kiyoomi wakes up to a raging storm outside the bedroom window and a distinct lack of miya atsumu on the right side of the bed. his first thought is ‘what the fuck?’, because how dare his boyfriend leave him alone in their bed to freeze and sniffle and die from the cold weather when he knows how kiyoomi gets during rainy days? wrapping the duvet around himself, he grumpily marches to where atsumu is frying bacon and eggs in the kitchen.
“oh, good morning my omi-HEURK—“
kiyoomi all but yanks his traitorous boyfriend by the collar back to their bedroom, practically throws him onto the mattress, and body slams all 6-foot-4 of his olympic athlete body onto atsumu, partially for leaving him alone on a cold, rainy morning, and partially to trap him under himself so he can never leave the bed again.
“omi ya jerk, yer heavy as fuck,” atsumu wheezes out from beneath him.
“you’re a jerk for leaving me alone to freeze and die,” he retorts.
“why do ya gotta be so dramatic? and we have a duvet for goodness sake!”
“not enough,” kiyoomi mumbles into his neck. atsumu can hear the pout in his voice even if he can’t see it.
“what am i, yer personal heater? is that all i am to ya now, omi-omi?” he teases, unable to keep the fondness from his voice.
“yes, now tuck me back in you jerk, or suffer my wrath.”
atsumu chuckles. “alright, ya big baby.”
he caresses omi’s curls as he maneuvers his grumpy, dramatic boyfriend to his side of the bed and pulls up the duvet to cover them both. kiyoomi immediately clings to him like a koala and nuzzles further into his neck.
“warm,” he mumbles, and atsumu kind of wants to cry at how adorable he is in his own prickly way. he gathers kiyoomi in his arms and places a kiss on the crown of his head.
he loves morning omi—grumpy and pouty and bleary with hair sticking out every which way—and thinks about waking up to morning omi for the rest of his life, but that’s a conversation they’ll have on another day. right now, he settles back on the mattress and prepares to go back to sleep. it’s quiet for a whole minute, nothing but the pitter patter of rain on the window, and then—
“OH SHIT I FORGOT TO TURN OFF THE STOVE”
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