You're wearing a replica of Kiyoomi's jersey for the first time, and you're more nervous than you were when you presented your thesis project in your last year of college. Kiyoomi was particular, maybe even peculiar, about many things, and his jersey was included on that list. You'd listened to him complain about fans, fervent and casual, wearing his jersey before. Heard him tell you how it felt strange, almost invasive to see other people wearing his name so casually. It was such an integral part of his identity, his name, and you supposed his fussiness over it made sense given his distaste for anyone other than his chosen few calling him outside of his last name. You'd left the topic well enough alone, satisfied with the reasoning he'd provided you. It made sense, the way he'd explained it, especially for someone as reserved as Kiyoomi. For the most part, you considered it much like his other preferences, something that ruffled his feathers enough to get him to complain for a small while before he was over it, the nuisance out of his mind until it reoccurred.
You didn't realize it was much more serious than that until one day when Atsumu waltzed into a team practice wearing Kiyoomi's jersey, clearly having swiped it from one of the vendors outside the arena. Initially, you'd turned to Kiyoomi laughing, expecting to bond over making fun of the blonde and his idiotic antics as you usually did, but when you'd caught a glimpse of his face, all the humor you could've found in the situation fizzled immediately. Kiyoomi was mad. Actually mad. It took you by surprise, the way his gaze darkened, how his face crumpled at the sight of his teammates. You'd never seen him like this before, never seen something properly upset him in this way. You were stunned by the unexpectedness of the situation for a moment, and that was all it took for Kiyoomi to stalk over to Atsumu across the court and confront him. The two had looked like they were about to come to blows before Meian stepped in between them, sending them in opposite directions and telling Atsumu to change immediately.
Kiyoomi had come right back to you after it happened, grabbing his bag and water bottle from your hands with an apologetic glance at you and small, muttered "sorry." That only concerned you further; you'd never seen Kiyoomi act like that either, so unassured, almost self-conscious in the way he'd searched your expression for something. You shook your head at the apology, threading your arm lightly through his and leading him out into the hallway to calm down out of sight of the rest of the team. You struck up a conversation as you walked, picking up the one you'd put down over text message before you had to drive over to the arena. It was an open practice today, so members of the public and family and friends, like you, were welcome to watch with limited admission. Thankfully, you were early enough to be the only one there.
The normalcy of the conversation seemed to treat the lingering tension Kiyoomi held onto, his shoulders slumping into their normal position and a weathered sigh leaving his mouth. You continued the conversation in the hall, ignoring what had happened until Meian came back in to fetch Kiyoomi for a conversation of his own. When practice finally began, everything was almost back to normal, although you could tell Kiyoomi was more purposeful in avoiding uneccesary interactions with all his teammates, especially Atsumu. You chose not to mention it when practice let out either, something Kiyoomi seemed grateful for if the way his eyes softened at the avoidance of the topic was any indicator. So, you continued prattling on about anything that caught your attention until the night was over and the incident was almost entirely out of your mind.
It was never brought up again, not that you minded since you didn't even know what you'd have said, and the strange occurrence truly had faded from your memory until this exact moment.
Kiyoomi's personal management and PR team had recruited you for some kind of charity event involving the team. Each team member was supposed to bring in a participant, who they would compete with against the rest of MSBY in various games. The audience, in-person and online, would bet on who was most likely to win, with all the proceeds going to a charity of the winning teams choosing. You had no idea why Kiyoomi's management was so insistent on recruiting you for the challenge; you weren't particularly athletic or competitive or appealing to a public audience, but after weeks of attempting to gently skirt their efforts, you got the feeling there were not taking no for an answer.
So, you acquiesced and showed up at the date and time they specified, wearing tennis shoes and buzzing with nerves at the prospect of being in the public eye. You really didn't know how Kiyoomi dealt with this almost everyday. It wasn't until an event coordinator had found you in one of the many hallways and pulled you aside into a fitting room that you found out you'd be wearing Kiyoomi's jersey. You had attempted to protest, attempted to explain, but you were quickly and thoroughly dismissed and shoved into a bathroom to change. You'd briefly panicked then, smacking your forehead against the wall of the stall a couple of times before resolving to just slide the jersey on momentarily and then immediately beeline to find Meian and explain the situation. He'd be able to get you out of it, wouldn't he? He'd seen the near fight between Kiyoomi and Atsumu and was the captain of the team; wouldn't they have to listen to what he was saying?
The plan worked well enough at first, with the strangely persistent man who'd first pulled you aside finally ushering you out the doors and granting you freedom. Relief had flooded through you, then, and you instantly set out to find Meian as quickly as possible, breaking out in a run towards the athlete lounge room that he was almost always in (and that, thankfully, Kiyoomi avoided like the plague). You were halfway there when everything went to shit.
In your haste, you'd turned a corner too quickly, smacking into something you couldn't see around its edge. You fell back, hands splayed behind to catch yourself from tumbling onto the ground, praying you wouldn't twist your ankle or something equally as stupid and preventable on the way down. Until, the object you'd run into turned out to be a person, their hands shooting out to steady you by the waist before you could fall. You gasped at the sudden catch, arms wrapping around their chest as they stepped forward and pulled you to them in the same motion to counteract the force of your fall. Your hands fisted in the back of their shirt as you attempted to regain your balance, your feet scrambling slightly as their hands squeezed a bit tighter around your middle before relaxing once you were both fully balanced. You breathed a sigh of relief, pulling yourself out of the person's chest to give them a brief thanks before breaking back out into a run to find Meian.
Unfortunately, the face that greeted you when you pulled back was not one of Kiyoomi's teammates or any of the hundreds of production and event coordination staff that had to be meandering about the building. It was Kiyoomi. His mask was already off in preparation for filming, so you could see his whole face as he peered down at you. He looked concerned, eyebrows scrunched together and mouth pursed in a way that told you he was alarmed, maybe by the strangeness of finding your friend sprinting down a hallway, maybe by the prospect that you might be hurt by the near fall. You froze, apprehension worming its way through each of your muscles until they were all locked in place. Flustered, and determined to wriggle out of his grasp before be could realize what you were wearing, you attempted to throw out an excuse for why you were running, for where you had to go so suddenly that you couldn't stop to talk to him. Instead, the panic of the moment, the fact that you'd been on edge all morning, caught up to you and you found you couldn't do much more than stutter through a couple of half thought out sentences that didn't even make sense. This seemed to concern Kiyoomi further, as his handsome face creased deeper and he stepped back slightly to observe you more thoroughly for an injury. You attempted to pull him back in by the compression sleeves he wore, but he shrugged you off easily, eyes scanning down from your face to the rest of you. You felt him stiffen under you when he saw what you were wearing.
Goddamn it. God fucking dammit.
You screwed your eyes shut at your impending doom, resigning yourself to being murdered right then and there by your best friend. Tensing, you waited for him to push you back with reproach, to scold you, to tell you to leave entirely. When the moment stretched one without any movement from Kiyoomi, you opened your eyes cautiously, peering at him from underneath your eyelashes in case he was suddenly capable of turning you to stone through the power of his fury alone. Only to find that he wasn't even looking up at you. Kiyoomi's gaze was still trained on the jersey you were wearing, tracking slowly over the small print of his name on the left side of the chest. It was different from his real jersey, obviously, the design made for more casual wear to appeal to fans who wanted merch to wear outside the sporting events. That meant that his last name and accompanying number, along with the MSBY logo were printed on the front as well, right about your heart would be if he didn't decide to rip it out of your chest for betraying him.
You held your breath as you watched him, eyes flitting over his face to try and analyze every single one of his micro expressions to make sense of his unexpected reaction. Eventually, Kiyoomi's eyes retrained themselves on your face, locking with yours. You froze again, pressing your lips together to prevent yourself from blurting out something stupid. A quiet couple of seconds stretched between the two of you before Kiyoomi let out a small laugh, head tucking into his chest at the movement. You felt all the built up tension in your body bleed out in confusion. Why was he laughing? Did he think it was funny that you were stupid enough to put on his jersey? Was he so upset that he was losing his mind Joker-style and was actually 2 seconds away from killing you?
Regardless of your confusion, the sight of Kiyoomi laughing at you annoyed you like it always did, doubly so now that you had no idea what he could possibly find so amusing. So, against what might've been your better judgement, you pinched at his forearm, trying to get him to look back up at you and explain himself. It worked, as Kiyoomi's gaze was drawn away from the floor, first towards your fingers as they pinched him, and then up at your face. You tilted your head and furrowed your brows to signal that you wanted a proper response from him, a proper explanation. His mouth twitched up into a small smile again as you did so, and before he spoke, you worried for a moment that he was going to laugh at you again.
"Were you running so that I wouldn't see you wearing this?" Kiyoomi looked, and sounded, amused when he spoke, like it was somehow ridiculous that you would've been worried about such a thing in the first place. His question, and the tone of it, both confused you and irritated you. Why else would you be running around like this? For fun? If he already knew the answer, why was he even bothering to ask? And what was so fucking funny?
"Yeah," was your chosen response, withdrawing your arms to cross them petulantly over your chest, "Since the last time someone wore your jersey you nearly murdered them in front of your entire team, I feel like I'm pretty justified in trying to get this thing off as soon as possible, Kiyoomi."
Kiyoomi raised his eyebrows at your response, the moles on his forehead bending with the movement, before he was laughing at you again, this time more fully, swiping a hand across his face as he did so. You bristled again at his reaction, a twinge of self-consciousness beginning to wring through your stomach. Your fingers tightened, digging into your elbows as you tried not to let it show in your expression. Was it really so laughable that you'd wear this? Did you look stupid? You glanced down at yourself, resisting the urge to pick at the shirt and readjust it so that it no longer folded and wrinkled awkwardly. When you looked back up, your gaze caught on Kiyoomi's again, though you quickly shifted to look away, focusing sullenly on the seams of the brick wall beside you. The heat of his gaze burned up the back of your neck; Kiyoomi was the most observant person you knew, and you really didn't like not knowing why he was laughing at you, especially when it was clearly about your physical appearance. You sunk slightly more into yourself, trying to cover up more of the jersey from his line of vision.
Kiyoomi seemed to sense the shift in your mood as he tried to catch your gaze again, tilting his head to try and edge into your sight, calling your name out more softly than he should've been allowed to, given the situation. You turned to look farther away from him, the uneasiness of the situation prickling and buzzing underneath your skin. Kiyoomi sighed softly at your refusal to look at him, pausing a moment to look over you again before he spoke again.
"You don't-" he cut himself off, running a hand through his hair briefly in the way he did when he was flustered. He was silent for a couple more seconds before trying again.
"You look nice. It suits you."
There was a pregnant pause as you processed his words, after which, you whipped around to face him with such force, you felt the muscles in your neck pull uncomfortably. Your hand came up to clamp down on the strain immediately, and Kiyoomi's wasn't far behind, worming underneath your own to massage lightly at the tightness as you stared up at him, perplexed. He was smiling again as he looked down at you, though this time you could tell it wasn't at you. His eyes searched your face for a little bit while he continued massaging you lightly, the skin underneath his hand tingling from the intimacy of how softly he was handling you.
"You okay?" Kiyoomi asked, voice softer than before, taking on the tone he used when he was genuinely worried for you. The last time you'd heard it was when he'd come over while you were recovering from the flu and found you sleeping on the floor in the kitchen instead of in your bed, hoping the chill of the tile would help with your fever.
Your self-consciousness faded almost immediately, washing down your body to be replaced with a kind of bashfulness that only appeared when he treated you like this. Like more than just a friend. You wrung your hands in front of you, antsy under his gaze and concern, nodding in response to his inquiry. Kiyoomi blinked, pleased with your response, focusing his attention of where you'd grabbed at your neck instead, lifting his hand off the area so he could observe it. He seemed to find his assessment satisfactory, humming low in his chest. Kiyoomi swiped his thumb across the area one more time before recalling his hand to lay back at his side. You missed the pressure of it as soon as he did.
"I thought you hated people wearing your jersey," you finally spit out, recovering your voice after some of the strangeness of the situation had settled, "You nearly ripped Atsumu's head off when he wore it that one time."
Kiyoomi's lips twitched again you spoke, and you could tell he was trying to suppress another grin again when his tongue prodded at the inside of his cheek. He nodded along to your words, reeling in his expression, and you felt your chest warm at the realization that he was trying his best to avoid making you feel anxious again before he could explain.
"I do hate people wearing my jersey," he responded, voice placid and even, back to its normal timbre, "And I would've ripped off Atsumu's head if Meian had let me."
Kiyoomi seemed to think that was explanation enough, still regarding you with that same open softness that he rarely ever let you see. But he wasn't explaining shit. Not fully. Not explicitly. It was like he was waiting for you to piece together something, like he was leaving crumbs and hoping you would glean his meaning from them. But you were already confused enough from his contrarian behavior and unusual demeanor, you didn't have the patience for whatever riddle he was asking you to solve.
You tilted your head forward, keeping his gaze, as you gestured forward with your hands, imploring him to elaborate.
"Sooooooooooooo?" You raised an eyebrow at him, purposefully letting the annoyance you were beginning to feel bleed into your tone in the way you dragged out the word.
Kiyoomi let the smile he'd been containing break across his face at that, taking a step closer to you and leaning down so that his face was clearly in your personal space. You could see each of his eyelashes as they outlined the shape of his eyes.
"Sooooo," he began, mimicking you and ignoring the way it made you scoff at him, "You're not everyone else. You're not Atsumu."
The emphasis he'd placed on you in his statement, the proximity of his face as he peered, and the fact that he'd clearly spent the entirety of the interaction trying to hint at something unsaid made your heart begin to work its way up your throat, its rhythm beating in your ears and fingers.
"You get special privileges," Kiyoomi continued, eyes dragging down your face to focus briefly on your lips. You press them together at his attention, making him smirk before his eyes were back on yours. The light in them was more intense, laden heavier with something you couldn't really name. Something you weren't bold enough to name, just in case you were wrong. He tilted his head to the side before he continued, leaning closer until his nose nearly brushed yours.
"You get special privileges," he repeatedly, slower, quieter, "because I like you."
The breath you sucked in stuck noisily in your throat, your eyes wide as you attempted to respond, to fully clarify if he meant that he liked you in the way his tone implied. The words clogged in the back of your mouth, lips parting uselessly and shakily before you let out a stuttering breath in an attempt to regain some composure. Kiyoomi's gaze softened at your reaction, one of his hands rising to lay gently against your cheek, fingers at your jaw and thumb stroking along your cheekbone. You let out a small laugh at how unbelievable this interaction was becoming, how there was no possible way you could have ever predicted this when you first shrugged on this godforsaken jersey.
You drew in another uncertain breath to try and respond, although you had no idea what you were planning to say, but Kiyoomi beat you to it.
"Because I like you romantically," he finally clarified, mumbling through a smile that spread wide enough to for his dimples to poke through when he saw how you began to bounce on the balls of you feet in response. "And I really, really want to kiss you."
It was your turn to fully laugh at that, at the borderline desperate way he'd said it and the way his fingers had tightened their grip on your face. You knocked your forehead against his as you continued to giggle, bringing your hands up to cling to the collar of his jersey, his actual jersey. Once the intitial wave of giddiness had worked through you, you paused to catch his gaze one more time, pleased to find him still looking at you affectionately, even moreso than before, like he found you laughing him endearing.
"You're such an idiot, Kiyoomi."
And then you were pulling him squarely into you, pressing yourself up onto your toes to catch his lips more quickly. Kiyoomi's response was instantaneous, his hand tilting your head to slot your lips against his, the other coming up to curl into the back of your neck, locking you flush against him. He groaned into you immediately, the sound reverberating through you, desperate in a way that was so uncharacteristic for Kiyoomi. The hunger in how his lips pulled at yours, the firmness with which he held you against him, and the longing in the way he hummed into you had your body shivering against him, hands scrabbling to wrap around his shoulders so you could get a better grip on him.
Kiyoomi kissed you again and again and again, with the same intensity and dedication he approached everything in life with, all honed only on you. You whined into the kiss as he shifted so that your back came flush with the wall next to the two of you, arching further into him, both to get away from the chill of the brick and to encourage him to keep pouring into you. The sound of you in his mouth only seemed to magnify Kiyoomi's desire to kiss you so thoroughly you'd never separate from him again. The hand cupping your neck traced down your back and hip, stopping only once he's gotten a solid grip on the meat of your thigh, squeezing gently as he guides you in lifting it up over his own hip, before sliding back up to band itself around your waist.
You don't know how long you kissed Kiyoomi in that hallway, your hands gliding over his shoulders, his neck, his chest, and his arm, pulling gently at his hair to get him to huff against you before he leaned back in. In the end, you settled on cradling his face just as he had done to you, thumbs gentle against the high of his cheekbones. Kiyoomi's hands had settled against the back of your neck and around your waist as the kiss cooled, becoming sweeter and stretchier, like pulled taffy, though not necessarily less intense. The space between each kiss lengthened as the two of you looked at each other, still not speaking before one of you leaned forward or pulled the other in, until eventually you found yourself panting, forehead leaned against Kiyoomi's. You absentmindedly attempted to wipe some of the shine from his bottom lip with your thumb.
He smiled again under your ministrations, the skin pulling taut underneath your finger. Tutting at him halfheartedly for interrupting, you let your thumb slip back to his jaw, focusing back on meeting his gaze as he looked at you. He was placid, content when your eyes caught his, like the kiss had melted the hardened layer he kept between himself and the rest of the world. The barren vulnerability he looked at you with made your heart press against your sternum, like it wanted to pass through you and into him. You cooed lightly at him, pressing one final kiss to his bottom lip.
"Let me take you to dinner?" Kiyoomi's voice was soft as he asked, like he wanted the space and time captured between you two to remain private, precious. His tone was a bit ragged, noticeably kiss laden, a bit deeper than normal. "As a date. So I can properly ask to be your boyfriend."
Your arms threaded around his neck at that, as you giggled and nuzzled into his shoulder, giddy at the prospect of the Sakusa Kiyoomi asking to be your boyfriend. You didn't voice your response right away, preoccupied with peppering a couple more kisses onto his jawline, assuming he'd be sensible enough to presume your very obvious answer.
The word surprised you a bit, the fragility of how softly he'd spoke made you pull back to look at him fully again, palms squishing at his cheeks. Kiyoomi looked slightly embarrassed, almost meek, as you emerged from the crook of his neck. You decided to take pity on him, unlike how he had teased you earlier, and give him a clear answer outright. You squished his cheeks more firmly, smiling at the way his lips pursed under your grip.
