unknown - sakuatsu

repellent

Atsumu Miya is his worst teammate.

Worse than their first-year setter in Kiyoomi's third year who tried to give him a hug after every spike. Worse than the douchbag exchange student from America who thought Kiyoomi's mysophobia was some elaborate scheme for attention (Kiyoomi didn't spray him in the eyes with disinfectant, he spray himself in the eyes with disinfectant. The whole team vouched for it). Worse than Hinata and Bokuto combined.

And the reason Atsumu's the worst is because he's beautiful.

But he doesn't use it well.

He uses it to poke and prod and boost his ego. He uses it as an excuse, a get-out-of-jail-free card, an automatic out for any difficult situation.

Breakup? It's fine. He'll find someone knew within twenty-four hours.

Bad interaction with a fan? No worries. He can flash that pretty smile to the cameras and all is forgiven.

In pain? Well, you'll never know, will you? All of it hides behind a devilish smirk and taunting hazel eyes.

He's the worst because Kiyoomi has seen him passed out on the bus after a long game, relaxed and unafraid of his hair flopping in his eyes. He's seen him without his guard up. And he's not ugly like his flashy alter-ego would have you believe.

He's sweet and thoughtful and caring and he still calls his brother every night and he facetime's his mom once a week and he showers, brushes his teeth and hair, and washes his hands before he even steps into Kiyoomi's apartment. He does it all without having to be asked or goaded.

But despite all that, he's still going to put up a facade the moment he steps outside.

It's absolutely infuriating, if Kiyoomi does say so himself. As a man who's never been anything other than exactly what he is, it makes him angry beyond words.

He's absolutely not staring at Atsumu as he scrolls through his phone, absently flicking over-grown blond hair out of his eyes with a twitch of his neck. They're driving up to Tokyo for a practice match, and honestly, Kiyoomi thinks Atsumu's at his most relaxed when traveling.

"Omi can we order pizza after the Rajin's? There's a new place I wanna try."

"Who says I'm letting you come over?"

"Uh..." Atsumu looks up at him, one earbud limp against his chest. "I always come over after games?"

Kiyoomi snorts an attempt at derision but chokes on its fondness.

Yeah, Atsumu comes to his apartment after every game. No matter how many times he tries to break their bad habit, Atsumu always ends up on his couch, booing cheesy plot devices in romantic movies - Kiyoomi doesn't know why he keeps choosing them if he's just going to make snide commentary the whole time.

"Okay so? Things change."

Atsumu pouts, bratty bordering on pleading.

"Not this thing. We always have movie nights on Saturdays," Atsumu's really not making this easy on him. How is he supposed to say no to that? "Besides. Watchin' dumb movies ain't half as fun without my expert narration andja know it."

He does know it.

"Right, because movie night wouldn't be movie night if we actually got to watch it."

"Exactly," Atsumu beams at him - that genuine grin that's all pearly white teeth and bright eyes. "I'm yer best friend an' we both know it, so don't try an' pretendja don't love me."