the rarity of a day off wasn't lost on kiyoomi. usually, his time was a carefully orchestrated symphony of serves, spikes, and stretches, each movement a step towards perfection on the volleyball court. so, this quiet morning, spent simply resting his head on your lap as you gently carded your fingers through his dark, slightly damp curls, felt like a stolen moment. he wouldn't admit it, of course. compliments and open displays of affection weren't exactly in his repertoire. yet, the soft sigh that escaped his lips every now and then betrayed a sliver of the comfort he was loath to acknowledge.

he was drifting, the rhythmic motion of your fingers a soothing lullaby, the warmth of your presence a comforting anchor. just as sleep began to tug at the edges of his consciousness, a flicker of awareness returned. his hand, quick and precise even in his drowsy state, gently covered yours, stilling its movement. "don't touch my hair," he mumbled, his voice a low rumble that lacked its usual sharp edge.

the words were meant to sound stern, a familiar reprimand. but the lack of heat in his tone, the lingering softness in his eyes before he deliberately narrowed them, told a different story. you knew him well enough to see past the feigned annoyance. he had been comfortable, undeniably so, almost succumbing to the rare luxury of sleep cradled in your lap. a small, knowing smile played on your lips as you lowered your hand, the unspoken intimacy of the moment hanging sweetly in the air.