#sakuatsu | blind date, college sakusa, pro vb atsumu Kiyoomi’s hand is freezing since he took off his glove earlier. They were a gift from his grandparents last year, expensive leather that they bought at one of the shops in an Italian street they went to when they were on

vacation. It’s warm, and good for the weather, but terrible for scrolling through his phone. He receives a text from his cousin. >> what did you say you were wearing again? He sighs. << A green scarf << Grey coat << Black pants

A few seconds later, he gets a reply. >> great! >> your mystery man is wearing a beige coat and black button up!! He’s about to send /No scarf?/ when he hears a familiar voice. “Omi-kun?”

There’s only one person in the world who calls him that and that’s pirely because he only does so to annoy the person on the receiving end. Kiyoomi looks up and sure enough, it’s Miya, smiling that signature fake smile of his. His cheeks and ears are a little pink from the cold,

the colour even traveling down to his neck. Kiyoomi frowns. “Miya,” he says in curt reply, before turning back to his phone, his hand already feeling ice cold. He expects Miya to say some awkward pleasentaries and leave, but he stands his ground and continues

to stare at Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi looks up. “Can I help you?” /What’s he doing in Tokyo anyway?/ Miya looks as confused as Kiyoomi feels. “Uh, this might sound weird Omi-kun, but I think yer my date.” “Excuse me?” His frown deepens. “Motoya-kun—”

Kiyoomi groans. “Oh my god, I’m gonna kill him.” “Damn, I didn’t think I was that bad.” Kiyoomi puts the glove back on, finally some warmth in his hand before he presses his fingers into his eyes. “It’s not you, it’s just—” /Fucking Motoya and his fuckass sense of humour./

“‘Me?’” Miya supplies. He looks up. “What?” “‘It’s not you it’s me?’” Miya cocks his head to the side, his tone doesn’t give away anything but amusement but Kiyoomi shakes his head regardless. “No, it’s fucking Motoya.”

He sighs. “Listen, I’m sorry he dragged you out here telling you that you’ll meet a decent guy on your blind date or something but, it’s just me and he’s just out to annoy me and you got tricked. And besides, it truly defeats the purpose of a blind date if we already know each

other.” Okay, that’s a stretch. They /kinda/ knew each other from Nationals, the All Japan Youth Camp, and the Spring High tournament but Kiyoomi doesn’t think they’ve shared more than one conversation, immediately deciding that he didn’t like Miya, but Miya doesn’t know that.

“And seeing you again, like this,” he continues, gesturing vaguely to Miya’s self, “is going to give me an aneurysm.” “Am I dressed badly?” Miya asks, completely ignoring the point of Kiyoomi’s spiel. He seems actually concerned about the look of his wardrobe. “Huh?”

“Cause I didn’t know how casual or formal to go so I just wore whatever.” Miya is dressed in dark blue jeans and a black button up, all under a sleek beige coat. “Aren’t you cold?” Kiyoomi asks. “A little.” He doesn’t buy it.

Kiyoomi sighs. “In any case, let’s just tell Motoya that we met and that we realised we’re more annoying now than we were in high school, okay?” “How about we grab dinner instead, because we’re already here at the designated restaurant that ya picked.

And then we go out separate ways,” Miya says, a sly smile on his lips, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. Prick. Well, they have just been gawking at each other in front of an Italian restaurant Kiyoomi picked because he liked their risotto that one time he went with a classmate.

(Said classmate quickly realised Kiyoomi’s spending habits, and they haven’t hung out since.) “No, it’s—” he tries to protest but Miya cuts him off. “Listen, it’s fine. We’ll just eat and go. And if it’s too painful to eat Italian food with me, we can go to a sushi bar.”

“That’s… not the problem.” “Then what is the problem.” “Um—” And then Miya walks towards the entrance, before cocking his head back. “They’re gonna run out of that risotto or whatever if yer late.” They aren’t, what the fuck? But Kiyoomi follows him anyway. ——

The conversation with Miya isn’t bad. He talks a whole lot about his family, which is nice, until he gets to the topic of his twin brother who he swears he’ll be happier than by the time he dies. But the brother topic brings in the question of—

“What’s your brother doing?” Kiyoomi asks. “Culinary school to be a chef of whatever. Wants to open up an onigiri shop.” Huh. Kiyoomi didn’t expect that. Miya continues, “Fuckin’ idiot if ya ask me, he could’ve gone pro—” but he stops himself short.

He looks up from his food to frown at Kiyoomi, mouth in a hard line as if deep in thought. “I didn’t give up volleyball if that’s what you’re being weird about.” “Nah, yer just delayin’ it.” Kiyoomi shrugs. “It seems that way.”

“I just don’t get it.” Miya seems actually dejected by it, like the thought of high school volleyball players no longer playing volleyball post-high school was heartbreaking. “Don’t think too hard, Miya. Steam’ll come out of your ears.”

By the time they go back to the topic of Osamu’s culinary dreams, Atsumu says something that Kiyoomi remembers for the rest of the night. “I didn’t know Italian people ate rice.” —— They leave the restaurant after arguing about who will pay.

(“I have a payin’ job now, Omi. I’m not lettin’ a /student/ pay for my meals!” And Kiyoomi didn’t have the heart to tell him that there’s a black card in his wallet right now, but he managed to convince him to go dutch.)

“Where d’ya wanna go now?” Miya asks once they’re outside, ears already pink like an instant thermometer. “I thought…” /I thought we were gonna go our separate ways, despite the good company. And then never speak to each other again./

Miya shrugs. “Eh, the night is still young.” They settle on a nearby park that has a volleyball court, but it’s empty, as most places outdoors are during winter. It’s only then does Kiyoomi remember something that was gnawing at his brain earlier tonight.

“Why are you here in Tokyo?” he asks, sitting down on a nearby park bench, pulling his mask down to drink the cheap coffee Miya bought from the 7-e on the way. “I had a game here tonight. It was a friendly,” Miya adds. “Didn’t play much though.”

He chuckles but there’s a hollowness to it, one that can only be filled by wanting more. Kiyoomi looks down at the drink in Miya’s hands. It probably warms his fingers up like the gloves do for Kiyoomi. “Miya, you literally just got on the team. You’re nineteen.”

“No, I’m twenty. /You’re/ nineteen.” “Semantics.” They stay in silence for a while, sipping and sighing in the frigid cold of midwinter. It takes a few moments, but Miya asks Kiyoomi a question too. “How come ya didn’t go straight to pro?” he asks, voice quiet.

Kiyoomi sighs and leans back to stare up at the light-polluted Tokyo sky. “I made a promise to my parents, and I see things through till the end.” He turns to Miya. “I’ll see volleyball through till the end, too.”

Miya smiles and it doesn’t look fake. It’s nice. “I’m lookin’ forward to it then.” —— “I… had fun today,” Kiyoomi settles on once they reach the bottom of his apartment building. He doesn’t know why he let Miya walk him home but he did.

It was nice, in a way he didn’t really expect—because dinner was nice, and so was their talk, and Miya was more tolerable than he ever remembered him to be. “Me, too.” Miya looks at him expectantly now, like this is the end of their night together and that they should both go.

So Kiyoomi turns towards his dorm and only takes a few steps before Miya blocks his path with an outstretched arm. “Wait!” “Hm?” When they lock gazes again, the wind flies through them and the sudden cold makes him feel a little breathless.

But not as breathless as Miya looks right now; bright eyes, pink cheeks, moussed blond hair. “Did ya change yer number?” Miya asks. They were all in a group chat during the All Japan Youth Camp, he’s sure he might have Miya’s number saved somewhere out of obligation,

somewhere in his coat pocket. “No,” he shakes his head. “I didn’t change my number.” “Will ya block my number if I text ya tonight?” Again, he shakes his head. “No,” he says evenly, before adding, “not unless you start talking about your brother again. I need sleep.”

“We come as a package.” “I know.” Kiyoomi sees the puffs of white condensation around Miya’s mouth and wonders for a second time why this man decided to go out in the middle of winter without a scarf or gloves. But before he can ask him, Kiyoomi feels a buzz in his pocket.

He sighs. “I think I should go soon. My roommate is calling.” He turns again, but this time, he’s stopped by Miya’s grip on his arm. Kiyoomi looks down at it—the dry, flakey hands that a setter should be taking care of. He frowns.

“I—,” Miya starts, the grip on Kiyoomi’s arm tightening . “Do people kiss on the first date?” he blurts. Kiyoomi finally looks at him, eyes wide. “What?” “I’ve been wanting to kiss ya since earlier, but, um, I don’t know if people do that.”

He lets go of Kiyoomi, only to run a hand through his hair in nervous nonchalance. “Since I, uh, don’t really have that much experience in that department…” he trails off. Despite himself, Kiyoomi lets out a huff that even to his ears sounds a bit like a laugh.

He places a gloved hand on Miya’s shoulder, and the other on his cheek. It’s Miya’s turn to look up at him in shock, but Kiyoomi doesn’t dwell on it, because he leans down and presses a soft kiss on Miya’s lips.

He feels Miya melt into it, but he doesn’t want to go further than a chaste kiss tonight, so he pulls away and stares. Bright eyes, pink cheeks, moussed up hair in his hands gloved in leather. “Only if there’s a second date,” Kiyoomi finally answers.

At this Miya grins, more blinding than the Christmas lights they started putting up in the streets of Tokyo last month. “Yeah?” Miya asks. Kiyoomi nods. “Yeah.” //fin

idk i was possessed with this image. im also in the hospital and was dizzy from medication maybe this was a hallucination all along

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