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1.
Kiyoomi’s eyes are downcast, staring into his half-finished beer. He should’ve just gone home after practice. He’s tired and has a mountain of homework to catch up on. But-
“Game’s on,” he hears someone, one of his teammates, say.
Kiyoomi glances across the bar, up at the television on the wall. This is the first game of the Japan Series, which is taking place in his hometown of Tokyo this year. His teammates had wanted to catch the game at a bar after practice and they dragged Kiyoomi along with them.
There’s a few quick shots of fans in the stadium cheering, then it cuts to a wide shot of the field.
“The Jackals have Meian Shuugo as their starting pitcher tonight,” one of the announcers says. “He’s an older player with three Japan Series wins under his belt, and he doesn’t seem to be slowing down anytime soon.”
The second announcer agrees, then says, “And there’s no surprise that Miya Atsumu is his catcher tonight. Their battery has been something special to watch this season, huh? For that to work the pitcher and catcher need to have a strong mental connection.”
“Certainly. Now, fans have been quick to praise Meian for mentoring the rookie, but I don’t know. Looks to me like Miya’s the one calling the shots.”
“You think?”
For a moment, the camera zooms in on Atsumu. The black protective chest pads blend in with the black of his uniform. His cap is on backwards, and he grins across the field at Meian as he lowers his catchers mask and gets into position. Once he’s squatting, his entire demeanor changes like the flip of a switch. His eyes narrow, sharp and focused.
“Miya Atsumu’s been a fan favorite this season after moving to the starting half of the batting lineup and becoming Meian Shuugo’s personal catcher. I figure it must be for a reason.”
“Well, if he’s calling the shots then he’s doing a good job considering he’s made it to his first Japan Series.”
“That’s right. The 20-year-old rookie from Amagasaki has already had an impressive career with the Jackals, drafted right out of high school.”
Kiyoomi’s attention is momentarily stolen from the television as two of his teammates talk about wanting the Tachibana Red Falcons, their hometown Tokyo team, to win tonight.
“We should’ve gone to the game tonight,” Suzuki complains. “Supported the Falcons in person.”
“Tickets sold out too fast, man,” Nakamura replies. “I can’t afford resale prices.”
Kiyoomi tunes them out and looks back at the television, just as Atsumu catches his first strike, the first strike of the Series. A few tables at the bar groan.
Kiyoomi can see Atsumu’s smirk through his mask.
Kiyoomi suddenly stands, his heart beating uncomfortably faster. He ignores the questions from his teammates and leaves the bar, stepping into the chilly night. It’s not too late, he can still catch a train home. Kiyoomi checks his phone as he walks toward the station, knowing there won’t be a new text but still feeling disappointed when there isn’t. He rereads his last few messages.
To: Atsumu
Are you still coming over tonight after the game?
From: Atsumu
hey i need to talk to you about something, gonna call you in a sec
Kiyoomi shoves his phone back into his pocket with a heavy sigh, pulling his jacket tighter around himself.
He can’t stop thinking about their conversation. It’s not like anything Atsumu had said on the phone was a lie. The distance is too inconvenient, and their schedules are too busy. Kiyoomi will be graduating soon and he should focus on that. It’s not like they were dating , for fucks sake.
Maybe Kiyoomi’s just annoyed that Atsumu made it seem like a big deal, like he needed to break the news to Kiyoomi over the phone. Like it was a breakup.
Atsumu really just could’ve texted Hey, I don’t want to fuck you when I’m in Tokyo anymore. That probably would’ve been more accurate, right? But no, he called Kiyoomi to say that they’ll still be friends, as if they had ever been just friends at any point. Kiyoomi would’ve laughed out loud on the phone if he hadn’t felt so blindsided.
***
Kiyoomi barely even remembers how it started, what exactly was said. When he thinks back, he just remembers the rush of emotions he felt. The excitement he felt. He had been seventeen the first time they hooked up, back during a tournament his third year.
They had been somewhat friendly rivals from seeing each other at tournaments, and from their high school teams playing against each other. During one of their last high school games Kiyoomi pitched to Atsumu and struck him out. Atsumu had been mortified, cornering Kiyoomi in a bathroom stall afterwards. It was a heated confrontation that ended with Atsumu’s hand down his pants. Kiyoomi hadn’t experienced anything like that before, hadn’t even kissed anyone at that point. Kiyoomi suspects he was only able to enjoy it because he knew Atsumu, at least a little. He felt safe with him. Atsumu only actually touched him when Kiyoomi muttered yes, his consent clear and eager.
After high school Kiyoomi went to Waseda University on a baseball scholarship, and Atsumu signed with MSBY Black Jackals, the team that’s regarded as the best in the Pacific League. They’d meet up when Atsumu was in Tokyo for a game, sometimes to play baseball together or grab dinner, but always to hook up. Kiyoomi lost all of his firsts to Atsumu over the years. Kiyoomi enjoyed what they had. He had a busy schedule, and didn’t necessarily have an interest in meeting up with strangers to get off, so hooking up with Atsumu when the opportunity presented itself was perfect.
Atsumu had never expressed needing anything more, had never even asked Kiyoomi to come to Osaka, but now he’s done being friends-with-benefits. Is that what they were, anyway? Kiyoomi supposes they never really had a label, never thought he’d run out of time to figure out if they had a future.
Kiyoomi really should just get over him.
And maybe that could’ve been possible if Kiyoomi hadn’t gotten a text after the 6th game in the Japan series.
He’s laying in bed long after the game has ended, staring up at his ceiling and willing for sleep to take him already, when his phone buzzes.
From: Atsumu
did you see my win omi-kun??
Of course Kiyoomi saw that the Jackals won the Japan Series. He had watched the rest of the games in his dorm room alone, practically glued to the screen.
Kiyoomi stares at the message and wonders what it would’ve been like if Atsumu had come over after, drunk from celebrating, all rosy-cheeks and careless grins. He probably would’ve been even more touchy than usual, because that’s how he gets when he drinks. He would’ve been so unbearably smug, but Kiyoomi doesn’t think he would’ve minded. Not tonight. He would’ve been happy for Atsumu. He knows how excited Atsumu was to compete against the Falcon’s Ojiro Aran, his childhood best friend. Kiyoomi also would’ve deeply enjoyed that after winning the goddamn Japan Series it was Kiyoomi’s bed he wanted to crawl into.
He thinks Atsumu probably would’ve let Kiyoomi take the lead and fuck him, more than happy to lay back and take it. Atsumu usually likes to be the giver, which Kiyoomi certainly doesn’t complain about, but Kiyoomi secretly looks forward to when he can return the favor. It’s always a bit intoxicating, being able to make Atsumu fall apart on his cock. Atsumu probably would’ve made a quip that Kiyoomi got a better prize than he did, or maybe even that Kiyoomi was the prize. He’s strangely sentimental when he drinks. Kiyoomi pretends to hate it but that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Maybe Kiyoomi would’ve finally confessed that was he felt for Atsumu easily extended beyond just fucking, and that yes he’s graduating soon but that just means they could possibly be closer in distance, not further. Maybe. Kiyoomi doesn’t know what would’ve happened, and the moment has surely passed for good.
Atsumu had said they were just friends now, and Kiyoomi isn’t about to confess after being essentially already rejected. Atsumu is so ridiculously over-the-top and grand in his declarations that he would’ve already asked to keep Kiyoomi all to himself if he truly wanted that.
In the end, Kiyoomi responds. Of course he does. Winning the Japan Series is no small thing, so it deserves to be celebrated. Not without some critiques on his batting in the last game, sure, but he congratulates Atsumu nonetheless.
And who knows, maybe keeping in touch, at least in regards to the sport they both love, is what their friendship will look like.
So they keep in touch, through silly messages and ugly selfies and discussions about baseball. Kiyoomi doesn’t forget about Miya Atsumu at all.
If anything, he yearns for him now.
***
The winter months march on until the monotony is broken up by an unexpected phone call. Kiyoomi knows they don’t really talk on the phone. The last time had been in November when Atsumu explained he wanted to be just friends. So now that it’s February, Kiyoomi’s heart stutters when he sees Atsumu’s name come across his screen.
“What,” Kiyoomi answers.
He can practically feel Atsumu’s laugh through the receiver. “Grouchy today, huh?”
Kiyoomi takes a breath, and a little kinder he says, “What’s up?”
“That’s better. Hey, got a sec?”
“I said what’s up, didn’t I?”
Atsumu doesn’t answer right away, and for a split second Kiyoomi wonders if he’s truly being too mean. Then Atsumu says, “Look, so. You know how ‘Samu and I visit family in Onomichi every year?”
Kiyoomi does know that. Atsumu has a few days off in March that fall between spring training ending and the regular season starting, so he spends that time in Onomichi. Last year Atsumu sent Kiyoomi a very memorable video of him jerking off in the shower while on vacation, muttering something horrible about how excited he was to see Kiyoomi soon.
“Yes,” Kiyoomi answers quietly, heat creeping up his neck at the memory.
“So ‘Samu, the fuckin’ idiot, can’t come this year. Can’t get the time off or somethin’.”
You really get to know a person when you spend almost four years messing around with them, Kiyoomi muses. Through dinners, late night talks in Kiyoomi’s bed, and all of the countless text conversations they’ve shared, Kiyoomi has come to know a decent amount about Atsumu’s family. Kiyoomi knows that Atsumu’s brother is still in school, entering his final year as well. Right now it’s technically spring break, but he also knows that Osamu works at a busy restaurant.
“That’s a shame,” Kiyoomi says. It still doesn’t explain why this is something Atsumu needs to tell him about over the phone.
“Yeah, well, I got a ticket to Onomichi with your name on it if you wanna come with me instead.”
Kiyoomi freezes. That’s…just about the last thing Kiyoomi was expecting Atsumu to say.
When Kiyoomi doesn’t answer, Atsumu asks, ”You get two weeks off for spring break right? Spend a few days in Onomichi.”
“I do, but-” Kiyoomi inhales. “Why would you invite me?”
“We’re friends,” Atsumu answers easily, almost melodically, with a hint of something Kiyoomi can’t pinpoint.
And, well, Kiyoomi should really say no. The thought of spending a long weekend with Atsumu in Onomichi, just the two of them, is doing dangerous things to his heart. Texting Atsumu is one thing, but seeing him in person is a whole other beast. It’s probably not fair to Atsumu to accept this invitation when what Kiyoomi feels for him is not just friends.
Another part of Kiyoomi is curious. Atsumu has a lot of friends, surely any of them would take precedence over Kiyoomi given that they’re ex-friends-with-benefits. Maybe all of his friends had turned Atsumu down and now Atsumu was resorting to inviting Kiyoomi. Or maybe…maybe Atsumu knows exactly what he’s doing. Maybe a part of Atsumu regrets his decision to end things, but just won’t come out and say it. Kiyoomi kind of hopes so.
Kiyoomi decides to test the waters, saying, “We’re friends? Have you fucked all your friends?”
He hears the smile in Atsumu’s voice when he says, “Just the lucky ones.”
It’s a somewhat flirty reply, but ultimately neutral. Kiyoomi doesn’t know what to make of it.
Atsumu adds, “C’mon, stop bustin’ my balls. ‘Course we’re friends. You’ve never been to Onomichi, right? I’ll show ya around, it’ll be fun, which you’re not that allergic to.”
His cousin, Motoya, is always saying that Kiyoomi needs to go with the flow more. Less thinking, more doing. So Kiyoomi asks himself if he wants to go to Onomichi with Atsumu, and the reflexive answer is yes. He does.
“Fine,” Kiyoomi answers.
“You’ll come?”
“Yes. If that’s okay.”
“‘Course it is. Room and board’s free, too, we’re stayin’ at my aunt’s. I’ll send ya the information and a list of shit to bring.”
“Thanks,” Kiyoomi says, smiling to himself now.
“You’ll love Onomichi,” Atsumu says, but all Kiyoomi thinks about is seeing Atsumu again.
“I think I will.”
2.
Kiyoomi gets to Onomichi by Shinkansen, which ends up being a four hour trip with only one transfer. Atsumu had wanted to pay for Kiyoomi’s ticket, saying when I said I had a ticket with your name on it I meant it, but Kiyoomi had vehemently refused. They compromised that Atsumu could pay for his dinner sometime.
Kiyoomi arrives at the Shin-Onomichi Station with a nervous fluttering in his stomach. Atsumu had arrived in Onomichi the day before, so he will be meeting Kiyoomi at the station. Kiyoomi, traveling with a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and a rolling suitcase, shields his eyes from the bright afternoon sun as he steps out of the station. He’s got a light jacket on, comfortably warm in the early spring weather.
He spots Atsumu almost immediately, who waves and jogs over to Kiyoomi when he notices him too. Atsumu’s dressed casually, in jeans and a crewneck, and his blond hair is hidden away by a white baseball cap. His hair must be growing out a little bit, because some strands curl under the hat. Adoring fans of MSBY are familiar with Atsumu in his Jackal’s uniform, but casually dressed is how Kiyoomi has come to know him. Atsumu smiles at him, familiar and a little crooked, and for a moment it feels like nothing has changed.
It’s been almost five months since he’s seen Atsumu in person. The last time they met up it had been a few weeks before the Japan Series. Atsumu swung by Waseda and they went out to an izakaya. Afterwards Kiyoomi brought Atsumu back to his dorm and he spent the night. At the time, Kiyoomi had no idea that the kiss he gave Atsumu at the door before he left would be the last one. He thought he was going to see Atsumu in just a few short weeks.
Now, they are just friends. Atsumu won’t be pulling down Kiyoomi’s mask and greeting him with a kiss. He tells himself that again and again, yet he’s still mildly disappointed when it doesn’t happen.
“Here, let me get that,” Atsumu says, taking Kiyoomi’s duffle bag and slinging it over his own shoulder. Kiyoomi lets him, momentarily stunned at the sight of him.
Kiyoomi doesn’t know how to just be friends with Atsumu. They’ve been intimate for almost four years. Kiyoomi knows every inch of Atsumu’s body, from the scar on his right knee from when he fell off a bike at age ten, to the small beauty mark on his left hip bone. He remembers how Atsumu’s voice goes hoarse when he’s about to come, and what it feels like to have all of Atsumu draped over him.
Yeah, this won’t be easy. Kiyoomi decides to take Atsumu’s lead.
Atsumu gets them a taxi, and they take the short ride to the center of Onomichi. Atsumu asks about Kiyoomi’s train ride, and eventually Kiyoomi turns to look out of the window in awe.
He’s never been to Onomichi before, but he’s suddenly entranced by it. It’s a port city, tucked at the base of a lush mountainside. In the distance, peaking over the tops of trees, there’s a gorgeous temple. Kiyoomi can also see the Senkōji Ropeway that brings passengers up and down the mountain. As they travel downward and draw closer to the sea, they pass rows and rows of houses separated by narrow streets and winding pathways. Kiyoomi can tell just by looking that the town has a relaxed feel and isn’t too crowded, which is probably why Atsumu likes vacationing here. It seems like the perfect escape, a pocket of sleepy seaside paradise.
They’re dropped off at the bottom of the city, by the water. When they get out of the taxi with Kiyoomi’s bags, Kiyoomi pauses for a moment to fish something out of his suitcase. Atsumu looks at him with amusement as he pulls out a disposable camera.
Kiyoomi smiles sheepishly. “My cousin Motoya insisted.”
Atsumu shrugs. “Can’t think of a better place to take pictures.”
Kiyoomi points the camera toward the water, capturing the islands of the Seto Inland Sea and the cargo ships passing by. The strong afternoon light shimmers on the water. Atsumu’s right; it’s spectacular to look at.
Kiyoomi glances at Atsumu, who’s smiling softly at him, his crewneck ruffling in the light breeze. Kiyoomi raises the camera and takes a picture of Atsumu with the beautiful view behind him.
“Hey, I wasn’t ready,” Atsumu protests around a surprised chuckle. “Get my good side.”
“Arrogant,” Kiyoomi chides, placing the camera back in his bag instead of snapping another picture. He’s sure that he’s going to want to take a lot of pictures of Atsumu, so he needs to pace himself.
As they walk toward their destination, Atsumu tells Kiyoomi that his aunt has lived in Onomichi since the early ‘90s, and that she runs a popular bar. There’s a small apartment on top of the bar that they’ll be staying in. A few people greet them as they turn down the sidestreet, knowing Atsumu by name as if he lives here full time.
The bar is a quaint, compact two-story building with a blue tiled roof and wooden paneling exterior. There’s a lantern hanging by the door. It’s a little rustic but ultimately charming. Kiyoomi spots two tiny bowls on the ground, and he wonders if Atsumu’s aunt feeds some of the local cats.
Atsumu uses his keys to unlock the front door, letting them inside.
“The bar opens in an hour, just about,” Atsumu says. “Figured we could drop your bags off and then get some food.”
Kiyoomi nods, looking around the dimly lit bar. “Sounds good to me, I’m starving.”
A door in the back reveals a stairwell that takes them to the second floor. There’s a small genkan, and Atsumu explains that the bathroom’s to the left and a small kitchen is to the right. In front of them are two other doors, leading to the bedrooms.
“Left one’s yours,” Atsumu tells him.
Kiyoomi enters, immediately noticing how neat it is. There’s just a bed, dresser, and nightstand.
“It’s very clean,” Kiyoomi notes.
“Should be, I scrubbed it down for ya,” Atsumu says. He points to the nightstand, saying, “There’s disinfectant wipes and spare masks in the drawer, just in case.”
Kiyoomi looks at Atsumu, temporarily struck frozen by the thoughtfulness. They’ve only ever hooked up in Kiyoomi’s own dorm, which is always cleaned to his standards and not something Atsumu ever had to bother with. Kiyoomi likes that Atsumu had thought to do this for him, knowing it would make Kiyoomi more comfortable. But he guesses it’s not that surprising, Atsumu has always been incredibly observant. Still, Kiyoomi’s grateful his mask is concealing his blush.
“Thank you,” Kiyoomi says sincerely.
Atsumu lightly tugs the sleeve of Kiyoomi’s jacket, a small teasing gesture, and Kiyoomi’s stomach flutters at the first touch they’ve shared in months. “‘Course, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says with a wink.
Kiyoomi isn’t quite sure how he’s going to survive four days and three nights in Onomichi.
***
They spend the rest of the afternoon browsing through Hondori Shopping Street, and Kiyoomi takes a few pictures with his disposable camera. Atsumu takes Kiyoomi to some of his favorite shops, and Kiyoomi particularly enjoys a vintage manga store. They grab dinner at a ramen shop, one that Atsumu says is famous for special Onomichi ramen. Atsumu pays, and they chat about Kiyoomi’s upcoming term.
It’s dusk when they walk back to the bar. The deep blues and purples of the sky make the city almost look ethereal, but with this comes a stronger breeze. Kiyoomi crosses his arms over his chest, and he almost startles when he feels Atsumu press a little closer, their shoulders brushing. Before, Kiyoomi would’ve called Atsumu out on it and Atsumu would’ve said that they needed to conserve warmth and that he definitely had no ulterior motive. Now, Kiyoomi says nothing.
Atsumu’s hand dangles at his side, and for a brief moment Kiyoomi considers lacing their fingers together. Atsumu loves holding hands, and Kiyoomi has grown to love it too. He especially loves it when Atsumu threads their fingers during sex, pinning Kiyoomi’s hands above his head. Atsumu loves it even more when Kiyoomi flips them over and returns the favor. He pictures the look on Atsumu’s face as he gazes up at Kiyoomi, so clearly aroused and endeared, cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink.
Kiyoomi nearly trips over himself at the memory, but luckily they make it to the bar. Kiyoomi spots two cats eating out of the bowls left outside, now filled with cat food. Atsumu points to the black one and says, “that’s Yin,” and then points to the white one and says, “that’s Yang.”
“Clever,” Kiyoomi deadpans, but he still snaps a picture.
Atsumu’s laugh is lost when he opens the door and the sounds of a noisy bar hits Kiyoomi’s ears. The lighting is dim, warm and inviting, and the mood is jovial. The bar is decently full; there looks to be a few couples, and there’s a table of guys chatting happily with the woman behind the bar, who must be Atsumu’s aunt.
Atsumu introduces them, and Kiyoomi thanks her for her hospitality. Atsumu’s aunt, Ose Kasumi, is a beautiful woman with barely-graying dark brown hair cropped at her jaw. She welcomes Kiyoomi with a bright laugh and a sturdy handshake. She explains that she normally rents out the apartment in the summer, but she’s more than happy to let her nephews and their friends stay in the spring.
“Let me get you boys a drink,” she says with a wink, going to grab glasses.
Kiyoomi takes a seat beside Atsumu beside the bar, happy that not many people are sitting near them. He pulls his mask below his chin. Ose gets them beer, and chats with them for a while before joining some of her patrons at their table for a drink.
“She’s somehow exactly what I imagined,” Kiyoomi says once they’re alone.
Atsumu chuckles into his beer, setting it down with an ahh. He rests his forearms on the bar and leans slightly closer to Kiyoomi. “She’s cool. I could tell she liked ya,” he says, eyes crinkling. Atsumu’s eyes are glimmering in this lighting, like pools of warm amber. He’s a little looser now, just starting his third beer.
“You look good, Omi,” Atsumu says, a touch softer. Atsumu’s eyes flicker down to Kiyoomi’s jacket, trailing down Kiyoomi’s arms, before returning eye-contact. “Is this new?”
Kiyoomi’s heart beats a little faster at the attention. He doesn’t know if Atsumu is flirting with him just because, or if Atsumu is rethinking the whole “just friends” thing.
“Let’s talk about you,” Kiyoomi says to change the subject. “You won the goddamn Japan Series and haven’t bragged about it once.”
Atsumu barks out a laugh. “I’m goin’ for humble these days.”
“It doesn’t suit you.”
“Mean,” Atsumu tsks, then releases a long hum and takes another sip of beer. “Yeah, it’s pretty fuckin’ cool we won,” he says finally, setting his beer down, the pride evident on his face. Kiyoomi’s always been good at reading his expressions, especially when Atsumu is always so obvious.
“Not to mention you’ve won Rookie of the Year.”
Atsumu’s cheeks flush deeper. “Now you’re just butterin’ me up.”
Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “It’s just impressive,” he says, “but not exactly surprising. You know you’re good, so I’m guessing the humbleness was just your way of fishing for compliments anyway.”
Atsumu moves his gaze to his drink, tapping his thumb against the mug he’s drinking from. “You know me too well, huh?” he says quietly, a little fond. He takes off his cap and places it on the bar, ruffling his bleached waves. He looks downright gorgeous in this lighting when he glances back at Kiyoomi. “Well, I’m only as good as my last game,” he says, smirking.
Now that Atsumu’s ego is stroked, Kiyoomi isn’t necessarily surprised by his next question.
“So, talkin’ to anyone?”
“Talking?”
Atsumu shrugs, smiling. “Datin’.”
Kiyoomi gives a curt, “No,” before taking a generous sip of his own drink.
“No one? Not even hookin’ up?”
Kiyoomi places his mug down, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly through a drop of condensation.“There’s no time to date and I don’t like casual sex, you know that,” Kiyoomi says, even though someone could definitely describe what he had been doing with Atsumu for years as casual sex. Not that Kiyoomi views it like that.
Kiyoomi’s also not necessarily embarrassed to admit to Atsumu that he hasn’t even attempted to meet someone new. Atsumu already knows that Kiyoomi’s only ever been with him. Part of Kiyoomi’s wondered if that factored into Atsumu’s decision to end their sexual relationship, if he was maybe turned off by it. But Kiyoomi suspects that knowledge has only flattered Atsumu more than anything.
“You’re in college,” Atsumu says with a laugh. “You hafta, ya know,” he waves a hand around, “experiment.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Kiyoomi drawls.
A pleasant silence falls over them for a moment. Kiyoomi focuses on the honey of Atsumu’s eyes and the comfortable chatter of the bar. Atsumu bumps his knee against Kiyoomi’s, once, twice, and then keeps it there. His knee pressed there is a warm, tempting weight. Kiyoomi’s stomach kicks.
“Not gonna ask if I’m seein’ anyone?” Atsumu teases, voice lower, his eyes sharpening under the brim of his cap.
Kiyoomi smiles. “There’s no point. If you were then you would’ve brought them here instead of me.”
“Maybe they’re just busy,” Atsumu says, but his smile gives him away. “Maybe they’d be jealous if they knew you were here with me.” Suddenly the spot where their knees are touching feels like it’s burning.
There it is again, that terribly nostalgic flirting. Kiyoomi’s not sure what it is, but he finds that he’s always drawn in too easily by Atsumu’s magnetism. Atsumu seems to give just enough affection to make you feel special and want to chase him. Like how he told Kiyoomi they’re just friends, yet here Atsumu is so blatantly flirting with him, as if the door is right open for Kiyoomi to walk through. Atsumu is a nasty tease. Kiyoomi kind of can’t stand how much it affects him.
It’s the reason Kiyoomi’s even in Onomichi after all. Just the idea of being with Atsumu again had been too tempting to give up.
The thing is, Kiyoomi realizes quite suddenly that he doesn’t want to be hurt. Not by Atsumu. Kiyoomi knows if he gets his hopes raised too high, then the fall from Atsumu not wanting to be with him would be devastating.
Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, then downs the last of his drink. He places his empty mug down with a sigh. “Alright, I’m going to bed,” he tells Atsumu. “Staying down here?”
Atsumu clears his throat and retracts his knee. “Yeah, I think I’ll have another drink and play cards with some of the guys. Don’t let the bedbugs bite, Omi.”
Kiyoomi doesn’t dignify that with a reaction. He just nods and asks Atsumu to thank his aunt again for the drinks. He gives Atsumu one last long look before he turns to head for the stairs. He feels Atsumu’s eyes on him the whole time. It's hard not to turn around but Kiyoomi manages.
***
Some time during the night, Kiyoomi wakes to the sound of something hitting the ground. It startles him, and after a moment of staring into a dark room, he hears something else hit the floor. He really doesn’t care that much to investigate, he’d rather go back to sleep, but he’s suddenly a little concerned that a bar patron wandered up here. Rubbing his tired eyes, he emerges from his room and sees that the bathroom light is on. He finds Atsumu there.
Atsumu is not wearing his cap now, it’s on the sink counter, so Kiyoomi sees that his hair really has grown out. In fact, there’s a pair of scissors in his hand.
One look at his flushed face and goofy smile tells Kiyoomi that Atsumu is drunk. Playing cards must’ve been a good time.
“Sorry, knocked over somethin’,” Atsumu says. And as if anticipating Kiyoomi’s question, he adds, “Hair’s gettin’ a little long so I’m givin’ myself a trim.”
“In the middle of the night?”
“It’s, like, not even 2, Omi-kun. Live a little.”
Kiyoomi sighs. Atsumu typically cares a lot about his appearance, so if he got it in his head that he needs a haircut then it kind of explains the urgency. Kiyoomi imagines that he wants the trim to not look completely horrible in the end.
“I’ll do it,” Kiyoomi offers.
Atsumu’s brows shoot up. “You know how to cut hair?”
“Not really, but better someone else do it than yourself.” Kiyoomi isn’t ready to be woken back up by the sound of Atsumu accidentally stabbing himself.
“Ya got me there,” Atsumu laughs. “Okay fine, but if ya fuck up my hair I’ll drown ya in the sea.”
“If I had to hear you complain about a stupid haircut then I would go into the sea willingly.”
That makes Atsumu laugh harder, and Kiyoomi would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a small burst of pride for being able to make Atsumu laugh. It’s a nice laugh to listen to.
“Get a chair,” Kiyoomi says once Atsumu’s laughter dies out.
Kiyoomi takes the scissors as Atsumu stumbles out of the bathroom. Once Atsumu returns with a stool and sits on it, Kiyoomi shuffles into the small bathroom. There’s newspaper half-hazardly strewn on the ground. Only one of the light bulbs works, apparently, so it’s almost too dim to see properly. The ambient light makes everything feel entirely too intimate when Kiyoomi settles himself behind Atsumu. Atsumu looks into the mirror to watch Kiyoomi, who looks at his own reflection and sees that his own hair is a little frazzled from sleep.
Kiyoomi takes a deep breath, refocusing on Atsumu’s hair. There’s a light wave to it from being shoved under his hat all day, but it still smells like whatever shampoo Atsumu used in the shower this morning. Something reminiscent of sandalwood. It’s the smell that Kiyoomi used to dread washing out of his pillowcases.
Kiyoomi starts by using his fingers to untangle Atsumu’s hair, but drunk-Atsumu goes with the motion and tips his head back. Kiyoomi grips Atsumu’s hair and forces his head forward, causing Atsumu to make a startled sound in the back of his throat.
“Keep your head straight,” Kiyoomi orders.
“Yessir,” Atsumu quips, and they make eye contact in the mirror. Atsumu gives Kiyoomi a shit-eating grin and Kiyoomi has no doubt that Atsumu did that on purpose.
Kiyoomi slowly trims the ends of Atsumu’s hair, trying to follow what his barber has done previously. Atsumu is surprisingly patient and still, but Kiyoomi is very aware of Atsumu staring at him in the mirror. Everytime Kiyoomi glances in the mirror and their eyes meet for a fleeting moment, heat creeps up his neck. Kiyoomi forces his gaze down, not allowing himself to indulge in the eye contact. He might do something stupid if he does.
“Hey,” Atsumu says softly. “Omi-kun.”
Kiyoomi hums in response, pulling another lock of hair taunt and snipping the ends.
“Did’ya miss me?”
“We text every day.”
“It’s not the same as hangin’ out,” Atsumu counters.
Kiyoomi snorts. “Is that what you’d call what we used to do? Hanging out?”
Atsumu smirks in the mirror, his eyes playful. “What would you call it?”
Kiyoomi doesn’t respond, partly because he’s not sure what he would even say. Atsumu smiles properly now, big and a little crooked with that tiny dimple forming on his left cheek; Kiyoomi’s favorite smile. Atsumu backs off and asks, “How’d you get into baseball?”
“You’re horrible at changing the subject,” Kiyoomi sighs, breaking eye contact to resume trimming his hair. “And I’ve told you, my cousin convinced me to join his youth team when we were kids. He said something stupid like if I don’t learn how to play nice with others then I’ll die alone. We were seven.”
Atsumu laughs at this, and Kiyoomi can’t help but smile too. Kiyoomi still remembers the first time he tried on a pitcher’s glove, asked to play the position because all the other kids wanted to catch in the field or hit the ball. The glove felt uncomfortable on his skin at first, but he was sort of mesmerized by the intricate stitching. It had been complete luck when his first pitch was a nasty slider that duped the batter. Motoya had looked at Kiyoomi in shock from where he stood on third. Kiyoomi didn’t even know what that pitch was called yet, but the flexibility in his double-jointed wrist allowed him to accidentally put a beautiful spin on the ball.
“Yeah I know that,” Atsumu says, “but how did you get into it? Fuckin’ menace that ya are.”
Kiyoomi knows Atsumu well enough to know what he’s truly asking. Kiyoomi fell in love with baseball, with pitching , when he realized he didn’t want a good pitch to be complete luck, or an accident. He wanted to hone his craft and make every ball count. He’s trained hard since he was seven, and he’s undoubtedly competitive. Maybe to a fault. Atsumu has jokingly called him a control freak, and maybe that’s part of it too.
“Well, I guess I just don’t give up,” Kiyoomi says slowly, raking his fingers through Atsumu’s soft waves, “once something interests me. Baseball is one of the only things that keeps my interest, so I’d like to see where it goes.”
Atsumu smiles into the mirror. “Yeah? What else catches your interest?”
You, Kiyoomi wants to say. Atsumu has caught Kiyoomi’s interest in a way that no one else has. Not only is practicing with Atsumu exciting, but every moment he’s spent with Atsumu off the field is too.
Kiyoomi doesn’t answer right away, placing the scissors on the counter and leaning down so his head is beside Atsumu’s. He runs his fingers through Atsumu’s waves, admiring the cut, admiring how fucking beautiful Atsumu looks like this; flushed and happy. Kiyoomi’s heart thumps painfully fast as their eyes meet in the mirror, and his chest presses into Atsumu’s warm back.
“Well?” Atsumu murmurs, eyes narrowing slightly, like he dares Kiyoomi to say what they’re both thinking.
And maybe Kiyoomi should, because then all he would have to do next is tilt Atsumu’s chin up and kiss him. He could easily straddle Atsumu, and get them both off with his hand. He knows Atsumu wants it, Kiyoomi’s not a fucking idiot. Kiyoomi wants it too, so badly, but…what if Atsumu regrets it tomorrow?
Kiyoomi whispers, “Atsumu, why did you invite me to Onomichi?”
Atsumu huffs out a little laugh. “We’re friends,” he says, in that same stupid, amused tone he used on the phone when he initially invited Kiyoomi.
Like he’s got some inside joke that Kiyoomi doesn’t understand. Like fucking Kiyoomi tonight is all that he wants.
Whatever magnetizing, expanding feeling that was blooming in Kiyoomi’s chest deflates. Right now Atsumu is acting like he’s playing some fucked up game with Kiyoomi’s feelings, and Kiyoomi refuses to be a regret.
“Have a good night then, friend,” Kiyoomi mutters, breaking eye contact and straightening so that their faces aren’t practically touching anymore. Anything to mask the hurt he feels.
“Hey, don’t be like that,” Atsumu says, trying to reach out and touch Kiyoomi’s arm but Kiyoomi pulls away.
“You’re welcome for the haircut.”
Kiyoomi once again feels the heat of Atsumu’s gaze on him as he exits the bathroom. That small bubble of hope still lingers in Kiyoomi’s chest, and he wonders if Atsumu will go after him and do something incredible like confess.
Atsumu doesn’t call his name, though, or knock on his door to talk after Kiyoomi shuts it. Kiyoomi buries himself under the covers and hears the muffled sounds of Atsumu stumbling into his own bedroom and slamming the door.
When Kiyoomi finally falls asleep again, he dreams of hands ghosting down his stomach, thumbs digging into his hips, and pretty brown eyes glancing up at him. It’s kind of a nightmare to want someone like this.
3.
If Kiyoomi didn’t know how sickeningly attentive and observant Atsumu is, even when he’s drunk, then he’d think Atsumu had no memory of last night. He’s his normal, devil-may-care, self. There’s a happy glint in his eye as he tells Kiyoomi about their plans to take the Senkōji Ropeway up to the top of Mt. Senkōji today. He speaks with his hands as shares a memory of taking the ropeway for the first time with his family years ago.
It must have rained early in the morning, and it’s slightly overcast as their cable car soars into the misty sky and above the charming city. When Kiyoomi pauses to take a picture of the view outside the window, Atsumu teases that Kiyoomi should take a picture of him too. Kiyoomi violently rolls his eyes and says no (though he still takes a few to earn that stupidly handsome grin).
Kiyoomi almost forgets about last night too. It’s far too easy to get lost in the rhythm of their banter. Atsumu knows exactly what buttons to push, and Kiyoomi hates how much he likes it. As they reach the top of the mountain, they bicker about a call made in game 3 of the Japan Series. Atsumu swears that Meian struck one of the Falcon’s batters out but the umpire called it a ball. Kiyoomi dismisses this with a scoff, digging into Meian’s pitching and saying the umpire made the right call. It’s still a fun kind of banter, though, because the nice thing about Atsumu is that they can disagree about something but Atsumu never gets offended. The mood is still light as the conversation shifts to more of Atsumu’s memories made in Onomichi.
Together they go to the observation deck, and look out over the magnificent view of the port city. The clouds start to part as sunlight peaks through; Kiyoomi is entranced. He rarely gets to see sights like this in Tokyo.
Atsumu’s voice startles him. “Let me take one of you now.” Kiyoomi belatedly realizes that while he was watching the view, Atsumu was watching him.
Kiyoomi hesitates, gripping his disposable camera tighter. Atsumu reaches out and gently grazes his thumb down Kiyoomi’s knuckles, loosening his grip on the camera so he can take it. Kiyoomi’s heart jumps at the touch, not expecting it.
“Smile,” Atsumu says, aiming the camera, “C’mon, be a good boy.”
Kiyoomi’s cheeks flood with heat from that phrasing, used to hearing it in a completely different context. Kiyoomi clears his throat and tries his best to school his expression before he poses awkwardly, his lips pulling into a tight smile. Atsumu snaps a photo, then lowers it and points to something in the distance to the left of Kiyoomi.
“What’s that?” he asks.
Kiyoomi turns his head to catch a glimpse of whatever Atsumu’s talking about, but all he sees is the peaceful town below and the glittering sea.
Kiyoomi hears the camera snap again, whipping his head back to look at Atsumu.
“Oh, I know what that is,” he says, smirking. “It’s that real pretty side profile of yours, Omi-kun.”
Kiyoomi snatches the camera back. “What a comedian,” he deadpans.
Atsumu pouts. “Admit you think I’m funny.”
“You think I’m funny,” Kiyoomi retorts.
“No I don’t,” Atsumu scoffs, which Kiyoomi knows is a complete lie.
“Sure,” Kiyoomi snorts, walking away.
“Omi.”
Kiyoomi bites down his smile as they start their walk back down the mountain.
***
The first time they slept together, back when Kiyoomi was in his first year of university, he almost kicked Atsumu out of his dorm in the middle of it.
Not because of anything Atsumu was doing wrong. Quite the opposite.
Kiyoomi liked every moment they spent together. Atsumu had come over a few times when he was in Tokyo for a game, not so subtly reaching out to Kiyoomi asking for Kiyoomi to show him around his school. Atsumu hadn’t spent the night in the beginning, they just ended up making out in Kiyoomi’s dorm until Kiyoomi said he had homework to do and Atsumu needed to leave. The furthest they ever got was a few handjobs here and there. If Atsumu was ever offended at being essentially kicked out, he didn’t show it. He was always more than happy to come over again.
But then Atsumu asked if he could crash at Kiyoomi’s dorm for the night, not wanting to make the trek back to the hotel MSBY was staying at until morning. Kiyoomi wasn’t dumb; he knew what that implied.
The idea of going all the way was a little terrifying, but Kiyoomi wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. He did his research (watched a ridiculous amount of porn) and stocked up on condoms and lube (he was glad his mask hid his fierce blush at the checkout counter). He invited Atsumu over to stay the night, and everything started out the same- with Atsumu in his bed, draped over him, kissing Kiyoomi breathless. Atsumu rolled his hips against Kiyoomi’s, and Kiyoomi involuntarily groaned from the sensation.
“Now that’s a pretty sound,” Atsumu mumbled against his lips, rolling his hips again.
Kiyoomi felt like his entire body was on fire, and like his reactions were completely out of his control. Panic flared in his chest, and he pushed Atsumu and sat up. Atsumu blinked, a little confused, as he pulled away from Kiyoomi.
“Omi-kun,” Atsumu said with a laugh, his voice husky now, “we don’t hafta- ya know-”
“You need to shower,” Kiyoomi blurted out. Atsumu blinked again. “I need to shower too. But….separately…sorry,” Kiyoomi ended lamely.
Atsumu didn’t answer right away, his cheeks flushed and his lips swollen from kissing. Kiyoomi expected Atsumu to get pissed off at the interruption, pissed off at Kiyoomi’s demands, and leaving.
That’s not what happened.
Atsumu was surprisingly patient, letting Kiyoomi take the first shower. Kiyoomi used the shower time to not only clean himself thoroughly, but mentally prepare himself for what was to come. For the vulnerability of letting Miya Atsumu be his first time.
Then Atsumu took his shower, emerging with a towel wrapped around his waist and dry hair. “Is it okay that I didn't wash my hair?” Atsumu had asked him. “Didn’t think your products would agree with the bleach.”
Kiyoomi had been momentarily struck speechless at having a nearly naked Atsumu just a foot away from him, droplets of water cascading down his toned chest, face flushed from the hot shower. “That’s okay,” Kiyoomi said quietly. “Maybe you could bring your own, next time.”
“Next time?” Atsumu said with a smile.
Kiyoomi swallowed. Right. They’d have to get through this time first. Atsumu let the conversation fall away as he joined Kiyoomi on the bed.
In retrospect, that first time would probably be considered unremarkable in the grand scheme of their sex lives. While Atsumu had a little more experience than Kiyoomi, they were still so young. They probably both came too fast, and the cleanup afterwards was probably awkward too. They did it again in the morning, before Atsumu had to leave. That time was probably a little better, Kiyoomi doesn’t remember the specifics.
What Kiyoomi does remember when he thinks back to the first time Atsumu spent the night is the patience Atsumu had shown him. He remembers how Atsumu took the lead and talked him through it, letting Kiyoomi take as many pauses as he wanted. He remembers how it felt to have Atsumu’s fingers inside of him for the first time, and how gentle Atsumu was until Kiyoomi explicitly begged for more. He remembers the restraint Atsumu showed when he first pressed in, letting Kiyoomi adjust properly. Those little things have stuck to Kiyoomi even after all this time.
I just want you to feel good, Omi-kun. Tell me what feels good.
That’s what he remembers Atsumu saying. He doesn’t think he could’ve had his first time with anyone else.
After that they fell into an easy rhythm, a mutual understanding. Atsumu would come over when he was in Tokyo, and Kiyoomi would invite him to spend the night. It got easier, the vulnerability. They learned every button that the other liked having pushed, they learned what got each other off. They didn’t put a label on what they were doing, but for a long time Kiyoomi didn’t care. He had an extremely busy schedule, and so did Atsumu.
Even so, between mountains of homework and grueling baseball practices, Kiyoomi always looked forward to the nights he got to see Atsumu.
***
After a long day exploring different attractions throughout Onomichi, Atsumu asks if Kiyoomi wants to join him by the beach. Kiyoomi agrees, looking forward to winding down.
After changing into more appropriate beach attire- swim shorts and crewnecks- they head over. A few of the locals are barbecuing on a portable grill, and they have it set up for people to come by, sit, and eat. There’s some kids tossing around a volleyball, and the adults are drinking and joking around. Atsumu introduces Kiyoomi to them, because of course Atsumu knows all of them.
Kiyoomi sets up his blanket a little ways from the group, pulling out the book he brought along to read. He tries to ignore Atsumu, who’s now drinking a beer and chatting with some guys who are grilling. He still finds himself glancing over to catch a glimpse. Atsumu looks good ; the sunset creates a warm glow on his tanned skin, and Kiyoomi gets to see those enticing thighs made strong from catching.
Kiyoomi remembers leaving a particularly nasty bruise on those thighs once last summer, and Atsumu complained so much about having to wear pants on his commute home. Kiyoomi had to remind him that he practically begged to be marked, but Atsumu vehemently denied it. Now those thighs are mark-free. What a shame.
Atsumu eventually interrupts Kiyoomi’s reading to hand him a plate of food and a beer.
“Stop bein’ a hermit,” Atsumu tsks.
Kiyoomi smiles up at Atsumu, shielding his eyes from the last rays of sunlight with his hand. “Join me then,” he offers.
Atsumu does, sitting beside Kiyoomi with his own plate of food. Kiyoomi’s legs are outstretched, but Atsumu sits cross-legged and presses his knee into Kiyoomi’s thigh. They’ve never shied away from casual touches, so Kiyoomi wonders if Atsumu can even help it.
Kiyoomi is a little surprised when Atsumu brings up last night.
“Your haircuttin’ skills are shit, by the way,” Atsumu chuckles into a sip of beer. “I looked in the mirror this mornin’ and thought I got attacked by Edward-fuckin’-Scissorhands in my sleep.”
Kiyoomi jabs Atsumu in the side. “Liar. I did a great job.”
Atsumu elbows him back. “Ya want proof?” he asks, and Kitoomi watches as Atsumu takes his hat off and ruffles his tousled hair. “See?”
“You’re delusional,” Kiyoomi says, reaching over and running his fingers through Atsumu’s hair, pushing it into more of a style. It’s not a perfect cut, but Kiyoomi thinks he did alright.
Kiyoomi’s eyes fall to meet Atsumu’s gaze, and almost startles when he sees that Atsumu is already looking at him and smiling softly. Kiyoomi inhales, his fingers involuntarily tightening in Atsumu’s hair. Atsumu smiles encouragingly, and Kiyoomi loosens his grip to graze his fingers down Atsumu’s warm cheek. Kiyoomi’s eyes flicker to Atsumu’s mouth, that plush, pink mouth that has driven Kiyoomi crazy in a million different ways.
Kiyoomi really, really wants to kiss him. It’s like he can’t think of anything else now that he can’t.
“Atsumu-”
Kiyoomi hears a scream right as a volleyball hits their blanket. They startle, and Kiyoomi rips his hand away as he looks over at the kids running up to them. One of them shouts sorry before grabbing the volleyball and running off with their friends.
Kiyoomi looks back at Atsumu, who’s now looking at the kids in amusement.
“Me and ‘Samu used to do the same thing,” Atsumu laughs.
Kiyoomi stares down at the plate of food in his lap, his heart beating so loudly he feels it in his fingertips.
“You okay, Omi?” Atsumu murmurs after another beat of silence, bringing his hand to Kiyoomi’s back. The reassurance touch is almost painful.
“Yeah,” Kiyoomi mutters, and at that moment they’re interrupted again by people asking about Atsumu’s Japan Series win. Atsumu retracts his hand, and strangely enough that hurts too.
***
They don’t get another moment alone until hours later, when they get back to Ose’s bar in excruciating silence. The sun has long set, and the bar is full of patrons.
“Want a drink?” Atsumu asks Kiyoomi.
“Not really,” Kiyoomi says, brushing him off and heading upstairs.
Atsumu follows him this time. The upstairs apartment is quiet and dark, so Kiyoomi flicks on the hallway light then makes his way to the bathroom to shower.
“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu says, like a plea.
Kiyoomi stops in his tracks. The short hairs of his nape stand, his skin prickling from hearing his full name said like that, honest and a little desperate.
Kiyoomi turns around and looks at Atsumu, whose nose is slightly pink from the sun.
“Just say it,” Atsumu says.
“Excuse me?”
Atsumu takes a step toward him. “Say I’m bein’ a dick. I know you want to.”
Kiyoomi’s brows flatten. “If you know you’re being a dick then I don’t need to say it. Is this supposed to be an apology?”
“Just tell me.”
“You’re impossible,” Kiyoomi sighs. Atsumu comes even closer, and Kiyoomi lets him.
Atsumu brings his hands to Kiyoomi’s shoulders, smoothly down his arms and takes his hands. Atsumu laces their fingers and Kiyoomi exhales, his eyes trained on Atsumu’s face even though Atsumu is watching their joined hands.
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi murmurs, “you’re being a dick again.”
“I know,” Atsumu says with a tight-lipped smile, meeting Kiyoomi’s gaze. He squeezes Kiyoomi’s hands and says, “I thought it’d be easier, when I invited you here. Honest.”
“Easier to do what?”
“Not want you like this.”
Kiyoomi’s heart squeezes painfully. “And how’s that?”
For a moment they say nothing, and Kiyoomi is aware of how hard he’s breathing. Atsumu looks at Kiyoomi like he’s asking for permission, intense and hooded. Kiyoomi doesn’t know what face he’s making, not when it feels like the air practically sizzles between them.
“Like this,” Atsumu says finally, dropping Kiyoomi’s hands to cup his face instead, bringing their mouths together.
Kiyoomi sighs into it, the relief he feels melting the tension in his limbs. He bunches his hands in Atsumu’s crewneck and stumbles them backwards, gasping when his back hits the wall.
“I want you,” Atsumu repeats, soft and assured. “I want you, Omi.”
He said it. He really said it.
“You’ve had me this whole time, idiot,” Kiyoomi tells him.
Atsumu kisses him again, his thumb coaxing Kiyoomi’s jaw to relax. It’s familiar and intoxicating when Kiyoomi lets him in, lets their tongues brush and Atsumu groans. Atsumu isn’t shy with his touch, moving his hands under Kiyoomi’s crewneck and squeezing the meat of his waist. Kiyoomi winds his arms around Atsumu’s shoulders, bringing him closer with a hand to his nape.
Five months apart has done nothing to dull this. The reassuring familiarity of their kiss quickly turns frantic, especially when Atsumu shoves his thigh between Kiyoomi’s legs and presses down firmly. Kiyoomi drinks him in, indulging in every touch and kiss. He savors it in a way he’s never had to before.
Kiyoomi is a little kiss drunk when Atsumu goes down on his knees and brings Kiyoomi’s swim shorts down in one, smooth motion.
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi mumbles, his heart in his throat as he gazes down at Atsumu. Atsumu’s eyes are doe-like when he looks up at Kiyoomi, and then he takes Kiyoomi in his mouth. Kiyoomi gasps, squeezing his eyes shut as he throws his head back.
Kiyoomi bites his lip when he finally looks down again. Miya Atsumu sucking cock is a sight that Kiyoomi has committed to memory, but it still does something sick and delightful to him. Atsumu sucks dick like he loves it, like he can’t get enough. He moans like he’s the one being touched, and his thumbs are digging painfully into Kiyoomi’s hips. It’ll bruise, surely, but Kiyoomi already can’t wait to be marked like this again.
Kiyoomi loses himself in the pleasure, and he vaguely wonders if he could ever feel this good, or be this vulnerable, with anyone else. He doubts it.
Kiyoomi bites his lip to stop from moaning as he threads his fingers in Atsumu’s hair, pulling at the root of Atsumu’s hair. Kiyoomi steadily thrusts into his mouth, burying himself deeper and deeper in Atsumu’s throat.
Sucking Kiyoomi off is one of Atsumu’s favorite things they do together. Kiyoomi would assume that Atsumu is just generous, if he didn’t know just how much it gets Atsumu off too.
Atsumu suddenly groans, taking Kiyoomi all the way to the hilt and forcing Kiyoomi’s orgasm to hit him by surprise. It has been awhile, after all. Atsumu strokes him through it, murmuring soft praises.
When Atsumu stands and returns to his mouth, Kiyoomi can do nothing but accept Atsumu’s slow kiss. Kiyoomi moves one of his hands to Atsumu’s shorts and it hits him- Atsumu came in his shorts.
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi murmurs, his eyes blinking open, a little hazy.
“You taste so good,” Atsumu groans, pressing into Kiyoomi again as he kisses a little rougher. Kiyoomi can taste himself on Atsumu’s tongue and- holy shit- Kiyoomi has missed Atsumu so, so much.
They manage another few minutes of kissing before Kiyoomi complains about needing to shower. Atsumu joins him, not able to keep his eyes or hands off Kiyoomi. Even though the shower is arguably too tiny for two grown men, they’re used to it because Kiyoomi’s shower in his dorm room is even smaller. Between shampooing each other’s hair and soaping each other up, they get off a second time from Kiyoomi’s hand. Kiyoomi jerks them off as Atsumu mouths at his neck and mutters how much he’s missed Kiyoomi, how precious Kiyoomi is, and a lot of other addicting things that Kiyoomi will never forget long after tonight.
It’s like a dam has broken. Now that Kiyoomi has access to all of Atsumu again he can’t get enough. Kiyoomi wakes in the middle of the night restless and horny. Atsumu’s scent and warmth is too overwhelming. They’ve done this before- it was the best way to make the most of their limited time together- so Kiyoomi feels comfortable stroking a slumbering Atsumu to full hardness. Atsumu wakes with a whine as his dick throbs in Kiyoomi’s hand. His eyes peel open and he looks at Kiyoomi with something like wonder. Atsumu returns the favor by eating Kiyoomi out until he cries. Kiyoomi doesn’t last long.
Kiyoomi drifts off to sleep as Atsumu carefully cleans him up with a warm, damp cloth. Atsumu settles behind him and pulls him tightly against his chest.
When Kiyoomi dreams, it’s a memory of that game in high school where Kiyoomi struck Atsumu out and he cornered Kiyoomi afterwards. It’s the best sleep he’s had in months.
4.
Kiyoomi feels light when he wakes, there’s no other way to explain it. They ended up in Atsumu’s room the night before, so Kiyoomi has the luxury of rolling over and smelling Atsumu’s shampoo on his pillow. The bed’s empty, but Kiyoomi can hear someone moving around somewhere in the apartment.
He eventually drags himself out of bed and puts on his boxers. There’s a slight chill in the apartment, so Kiyoomi pulls on the first hoodie he finds- one of Atsumu’s. After brushing his teeth and washing his face in the tiny bathroom, he moves further into the apartment.
He finds Atsumu in the small kitchen, looking lovely and bright. The morning light catches on his bleached hair like a sunburst, and his bare back is broad as he leans against the counter. It smells like coffee and savory food.
Atsumu turns with a grin when he hears Kiyoomi come in, and Kiyoomi doesn’t hesitate to loop his arms around Atsumu’s waist and kiss him.
Atsumu chuckles, momentarily ruining the kiss.
“Idiot, kiss me,” Kiyoomi grumbles.
Atsumu kisses his cheek. “I almost forgot how grumpy ya are in the mornin’,” he whispers.
“Shut up.”
Atsumu indulges Kiyoomi anyway, because Kiyoomi knows that he wants to kiss too. Atsumu’s the one who got him addicted to it for fucks sake.
Once Kiyoomi is sufficiently warmed and pleased, he leans into Atsumu and drops his head to Atsumu's shoulder. Atsumu holds him, and for a moment it’s like they’re about to dance.
“Did’ja bring your glove?” Atsumu asks softly, running a gentle hand up Kiyoomi’s back.
“Yes, you told me to,” Kiyoomi mumbles into his neck.
“Good, there’s a game today. We’re starters.”
Kiyoomi pops his head up. “A baseball game?”
Atsumu smiles. “Some of the guys I know get together and play, they got teams and everything.”
Kiyoomi matches his smile. “I’m in. Prepare to eat shit.”
Atsumu pouts. “You don’t wanna be on the same team?”
“I never said that.”
Atsumu’s smile is gorgeous. “Are you sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’?”
Kiyoomi kisses him, feeling almost giddy.
After breakfast, Kiyoomi changes into a black, long-sleeve compression shirt, joggers, and sneakers. He packs his cleats and treasured black pitcher’s glove into a tote bag to carry with him.
He meets Atsumu downstairs, where he’s sat at the bar and chatting with his aunt as she wipes down the counter. Kiyoomi allows himself a moment to stare at Atsumu, who looks so good in a tight, white tank top and jeans. He’s wearing a black MSBY baseball cap today.
Ose wolf whistles when she sees Kiyoomi, saying, “Look at you. You two playin’ baseball today?”
Atsumu stands and slings a duffle bag over his chest. “You bet. I might have to go easy on Omi-kun though, only one of us has won a Japan Series.”
Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “Go easy on me and I’ll hit you with your own bat.”
“Who says I’m not into that?”
Kiyoomi sighs loudly before taking Atsumu’s hand and saying, “You’re bothering your poor aunt,” as he leads them toward the exit. He mutters a small apology to Ose.
“Take care you two!” Ose calls back, her laughter matching Atsumu’s.
***
Kiyoomi had never met a catcher like him before. Catchers were intelligent and attentive, but typically more reserved. At least the high school boys he had played against were.
Miya Atsumu was different. He had a cock-sure smile and didn’t hesitate to get chatty.
Batters on Kiyoomi’s team complained, but Kiyoomi never got a personal taste of Atsumu’s antics since he never batted.
The first time Kiyoomi’s high school team played Inarizaki High, Kiyoomi was keen on watching their star pitcher, Miya Osamu. Kiyoomi liked to observe other pitchers, criticizing their techniques in his mind and learning from them. Osamu was incredibly strong as a pitcher, with a killer fastball, and he always started with his brother Atsumu as his personal catcher. The two of them were considered a major threat, and they quickly made names for themselves for their battery. Kiyoomi could understand why, it was like they could read each other’s minds.
Kiyoomi still didn’t understand the allure of Atsumu, not at first. His twin seemed more talented, at least to someone with a pitcher’s eye like KIyoomi.
And then Kiyoomi pitched to Atsumu for the first time, when they were just fifteen.
Atsumu did something unusual; he paused a few feet away from the plate, took six deliberate steps toward it, then got into a swinging position. The kicker was the wink Atsumu sent Kiyoomi’s way. Kiyoomi felt a little uneasy, not sure what to make of him. The first ball Kiyoomi sent to him ended up being a triple, only because Atsumu was so fast that he soared past second base and slid to third just a millisecond before the ball got there. Kiyoomi learned the hard way that Atsumu wasn’t just a good catcher, he was a threat in every aspect of the game. When Atsumu stood and brushed off the front of his now ruined jersey, he laughed out loud. Like he pulled one over on everyone. Kiyoomi had never seen a player like that before.
There was something Kiyoomi couldn’t shake, and it was how badly the wink had affected him. He sent Atsumu the perfect ball for him to hit, totally by accident. He didn’t understand it fully, not for a few years, but this was what he was left with: Miya Atsumu’s mind was sharp and he could manipulate anyone on the field. Even Kiyoomi. Particularly Kiyoomi.
***
They take the ropeway to get to the field, which Atsumu explains is typically reserved for high school games but some of the locals play on the weekends. Kiyoomi feels a rush of excitement stepping onto the field, especially with Atsumu beside him.
This was their first connection; their love of the game; their competitiveness.
Kiyoomi can tell that Atsumu is excited too. Atsumu introduces Kiyoomi to all of the guys, and Kiyoomi immediately likes them from the way they bust Atsumu’s balls.
One of them who seems to know Atsumu the best, Kato, says, “Oh-ho, is this the famous Omi-kun we’ve heard so much about?”
Atsumu grins at Kiyoomi. “It’s about time we had a real pitcher.”
There’s a red and blue team, and Atsumu and Kiyoomi are delegated to the red team. After changing into their cleats, they’re given short-sleeved red jerseys, which Kiyoomi buttons and Atsumu doesn’t. Atsumu looks disturbingly good in the unbuttoned jersey and white tank top, and Kiyoomi can’t help but stare. Atsumu gives Kiyoomi a knowing smirk, but Kiyoomi couldn’t care less. He stares until Atsumu gets his catching gear on. Even then it’s a little hard to focus. It’s been months since they’ve practiced together for fun at a park in Tokyo, and years since they’ve played on the same field.
Atsumu saunters up to the pitcher’s mound and Kiyoomi feels another flutter of excitement. There’s two strips of eye black underneath his eyes, which Kiyoomi has always thought was weirdly attractive. He should hate it, especially when it gets smudged from sweat, but something about it still drives Kiyoomi crazy.
“These guys ain’t like us, but we don’t gotta go easy on ‘em either,” Atsumu says softly to Kiyoomi, so they’re not overheard. “Most of ‘em played in high school. I’m thinkin’ we use that pretty slider of yours. They’re probably expecting it so they’ll think we won’t use it, but I say we do and throw ‘em off. They’re not used to hittin’ pitches like yours, baby.”
Of course. Even in a game for fun Atsumu is relentless. Kiyoomi can see the fire in his eyes, the intense satisfaction he gets from being a catcher. Kiyoomi knows that Atsumu has taken note of everything, like the condition, strengths, and weaknesses of all of the players. He has a masterful grip on the field, and knows how to get the best out of everyone.
Kiyoomi had read in an article that Atsumu performed like a conductor during the Japan Series, and Kiyoomi is inclined to agree.
Kiyoomi is so attracted to him that it makes him a little sick.
“Got it?” Atsumu asks. “Need a rundown of my signals?”
“I got it, Miya,” Kiyoomi scoffs.
Atsumu grins and lowers his catcher's mask. He winks at Kiyoomi. “I know you do.”
Atsumu settles in the catcher’s box as the first hitter gets to the plate. Kiyoomi takes a few measured breaths, centering himself. He likes the grip he has on the ball, concealing it with his glove. His heart thumps faster when he locks eyes with Atsumu.
Atsumu raises his own glove a little higher, which would tell a casual player that Kiyoomi is about to send the ball high. The hitter even raises his bat slightly. Kiyoomi knows better, and pitches a slider that curves to the left instead. It happens faster than the hitter can even react, but Atsumu keeps up and moves his glove to the side just in time when the ball veers to the left. Kiyoomi would guess his slider was sitting somewhere around 92 mph until it slowed at the end. It’s a beautiful strike.
Kiyoomi can see Atsumu say something to the hitter and laugh, and the hitter just rolls his eyes and resets. It doesn’t matter, because Kiyoomi strikes him out, and the next batter, and the next one. Immediately there’s half-joking complaints that Atsumu and Kiyoomi need to be separated, but Atsumu asks if they’re sore losers and that stops the complaints.
Even in a game for fun, Kiyoomi feels spoiled to have Atsumu as his catcher. Kiyoomi doesn’t only pitch sliders, that would be too predictable no matter how nasty and fast they were. He relies on Atsumu to decide what’ll be thrown next by watching his signals, and it’s like Atsumu can read the hitter’s mind to divert their expectations. Kiyoomi feels so in sync with him that he doesn’t want the game to end.
Kiyoomi briefly fantasizes about what it would be like to truly hone their connection on the field, what it would be like to have Atsumu as his personal catcher. If they can pull this off during a rec game with little to no practice, he wonders what it would be like to get unlimited time to practice together. He wonders what it would be like for them to have a famous battery. It’s suddenly an addictive thought that Kiyoomi can’t shake.
The red team wins, and Atsumu teasingly asks Kiyoomi what he wants his prize to be.
Kiyoomi curls a hand around Atsumu’s nape and whispers in his ear, “You.”
***
Kiyoomi doesn’t get what he wants, not right away. Atsumu invites a few of the guys over to Ose’s bar to get some drinks. Kiyoomi has a sneaking suspicion that Atsumu just wants to see how needy Kiyoomi gets about it, especially since he knows that a few drinks is the quickest way to get Kiyoomi horny.
Kiyoomi, now those few drinks in, can barely follow the conversation, his mind clouded with anticipation of what’s to come. Atsumu ends up sitting across from him, his cap backwards now as he sips his beer. There’s some eye black on his skin still, not all of it entirely removed. It looks like a smudge, from sweat, and Kiyoomi imagines rubbing his thumb through it.
He doesn’t give a single fuck that he’s staring. Atsumu pretends to ignore it, for a while, until he finally sends a quick wink Kiyoomi’s way.
Kiyoomi’s body moves a little automatically. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s nudging his foot against Atsumu’s ankle, and a delicious thought flashes through his mind. For all the horrible teasing Atsumu has done over the last few days, doesn’t he deserve to be the victim of it now?
Kiyoomi glances around the table in an attempt to look like he’s listening, but really his hazy attention is focused on moving his foot up to Atsumu’s lap, pressing down on his soft cock.
Atsumu doesn’t startle, to Kiyoomi’s disappointment, but he does clear his throat and put his beer down. Then Atsumu smiles and says, “Kato, why don’t ya tell Omi-kun about that game we played last spring where I got two grand slams?”
Kiyoomi freezes, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on him.
Luckily Kato unknowingly takes the pressure off of Kiyoomi by turning it back on Atsumu, arguing that the second one didn’t count for whatever reason that Kiyoomi is too distracted to follow.
Kiyoomi presses his foot into Atsumu’s bulge again, feeling it get harder. Atsumu is taking being touched in public well, Kiyoomi has to admit, but that’s just because Atsumu is shameless and undoubtedly loves the challenge.
Kiyoomi continues to rub Atsumu’s thickening cock until Atsumu suddenly grabs Kiyoomi’s ankle and yanks him forward. Kiyoomi nearly falls out of his chair, causing everyone to look at him again.
“Woah there, Omi-kun,” Atsmu says, feigning concern. “I think ya might’ve had too much to drink. Did you wanna go sleep it off? We’ll miss ya but we'll understand.”
Kiyoomi smirks at him, sitting upright. “No, that’s okay. I’m having too much fun to retire early.”
“Then why don’t you come sit next to me? I’ll keep you steady.”
Kiyoomi takes the opportunity to move to the empty seat beside Atsumu. Atsumu drapes his arm across the back of Kiyoomi’s chair, and then turns his attention back to his friends and reenters the conversation flawlessly.
Kiyoomi feels another pulse of excitement as he places his hand on Atsumu’s thigh. Kiyoomi’s plan is to slowly inch his way higher, but Atsumu seems to have a different one. He takes Kiyoomi’s hand off his thigh and puts it right on his clothed cock.
Well, that certainly works too.
Kiyoomi presses the heel of his palm into Atsumu’s bulge, slowly rubbing over it. Atsumu is starting to make subtle little huffs that he conceals by taking a sip of his beer.
Kiyoomi leans over, whispering in Atsumu’s ear, “I didn’t know you’d like being stepped on that much.”
Atsumu involuntary shivers and his cock throbs against Kiyoomi’s hand, but he pretends to ignore Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi smiles, continuing to stroke Atsumu over his jeans under the table.
“You liked it, didn’t you?” Kiyoomi accuses, his lips brushing against the shell of Atsumu’s ear. “I wonder if you could get off just from my foot touching your cock.”
Atsumu grips Kiyoomi’s wrist tightly to stop the movements, and Kiyoomi wonders if Atsumu was just about to come in his pants. It makes him deliriously happy.
Atsumu turns his face toward Kiyoomi, and Kiyoomi can see how dilated his pupils are. “You win,” Atsumu whispers back, but he doesn’t look angry. He looks turned on. “Let's go upstairs, ya freak.”
***
Atsumu takes Kiyoomi apart slowly that night.
There’s always a sense of unspoken urgency when they sleep together in Kiyoomi’s dorm room; Atsumu typically can only stay one night. They need to make the best use of their limited time.
Tonight feels different, like they can finally take their time. They end up in Atsumu’s bed, with Kiyoomi shirtless on his back and Atsumu kissing him breathless. They lazily grind together as they make out, not needing to rush. Kiyoomi tugs at Atsumu’s hair and Atsumu groans into his mouth, the air hot and heavy between them. After minutes or hours of kissing Kiyoomi is already achingly hard, but there’s something satisfying about the delayed gratification.
“So good for me,” Atsumu whispers into Kiyoomi’s neck before sucking on the tender skin. Kiyoomi shivers into the sheets, dipping his fingers beneath Atsumu’s shirt and scratching up his back. Atsumu sucks harder and Kiyoomi’s hips jump.
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi mumbles, as Atsumu starts his journey down lower. Atsumu presses wet kisses to Kiyoomi’s chest then takes his right nipple into his mouth. Kiyoomi shudders again, biting his lip to hide his groans.
As Atsumu moves to suck Kiyoomi’s other nipple, he slides his hand down Kiyoomi’s trail of coarse hair and into his joggers. Kiyoomi gasps when Atsumu’s hand touches his cock, teasingly light at first.
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi says, a little more urgently.
“Shh, I got you,” Atsumu mumbles, returning to Kiyoomi’s mouth as he starts to stroke him.
Kiyoomi’s eyes squeeze shut as he gets lost in the lazy drag of Atsumu’s hand.
“Someone’s excited,” Atsumu whispers against his mouth, his lips curling into a smirk.
“Shut- up,” Kiyoomi mutters, “like I can’t feel how hard you are too.”
Atsumu chuckles, murmuring, “I missed you, sue me,” as he strokes Kiyoomi.
Kiyoomi can’t help but make short little whines in the back of his throat, his balls drawing up and his cock throbbing as it threatens to spill. Kiyoomi quickly grabs Atsumu’s wrist. “Stop- stop- gonna-”
Atsumu lets go, and Kiyoomi sucks in a sharp breath. Atsumu kisses him again, moaning into Kiyoomi’s mouth like he’s the one being touched. Kiyoomi threads his fingers in Atsumu’s hair again, and for a moment Kiyoomi forgets about his impending orgasm.
That is until Atsumu pulls away and leans back on his knees. Kiyoomi’s eyes blink through haze as he watches Atsumu swiftly pull his shirt off and toss it aside. Kiyoomi bites his lip, rewarded with the gorgeous view that is Miya Atsumu. Atsumu’s chest is tan and broad and sparsely haired, his nipples pink and pert.
Atsumu catches him looking, but Kiyoomi is too turned on to even care. Kiyoomi smooths his hands over Atsumu’s thighs, still covered in jeans.
“Take these off,” Kiyoomi mutters. “Mine too.”
“Bossy much?” Atsumu asks, but he’s already moving to take his jeans off.
“You like it,” Kiyoomi says.
“Tell me somethin’ I don’t know.”
Kiyoomi lets out a pleased hum when Atsumu pulls down his joggers and boxers in one smooth motion.
Atsumu’s cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink as he looks down at Kiyoomi’s naked body. Kiyoomi’s pulse stutters out of control, the fear and delight of vulnerability claws at his throat.
“Hey, Omi,” Atsumu says, digging his thumbs into the meat of Kiyoomi’s waist.
“What?”
“We can’t be just friends, can we?”
Kiyoomi huffs, “Well, I want you to fuck me, so.”
Atsumu smiles, his cheek dimple visible.
“I don’t want to be just friends,” Kiyoomi adds, a little quieter.
“I don’t either.”
There’s so much Kiyoomi wants to say, but this is probably not the best time for conversation. Atsumu seems to belatedly realize it too. He grabs the lube and ribbon of condoms he bought at the market after the game.
Again, he takes Kiyoomi apart agonizingly slow with his fingers. By the third finger Kiyoomi can think of nothing else but wanting to cum, but he staves it off so he can do so on Atsumu’s cock.
When Atsumu finally presses in, Kiyoomi holds on for dear life. Atsumu sets a delicious, steady pace, rolling his hips and hitting Kiyoomi’s sweet spot with every thrust.
“Fuck,” Kiyoomi mutters, “Atsumu.”
“Good boy,” Atsumu groans into his neck, snapping his hips faster. “Takin’ me so good. Shit, Omi.”
“Don’t stop, almost-” Kiyoomi’s mind melts as everything turns into bright sensations. He doesn’t know who cums first, but when he does he can do nothing but hold on as Atsumu fucks him through it.
As Atsumu’s hips slow, he doesn’t pull out right away. Kiyoomi doesn’t let him, grabbing Atsumu’s face and kissing him. There’s no rush to this either, as Kiyoomi gets lost in the hot, lazy rhythm of their kisses. Kiyoomi sucks on Atsumu’s tongue and his hips jerk, causing a spark of overstimulation to shoot up Kiyoomi’s spine. They kiss and touch and groan until they’re both hard again, and this time Kiyoomi flips them over and ruts his cock against Atsumu’s. Atsumu brackets his strong thighs around Kiyoomi’s hips, letting Kiyoomi set the pace.
“Gonna make me cum, Kiyoomi,” Atsumu says. “Just like that, baby.”
“You’re my prize, remember?”
Atsumu keens, and it’s so close to the fantasy Kiyomi had in his head for if Atsumu came over after winning the Japan Series. It feels so good that it borders on painful, especially after already cumming once. But Atsumu’s warm, slick skin, his desperate little groans, the weight of his thighs, all of it sends Kiyoomi’s over the edge again.
***
“Hungry?” Atsumu asks him, sometime later after they've showered and changed.
“Starving,” Kiyoomi answers with a smile.
They end up ordering food and taking it down to the beach to eat there. Kiyoomi brings along his disposable camera, snapping pictures of the moonlit water. He’s not sure if they’ll even come out right since it’s dark, but he takes some of Atsumu too just in case.
After Atsumu has pulled out all the takeaway boxes, Atsumu takes a bottle out of his bag and hands it to Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi’s smile is instinctual; it’s plum-sake, Kiyoomi’s favorite. Kiyoomi had it in his dorm once, a gift from his parents after he won MVP his second year. Atsumu had glanced at it, maybe made an offhand comment, Kiyoomi can’t remember. But Atsumu must’ve remembered, after all this time. It’s certainly not what friends-with-benefits do.
“What are we celebrating?” Kiyoomi asks.
Atsumu shrugs, but he must be able to tell how pleased Kiyoomi is because he looks smug.
“Dunno, anything,” Atsumu says, “Maybe the fact that Omi-kun went a whole vacation without poisoning me with disinfectant.”
“Oh, hah-hah.”
“I’m serious,” Atsumu says with a laugh, “this is, like, the first time we’ve hung out for more than a day. I had no idea how you’d be.”
Kiyoomi had thought about that, of course he had. It’s part of what made saying no to this trip impossible. He wanted to know what Atsumu would be like.
“And how was I?” Kiyoomi asks.
“Decent company,” Atsumu replies.
That shocks a laugh out of Kiyoomi. “Just decent?”
“C’mon, Omi, now you’re just fishin’ for compliments. You know you drive me crazy.”
Kiyoomi had suspected for a while that the feelings were mutual, but the confirmation feels good. Kiyoomi has thought endlessly about how this trip has changed things. Are they going to go back to being friends-with-benefits? Does Atsumu want more? Kiyoomi certainly does, even if he’s not sure what that’ll look like with their competing schedules.
Kiyoomi takes a breath; they should probably have this conversation before Kiyoomi leaves tomorrow morning anyway.
“When did you realize you didn’t want to be just friends and your idea to break things off was completely stupid?” Kiyoomi asks him.
Atsumu takes a moment to answer. He takes the sake from Kiyoomi and pours them two glasses, that he no-doubtedly ‘borrowed’ from his aunt. They both take a generous sip, and Kiyoomi feels the pleasant warmth in his stomach.
“I never wanted to change things in the first place, but-” Atsumu starts and stops, like he’s struggling to find the words. “I don’t know, Omi, I made it to the Japan Series. It was my dream for so long, and when I stood on that field I just...I know you want it too.”
Of course Kiyoomi wants it too but what does that have to do with-
“You hafta go with the team that’s best for ya,” Atsumu charges on, his eyes sharper now. Kiyoomi’s own eyes widen in surprise. “You’re eligible for the draft in October, and you’re gonna be a top pick. I know ya are. So you hafta go with the team that’s right for ya so you can achieve your dream too.”
“Okay, and what does that have to do with us?” Kiyoomi asks softly.
“If we barely see each other now then you know how much harder it’ll be when you’re pro too? I guess I got freaked out at the idea of things changing and you goin’ far away and things fizzling out, so I kinda fucked it up on my own.”
“Of course you did,” Kiyoomi deadpans.
“Hey,” Atsumu says, eyes crinkling with humor. “It’s not my fault you’re you. The minute you stepped off that train I knew I was fucked.”
“Let me guess. Your ego wouldn’t let you confess first so you thought you’d, what, flirt shamelessly with me until I gave in and you didn’t need to admit you fucked up?”
Atsumu gives him a guilty smile. “I told myself I was bein’ selfless, lettin’ ya choose a team without us bein’ a factor, so neither of us would get hurt in the end.”
Kiyoomi rolls his eyes as he takes another sip of sake. “How’s that working out for you?”
“Just as well as it’s workin’ out for you.”
Kiyoomi considers the situation they’ve found themselves in, where they both want more but the threat of conflicting schedules and distance is too much. Kiyoomi looks down at his sake. He knows what he wants to say but maybe Atsumu’s right that it’ll be too hard and-
“You know, MSBY colors would look real good on you,” Atsumu says in a low, husky tone.
Kiyoomi’s heart stops. He hesitates, then whispers, “That’s not a selfless thing to say at all.”
“I don’t think bein’ selfless suits me.”
Kiyoomi laughs. “No, not at all. I’d hate you if you just pitied me all the time.”
Atsumu smiles at him, saying, “Look, I couldn’t let you leave here without putting this out there. Meian’s great and he’s taught me so much, but he’s probably gonna retire soon. By then you could replace him and have me as your personal catcher. That sounds pretty good, huh?”
Kiyoomi’s heart kicks into high gear as he considers it, truly considers it. Not only would he be around Atsumu all the time, he’d be on the best team in the Pacific League. Kiyoomi has already considered MSBY, independent of Atsumu. He’d be crazy not to.
But there’s also the Tachibana Red Falcons, the best team in the Central League. He’d be able to stay in Tokyo, the only place he’s ever known. It’s what his parents want. It’s the safer option for sure.
Not coming to Onomichi would’ve been the safer option, too.
“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi starts, but Atsumu interrupts him.
“Don’t answer that, not yet. You don’t have to. It’s just somethin’ to consider is all.”
“I wouldn’t give you an answer I wasn’t certain about,” Kiyoomi says.
“I know, but still. My heart can’t take any disappointment. I’m too happy right now.”
“Fine, but what do we do in the meantime?”
“Come to Osaka with me,” Atsumu says suddenly.
That’s not what Kiyoomi was expecting at all. “Excuse me?”
“You’re still on spring break for another week, right?” Atsumu looks excited now. “Come stay with me. I’ll take you out, introduce ya to all the guys on the team. They’ll love that broody, constipated look you get on your face. See, the one ya got on right now.”
Kiyoomi pushes Atsumu’s shoulder, saying, “You’re an idiot,” but Atsumu captures his hand. Kiyoomi stills as Atsumu squeezes his hand.
“I’m not fucking with you, dick,” Atsumu says around a laugh, “Seriously, I’m goin’ back to Osaka tomorrow and I got a ticket with your name on it. If you want it?”
“I don’t even have enough clothes.”
“I got a washer and dryer, Omi-kun. You can also borrow some of mine.”
“I’m supposed to go to a cherry blossom festival with my sister and nephews.”
“Reschedule, the cherry blossom’s ain’t gonna die if you go a week later.”
“Atsumu, you’re being a dick again.”
“Why?”
“Because I really want to go.”
That gives Atsumu pause, for just a second, until he gives Kiyoomi a radiant smile. “Sounds like I’m bein’ generous then.”
“No, you’re being selfish. You want me to yourself for a whole week so I’ll have no choice but to pick MSBY.”
Atsumu’s lips pull into a lazy smirk. “That’s quite the accusation, Omi-kun, but you don’t have to-”
“I’ll go,” Kiyoomi blurts out. “I’ll go to Osaka with you.”
Atsumu gets that look in his eye like he’s won something, but Kiyoomi feels like he’s won something too.
Kiyoomi had already decided he was going to go to Osaka from the second Atsumu asked, but Kiyoomi couldn’t help but be a little selfish too. Atsumu proved that this time is different from that phone call in November. This time, Atsumu is fighting for Kiyoomi.
Kiyoomi really hopes that Atsumu succeeds.
***
Kiyoomi gets to sleep in the next morning, as the train to Osaka leaves later than the one back to Tokyo. Despite that, it’s still a little chilly out when they leave the bar with their luggage, after saying goodbye to Ose. They walk hand-in-hand down by the water where they catch a cab. Kiyoomi takes a few more pictures of the water, just to remember how beautiful it looks, but he suspects he might be back. He takes one of him and Atsumu too, excited to see how it turns out when the pictures are developed.
Atsumu waves at the water as their cab pulls up, saying, “Bye, Onomichi.”
Kiyoomi rolls his eyes, but he gives a little wave too. It makes Atsumu smile.
To Kiyoomi, it feels like everything and nothing has changed. Atsumu’s hand is familiar, warm and calloused. When they get to Shin-Onomichi Station, Atsumu pulls Kiyoomi’s mask down to press a quick kiss to his lips. It’s so familiar, but Kiyoomi can’t help but wonder what staying in Osaka for a week with Atsumu will be like. He imagines a lot of time spent in Atsumu’s bed, and the freedom to take their time. He imagines what it’ll be like to go with Atsumu to an MSBY game, and meet everyone on the team. It’s all so exciting and terrifying that Kiyoomi’s heart thumps a little faster when he looks at Atsumu.
But before Kiyoomi can get ahead of himself, they have a train to Osaka to catch.