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live and let
miya atsumu/sakusa kiyoomi // ~1.5k
> Miya Atsumu versus the hand-holding dilemma.
They're next in line when Kiyoomi says, "I think this is a terrible idea."
"I heard ya the first three times." Atsumu replies, unruffled. The amusement park is noisy; the contraptions whir as they start to move, the chatter of the people around them blend together in a distant buzz that can easily be made out if he focuses enough, and in a place like this, where Atsumu already starts to get adrenaline from walking alone, letting his eyes soak in the place, it's impossible to keep his thoughts quiet and tame.
It's with this mindset—the inability to dwell in one's own thoughts just because there's so much happening—that Atsumu believes that going to an amusement park is the perfect date for him and Kiyoomi. Even though these are one of the least romantic places Atsumu thinks someone could ever take their partner to, if Kiyoomi doesn't have time to overthink every little thing because he wants it to be perfect, then they can have a date with minimal mishaps.
Despite Kiyoomi making a comment about everything they do every twenty minutes, from wandering through the booths to looking for snacks to buy, the expression on his face isn't that displeased and the complaining seems more out of habit than anything else. Atsumu counts this as a win, because he knows Kiyoomi is only being prickly at the moment because of the summer heat and the unfamiliar surroundings they're in. It's not like Atsumu doesn't get it, because he's constantly two seconds away from removing half his clothes just to be able to feel like he can breathe properly in the suffocating air.
This is the first roller coaster they're trying after spending the first few hours walking around the amusement park, finding stuff they'd want to do before going on anything intense, and the long line means a long waiting time and it's made Atsumu more anxious than he anticipated. It's not even because he's scared of rollercoasters, because he's rode on a few before and attempted more dauntless activities and he loved it—liked the rush and that feeling of freeing weightlessness that was hard to come by if he wasn’t playing volleyball.
But he's about to go on a rollercoaster with Kiyoomi, of all people, and according to Osamu, who has for some reason become an expert on relationships and dates just because he'd been awarded the Boyfriend Of The Year certificate during last year's Christmas bash by his own boyfriend, intense rides always end up with one single result for two people in love (which is what Atsumu and Kiyoomi are, even if Kiyoomi still gets embarrassed about admitting it and Atsumu still finds it a bit hard to acknowledge until now since it’s just too surreal):
Romantic hand holding.
Atsumu can somewhat understand how an intense roller coaster ride would lead to "romantic hand holding". It’s the grip of one's partner on the other's hand from excitement or fear at they embark on the cart, a hold that grows fiercer and fiercer as they climb up to the ride's peak before the inevitable and terrifying drop, and the notion that the reason they're clinging onto you like a lifeline is because they trust you keep them safe even if you're in the same boat of despair, but at least you're suffering together.
It's romantic in a very screwed up sense, possibly something out of desperation except it’s not because it’s between two people who not only stand each other but like one another. It’s a reasoning Atsumu mostly accepts and acknowledges because Osamu is a very screwed up person and he's exactly the type of person to assume these kinds of things and stick to them. It's also partially why Atsumu insisted that he and Kiyoomi go on a rollercoaster; it'd be a nice step forward in their relationship during a first date— holding hands, finally touching in a way that's meaningful and different from all the other ones they've traded as teammates and friends.
Now, he's starting to regret it, given his current dilemma: the fact that his palms are growing sweatier the longer they wait for their turn.
Frankly, Atsumu thinks this is embarrassing. This is going to be the first time they'll be holding hands—because they're going to, because Kiyoomi doesn't ride on rollercoasters often and as averse he is to touch, the entire team has noticed that whenever he gets queasy or uncomfortable about something, he'll inch closer to someone, even if they don't touch, like he finds enough safety being near another presence—and Atsumu's palms will be wet and gross and Kiyoomi might not ever want to do it again. How can he already suck at being boyfriend when this is their first date?
"Atsumu," Kiyoomi says, voice cutting through Atsumu's thoughts. "Don't tell me you're backing out now."
"I'm not." Atsumu immediately argues, schooling his expression to hide whatever face he's making that makes Kiyoomi think he's afraid. "Projectin', are ya? It's okay to admit that yer scared, Omi-kun. No need to put up a front now like ya did with the horror movie marathon last month."
Kiyoomi's cheeks turn faintly pink at the memory. "If you walked in your grandmother's room and saw bugs crawling out of her mouth, you'd be terrified too."
"Probably." Atsumu considers absentmindedly, rubbing his fingers on his palm. They're damp in a really weird way and it's driving him nuts. He's pretty sure it's only because of the heat that his hands are like this, but as more time passes, the more he's starting to consider that it might also be out of nervousness even though it's just hand-holding . He never even got like this during oral exams or in his finals back in high school. It’s a nightmare. Atsumu briefly wonders if the tissues or handkerchief tucked in his pockets could do the trick, but this doesn't seem like the kind of thing that's easy to wipe off, and it's not like the sweating can't come back.
The last batch of passengers finally return to the stationary point of the ride, looking dazed and frazzled but also satisfied. Atsumu watches them slowly disembark, eyes specifically trailing after the ones who are obvious couples from the way they act around one another—tender and pressed closed together, hands clasped tightly around each other. Atsumu can feel something bubbling inside him, a mixture of excitement and dread that is hard to separate and is beginning to cloud his judgement.
His hands are still sweaty. Kiyoomi looks completely oblivious to his struggle, his concentration focused on trying to settle comfortably into their seat. They're in the front, and Kiyoomi must know a thing or two about what they say about staying on either end of the cart, because he gulps audibly, the first sign of anxiousness.
A few minutes after everyone has climbed on properly, the U-shaped padded bars lowers, safely securing the passengers in their place. Things grow quiet as they climb up the slope, but when they reach the peak and the carts freeze, letting the suspension hang in the air, and the anticipation get lodged into everyone’s throats because that’s what rides like these are known for, Kiyoomi breathes out, "Fuck."
Without even saying anything, Kiyoomi makes a move to grab Atsumu's hand. Atsumu immediately pulls back. Kiyoomi doesn't even look abashed at seeking physical contact despite the facade he always puts; he just looks at Atsumu with raised eyebrows, like he can't believe Atsumu doesn't want it. For what it's worth, it's not like Atsumu doesn't. It’s just—
"My hands are fuckin' gross right now, Omi-kun." Atsumu tells him, And because his misery is already starting to shut down his brain-to-mouth filter, he adds, "Don't break up with me already. We haven't even finished this date."
Kiyoomi looks unimpressed with his sullen attitude, but it's familiar, that unwillingness to deal with Atsumu’s dramatics and the knowledge to not worsen it by making some kind of provoking comment; Atsumu can feel the tension die down just a little. "Atsumu," Kiyoomi starts, and what Atsumu does prepare himself for is a scolding.
Except it doesn't come. Instead, Kiyoomi grabs his hand again anyway, quick enough that Atsumu can't escape, and replies hurriedly but firmly, "I don't care. My hands are sweaty too. And we have bigger things to worry about."
Momentarily confused and preoccupied with the fact that (1) Kiyoomi wants to hold his hands anyway because he’s an idiot and (2) Kiyoomi has sweaty palms too because, well, it’s probably a phenomenon only idiots go through, Atsumu questions, "What d'ya mean?"
But then the car tilts forward and by the time he's hit with the answer, they're already descending and gravity is pulling them down relentlessly and there is no time for words.
Atsumu's hands are still sweaty and sticky, but so are Kiyoomi's, and it doesn't stop them from tightening their hold on one another anyway.
> Miya Atsumu versus the hand-holding dilemma.
They're next in line when Kiyoomi says, "I think this is a terrible idea."
"I heard ya the first three times." Atsumu replies, unruffled. The amusement park is noisy; the contraptions whir as they start to move, the chatter of the people around them blend together in a distant buzz that can easily be made out if he focuses enough, and in a place like this, where Atsumu already starts to get adrenaline from walking alone, letting his eyes soak in the place, it's impossible to keep his thoughts quiet and tame.
It's with this mindset—the inability to dwell in one's own thoughts just because there's so much happening—that Atsumu believes that going to an amusement park is the perfect date for him and Kiyoomi. Even though these are one of the least romantic places Atsumu thinks someone could ever take their partner to, if Kiyoomi doesn't have time to overthink every little thing because he wants it to be perfect, then they can have a date with minimal mishaps.
Despite Kiyoomi making a comment about everything they do every twenty minutes, from wandering through the booths to looking for snacks to buy, the expression on his face isn't that displeased and the complaining seems more out of habit than anything else. Atsumu counts this as a win, because he knows Kiyoomi is only being prickly at the moment because of the summer heat and the unfamiliar surroundings they're in. It's not like Atsumu doesn't get it, because he's constantly two seconds away from removing half his clothes just to be able to feel like he can breathe properly in the suffocating air.
This is the first roller coaster they're trying after spending the first few hours walking around the amusement park, finding stuff they'd want to do before going on anything intense, and the long line means a long waiting time and it's made Atsumu more anxious than he anticipated. It's not even because he's scared of rollercoasters, because he's rode on a few before and attempted more dauntless activities and he loved it—liked the rush and that feeling of freeing weightlessness that was hard to come by if he wasn’t playing volleyball.
But he's about to go on a rollercoaster with Kiyoomi, of all people, and according to Osamu, who has for some reason become an expert on relationships and dates just because he'd been awarded the Boyfriend Of The Year certificate during last year's Christmas bash by his own boyfriend, intense rides always end up with one single result for two people in love (which is what Atsumu and Kiyoomi are, even if Kiyoomi still gets embarrassed about admitting it and Atsumu still finds it a bit hard to acknowledge until now since it’s just too surreal):
Romantic hand holding.
Atsumu can somewhat understand how an intense roller coaster ride would lead to "romantic hand holding". It’s the grip of one's partner on the other's hand from excitement or fear at they embark on the cart, a hold that grows fiercer and fiercer as they climb up to the ride's peak before the inevitable and terrifying drop, and the notion that the reason they're clinging onto you like a lifeline is because they trust you keep them safe even if you're in the same boat of despair, but at least you're suffering together.
It's romantic in a very screwed up sense, possibly something out of desperation except it’s not because it’s between two people who not only stand each other but like one another. It’s a reasoning Atsumu mostly accepts and acknowledges because Osamu is a very screwed up person and he's exactly the type of person to assume these kinds of things and stick to them. It's also partially why Atsumu insisted that he and Kiyoomi go on a rollercoaster; it'd be a nice step forward in their relationship during a first date— holding hands, finally touching in a way that's meaningful and different from all the other ones they've traded as teammates and friends.
Now, he's starting to regret it, given his current dilemma: the fact that his palms are growing sweatier the longer they wait for their turn.
Frankly, Atsumu thinks this is embarrassing. This is going to be the first time they'll be holding hands—because they're going to, because Kiyoomi doesn't ride on rollercoasters often and as averse he is to touch, the entire team has noticed that whenever he gets queasy or uncomfortable about something, he'll inch closer to someone, even if they don't touch, like he finds enough safety being near another presence—and Atsumu's palms will be wet and gross and Kiyoomi might not ever want to do it again. How can he already suck at being boyfriend when this is their first date?
"Atsumu," Kiyoomi says, voice cutting through Atsumu's thoughts. "Don't tell me you're backing out now."
"I'm not." Atsumu immediately argues, schooling his expression to hide whatever face he's making that makes Kiyoomi think he's afraid. "Projectin', are ya? It's okay to admit that yer scared, Omi-kun. No need to put up a front now like ya did with the horror movie marathon last month."
Kiyoomi's cheeks turn faintly pink at the memory. "If you walked in your grandmother's room and saw bugs crawling out of her mouth, you'd be terrified too."
"Probably." Atsumu considers absentmindedly, rubbing his fingers on his palm. They're damp in a really weird way and it's driving him nuts. He's pretty sure it's only because of the heat that his hands are like this, but as more time passes, the more he's starting to consider that it might also be out of nervousness even though it's just hand-holding . He never even got like this during oral exams or in his finals back in high school. It’s a nightmare. Atsumu briefly wonders if the tissues or handkerchief tucked in his pockets could do the trick, but this doesn't seem like the kind of thing that's easy to wipe off, and it's not like the sweating can't come back.
The last batch of passengers finally return to the stationary point of the ride, looking dazed and frazzled but also satisfied. Atsumu watches them slowly disembark, eyes specifically trailing after the ones who are obvious couples from the way they act around one another—tender and pressed closed together, hands clasped tightly around each other. Atsumu can feel something bubbling inside him, a mixture of excitement and dread that is hard to separate and is beginning to cloud his judgement.
His hands are still sweaty. Kiyoomi looks completely oblivious to his struggle, his concentration focused on trying to settle comfortably into their seat. They're in the front, and Kiyoomi must know a thing or two about what they say about staying on either end of the cart, because he gulps audibly, the first sign of anxiousness.
A few minutes after everyone has climbed on properly, the U-shaped padded bars lowers, safely securing the passengers in their place. Things grow quiet as they climb up the slope, but when they reach the peak and the carts freeze, letting the suspension hang in the air, and the anticipation get lodged into everyone’s throats because that’s what rides like these are known for, Kiyoomi breathes out, "Fuck."
Without even saying anything, Kiyoomi makes a move to grab Atsumu's hand. Atsumu immediately pulls back. Kiyoomi doesn't even look abashed at seeking physical contact despite the facade he always puts; he just looks at Atsumu with raised eyebrows, like he can't believe Atsumu doesn't want it. For what it's worth, it's not like Atsumu doesn't. It’s just—
"My hands are fuckin' gross right now, Omi-kun." Atsumu tells him, And because his misery is already starting to shut down his brain-to-mouth filter, he adds, "Don't break up with me already. We haven't even finished this date."
Kiyoomi looks unimpressed with his sullen attitude, but it's familiar, that unwillingness to deal with Atsumu’s dramatics and the knowledge to not worsen it by making some kind of provoking comment; Atsumu can feel the tension die down just a little. "Atsumu," Kiyoomi starts, and what Atsumu does prepare himself for is a scolding.
Except it doesn't come. Instead, Kiyoomi grabs his hand again anyway, quick enough that Atsumu can't escape, and replies hurriedly but firmly, "I don't care. My hands are sweaty too. And we have bigger things to worry about."
Momentarily confused and preoccupied with the fact that (1) Kiyoomi wants to hold his hands anyway because he’s an idiot and (2) Kiyoomi has sweaty palms too because, well, it’s probably a phenomenon only idiots go through, Atsumu questions, "What d'ya mean?"
But then the car tilts forward and by the time he's hit with the answer, they're already descending and gravity is pulling them down relentlessly and there is no time for words.
Atsumu's hands are still sweaty and sticky, but so are Kiyoomi's, and it doesn't stop them from tightening their hold on one another anyway.