mint is basketballing

mint is basketballing



#sakuatsu | domestic thread "have you considered us moving in together?" says kiyoomi. his hands are swaddled around the sleeve of his coffee. tendrils of steam collect under his chin. he winces and shifts his gaze from atsumu's eyes. "i'm just doing an interest check, is all."

moving in together. as in, occupying the same living space as someone else. cohabitation. atsumu is well-acquainted with it. he's spent a gratuitous chunk of his life with osamu vying for hot showers privileges, leftovers for lunch, and the last squeeze of toothpaste.

so he doesn't think much of it when he nods and says with scripted confidence: "okay." he doesn't think much of it when he fills out the paperwork and the next day osamu's helping him cram his belongings into cardboard boxes. or when osamu glances at him, questioning but silent.

atsumu realizes a little too late, when he's folding his clothes and stacking them inside a /shared/ wardrobe with kiyoomi, that he's been running on autopilot. atsumu realizes a little too soon, when kiyoomi's wrapping a scarf around his neck, that - that this is /it/.

he made it. they're living together. and, somehow atsumu is learning how to share for the first time. he lets kiyoomi borrow his sweatshirts, jackets, hoodies. he lets kiyoomi snag the remaining tuperware of oxtail leftovers in the fridge, he lets kiyoomi use all the hot water.

atsumu learns about concessions, and along the way, he learns he's completely fine with them. he doesn't mind not winning every petty argument, or the fact kiyoomi is a blanket thief. or the fact kiyoomi asks him in a sleep-cracked voice, "can you turn off the light, atsumu?"

he discovers they're not hardcore cuddlers, but during an hour that melts the edges of their furniture and drains the color from their room, he'll reach for kiyoomi's hand. their fingers lace together, and he'll feel kiyoomi's thumb rubbing up and down the bone of his wrist.

"are we good," says atsumu one night. just like every other night where the crickets are too fucking loud. "i personally think we're doin' pretty well." kiyoomi says something, but the words dissolve on his tongue. he rethinks. "yeah. we are."

atsumu nudges him and speaks with a grin full of cheek. "pah, that's kinda gross comin' from you, though." "you're the one who asked me a gross question." kiyoomi shrugs. "again, i said we're good." "ya didn't say that. just said, 'yeah. we are.'" "fine. maybe we're good."

"maybe? damn. your uncertainty is kind of a downer, omi." kiyoomi's eyes close as his brow wrinkles and juts. it's the face he makes when he's about to laugh, but doesn't want to give anyone the satisfaction of seeing. "c'mon, just confess. you're happy." "/maybe/ later."

later. it's such a vague word. and one atsumu would normally despise, but the answer is too blatantly clear. he doesn't need any kind of verbal validation. not when kiyoomi wraps a hanten jacket over his shoulders when the winter cold nips at his joints.

or when kiyoomi sits behind him while atsumu's half-submerged under the kotatsu. there's a familiar sounding click, and then the gentle, reassuring blast of warm air from a hair dryer. kiyoomi says, "don't get used to this." (he does.) atsumu squeezes his thigh in turn.

or when atsumu, fatigued, body lilting, can't find it in himself to tie his shoes. kiyoomi, then lowering himself on one knee, and with methodical care, lacing them. he pats each with an amused admonishment. "maybe if you double-knotted them, they wouldn't get undone."

there doesn't have to be a "later" because the question's been answered. the validation is in the concrete. look inside those cracks and see the nature claiming what's inside. for atsumu, the chips in his defense are proof enough. kiyoomi's made him vulnerable. get used to it.

atsumu ties his laughs to kiyoomi's smiles and calls it love - realizes, suddenly love might just be forever because it's something he's incapable of taking back. but, he's okay with this, he says to himself. it's a new day now, kiyoomi's hand is in his, get used to it. end.

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