Invisible String

Kiyoomi walked around the corner, a hand on his hip. "Hey."

Detaching himself from Barbeque, Atsumu walked over to Kiyoomi, wrapping his arms around Kiyoomi's middle, tucking his head under Kiyoomi's chin. "Hey."

"Are you okay?' His voice is soft, a tone only used towards Atsumu.

"I'm better now", Atsumu answers honestly.

"Great. I'm going to go and prepare dinner, so just take a shower okay?"

Atsumu leans back and meets Kiyoomi's eyes. "Can we eat outside today?"

They have a small table on their backyard's porch, but they don't eat at it much. Sometimes it's the weather, but a lot of times Kiyoomi feels uncomfortable with the idea. Once a fly landed in his soup broth and he could barely eat for the following days unless it was inside.

Kiyoomi hesitates, but then he smiles. "Sure."

Excitedly, Atsumu pulls away from Kiyoomi. "Thanks Omi! You're the best!"

His excitement definitely was contagious, as Barbeque started running in small circles around Kiyoomi's feet.

Atsumu rushes to their bedroom, and the urge to lie on the sheets overwhelms him. But, he knows Kiyoomi doesn't like it when he does that, so he spared those feelings for another time. Walking to the bathroom, he quickly strips, folding his clothes into a nice pile to take to the laundry later. The shower is warm, and the steam fogs up the glass doors. His smile from earlier melts off of his face. Now alone with his thoughts, he can't help but rethink about those damned comments. Lately, there have just been so many . Even in the beginning of his professional career, he didn't receive this much hate. On the contrary, he was the spotlight of lots of adoration and devoted fans. What had to have happened in the last seven years for that attention to have changed?

The hot water suddenly starts feeling like heavy pouring rain, it's weight pounding on Atsumu's face. The music coming from his phone feels like banging in his ears, the lights above start blinding him. Everything's becoming too much.

He turns off the shower, using his towel to dry off. Stepping out, he turns off the lights and music. He dresses into his pajamas, and plops down on the floor, his head tucked in between his knees. The cold tile cools his bare feet, and when he takes a shaky breath out, tears start falling down his cheeks. The tears soak his shirt and knees, and his hiccups come out labored.

Atsumu's never been a quiet crier. He's loud, always alerting anybody nearby of his turmoil. But this time, he covers his mouth to try and muffle his sobs, trying not to let Kiyoomi hear. Kiyoomi doesn't need to worry. He can simply stand up right now, wash his face until there has been no sign that he was crying, and eat dinner on the porch with his perfect, lovable boyfriend. Simple.

And that's what he does. On shaky legs, he walks to the sink and splashes cold water on his face. He scrubs around his eyes, trying to eliminate the redness and puffiness. He's at it for a minute or so, and when he looks up, he sees Kiyoomi leaning in the doorway through the mirror. His expression is neutral to the untrained eye, but Atsumu knows. He's caught.

Kiyoomi can read Atsumu like a book and vice versa. Both naturally attentive people, they picked up on each other's cues before they even started dating. It was natural, easy. But now, as Atsumu stares into Kiyoomi's dark brown eyes, knowing that those eyes can see straight through his facade and into the crevices of his soul, he wishes that Kiyoomi didn't know him as well. It might've been easier to hide his feelings that way.

"I'm sorry."

Kiyoomi's eyebrows raise. "Why?"

Atsumu didn't have the answer to that. He didn't actually feel guilty or sorry for anything. Never with Kiyoomi. So why was he saying sorry?