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If Sakusa Kiyoomi were to commit a crime, he would probably get away with it. That being said, if his cousin were to mysteriously go missing, a few eyebrows would most certainly be raised, and pointing fingers would lead back to him. Really, only an idiot would even consider committing a crime they would be a prime suspect in. Besides, Motoya had been so nice as to hop on a train from Shizuoka to meet Sakusa on their last free weekend before their V. League season began. Motoya had even received the proper Osaka-welcome, in the words of Miya Atsumu, though if Sakusa had anything else to say about it, Motoya would soon be on the receiving end of a prompt Kiyoomi-goodbye. 

But was anything worth losing a cousin?

Friday night found Sakusa weighing his options. 

“You have family in Hokkaido?” Hinata’s cherubian little face looked at him with delight. The man’s face was flushed from his rounds of beer, consumption only matched by the dangerously still-sober Miya Atsumu lounging in the chair opposite to him. Sakusa chose not to look at the latter, concentrating on smile-lines etched on Hinata’s face. 

“Yes.”

“His parents moved up to join our grandparents last year,” Motoya babbled at his side, “So my entire extended family is there! We should go there in the offseason—”

Too late, the idea had been planted. 

“Awesome!” 

Hinata clapped his hands together and it sounded like thunder. Sakusa winced. At the far end of their table, Bokuto Kotarou, eyes grimy, began to rouse. The little stack of chopsticks Inunaki and Tomas had been piling on him clattered to the floor. They booed. Bokuto grunted drowsily. 

“Don’t most old-timers move down?”

Sakusa turned to look at Miya slowly. The man wore his smirk like an ID badge. His eyes were set firmly on the space between Sakusa’s eyes, brown and hazy. Sakusa took one glance at Miya’s ruddy face and looked at the table. 

If Sakusa didn’t know better, he’d guess that Miya was tipsy, but the man had the tolerance of a bull elephant and nothing short of a tranquilizer would take him out for an evening. Sakusa, also tolerant, wished the ability to withstand drinks had fallen on the better half of his company. The night was growing late. Of the Black Jackals, only Sakusa, Miya, and their captain, Meian, were still coherent. Motoya, their visitor for the night, had started spilling family secrets on his second drink. The others had been so polite as to phase from reality on their third and fourth. 

Hinata beamed at the table, nodding politely in greeting at his reflection in the wood. 

“Down?” Sakusa repeated, monotonously.

“South.” Miya clarified. He shuffled into a better posture. Bokuto began to stretch, yawning like he wanted to eat the sun. Hinata mimed him. Then, Komori followed. Sakusa clenched his jaw shut, and kept his eyes trained on Miya’s. “I’ve heard good things about Hyogo. So many sites to see.” Miya’s lips lifted up higher, and Sakusa could feel his do the opposite. 

“Not everyone’s interested in a big, blond head blocking their view.” Sakusa clicked his tongue. Motoya’s head lolled onto his shoulder and he pushed his cousin with two fingers, making sure his neck was supported by the chair when he slumped back into that instead. 

“Not everyone.” Miya agreed, surprisingly pliant, “Just most.” Then, he grinned. 

Sakusa scoffed and turned away. Their teammates' groggy return to consciousness started to thrum up the sound in the bar they’d chosen for their Friday outing. Sakusa watched them carefully, eyeing his cousin as he began to snore.

“Barnes will sober up soon,” Meian called from the other end of the table. He waved sheepishly when both Sakusa and Miya snapped their focus onto him. “When he does, we’ll grab Tomas and Inunaki. Can you handle the other two?”

“Three.” Sakusa motioned to his cousin. 

“Four.” Miya pointed at himself, turning to Sakusa with a wink. 

“Zero.” Sakusa scowled. Meian laughed, a bit strained. “Three.” Sakusa nodded at his captain. “Hinata’s relatively docile like this, but Bokuto will be dead weight.”

Still, it would be better than having to manage Inunaki who had a tendency to pick fights. Tomas, too, was troublesome, though more so because he struck up friendly conversation at every corner. Meian and Barnes would handle them well enough. 

“And Motoya?” Miya frowned. 

“He’ll follow commands.” Sakusa snapped his fingers by Motoya’s ear. “Wake up. We’re going to the apartment.”

“Sleep?” Motoya asked, smacking his mouth together. He couldn’t have been napping longer than five minutes, but the man rubbed his eyes like he’d woken up from a century of slumber. “Can I get the bed?”

“Couch. You knew the stakes.” Sakusa clapped his hands, the noise forcing Motoya to roll out of his chair and onto his feet. 

“C’mon Shoyo.” 

Sakusa reminded his cousin of his coat. He watched Miya gently pry Hinata’s face from the table, and then send him over to their little party forming by the exit. Hinata smiled at Sakusa, miraculously cheery and normal-esque. Sakusa smiled back. 

“Tsum-Tsum? Where are you taking me?”

“Home, ya lightweight.” Miya huffed, hoisting Bokuto higher onto his shoulder. Miya Atsumu wasn’t a small man, frequently prone to refreshing their memories on just how nicely their training suited him. Even so, Bokuto dwarfed Miya, and their dopey, drunk teammate wiggled his fingers in greeting as they joined the other three by the exit. 

From the far side, Barnes chugged a glass of water and waved them off. 

“A little help, Omi-omi?”

“Hm, weren’t you just talking about increasing your weights?” Sakusa guided Hinata and Motoya out the door. It was frigid, and he took his time fretting over their buttons and zippers, making sure all their hats were pulled down. Miya made a disgruntled sound, and Sakusa kept him in his periphery as he used a little dollop of hand sanitizer. 

“Sakusa—”

“—what happened to ‘Omi-omi’?” Sakusa chuckled. He pulled out his gloves and slid them on, pulling his mask up over his nose and coming to stand beside Miya. “I’ll take his right.”

“If you insist.” Miya smirked, the expression a bit flat as he shifted to let Sakusa bear half of Bokuto’s weight. Sakusa cursed, catching Bokuto’s weight unevenly, then balancing it out. His arm brushed Miya’s, securely wrapped around Bokuto’s wide ribcage, and buried under his armpit. Sakusa would be washing all his clothes the second they got back. 

“That tickles.” Bokuto giggled. 

“Deal with it.” Miya answered, but he readjusted anyway. “Fine?”

“Peachy.” Sakusa said, dryly. 

Across their six-legged monstrosity, Hinata grinned, then clapped. “Good job!”

Sakusa laughed despite himself. He could hear Miya do the same. To Hinata’s right. Motoya stared up at the city stars, hat flopping back. It fell to the ground with a sad, soft noise, and Sakusa groaned. Hinata stared at it, then picked it up. He pulled it on top of his first hat. 

“Motoya.” Sakusa chastised him, too tired to really chew him out. 

“Kiyoomi?” Motoya’s eyebrows bunched, mouth hidden by his scarf. He looked at Sakusa like he had three heads (and maybe in the shadows, he did). “What’re you doing in Shizuoka?”

“We’re in Osaka, buddy.” Miya corrected, but it fell on deaf ears. Motoya blinked twice, and Sakusa couldn’t see a single thought behind his stare. Miya cackled as Sakusa’s expression dropped into something decidedly less amused. 

“I’ll tell you when we get back. Hold Hinata’s hand and follow us.”

“Hinata? Hinata Shoyo?” Motoya repeated, slurring a bit. He turned to look at the shorter man. Motoya’s eyebrows raised up high, and Sakusa knew his cousin well enough to know he was smiling. “Hello, Hinata!”

“Hello!” Hinata laughed, evidently not recognizing the man in front of him. He held his hand out anyway and Motoya held it tight, looking at Sakusa. He smiled at his cousin, eyes squinting, before looking back at Hinata. When he saw Hinata’s second hat, his brows furrowed as he leaned in close. 

“Right.” Sakusa interrupted, “Let’s go.”

Miya snickered. 

~ ~ ~

“Are you going to give us a Sapporo-welcome, Omi-omi?”

“No, but I will give you a hundred yen to shut up, Miya.” Sakusa sniffed. He followed Motoya through the gate, letting his cousin close it behind him. He hadn’t had a chance to visit his parents' new house, a small, warm thing just outside of Sapporo. They’d always been tidy folks, and his grandparents kept themselves well even as they started to near their centennials. Sakusa looked forward to being home. Though, maybe he would’ve liked it more if Motoya stopped looking at him funny. Motoya raised a fluffy eyebrow and Sakusa shrugged. His cousin rang the doorbell next, lips curled into an unsettling smile. 

Their season had ended successfully. With their freedom came Sakusa’s lurching realization that most of the MSBY players had decided on Sapporo as their vacation destination for the beginning half of their break. He’d have to make plans. 

“Just say you’re excited to see me, Omi-omi.”

“When hell freezes over, Tsum-tsum — oh, hello, Onee-san.” Sakusa ended the call abruptly. He nodded at his sister, stowing his phone away in his pocket. 

“Kiyo,” She raised an eyebrow, “Welcome. Come in. You and Motoya need to wash up before dinner.”

“Of course.”

Motoya chuckled, nudging his cousin through the doorway first. Kiyoomi slipped his mask down and smiled politely at his sister. She rolled her eyes. Her own smile tugged at the corner of her lips, two moles dotted just off the right of her upper lip. It was, as Motoya liked to say, a Sakusa-stamp. 

“ Tsum-tsum ?” She asked, slowly. 

Kiyoomi toed his shoes off and resolutely ignored her, ears warm. Motoya cackled, lining his shoes up with the rest. Kiyoomi kinda wanted to smack him. He settled for leveling Motoya with a smoldering death-glare that just made the man shrug, then bound up the stairs towards the bathroom. 

“A joke.” Kiyoomi finally answered his sister, following Motoya up the stairs, “It’s just a joke between teammates.”

“Right.” She didn’t look convinced. 

Kiyoomi loitered in the hall outside the bathroom, waiting for Motoya to finish. There were family photographs arranged artfully on the wall, probably his mother’s doing. He counted them. Kiyoomi was, embarrassingly, the overwhelming star of most photos. His blunt, bored expression hadn’t changed since his birth, petulant mouth always shaped into something judgemental. His two sisters competed for the rest of the space on the wall. Fuyuko, the middle child, was downstairs, still stewing over Kiyoomi’s pink face and seething hiss: Tsum-tsum. Kiyoomi couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Hatsue. She had a family of her own now, and her kids kept her busy. 

“All yours,” Motoya kicked the door open, gesturing over his shoulder, “Aunty kept the cleaning supplies in the closet.”

“Right, thanks.” 

~ ~ ~

“You cleaned your entire house?” Miya guffawed, ignoring the pointed look his brother, Osamu, sent him, “After traveling that long?”

“The flight was two hours long.” Motoya frowned.

“This idiot drank too much water before our flight.” Osamu looked at Motoya, already-tired of Atsumu’s antics. Kiyoomi couldn’t say he blamed him. Atsumu was nothing if not exhausting. “Probably felt like years for him.”

“Well,” Motoya answered with an easy smile, “That was silly.”

“Nah.” Atsumu snorted, “It’s easy to get dehydrated on a flight.”

“A two hour flight?” Kiyoomi didn’t bother waiting for an answer. He pointed at the Miya twin’s luggage. Both men had their own backpacks, massive, also dragging a sizable, sunshine-colored roller suitcase between them. “The car is this way.”

“Oi, wait.” Atsumu made no move to follow. Kiyoomi found himself locked in the sights of those soft, brown eyes once more. The Miya twins were, indisputably, identical, but Kiyoomi thought their eyes were markedly different. Atsumu’s irises were warmer, and his gaze a little more intrusive. Kiyoomi looked away. 

“For what?”

“Our Ma,” Atsumu huffed, and he finally looked away from Kiyoomi. He poked the buttery little suitcase with the toe of his shoe, “‘Samu and I thought it was about high-time she had a vacation too, y’know?” 

“Your,” Kiyoomi watched the suitcase roll a little. Osamu pushed it back to Atsumu. “Your Ma ?”

“If ya wanted my accent that bad, Omi-omi—”

“—I don’t want anything from you, Miya—”

“—There’ll be three Miyas soon, so maybe you could—”

“—Fine. Tsum-tsum —”

“—If ya wanted to call me something cutesy, all ya had to do was ask, Omi-omi —”

“—Atsumu!” 

The smirking man blanched and Kiyoomi began to smile. His expression was mirrored on Osamu’s face, the broader twin steadily pointing at Atsumu with a smug look. From the bathroom corridor, a stout woman marched their way over to their group. Ah, Miya-san. The Miyas, it seemed, were all cut from the same cloth (though Kiyoomi supposed that was to be expected). Their mother, short and round, had bright eyes and the same curious look both twins wore on default. 

“Miya-san,” Motoya tried to soften her landing, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Komori Motoya. This is my cousin, Sakusa Kiyoomi. He’s on the same team as—”

“—Atsumu was kickin’ your suitcase, Ma.” Osamu pocketed his tattling hand. Atsumu gasped. 

“Ma! I didn’t!”

“Don’t lie, I saw you.” Miya-san frowned and slapped Atsumu’s hip with a fast hand. “This is a new bag! I don’t kick yer bags, do I?” She slapped his hip again, and Atsumu jumped with a short, surprised noise. Kiyoomi stifled a laugh into his hand, remaining poker-faced. Atsumu caught the action and looked at him with cold betrayal. “Komori-kun, you said? Yer on Rin-kun’s team?”

“Suna Rintarou? Yeah! EJP Raijin.” Motoya beamed, nodding. 

“He says nice things about ya.” Miya-san nodded. Her hair was graying at the roots, and it faded to a soft, dark color. It wasn’t quite as harsh so as to be black, like the Sakusa family wore, but a gentler color just as deep. It suited her, and Osamu wore a similar shade. Kiyoomi wondered if that was the same color Atsumu hid under that tousled mess of blond on his head.

“Kiyoomi?”

“Oh,” Kiyoomi wasn’t expecting to hear his first name, “Yes. Nice to meet you, Miya-san.”

“You as well.” She grinned, and it was the same one Atsumu wore after a particularly nasty serve. “Heard a lot of nice things about ya too.”

~ ~ ~

If Sakusa Kiyoomi were to commit a crime, he would probably get away with it. If Miya-san was to commit a crime, it would probably be accidental, and she’d still get away with it. It was a Friday night, five days into their off-season break, and Kiyoomi felt a bit like he was stuck in a weird dream. The rest of MSBY had flown up to Hokkaido at various points throughout the week. Their seniors had been content to just take in the sights in Sapporo, Barnes citing the cold as a reason to hole up in bars and trade stories with the locals. It was the newer members, insistent on adventure, who were steadily driving Kiyoomi up the wall. 

“Heard you were reigning arm-wrestling champ here,” Miya-san smiled up at Bokuto sweetly, “I could take ya with a blindfold, sweetheart.” 

“Take me where?” Bokuto laughed. He crossed his arms across his chest and Kiyoomi dimly noted that a singular bicep off his arm would be the same size as Miya-san’s face. 

“Nowhere, nowhere.” Atsumu herded his mother away from Bokuto, pushing her toward Osamu with an exasperated look. Osamu sighed, accepting his mother into the gentle conversation he’d been holding with Akaashi Keiji. Kiyoomi watched Miya-san fold into their little bubble with ease. 

“She’s insane.”

Kiyoomi chuckled. He was hyper-aware of the space Atsumu had carved out for himself next to him. “She reminds me of someone.”

Atsumu scoffed. He didn’t retort, unlike him, staying at Kiyoomi’s side. They watched the other MSBY family members mingle, pulling at their teammates and pinching the meager fat on their cheeks. Inunaki drifted in and out of the crowd, evading a very insistent grandmother hot on his heels.

“Two hundred yen she catches him.”

“A hundred? I’ll bet seven thousand.”

Atsumu laughed and it was a warm sound. Kiyoomi shuffled on his feet, looking away from the man at his side. He continued to survey the crowd. 

“Ya don’t seem the type to like the cold, Omi-omi.”

“It’s alright.” Kiyoomi relented, “Better than the heat.”

“Can’t take a little heat?”

“I didn’t say that, Miya.”

“Back to ‘Miya’, now?”

Kiyoomi turned. Atsumu was closer than he thought he was, and Kiyoomi was suddenly very grateful that he’d made it a habit to wear masks. It was effective at keeping germs at bay, especially in crowds like this. It was also extraordinarily effective at covering the brutish red Kiyoomi’s face turned when his eyes locked with Atsumu’s. Or maybe not extraordinarily. Atsumu’s gaze dropped to the top of Kiyoomi’s mask. He’d always been perceptive. 

“What would you prefer I call you?”

“Want me to be honest, Omi-omi?”

Kiyoomi really did. 

“This must be Tsum-tsum .”

“Onee-san.” Kiyoomi took two steps away from Atsumu. He kept his head bowed, peering at his sister with an impassive expression. “Miya. This is my sister.”

“Sakusa Fuyoko.”

“Miya Atsumu,” Atsumu smiled and it was charming, “I see the resemblance.”

~ ~ ~

“Are these teams unfair?” 

“Hardly.” Kiyoomi grimaced, smiling at Bokuto as best he could. At his side, Hinata giggled. He looked like a cartoon character, hair sticking up in short tufts under his red helmet. Even his jersey was scarlet, and it matched Kiyoomi’s close-enough. The Sakusa siblings had purchased their own gear for the night.

“Nervous?” Hinata taunted. His little sister had arrived in the morning, not quite as short as Kiyoomi would’ve thought her to be. She wore a matching expression, the two siblings leering with an eerie, possibly-genetic, ferality. Hinata Natsu had all of two days to spend with her brother over the weekend before being carted off back to school. 

She was determined to make the most of this snowball fight. 

“Never.” Natsu laughed at her brother. Her hair poked out in tufts as well, though less abhorrent with the blue of her jersey and helmet. 

Kiyoomi’s sister sighed at his side and he followed suit. Miya-san cackled and nodded in time with Natsu’s victorious shout as their teams began to take position. Kiyoomi lingered, red jersey just a bit tight. He looked to Atsumu, the self-elected captain of the blue team.

“Good luck, Omi-omi.”

“Hm.” Kiyoomi smiled. And then he turned to join his team.

Atsumu wore blue like it was the color he’d been born in.

“Have you ever done this before, Omi-san?” Hinata looked up at Kiyoomi, hunkering behind one of the defensive walls. Osamu waved at them from his own wall, set up a little farther to the right. 

“Never.” Kiyoomi said. 

“That’s alright.” Tomas Adriah grinned around his wall. His eyes flit to the mound of snowballs carefully being placed close to the border between the two teams. “I think we’ll do fine.”

“I hope we do more than fine,” Meian sighed, laughing when Hinata nodded resolutely, “if we lose, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Kiyoomi groaned.

“Ya think we’ll be quiet if they lose?” Miya-san popped out from behind a wall, surprisingly subtle. She wobbled over to their little congregation, the tip of her nose pink. “I plan on celebrating our victory.”

“I’m with ya, Ma.” Osamu joined her, picking himself up off the ground. “Also, I don’t think Bokuto knows how to hide.”

They all looked down at the other side. Kiyoomi’s sister sidled up next to him, huffing a soft laugh and pointing at a very visible blue helmet peeking out from behind one of the closest walls. There was no one else it could be. 

“He’s trying.” Fuyoko chuckled. 

“Watch out for him.” Hinata hummed sagely, “Even if he’s easy to spot, getting hit with one of Bokuto’s throws...” 

Everyone looked at Fuyoko and Miya-san. The two of them bristled. “We’ll be fine!”

Osamu took the opportunity to wave Kiyoomi over. Kiyoomi approached him carefully, not quite familiar with Atsumu’s twin. Though, he couldn’t say the man had ever done anything to piss him off quite like his sibling had. “Yes?”

“Keep an eye on her, yeah? She talks big, but she’ll get hurt.”

“Yes, of course.” Kiyoomi looked at Miya-san, spitting vitriol as their seniors laughed to tears. “She reminds me of someone.” Kiyoomi found Osamu’s gaze in the fluorescent lighting of the outdoor arena. His eyes weren’t quite right, but a close mimicry. “You’ll be alright squaring off with Atsumu?” 

“More than alright,” Osamu snickered, “How about you?”

“Me?” Kiyoomi had taken his mask off before the game began, face just a little numb. He hoped any redness would be passed off as a result of the cold. “I have no problem making your brother eat his words.”

“I know.” Osamu smiled. They both looked to the center of the arena as the referee stepped in, wearing an oddly nostalgic neon shade. “That’s our cue.”

~ ~ ~

Things had escalated at an alarming rate. Though nobody had been injured just yet, Kiyoomi’s right shoulder was bitterly cold and aching from where Bokuto had slammed it with a snowball. It had felt more like ice, more like stone, and Kiyoomi was grateful the man seemed to realize the danger and had softened his throws. So far, nobody had stopped laughing, or yelling, and Kiyoomi scanned his team’s border, eyelashes wet with melted snow. 

As he watched, Miya-san lobbed two snowballs high over the wall and peered around the corner, waiting to see where they’d land. One disappeared behind the wall on the other side and a shout went up. Miya-san grinned. 

A little further down, Meian and Tomas had engaged Inunaki and Barnes in a rapid-fire exchange to powdery effect. Steadily, a soft cloud of resuspended snow settled around them, and the men slowed, looking up at the sky above them.

Hinata and Fukoyo took advantage of the situation to lob their own snowballs at the two in blue. More shouts. 

“Sakusa.”

“Miya.” Kiyoomi blinked, moving over a little to make room for Osamu. One side of the man’s face looked slick with water, and he rubbed at it with a knowing smile. Kiyoomi was fairly certain hitting people in the face was explicitly forbidden, but the referee seemed more busy maintaining the group’s last shred of sanity. From the far side, Bokuto emerged from a wall, two dozen snowballs piled high in his arms. 

“Have you seen ‘Tsumu?”

“I haven’t,” Kiyoomi frowned, “I wasn’t particularly looking for him.” This was mostly untrue, but Osamu didn’t need to know that. 

“Hm. That’s what he said.”

“Huh?”

“Idiot decided to steal some of our snowballs,” Osamu jerked his chin up to a relatively deserted part of their pitch. “I caught him, but he lobbed like, ten at me. I figured it wasn’t worth it.”

“He’s stealing our snowballs?” Kiyoomi squinted at the wall Osamu had gestured to, “What a jerk.”

“Didn’t you steal those snowballs from Bokuto, before?”

Kiyoomi scoffed, “That’s different.”

“Hm.”

“Stay here. I’ll sort him out.”

“I know ya will, Sakusa.”

Kiyoomi ignored the implication, scuttling forward. Snow was a weird gray area for him: not quite clean, but he couldn’t find it quite the opposite. Kiyoomi didn’t mind snow, even when it seeped into his pants and made his knees numb. He would thoroughly scrub himself down back in the sanctity of his newly cleaned bathroom once this ended. But for the time, Kiyoomi could let himself indulge in an attempted army-crawl, elbows digging into the soft snow underneath.

Slowly, he crept up on Atsumu’s blue-clad form. The man was peering around one of the red team’s walls, one arm securing a dozen snowballs. 

“Jerk.”

Atsumu dropped the snowballs with a curse, turning to look at Kiyoomi. That same, damned warm feeling flooded Kiyoomi’s stomach the second Atsumu’s eyes met his, wide and surprised. The blond man broke out into a grin a second later, seemingly unbothered that he’d been found behind enemy lines. 

“Omi-omi.”

“Ran out of snowballs?” Kiyoomi persisted. He crawled a little closer, blocking out the sound of Bokuto’s resounding yell. “You just had to come steal ours?”

“Who did it first?” Atsumu argued back, still smiling like an idiot. Kiyoomi found he couldn’t keep up the charade of seriousness, biting the inside of his cheek. 

“That was different.”

“Jerk.” Atsumu raised an eyebrow. 

“Hey—”

“—Avalanche!”

Atsumu, quick, leaned forward and grabbed Kiyoomi by the arms, hauling him so they were both pressed tight to the wall. Not a second later, two dozen snowballs fell from the sky like little comets, forming little holes in the snow. Kiyoomi released a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. Atsumu’s hands were still on the top of his arms. They seared through the fabric of his jersey, his jacket, his sweater. 

“Bokuto.” Atsumu said as an explanation. 

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi started, laughing a little, eyes shut. The fight lulled, quiet for a second until Meian screamed something valiant. Then, the sound picked up again. Kiyoomi opened his eyes, using a mittened hand to wipe at the snow on his face. “Atsumu, I—what?”

Atsumu was looking at him. Kiyoomi had noticed it before in the man’s eyes, that tentative emotion lurking somewhere behind that warm brown. Now, in the snow, it was unmistakable. Atsumu blinked once, then smiled. It was softer than Kiyoomi was used to, and something in his chest lurched annoyingly. “Ya can call me that, Omi-omi.”

“Huh?”

“Ya wanted to know what I’d prefer ya call me,” Atsumu shuffled so his whole back was pressed to the wall, neck twisting so he could look at Kiyoomi. “I’d prefer ya call me Atsumu.”

It seemed like a downgrade from Tsum-tsum, and Kiyoomi didn’t know why that hurt. 

“ Tsum-tsum don’t suit ya.” Atsumu read his mind, “But if ya like it, I like it.”

“Try to make sense.”

“Shut up.” But it had no bite, “I guess what I’m trying to tell ya, Omi-omi, is,” Atsumu’s expression morphed until it looked pained, a bit constipated, and Kiyoomi was sure he matched, “I’d let ya call me anything.”

Oh. That sour feeling in Kiyoomi’s gut made way for something sweet and nauseating all the same. “Anything?”

“ Anything .” Atsumu’s grin dropped into that same, dopey smile again. “I mean it.”

Kiyoomi’s face heated up until he was sure he couldn’t pass it off as the chill. If there was any snow stuck in his hair, it would have melted. In his red helmet, Kiyoomi felt a little dumb, peering so openly at Atsumu who looked back at him, face framed by his own little stupid blue helmet. 

“Jerk.”

“Omi-omi,” Atsumu frowned. 

“I didn’t say I didn’t like the idea.” Kiyoomi rolled his eyes, leaning in close. Atsumu’s eyes went wide. It was a bit addictive, having the upperhand, and Kiyoomi took advantage of it, leaning closer still. He looked down at Atsumu’s mouth, slowly pulling up at the corners into that trademark, godawful smirk. 

“Making me do all the work?”

“I’ve done plenty.” Atsumu chuckled, unphased, “Ya just gonna stare, Omi-omi? We don’t have all night. My ass is gonna get frostbite.”

“Shut up, Atsumu.”

And Kiyoomi kissed him for good measure, so any words the idiot tried saying would be lost between them. He pulled back when a stray snowball landed an inch from his foot, folding his legs in. Atsumu’s chest rose and fell with his. 

“Spend Christmas with me.” Atsumu said, breathless and close. 

“I thought that was a given, you being here for the break and all—”

“—I meant with me.” Atsumu huffed, “We’ll do something cute.”

“ Cute? ”

“I know ya don’t like crowds, but we can still do something cute. Ya know what I mean, Omi-omi.”

“I don’t think I do, Atsumu.” Kiyoomi smirked. 

“Ya know what? Never mind. My Ma and I will have a grand old time without ya—”

“—Jerk.”

Atsumu paused, “Ya can call me whatever ya want Kiyoomi.” Then, he grinned, “It’s cute.”

Kiyoomi smiled. He took a fist full of snow and smothered Atsumu’s face with it, scampering off into the backlines of his team. He ignored the spluttering shouts behind him, pointing a thumb over his shoulder when he ran into Hinata. “Tell Miya-san to toss a few that way.”

“Yes, sir, Omi-san.” Hinata laughed. 

Behind the farthest wall, Osamu appraised Kiyoomi’s return with a smirk. “Sort it out?”

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi hid his face, turning to the other side. He peered around the wall to keep busy. “Yeah, I did.”