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People (read: Motoya) would say that Kiyoomi was a very, very jealous person. Once he had set his mind on something, he would do anything to get his hands on it and keep it all to himself.
However, Kiyoomi himself would say that he’s not jealous; he’s just protective and knows what he wants. He worked hard for the things he had, and if someone else got them, Kiyoomi wouldn’t throw a fit. He was a responsible and respectful adult, not a petulant and petty child who didn’t get the candy he wanted. He had grown to understand that he couldn’t just snatch and claim it’s his.
(But he would bitch about the person and glare at them into their grave)
Kiyoomi didn’t throw a tantrum when Ushijima became the top spiker in front of him; he had simply congratulated him, and only later did he curse out the stoic man to his cousin. He watched his tone at the old aunties that took the last of his favourite mochi at the store; remaining calm and collected and didn’t think about causing property damage.
Yet, as soon as alcohol came into the picture, all common sense and collected nature went out the window and down the street, not to be seen until he could speak coherently.
The team had won a game against EJP Raijin, and it was only common practice to go out drinking as a celebration. Usually, players from the losing team would join; they were all friends, but tonight most had gone home. Only Rintarou stayed, as Motoya was too ‘frustrated’ with Kiyoomi and needed a break from his cousin’s sharp quips and smug grins, so he was at Onigiri Miya, helping Osamu with the final hours.
Random people that Kiyoomi somewhat recognised flittered around: Bokuto’s friends, Hinata’s friends, more people that he didn’t know how he knew them, but he just assumed they were Hinata or Bokuto’s friends. (Kiyoomi couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Hinata and Bokuto knew every single person slightly affiliated with volleyball.)
Not to mention, the man that had sparked so much teenage and young adult jealousy was very clearly sober and was very clearly talking to a girl that was not Kiyoomi. He glared from above the rim of his third, maybe fourth, drink at the blonde’s lazy smirk and the way the girl’s hand ran up and down his bare arm.
He wasn’t about to resort to pettiness and anger; he was cool as the glass in his hand. Atsumu was flirty and cocky, and if someone’s eyes were on him, he couldn’t help but revel in attention. It was to be expected, but Atsumu knew better than to push it, especially with his boyfriend of four years watching like a strict parent. Kenma, Keiji and Rintarou all looked at him apathetically, mindful to avoid Kiyoomi’s wrath, which consisted of his signature glare and possibly a punch to the face.
“Maybe we should slow down on the drinks,” Keiji commented as Kiyoomi downed the remaining half of his glass, taking the drink from his hands.
“Who does that girl think she is?” Kiyoomi slurred, flopping onto the table with a sigh, eyes trained on the pair across the bar. “Shouldn’t she know that Atsumu isn’t for the taking?”
Scoffing a laugh, Rintarou snapped a photo of Kiyoomi in all his suffering to send to his boyfriends. Kenma let out somewhat of an agreement, too focused on his switch to give a proper answer.
“Why does she get to touch him?” Scowling with as much vigour as possible at Atsumu, in the hope that he would look over and focus on him, didn’t seem to work. “I want to touch him.”
“Didn’t need to know that.”
“Too bad.” Kiyoomi reached over and sloppily flicked Rintarou’s forehead. Except his coordination was so dogshit due to the amount of alcohol in his system that he missed and tangled his fingers in his hair.
“Dude, what the fuck?”
Giggling as Rintarou pulled his fingers out of his hair and back on the table, Kiyoomi’s laughter instantly died down when he saw Atsumu and that no-name woman. Atsumu had such an engrossed look on his face, intently listening to whatever the blushing mess of a girl was saying. The woman was fiddling with her hair, rubbing her hands over his biceps and laughing much too hard at his unfunny jokes.
Letting out a low whistle, Rintarou gazed pointedly away as Kiyoomi sat straighter, sobering enough to focus purely on his boyfriend.
“Kiyoomi, you know as soon as she makes a move,” Kenma offered quietly, seemingly having beaten the boss and finally looked around and put the dots together. His concentration was back on the game, deciding that the story parts held more significance than Kiyoomi’s struggles. “‘Tsumu will push her away.”
“But, he’s looking at her.”
“That is what people do in conversation with other people; it’s called manners.” Rinatrou provided unhelpfully, absorbed in whatever messages Motoya and Osamu sent in response to Kiyoomi’s minor crashout. “Against common belief, Atsumu wasn’t brought up in a barn.”
“He’s only looking at her.”
“No one else is talking to him.”
Kiyoomi fell quiet, watching every little interaction between his beautiful, stunning and incredibly attractive lover and his fangirl that he would never see again. Intrusive feelings of envy and jealousy clawed at his heart, his stomach flipping around uncomfortably and not because of the liquor. Alarm bells screamed in his ears and throbbed in time with the angry beating of his much too loud heartbeat.
It wasn’t fair to think things like that. Atsumu was his own person; he was allowed to smile and laugh with other people that weren’t Kiyoomi. But, in that inebriated state, Kiyoomi decided that no one else was allowed to lay their eyes on Atsumu. No one else.
Deciding enough was enough, Kiyoomi stood up, legs shaking at the sudden movement. Keiji grabbed at him, pulling him back to his seat.
“What are you planning to achieve, storming over there and what, punching that woman?”
Fuck, he made sense, because of course Keiji was the voice of reason, the angel on his shoulder providing sense to Kiyoomi’s messed-up mind. But the devil on his shoulder, that vaguely resembled Rintarou, whispered shitty comments that Kiyoomi decided to listen to.
“What if I was planning to do that?”
Keiji didn’t offer a verbal answer, simply giving Kiyoomi the blankest and most disappointed look that Atsumu would often say resembled that of Kita Shinsuke’s Miya Twins Stare™.
“Why don’t you focus on your own boyfriend?”
Gesturing out into the dance floor, Bokuto was obviously smashed and grinding against a cackling Kuroo. At the sound of that hyena laugh, Kenma flicked his eyes up before grimacing disgustedly at the sight and turned his attention back to the hand-held on his lap.
Keiji sighed before looking back at where Kiyoomi was meant to be. Rintarou pointed to where Atsumu and the woman were still talking, and Kiyoomi was swaying over. He let out another sigh and took a long gulp of his drink.
“Don’t call him back.”
Kenma softly requested, while Rintarou picked up his phone and started recording. Keiji really thought that he had given up his parental-esk role after high school, but no. Of course not; his boyfriend was Koutarou, for fucks sake.
Kiyoomi silently approached the two, mindful of the number of people around them and being sure to make his presence unknown. He called the bartender over and ordered Atsumu’s favourite drink, drumming his fingers on the sticky bartop while he waited. Within earshot of the conversation, the girl was droning on and on about the hottest competitors on reality shows, but how they didn’t look as good as him.
He sat in anticipation for the moment to pounce, sitting facing the floor to draw less attention to himself. The bartender passed him the drink, and he added it to his tab. Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, Kiyoomi neared where the two were standing.
“Love, there you are!” Kiyoomi lathered on the sickly sweet tone to his voice, relishing under the honey-brown gaze. He pressed a kiss to Atsumu’s cheek, handing him the drink. “I’ve looked all over for you.”
“O-oh, hey ‘Omi,” Atsumu smiled, confusion clear in his expression. “Everythin’ alright?”
“I just missed you.” He threw his arms around the shorter man, nuzzling his exposed neck from behind. Kiyoomi peeked out from under his hooded eyelashes to stare the girl down, who reacted with a slight shock. “You’ve been talking all night.”
“Y-Yeah, I haven’t seen Ichika-chan in a while, so we ‘ere just catchin’ up.”
“I know,” Kiyoomi whined, pout obvious in his voice, nose nestled further into Atsumu’s neck, softly nibbling on the skin. “I just had to see you.”
“I think he may be drunk; I should take ‘im home. ’m sorry, Chika-chan.” Atsumu excused himself and Kiyoomi, to which the girl couldn’t respond with anything but a simple nod to their retreating figures.
Atsumu paid for both their tabs, dragging Kiyoomi’s drunk ass out of the bar and yelling a goodbye to their friends. Once they had left the establishment, Atsumu pulled him aside into an alleyway to stare up, confused and hurt by him.
“What was that ‘bout?” Atsumu questioned immediately. “You’ve never done somethin’ like this.”
Kiyoomi couldn’t formulate a response that wasn’t deeply embarrassing for him. So they just stood in silence, Atsumu waiting on Kiyoomi’s answer.
“I-I… I just…”
“Chika-chan is jus’ a friend, nothin’ more.” Atsumu cocked his head, trying to read Kiyoomi’s dark eyes. “There’s nothin’ between us.”
Kiyoomi bit his lip, eyes blurring and glimmering with tears that had no reason to fall. He was petty and bitter and yes, jealous, but Atsumu could make his own decisions; he didn’t belong to Kiyoomi, so why did he feel like crying?
“Jus’ tell me, ‘Omi. There’s no reason for me bein’ mad at ya-”
“You just spent the whole night with her, and ignored me, and I wanted to talk to you and spend the night with you, but she was just... monopolising you.” Kiyoomi ranted, fist clenched by his side in an attempt to stop himself from breaking down in a random alleyway in Osaka because his boyfriend didn’t look at him. “I had to listen to Rintarou bitch and moan about losing to me and Keiji wax love poems out of thin air about Bokuto. And you were enjoying yourself, which you’re allowed to do, but you didn’t even look over. Not once.”
Atsumu blinked at the sudden spill of feelings, and instantly felt like shit. He was so focused on his friend that he had ignored his boyfriend.
“‘M sorry, ‘Omi.” Atsumu grabbed Kiyoomi's hands in his, grounding him in the present. “That was real shitty of me. I was jus’ so excited ta see Ichika and kinda forgot ‘bout the whole reason why I was there.”
Sniffing, Kiyoomi smiled gently. He knew that Atsumu was being sincere, and he could stop caring so much about Ichika.
“That was kind of stupid of me. I just assumed you were flirting with her and you were going to leave me; she’s fucking beautiful.”
“Were you jealous, ‘Omi?” Atsumu stated the obvious, grinning at Kiyoomi's avoidance of eye contact and the pink blush that spread across his already flushed cheeks. “Was my ‘Omi-kun jealous of Chika-chan?”
“I don’t get jealous.”
“I seriously doubt that,” Atsumu smirked, leading him out of the side alleyway, and they stared on their way home, hands intertwined and swinging between them. “I’ve seen how ya act when Foster pairs me with someone else”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t worry, ‘Omi-kun. I’m plenty jealous for the both of us.” Kiyoomi laughed at that. “Also, what was that move ya played back there?”
“What move?”
“You know which one, ‘Omi.” Atsumu’s fox-like grin shimmered under Osaka’s well-lit streetlights. “It was kinda hot.”
“Oh my god, Atsumu.”
“What? Am I not allowed ta thirst over my jealous… I mean, protective boyfriend?”
“I think you’re plenty jealous and horny for the both of us.”
Atsumu playfully shoved Kiyoomi away, but their hands were still together, so they just stumbled down the street together, their laughter echoing off the surrounding buildings.
Later that night, they would have forgotten all about Ichika and everyone else.
“I love ya, ‘Omi.”
“I love you too, Atsumu.”
⋆｡°✩⋆✩°｡⋆
“Did I show you the video?”
“What video?” came Motoya’s thick response.
Rintarou searched around for his phone, lifting Osamu’s heavy head off the pillow to retrieve his phone, waking him in the process.
“W-What is goin’ on?” Osamu rubbed his eyes, his voice groggy with sleep. “It’s too early.”
Ignoring him, Rintarou found the phone and placed it in a position between the three, so they could all see.
The video showed an annoyed and, quite frankly, jealous-looking Kiyoomi making his way towards Atsumu, who was in deep conversation with a girl with long black hair and a kind smile. An altercation that consisted of Kiyoomi throwing himself onto Atsumu and ended with a really confused woman waving them off. Their voices couldn’t be heard, but commentary provided by in-video Rintarou announced what was being said.
“Isn’t that… Chika-chan?”
“Who the fuck is Chika-chan and why is she in our bed?”
“Damn, alright then, Mr Grouchy.”
“I’m exhausted, well-fucked, and I have to see Kiyoomi’s smug face tomorrow during a family lunch. I have the right to be Mr Grouchy.”
Sharing a look, Rintarou climbed over Motoya so that he and Osamu could sandwich the smaller man.
“That’s better.”
“Good night, Toya.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Motoya’s voice was muffled by Osamu’s chest, which his face was pressed into. “‘Night.”
fin.