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Slow mornings was something that rarely appeared in Kiyoomi’s vocabulary. Like clockwork, he'd wake up at 7 AM sharp everyday, get ready, and head to the local coffee shop to study when he didn't have any morning classes that day.
He followed his daily to-do list like it was the holy text, to which Atsumu found hilarious because Kiyoomi wasn't even religious in the slightest. But he supposed there were some exceptions, he thought, when Atsumu was sleeping so soundly in their bed. Early morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, flecks of light bathing Atsumu golden as he softly snored underneath the covers.
Kiyoomi took the time to admire him, analyzing every detail of his face like he would a painting. His hand reached out, lifting the covers slightly to reveal the rest of Atsumu's face, before Kiyoomi traced his features with his fingers, lightly so he didn't wake him.
He first traced the outline of his face, then the soft curve of his thick eyebrows in contrast to the sharp turn of his nose. Kiyoomi liked the slight tan on his skin, as he traced the remnants of Atsumu's sunburn on his cheeks after they went to the beach a couple of weeks ago. It suited him, because it went well with his blond hair.
He found himself smiling when he touched the mole underneath Atsumu's left ear, because he slightly twitched before rubbing the same spot in his sleep. After he waited a few moments, making sure he didn't wake up, Kiyoomi reached higher and smoothed down parts of Atsumu’s sleep-tousled hair that stuck up more at the ends.
Atsumu shifted closer subconsciously, his forehead touching Kiyoomi’s collarbones. At that moment, Kiyoomi felt warm, like someone drizzled honey all over his insides. Well, that was mostly because Atsumu was a human heater, with his normal body temperature higher than most people. Kiyoomi would never say that to his face, though, because if he brought it up, Atsumu would just say it was, naturally, because he was hot.
It wasn't that Kiyoomi didn't agree with that, he just didn't want to overinflate Atsumu's already huge ego.
He closed his eyes, the image of Atsumu sleeping peacefully seared onto his mind even though all he saw was darkness. I could draw him blind, he realized. He remembered the times, during particularly boring lectures, where his notebook would have little doodles of Atsumu in between the margins of the pages, or where he'd fill up pages just drawing him from memory in his sketchbook.
Atsumu was drawn with care every time, the lines left by Kiyoomi's mechanical pencil deliberate and intentional, essentially immortalizing him on paper. Atsumu's smile was so well captured in his art that if he just made his sketches in color, it could very well leap off the pages and take on Atsumu's form. No one would notice a thing, save for Kiyoomi, of course. He'd know the difference between his work and the real thing.
Prior to Atsumu, he'd never had a muse, but Kiyoomi was sure that he would be the last. Whenever the future felt uncertain and murky, he was the constant to ground him back to reality. Everything else in life might come and go, but not Atsumu. He would never let it happen.
The alarm on his phone buzzed incessantly, shaking him out of his thoughts. With a huff, he reached for his phone on the bedside table, turning it off before he closed his eyes again. When Kiyoomi moved, Atsumu woke as well, blearily opening his eyes with a groan.
“Omi, wake up,” Atsumu muttered, still half asleep. “Yer alarm's gone off.”
“I know,” Kiyoomi said, pulling the blanket tighter so that it covered his eyes. “Later.”
Surprised, Atsumu frowned, eyeing Kiyoomi suspiciously. Kiyoomi raised an eyebrow back in retort.
“Are ya really Sakusa Kiyoomi? Never, and I mean never, seen ya not waking up to yer stupid alarm.”
“Since you want me to get up so bad, fine with me—”
“Hey, hey, I didn't say that, did I? Come back ‘ere,” A hand enclosed his own before Kiyoomi could get up, pulling him back to bed. Warm hands wrapped around him from behind, Atsumu's face in the crook of his neck.
“Get off me, you're heavy,” Kiyoomi complained, though the tips of his ears flushed bright red. Atsumu noticed — he was observant, too observant for his own good — cheekily grinning.
“Nah,” he said, hugging him tighter from behind, “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I intend to exploit it as much as I can.”
“You're gonna fucking kill me if you keep this up. I can't breathe, dumbass.”
“It's like I can't even show love to my boyfriend anymore,” Atsumu relented with a huff, loosening his grip.
Kiyoomi turned over to face Atsumu, glaring at him. “Who said we were even dating?”
“Me, duh.”
“Not with that morning breath we're not,” Kiyoomi quipped, to which Atsumu dramatically sighed, snuggling into Kiyoomi's chest. Despite the grimace on his face, Kiyoomi made no effort to push him off even the slightest, even entwining both their legs together.
“Yer so…” Atsumu let out a big yawn, “..meaaaaaan, Omi.”
He opened his eyes, pools of honey looking directly into Kiyoomi's own as he laced their fingers together. “I'm actually bein’ serious, though. It's kinda weird that yer not runnin’ round the place, brushin’ yer teeth while checkin’ off that to-do list right now. Did somethin’ happen?”
“Aside from the fact that I'm not that busy today, it's really just because I didn't want to wake you up,” Kiyoomi muttered, slightly rubbing the back of Atsumu’s hand with the pad of his thumbs.
“I knew ya'd miss me.”
“You wish. I just liked the peace and quiet before you woke up.”
Atsumu hummed, a smile on his face, wholly unconvinced of Kiyoomi's words. Atsumu could read him like a book, and Kiyoomi wasn't ever really that convincing once you get to know him. No matter how crude, his words held no bite. If anything, it was said with endearment.
For a few minutes, they lay there in comfortable silence, dozing off while Kiyoomi continued to rub circles on Atsumu's hand. After dating for nearly two years and living with each other for one, they were at the point of their relationship where they didn't need to fill spaces of quiet with talk so it wasn't awkward. No, it was enough just to be in each other's presence.
The morning sun grew higher in the sky, and so did the humidity in their bedroom. The cracks in the blinds seared sunlight onto Kiyoomi's skin, and paired with Atsumu's body heat, was uncomfortable with every passing moment. Kiyoomi carefully released his hand from their intertwined fingers, rolling over and getting up.
“Omiii, where are ya goin’..?”
“To turn the fan on,” he said, reaching over and pressed the level two button. Cold air immediately hit his body, making him sigh with relief as he climbed back to bed. “I couldn't stand it anymore.”
Atsumu stared at him, only the top half of his head visible underneath the blanket. “It's not even that hot.”
“Hah, sure.”
Kiyoomi reached a hand out to brush the bangs out of Atsumu's forehead, which had a slight sheen of sweat on the surface. He tried to tuck the hair underneath his ear to keep it in place, but it was too short, so it just fell back in the same place. Kiyoomi tried again and again with no avail, much to Atsumu's amusement, which he made clear by trying — and failing miserably — not to laugh.
“Stop laughing,” Kiyoomi grumbled, finally giving up.
“Ya know my hair's not long enough, but ya still kept tryin’ anyway,” Atsumu said, a little out of breath after laughing. After a moment, he shuffled closer, touching the tips of their noses together. They were so close that Kiyoomi can see the flecks of color of Atsumu's eyes, golden brown like the freshly baked pastries of the bakery they frequented twice a week, and the tiny, barely visible nick on his cheek that he got when he was younger, climbing trees with Osamu during the summer.
“Hey, Omi. Can I kiss ya?” he asked, a hand reaching out to cup Kiyoomi's cheek. He asked it so earnestly, it made Kiyoomi want to roll his eyes and laugh at the same time.
“You ask like we haven't been dating for almost two years,” Kiyoomi quietly chuckled, tilting his head to kiss Atsumu, who smiled as he leaned in, his free hand pulling Kiyoomi closer.
Atsumu broke the kiss shortly, looking at him with such fervent admiration that Kiyoomi felt like he was going to evaporate, the tips of his ears burning red before Atsumu leaned in again. Under his gaze, the realization came to him, swift, like an arrow hitting bullseye in the center of his chest.
I love him. My god, I love him.
Now that he thought about it, it wasn't really the first time he'd thought that about Atsumu Miya. It had been echoing in his head way before they were dating, when Atsumu had nearly slipped on the frozen pavement one winter, making Kiyoomi laugh more than he had years. But on lazy Thursday mornings, the steady hum of the fan and the heat of the sun the only ones accompanying them, buzzes of alarms ignored and to-do lists left untouched, did Kiyoomi realize, with a frightening level of confidence, that he was sure that they would be together until they were both rolling in their graves.
“I love you, Tsumu,” Kiyoomi murmured against Atsumu's lips, barely audible.
Upon hearing those words, Atsumu froze. For a split second, Kiyoomi wanted to take it back. He'd never seen Atsumu so dumbfounded. Was it too heavy? Did he say it at the wrong time?
But then Atsumu smiled, wider than Kiyoomi'd ever seen him smile before, and all his worries washed away like footprints in the sand. Atsumu kissed him again, more tenderly this time, and Kiyoomi knew.
“I love ya too, Kiyoomi. Always.”