Chapter Text
In Kiyoomi’s book, whoever first said that being gay is a choice was the dumbest person in the world. Not the rudest, most irreverent, or most apathetic. The statement was just plain dumb. If Kiyoomi could choose who to be attracted to, it wouldn’t, in any universe, shape or form, be Miya Atsumu.
If he could voluntarily decide whether to go completely speechless when he saw Miya Atsumu squat or just be a normal human being with at least a single shred of dignity, he would choose the latter. But no, Miya Atsumu’s thighs just had to be carved in marble; and they had to be teammates in the unholiest game of them all. Scratch that last part, volleyball was not unholy, Kiyoomi’s thought were.
Seriously, his mouth watered when he saw Miya Atsumu sweat.
That was just as appalling as it was disgusting to Kiyoomi. He hated sweat, it was dirty and uncomfortably salty. Still, it seemed like his mouth wanted to taste it when it came from Miya Atsumu. Again, disgusting.
His attraction to Miya Atsumu wasn’t a choice, it was a thirsty monster whose growth was slow but all encompassing. First, he noticed Miya Atsumu’s thighs. Then, it came his Adam’s apple, more prominent than the standard; a characteristic that Kiyoomi had always liked in men. And that’s what he thought then: it was simple appreciation of things he had always found attractive.
By the time he found Miya Atsumu’s big toothy smile sexy, Kiyoomi couldn’t stop himself from thinking that toner did wonders on his blond hair. And then came the sweat thing and it was all a bit too much.
Kiyoomi hated this. He hated that he couldn’t choose.
Because if he could choose, he would choose not to be rendered a complete horny mess in the middle of practice, which happened to also be the middle of his job, for crying out loud. This stupid infatuation his mind had with Miya Atsumu had made him bad at volleyball; hence, bad at his job. Well, saying that he became bad at volleyball was a complete exaggeration since he was just off his game lately, but it still felt devastating.
Volleyball was his true love. A true love he was very good at, which does not mean he didn’t work for it. Quite the contrary, he trained arduously for it. Volleyball was the true love he actually did choose.
It felt even more devastating when his teammates began to notice that his performance was declining. Hinata’s befuddled frown when the ball Kiyoomi had just hit bounced against the net felt like the nail to Kiyoomi’s proverbial coffin.
“That was like the fifth missed set today, are you feeling alright Kiyoomi?” Bokuto spoke to Kiyoomi’s surprise. Although it wasn’t as surprising when he realized Hinata was stunned silent, looking at Kiyoomi as if he had grown a second head. Miya looked at him as if he had grown five.
“Maybe I need my joints checked,” Kiyoomi grumbled. His teammates didn’t need to know the real reason behind the shitshow he became, so Kiyoomi allowed himself a lie.
Although the lies didn’t stop there. Some days it was his joints and others his new shoes. And then his lack of sleep. And then headaches.
“Practice is done, guys. Everyone hit the showers, for God’s sake,” coach Foster ordered one day in which the lie was that his morning run tired him more than usual. “Miya, Sakusa, you two stay, please.”
By then, Foster had been pairing Kiyoomi with Miya for every single exercise, hoping that they’d find a way to resolve the issue on their own. Right before Atsumu jumped was when his thighs looked the best in Kiyoomi’s humble opinion, so needless to say it wasn’t working.
Coach Foster sighed once everyone had left, as if just looking at Miya and Kiyoomi gave him a headache. “I’ve been training you guys for a while, so I am going to grant myself the permission to speak informally.” That made Kiyoomi bite the inside of his cheek, but he refrained from interrupting. “Don’t worry, Sakusa, it will be just for this conversation and then I hope we never have to speak about it again. Right, so… are you two fighting or fucking?”
Kiyoomi’s eyebrows went up so high his head hurt. Miya sputtered in shock.
“What the hell, coach? Neither! I don’t know what’s up with this guy,” Miya replied. Kiyoomi had always thought Miya was so easy going nothing could ever bother him, but judging by his very offended tone, he had been wrong.
“Nothing is up with me,” Kiyoomi spoke, voice strained from the feeling of his throat closing in on itself. “I will fix it, I am working on it,” he had to add at the look of disbelief in his coach’s face. “I know I have been… off my game, but I will recover for next match. And every match after.”
Foster looked like he wanted to sigh again. It was obvious to Kiyoomi that he didn’t like having this conversation one bit and was only doing it because his job demanded it. That fact made Kiyoomi feel at least an once calmer.
“You haven’t been off your game, Sakusa. I have been observing you and you have been excelling in every exercise as usual. The problem is when I pair you with this one,” Foster explained, gesturing at Miya. “You hit every set, except his.”
Kiyoomi glanced at Atsumu, whose eyebrows were slightly furrowed but otherwise remained impassive. Kiyoomi felt his throat tighten again.
“I have realized, and-”
Their coach interrupted by raising a hand. “If it isn’t either fighting or fucking, it means the solution is easier. You two will stay after training until Sakusa can hit ten sets in a row. If by the time we have our next match this little problem persists, then I’ll have to bench you, Sakusa.”
Now Kiyoomi’s throat actually hurt. The next match was in fourteen days.
“It will not be the end of your career, Sakusa, relax. It means you miss one match and then we think of a new strategy to fix this.”
“Why do I have ta stay?” Miya objected. “I am performing better than ever.”
“Your sets are the problem. Fix it.”
There was no longer room for arguments. Kiyoomi knew it was his own problem to fix, and Foster was giving him a chance. And Miya knew Kiyoomi was one of the best outside hitters out there, as a setter he couldn’t lose him.
“I don’t want you two to exhaust yourselves, so please take it as easy as you can and follow up with our physical trainer at least once every two days. You two are on top of your game so I think you can slow down on training for a bit. And, for the love of God, don’t fight over this or it will never be over.”
Kiyoomi was in his car when he realized Foster hadn’t said anything about fucking.