Breedle 💛🐝🍯 | mostly ia

Breedle 💛🐝🍯 | mostly ia



#sakuatsu #hqprideweek - Day 1: Coming out. For the majority of Kiyoomi’s teenage years, he thinks he’ll never experience romantic love. And that’s a problem, really, considering that it’s expected of him. +

Kiyoomi’s whole life has been written out for him in ink like a grocery list, box after box just waiting to be checked off as he gets older. Get the perfect grades in school. Go to college and graduate with high honors. Get a high paying job at a notable company. +

At the top of the list is the expectation to marry a beautiful, respectable young girl and then have children together, even though they’re sticky and obnoxious and kind of terrible. Kiyoomi really doesn’t know how he feels about all that. +

Girls are pretty in an objective type of way, with their delicate grace and profound energy. They are much like flowers, Kiyoomi thinks — lovely to marvel at but better left alone to grow; better left untouched by his hands. +

His fingers never burn with the desire to feel, to hold, to caress a woman, no matter how sweet or graceful or strong-willed. Perhaps he’s a late bloomer. Perhaps he hasn’t met the right girl yet. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. That’s what his mother says, anyway. +

Kiyoomi wouldn’t know the difference to tell her that she’s wrong. He has never felt intimate desire of any kind before, so who is he to rule out that possibility completely? Then, he meets Miya Atsumu on the first day of training camp. +

Kiyoomi’s eyes soak up the golden skin of Atsumu’s thick thighs. He admires the muscular expanse of the blond’s arms, powerful from years of training on the court. He finds himself listening closely each and every time the setter utters a word. Why? Kiyoomi is unsure. +

Atsumu is much like the rumors say, after all. He is cocky and pompous and Kiyoomi should hate him. But after the curly-haired boy hits a particularly good spike, sending the ball hurtling through the air, Atsumu beams at him like the sun when smiling down on the Earth. +

“Where tha hell didja learn ta do that?” Atsumu questions, staring back at him through the net with those hooded honey eyes. Kiyoomi’s cheeks prickle with heat. “Practice,” he murmurs with a quick shrug. +

Atsumu hums, his plush lips curling into a taunting smirk. “I could use somebody that hits like that on my team, when I go pro. Maybe I’ll be settin’ fer ya someday, hm?” Kiyoomi shrugs yet again, feigning nonchalance as he fires back a cool, “If you’re lucky enough.” +

The setter lets out a low whistle as Kiyoomi shuffles away, chuckling beneath his breath, and Kiyoomi wonders why he feels the urge to smile. The foreign, stirring feeling in his stomach whispers promises of danger, and he knows right then that he’s royally fucked. +

Because this golden boy is already changing everything. Maybe Kiyoomi will never want to be with a woman. Maybe he’s been trying to bloom in all of the wrong fields, looking for attraction in all of the wrong places. And what the fuck is he supposed to do about that? +

A sinking feeling follows him the remainder of the day, as do his cousin Komori’s eyes. The libero watches him carefully and quietly, brows furrowed together as though trying to solve a complicated puzzle. He has always been too perceptive for his own good. +

Kiyoomi manages to dodge all of Komori’s questions in regards to ‘what’s wrong’ with him, however. That is, until they’re tucked beneath their covers for the evening. In a shared room, there’s nowhere for Kiyoomi to run. +

“Kiyo? You okay?” Komori calls through the darkness. Kiyoomi stays quiet, pretending to be asleep. His cousin doesn’t buy it, of course. “I know you’re awake, asshole. You were literally just on your phone like, a millisecond ago.” “Please stop being the way you are.” +

“Being like what? A decent person?” “Being nosy,” Kiyoomi shoots back dryly, turning over beneath the covers. “I’m fine. Go to sleep.” And he thinks that will be the end of it. Komori may be a worrier but he knows Kiyoomi’s limits. Yet, the pestering doesn’t end there. +

“You and Atsumu hit it off today,” Komori murmurs quietly. It shouldn’t be so strange of an observation, really. Kiyoomi has never been a people person, is the thing. So, the curly-haired man willingly conversing with any stranger is sure to be notable, in Komori’s eyes. +

Still, there’s something about Komori’s tone of voice that has Kiyoomi’s nerves standing on edge. A strange, suggestive lilt that makes him feel unreasonably nervous. “If you call bantering with an asshole hitting it off, then yes.” “That isn’t what it looked like.” +

Kiyoomi frowns. “What are you implying?” he bites back, a tad bit scathing. A warning signal, louder than any other. ‘Back down now, while you still can. Drop it.’ “I’m not implying anything,” he reasons curtly. “Just an observation.” +

And then, Komori tacks on, “You know that you can tell me anything, right?” Kiyoomi swallows thickly. His throat feels as though it’s full of dampened sand, thick and scratchy. “Does that matter if I don’t understand what it is that I’m feeling?” he questions honestly. +

Komori shuffles around in the neighboring bed. Even in the darkness, Kiyoomi can feel those caramel eyes searching for him. “No. But there’s — something, isn’t there?” His cousin asks carefully. +

And there is something. That something rests in the dread that has followed Kiyoomi from four to sixteen. That something rests in the butterflies swarming wildly in his belly each time Atsumu acknowledged Kiyoomi’s presence today. That something is wildly terrifying. +

That something is foreign and unexplored, doesn’t yet have a name — Kiyoomi is too afraid to give it one. Being attracted to a boy doesn’t seem like something his parents would allow, and that’s putting it lightly. It may even be something they’d grow to despise him for. *

A ‘thump’ beside his pillow distracts Kiyoomi from spiraling. “Scooch over,” Komori demands, already clambering onto the bed before Kiyoomi can protest the idea. “You’re a pollution,” Kiyoomi grumbles. Yet, he moves to make some room for his cousin regardless. +

Komori shimmies beneath the covers, leaving ample space between them. The pair hasn’t shared a bed since childhood, back when nightmares and thunderstorms still rattled them both deeply enough to seek out closeness for comfort. Tonight feels like a nightmare, too. +

“Are you okay?” Komori asks again. “I don’t like girls,” Kiyoomi responds instead. Perhaps, that’s an answer in and of itself. How can he be okay while coming to terms with something that feels life-altering? What will his parents say? How can he ever tell them? +

Komori blinks back at him lazily, unflinching, as though Kiyoomi were reading a passage from the phone book. “Okay,” he replies softly. “That’s okay.” Kiyoomi scoffs bitterly, averting his gaze. “How can you say that any of this is okay?” +

“You like boys. You aren’t hurting anyone by having feelings, Kiyo. Feelings are okay, no matter who they’re for.” “Tell that to my parents,” Kiyoomi grumbles. “They definitely wouldn’t feel that way, if they knew.” “Your parents are also like, objectively the worst.” +

Kiyoomi makes a noise of agreement, tiny but audible enough to cause Komori to frown back at him. “You don’t have to tell your parents, you know. I get it. But — don’t stop yourself from experiencing life, Kiyo. You deserve to feel. You’ve lived your whole life for them.” +

‘You’ve lived your whole life for them.’ Something about the claim makes Kiyoomi’s eyes burn. Because it’s true, is the thing. Kiyoomi has done everything in his power to please his parents, never asking for much, if anything at all. It has been suffocating him quietly. +

And then, Kiyoomi’s cheeks are being kissed by something warm and wet. He hadn’t even noticed it, when the tears began falling, Komori reaches out a hand, wiping beneath his eyes. “Quit that,” Kiyoomi complains, voice wobbling. “Just let me be here,” Komori answers. +

“You want a hug?” Komori questions, lifting up an arm to make space. Kiyoomi doesn’t meet his eyes but he allows himself to be pulled in, burying his face in the crook of Komori’s neck. The angle is awkward and everything feels too warm but it’s comforting, all the same. +

“Sorry,” Kiyoomi warbles after awhile. “For all of this.” His cousin shushes him gently, a hand rubbing circles against Kiyoomi’s back. “Shut up,” he chides. “You will not apologize, understood? Not when you’re being yourself. That isn’t something to feel sorry for.” +

“I’m still sorry,” Kiyoomi insists stubbornly. Komori clicks his tongue, dissatisfied. “Yeah, because you’re an idiot.” “Shut the fuck up.” “That’s never happening.” +

Kiyoomi manages a laugh. It is trembling and ugly but earnest just the same. Only Komori can manage to make him smile at his lowest. Its always been that way, it seems. “I love you, Kiyo,” Komori whispers after a beat of silence. “No matter who you are, I’m on your side.” +

And Kiyoomi knows it is true. He hums, shutting his eyes. They are swollen and damp but his chest feels less tight. The world seems a touch softer around its edges. “Love you too. Thanks, Toya.” “Don’t mention it,” Komori answers sleepily. “Now, go the fuck to bed.” +

“Whatever, asshole. Goodnight.” “Night! Tomorrow, we can talk about your fat crush on the most questionable person known to man,” Komori chirps. Kiyoomi’s eyes narrow. “Absolutely not.” “Seriously, why a Miya?” “Please stop.” “I need to know!” “You really don’t.” +

Komori laughs at that, lazily and warmly like a swaying campfire. The sound is comforting in its own right. Kiyoomi cannot help but to laugh along, the remainder of his sorrow melting away. The road ahead sure looks bumpy. But right at this moment, everything is alright.

// The end!! Thank you for reading this, if you took the time to do so!! This threadfic is actually based on a true story, AKA the night that I came out to my own cousin when I was 19. I was a blubbering, terrified mess but she was my rock through it all, just like Komori. 💛

My cousin was the first person I came out to by choice. It hasn’t been an easy road for me, in terms of gaining acceptance from family and peers alike for being who I am. So, having someone like my cousin — or, in the story’s case, like Komori — meant the world. +

If you don’t have your own Komori in your life, here’s a little reminder to carry with you: No matter who accepts you or doesn’t, you will still be exactly who you are through it all. No amount of hatred can change you. So, even if it hurts, be yourself. You deserve to shine.

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