#complete version

Kiyoomi realized that there were other voices aside from the twins and their mother, but they were out of sight.

He tried to distract himself from what felt like walking his own funeral procession. His eyes caught on the walls and the frames that filled them.

Ribbons and MSBY articles on best plays and a few select scandals starring the one Miya Atsumu. Kiyoomi thought it strange to frame those, but it seemed oddly fitting. The other frames were mostly of the twins growing up.

He could tell which one was Atsumu by his eyes and the dimple that showed up in his side smirk, which he apparently had since birth by the looks of it. Rambunctious and messy and warm, that's what those photos told Kiyoomi.

That summer had been sticky, the watermelons sweet and refreshing. That middle school tournament had been the one, the one that hooked Tsumu on volleyball. That festival had been boring for the kids, but Miya-san held her boys' shoulders like there was nothing possibly better to do, like she'd been looking forward to that one day off with her sons.

The walls told Kiyoomi of a family, a proper family. Messy and loving. It's beginning and progression and the expectation of continuation.

And then he was in the kitchen, the Miya-san before him noticeably older than the one on the walls, but still the loving mother with the kind smile and warm eyes.

Atsumu was leaning on the counter with a lazy smile, an it's-so-damn-good-to-be-home smile, turned toward her, his focus entirely on her and the questions she asked.

"What's Samu on about? Sayin' you brought me somethin'."

"I dunno, Kaa-san. Samu says alotta shit."

"Deliverin' one MSBY outside hitter," Osamu piped in. "Do I hafta do the rest for ya, Tsumu?"

"No, scrub. That'll be all."

Atsumu's eyes fell on Kiyoomi, who was standing oh-so awkwardly in the kitchen door of that well-worn, well-lived kitchen, and his smile widened, that stupid dimple making its appearance. They had practiced and scripted and memorized how they were going to do this.

Kaa-san, this is Sakusa Kiyoomi. You've met him at the last Christmas gala. We've been dating for sometime and I wanted to formally introduce him to you.

Hello, it's a pleasure to meet you, Miya-san. Thank you for welcoming me into your home. Your son—

"Kaa-san, this is the love of my life. I believe you’ve met already."

Kiyoomi was drawing blanks.

"T-that's not w—" Kiyoomi fumbled. Readjusted. Refocused. Bowed. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miya-san. Thank you for welcoming me into your home. Your son is the idiot I'm in love with."

Miya-san looked between them for a second, the smile on her face spreading.

"I like 'im, Tsumu," she said brightly. "Please treat my idiot son kindly, he's gen'le like that."

"Kaa-san!"

Miya-san laughed. "Come on in, Sakusa-kun. You look stiff as a board standin' there."

Kiyoomi walked in, one leg out in front of the other. Atsumu chuckled, holding out his arms for Kiyoomi to walk into.

"There, Omi-Omi. The bandage's been ripped. Breathe," Atsumu said half-mockingly, running a soothing hand down his back.

Kiyoomi simply slumped into him, drained beyond belief. No screaming, no shouting, no think of the family. Just a smile and joke.

"You stayin' the weekend, Sakusa-kun?"

Kiyoomi stood up and turned toward Miya-san in the cage of Atsumu's arms. It felt so natural, like they had been in that kitchen before many times over, asking the same question, giving the same answer. "Yes, ma'am. If that's alright."

"'Course it's alright! Fair warnin', though, we're a rowdy bunch. You seem like the quiet type."

"He ain't so quiet when—"

Kiyoomi dug his heel sharply into Tsumu's foot.

"I'm sure that's no problem at all, Miya-san."

"So proper," Miya-san giggled, patting his cheek. It took all his self control not to make a face or pull away. "Cute."

"Kaa-san, Omi's too polite to say it or he really wants to suck up to ya, but either way, don’t touch his face. He's got a germ thing."

"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetheart," she said, yanking her hand further back.

"Can I go wash up, please?"

"Bathroom's the second door to the right," Atsumu said, pushing him toward the entrance.

Kiyoomi nearly had a heart attack as he heard Miya-san's fading voice ask Atsumu, "A germ thing? How'd you manage to even sleep with 'im?" Which was quickly followed by Atsumu's cackle.

It turned out that the other voices in the house were Sendai Frogs' Suna Rintarou and Red Falcons' Ojiro Aran. Kiyoomi knew that they had known the twins back in high-school, at least. They were part of Inarizaki's team back then.

"Samu's cooking ain't shit next to this," Suna said, immediately grabbing at an onigiri ball before Miya-san had finished setting the plate down.

"Don't fill up on balls alone, Rin," Miya-san scolded. "Dinner'll be done in a bit. Come and help, Samu."

"Yeah, Rin," Atsumu said, winding up for a joke, making sure his mother was out of earshot. Suna was already rolling his eyes. "If you're gonna fill up on balls, best it be Samu's not Ka—."

Osamu hit his brother upside the head as he passed on the way to the kitchen.

Atsumu just chuckled. "Since when are you fussy about fuckin' Rin?"

"I hope Baachan gets here just as you're saying some shit like that," Osamu said.

Ojiro chuckled, shaking his head at the scene, like it was something he was intimately familiar with.

He caught Kiyoomi staring at him and smirked. Kiyoomi felt more like a witness than a part of the group, but he'd never minded that. It seemed Ojiro wanted to remedy that.

"How'd Sakusa Kiyoomi end up with our Tsumu anyhow?"

"Hard to say," Kiyoomi shrugged. Atsumu perked up at the sound of his name.

"'Cause I'm a charmer, Aran. Easy as that."

Ojiro ignored him. "He's a slob—"

Yet surprisingly fastidious.

"—short fused—"

Passionate. Single focused.

"—obnoxious—"

No objections.

"—and far too cocky for his own good."

Charming.

"Do you even like me, Aran?" Atsumu whined, kicking the leg of Ojiro's chair.

Ojiro shushed him and regarded Kiyoomi, waiting for some form of explanation.

Kiyoomi thought about it for a moment. "He grows on you," he said finally.

Ojiro cracked a smile. "I think he's a keeper, Tsumu."

Dinner was unsurprisingly delicious. Osamu had clearly picked up his skills from his mother and the two of them working together did wonders.

Kiyoomi watched Atsumu throughout the meal, his uproarious laugh, his barely there table manners, how he made crude jokes just to get a reaction out of Ojiro, his easy banter with every member of the table. It was still his Atsumu, but something about him seemed unhampered, like being home dislodged something in him. Kiyoomi sat quietly beside him, endeared by the way Atsumu kept playing with his foot under the table.

"So," Miya-san said somewhat ceremoniously, taking over the conversations at the table. "Because this is Sakusa-kun's first dinner with us, it's time for embarrassin' stories. He must be briefed on all he's missed out."

Atsumu groaned, putting a hand over his face, but he still wore a smile.

"Being his teammate for a few years, I already know plenty, Miya-san."

"Thank you, Omi," Atsumu said, relieved.

"But I could stand to hear a few more."

The men around the table chuckled, gearing up for their tales of Atsumu's misfortunes. Atsumu held a hand to his chest, feigning offense.

"So this is what betrayal feels like."

The conversation around the table grew louder as the night went on. Laughter and fists pounding the table rattled out of the dining room, competing with the cicadas outside.

"Sakusa-kun, didja know the one with the bar an' the backflip already? It blew up on Twitter," Osamu said eagerly, leaning forward on the table. His cheeks were a splotchy red, his eyes almost as bright as Atsumu's. Kiyoomi couldn't have fought off the smile on his face if he'd wanted to.

"Yeah, I know that one. I took the video."

"Fuck, yeah," Suna said loudly, in drunken approval.

"Wait, are you serious?" Atsumu cut in.

"Atsumu, you had insisted that someone had to record you," Kiyoomi said, recalling how Atsumu had jostled his shoulder until he pulled out his phone. "You said, 'Omi, watch this, look.' And then, 'No wait, record it. Come on. Don't be a bitch'."

"Sounds like 'im," Osamu said.

"Then you stood on the bar—"

"I know—"

"You tried to do the back flip—"

"Yes, Omi—"

"—kicked the bartender in the jaw—"

"Omi—"

"—fell flat on your stomach, and looked up and asked, 'Did ya get it?'"

The table roared with laughter. Atsumu playfully shoved Kiyoomi.

"I mostly remember havin' a bruised everything the next day."

"The Jackals can no longer set foot in the establishment or until your contract is over."

"Sounds right," Suna chuckled. "We once got kicked out of an arcade 'cause of these two. I got it on video, too."

"Oi, it's Tsumu stories not twin stories," Osamu nudged Suna.

"Actually, I've got most of their fights on my phone," Suna lit up, like he'd just remembered.

"Do ya?" Miya-san asked, intrigued.

The twins went rigid. "NO."

"He's kiddin', Kaa-san."

"He's drunk."

Kiyoomi chuckled. He'd spent hours agonizing over how this weekend would go, how he had to show Miya-san that he was a good fit for Atsumu, put his best foot forward. He never realized that Atsumu had been serious when he told him to not worry.

The Miyas were drastically different from the Sakusas. They were teasing and loud, lively, present. It was an unspoken warmth Kiyoomi had never witnessed before. It was weirdly welcoming.

"Omi."

"Hm."

"Omiii."

"Shh." Omi's hand flew back at Atsumu, smacking him in the face, an undignified sound escaping his throat. "Quiet."

"Oi," Atsumu started to shake him.

"What. What," Omi turned on his back, squinting up at Atsumu.

"Mornin', hot stuff," Atsumu grinned.

"I'm going to strangle you."

"Save the foreplay for later, Omi. My gran gets here today, so get the fuck up."

That seemed to do the trick, because Omi's eyes widened before he was nearly sprinting out of bed.

"What time is it?" he asked, frantic.

"Ya still got time," Atsumu waved a hand dismissively.

"You are fully dressed, which inspires zero confidence," Omi said, turning to scramble through their bags.

"Fair," Atsumu muttered to himself.

He watched Omi stumble to the shower with his clothes precariously gripped in his hand, looking absolutely frazzled and adorable. Atsumu leaned back in bed with a satisfied sigh. It was so fucking good to be home. It was even better now that he got to bring Omi with him.

He hadn't been worried about his mother meeting Omi. At the gala she had told him that out of all his teammates, Omi was a perfect gentleman. Meian didn't count (Meian had a wife, Meian did his own taxes). She'd been impressed more by Omi's age than by his manners.

"He's your peer?," she'd asked him. "Not your senior?"

"Nah, Kaa-san, ya can't date him."

She'd giggled and smacked his arm. "Tsumu! That's not what I meant."

His gran, however, made him worry. To the point where he'd woken up early, helped Samu with breakfast, retouched the yard, and taken a shower, all the while feeling an itch in the palm of his hands that didn't let him sit still.

But there was no need to worry Omi with all of that until it was absolutely necessary. And Gran would be arriving in under an hour, so Atsumu thought it was necessary.

It wasn't that his gran was homophobic or anything. Thankfully. She adored Suna. The man was her third grandson, maybe even her favorite grandson. She was, though, scrutinizing.

And as much as Omi had been raised under a magnifying glass, he was unsettled by his gran's high standards for her grandsons.

It's not like it would matter, really. Omi was it for Atsumu, as prickly as the bastard was. It was as simple as that. Gran not approving would only mean annoying family reunions where Omi would get the perpetual stinky eye from the old woman. Nothing to worry about.

Atsumu's hands itched.

"Osamu, step up here," Gran pushed a stool beside her, handing the boy a peeler. "Atsumu, fetch me a bowl."

Whenever Gran looked after them, they always worked on projects together. Gran said they were surprises for their mom for when she got back from work. They would clean their rooms or tidy up the genkan or bake like they were doing now.

Atsumu dutifully handed her the bowl and cleared out the counter so she could work more comfortably.

"You boys are special, y'know?" Gran started as she mixed the dry ingredients together. "You're the reason yer mom smiles, the reason she tries, you’re her happiness."

Gran nodded firmly, like these were reasonable statements and not like she'd told them that they're the reason their world spins. Because they both knew, without ever having to say it, that their mom was their world. It was a natural fact.

"That's that," Gran said. And that was that. The rest went unsaid, but known. Decidedly, if she could help it, Gran would move a mountain and hang the stars for Atsumu and Osamu, if it meant their happiness. They were her greatest treasure, in a way that a daughter could never quite be. Their mom was happy through them and Gran would propel that happiness forward, as much as she could, however she could. And she did.

After his shower, Omi seemed far more composed. His eyes were still flitting around, and his hands were fidgeting, but he seemed to be reigning it in. Atsumu knew he could do this.

His palms were itchy.

"Tell 'im it won't be that bad, Samu."

Osamu was smirking like a dipshit, watching Omi pace.

"Why should I? Ya made Rin so nervous, he almost sat up straight," Samu said, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, but Rin's my friend, too. I was just fuckin' with 'im."

Samu shook his head, about to be the most stubborn bastard alive—

"You'll be fine, Sakusa-kun," he said easily. "'S long as Baachan thinks this prick is yer reason for breathin'."

Omi stopped pacing, arms slacking at his sides. "I'm fucked."

"Omi!"

Samu could only laugh. Bastard.

Lunch was ready when they heard Gran arrive. Omi was in high stress, becoming increasingly fussy. He had already pulled on a disposable mask and was carrying his hand sanitizer in his pocket. At the sound of the door opening, Atsumu watched Omi reflexively squeeze more sanitizer into his palm.

Omi had insisted that they'd have something to say with his mother, some preamble to, "Hey, this is my boyfriend." Atsumu had gone along with it to soothe his nerves, but he'd known he'd throw their script out the window immediately. With his gran there was no preparation.

"Just be yourself. Trust me."

Omi had straightened in his chair then, nodding.

"I can do that."

He didn't look so confident now. Their mom was trying to distract Omi in the kitchen, helping her set up for lunch. Atsumu was clearing the dining table as they heard Gran's shuffling in the genkan.

Gran was led in by Rin, holding onto his arm for the simple joy she got out of it. Atsumu could sense the steel bar lodged in Omi's spine from across the room.

"Baachan! How was the ride over?" Samu wandered over, scooping her up into his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly.

"It was fine. Rintarou still remembers how to drive," she chuckled.

"I didn't even crash that time, Baachan," Rin said in his defense.

"Coulda fooled me. Now, where's my grandson?" Gran asked, pulling away from Samu.

Atsumu stepped in, swinging her around once. "Baachan!"

She giggled in his ear, patting his shoulder. "Put me down before ya kill me."

"Ya ain't delicate," Atsumu said, setting her down. He turned to find his mom leaning against the kitchen door watching Omi look somehow more of an awkward fuck in the hallway.

This time, Atsumu stuck to the script. Springing surprises on Gran hardly ever went well. "Baachan, this is Sakusa Kiyoomi. We've been datin' for a while and I wanted him to meet ya."

Omi bowed deeply. Atsumu resisted the urge to bonk him in the head.

"Why? Are ya planning on marrying him?" Gran asked, her eyes following Omi as he stood straight again.

"Baachan."

"Hush, I'm messing with ya."

"It's an honor to meet you, Aoki-san," Omi said firmly. The side of his mouth was probably twitching. Omi had learned to fidget comfortably in front of people without them ever noticing.

"Could ya," Gran mimicked a pinching and pulling down motion. "I feel like I know ya."

Omi pulled down his mask, still keeping his distance. His face was controlled and calm.

Gran's eyes widened. "Tsumu, have ya lost yer mind!" She smacked him upside the head. He heard Samu snickering from the kitchen. "He's yer teammate!"

"And roommate!" Samu supplied from the other room.

His gran proceeded to berate him, going on about how he was risking his career and his homelife and what the hell were you thinking and do you realize how reckless that is, but gran could talk his ear off all she wanted. He had already thought of that, had already weighed his options, had already calculated the magnitude of how this could fuck him up. He'd tortured himself before settling in his feelings, he'd done the work.

And he knew it was the right choice. He knew it as his fingers knew how to flex for a set and he knew it when he turned to see Omi's shoulders relax and a soft smile reach his eyes.

"And you, young man, must be just as insane," Gran turned her reprimands on Omi.

Omi startled slightly at being addressed by her.

"I guess I am," he said. His smile didn't fade.

Gran grinned in turn. "Good."

And that was that.

* * *

"Omi-Omi," Atsumu poked at his thigh with his foot. Kiyoomi was sweeping their common area and Atsumu always planted himself on the small couch "for the view."

"What."

"I was thinking of visiting my ma for a weekend. Y'know, before the season starts up again."

"Sounds nice. Lift your feet up."

Atsumu pulled his legs into the couch, crossing them under him. Kiyoomi leaned over, crouching to get under the couch.

"I was wonderin' if you'd like to come. Like, home with me."

Kiyoomi stopped sweeping to look at Atsumu.

"You sure?" The last time Kiyoomi had his parents over for dinner, they had almost made Atsumu bust a valve in his tolerance gauge with their prodding and condescension. The whole meet-the-parents thing wasn't their strong suit.

Tsumu leaned up to catch his lips, dragging him down to sit on the couch. He pulled away with a smile.

"Yes, I'm fucking sure, Omi."

He gave Tsumu a skeptical look.

"Kaa-san already met ya, wanted to scoop ya up all for herself, and Samu'll be there. Ya might have to worry about Baachan, but it'll be nothing like dinner."

"Right," his heart started to pick up. He could feel the disaster incoming. Tsumu kissed him again, chuckling into it.

"Don't start," he said against his lips. "You'll get fussy."

Kiyoomi scrunched his nose, pulling away, hands pushing at Tsumu's thighs.

"I don't get fussy," Kiyoomi said stubbornly, leaning into Atsumu's hand as he played with his curls.

"Sure ya do. It's cute, but it's shit for yer nerves." He tugged lightly at his hair. "They'll love you, ya bully me and keep me in line. They'll be swooning."

Kiyoomi couldn't help his snort. Atsumu lit up at the sound. "Sure, alright. I'd love to meet them."