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The realization came to him when he woke one morning, his throat drier than the Sahara, yet his nose running abundantly like the Nile river.
Kiyoomi closed his eyes, counting from one to ten until he was sure he was calm enough. He already planned his day to a T the night before. He'd wake early and jog around the park, freshen up when he gets back to the apartment, then grab a coffee before he spends the entirety of the day studying for his midterm in the library. Getting hit with the flu was one-hundred percent not allotted for the day's itinerary, and the thought of his perfectly time-blocked day ruined only contributed to the headache that made him hyper aware of the blood rushing through his ears.
He turned over, only to find the right side of the bed empty. No wonder it felt chilly that morning, Atsumu was uncharacteristically nowhere to be found. Kiyoomi reached for the box of tissues on the nightstand, gently blowing his nose into it before he folded it up. Soon, a little mountain of carefully folded used tissues began piling on the nightstand, and with each never-ending sniffle did his irritation rise. Just the thought of his immunocompromised system made him want to open himself up and scrub his organs clean.
Kiyoomi shivered, despite slivers of bright, morning sun peeking through the cracks in the blinds, and buried himself deeper into the blankets.
He'd only had the flu twice in his life. Once, in primary school during flu season. The second time was in middle school, during the summer. Ever since he'd carried an alcohol spray bottle and a small pack of masks everywhere he went, he'd never had it again.
He went through the entirety of high school without a flu, and at one point he figured that he might never contract it again.
The universe, unfortunately, had other plans.
The door swung open, and in walked Atsumu, still in his pajamas, humming as he scrolled on his phone. His eyes flickered to the mess of blankets, then to the mop of curly hair peeking out from above it, then finally, the glare Kiyoomi gave him from under it. He broke out into an easy smile, before walking over and sitting on the foot of Kiyoomi's side of the bed.
“Good mornin’, Omi,” he said, grinning. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed today?”
He chuckled a little at his own joke, and Kiyoomi rolled his eyes. Despite his irritation, a little smile formed on his lips. Atsumu always had that effect on him, he couldn't help it. One little thing out of his pretty mouth, and no matter how annoyed or angry Kiyoomi was, he would always find himself relaxing when he was around.
Who wouldn't, though? This was Atsumu they were talking about. From the moment Miya Atsumu walked up to him, bearing that cocky grin under a mop of piss-blond hair, he knew with sheer certainty. Kiyoomi didn't believe in fate, or any of the pseudosciences at all, but he was sure this was destiny. And just as the sun rose in the east and set in the west, Atsumu was another constant in his life that he was sure would never go away. He'd remain for eternity, like how the tides would send the waves crashing back to the very same shore, over and over.
“No,” he replied, muffled under the blanket. He poked a hand out and pointed to the ever-growing pile of tissues, and realization dawned on Atsumu's face, his mouth forming a little o.
“No way, Omi,” he said, scooting closer, bringing a hand to feel Kiyoomi's forehead. Kiyoomi bristled at the touch. Atsumu's hand felt cold on his warm skin, which really said something, considering Atsumu was usually the one who exuded heat like a furnace blaster on regular days.
“Yer hot.” He let his hand linger for a few more seconds. “Not that you usually aren't, but I'm sure ya get me.”
Atsumu jumped to his feet, cracking his knuckles and neck. “Right. Operation: Healthy Omi is officially underway,” he said dramatically, pointing to an invisible audience.
“Until Sakusa Kiyoomi here is feelin’ better, I volunteer myself as his sole caretaker. Mr. Sakusa, what dya have to say about my ultimate grandmaster plan?” He shoved a pretend microphone in Kiyoomi's face, earning him a scowl.
“I think it's bullshit,” he said, playing along with a deadpan expression as he faced the imaginary audience. Atsumu's grin widened, because in Kiyoomi's weird little language, or ‘Omi-nese' as he put it, was how you say yes.
“Too bad, ya signed up for this the moment I became yours.” He pinched Kiyoomi's nose, before practically bouncing out the door, a skip in his step.
Kiyoomi's cheeks grew hot, and not just from the fever. How can Atsumu just… say things like that so nonchalantly? He'd made him a blushing mess without even trying. Kiyoomi was just glad Atsumu wasn't here to witness him like this, head buried in his hands as he tried to contain the rush of emotions thrumming through his body. He'd tease him relentlessly.
“I'm going to the pharmacy to getcha some things,” Atsumu's voice called out from the hallway, keys jangling. “Don't move.”
“Where would I even go?”
A pause, like he was considering it. “Good question. Next!”
Then the door to their apartment shut, leaving Kiyoomi to his thoughts. He shook his head, equal parts endeared and exasperated. He carefully turned to his side, feeling shivery and out of it as he pulled the blanket up to his nose. Curling up into the fetal position, Kiyoomi blearily observed the trees outside the window, evergreen and full of life, the complete opposite of what he was right now.
What a nuisance having a cold was. He vowed right then and there that he'd take extra precaution next time so he'll never contract it again. Kiyoomi absolutely loathed feeling sluggish, nose running like a river while his head pounded. It was so inconvenient. He could be doing something, anything right now. But here he was, blowing his nose into another damned tissue, and adding it to the ever growing Kleenex tower. Life is great.
He didn't know when he dozed off, but he woke with a start as a gentle, albeit freezing, hand lightly pressed against his forehead.
“Wuh?” he muttered, eyes fluttering, eyebrows creasing at the disturbance. Atsumu sat on the space next to his side, a thermometer in hand. “Sorry for wakin’ ya,” he said, “But I'm gonna have to take your temp, Omi-Omi.”
He squinted at the instructions on the side of the box before taking the thermometer out. “Lift one arm, please.”
“Sure, doc,” Kiyoomi said sarcastically, but he did what he was told, clamping the thermometer under his armpit.
“Now we wait,” Atsumu took one of Kiyoomi's hands, lacing them with his. He bent down slightly to kiss his knuckles. Kiyoomi frowned, lowering their intertwined fingers, but not letting go.
“No kissing,” he chided. “We both can't get colds, dumbass. That's basic cold prevention 101.”
“Ugh fine, I'll wear a mask or somethin’ next time.”
“Are you stupid?”
“Maybe.”
Atsumu grinned, carding his fingers through Kiyoomi's soft curls with his free hand. “Who would've thought. Omi-Omi down with a cold. Wasn't on my bingo card this year.”
Kiyoomi huffed. “I’m still not sure why it happened. I take vitamins, I exercise, I eat healthy.”
“My theory's that ya’ve been stressing yerself out too much. You sleep at one in the mornin’ pretty regularly now.”
“I have to study, you know that. Midterms are right around the corner.” Kiyoomi sighed. “I'm just glad I got sick on a Saturday.”
“I know, I know. But it's not worth getting sick for, isn't it?” “I'm not even going to argue with you on that. I feel like shit.”
Atsumu smiled. “Tell ya what, I’ll make ya the best ramen you'll ever have after I take your temp. A classic Miya special, Omi.”
“Please,” Kiyoomi agreed. He was quite hungry, after all. Ramen wasn't the best breakfast food, but he wanted something warm, like soup.
Atsumu reached down, rummaging through what he got from the pharmacy. He pulled out a pack of KoolFever. Kiyoomi was reminded of the last time he got sick in elementary school, his mom plastering one on his forehead. It's been so long since he'd had them last.
Atsumu opened their bedside drawer for one of his thin, metal headbands, then delicately putting it on Kiyoomi (much to his chagrin) to push his hair back. He then peeled off a strip and delicately placed it on Kiyoomi's forehead, making Kiyoomi furrow his brows at the sudden chill, then feeling relief right after the cold subsided.
The thermometer suddenly beeped, once, twice. Atsumu pulled it out from under Kiyoomi's arm, squinting. “38.1,” he declared. “That’s pretty high.”
“God, I hate this,” Kiyoomi groaned, grabbing another tissue to wipe his nose. Atsumu laughed, gesturing to an invisible camera. “There we have it, folks. exhibit A: Drama Queen.”
“This is what I get for setting the VPN to the US. You consume way too much American reality TV for your own good.”
Atsumu pinched the tip of Kiyoomi's ring finger affectionately. “Hey, I love Love Island.”
“You just keep on proving my point.”
Atsumu ignored that, flashing him a cheesy grin. “Now, I'll make ya some breakfast, then ya can take some meds. I bought some Pabron.”
“And, oh — this one too.” He pulled out a small peppermint oil container from the bag. “Got this from the pharmacy. It helps with nausea.”
Atsumu uncapped the vial and brought it close to Kiyoomi's nose. After a moment’s hesitation, Kiyoomi leaned in, breathing in a little of it. It smelled good, slightly sweet and minty, though it was hard because of his stuffy nose. He sniffed it again. It did help him a little with the headache, at least.
“Smells good,” he commented, inhaling harder to mitigate his runny nose.
“You have to put some on,” Atsumu said, dabbing peppermint oil on Kiyoomi's nose. The smell was more evident now, but it stung his eyes.
“That's enough, it burns my eyes,” he complained, swatting Atsumu's hand away with squinted eyes.
“You’re overreacting, I didn't even put a lot on! Ya should see how my grandma put it on me when I got sick as a kid.” Atsumu did circular motions across his face. “My entire face under a layer of peppermint. Couldn't open my eyes for hours.”
“Anyway, enough talkin’, Omi. Ya haven't ate yet. Gimme a few minutes, and I'll have a steamin’ bowl here just for you. For the meantime, just rest.”
Kiyoomi reached his hand out, linking their pinkies together. Seeing Atsumu like this, so attentive and caring, made a warm, fuzzy feeling rush through his veins. It was so endearing. Because of his reserved nature, he never experienced anything like this at all until Atsumu barged his way into his life, obnoxiously fiery and full of life. He never wishes to be apart from the warmth that was Miya Atsumu, ever.
“You enjoy playing nurse way too much.”
Atsumu blinked at the sudden gesture of affection, but it subsided quickly, replaced by an easy smile. “Ya know me. I love takin’ care of people, especially those named Sakusa Kiyoomi.”
Kiyoomi rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Sap,” he said, lightly shoving him away.
“Ha, ya know ya love me.” With a wink, Atsumu exited the room, slippers shuffling towards the kitchen. Almost immediately, the clank of pots and pans and the sound of knives chopping vegetables could be heard slightly from where Kiyoomi was laying down.
Resigned to his fate, Kiyoomi opened his phone and just scrolled through his Instagram newsfeed, blowing in a tissue once in a while. The KoolFever was doing wonders, and so was the peppermint, as much as it stung. The headache was still there, though, as was the feeling of being simultaneously hot and cold at once.
In his feed were the usual stories he got — Hinata and Kageyama “studying” for midterms at Kageyama’s house (they just kept trying to one-up each other in Mario Kart instead of getting actual work done), Bokuto at the beach with Iwaizumi, Oikawa, Kuroo, and a few others he didn't recognize, Sugawara studying with Daichi at a coffee shop, and Nishinoya and Asahi somehow in Egypt even though midterms were four days away.
He clicked through them, not bothering to like any. He wasn't a fan of liking stories, and as Atsumu put it, was a ‘chronic story viewer’.
He went on TikTok right after, scrolling through video after video. Eventually he realized he should use whatever time he had to study for his chemistry midterm, so he began watching YouTube videos about the topics he had yet to revise on.
Right on the thirty minute dot, Atsumu returned, carrying a slightly steaming bowl and a small fold-up table for Kiyoomi's breakfast in bed.
“Oui oui baguette, mademoiselle,” Atsumu said in a terrible French accent, “Breakfast has arrived, made by yours truly.”
“What the hell are you even saying,” Kiyoomi shook his head, unable to keep the smile away from his lips. “They'd ban you from entering France.”
“That's where yer wrong, Omi. They'd love me.”
“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” Kiyoomi sat up, carefully so it didn't make his headache worse. The room smelled like warm, flavorful soup, and his stomach rumbled.
Atsumu placed the table in front of him, before setting the bowl of ramen and a pair of wooden chopsticks down. “I already cooled it off a bit so ya wouldn't have to spend ages blowin’ on it.”
“You’ve outdone yourself,” he said, staring at the meal. It was lavishly decorated, with perfectly boiled eggs, green onions, pork belly, and nori strips. He looked up, meeting Atsumu's eyes. “Thank you.” he said earnestly.
Atsumu's cheeks pinked. “Geez, Omi. Yer so formal about it. S’not like this is the first time I've cooked ya somethin’.” He was a bit embarrassed, but there was a smile of self-satisfaction on his face.
Atsumu reached over for the spray alcohol bottle on the bedside table, spraying it on his hands first, then on Kiyoomi's when he cupped his hands out. Atsumu sat where he had been previously, next to Kiyoomi, the bed slightly dipping as he sat down.
“How'd you do it?”
“Whaddya mean?”
“Make this in such a short time. Also, did you leave some for yourself?”
“Magic, my dear Omi. And yes, I did.”
Kiyoomi reached for the chopsticks, only for Atsumu to swipe them from his hands. Kiyoomi frowned at him. Atsumu flashed an innocent smile back in return.
“What, ya really thought ya were gonna be eating it yerself?”
Kiyoomi's frown deepened. After a moment’s pause, he said, “Well, how else am I going to do it then?”
“Why, with me doing it for ya, of course.” Atsumu picked up a mouthful of noodles, a little soup dripping back down on the bowl, and held it up to Kiyoomi's mouth. “Say, ‘ahh’.”
The tips of Kiyoomi's ears turned pink. “What? I refuse!”
“Now, now,” Atsumu tutted, stubbornly still holding up the noodles to Kiyoomi's mouth, “To recover quickly, one must ensure adequate rest and proper nutrition,” he said, in an exaggerated, pompous accent. He really was fond of accents that made him sound stupid, wasn't he?
“Now you're just embarrassing yourself,” Kiyoomi's ears grew redder still as he reached for the chopsticks. “Give me those.”
Atsumu swerved his hand away, a few droplets of soup spilling on the makeshift table. “Uh-uh! If ya don't want soup to stain our bed, yer gonna have to stop tryna steal the chopsticks away from me, Omi-Omi.”
“You're horrible,” Kiyoomi said, gritting his teeth, because as much as he didn't want for Atsumu to spoon feed him like a toddler, the fact that there was a high chance he would be sleeping with soup stains was arguably far worse. “Insufferable, annoying —”
“Sick individuals must focus on recuperating and not berating those who try to help them get better!” Atsumu laughed, the pompous accent returning once more. He was enjoying this way too much. And as Kiyoomi hated to admit it, his laughter was getting to him too. It took everything in him not to smile.
“Would you prefer me to say ‘here comes the airplane!’ instead, Mr. Sakusa?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Kiyoomi grumbled, opening his mouth. Atsumu laughed again, before gently feeding him the noodles. Kiyoomi chewed, glaring at him with the slightest smile on his face.
“There, haffee?” He knew he looked ridiculous, cheeks full of noodles as he glared at Atsumu.
“Mhm,” Atsumu said, trying not to laugh. Once Kiyoomi was done chewing, he picked more noodles up and fed him another mouthful.
“See, this isn't so bad, is it, Omi?”
Kiyoomi took the time to chew before answering. “Just wait,” he said, glaring at Atsumu. “I'm gonna get you back.”
“Oooh, I'm sooo scared,” Atsumu laughed, feeding him more. By then, half of the noodles were gone, the majority of the contents being soup and vegetables.
Eventually, Atsumu put the chopsticks down. “Right, since your appetite's okay, I'll save ya from the torture of havin’ me feed ya.” He winked, getting up. “I'll go getcha some water.”
“Finally,” Kiyoomi said, rolling his eyes, picking up the chopsticks and nibbling on some bok choy leaves.
“Hey, my spoonfeeding skills aren't that bad,” Atsumu called out from the kitchen.
“You were horrible at it.” Kiyoomi gently lifted the bowl to his lips, sipping on the warm soup. Having a good meal made the headache lessen. He reached for a tissue, wiping his mouth, then another, for his nose, and added it to the Kleenex tower.
“Aw, man.” Atsumu returned, a glass of water in his hand. He fished out some Pabron from the plastic bag, handing it to Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi opened the little pack and took a capsule out, washing it down with water.
“Right, now all that's left is to just take it easy, and that means not studying chemistry while yer trying to recover, Omi.” Kiyoomi sighed, caught in the act.
“Fine, I won't.”
“Good.”
Atsumu bent down to take the bowl, setting it on the bedside as he folded the makeshift table and set it down on the corner.
“Come here for a second,” Kiyoomi said suddenly, taking another sip of water and wiping his mouth afterwards.
“Yeah?” Atsumu responded, approaching to return the bowl back to the kitchen.
Kiyoomi leaned forward, gently tugging Atsumu down by the collar and kissing his cheek. Atsumu blinked, before breaking out into a wide grin, his cheeks ever so slightly red. “What happened to basic cold prevention 101, huh?”
“This doesn't count,” Kiyoomi said, a little smile on his lips. Atsumu chuckled, his laugh warm as he cupped Kiyoomi's cheek in his hand, thumbing the spot under his eye.
“Yeah?” he said, cocking his head. “So I guess this doesn't count either.” Atsumu leaned in, briefly kissing Kiyomi softly on the lips. Kiyoomi could smell his perfume, sweet and fresh.
The kiss was quick, yet intimate, Atsumu cupping his cheeks. Two years of dating had turned them soft, but every kiss still felt like the first.
“I love you,” Atsumu whispered, smiling into the kiss.
“I love you more,” Kiyoomi murmured back, breaking the kiss. He looked up to Atsumu, who was smiling ear to ear. “That's the last time you'll ever kiss me until I’m better.”
“Aw,” Atsumu complained, frowning. Kiyoomi shot him a look.
“Fine,” he relented. Atsumu picked up the bowl from the bedside table again. “Ya get some rest now. Which again, means no studying, okay?”
“Okay,” Kiyoomi huffed.
“Rest well, Omi." He quickly leaned in again, giving Kiyoomi another quick kiss on the cheek before dashing out of the room, bowl in hand as he grinned wildly, because when did Miya Atsumu ever follow rules?
Kiyoomi shook his head in disapproval, but the warmth he felt in his chest said otherwise. He smiled to himself, before throwing the covers over himself to get some rest.