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Atsumu could feel his cold dead heart warming, just a little bit, as he watched Bokuto lay a blanket over Shoyo.Only a little bit, though.He plops himself down on one side of Shoyo, making grabby hands at Bokuto for a blanket. Bokuto, to his delight, tucks him in too, before settling on Shoyo’s other side. Bokuto’s face looks calm as he gazes at the orange-haired spiker before snapping his eyes back to the TV. Post-breakdown Shoyo was very different from breakdown Shoyo. Atsumu swore it was only minutes earlier he was sitting next to him in the car, crying so hard Atsumu wanted to wrap him up, squeeze him tight, and stuff him into his pocket. He had just looked so…small. It wasn’t like he normally looked tiny, not after Brazil, but that night Shoyo had looked so fragile. They were all there when he got absolutely shit-faced only to talk about his old highschool setter all night. Atsumu was never Tobio-kun’s biggest fan, so seeing Shoyo’s body shaken by sobs for the setter only made him want to aim a deadly serve right in Tobio's face a little more. No one had said it out loud, so Shoyo wouldn’t feel some sort of misplaced guilt, but the car ride was beyond worrying- it wasn’t often you see the volleyball league’s golden-boy cry like that, let alone cry at all. His whole brand was that he was happy. Shoyo was sleeping now, but he was stupid if he thought an interrogation wasn’t in place the second he woke up from his nap, hangover be damned. Atsumu eyes the bowl of banana chips he brought, his favorite sad snack. He thought Shoyo would like it too, but with the way he’s out cold, it looks like Bokuto and him are going to be the only ones eating it. Atsumu grabs a handful and stuffs it into his mouth. He can almost hear Osamu berating him (Yer still such a fuckin’ slob ‘Tsumu).Kiyoomi had gone to bed just minutes earlier, and Atsumu could tell the day had drained him. He would probably be masking again the next day, to get rid of any extra anxiety, and Atsmui makes a mental note to leave out unscented wipes for him. Taking care of a homesick teammate required a special kind of emotional awareness that at the best times, Kiyoomi only possessed, but once Kiyoomi got in his head he couldn’t really come out. Atsumu, on his part, had figured that out years ago and he decided not to tell anyone that Kiyoomi was secretly just nice enough to help his friends sometimes. He knew it could be tiring for Kiyoomi but he also knew Kiyoomi would chop Atsumu’s dick off for trying to stop him. He didn’t do things he didn’t mean, and he definitely didn’t start things without finishing them. Kiyoomi had once confessed helping others was the only way he knew how to show he cared. Atsumu had pinched him and called him a wannabe-punk. And then told Kiyoomi there were a bunch of other ways to love starting with kissing him until he blacked out. High School was fun. “TsumTsum, did you just see that play?” Bokuto crows, “That was awesome!”Atsumu had definitely not been paying attention, but he stuffs his mouth with another handful of chips and nods like he was. (I’ll eat what I want ‘Samu.)He glances at Shoyo sleeping between them, who has surprisingly not woken up yet from Bokuto’s yelling. He can see faint eyebags, and feels a pang of guilt for not noticing anything sooner. Could he have stopped this? It’s his job to watch his teammates as their setter, and Atsumu let Shoyo go the whole week like this? Would he have told Atsumu, if he trusted him?Would he have ever told anyone?Well. He’s honestly surprised Shoyo kept it going for so long. He’s surprised that out of everyone in the so-called monster generation, Shoyo was one of the few that chose to play volleyball out of the country, fresh out of highschool. He must be committed to hell and back. Or in love. Or both.
Atsumu couldn’t really judge. He was both.Atsumu remembered when he first heard the news his second year in the pro leagues, he had brought it up to his brother, claiming he could’ve done it too, if he wanted to. He had been immediately shut down by Osamu’s sarcastic bark of laughter. (Ya would never last in Brazil by yourself, ‘Tsumu, ya lack the commitment.) He’s surprised Shoyo didn’t choose to take an extra year and build himself up from the local leagues, but he understands. His brother can bitch all he want, but if Atsumu had really needed to move to fucking Europe or Canada for three years so he could play volleyball for another fifteen, he’d take it. Luckily, or maybe not luck at all, Atsumu was just good at volleyball. A skill sharpened through years of literal blood, sweat, and tears. And vomit. He also was on the lucky end for height. He thinks it’s something they all would understand. ‘They’, being volleyball players. ‘It’, being going professional in any sport- knowing it can’t be there your whole life and that should be enough. Hell, he’s on a team full of people who do what they love for a career that usually ends before it starts. Still, Atsumu knows every single person on their team would play as long as their skill lets them, whether it be five years or fifty. Which is exactly what Atsumu plans to do as well. Volleyball for the rest of his life until he dies. (There’s that for commitment, ‘Samu.)He tunes back into the game they were watching, realizing it’s a women’s volleyball match, probably college level. Atsumu tries forcing himself to stop thinking of Shoyo, he doesn’t know why he’s so worried anyways, but watching the female athletes on screen execute moves with perfect technique, even if they’re lacking the power, Atsumu is reminded of Shoyo. Female athletes, who work harder than men ever would, just to get half as much recognition. It reminds him of Shoyo’s stubbornness, even though he was shut down at every opportunity. Shoyo made it, so why is he so upset?Atsumu sniffles, and blinks rapidly. He glances at the small clock above the television, green with different plants to tell time instead of the hour. It’s not late enough to cry. He thinks it’s around one, or chrysanthemum. Screw Adriah for getting suck a fucked up clock. Belatedly, Atsumu realizes it’s not okay for them to be sleeping on the floor eating snacks when they definitely have an afternoon practice the next day. Or the same day, technically. He doesn’t fucking know.Atsumu gently slid himself out from the blankets he was tucked under and noticed Bokuto and Shoyo were dead asleep, snoring on each other. On a normal day, he would’ve been okay with leaving them both, but Atsumu was feeling a little soft at the moment. He decided to at least try and get them both to their rooms without forcibly waking them up. He carefully readjusted Bokuto’s head so it was back against the sofa and not on top of Shoyo. He squatted down, moving a hand under Shoyo’s knees, the other supporting his neck. One deep breath and Atsumu straightened with Shoyo in his arms. It would be a lie to say it wasn't hard- Atsumu’s legs were shaking on the way up, but he took one careful step towards his room. Fuck, Shoyo was heavy. He was lucky Atsumu did so much work on his thighs, or they would both be on the floor.When he finally reached his room door, tastefully decorated in Onigiri Miya and MSBY mascot stickers, he shoved it open with his shoulders and shuffled over to his bed. Despite what people thought of his cleanliness habits, Atsumu liked to keep his room tidy. Maybe it was only because Kiyoomi would refuse to come in if it wasn’t, but it was clean enough for a guest to sleep in at the moment. Careful not to wake him, he laid Shoyo over a giant bedsheet depicting Atsumu’s face (Ya have got to be fuckin’ kidding, ‘Tsumu). Surprisingly, he hadn’t stirred the entire trip there, despite Atsumu crashing into the hallway wall once or twice. Atsumu wasn’t sure if that was exhaustion or Shoyo’s weight.After grabbing a bottle of water to leave by the bedside table, and an extra blanket (Also with his face, eat shit ‘Samu), Atsumu stood at the foot of the bed watching him sleep. it should have been creepy- but Atsumu felt a deep sense of fondness for the wing spiker. He silently vowed to never let one of his players get that bad again. Not anyone on his team, not anyone he knew, and especially not Shoyo. Atsumu wanted to tuck him in. He spun around, and shut the door behind him. His face was warmed with embarrassment. Making his way back to the living room, he saw Bokuto was wide awake again, stuffing his face with Atsumu’s banana’s chips. He hoped the dim lighting of the room meant Bokuto couldn’t see how red his face was. “Oh, Atsumu! Where did Hinata go?”“I took him back to my room. Weren’t you just sleeping?”“I woke up to see the end of the game!”Atsumu glanced at the TV, and sure enough the fifth set was just ending almost in the thirties. It was supposed to be weird that Bokuto knew that, but Atsumu was filled with an intense rush of fondness again.He crouched down next to Bokuto and threw his arms around him tightly, “I fucking love ya guys, I really do,” he said. The grip his team had over his heart was immense. Atsumu promised to give them all a hug the next practice.“TsumTsum!” Bokuto exclaimed, before wrapping Atsumu up in return. And shit- he toppled right into him, knees uncomfortable tucked underneath. He definitely didn’t think the hug through, because there was no way he wouldn’t bruise with the way Bokuto was squeezing him. But it felt good. Atsumu could feel the love radiating off of him. He could fall asleep like that.He actually was about to fall asleep, Atsumu realized. He must have been more tired than he thought. When the thought of his bed became too enticing, he tried to speak up, “Bokkun…” he said weakly.“I love you too!” Bokuto yelled, before letting go to slap a hand over his mouth, mumbling, “Do you think Sakusa heard that?”Atsumu shifted back into a kneeling position, rubbing his shoulders. “Ya gonna get to bed soon?” he asked, ignoring his first question, wondering how Bokuto was still awake and functioning. He didn’t get drunk like Shoyo, but Atsumu was sure he had seen him drink more than a couple shots. He figured a hangover or something should be hitting soon.“I think I’ll wait a little. I asked Meian to bring some food for me,” Bokuto replied.Of course Meian would bring food for Bokuto so late, because he was a captain their team didn’t deserve. Fuck, Atsumu wanted to hug him too. Or cry. He didn’t know. He chooses to reach out and pat Bokuto on the shoulder. “I’m going to bed then, I’ll see ya tomorrow morning?” Atsumu stood up, another yawn escaping. His head spins. “Give Kiyoomi-kun a kiss for me,” Bokuto trilled. “Shaddup. I’ll be in my room tonight,” he said, face warming. Bokuto’s face turns up in confusion, “But Atsumu, isn’t Hinata-“Atsumu turned to leave before Bokuto could add anything else embarrassing. He calls a goodnight over his voice, distractedly making his way down the hall. Unknowingly, he passes his own room and headed for another at the very end of the hall. The door wasn’t decorated- just a piece of paper with ‘Sakusa Kiyoomi’ written on it, but Atsumu failed to check in his tired haze, his body subconsciously taking him there.He opens the door, yawning again as he closes it behind him. He feels exhaustion pulsing through his body the second the door clicks shut. He rips his shirt off and struggles out of the tight pants he wore for their night out. His movements are lethargic and subdued, whether that be from his sleep riddled mind or his sappy thoughts. His brows furrowed in irritation when he realizes Shoyo’s sadness may have rubbed off on him.He figures being somewhat of an empath comes with the twin thing. Atsumu makes his way to his bed in his boxers, ready to completely collapse, before he realizes the sheets are sage green, and that is definitely not his bed. He glances down and almost screams when he sees a mop of black hair, before it turns around to blink at him, looking awfully like his favorite wing-spiker. “Omi? The fuck are ya doing awake and lying in my bed like a godamn serial killer?” Atsumu doesn’t say that he finds him so adorable he could bite his hand off. “This is my room,” Kiyoomi bluntly replies, not offering any excuses for why he let Atsumu walk in and strip in the first place. And this is Atsumu’s room-“Fuck. Oh my god. Fuck, I forgot Shoyo is asleep in my bed. I just came here.”“I figured. I heard you walking around.”Of course Atsumu would naturally drift here, he figures even if his bed was free he would end up next to Kiyoomi. Atsumu had a thought that they were like those horrible little fridge magnets that were completely useless at holding things up. But they managed to continually pull at each other. He laughs and it’s so not cute, but Kiyoomi just keeps staring at him. It’s almost relaxing. “Can I sleep here?” Atsumu asks and he means it. He knew Kiyoomi needed his own nights. He knew that sometimes it could be hard for them to be in the same bed, let alone touching.Sure, they’d been dating for almost four years (Tsumu, he told ya that ya both were broken up when he was in college), but it wasn’t like whatever was different about Kiyoomi could disappear over that time. He never talked about it and Atsumu never really asked, because he liked Kiyoomi all the same. “I feel okay,” Kiyoomi answers instead. “Is that a yes? Yes, I can sleep here?” Kiyoomi doesn’t say anything, but Atsumu can see his face drop into a slight pout, his dark eyes becoming darker. He grins because it means Kiyoomi wants to say yes, but hates that Atsumu said something embarrassing outloud, which means he’ll resort to a gesture. Atsumu preens in victory when Kiyoomi opens his arms up. (This kinda skill in reading my Omi doesn’t come with a two year break, Samu.) Sighing, Atsumu crawls into bed beside him, letting Kiyoomi silently adjust the blanket over the both of them. He lays on his back facing the ceiling, and can feel Kiyoomi’s eyes on him. They’re not touching, not yet, but Atsumu is more than happy to just lay there with the feeling of a dip in the bed next to him. Kiyoomi’s warmth is too damn distracting. “Hinata can take care of himself, you know,” Kiyoomi says. He doesn’t whisper, or face Atsumu, because of course he sucks at reading the room. Instead, he speaks loudly into the dark assuming Atsumu will listen. Atsumu wants to die of embarrassment. Maybe this is payback“Ah, fuck, don’t try me with that now,” he mutters, “I’m not in the mood. M’sad and tired.”“Why’s that?” Kiyoomi snorts, and he’s awful at making people feel better. Atsumu loves him.“I just fucking am. Get outta bed if ya won’t comfort me,” he grumbles. He knows Kiyoomi won’t leave, but Atsumu has to say something mean to Kiyoomi before he loses it. “Remember that you’re in my room, asshole,” Kiyoomi says, because he’s the same, because he can’t be nice to Atsumu either. Kiyoomi wraps an arm around his bare waist. He’s wearing a long-sleeve and sweatpants, Atsumu notices. Not a good sign, but not a bad one either. It means he needs the layers between their skin, like Kiyoomi knew Atsumu would eventually be in his room. It’s normal, it’s soft on Atsumu’s skin, and he takes it as permission to snuggle closer, letting his eyes drift shut. “It’s not your fault you were too dumb to notice he was sad,” Kiyoomi speaks softly by his ear. God, Atsumu wants to rip his hair out. Atsumu wants to pepper his face with kisses. “Fuck you,” he whispers back. Atsumu hates him. He hates how exposed Kiyoomi can make him feel with maybe ten words, max. He hates how he finds comfort in it. He knows it’s not his fault, he knows it could happen to any of them, and has before, but Atsumu still feels guilty. Coach Foster had quite literally assigned him to hover around Shoyo for his first week, to make sure he feels comfortable. He had been scouted for his ability to break down his hitters and push them further, and yet he couldn’t tell what the new recruit from Brazil had to have been feeling. Which was obviously homesickness. “I think you helped a little.”“I didn’t.”“You did,” and he hates how confident Kiyoomi sounds.“And how the fuck do ya figure I helped?”“His biggest dream was to play volleyball with the best in the nation. It still is,” Kiyoomi says, “And we’re the best.” Why does his traitorous heart like such an annoying bastard anyways? It’s tragic, it’s so fucking tragic. Kiyoomi sucks. “Can we just sleep?” Atsumu asks, instead of saying Kiyoomi is right. Because he can’t. And Kiyoomi probably knows he can’t, so he’ll either antagonize further or let it go. “If your only other option is making up delusional scenarios about how Hinata’s homesickness lies on you, then yes we can,” Kiyoomi shoots back evenly. Atsumu groans. Of course his Omi was in the mood to whine that day. “Did I tell ya I don’t like ya yet today?”“Not yet.”“That’s good,” he says, “I don’t like ya,” leaving the thank you for Kiyoomi to search for himself. Kiyoomi seems to have really reached his word limit for the night, because he throws a leg over Atsumu, pressing his face into his neck. Atsumu notices his controlled breathing and he’s careful not to let skin touch skin anymore than Kiyoomi allows.“Do ya want me to put my pants back on?” He asks.“Mmm, no, you’ll wake Hinata with your lumbering around.” Maybe this is Kiyoomi’s way of apologizing for being harsh, by letting Atsumu know he’s still there for him, still protecting him. He only really acts like this when he’s high out of his mind or about to fall asleep. His curls tickle Atsumu’s chin, but Atsumu doesn’t move. Leave it to his six-foot-four boyfriend to cling to him like a tree. Atsumu would say it’s his favorite type of Omi, but it’s not because never in a million years could he pick between any Omi. “Goodnight Atsu,” his breath is warm on Atsumu’s face. He feels a pair of lips press to his jaw, and it’s wet, sloppy on purpose if the smile curving into his neck is anything to go by. Atsumu is surprised at the contact.Atsumu should also pull away in disgust but he doesn’t. If this was how love felt, he hated it. He takes it as a sign he can touch now. Atsumu brings the hand that’s not under Kiyoomi up to tangle in his hair, “Night, Kiyoomi.” He gets a hum in response, and it’s so cute Atsumu feels like throwing himself out the window. Squishing Kiyoomi’s cheeks until they’re red. His hand twitches, but thankfully he reigns it in and waits until Kiyoomi is asleep to press a kiss into the crown of head. He didn’t think it was possible to love someone so goddamn much. It burns in his chest and spreads throughout his body so fast Atsumu feels dizzy. Atsumu’s heart beats warm like it’s coming back to life, or maybe being lit on fire. If Osamu was here he would punch him and call him crazy. Just as his breathing slows and Kiyoomi’s grip on his waist loosens, the door creaks like someone is there. Atsumu cracks an eye open to see a shock of orange hair.The moment is very quickly ruined.“Shoyo!?” He whisper-screams. He jerks up, throwing Kiyoomi’s hand off him. He’s not embarrassed- there's nothing wrong with cuddling when everyone kinda knows they’re a thing, but okay, it was embarrassing to Atsumu. He slides a look to where Kiyoomi was, and if Kiyoomi’s glare is anything to go by, he knows he is getting pinched for that one. The other boy has a hand over his eyes, the other one flailing dramatically in front of him, “Are you decent?” he whispers back. Or at least Atsumu thinks it was supposed to be a whisper if it wasn’t so goddamn loud.Kiyoomi sits up slowly next to him, and pinches Atsumu’s side. “Ow,” he mumbles. It didn’t hurt, and Atsumu expected it, but he hopes Kiyoomi feels guilty for attempting to hurt him. He was like a little bug, but Atsumu’s little bug with big bug pincers. “We’re good Hinata,” Kiyoomi replies. His voice is raspy, and it takes everything in Atsumu not to jump him right there. Wait, what?“I’m not good. I need a pair of pants,” Atsumu says and he is ignored. Maybe it's a little deserved.The hands drop, and Shoyo’s face is red as he says, “I can’t sleep.” We can, Atsumu wants to say, but another pinch and he chooses not to. “Ya were dead asleep when I dropped ya off,” Atsumu wonders. “That was, like, an hour ago! I kinda- I just had a bad dream and woke up,” he hangs his head down, “And I feel sick, and my head is pounding.”“Hangover,” Atsumu offers. If it was an hour ago, then they definitely must have fallen asleep. “Come here,” Kiyoomi says, and Shoyo follows. It’s so cute that Atsumu wants to punch a fist-shaped hole into his wall. He wants to punch several. When Shoyo is right beside them, Kiyoomi gestures for him to lean down and presses the back of his hand to Shoyo’s forehead. “Not sick. Atsumu is probably right,” he says. Kiyoomi throws the blanket off of him, careful to give Atsumu some privacy, and stumbles towards the closet in their room. He’s tired, Atsumu notices, but he’s just enough awkward and lanky to play it off as being clumsy. Kiyoomi pulls out a rolled sleeping bag and tosses it to Shoyo.“You can stay in here. The floor is clean, and I have lots of extra pillows,” Kiyoomi says through a yawn.Atsumu’s eyes go wide. Not once has Kiyoomi ever offered to let someone sleep in his room, other than Atsumu. Not once had he let someone in without the other person asking first, not even Atsumu.Shoyo grins, unfurling the sleeping bag on Kiyoomi’s side of the room. He fluffs out the pillows thrown towards him, and as Kiyoomi is tiredly slipping back under the covers, Shoyo clears his throat. “Thank you da- Omi-san! Goodnight! I love you!”The brown nosing is blatant. Atsumu has to resist the urge to jump out of bed and strangle Shoyo, but a gentle hand interlacing with his stops him, he looks at Kiyoomi who glances back.“Goodnight, Hinata,” Kiyoomi says with a pointed stare at Atsumu.“Goodnight Shoyo,” He says slowly. “Oh yeah, goodnight Atsumu-san!” Shoyo tacks on, as if he forgot who else was there. What a little shit, he silently mouths at Kiyoomi. The other man practically smirks, and mouths back something about him being Hinata’s favorite. Atsumu closed his eyes halfway through and was met with a grumble. Kiyoomi was the favorite? For what? Atsumu had carried Hinata to his room, and all he gets is a tacked on goodnight. He’s about to accidentally say something out loud when Kiyoomi tugs them back down to lay on their backs. It’s nice, he thinks, lying on the bed with Kiyoomi making jokes about Shoyo. It’s peaceful and Atsumu feels he could just go to-“Guys?” someone whispers.-bed. “Guys…” a voice calls petulantly as the door is opened again. “Bokkun? Really?”“Bokuto-san?!”Shoyo’s sleeping bag rustles, and Atsumu wrenches himself up. “Meian isn’t back with my food yet…and I feel kinda lonely,” he says meekly.“Third bundle to the left, on top of our closet,” Kiyoomi mumbles, sitting up as well. Atsumu finds it kinda cute how he said ‘our’, closet when this really isn’t ‘their’ room, and leans in to press a kiss to his jaw when he suddenly remembers that the third bundle to the left is his sleeping bag.“Omi,” he whispers at Kiyoomi’s throat. Because honestly, he’s had it with their team using his Kiyoomi as comfort. Maybe he wants to spend time with him too. “Please, Atsu,” Kiyoomi says back. He sounded so resigned that Atsumu shoves down any other (vulgar) complaints he was about to share. “Fuck it then. Let’s take in every stray that wanders into our room,” Atsumu mutters, but he’s really speaking it loud enough for everyone to hear. It was actually barely a mutter. Kiyoomi jabs an elbow into his stomach and he doubles over.“Don’t be so mean TsumTsum, it’s just one night!” Bokuto exclaims as he lays his sleeping bag next to Hinata. Atsumu tries to say something but it sounds more like a wheeze. Bokuto and Hinata ignore him. He watches as they shuffle around on the floor, and leans over Kiyoomi just to glare. Atsumu’s chest brushes Kiyoomi’s, and no, he doesn’t flush or shiver, but maybe his heart rate picks up a little. Even after so many years getting to touch Kiyoomi always sends little stupid happy chemicals that trick Atsumu’s brain into thinking he likes Kiyoomi. It’s awful. Atsumu hates it. He somehow feels like not touching trained him to like touching when they do all the more.Maybe that was Kiyoomi’s plan all along.He shifts his glare to the bane of his existence instead, and forces himself not to flinch at how gorgeous Kiyoomi looks even while sleepy. His curls are stringy, his face is oily, and Atsumu can see that his eyes are barely open and yet he can feel himself getting flustered just staring. Atsumu let’s out a long over dramatic groan, hoping everyone within a block of their apartment could hear his whining. He only stopped once he was lying on his side, facing Kiyoomi waiting for the other man to lay down.For the most part, Bokuto and Shoyo were quiet now, and If Atsumu really payed attention he could hear a deep voice whispering and muffled giggles but that was it. It wasn’t anything nice but Atsumu was surprised he didn’t find it annoying either.Kiyoomi sighed deeply then finally laid back down, this time on his side facing Atsumu. “This is nice,” he murmured, completely going against everything Atsumu was thinking. Atsumu snorts, “If yer definition of nice is having two adult children in our room, then yeah it is.”Kiyoomi let’s out a sleepy, “Maybe,” and then his eyes drift shut, letting sleep take hold. Atsumu almost dies. Almost. How could he not when Kiyoomi was there looking so gentle and precious. The anxious wrinkles are gone, the annoyed tilt to his brow, but the slight pout is still there. Atsumu wants to kiss it off his face, but he figures that’s a little too weird and settles for Kiyoomi’s forehead instead. Kiyoomi doesn’t move, he sleeps like a rock, but Atsumu feels satisfied just looking a little bit longer. He’s about to go to sleep too when he hears Bokuto whisper from Kiyoomi’s side of the bed, “Hey Tsum, is this ring box supposed to be under the bed?”And oh, Atsumu feels the murderous rage again, He peeks to confirm Kiyoomi is sleeping before slowly counting to ten and whispering sweetly back, “If ya say anything about that to Omi I will kill you Bokkun.”Shuffling ensues and then complete stillness- the forced kind. Atsumu doesn’t have to see Bokuto’s face to know the threat worked. Another mishap and Atsumu would probably be forced to propose. (Tsumu, I’ve been telling ya to propose for years).Well. Osamu was right. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Atsumu forces himself to relax and breathes in the scent of Kiyoomi next to him. He feels like a disgusting sap when the thought crosses his mind, but-Atsumu swore Kiyoomi smelled like home.