Chapter Text
“Fuck, it’s hot!” Atsumu rips his sweat-soaked shirt over his head and compares the color of his chest to his arm. Three straight hours of beach volleyball in the burning sun and his spring skin never stood a chance.
“You’re going to peel at this rate,” Kiyoomi chides, pulling up the sleeve of his fresh, clean t-shirt to spray on yet another layer of sunscreen like he isn’t planning to hide beneath his umbrella for the rest of the day.
“I forgot my sunscreen at home,” Atsumu whines with purpose.
“You can use mine!” Hinata holds up a bottle all crusty and gross, covered in sand and what looks like dried bits of leaked sunscreen — it’s hard to tell exactly.
Atsumu wrinkles his nose. “I’ll pass.”
“What’s wrong with it?” Hinata demands as Bokuto pulls up grinning.
“They’ve been hanging out too much.” His pointer finger slides from Kiyoomi to Atsumu.
“It’s rude to point,” Atsumu scolds, realizing too late exactly who he sounds like.
Kiyoomi is trying his hardest not to smirk, the corner of his lips twitching like no other, and Atsumu could swear he’s half a second away from a snarky little ‘heh.’
Bokuto’s grin grows as if to say, “see?”
“It’s ruder to hang out without us,” Hinata squeaks and flings his arms. The bottle, slick with its mess slips right out of his hand, flying into the air.
Bokuto catches it in one hand without even looking and Atsumu is pretty sure he hears someone clapping.
“Thanks,” Bokuto shouts at Hinata, and with a swift hammer of his fist, he’s emptied the rest of the bottle onto his bare chest. If a single beachgoer nearby wasn’t ogling him before, they certainly are now.
“Hey, don’t use all of it!” Hinata cries. “Gimme that!”
Bokuto complies gladly. He swipes half the goop off of him and slaps it on Hinata’s shoulder, setting off a play fight which sends sunscreen flying through the air.
Atsumu shakes his head and turns back to Kiyoomi, who is busy scowling at a stray glob defiling the corner of his towel.
“Aren’t ya gonna offer to share with me?” Atsumu asks as he nudges it away with his big toe.
Kiyoomi wrinkles his nose. “I don’t want your sweaty, dirty hands touching my sunscreen.”
“C’mon Omi-kun, yer seriously gonna let me suffer?” Atsumu grinds his foot into the sand to clean it, but it comes away like Hinata’s bottle of sunscreen. Gross.
“Guess you should have come prepared.” Kiyoomi delivers a smug look, all while keeping one wary eye on the team children as they chase each other toward the water.
“Yer a shit friend, ya know that?” Atsumu presses a finger to his arm and shoves it in Kiyoomi’s face, showing how his skin changes from pale to bright pink the moment he lifts up. “Look at this! If I get any more burnt, I’m gonna be all gross and peely.”
Kiyoomi pulls back, deadpan. “So?”
“Then I’m gonna sit next to ya every chance I get and scratch,” he threatens.
“Ew” —Kiyoomi pats the sunscreen-free edge of his towel— “shut up and come here already.”
Atsumu stamps down his shit-eating grin and sits with his back to Kiyoomi and his feet in the sand. When the spray hits his skin he jolts, but the icy burn quickly morphs into cool relief. In this moment, nothing could feel better.
So, of course, Kiyoomi stops.
“Take it back.” His tone is pinched.
Atsumu peers over his shoulder. “Huh?”
“Take back what you said about me being a bad friend.” Kiyoomi’s eyes burn into him, killing any relief the sunscreen gave.
Atsumu wags his brows. “Did that bother ya?”
Kiyoomi aims the nozzle at his face.
“Hey!” Atsumu whips his head around and shoves his face into the crook of his arm.
No spray comes.
“Geez, Omi-kun.” He sneaks a tentative glance. “Ya don’t gotta choose violence.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Kiyoomi retorts with the same energy of five-year-old taunting, “I’m not touching you,” as their finger hovers a centimeter from skin.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, prickly ass.” Atsumu turns around, shifting onto his knees and holding his arms out. “Front, please.”
Without a word, without even looking at him, Kiyoomi paints his skin from top to bottom. The spray is colder now, and when Atsumu stands and does a slow circle for Kiyoomi to get his legs, he’s left uncomfortable and chilled.
“Yer a good friend,” Atsumu gives in to that silence, rubbing away the goosebumps on his slick skin.
Kiyoomi returns the sunscreen to its double-layered bag within his backpack with sharp, precise motions. “Was that so hard?”
“Ya always gotta make everything a big deal.” Atsumu throws his hands up. “You already know yer my best friend anyways — I shouldn’t even have to say it.”
Kiyoomi’s lips twitch into a near smile.
“Guys! Come swim!” Bokuto yells from the water where he and Hinata are already up to their necks, no doubt killing entire coral reefs with their unsettled sunscreen.
“Ya comin’?” Atsumu already knows the answer — Kiyoomi isn’t even pretending in his everyday practice shorts.
“The ocean is disgusting.” He makes the same face he makes when Atsumu steals his water bottle during practice and takes a sip.
“That’s what all the salt’s fer.” Atsumu props a hand on his hip. “Ya know, I’ve never seen ya swim before. Not even when we were stayin’ at that hotel with the fancy pool.”
Fancy was an understatement. That place was pure magic, complete with an artificial waterfall and numerous hot tubs. The team barely left the water the entire time they were there. That is, except for Kiyoomi — he refused to dip a single toe in, no matter how Atsumu pestered him.
“Public pools are disgusting,” Kiyoomi reasons to the sand stuck to his feet.
“That’s what the chlorine’s fer.” Atsumu gives him a look, but he doesn’t see it; too busy brushing away at each grain.
“Doesn’t make it clean.” There’s not a single bit of sand left, but Kiyoomi keeps swiping at his ankles and his legs, running his fingers over his skin like he’s desperate to feel it.
Atsumu tilts his head. The only time Kiyoomi gets fidgety like this is when he’s hiding something he’s embarrassed about. One of Kiyoomi’s little secrets, the pieces of him Atsumu began collecting without even realizing. How he knows it, he’ll never tell; he’s keeping that for himself.
This one, too, if he can get it out of Kiyoomi. Swimming pools, oceans —yeah, they’re dirty— but what’s there to be so worked up about? Unless—
“Do ya even know how to swim?” Atsumu asks.
In response, Kiyoomi lies back on his towel and shuts his eyes. “Go away. You’re annoying me.”
Bingo.
“You don’t, do you!” Atsumu claps his hands, far too pleased. Once indestructible, Kiyoomi gets easier and easier to crack with each passing day.
“Why are you all excited?” he spits, peeling one eye open
“Because yer fulla shit,” Atsumu calls him out. “Yer always gettin’ on me fer not bein’ prepared, but you can’t even swim!”
“I don’t see the connection.” That eye fixes on him, half-lidded and unamused.
“What would you do if there was a tsunami right now, huh? Or a flood or somethin’?”
Kiyoomi sighs and closes it once more. “Unlikely.”
“Forget about all that, then. What if ya fall in a river, huh?” Atsumu tries.
“And why would I fall in a river?” Kiyoomi’s eyebrows scrunch together. “I’m not an idiot.”
“It could happen! Easily!” Atsumu insists. “Bokkun fell in last week.”
“I repeat” —Kiyoomi smirks— “I’m not an idiot.”
“Hey!” Bokuto yells loud enough to make them both jump.
The clamor garners the open stares of everyone on the beach, too, as if they weren’t already watching. As usual, Kiyoomi shrinks back into the shade of his umbrella and, as usual, Bokuto is immune to it all, still squawking joyously at Hinata who is immune to his ear-shattering volume. He’s climbed up on Bokuto’s neck and made himself useful by squeezing Bokuto’s head between his thighs.
“‘Tsum—” Hinata yelps as Bokuto gets a hold of him. “Help!”
No one can help him now — Bokuto’s already chucking him into the water with an oversized splash.
Atsumu gives a gleeful wave, pausing only to shoot a glare at a woman snapping photos before turning back to Kiyoomi. “I’m just sayin’, yer kinda a hypocrite.”
Kiyoomi’s lips draw tight at Atsumu’s chosen insult.
Perfectly chosen.
Kiyoomi can’t stand hypocrites. Almost as much as he can’t stand people who aren’t prepared, who don’t see things through, who laze around scrolling on their phone in nothing but a wet towel instead of drying off properly after exiting the shower.
Atsumu learned that secret the hard way when Kiyoomi didn’t speak to him the rest of the night after he left behind a damp spot on Kiyoomi’s hotel bed once. Atsumu smirks at the memory. Maybe it doesn’t really count as a secret, but still, he feels superior for knowing it.
He wants to know all of Kiyoomi’s secrets, big or small, good or bad. Atsumu wants to win. He needs to, even if it means sharing a secret of his own.
“I’ll teach ya if you want,” he offers all nonchalant, “it’s not that hard.”
“I told you I’m not going in the ocean.” Kiyoomi sneers.
Atsumu shakes his head. “Not here.”
“Or a public pool.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, ya really think I don’t know all yer rules by now?” Atsumu chuckles. “Trust me. I know a place yer gonna like.”
A place where the water is so clean and pure, no one —not even Kiyoomi— could find fault with it. A place free of children yelling and sunscreen slapping and gawking beachgoers, free of all the things that make Kiyoomi hide away under his umbrella. A place, up until now, Atsumu’s kept to himself.
“Where?” Kiyoomi squints at him, and Atsumu can’t help but give him an impish grin.
“Can’t tell ya. It’s a secret.”
Kiyoomi blinks slowly like he always does when he’s annoyed. “What if I don’t want to?”
“Then have fun bein’ the hypocrite who drowns first when there’s a tsunami.” Atsumu turns sharply on his heel which is admittedly hard to do in the loose sand.
Still, he pulls it off well enough for Kiyoomi to call after him, “tomorrow.”
There’s a pause. A delicious moment in which Atsumu can hear Kiyoomi swallow his pride.
“I’m free tomorrow.”
As if Atsumu didn’t already know that.
“Sure,” he throws over his shoulder and jogs off toward the water with newfound energy.
It’s the same rush he gets when he scores a service ace, when the crowd goes wild and he whips his head around in search of those glinting eyes, subjecting them to his gloat. The point on the scoreboard is good and all, but the point in his mental tally against Kiyoomi is what’s thrilling.
Terribly thrilling.
——
The shiny black car pulls up to the front of Atsumu’s apartment complex, smooth and sleek, exactly as it has nearly every off day for the last few months.
This time Atsumu doesn’t get in. He waits with a hand on his hip and a grin on his face. The tinted window slides down to reveal Kiyoomi in one of his usual dry-fit tanks, but this time there are shiny black swim shorts riding up his thighs — the perfect accent for both his car and his cold glare.
“Get in, loser,” he snaps, “you’re wasting my aircon.”
“Sorry, Omi-kun.” Atsumu leans down and rests his arm on the window ledge, smudging it with his touch, leaving his mark. “We gotta take my car today.”
Kiyoomi’s eyes go comically wide. “No.”
“Yer car’s not gonna make it where we’re goin’. ‘Specially not if ya want it to stay all nice and clean.” Atsumu swipes a slow and dramatic finger along the edge and holds it up for inspection.
Kiyoomi swallows, face gone sharp.
“Go park.” Atsumu pulls back and waves a hand. “I’ll meet ya in the garage.”
For a moment, Kiyoomi lingers like he’s going to refuse, but then he rolls the window up all the way, concealing his suspicious glare. And when Atsumu makes it down to the garage, Kiyoomi is already there, leaning against the hood of Atsumu’s lime green doorless Jeep with hands shoved into a matching jacket.
“How the heck did ya get down here so fast?” Atsumu asks. “And why are ya twinnin’ with my car in this heat?”
Kiyoomi isn’t having any of it. “You can’t seriously expect me to ride in this.”
“Ya did before. Remember?”
Atsumu certainly does. How could he forget the deliciously pained look on Kiyoomi’s face when he showed up, doors newly removed to drive them to a game? He timed it perfectly, right when Kiyoomi’s car was in the shop and it was too late to call for a different ride. Not only did he win their service ace competition that day, the mental snapshot of Kiyoomi’s dramatic discontent kept him grinning for weeks.
“Because I had no other choice.” Kiyoomi grits his teeth.
“Aw come on, Omi-kun, yer such a baby. I even put the soft top on fer ya.” Atsumu slaps it like a bag of rice as he climbs in. “I’m goin’ with or without ya, so make up yer mind.”
The key in the ignition sends the engine roaring loud enough to make Kiyoomi jump, kicking him into gear.
“I hate you,” Kiyoomi yells over it as he climbs in and pulls his mask up high on his nose. He doesn’t stop there. His hood goes up over his head and, as soon as he’s buckled in, he sanitizes his hands and sinks them deep into pockets, still wet.
Atsumu chuckles at the thought of them all slimy with the gel and the humidity. His own sweaty palms are far superior.
“What’s so funny?” Kiyoomi snaps. “Drive already.”
“First yer refusin’ and now yer beggin’ me fer a ride,” Atsumu teases. “Yer really such a hypocrite.”
The insult earns him a roll of Kiyoomi’s eyes as he rolls out of the parking garage. They’re not even on the road for a minute before Kiyoomi turns toward him, curling into the seat to face away from the open door. He shuts his eyes and anyone else would think he was napping, but Atsumu can’t miss the tiny crease between his brows, the subtle look of pain he catches every time his eyes stray from the road. He shouldn’t feel bad — Kiyoomi is always overly dramatic. Still, Atsumu drives the speed limit for once; maybe even a little below.
Kiyoomi doesn’t open his eyes until they reach the edge of the city. “Will you tell me where we’re going now?” His voice is nearly lost to the roar of the highway.
“You won’t know it,” Atsumu yells over it all. “It’s my secret place.”
Technically his and ‘Samu’s secret place; one they found during their adventurous phase right after high school. Atsumu can’t remember the last time he went, but judging by the photo ‘Samu posted of him and Rin there a few weeks back, it hasn’t changed one bit. Unlike that traitor ‘Samu.
Kiyoomi huffs for him. “I thought maybe you knew someone with a private pool.”
“Geez, Omi-Omi, what kinda company do ya think I keep?” Atsumu snorts, tapping his fingers on the wheel. “This is better than any old pool anyways.”
“I’m going to drown, aren’t I? I’m calling it now.” Kiyoomi hunches over further and pouts, a stray curl sneaking out of his hood to fall across his forehead, bouncing with every bump in the road.
Atsumu forces his eyes back to the lane, his mind back to the drive. “I won’t let ya.”
“What if I want to?” Kiyoomi delivers this like he delivers all his jokes: dry. For a Pisces, he really isn’t much of a water guy.
“If yer plannin’ on drownin’, yer gonna have to take me down with ya,” Atsumu insists. “Ya can’t leave me alone with Bokkun and Shouyou-kun. That’s just dang cruel.”
Kiyoomi huffs a little ‘heh’ and his mask crinkles. “You deserve it for making me ride in this death trap and breathe in all this polluted air.”
“Don’t know what yer talkin’ ‘bout.” Atsumu sucks in an exaggeratedly deep breath. “This air’s so fresh it’s burnin’ my lungs.”
There’s no way it couldn’t. The farther they get from the city, the more the grey world around them turns green, streetlamps morph into trees, and signage becomes few and far between. The air is new and bright with colors so vivid Atsumu can taste them on the tip of his tongue.
“Take off yer mask and try it,” he prompts. “Trust me.”
Kiyoomi gives him a skeptical look, but he tugs his mask down slowly until it sits right below his pert nose, immediately shoving his hand back into his pocket. With a tentative sniff, his face scrunches in confusion. “Smells like oranges.”
“That’s ‘cause I cleaned the leather this mornin’, ya idiot.” Atsumu cracks a mocking smile. “Turn the other way.”
For once Kiyoomi listens without complaint, and Atsumu’s eyes drift from the road of their own volition.
Hands free of pockets, Kiyoomi hooks his fingers in the sides of his mask and slides it to rest below his chin. His lips pull tight, determined, as he leans closer and closer to the airstream. All at once, the wind is whipping off his hood, stealing away every bit of caution and sending his curls dancing wildly around his head. And when his chest expands, filling with those delicious colors, a soft smile spreads across his cheeks.
Sometimes —like right now— Kiyoomi is a sight to behold, and Atsumu finds himself unable to look away.
It dawns on him Bokuto might be right about them spending too much time together. But isn’t that what good friends do? Grow attached? Become joined at the hip? Hell, Atsumu sees Kiyoomi more than his own twin.
What started with practice and games and required events quickly became something more. Late night drives when Kiyoomi can’t sleep, early mornings that begin with a run and end with coffee on Atsumu’s couch. Hitting the gym together where Kiyoomi spots for Atsumu and Atsumu guards the carefully cleaned equipment every time Kiyoomi disappears to wash his hands. Listening to each other rant while they attempt to cook something edible — half the time burning it and laughing through the smoke as they order out.
These are things that good friends do. Best friends, even. But no friend watches their friend enjoy an open-air drive and thinks about how much they’d like to run their fingers through their hair, what it would be like to pull them close and never let them go, to keep them in every manner of the word. No trustworthy friend, at least.
Atsumu clenches his jaw and sets his eyes on the road, refusing to look away for the rest of the drive. Not even when they reach the end of the pavement and Kiyoomi turns back toward him, burying his face in the leather to hide from the cloud of dust the tires kick up in the heated air.
As they bounce down the dirt road, Atsumu finds welcome distraction in the warmth of the flashes of sunlight filtering through the trees. Every leaf, every branch, every root of this place calls to him, welcomes him back. He’s missed it more than he knew, and he has to stop himself from sprinting from the car the moment he parks. More than anything he wants to run, wants to leap over that rocky edge and dive right into cool water. But he’s not going alone.
“Where are we?” Kiyoomi looks around, zipping his jacket up a little higher despite the heat.
“Where the foxes say good night,” Atsumu mutters ‘Samu’s words for him. This is the first time he’s come here without him, shown their secret to someone else. But ‘Samu did it first and he didn’t even ask, so to hell with secrets between them. Apparently he’s too busy sharing them with Rin now.
Kiyoomi gives him a quizzical look as he climbs out of the car. “Where the what?”
“Middle of nowhere,” Atsumu translates. “Grab yer stuff; we still got a ways to go.”
“We’re hiking?” Kiyoomi purses his lips and swats at an imagined mosquito. “I didn’t bring bug spray.”
“Well, look who’s unprepared now!” Atsumu fires off as he digs through his backpack. “I got ya.”
“How was I supposed to be prepared for a secret?” Kiyoomi makes finger quotes around the word. “I don’t know why I thought I could trust you.”
Atsumu frowns. He’s lost a tally on that board. How, he’s not sure, but he feels it leave him with his excitement. He crouches down and starts coating Kiyoomi’s legs in bug spray as he chews on this, ultimately deciding he’d rather spit it out. It tastes bitter, absolutely awful.
Oh wait. That’s the bug spray in his mouth.
Atsumu pauses and coughs into his arm a few times to rid himself of it. When he looks up Kiyoomi’s lips part like he has something to say. He doesn’t. He stays silent, glowering down at Atsumu until he’s finished.
“I didn’t bring proper hiking shoes,” Kiyoomi adds quietly, speaking to his sneakers.
“Do ya need me to carry ya too, then?” Atsumu yanks his backpack high on his shoulders, heavy with all its contents. “Or do ya not trust me with that either?”
Kiyoomi squints. “What is with you?”
“Yer the one that said it, not me.” Atsumu starts off down the trail, leaving Kiyoomi behind.
“Well you would definitely drop me so maybe I was right to say it,” Kiyoomi doubles down, following. “I’ve spotted you enough to know you have nasty, sweaty palms.”
Atsumu subconsciously wipes his hands on his shorts and sticks his tongue out over his shoulder. “Let’s not forget who lifts more.”
Behind him, Kiyoomi’s hands are dug deep in his pockets. He ducks and shifts, dancing between the branches and brush to avoid being touched. “When you eat that much, it’s to be expected.”
“Are ya callin’ me a pig?” Atsumu feigns offense.
“No, I’d say you’re more of a—” his sentence ends with a shriek.
Atsumu whips around to find Kiyoomi frozen in place, pointing into the bushes. He has half a mind to tell Kiyoomi it’s rude. “What’s wrong?” he asks instead.
“Rat” —Kiyoomi’s head whips around frantically— “I saw it!” He hovers on his tip toes, about to take flight. “Over there!”
Atsumu raises a brow and snorts. “There’s lotsa little critters out here, Omi, they aren’t gonna hurt ya.”
“They carry disease!” he cries.
“Then let’s get a move on so they can’t getchya.” Atsumu waves his hand, motioning down the trail.
Kiyoomi doesn’t listen. His eyes are wide, head swiveling slowly back from whence they came, ready to bolt any second. “This was a bad idea.”
“We’re almost there,” Atsumu insists. “Come on, we’ll be out of the brush in no time and then no more rats or mice or weasels or whatever.”
“Weasels?” Kiyoomi jolts. “I’m leaving.”
“Wait—” Atsumu grabs him by the sleeve of his jacket. “What about seeing things through, huh?”
Kiyoomi whips his head around but doesn’t look him in the eye, too busy searching for the elusive critters.
“What if I carry ya?” Atsumu offers without a second thought. “If ya get on my back they can’t get to you.”
Kiyoomi yanks free of Atsumu’s grasp and for a split second, Atsumu thinks he’s lost. But Kiyoomi doesn’t leave — he holds out a hand.
Atsumu stares, ready to reach for it when Kiyoomi waves it in the air.
“Backpack?” he requests. “Or were you not—”
“Oh!” Atsumu shirks off his bag before he can entertain any more thoughts — or lack thereof. “Here.”
Kiyoomi is still shooting nervous glances into the brush as he takes it. As soon as he’s done looping both arms through, Atsumu crouches down. Kiyoomi stands there, thumbs hooked in the straps of the bag.
“I’m not goin’ without ya, so get on already.” Atsumu crouches a little lower.
This is enough to get Kiyoomi moving, jumping —no, climbing— onto Atsumu’s back. He weighs heavy on Atsumu’s chest, arms wrapping around Atsumu in a tight embrace. Right when he starts to slip, Atsumu comes to, hands finding the backs of Kiyoomi’s bare thighs. They’re sticky with the remnants of bug spray and soft despite skin stretched taut over tensed muscle. Atsumu’s fingertips indent Kiyoomi’s flesh and he wonders briefly if they’ll leave a mark, if they’ll lay their claim for keeps.
He shakes the thought from his head. It’s just a piggyback ride. He gives them to Hinata all the time; Bokuto, too, though never by choice. Unlike those two, Kiyoomi isn’t the type to willingly jump on anyone’s back and it shows.
Atsumu can’t breathe.
“Yer chokin’ me,” he manages to the arm wrapped around his neck.
“Sorry.” Kiyoomi’s voice is close in his ear, too close, and when his grip loosens up the tight feeling remains.
Atsumu draws in a deep breath and straightens his legs beneath the weight of it all.
“Go,” Kiyoomi demands, squeezing his knees into Atsumu’s sides.
“First yer sayin’ I’d drop ya and now yer beggin’ me fer a ride,” Atsumu teases to sound normal, to convince himself. “Yer really such a hypocrite.”
Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything, and Atsumu wishes he could see that face. See that eye roll or glare or whatever dramatic little expression he’s sporting. As long as it’s not the face he made in the car, curled into the seat. Please don’t let it be that one.
Atsumu speeds up, bounding over brush and branches as fast as he can; maybe even a little too fast. But not once does he drop Kiyoomi, not once does his grip slip.
——
“We’re here,” Atsumu announces as he breaks into the clearing, excitement at the sight only amplified by the adrenaline of the run and the weight on his back.
The pool sparkles in the afternoon sun, water blue as the sky and inviting as the warm summer air. It’s something out of a postcard or a travel magazine: a place perfectly untouched by all those that would harm it. Hidden here off the beaten trail it stays pristine, clean, waiting for anyone prepared to treat it right. Atsumu releases his hold on Kiyoomi’s legs, ready.
Without a word, Kiyoomi is sliding off his back, dropping the backpack on the ground, and making his way to the edge of the pool. Atsumu’s eyes are drawn from the water to the backs of his legs, to the red marks dotting his thighs perfect finger spans apart. Atsumu’s finger spans apart.
“It’s clear.” Kiyoomi crouches down at the edge, hiding the marks and freeing Atsumu. His fingertips hover a wary centimeter above the surface, wanting. “Why is it so clear?”
“It’s a spring from an aquifer or some shit” —Atsumu pulls his shirt over his head— “comes from underground.”
Kiyoomi frowns.
“That means it’s all filtered by the sediment.” He kicks off his shoes.
Kiyoomi’s frown deepens into a scowl.
“Geez, Omi-kun.” Atsumu peels off his last sock and tosses it in the growing pile of his things. “Guess I’ll shut up now.”
With that he’s running, scrambling up the rocky ledge jutting over the deeper end of the pool to jump straight over edge. He doesn’t stop there; through the shock he swims down, down, down until the temperature of his skin and the water even out. By the time he reaches the bottom, the barrier between them is blended, nonexistent. For a moment suspended in time, Atsumu doesn’t know where he ends and the water begins. They’re one in the same, sharing skin in secret.
That is, until his lungs cry out for air. He kicks off the bottom, propelling, bursting through the surface into separate existence once more.
Kiyoomi is standing on the shoreline, socked feet atop his shoes, jacket in a pile, and shirt halfway over his head.
“You comin in—” Atsumu starts.
“What the fuck!” Kiyoomi finishes freeing himself. “I thought you died or something. Did you not hear me calling?”
“No.” Atsumu chuckles and shakes his wet hair out like a dog. “I was under the water.”
Kiyoomi picks up his jacket and shakes it out with two sharp snaps. He glares at it as he folds it, then does the same with his tank top.
“Omi-kun, don’t tell me you were ‘bout to jump in after me.” Atsumu treads water. “You woulda drowned yerself.”
“Would not.” Kiyoomi crosses his arms. “If I remember correctly, you said it’s not that hard.”
“Yeah, with a top instructor like me.” Atsumu swims to the shallows, leaving the sudden depths of the drop-off behind.
Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “You’ve never even taught anyone before, have you?”
“So? I’ve been swimmin’ all my life, unlike you.” Atsumu sticks his tongue out. “How’d ya get to be this old and never even get in a pool?”
“I told you.” Kiyoomi crouches down, shifting on his shoes, swiping a finger along the ground before shaking it off. “It’s dirty.”
He doesn’t stop there. He wipes the finger back and forth on his shorts, over and over like he’s desperate to feel it. He’s fidgety again.
“Yeah, but not once?” Atsumu presses for more. “Really?”
Kiyoomi’s eyes flash. “I did once, alright?”
Atsumu tilts his head at the way he stops short. “What happened?”
“My dad threw me in to teach me.” Kiyoomi makes finger quotes around the word. “Needless to say, it didn’t work and I don’t want to talk about it.”
Atsumu bites the inside of his cheek. Technically he learned a similar way, tussling with ‘Samu until their dad tossed them both in, but knowing Kiyoomi’s relationship with his parents, it was far from the same. And despite that, Kiyoomi was really going to jump in after him. Atsumu feels that weight in his chest again, like he’s won and lost all the same.
“Let me teach ya the right way then.” He motions for Kiyoomi to come closer. “I won’t let ya drown. I swear on my life.”
Kiyoomi’s lips twitch into a smirk. “That’s not saying much.”
“Rude.” Atsumu crosses his arms.
Kiyoomi takes the first step, socked feet leaving his shoes behind to sink into silty soil.
“Aren’t ya gonna take those off?” Atsumu asks as he nears the edge.
“No way,” he refuses. “What if my foot touches something? There might be sharp rocks or broken glass.”
“It’s clear as day.” Atsumu laughs. “Yer so weird sometimes, I swear.”
“Say whatever you want.” Kiyoomi stares down into the water, daring it with lips pressed in determination. Dark eyes flash up for the briefest of seconds. “You like me anyways.”
Atsumu’s heart stops. “I do?” he asks carefully, testing the waters.
Kiyoomi does the same, dipping his toes in. “Would we be friends if you didn’t?”
That’s right. Atsumu chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, yer still a pain.”
Kiyoomi takes another step and stops, water coming up over the edge of his socks. “It’s colder than I expected.”
“’Cause it comes from underground.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Atsumu rolls his eyes. “Feels good though, right? ‘Specially on a hot day like this.” It feels more than good — it feels like cool sunscreen on a burnt back.
“I guess.” A few more steps and Kiyoomi’s up to his knees, arms holding himself tight. “How deep is it?”
“I dunno, four meters?”
Kiyoomi’s eyes go comically wide. “No.”
“C’mon Omi-kun, yer almost there.” Atsumu holds out a hand. “Trust me.”
Slowly, Kiyoomi lets go of himself and grabs hold of Atsumu’s arm with both hands, fingers poised like claws. They press in tight to Atsumu’s flesh, and as he leads them in deeper and deeper, step after step, he wonders briefly if they’ll leave a mark, if they’ll lay their claim for keeps.
Kiyoomi grits his teeth as the water laps at his shoulders and neck. “What am I supposed to do now?”
“Kick your legs. Ow—” Atsumu jumps as one connects. “Don’t kick me!”
Kiyoomi smirks. “Oops.”
“I’m gonna cut you loose, ya fucker,” Atsumu threatens with a shake of his arm.
“No! Atsumu—” Kiyoomi slams his mouth shut before he can finish his plea.
“I didn’t mean it, Omi-kun.” Atsumu shifts closer, close enough to feel Kiyoomi’s heat radiating through the cool water. “I wouldn’t do that to ya.”
“I know.” Kiyoomi stares at where he’s holding onto Atsumu, fingers flexing. “I just—”
“Ya don’t gotta explain to me.” Atsumu purses his lips. “How bout I teach ya how to float first?”
Kiyoomi nods.
“So ya wanna lie back like yer lazin’ around at the beach. Put yer arms out and kinda puff out yer chest.”
Kiyoomi gives him a wary look.
“Try it,” Atsumu prompts, raising his arm up with Kiyoomi attached. “Bring yer legs to the surface.”
For once Kiyoomi listens without complaint and tries to straighten out. He struggles, legs kicking as he clings to Atsumu’s arm.
“Ya gotta let go of me,” Atsumu explains. “Put yer arms out and relax.”
“But—”
“Here” —Atsumu’s other hand finds Kiyoomi’s lower back, a touch they share only during the occasional photo op— “I’ll hold ya up until ya have it.”
Kiyoomi is wound tight. He squeezes his eyes shut as he releases Atsumu’s arm, one finger peeling away at a time. Atsumu doesn’t look to see if he’s left prints behind; he’s too concerned with following Kiyoomi’s tilt, glued to his skin in more ways than one. The way Kiyoomi bends in the water, even tense, is graceful, the same as when he flies into the air to spike. In both, he’s light as a feather, but his presence weighs on Atsumu heavier than anything he’s ever known.
Atsumu wiggles his toes where they sink into the cool sediment, trying to focus on that feeling as opposed to the warmth he holds in his hand. Nearly there, Kiyoomi’s legs jerk as he adjusts, and, on instinct, Atsumu’s free hand finds hold at the backs of his thighs. All ten fingers were never too much until now. And now it’s too late to take it back. One eye peeled open, Kiyoomi fixes Atsumu in a half-lidded stare.
“See?” Atsumu clears his throat and forces a smile. “Not so bad, huh?”
The little line between Kiyoomi’s brows fades, flattening out to something favorable, something unforgettable.
“I’m gonna let go now.” Atsumu needs to let go now. Right now. “Just relax,” he mutters half to himself.
“Okay.” Kiyoomi breathes out, shaky.
When Atsumu leaves, Kiyoomi stays. Suspended in crystalline water, face turned toward the sun, he opens up. His curls float around his head like a halo, dancing and swaying in the reflections of the clouds, belonging to the earth and the sky all the same.
Right now —one of those sometimes— Kiyoomi is a sight to behold, and Atsumu finds himself unable to look away.
It dawns on him what he feels for Kiyoomi is more than a good friend. More than a best friend, even. No friend watches their friend float and thinks about how much they’d like to slide their hands down their bare chest, what it would be like to swipe away the water pooling in the divots of their abs, to fill them with their fingers and touch them in every manner of the word. No trustworthy friend, at least.
Atsumu clenches his jaw and sets his eyes on Kiyoomi’s stupid, socked feet dipping farther and farther into the water as his form slips.
“Head back,” Atsumu reprimands. “Chest up.”
Kiyoomi complies better than before, water running down his sides, exiting of its own volition with no need for Atsumu. There only exists one need here: his need to touch Kiyoomi.
“How long do I have to do this for?” Kiyoomi saves Atsumu from himself with his sharp whine.
“As long as you need to.” Atsumu sighs. “If yer ever in deep and you feel yerself slippin’, just float.”
“It is kind of nice.” Kiyoomi relaxes further, fingertips spreading in the water.
Atsumu fake gasps and slaps a hand to his mouth. “Did I just hear Omi-kun admit he likes swimmin in disgustin’ water?”
“The water is clear.” Kiyoomi slips free of his float, feet searching for the bottom. “The only disgusting part is the instructor’s sweaty hands—”
When his mouth dips under, Atsumu grabs him by the arm without thinking and pulls him toward the shallower side. The water amplifies everything in opposites. Faster, slower, warped. One simple tug has Kiyoomi up against Atsumu’s chest, arm thrown over his shoulder. It happens fast. Faster than he can blink yet slower than he can understand. All Atsumu’s warped mind can think of is the last time they were this close — the night he learned Kiyoomi’s secret.
It was one of those nights like any other: the two of them bested by another failed dinner attempt, left to lounge around on the couch and shovel takeaway into their mouths while they marathoned B-list romantic comedies. What started as a joke quickly became something else, something intimate. Space between them grew smaller and smaller as they watched lead after lead find true love until Atsumu’s head found Kiyoomi’s lap. Warm and hazy, he was half asleep by the last movie, barely paying attention to the half-assed plot about a twenty-something woman who had never been kissed. At the time, he chuckled, commenting how unrealistic it was. Who could be that old and never kiss a single person? Kiyoomi barely responded, but from where he lay, Atsumu had full view of the way his fingers twitched, dug into the pale skin of his knee over and over like he was desperate to feel it.
As Atsumu stared at the red marks left behind, a single thought ran clear in his fuzzy mind: Kiyoomi had never been kissed.
The idea intrigued him, excited him almost, but he didn’t dare speak it out loud. In the following weeks he found himself watching closely, unable to look away when Kiyoomi started his defense mechanism against anything embarrassing. His predictable fidgeting confirmed Atsumu’s hypothesis into conclusion, solidified this secret he wasn’t supposed to know. No matter how terribly thrilling, he kept it like he kept the rest: all to himself.
Now, with Kiyoomi up against him, slick and wet with lips parted like he has something to say, Atsumu finds himself on the edge of spilling the secret to that holy face. He’s a sinner at confession, ready to sink to his knees and give up everything he holds.
And sink Atsumu does.
Before his lips have a chance to ruin him, the water engulfs his head. He escapes the arm on his shoulder, evades the chest pressed to his, eludes the questioning eyes he knows wait for him.
Abrupt and arctic, the water shocks his overheated skin with no consideration for the bond they once shared. The cascade of his kicks stirs up enough silt to block the sun, rendering it a different place altogether, leaving him chilled and uncomfortable. There at the bottom he stays, arms erupting in goosebumps as he desperately tallies the score in his head.
All his points are gone. Every single one of them stolen right out from under his nose while he was unable to look away.
With nothing but small smiles and glinting glares, Kiyoomi declared himself the victor.
Without even knowing it, he won Atsumu’s heart.