about it, but it’s like every step that Kiyoomi takes back is met with an innocent one forward from Miya.

Soon enough, Kiyoomi finds himself backed up against a wall.

—

“Atsumu.”

The man in question falters for a brief second. It’s a blink–and–you–might–miss–it kind of moment, but Kiyoomi notices. 

He always notices. 

He never did get over that bad habit of staring at Atsumu too much.

Atsumu's eyes had glazed over upon hearing his name fall from Kiyoomi’s lips, but they quickly sharpen back. Their piercing gaze is redirected across the water, striking Kiyoomi through his core.

Atsumu licks his lips. “Kiyoomi.”

When he doesn’t continue speaking, a spark of impatience strikes Kiyoomi. 

If Atsumu is going to try what Kiyoomi thinks he’s going to try, then he’ll have to be the one to take the initiative. It most certainly is not going to be Kiyoomi.

Like the Omi-reading expert he claims to be, Atsumu immediately picks up his frustration and takes the lead. 

“I’d really like it if ya would join me,” he says softly. “Think we both know ya’d like ta join me, too. We can help each other out. Like a transactional sorta thing, y’know?”

He sees Atsumu’s words for what they are: a half-assed attempt to cover up the underlying sexual tension and possible emotional attraction that have been plaguing the two of them since long before they even joined the Jackals. Calling it transactional is simply Atsumu’s way of offering an out for the both of them so they don’t have to face the fact that there’s more to their relationship than just being teammates who happen to both be in need of sexual release at the same time and place.

It’s simply a matter of convenience. That’s all.

It is with that excuse in mind that Kiyoomi sits down on the hot tub’s edge and dips his legs into the soothing heat of the water. Still aware that what he was doing was crazy by any sane person’s standards, he performs his next movements with the delicacy of a man trying to save face.

He silently shifts until he’s comfortable, legs slightly spread while he leans  back on his hands. Never allowing his eyes to leave Atsumu’s, he pushes the towel on his lap further down until it touches his knees and leaves his groin uncovered. 

Met with the sight of the tent in his shorts, Kiyoomi is hit with the reality of what he’s about to do and almost abandons the whole thing right then and there. 

But then he glances back up at Atsumu and the heated look that meets him completely drowns out all of Kiyoomi’s doubts.

Fuck it, Kiyoomi thinks. 

Abandoning the tact he had been clinging to, he yanks down the waistband of his shorts and pulls out his semi-hard cock, the mere touch of his fingers sending shivers down his spine and making blood rush south.

Now that he’s jumped past all the warning signs that had told him to stop, Kiyoomi is determined to see this through and feels no shame as he once again makes eye contact with the man across from him. 

Atsumu seems to be completely mesmerized by Kiyoomi. Like he hadn’t expected him to actually follow through with whatever they’re doing. Or about to do, that is.

Caught up in the sight before him, Atsumu’s movements have slowed down to the point where his hand is doing more resting on his dick than stroking.

Kiyoomi certainly can’t have that, now can he? 

He wants to see Atsumu’s cock and if he’s  sacrificing his dignity like this then he damn well deserves to have that wish met.

“Atsumu,” he snaps. 

The man perks up at his name, finally seeming to remember where he is and what he’s supposed to be doing. He clears his throat and picks the pace of his stroking back up. 

“What’s up, Omi?” he asks, as if he wasn’t just caught zoning out.

Kiyoomi doesn’t bother to hide his eyeroll. 

“If we’re about to do what I think we’re about to do, it would probably be best if you got out of the water,” he says. “It’s only fair that I get to see your penis, too. Plus, I’m pretty sure if you ejaculate in the hot tub I’ll have to drown you and subsequently bleach the whole hotel.”

Atsumu snorts. “Geez, Omi. Do ya really have to make everything sound so academic? I think my dick almost shriveled up and died after hearing you call it a ‘penis.’”

“Sorry if using proper terminology is offensive to you, Miya.”

“Woah, hey now. No going back to Miya, ‘kay? Didn’t say it was offensive or anything," Atsumu explains. "Just funny, I guess. Kinda cute actually.” Atsumu lets out a soft giggle, like he just said one of those inside jokes that only makes sense to him. 

“But actually though,” he continues,“I think I’ll stay down here for a bit.”

At Kiyoomi’s disgusted look, he rushes to finish his thought. “But I’ll get out when I’m close! Promise! I ain’t so gross that I would let all the baby Tsumus free in the jacuzzi.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Kiyoomi groans.

Every word from Atsumu is making this whole thing seem less enticing by the minute.

“Heh. Sorry, Omi,” he apologizes. 

The charmingly flushed grin on his face tells Kiyoomi he isn't actually all that sorry. 

“I swear, though. I’ll hop out and finish in my hand or somethin’. I just wanna stay in here for now cuz the warmth feels nice.” Atsumu lowers his voice, his next words heating up Kiyoomi’s already burning core. “If I close my eyes and squeeze real tight, it’s almost like I’m fuckin’ right into ya.”

Apparently that’s all Kiyoomi needed to hear because his cock is fully erect when he goes to touch it again. 

He wraps a delicate hand around it, watching as the pink tip glistens in the rising steam. The first stroke feels nearly as good as an orgasm and Kiyoomi can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed by the moan that follows.

Maybe Atsumu was right about him being pent up.

Hesitantly, Kiyoomi begins to follow Atsumu’s lead, stroking himself at the same lazy pace the other man has set. 

As he looks between Atsumu’s shifting arm and his own naked cock, he suddenly feels overwhelmingly humiliated by the fact that he’s the only one exposed at the moment. Then he nearly comes and realizes there’s a not-so-slim slim chance that he is immensely turned on by that.

It’s common knowledge that Kiyoomi is usually reserved and uptight. Atsumu of all people knows just how prickly he is, frequently using that against him during their bouts of teasing. Yet here Kiyoomi is, willingly masturbating right in front of him in a place where anyone could walk in at any moment.

Being vulnerable like this with only Atsumu’s eyes on him…

Kiyoomi shivers in excitement. 

He continues to fist his cock languidly while watching the action with lidded eyes.  He hopes Atsumu is watching him. That he can see just how good Kiyoomi can be–how good of a show he can put on.

He diligently pumps his fist up and down–slow and loose on the upstroke, fast and tight on the way down. Every now and then, he runs his thumb over the slit, mixing the beading precum with the water droplets sitting on his skin. 

He wonders if Atsumu is taking notes. Studying the pace of Kiyoomi’s strokes and imagining he was fucking him with that same rhythm.

Lost in his own haze of pleasure, Kiyoomi startles when he glances up and locks eyes with Atsumu. Before, they had both been entirely focused on Kiyoomi’s strokes. Now, Atsumu refuses to look anywhere but his face. 

And under the heat of Atsumu’s burning gaze, Kiyoomi feels himself completely melt.

Atsumu’s hand picks up its pace under the water, the brisk movements resulting in choppy ripples that are quickly swallowed up by the surrounding bubbles. More than half of his torso is submerged under the water, but the way his chest heaves with every breath does enough to show Kiyoomi how worked up he’s getting.

“Fuck, Omi,” he huffs, finally breaking the silence between them. 

His bicep bulges slightly as he squeezes his cock, forcing out an exhale laced with ecstasy and want.

The sensation must have been too good because instead of saying anything else, Atsumu simply closes his eyes and tilts his head back, letting his legs fall open even wider. Kiyoomi hates how his eyes yearn for an unobstructed view of Atsumu’s lap.

The yearning is overshadowed, however, by exasperation. Leave it up to Atsumu to push Kiyoomi’s buttons during the middle of a joint jerk off.

“I can’t believe you have a naked man touching his dick right in front of you and you’re closing your eyes,” he complains. “This hardly seems fair considering the fact that you’re getting a whole uncensored show while I’m stuck here trying to make an educated guess about what your hand is doing under there.”

Atsumu opens an eye to peek at Kiyoomi, chuckling at his teammate’s petulance, so used to it by now that it only conjures up feelings of endearment rather than annoyance.

“So what is it ya want me to do then, Prince Omi?” he asks, going back to closing both eyes because he’s an asshole like that.

Kiyoomi inhales as he drags a thumb over his slit again.

“Let me see you,” he demands.

Atsumu’s eyes open. He makes no move to obey, however. 

Instead, he sends Kiyoomi a self-satisfied, smug look. The spiker recognizes it for what it is and, begrudgingly, gives Atsumu what he wants.

“Please,” he whispers, so desperate it almost comes out as a whine.

Atsumu grins at his victory. “That’s a good boy, Omi.”

This time, Kiyoomi definitely lets out a whine.

Without any effort to make it look graceful, Atsumu hoists himself out of the hot tub. 

Kiyoomi can’t bring himself to care about decorum either as he watches water glide down tanned, toned abs. It moves in rivulets between muscles, running over smooth skin and down, down, down until curving around the base of Atsumu’s cock and getting stuck in the neatly trimmed hair around it.

Kiyoomi’s tongue rolls against the roof of his mouth, overcome by a desire to lick. To suck. To taste.

All of that would have to wait, though. 

Kiyoomi finally has his eyes on Atsumu’s bare, naked cock and he is not about to waste his time daydreaming about what the weight of it would feel like on his tongue. He’s here to jerk off and watch Atsumu jerk off, and he’ll be damned if he gets distracted by the man’s impressive size.

(It wasn’t every day you met a guy blessed in both the departments of girth and length).

Once settled on the tub’s edge, Atsumu leans back on his left arm, bringing his right hand back to his cock to mirror Kiyoomi’s position.

“Wanna hear something funny?” he asks, rubbing his thumb over his shaft instead of resuming his previous full-length strokes.

Kiyoomi gives him a bored look. “Not really.”

Atsumu, like usual, ignores him. “Sittin’ like this kinda feels like we’re about to have a masturbatin’ competition. A jack off-off, if ya will.” 

He chuckles at his own joke. Kiyoomi does not.

“You have a real talent for making a guy go limp just by opening your mouth,” he drones. “Usually it’s supposed to do the opposite.”

“Seein’ as how yer dick still looks like it’s about to burst, I’d take a wager that yer not as put off by my clever conversatin’ skills as you pretend to be,” Atsumu retorts.

“Are you going to do something or just continue yapping?” 

Atsumu hums, finally wrapping a whole hand around his shaft and letting the moisture on his skin smooth the glide as he drags his fist up and down.

“Fuck,” he hisses. “Feels a lot different now that I ain’t in the water.”

Yeah, Kiyoomi thinks. Looks a lot different too.

And, really, who can blame him for having such thoughts of horniness? What is he supposed to do when he has golden sex on legs manspreading in front of him and stroking his sizable dick in that strong setter hand of his? 

Clearly the logical thing to do would not be to ignore it.

Kiyoomi would have to be a fool to let his pride continue keeping him from following his desires, so he fully gives in and just feels.

As his eyes lock in on every minute detail of Atsumu–his muscles, his breathing, the veins on his cock and the twist of his wrist–every repressed moment of want that he ever felt for the man bubbles up from deep within and overtakes him. If this is going to be Kiyoomi’s one chance to let himself indulge in all that he’s ever felt for Atsumu, he needs to make it count.

With newfound determination, Kiyoomi goes right back to the task at hand, gripping the base of his cock and tugging. His entire body is wracked with a shudder as he tilts his head back with a content sigh.

Across from him, Atsumu appears to be in a similar state of passionate lust. His golden eyes burn and his lower lip is trapped between teeth as he vigorously pumps his shaft with strong thrusts of his hips.

“Omi–fuck–ya look so fuckin’ good right now,” he groans. “God, look at ya. Keep touchin’ yerself like that for me, baby.”

Obediently, Kiyoomi keeps up his pace, gasping as his thumb swipes across the sensitive head of his cock. Every now and then, his hips jerk in a jolt of pleasure, followed by fervent words of encouragement from Atsumu.

“Fuck yeah, Omi. Just like that.”

Atsumu’s voice is half breathless, like he’s one second away from bursting, but the steady rhythm with which he moves indicates that he still has time before he tips over the edge. Kiyoomi is similarly caught in the space between the early sensations of sexual satisfaction and the actual point at which he achieves it. Every stroke sends a shock through his body, each touch too much but also not enough. 

Precum continues to drip from his tip and he basks in the slick feeling of it coating his entire length as he twists and pumps his hand. Moments like these really make him appreciate the flexibility of his wrists.

Atsumu seems to share the same sentiment, eyes glued to Kiyoomi’s hand while his tongue pokes out from glistening lips. Seeing the hungry look in his eyes makes Kiyoomi wonder.

He wonders, if Atsumu were to actually have sex with him (and that’s a big if), what would it be like?

He imagines how Atsumu might use that tongue of his, how he might eat Kiyoomi out with the fervour of a starved man. How he might open him up with strong fingers and tease Kiyoomi’s hole like the taunting bastard he is.

Then he imagines, as he fucks into his fist wantonly and devours the sight of Atsumu doing the same, how Atsumu would actually, truly have sex him. He stares at the other man’s large dick and craves to know how it would fill him.

But crave is all he can ever do, because Kiyoomi knows Atsumu would never fall in love with a guy like him, and Kiyoomi can’t do flings, especially not with Atsumu. 

The end result of all that leaves Kiyoomi right where he is: putting aside the depressing reality of his unrequited infatuation so that he can make the most of this fleeting moment that will replay in his mind for years to come.

Thus, Kiyoomi is determined to commit this little sexcapade to memory, even if there’s a stain of bitterness seeping through his heart knowing this is all he’ll ever be able to get from the man he wants. He tells himself that it’s ok, though, because Atsumu’s in front of him right now, looking at Kiyoomi like he’s some kind of prey and thrusting up into his fist with a desperation Kiyoomi’s only ever seen him display on court.

“Omi,” Atsumu pants. “Kiyoomi.”

Fuck. Atsumu says his name like it's a prayer and Kiyoomi is too weak of a man not to answer.

“Atsumu,” he breathes, sending out his own message in return even though he knows it won’t truly be heard.

A desperate moan rips from Atsumu’s chest as he picks up his pace, his hand moving so furiously that Kiyoomi can hear the slap of it as it connects with his pelvis. What Kiyoomi would give to be fucked with that kind of force.

Hearing Atsumu’s breaths quicken and the whines he tries to tamper with deep grunts, Kiyoomi decides that now is the moment. Now, they can finally push each other over the precipice of pleasure.

“Atsu–” Kiyoomi’s breath catches when a particularly sensitive stroke nearly has him coming. “Atsumu. I need–please.”

Kiyoomi clenches his abs to stave off his orgasm, needing it to wait until Atsumu is ready to let go too. He hears a quiet, choked laugh across from and shoots a glare at the source, although Kiyoomi knows it's rendered ineffective due to the lust etched into his entire expression.

Atsumu decides to take mercy–on Kiyoomi and probably himself too, if the near-bursting state of his cock is anything to go by. His lidded gaze narrows in on Kiyoomi, setting his body ablaze, and it practically forces Kiyoomi to watch in awe as he rolls his hips and flexes his muscles.

“Come on, Omi,” he urges, desperate but demanding. “Fuckin’ come for me, baby.”

With a choked gasp, Kiyoomi comes, spurting into the towel he managed to lift at the last second. His body jerks uncontrollably a few times as he rides out his orgasm, continuing to pump his shaft with sloppy motions. 

At the same time, Atsumu finishes with a loud moan and, as promised, manages to catch his spend all in the palm of his hand. Distantly, Kiyoomi wonders if Atsumu’s quick setter reflexes have prepared him for this very moment and his lips twitch in amusement at his own absurd thinking.

Noticing Kiyoomi's slight smile, Atsumu adopts a grin of his own and chuckles lightly. It renders Kiyoomi utterly helpless because Atsumu spends so much time faking smiles around others, so to be on the receiving end of one so genuine as this makes Kiyoomi’s hurt flutter and ache simultaneously.

“Didn’t know ya had that in ya,” Atsumu laughs. He pauses to look down at his sticky hand, contemplating it for a moment as it holds the weight of his cock. “Didn’t know I did either.”

Kiyoomi’s not sure what to say to that so he simply hums. The longer he sits, the more aware he becomes of their current state and the post-orgasmic bliss that had been keeping him relaxed starts to fade. Ever so pragmatic, he switches into clean up mode while mentally reconstructing all of the walls in his heart that Miya had just demolished.

The setter sits there for a moment, watching Kiyoomi methodically erase the aftermath of their activities like he’s done this kind of thing before, before following suit.

Both men are silent through the quick clean up. Kiyoomi can feel Miya’s stare every now and then but dutifully ignores it. He has to forget this night ever happened and what better time to start doing that than now.

After their shorts are pulled up, hands wiped, and towels tossed in the dirty bin, Kiyoomi grabs his belongings from the lounge chair and turns to leave. Before he can take a step, Miya stops him, calling his name from a few chairs behind.

“Omi.”

Miya can’t see it but Kiyoomi’s face hardens.

“Omi,” he repeats. “That was nice, y’know? Don’t think I’d be up for repeating it under the same circumstances, but maybe we can grab a drink sometime instead.”

Pressure pricks at the back of Kiyoomi’s eyes and he has to clench his jaw to keep from tearing up. He opens his mouth to speak but the words get caught. He coughs to shake them free, steeling himself to give his response.

“Right,” he says softly. “Sometime instead.”

With that, he pulls his shirt over his head and walks out, leaving Miya behind.

—

It all happens at practice the next week.

There’s nothing in particular that makes this practice any different than the ones they’ve been having. The whole situation with Miya, however, is like leaving a pot of water to boil on the stove. You don’t know anything is happening until the pot has already boiled over.

After stretches and warmup drills, Foster divides everyone into teams of three to play against each other. He must have it out for Kiyoomi because if being partnered with Inunaki isn’t enough, Foster also has to go and throw Miya in the mix as well.

Great. Now Kiyoomi is stuck with both the chronic and current sources of his headaches.

Such inconveniences never got to him before, though, and they sure aren’t going to get to him now. If he can just focus on volleyball it will all be fine. 

And it is. After serving, spiking, and sweating a shit ton, Kiyoomi isn’t thinking about anything other than volleyball. His head is only filled with the kind of narrowed, short-term mindset one gets when they're in the zone. His thoughts flow in and out so fluidly that it takes a shrill whistle and shout from Foster to break Kiyoomi’s immersion in the game.

Slightly lost after being snapped back to the world around him, Kiyoomi mindlessly walks off the court for their short break. While the rest of his teammates gulp down water like they’ve been wandering in the desert for weeks, Kiyoomi simply stands there waiting for the signal to start back up with their next round of matches.

Then Miya decides to impose.

Within one second, the setter goes from being who knows where to right in front of Kiyoomi, his blond hair and tan, freckled skin occupying the entirety of his vision. Kiyoomi’s breath catches in his throat, the combination of being both startled and enraptured causing him to forget, just for a moment, how to breathe.

“All good over here, Omi?” Miya asks. He stands in his usual relaxed way, hip slightly cocked with a hand resting on it, but there’s eagerness radiating beneath his skin that puts Kiyoomi on edge.

Realizing it’s been a few seconds too long without giving a response, Kiyoomi grunts. His brain still feels a little too caught up in volleyball mode for it to supply the extra energy needed to verbalize even one syllable.

“Yer lucky I know ya well enough by now to know that that’s a yes,” Miya teases. “Anyone else prob’ly woulda asked if yer feelin’ sick, but good ole Atsumu here is basically fluent in Omi-lish.” 

Kiyoomi’s nose scrunches up slightly in a pout. “Please do not say ‘Omi-lish’ every again. I don’t need you butchering my name more than you already have.”

Miya barks out a laugh and throws his arm around Kiyoomi’s shoulder, pulling him in closer. From this distance–rather, this lack of distance–Kiyoomi can smell the mix of cologne and sweat clinging to Miya’s body. If asked about it later, Kiyoomi would maintain that he was totally grossed out and definitely not thinking about how he wished that scent would cling to his own body, too.

With an arm casually wrapped around Kiyoomi, Miya continues to blabber away. He’s saying something about his brother’s restaurant and there’s a mention of Suna in there somewhere. Kiyoomi isn’t really paying attention, too thrown off by Miya’s scent and the puffs of air tingling against his neck with every exhale from the blond.

Kiyoomi can feel it all starting to become too much.

The weight of Miya’s muscled arm draped across his shoulders. The light touch of his fingertips dancing between the edge of Kiyoomi’s sleeve and his bare skin. The stickiness of Kiyoomi’s own sweat that seems to exponentially accumulate as he becomes more aware of and overwhelmed by the sheer everything of Miya.

The buzzing in his head only grows louder the longer this goes on, feeling like an eternity to Kiyoomi but probably only lasting ten seconds in reality. Just as he feels like his heart is going to collapse in on itself, he suddenly locks in on the words coming from Miya’s mouth.

“–and Samu said not to invite ya. Not cuz he don’t like ya, but he told me that there’s no way ya’d wanna hang out with a scrub like me. He also had the nerve to tell me that I’m an ugly eater. Ha! Me? I’m the best damn eater there is in Japan. Maybe even the whole world!” Miya keeps flailing his free hand and jostling Kiyoomi with the other as he goes off on tangents unrelated to whatever he was initially talking about. But Kiyoomi picks out one word from the jumble of idiocy Miya is spewing, causing him to pause.

“Invite?” he questions.

Miya looks at him blankly for a second, unprepared for the interruption. Then his expression shifts into one of confusion, then exasperation with a tinge of humour as he realizes Kiyoomi has not been listening to him at all.

“Geez, Omi. We really need to work on yer listening skills,” he scolds. When he gives Kiyoomi a pointed look and only receives a raised eyebrow in return, he continues. “Yes, invite. Samu and Sunarin are having dinner and drinks tomorrow night, and usually I tag along since it’s at my brother’s restaurant anyway, but I don’t feel like being the third wheel again so I decided I’m invitin’ ya to come with me!”

As Miya finishes his explanation with a blinding grin on his face, Kiyoomi only feels a swirl of conflicting emotions within him. This is exactly what happened when Miya last asked to have dinner together (which Kiyoomi has yet to follow up on) and the mixture of hope and anxiety causes his chest to tighten. 

The anxiety always wins out though, and Kiyoomi begins to feel stupid for even hoping that– That what? Miya was asking him on a date? That Miya liked him?

It’s such a stupid thought that Kiyoomi almost bursts out laughing. As if Miya would actually want to romance Kiyoomi of all people. The thought was preposterous.

Determined to keep his embarrassingly fragile heart intact, Kiyoomi replies frigidly. “Sorry, Miya. I’m busy Friday.”

It’s a lie, but what Miya doesn't know won’t hurt him.

However, the setter counters back with a doubtful look. “Busy with what, Omi? Ya never got any plans besides hangin’ out with Toya and I know for a fact he’s got plans of his own to hang out with his team that night. Rin told me so.”

Shit. There goes Kiyoomi’s masterful attempt at lying.

Maybe he'll just have to be honest. After all, he and Miya do share an appreciation for straightforwardness.

Kiyoomi looks away as he speaks. “Fine. You’re right. I don’t have plans. I’m simply not interested.”

Okay, so maybe that isn’t him being totally honest. Of course he’s interested in Miya. What he’s not interested in is making a fool of himself in front of Miya and his brother and his brother’s boyfriend. There's no doubt that Osamu and Suna would be able to spot Kiyoomi's pathetic pining as soon as he walked through the door. He already feels like a fool for wanting Miya. He doesn't need more people thinking the same.

Kiyoomi takes a second to collect himself before continuing. “Sorry, but my idea of a fun night doesn’t include being dragged along as your plus one to your brother’s dinner date just so you don’t have to feel left out.”

Even though Kiyoomi had tried to keep his tone casual, he can tell Miya is put off by the abrasiveness. He awkwardly laughs as he lets go of Kiyoomi’s shoulder and steps away, giving him the space he had been demanding from his teammate since day one. Now, however, all Kiyoomi can think about is the absence of Miya’s touch. How he almost misses it.

The man in question is now stiff next to Kiyoomi, smiling tightly in the way he does when he feels uncomfortable but is trying to stay polite. Kiyoomi recognizes that look, only having seen it on rare occasions that usually involve nosy interviewers or obnoxious fans.

Unlike them, however, Kiyoomi is not accustomed to being a source of Miya’s discomfort.

Trying to save the rest of their conversation from turning into the ashen aftermath of a dumpster fire, Miya stumbles his way through his next words. “Ahaha, yeah, makes total sense, Omi! Sorry for pushin’ it and all. Didn’t mean to make ya feel pressured or nothin’.”

Wholly embarrassed by the entire situation, Kiyoomi thinks he’s finally going to be free from this painful trap of a conversation, but Miya’s diminished confidence seems to spur him into nervous rambling mode instead.

“Um, so, yeah. Wasn’t trying to make ya uncomfortable. But, uh, just want ya to know that I did–do! I do want ya there. Not just to save my ass from getting stuck as Samu and Sunarin’s third wheel but cuz I like hangin’ out with ya.”

The frantic delivery of Miya's chatter sends mixed signals to Kiyoomi’s brain and only serves to amp up his anxiety. He can’t pin down what exactly Miya is getting at, although it sounds like he’s starting to suggest something about their relationship that Kiyoomi isn’t ready to face.

While Kiyoomi is spiraling through his own internal panic, Miya keeps talking away. “And I know that might sound stupid considerin’ most of our interactions have been callin’ each other names and throwin’ shitty insults back and forth, but I have fun doing that with ya. It’s real easy to joke around with ya, Omi. Although now I’m realizin’ it’s probably not ‘jokin' around’ to ya–”

Kiyoomi spins on his heel until he is face to face with Miya.

“Enough!” he shouts.

Miya freezes in shock. Bokuto and Hinata, who had been hanging out a few meters away, pause their conversation at the outburst.

Kiyoomi isn’t focused on them, though. All he can feel is the tightness in his chest, the termble in his fingers, and the need to nip whatever this blossoming thing between him and Miya is in the bud.

“What’s happened to you? You’ve become all needy and talkative,” Kiyoomi snaps.

A look of hurt flashes across Miya’s face. A pang of regret flashes through Kiyoomi’s heart not a second later.

“I just want to know it meant something to ya,” he says, confused and frustrated. It's obvious what "it" is referring to, and Kiyoomi's panic increases tenfold at the open acknowledgment of what happened at the hot tub.

“It didn’t mean anything to me, Atsumu!” Kiyoomi yells. “All we did was watch each other masturbate in the hot tub!” 

Silence.

As soon as Kiyoomi says those words, there’s nothing but silence.

Every single person in the gym is frozen, including him. Eyes pierce his skin and he can feel himself on the verge of collapsing because what the fuck. What the absolute fuck  did he just shout out in a gym full of people. Miya isn’t faring much better by the looks of it. He appears to be just as shocked, embarrassed, and upset as Kiyoomi is.

Not having expected that kind of announcement to come out of his own mouth, Kiyoomi is left entirely on unstable ground. He has ripped the rug out from his very own feet and made himself look like a huge fool and a huge freak in the process.

So, in light of the fact that he sees no possible way of recovering from the situation, he does what any sane person would do.

He runs.

Runs to the locker room. Runs to grab his stuff and toss it in his bag. Runs through the hallway to the exit and doesn’t stop until he slams the door behind him and finally takes a moment to breathe.

He’s breathing far too fast to actually get a full breath in and ends up crouching with his head hanging between his knees and hands tightly clasped around the back of his neck. One breath in, one breath out. Another breath in, another breath out.

His eyes stay open, unblinking and boring holes into the concrete beneath him. This isn’t happening this isn’t happening this isn’t happening.

All that’s running through his head are meaningless strings of words that jumble together. Despite his breathing returning to normal, his mind is a mess. He can’t seem to grasp onto a solid thought long enough to process it. Everything is slipping through his fingers and the only thing he’s aware of is the pressure on his neck and weight of his body pushing his feet firmly into the ground.

It’s all going to shit and it’s all Kiyoomi’s fault. Curse him and his stupid crush on Miya. Curse Miya for being so damn persistent. Curse the universe for ever putting Miya in that damn hot tub.

There Kiyoomi stays, not moving a muscle as he silently runs through every possible way of doing damage control. It’s probably only five minutes that pass, but it feels too long and yet not long enough by the time he hears the sound of the door opening behind him.

He doesn’t look. Whoever it is can fuck off because no amount of pity or awkward consolation will get Kiyoomi to uncurl from his protective shell. 

“Kiyoomi.”

Atsumu says his name in that soft pleading voice of his and it shatters Kiyoomi’s defenses. It pierces him right through the heart and he once again finds himself struggling to breathe.

Kiyoomi doesn't respond. Doesn't even know how to.

"Kiyoomi," Atsumu repeats. His accent consumes the consonants and wraps around the vowels. Kiyoomi knows it's the most beautiful way in which his name will ever be spoken and his chest aches at the thought. "I–uh. I wanna apologize. For botherin' ya."

Staring at the ground isn't enough. Kiyoomi has to close his eyes to contain whatever is threatening to flood to the surface. Atsumu sounds so guilty and it's just not like him. Or maybe it is, because Kiyoomi knows how much he cares, but it's not how he ever wants Atsumu to feel so it hurts.

"I'm sorry for pushin' ya, if I made ya uncomfortable. I wasn't tryin' to annoy ya or anything I just–"

Atsumu cuts himself off. Kiyoomi hears him take a deep breath and shuffle his feet.

"I just thought maybe the whole hot tub thing was more than a one-off. That maybe it meant somethin'. Because I wanted it to mean somethin'." Atsumu takes a deep inhale. "Fuck. Sorry, this ain't helpin'. I just need ya to know that I wasn't tryin' to make ya upset. I know I get annoyin' and can be too much, but I'll back off. I ain't the kinda scrub to keep botherin' someone like that or let it affect the team."

Atsumu concludes with a tired sigh, like somehow this whole situation is his fault and he's the one who has to bear the burden of it all. Which is absurd becuase they wouldn't be here if Kiyoomi could have just learned how to properly regulate his emotions when it came to Atsumu.

But he can't. Because Atsumu is Atsumu and he's always been the elusive exception to Kiyoomi's rules. To the point where he managed to get Sakusa Kiyoomi of all people to masturbate in a public area.

And because he can't seem to maintain his perfectly stoic exterior around him, Kiyoomi does what he's barely done all week: he speaks to Atsumu.

"You're not too much," he mumbles, his position muffling his words.

Atsumu jumps, like he was expecting Kiyoomi to just stay silent the whole time. "What's that, Omi?"

Kiyoomi lifts his head and slowly stands up, shaking the ache out of his legs. He still doesn't face Atsumu, opting instead to hold his bag tight against his chest as he stares into the parking lot ahead.

"You're not too much," he states.

Plain and simple. Straightforward.

"And while I can't deny that you are indeed very annoying, I can admit that I perhaps don't always mind it."

"Omi…" Atsumu trails off.

"This isn't your fault, At–Miya," Kiyoomi sighs. "I let my emotions get the best of me when I should've been able to keep them under check. I want to make it clear now though: No, I don't hold anything against you. And no, I have no intention to repeat what happened in the hot tub. Please, for the sake of my heart, do not keep trying to proposition me."

Kiyoomi tightens the grip on his bag.

"Please," he begs softly.

Atsumu doesn't say anything. The quietness is so uncanny that Kiyoomi can't help but peek behind him to see if his teammate has actually ditched him.

He hasn't. Instead, Kiyoomi is met with the sight of a teary-eyed Atsumu with a wobbling lip and furrowed brow.

"Miya–"

"What the fuck, Kiyoomi?"

The spiker stands in shocked silence at the furious tone in Atsumu's voice.

"Proposition you? I ain't trying to 'proposition' anyone! I'm tryin' to get closer to ya cause I like ya. I really fuckin' like ya, Omi, and that night at the hot tub was like a dream come true cause, God, have I been dreamin' about ya."

Atsumu pauses to wipe his eyes and compose himself. He locks eyes with Kiyoomi and holds the man in place with the sheer resolve burning within them.

"I've been dreamin' of touchin' ya, sure. But more often I'm dreamin' of lovin' ya and bein' yer boyfriend and all that mushy shit." Atsumu takes a step forward. "I'm dreamin' of you."

Kiyoomi hesitates. "I don't understand. Are you saying you want to…date me?"

Atsumu looks at him dumbfounded. A laugh erupts from his chest as his whole body relaxes into its usual smug stance.

"Yeah," he chuckles. "That's exactly what I'm sayin'. And what I've been tryin' to say for who knows how long." He shakes his head. "Leave it up to me to pick one of the densest motherfuckers out there to fall for."

A blush hurries its way to Kiyoomi's face, blooming across his cheeks and forcing him to look away with a huff.

"Well," he tuts. "You should've been more direct."

In hindsight, asking Kiyoomi over to his apartment and to be his plus one to a dinner double date was probably a glaring indicator of Atsumu's intentions, but sue Kiyoomi for not wanting to get his hopes up.

They stand there silently for a moment, Atsumu looking at Kiyoomi with a sickening fondness while Kiyoomi glances at him from the corner of his eye. After a few moments of nothing, Kiyoomi straightens his posture and turns to face Atsumu full on.

"So?" he asks.

Atsumu raises an eyebrow and smirks. "So what?"

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, fighting the small smile that threatens to rise to his lips.

"Are you finally going to ask me out on a proper date? Or will I have to settle for being your third wheel crutch at Osamu's restaurant?"

That familiar obnoxiously endearing laugh makes it's way to Kiyoomi's ears and this time he doesn't even bother to tamper down his own amusement, allowing the smile he's been holding back to finally break forth.

The mid-morning sun shines down on Atsumu, but Kiyoomi knows the gleam in his eyes would be visible regardless. Like a curtain having been pulled aside to make way for sunlight, Kiyoomi can suddenly see everything Atsumu has been trying to show him and he wonders how he could have been so blind to it all before.

But the past is neither here nor there, because Atsumu is standing right before him asking the question Kiyoomi already has the answer to.

"So. What do ya say, Omi? Will ya do me the honour of letting me take ya out on a date?"