The Underlying Unspoken (SakuAtsu one-shot)
The Miya household was, in a word, loud.
Laughter and muffled conversation could be heard from outside.
The second they stepped through the threshold, Atsumu seemed to switch gears, falling back into something well-worn and comfortable—and completely foreign to Kiyoomi.
"Kaa-san, 'm home!"
Somewhere distantly, a woman's voice came.
"Welcome home! Kitchen, darlin'."
Atusmu kicked off his shoes and hurried along barefoot, dropping his bags next to his discarded shoes. Kiyoomi watched him disappear into the house, leaving him somewhat lost. He didn't want to be rude and not greet his host, but he didn't want to be rude and leave a mess right at the entrance.
The conversation was reinvigorated inside the house, the accent he was so used to hearing getting thicker around the edges, like Atsumu was relaxing his vowels.
Kiyoomi shuffled off his shoes, tucking them neatly together and sliding them next to Atsumu's.
"Sakusa-kun! Who'd've thought," Osamu said a tad too loudly, startling Kiyoomi. "Where's Tsumu."
By the way he was leaning on the wall and the Sapporo in his hand, Kiyoomi thought Osamu was perhaps tipsy or lightly drunk.
"In the kitchen, I think."
"Well, drop that shit," he gestured to his bags. "Come on in. KAA-SAN!"
"KITCHEN!"
"TSUMU BROUGHT YA SOMETHIN'."
Kiyoomi felt his face warm realizing he was Atsumu's something. That was why they were visiting, but it didn't make his stomach swoop any less.
Kiyoomi realized that there were other voices aside from the twins and their mother, but they were out of sight.
He tried to distract himself from what felt like walking his own funeral procession. His eyes caught on the walls and the frames that filled them.
Ribbons and MSBY articles on best plays and a few select scandals starring the one Miya Atsumu. Kiyoomi thought it strange to frame those, but it seemed oddly fitting. The other frames were mostly of the twins growing up.
He could tell which one was Atsumu by his eyes and the dimple that showed up in his side smirk, which he apparently had since birth by the looks of it. Rambunctious and messy and warm, that's what those photos told Kiyoomi.
That summer had been sticky, the watermelons sweet and refreshing. That middle school tournament had been the one, the one that hooked Tsumu on volleyball. That festival had been boring for the kids, but Miya-san held her boys' shoulders like there was nothing possibly better to do, like she'd been looking forward to that one day off with her sons.
The walls told Kiyoomi of a family, a proper family. Messy and loving. It's beginning and progression and the expectation of continuation.
And then he was in the kitchen, the Miya-san before him noticeably older than the one on the walls, but still the loving mother with the kind smile and warm eyes.
Atsumu was leaning on the counter with a lazy smile, an it's-so-damn-good-to-be-home smile, turned toward her, his focus entirely on her and the questions she asked.
"What's Samu on about? Sayin' you brought me somethin'."
"I dunno, Kaa-san. Samu says alotta shit."
"Deliverin' one MSBY outside hitter," Osamu piped in. "Do I hafta do the rest for ya, Tsumu?"
"No, scrub. That'll be all."
Atsumu's eyes fell on Kiyoomi, who was standing oh-so awkwardly in the kitchen door of that well-worn, well-lived kitchen, and his smile widened, that stupid dimple making its appearance. They had practiced and scripted and memorized how they were going to do this.
Atsumu would say: Kaa-san, this is Sakusa Kiyoomi. You've met him at the last Christmas gala. We've been dating for sometime and I wanted to formally introduce him to you.
Kiyoomi would say: Hello, it's a pleasure to meet you, Miya-san. Thank you for welcoming me into your home. Your son—
"Kaa-san, this is the love of my life. I believe you’ve met already."
Kiyoomi was drawing blanks.
A one-shot where Kiyoomi meets Atsumu's mother and grandmother. Atsumu is subject to teasing by his brother and friends. Domestic Miyas ensue.