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Usually, Atsumu would consider himself in charge of his thoughts and feelings.
He understood how he felt and why he felt it. He knew that he got mad at his brother for the most mundane things, but he knew that he still loved him enough to let him shower first and support his dreams, even if they shattered his own. Atsumu knew that the crush he had on his old captain was just puppy-love and adoration for someone stable, reliable and undoubtedly caring.
And yet, when those feelings came in the form of having the most desperate and, quite frankly, pathetic crush on the prettiest man he had ever laid his eyes on, Atsumu didn’t know how and why he felt the way he did.
It was stupid.
Every interaction with Kiyoomi left him yearning for more, wanting to see that beautiful boy all the time, instead of every couple of months. Back then, Atsumu assumed the tingle in his chest, and the way he looked for the spiker in every gym he entered was just a simple crush that would go away. He blamed the fact that he was a bisexual disaster of a teenage boy, and he didn’t truly know what he wanted; like, who actually knew what they wanted as a 15-year-old?
(But somewhere deep down, Atsumu knew that Kiyoomi was something more than an opponent or someone he would see every few months.)
It had been four years since he had properly seen him. Atsumu had followed his gut, accepting the offer to the professional league without hesitation, and had been living the life that he had dreamed of ever since he was a child.
However, Sakusa Kiyoomi had not. He had stayed in Tokyo to attend university because someone told him to.
Atsumu had stayed relatively up to date with what Kiyoomi was doing; it was basically impossible not to see the familiar dark eyes and impressive power on the television and social media.
When Foster revealed that there would be a new player on their team who had skipped the tryouts and was instantly sought after, Atsumu had braced himself for the spiker to join. He binge-watched his college games, intently studying what the setter had provided for Kiyoomi to win the most points. He memorised how Kiyoomi moved around the court, what he seemed to prefer and which attacks he could use with him.
One would say he was obsessed with him. Atsumu would vehemently deny the allegations and say he’s passionate and wants to do what’s best for his spiker, as he would do with any spiker that he sets to.
(Osamu would shake his head and sigh at his twin’s blissful ignorance)
As soon as Kiyoomi had walked through the doors and introduced himself to a stunned MSBY, Atsumu felt his stomach flutter alive with butterflies he hadn’t felt since Kita. His whole body shook with energy and heat, his mind stumbled behind to catch up with the millions of thoughts that flooded his dumbfounded brain. His heartbeat was too fast and not fast enough.
Not long after, they had started hanging out properly, and initial attraction was there, keeping him up at night as he stared at the messages the two shared after Atsumu bugged him enough to reluctantly give his number. But the feelings of love and affection, something fuzzy and warm instead of burning hot, developed with every late-night hangout and quiet conversation between them.
His feelings steadily grew like a tree, new branches spiralling and reaching into the sky. Flowers and grass exploded under his feet, like the change in seasons from the desolate winter into a spring worth spending time under the sun. It was impossible to ignore the blooming feelings every time Kiyoomi looked at him from under his long eyelashes with a nearly invisible smile on his face.
Of course, he could never tell Kiyoomi. He couldn’t bear the thought of ruining the delicate friendship he had managed to create with his spiker. If everything went to shit, not only would their relationship be ruined, but the entire team’s dynamic would shift. And Atsumu refused to be the source of discourse for something he could easily stop from happening.
He also wouldn’t be able to face Kiyoomi’s disgusted, confused and blank expression if Atsumu revealed the true extent of his feelings. So he would continue to suck it up and pretend not to notice the way his heart raced and how impossible it was to breathe properly around his spiker.
Evidently, this method of pretending fell apart one fateful midnight meeting in the complex’s kitchen. It was common practice for the two to meet late in the shared space the night before a match. They never said much, just sat curled on the couch or next to each other on the kitchen island’s stools. Sometimes they talked about everything and nothing, and that night they talked about forgettable things that wouldn't matter the next morning.
“I never knew ya and Toya were cousins,” Atsumu thought aloud as the pan heated up and the kettle was finishing boiling somewhere in the background. “I assumed y’all were jus’ best friends.”
“We get that a lot.” Kiyoomi rummaged through the pantry, entertaining the conversation that they had already had not too long ago. “He looks more like his father, my uncle, and I look more like my mother, his auntie.”
“I mean, he mus’ somewhat resemble his ma, right?” Atsumu instinctively cracked two eggs into the hot pan. “Like, genetics and all that shit.”
“Not necessarily.” Kiyoomi poured the now-boiled water into his cup as he launched into an explanation of what genetics actually meant. “Just luck of the draw, if you think about it.”
“Ya lost me after ya said ‘necessarily’,” Atsumu admitted, flipping the eggs once Kiyoomi had finished his rant.
“I know.”
Kiyoomi was back in the pantry, searching for the jar of umeboshi and the container of mochi they had purchased a couple of days before. The rice cooker beeped, and Atsumu served the steaming rice into two bowls, while the eggs crackled and popped on the hot stove. It felt domestic, something they had grown to quietly appreciate every time they got to spend this time together.
“Do ya know if we have sprin’ onion?”
“I’m not sure, check the fridge.”
They moved around each other with practised grace, a soft gravitational push and pull. Kiyoomi took a seat on the island’s stool, sipping his cooling tea and scrolling through Instagram, and Atsumu mulled around, looking for additional toppings and perfecting the bowls.
“What did ya think of me when ya first saw me?”
“Do you want me to be honest?”
“When aren’tcha honest?” Kiyoomi quietly breathed a laugh, and Atsumu’s heart swelled at the sound, but he laughed along and pointedly turned his back to him to hide the blush that rose on his tan cheeks. “But yeah, honestly.”
“I thought you were loud, annoying and cocky, not to mention arrogant. Did I already say annoying?” Kiyoomi deadpanned, fingers drumming on the side of his hot cup.
“Lay off on the compliments, Omi.” Atsumu made a noise of excitement as he found a spring onion in the crisper. “Yer flatter me.”
“I’m not finished, you idiot.” Atsumu went quiet as he chopped the green stalks.
“Despite that, I knew you were the setter I wanted to set for me. I could tell how passionate you were and how much you cared about your players and volleyball as a whole.” The sheepish yet earnest words stabbed arrows into Atsumu’s heart, and he stopped cutting the onions to stare at Kiyoomi, who looked away, pink high on his pale cheeks. “I envied you, I still do.”
“Why would someone like ya be jealous of someone like me?”
Atsumu shakily went back to his spring onions, quickly finishing up the chopping to sprinkle them on top and serve a bowl to Kiyoomi.
“Because,” Kiyoomi continued after thanking Atsumu for the food. “You were everything that anyone would want to be: confident, considerate, hard-working and kind.”
As he trailed off, face hidden behind his teacup, Atsumu couldn’t help but stare at the flushed man in front of him.
There weren’t enough synonyms of beautiful to describe Sakusa Kiyoomi; he had thought that ever since they first met in high school. He had eyes. But something about the 22-year-old Kiyoomi was different.
He was the most ethereal and breathtaking person he had ever seen, with his long legs and sculpted muscles, moles scattered like stars across his body. His ringlets fell perfectly over his deep, dark eyes, and Atsumu couldn’t stop staring like an idiot.
Not only that, he was taller, calmer, stronger, and so much more confident. He was snarky and honest and smug and annoying and hilarious and harsh. Kiyoomi was competitive, never leaving Atsumu a moment without a tease or snide remark he didn’t really mean. He was truly himself and couldn’t give a shit about what people thought of him.
And this man was envious of him?
“Obviously, your personality sucked and still does, but… like whatever.” Kiyoomi started eating the meal, avoiding eye contact with the blond. “You confuse me, Atsumu.”
The setter paused, weighing out his options on how to continue the conversation. He took a seat next to Kiyoomi and began snacking on his bowl of food.
“Do ya wanna know what I thought of ya?”
“Sure,” Kiyoomi mumbled, seemingly still embarrassed over the confession he had revealed.
It’s now or never; grow a pair, 'Tsumu. A voice that sounded almost identical to his brother's whispered in his ear. The past seven years of knowing Sakusa Kiyoomi rushed through his mind, every small grace, every tiny nod of understanding. It could all go to shit if he fucked up now.
“I thought ya were beautiful. Gorgeous, even.” Atsumu admitted as he mixed in his egg, engrossed in the way the white rice soaked in the orange of the yolk, seeping through and staining it a pale egg yellow. “I think… I’ve always adored ya, ‘Omi.”
His heart was the only sound he could hear, tripping over itself in a haste to pump blood into the skin of his cheeks. It was a thunderous sound which sent him spiralling as Kiyoomi stopped playing with his food to stare at Atsumu.
“If I’m bein’ honest, from the first time I saw ya, I wanted you all ta myself. Silly, right?” Atsumu laughed, even though nothing was funny. “I wanted ta be yer setter, the one ya trusted the most, on and off the court. I was so excited to learn ya were on my team, finally; I watched every single one of yer college matches so I could be the best for ya, right away. ‘Samu thought I was insane… I prolly was.”
Kiyoomi's silence scared him, so Atsumu kept talking.
“An’ every day since, I found myself drawn to ya. I was terrified, ‘Omi. I didn’t understand ya, and I wanted ta, so badly. I’m scared that sayin’ all this shit will drive ya away, and I’ll have ta move teams, and you’d hate me, forever.”
“What are you saying, Atsumu?”
“I’m sayin’ I love ya, Omi.” Atsumu looked up from his late-night snack to look directly at Kiyoomi, butterflies storming around his stomach. “Ya don’t need ta feel the same; I jus’ wanted ta tell ya, before I was drunk and confessed to ya that way.”
The quiet after Atsumu's words was deafening, honey brown locked on dark chocolate, unable to tear their gazes away from each other. Atsumu found it easy to read Kiyoomi’s eyes most days, since they were the most expressive part of him, but that night, he couldn’t see a single word in those dark irises.
“Forget I said anythin’, ya didn’t hear nothin’.”
Atsumu stood in a panic, fumbling with his full bowl of rice/egg mixture, but a hand wrapped around his wrist and pulled him back into his seat.
“I basically confessed to you, Atsumu. What are you talking about?” Kiyoomi grinned, head cocked in confusion and grip still tight on his wrist. “I’ve been flirting with you for the past year and a bit.”
Wait, what?
He was shocked. Sakusa Kiyoomi, number one pretty boy in his fantasies, liked him back?
"What?"
"Yeah. I've liked you for a while, I thought I made that clear?" Kiyoomi took a sip of his tea, stating his feelings that shook Atsumu's world like he was simply talking about the weather.
"No?"
"Well, yeah. I do." Atsumu didn't understand how he was so nonchalant about it. "Keiji caught onto my flirting, and I wasn't even flirting with him."
“Whatever ya think is flirtin’, is so incredibly wrong. And 'Kaashi-kun is just hella observant.”
“I thought setters were meant to be observant.”
“I would have caught on, but ya weren’t obvious at all,” Atsumu complained, but he couldn’t help but smile. After a pause, he took a breath and excitedly asked, “Does this mean we’re dating? Please say yes.”
“You’re hopeless”
“That’s not a no…”
“Yes.” Kiyoomi’s lips met him in the warm kitchen lights, words whispered against his mouth. “Yes, a hundred times yes.”
The two sat there for however long; it might have been a few minutes or hours, kissing and laughing and kissing some more, their food long forgotten and tea going cold, treats resting on the countertop.
Atsumu felt his heart flutter with hope, and in that moment, he knew exactly what he was feeling.
Utter and indescribable love for Sakusa Kiyoomi.
fin.