kibomi

[kibomi]

Omi agenda prevails

always

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messy — sakusa kiyoomi

contrary to popular belief, sakusa kiyoomi is messy.

no, he doesn’t leave his clothes strewn across the floor or his toothbrush away from its rightful home in the holder. he doesn’t walk away from a countertop if there’s remnants of his dinner or leave a room without washing his hands. he doesn’t leave discarded boxes of hair products lying on the bathroom sink or forget to wipe his feet off on the rug before he enters his apartment.

in fact, he’s actually pretty clean—neat, he prefers. and it’s not that he’s a germaphobe (despite how often his cousin or teammates try to claim as much) or that he’s a neat freak (like his mother laughs about with his aunt). he just likes things being a certain way, enjoys a routine. it works well with him, really. that’s all.

so messy, well, that’s generally not a word one would use to describe sakusa kiyoomi.

but he is.

perhaps there’s a reason why no one believes you when you tell them. because they only see him for his face value—the sakusa who wipes down his seat with his sleeve before sitting, who fakes (or not so much) a gag when he watches bokuto and atsumu share a drink, who germ-x’s his hands after touching a doorknob with the sanitizer strapped to his bag.

they see the sakusa who cleans and swipes and shudders and shivers around anything resembling the word messy.

and, frankly, you find that a little bit funny.

because the sakusa you know—though he does align with that of the view of others—couldn’t be more different.

the kiyoomi you know drools in his sleep and wakes up with it smeared across his cheek. he spills bleach all over your carpet because he’s a tad bit clumsy and cusses under his breath with stinging eyes as he tries to clean it up. he knocks things off counters with his elbows and kicks flower vases over until the water spills onto the hard wood. he drops globs of hair gel in the sink without noticing and frowns when he comes back to see them dry. he loses his masks at least three times a week and somehow blames it on you when they turn up pink in the washer because he threw them in with his japan team jacket. he forgets to turn the dishwasher on and misses the basket when he goes to throw his socks in and doesn’t fix his hair nine days out of ten.

he gets worked up too easily because his loves with his entire being and you drive him up the wall crazy until everything coming out of his mouth is absolutely messy. it’s you, he swears, that makes him this way. that makes him lose his sense of routine and schedule and tidiness. it was fine until you came along, perfect and prim and dare he say proper.

but then there was you. you and your stupid smile and that stupid glint in your eye and the absolutely stupid way you wouldn’t leave him alone even when he barked at you to. he was fine before you, but now that you’re here, well.

he’s messy and unruly and nowhere near neat.

and the worst part, truly, is that he can’t even say he hates it. it would be a lie. you helped him ‘loosen up’ as komori would call it. made him realize things didn’t always have to be so so.

it’s.. nice, he admits. you’re nice. and messy is sometimes nice too.

so maybe that’s why neither of you seem to pay much mind anymore when you’re out with friends. all cramped into a tiny corner booth as hoots and hollers sound over the table. and atsumu, ever the enticer, pipes in.

“still can’t believe yer able to deal with omi-omi’s cleanin’.” and atsumu doesn’t heed to the glare sakusa throws at him across the table. he never does. “does he walk behind ya with disinfectant?”

and you all laugh (minus kiyoomi, who offers nothing but a roll of his eyes) because it’s all in good fun. you wave the blonde off, let the smile crinkle your eyes as you lean across the table slightly.

“actually,” you fake a whisper, “he’s quite messy.”

that, of course, gets you a sea of laughs far louder than the one prior. a chorus of ‘no way’s, ‘not omi!’s, and ‘good joke yn-kun’s all the way around the table as his teammates bust their guts at your little admittance. you just lean back into sakusa’s side, giggle at their debauchment of your statement.

and as you watch kiyoomi’s hand falls to your thigh—a mess of mangy little cuticles that certainly aren’t neat, you can’t help but grin.

[kibomi]

bo. 20. any prns.

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