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Miya Atsumu didn’t get sick that often.
Growing up with a twin, whenever one of them was sick, the other was too. They were both exposed to countless amounts of germs, bacteria, and viruses, to the point where their bodies had basically become immune to any sickness that came their way. However, when the brothers did get sick, they got sick.
They spent days in bed with temperatures way above normal, painful chest coughs, and nausea that shook them to their core. They wouldn’t realise they were ill until they woke up and vomited all over their clean sheets.
Now that Atsumu was in his late 20s, he had developed a heightened awareness of his health and knew when he was coming down with something. It was probably also increased by his germaphobe of a boyfriend.
The issue at hand: Atsumu had woken up with a sudden splitting headache, and looking back, that should have been a major red flag. He stumbled out of bed, world spinning, and suddenly a wall was in front of him. Apparently, that wasn’t enough for him to call up Kiyoomi, who had to stay the night with Motoya after he had drunk one too many drinks the previous night.
Unfortunately, he chose not to call in sick, and instead, move on with his day; next huge mistake. Atsumu's stubborn pride caused him to go through his routine and pretend like the breakfast he didn’t eat wasn’t just about to rise in his throat. He couldn’t bother doing his hair, as when he attempted at least six times, his head felt like it was being cracked in half.
The world was much too bright for 7:30 in the morning as Atsumu made his way out of the complex and towards the gym. He wobbled down the street, hood over his head and bag swinging by his side. If he was lucky, passersby would think he was just a hungover worker and forget about him.
He ignored the receptionist's too-chipper voice and staggered towards the changing room. Maybe he’d be lucky, and no one would be in the locker room; he was arriving pretty late compared to the rest of his teammates. Obviously, luck had not been on his side since the start of the day, as when he opened the door, there were six pairs of eyes on him.
“Hey, hey, hey!! Tsum-tsum, you’re later than usual.”
Bokuto’s voice was booming, much louder than it normally was. Atsumu gave him a small, weak smile before unpacking his bag. He steadied his shaky hands and tried to forget about the throbbing sensation behind his eyes.
“Everything okay, Atsumu-san?” However sweet Hinata’s intentions were, his voice made his head pound even harder. “You don’t look well.”
“Yeah… ’m fine, Shouyou,” Atsumu forced the words out of his mouth. “Just a lil’ run down.”
Somehow, he managed to convince Hinata and the rest of his team, because they all moved on with their conversations. He stifled a gag and opened his locker. Taking a deep breath, he organised his belongings and put on a brave face.
The team made their way out of the changing room, laughing at the petty disagreements between Hinata and Kageyama the previous night and discussing the upcoming game against the Red Falcons. Atsumu didn’t say much, worried that if he opened his mouth, remnants from his empty stomach would come out.
Kiyoomi arrived just before Foster did. No one seemed to notice, or said anything if they did notice, about the lack of bickering between the couple. His boyfriend gave him a concerned stare when Atsumu didn’t reply to a quip about his hair. Atsumu was too focused on not wincing at the echoing noise of the balls being slammed against the wooden floors.
Taking his attention away from Bokuto and Inunaki’s shenanigans, Kiyoomi approached Atsumu, who was stretching on the hardwood floors.
“You’re not okay,” Kiyoomi said like he knew everything about Atsumu.
“I’m fine, Omi.” Atsumu bit back, straightening a leg to fold over. “No need to worry ‘bout me.”
“I’m going to worry when you look like shit.” His boyfriend dead-panned back.
“Way to kick a man when he’s already down.”
“You should go home. What are you doing here?” Kiyoomi questioned, face scrunched.
“Oh, fuck off, Omi.” Atsumu sat up in a butterfly position to glare at Kiyoomi, face on. “I’ll be fine.”
Seeming conflicted, Kiyoomi stormed off, effectively shutting down the conversation even though he clearly had more to say. Atsumu rolled his eyes and resumed his gentle stretching, brushing aside the churning of his stomach.
Foster came in ten minutes later, conducting a full team warm-up and running through the usual drills. Atsumu went through the regular movements, deeply engraved into his bones, mindlessly. He clenched his teeth and smirked lazily, like he wasn’t on the verge of sobbing.
During a three-on-three, the setter kept playing the truth down, pretending like he didn’t see the worried looks his teammates sent his way. His sets weren’t at all bad; they were still getting where they needed to go, without issue. But a ball sent to Barnes, specialised for Hinata, managed to arouse suspicion. He trembled in a breath before brushing it off with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
After Foster switched up the teams, Atsumu found himself setting to Kiyoomi for the first time that morning. He knew that if he made a single, slight change to their routine, Kiyoomi would know that something was wrong and demand he go home. He couldn’t have that happening so close to such an important game; the sick feeling would go away without fuss soon enough.
Atsumu was so concentrated on his spiker that he completely forgot about Adriah, who was abruptly next to him as he stumbled back from his jump. He slammed into the middle blocker; it wasn’t a hard collision, but with the momentum, they both ended up on the ground.
The gymnasium went silent.
Atsumu’s head spun as he clambered off the taller player, helping his teammate to his feet. The overhead lights pulsated above him, faces distorted with dizziness. He felt as if he were blackout drunk, body hot and mind delirious.
“Adriah-san, 'm so sor-”
This time, he couldn’t stop himself from vomiting, aimed away from the troubled brunet. Bile pooled on the shiny floor, nothing of substance actually in the mixture. His chest stung with pain as he doubled over and wiped his mouth clean, gagging on the air that tried to get into his lungs.
Everyone rushed to his side; no one was faster than Kiyoomi.
“I fucking told you, Atsumu.” Kiyoomi pulled Atsumu up. “You should have listened to me, you fucking idiot.”
Tears prickled at his eyes as Kiyoomi slowly led him out of the gym and towards the changing room. Atsumu kept his eyes downcast and salty streams trickled down his face. His body fluttered and shook with Kiyoomi’s arms wrapped safely around his body.
“Omi, ‘m sorry. ‘M so sorry…” Atsumu repeated over and over; the pain in his throat radiated across his whole torso. He vomited again, unable to keep it down.
Kiyoomi didn’t say anything, just kept on walking Atsumu away from the courts. If Atsumu was in his right mind, he would be able to notice the lack of discomfort that Kiyoomi was expressing.
The two hurried out of the locker room, ditching the scene rather abruptly. To save Atsumu from the humiliation that came with walking home, they took Kiyoomi’s car to drive the 15-minute walk.
With everyone else at training, the complex was eerily empty when Kiyoomi pushed open the door. Running straight to the freezer, Kiyoomi busied himself in the kitchen while Atsumu fell face-first into the couch. The blackness behind his eyes spun, and curling into himself didn’t do anything to relieve the pain.
“Atsumu, you can’t stay there.” Kiyoomi’s soft voice was so far away. “Come on.”
A string of disagreements made their way out of Atsumu’s mouth, muffled by pillows. Kiyoomi sighed, knowing that arguing with Atsumu would just make him more stubborn and less inclined to listen.
“Turn over then,” Kiyoomi instructed. “Let me help you.”
Atsumu did as his boyfriend said, shifting his position to stare at the blurry face that appeared in his vision. Kiyoomi placed a cold hand on Atsumu’s forehead, wincing at the heat that he instantly felt under his fingers.
Something was pressed on the top of his head, and he shivered at the sudden freezing sensation. Slowly seeping through his hair and down into his head, the ice pack began to cool down his boiling body. The blond was soon covered in cold, damp towels.
Once Kiyoomi had done everything he could have done for Atsumu, he crept out of the room.
“Omi…”
At the sound of his raspy, desperate voice, Kiyoomi turned to face Atsumu. He looked up at his boyfriend and, with all he could muster, gave his signature puppy dog eyes.
“Please… please stay…”
Immediately, Kiyoomi was by his side, and Atsumu’s head was in his lap. Against his normal particular nature, Kiyoomi threaded his fingers through Atsumu’s slick with sweat locks. It grounded Atsumu in the moment, keeping him rooted.
“I’m sorry, Kiyoomi…” Atsumu whined softly. “I fucked everything up…”
“Everyone gets sick sometimes, Atsumu.” Kiyoomi adjusted the wet rag on Atsumu’s forehead. “You need to learn to take a break.”
“We’re nearin' the finals.” Atsumu continued, a tremor quickly passing down his spine. “I couldn’t miss training, not when we’re so close.”
“That’s why we have another setter.” Kiyoomi gently tugged at the damp strands of his undercut. “You need to take breaks. It’s okay.”
“But-”
“Uh-uh, nope, no buts.” He couldn’t help but shut his mouth at Kiyoomi’s impressive glare. “I’m putting on Love is Blind and you’re shutting up.”
Without another word, the recap of the previous episodes explained by Yuka Itaya and Takashi Fujii was the only sound in the room. It hurt his eyes to look at any form of screen, so Atsumu buried his face in Kiyoomi’s stomach, with his boyfriend’s slender fingers affectionately massaging his scalp. The somewhat familiar voices of the contestants were still talking when Atsumu drifted off into a delirious, feverish dream.
“Sleep well, love.”
The last thing he heard was Kiyoomi’s beautifully smooth voice in his ear and a brief kiss to his chapped lips.
⋆｡°✩⋆✩°｡⋆
When the rest of the team arrived home, they were greeted with a sight of a marriage on the big screen, and Kiyoomi’s head nodded off to the side in a way that was sure to be uncomfortable. Atsumu, seemingly dead asleep in his lap, was covered in ice packs and now-dry rags.
“Bokkun, don’t take a photo of them!”
“They’re adorable, though.”
Meian sighed, removing the melted cold packs and towels from Atsumu’s body, and threw a blanket over the top.
“Thanks, ma.”
The team collected ‘aww’d at the mumbled comment.
Come the following day, Atsumu was incredibly confused about why people were calling their captain ‘Ma’. Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, and they resumed their partner stretches.
fin.