Archive of Our Own

1. Hoshiumi Kourai

"Kageyama!" Kourai shouts. "Come to the Onigiri Man's shop with me and Ushijima."

Kageyama looks at Kourai with his trademark inscrutable stare before replying, "Okay. When?"

"Now," Kourai says. Kageyama nods before slinging his gym bag over his shoulder. Kourai puffs up his chest in victory, even though he knew that this was a battle he'd win: Kageyama and Ushijima would never say no to food after practice.

They walk the few blocks to Onigiri Miya with Kourai leading the charge as Kageyama and Ushijima discuss ... the most recent edition of Men's Health, or whatever. After multiple years on the team with the two of them, Kourai has learned that it is best to tune out their one-on-one conversations, for everyone's sake.

Pushing back the noren, the store comes into full view: a mix of modern and antique that Kourai doesn't have the vocabulary nor fucks to give to describe.

"How did you find this place, Hoshiumi-san?" Kageyama asks, scanning the QR code for the menu. (Kourai taught him how to do that, by the way.)

"It was all over Atsumu's Instagram story when it opened, which you'd know if you ever used the internet."

Kageyama's eyes flick up from the browser's hyperlink bar, brow furrowing. "I'm using the internet right now."

"Actually, Kageyama, I believe you are using your 'data' right now," Wakatoshi interjects. "It is different."

He continues to misrepresent the Venn diagram that is data, wifi, and Internet, Kageyama periodically nodding along like he's going to retain a single word once the conversation ends. Kourai scrubs a hand over his face. He's going to get his eardrums sewn shut with his next pay check.

Kourai walks up to the unattended register, slamming his palms on the counter. "Yo, Onigiri Man! Your siesta's up—come attend to your paying customers."

A few moments later, the curtain to the kitchen peels back and Osamu steps out, hands on his hips, brow quirked. "Not sure if seagulls have the means to pay, considering birds don't have money. Dumb little shits, aren't they?"

"Oi, I'll show you some shit if there's not three shrimp onigiri in my stomach in the next five minutes."

Osamu plugs his order into the register before Kourai finishes speaking; he's come here a fair amount since the Tokyo branch opened a month ago, always gets the same thing, and has somehow managed to develop an antagonistic acquaintanceship with Osamu. Kourai understands that, objectively, Osamu is less inflammatory than his twin, but his face looks the same—just as smug and annoying and punchable—so Kourai can't help but lash out.

"Oh, you brought friends." Osamu nods towards his teammates. "Welcome in, Ushijima-kun, Kageyama-kun."

They give him a synchronized head nod. "Miya-san," Kageyama says. "Ushijima-san, you can order first. I'm still thinking." He looks back down at the menu on his phone with pursed lips.

"Don't think too hard, Kageyama, gotta save some of those brain cells for the game tomorrow," Kourai calls from where he's slid down to the pick-up counter. Kageyama nods in acknowledgement but clearly did not hear a word that Kourai said. Selective hearing is a shared trait on the Adler's.

He figures out his order soon after Ushijima places his, and Osamu quickly whips up their onigiri. They all sit down at a booth and Osamu waves them goodbye before disappearing into the back.

"Oh, he gave me an extra," Kageyama says, peering down into his plastic bag. "I wouldn't have expected that from him."

"He gave me an extra as well," Ushijima says.

Kourai looks into his bag to find the same number he ordered. "Bastard Onigiri Man..." he mutters before taking a bite. (He selectively fails to recall that Osamu gave him an extra the first time that Kourai came in as well; his memory these days is just so poor—probably due to all the brain damage that he's taken from being on the same team as Kageyama Tobio and Ushijima Wakatoshi.)

They eat in silence, too invested in their food to speak. With less to eat than the other two, Kourai finishes first. He looks over to Kageyama, who just took a humongous bite out of his onigiri.

"It's good, isn't it?" Kourai asks, though it's not really a question.

Kageyama nods then swallows down the massive bite. His eyes drift over to where Osamu has come out from the back, deft hands working on an order. "I didn't know that Miya-san had another job."

Kourai eyes him skeptically. "Huh?"

Kageyama ignores him to continue his musing, "It's a lot of effort to come all the way to Tokyo ... It's strange that he didn't get something closer to where MSBY trains."

Kourai blinks. Then, it clicks.

Kageyama thinks that Miya Osamu is Miya Atsumu.

With the hat on and thus hair covered, Kourai supposes that that could lead someone to make that conclusion. But Kageyama said it himself: why would Atsumu work an extra job in Tokyo?

Kourai opens his mouth to correct Kageyama, then snaps it shut. Because that would be the good thing to do, and Kourai was brought onto this earth to sow chaos.

"Yeah, it's a long haul," Kourai says. "Good thing there's bullet trains these days."

It's Ushijima's turn to look confused, lips turning down into a small frown. "Actually, I believe—"

"Well, I believe it's time to go," Kourai interrupts him, springing up from his seat. "You guys still down to watch the tape of our last game tonight?"

Both of them nod. "Yes, my performance was rather subpar," Ushijima says. "I would like to see the court from a different angle to better understand my shortcomings."

"You'll see how much I picked up your slack, that's for sure," Kourai mumbles, but he's privately pleased at how effective his diversion was.

Ushijima nods again. "Your saves were 'on point', as Tendou would say."

Kourai doesn't know what's worse: Ushijima responding to his snark with earnesty or Ushijima using Twitter slang.

He's spared from deciding which to react to by Kageyama popping the last—gigantic—bite into his mouth and standing. "I need to call my sister, but it shouldn't last long."

"Just don't start talking to Hinata, and I trust that you'll show up on time," Kourai says, then begins to walk towards the door, the two taller men in tow.

"He’s at practice til 5," Kageyama says, though he doesn't deny the validity of Kourai's claim. Kourai would say that he doesn't understand how those two can talk for hours at a time, but he is the exact same with Sachirou, so he does.

"Bye, y'all," Osamu says as they pass by the counter.

"Goodbye, Miya-san," Kageyama says. "Thank you for the extra onigiri." Ushijima nods his thanks as well.

"No prob," Osamu says.

"Yeah, thanks, Miya-san," Kourai says with a snicker.

Osamu raises a dubious brow. "Why's it sound so rude when you say it?"

Kourai slips under the noren without replying.

***

2. Miya Osamu

Osamu is closing up shop when he spots movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Sorry, store's—oh."

Kageyama looks around at the chairs flipped on top of the tables. "Oh, are you closed? I didn't check the hours."

Osamu shakes his head. "For the rest of the world, yeah, but not for a friend. C'mere and sit." He taps the counter in front of a stool at the bar.

"I don't want to impose..." Kageyama says, taking a step back.

"There's not much left to do, really," Osamu says. "And there's lots of extra rice. Wouldn't want that to go to waste, wouldja?"

Kageyama stops in his tracks. Osamu watches his brain work in real time, the effort obvious from the microscopic shifts of his facial muscles—from the hesitant squint of his eyes, to the contemplative purse of his lips, and finally the relaxed line of his brow. "Okay. If it's no trouble."

"None at all. Same thing as always?"

Kageyama nods, walking to sit down at the bar. He's been coming in at least once a week since Hoshiumi introduced him to Onigiri Miya, and Osamu has noticed his consistency—both in patronage and preference.

"Whatcha doin' out so late?" Osamu asks.

"I was calling Hinata while on a run and time just got away from me." His stomach growls, loud enough to be heard over the dishwashers in the back. "Haven't eaten since lunch."

"Mmm, calling while running? That's rough. Hurts to talk, for me."

"I don't have to say much. Hinata basically talks to himself."

Osamu snorts. "Sounds like something he'd do."

Kageyama nods politely. Osamu finishes up Kageyama's order in silence, running through what else he needs to do for close. Being a new establishment is rough—he doesn't have the staff yet to be able to hole up in his office and put in tomorrow's order at the end of the workday.

He continues breaking down the open kitchen, gathering empty dishes and dirty cookware. Once he brings them to the dishwashers, he begins wrapping container after container in cling wrap. God, so much cling wrap.

Kageyama watches Osamu work, eyes locked on the repetitive motion. He's down to the last onigiri by the time that Osamu is done and has started putting the containers away in their proper places.

"You're quiet today, Miya-san," Kageyama says.

Osamu glances over his shoulder. "Whatcha mean?" He and Kageyama have never spoken much beyond the register; Kageyama usually sits at the back of the restaurant to eat, drifting about in his own head.

Kageyama shrugs. "You just normally talk a lot."

Osamu is so lost. "About what?"

Kageyama takes a gaping bite of onigiri, humming as he chews. "Volleyball," he starts after he swallows. "Comparing the stats of serves. Strategy. Showing me 'memes.'"

Osamu is no longer lost. He bites back a laugh, hiding behind his hat to conceal his smile. He finally understands why Hoshiumi called him by his family name a few weeks ago. "Well, I'll be sure to be more chatty next time, Kageyama-kun. I've gotta run to the back now, but just head out when you're ready to go, no rush."

When Kageyama doesn't say anything, Osamu turns around to look at him. He's frowning, almost pouting, with his brow furrowed deep. The average person may think that he’s mad, but Osamu has seen him enough across the years—in games, on the sidelines, in interviews—to know that he's just confused.

"Thanks, Miya-san." The expression clears as he takes another bite of his onigiri. God, he's even more one-track minded than Atsumu, and Atsumu is as bad as a horse with blinkers on.

Osamu gives him a two-fingered salute over his shoulder as he slips into the back.

***

3. Kageyama Miwa

Miwa and Tobio aren’t close, but she knows him well enough that she's entirely unsurprised when he takes her to an onigiri shop for lunch. She looks at the menu on her phone, taking only a moment to decide on her order.

She walks up to the counter and says, "Hi, I'll have one salmon and one tuna onigiri please. And also a peach tea. Tobio, how about you?"

Tobio shuffles up next to her. "You don't have to pay for me."

"I don't have to, I want to. Just order."

Tobio's face shifts into his signature pout, but he says, "Four tuna mayo onigiri, please."

"Four? Geez, athletes ... Any drink?"

"... Milk tea, please. No sugar."

"Why do you say it like I'm holding you at gunpoint?" She shoulders him playfully and Tobio just grumbles. The cashier takes their order as a voice across the room calls out:

"Oh, hey, Kageyama-kun. Who's your friend?"

Miwa turns to the sound, meeting the eyes of a rather dashing man. Even with the baseball cap on, she can see the casual droop of his eyelids, the small but friendly smile on his face.

"Miya-san, this is my sister, Kageyama Miwa."

"Nice to meet you," Miwa says with a small bow.

"Pleasure's all mine."

“Miya-san plays in the Division 1 circuit with me,” Tobio says.

Miya coughs behind the counter, and Miwa turns to see that he’s at least covered his mouth with his shoulder.

“Oh, wow,” Miwa says, turning back to Tobio. “I thought you said Division 1 players make enough through sponsorships to not have to work part time?”

”We do,” Tobio says, a small frown tugging at the corners of his lips. “And Miya-san does more sponsorships than I do, so I’m not sure why he works here.”

Another cough, this time louder. Miya has turned away from the food, wheezing into his elbow while he thumps his chest.

“Sorry,” he says when he recovers. “Somethin’ got stuck in my throat.” He quickly washes his hands at the sink behind the counter before coming back to complete their order. Miwa nods to herself appreciatively; male athletes are not known for their hygiene.

Miya throws their order in a to-go bag just as a different employee slides Tobio’s drink across the counter. “And to answer your question earlier,” Miya says, “s’just ‘cause I love the job. I’m committed to the role, at this point.” He hands Tobio the order, a small grin on his lips.

Tobio takes it with a nod. “As long as you’re more committed to volleyball.”

Miya’s grin broadens. “Of course.”

Tobio nods again. He hands Miwa the bag, placing his bubble tea on the counter and stabbing the plastic covering with a straw. He isn’t smiling as he takes his first sip, but Miwa can see the delight sparkling in his eyes.

They exit the store to walk back to Tobio’s apartment. “He seems like a nice guy,” Miwa comments.

”He’s usually not,” Tobio says.

Miwa chuckles. “That’s mean, Tocchan.”

Tobio frowns, as he always does, at the teasing nickname. “What? It’s true.” He takes another sip of boba. “He’s always nicer at the store than on the court, though. It’s like interacting with two different people.”

Miwa hums. “Maybe at the restaurant, he’s not caught up in the testosterone-haze of competitive sports.”

Tobio shrugs. “Hey, can I have your extra onigiri?”

”How do you know I have an extra?”

”Miya-san always gives an extra to ‘friends of friends’ on their first time in.”

Miwa puts a hand over her chest. “Wow, so I’m not special…” She checks the bag, counts the units. “Yep, there’s an extra. He really is a nice guy. Maybe you’re the mean one, Tobio.”

”Is that a yes?”

Miwa sighs. Even after decades of being Tobio’s older sister, it still astounds her sometimes how selective his listening is—exclusive to volleyball and food. “Yes, you can have it.”

”Thanks.”

***

4. Miya Atsumu

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Tobio looks up from his phone with a frown. “Miya-san.”

”Tobio-kun,” Atsumu replies. “How’re ya doin’?” He doesn’t wait for Tobio to answer before gesturing at his Onigiri Miya gear. “Like my getup?”

Tobio’s head tips to the side. “It’s what you always wear.”

Atsumu mirrors him. “Hah?”

Tobio’s head tilts even further. “Huh?”

”You normally see me in my jersey.” Atsumu’s lips curl up into a smirk. “Or out of it, if you’ve read any magazines lately. You see my Calvin Klein shoot from last month?”

“No.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes. Though he supposes that it’s his own fault for assuming Tobio would ever read a single word in his free time. He’s heard from Shouyou how neither of them are particularly literate. ”Not even on Instagram?” he tries.

”I only use Instagram when I’m told to post something.”

“Ever the goody-two-shoes, aren’tcha?” he says, which, delightfully, makes that little divot appear on Tobio’s brow. He soaks it in for a moment before asking, “Whatcha orderin’ today?”

The furrow deepens. “Four tuna mayo onigiri, please.”

”Mmm, good taste,” Atsumu says as he plugs the order into the register. “Fatty tuna’s better, though. And it’s in season. I’d tell ya to grab one, but more for meee.”

Tobio mumbles something under his breath as he pays.

"What's that?" Atsumu asks, despite knowing that the words were not meant for his ears.

Tobio's narrowed eyes flick up to his. "I was just thinking about how you're more like how you are outside of the restaurant today."

Atsumu can tell that he's still missing a piece of the puzzle, but instead of finding out, he'd rather fuck around. "Oh? And how's that?"

"Obnoxious."

Atsumu crumples like he's been shot. "So cruel, Tobio-kun."

"You asked."

"Sometimes it's nice to lie to preserve someone's feelings."

Tobio's mildly irritated expression gains a dubious edge. "But you would never do that, Miya-san."

Atsumu barks out a laugh. "True. But do as I say, not as I do. You should just appreciate that I'm givin' out such good advice for free. My gift to you as your senpai." He shuffles over to the counter, scooping a large cluster of rice out of the cooker and hissing as it makes contact with his palm; he's still not as inured to the heat as Osamu. As he's shaping the first ball, Atsumu hums. "'Miya-senpai' has a good ring to it, doesn't it? You're already still so formal with the -san shit, wouldn't be hard to switch..."

Disgust bleeds into the mix of expressions lining Tobio's features. "I am not calling you 'Miya-senpai'."

“You just diiiddddd," Atsumu sing-songs.

Tobio gives him a long, long look.

"I can feel your brain smokin', Tobio-kun, just say it."

"I'm not good at lying."

Atsumu wheezes. "Tobio-kun, do you really think anything you could say to me would hurt my feelings?" He thumps his chest. "Got a skin of steel 'nd a heart of gold."

"Okay then. I don't understand how a setter as good as you also constantly acts like a child."

Atsumu lets out a noise that he's never heard his body produce, a mix of a pained gasp and a laugh. "Jeez, you don't hold back."

"Because you asked me to not..."

"And I was born this way, baby, take it or leave it." Having a twin keeps you young (in some people's words—juvenile, in other's).

Atsumu finishes wrapping Tobio's last onigiri and hands him the bag. Tobio takes it with a mumbled thanks and swiftly departs the establishment. Atsumu grins, a complacent little thing.

"Oi, quit making that face." Osamu emerges from the back, a bag of rice slung over his arm.

"What face?" Atsumu asks innocently.

"The 'I just successfully made someone's day worse for my gain' face. You better have not scared off a customer."

Atsumu waves a dismissive hand at him. "Tobio-kun got his onigiri just fine, thank you very much. Just ruffled his feathers a lil."

Osamu, surprisingly, laughs at this. "Oh my God. I forgot to tell ya—he's been comin' in the past couple months thinkin' that I'm you."

Atsumu finally finds out. "Bro, and you haven't corrected him?"

Osamu puts his free hand on his hip, gives Atsumu a look. "If our positions were switched, would you have told him?"

"Hell nah. S'way too funny."

"Exactly."

"And yet he said to my face today that I’m more obnoxious and childish than my usual restaurant self." Atsumu's grin twists into a pout. "When you're out here lying to poor Tobio ... you’re just as bad."

"Big difference between being obnoxious and childish, and lying by omission." Osamu tugs the brim of Atsumu's baseball cap over his eyes, and Atsumu yelps. "And you definitely take the cake for the first two."

Atsumu fusses with his hair, twisting the baseball cap backward to preclude any further assaults. "Takes one to know one," he grumbles.

He realizes his tactical error when Osamu flicks him between the eyes. "You’re it," Osamu yells, then scampers into the back.

"Hey!" Atsumu runs after him but by the time that he reaches Osamu's office, it's locked.

"You better get back out there, Tsumu," Osamu says, voice way too smug for his liking. "Line's gettin' long."

He must be looking at the security monitors. Atsumu clicks his tongue, reluctantly turning around. "It's your business, fuck if I care if it crashes and burns."

Alas, he walks back to the register, plotting his revenge.

***

5. Suna Rintarou

"Making us do labor when we came all this way out to see you..." Rintarou laments as he changes into the Onigiri Miya work uniform. He turns to Motoya, raises a brow. "Does this count as abuse? Should we press charges?”

Motoya nods. "Yeah, definitely gotta call the cops before it gets worse."

Osamu rolls his eyes. "I take time off to go to your game and keep your fatasses fed all weekend, and this is how I'm treated in return..."

"Relationships aren't transactional, Osamu," Rintarou says. "Just because you did stuff for us doesn't mean we need to do stuff for you."

"And I'm the one gettin’ sued here? Some fuckin' textbook manipulation goin' on in my safe space right now."

Rintarou kisses his cheek, then pats it. "No space where Atsumu has tread is safe. Hope this helps."

Osamu snorts. "True that. Alright, who wants register and who wants to bus?"

"Awh, he's letting us pick our punishment," Motoya coos. "Daddy's so thoughtful."

Osamu gags. "Nevermind, Toya's bussing. I don't wanna hear another word outta his mouth tonight."

"Good, because I was going to take register, even if I had to fight for it," Rintarou says.

It's Motoya's turn to kiss Rintarou's cheek and pat it. "Cute that you think you could take me in a fight, Rin. But you're welcome to take me in other ways tonight."

"Is that a threat or a promise?" Rintarou asks, snaking an arm around Motoya's waist and pulling him closer.

"A little bit of both," Motoya answers before leaning in to kiss him on the mouth.

Osamu crosses his arms. "Really? Here? Now?”

"Uh oh, Daddy's angry." Motoya sticks out his ass and wiggles it. "Wonder if this means he'll spank me."

"And somehow we've come full circle. The only ass I want right now are your asses on the floor." Osamu pats Motoya firmly on the bum, and Motoya squeaks.

"How about later then?" Rintarou asks, letting go of Motoya and shuffling towards the front of the shop.

Osamu throws a smirk over his shoulder. "Only if you're good boys."

There's a heavy pause in the air before everyone breaks into laughter.

***

“Hello, Suna-san.”

Rintarou looks up from his phone to meet Kageyama Tobio’s eye. “Oh, hey, Kageyama. How are you doing?”

“Good,” Kageyama says stiffly, awkwardly, as he always does when speaking to anyone but Hinata Shouyou.

There’s a pregnant pause. Suna opens his mouth to move things along when Kageyama blurts out, “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Oh, I don’t,” Rintarou says. “I’m just here to help out O—”

“Kageyama-kun,” Osamu interrupts, sidling up to Rintarou and tipping his hat. Four tuna mayo?”

Kageyama nods.

“Alright, I’ll get those started in a minute, let me just talk to Rin real quick.” Osamu slings an arm over Rintarou’s shoulder and drags him into the back room. Motoya happens to be there, too, grabbing a clean rag from the bin.

“What the hell was that?” Rintarou asks.

Osamu drops his arm and leans forward, cupping a conspiratorial hand over his mouth despite the lack of outside company. “So. Kageyama-kun may have walked into the shop for the first time a few months ago and assumed I was Tsumu. And I may have never corrected him.”

Motoya barks out an incredulous laugh while Rintarou raises a brow, lip curling up at the corner. “And now why did you not do that?” Rintarou asks.

Osamu shrugs. “‘Cause it’s funny. He came in with his sister recently and introduced me as Tsumu and I was laughin’ so hard, I thought I gave it away. He didn’t seem to notice, though. Guess Tsumu is always being weird in some way, so Kageyama-kun’s probably learned how to tune him out.”

“You are evil,” Motoya says, obviously delighted by this development. “So, what lies about Atsumu have you fed him?”

Osamu hums. “Haven’t really thought ‘bout doin’ that.”

Motoya gasps. “What a waste.”

“It’s been funny enough as it is,” Osamu grumbles, crossing his arms.

“But it could be funnier,” Suna says.

“You’re not wrong,” Osamu concedes. “M’not sure I can think of much, though. Tsumu embarrasses himself enough without my help.”

“That’s why you have us here.” Motoya rubs his hands together like a scheming raccoon’s. “I already have an idea.”

Motoya shares his thought. Osamu laughs so hard that he starts coughing. Rintarou offers a slight modification, which is approved by his boyfriends.

Oh, yeah. It’s all coming together.

***

+1. Kageyama Tobio

Tobio doesn’t notice Miya until he plops himself down at the table next to Sakusa, lips pulled up into his quintessential smirk. He’s in plain clothes now, and Tobio’s head tilts to the side a little. The combined dinner between multiple D1 V.League teams only started an hour ago. It seems a bit early to abandon his post at the kitchen; then again, what does Tobio know about the operation of a restaurant?

“You’re late,” Sakusa says.

“Fashionably so,” Miya says, tugging on the lapels of his bomber jacket. “Miss me, Omi-kun?”

“In your dreams,” Sakusa says.

“Oh yeah, you are.” Miya winks.

Sakusa rolls his eyes. “I ordered you some fatty tuna nigiri. It should be out soon.”

“See, my sweet Omi-Omi is always thinkin’ about me,” Miya says, then leans towards Sakusa with puckered lips. Sakusa raises his arm, Miya’s mouth meeting his elbow.

“I’m not keen on listening to you complain about being hungry for the next twenty minutes, had I not ordered something in advance. It’s simply self preservation.”

Before the duo can bicker any further, Hinata turns from where he was engaged in a conversation with Inunaki. “Atsumu-san!”

“Shouyou-kun,” Atsumu says with a nod. “Did I miss anything interesting?”

“Not really, everyone’s been filtering in.”

Miya nods. “‘Course, the party don’t start til I walk in.”

“That is not what Hinata remotely said or implied,” Sakusa says.

Tobio takes a sip of his cocktail, eyes flicking to Miya’s hair as he tunes out his words. It’s perfectly swept and styled as always. Now that Kageyama thinks about it, he’s never seen Miya’s roots peek out at his scalp. Which makes sense.

“Something in my hair, Tobio-kun?” Atsumu says.

Before Tobio can reply, Sakusa says, “He’s just watching your skull expand with each passing moment as you inflate your insatiable ego.”

Miya’s attention turns back to Sakusa, where they continue to snipe at each other until Miya’s fatty tuna nigiri comes out. Tobio still can’t tell if the two of them like each other or not. They play well together on the court, though, and Tobio supposes that that’s all that matters.

The evening progresses swiftly, food and drinks flowing like water. People move from table to table to chat, but Tobio stays put, mostly observing as everything around him devolves into chaos. Hinata keeps ordering him refills on the delicious milk-based cocktail, so he’s content to listen and sip the night away.

“You keep staring at Atsumu-san,” Hinata comments. “Should I be worried? Are you going to leave me for him?”

Tobio blinks, not having realized that his gaze has once again drifted to Miya. “I would rather give up onigiri forever than date Miya-san,” he says. “So, no.”

Hinata laughs. “Damn, that’s a big loss. What about volleyball? Like, what if you could only play volleyball if you also dated Atsumu-san.”

Tobio’s brow furrows, considering the predicament. “If that was the only way...” His nose scrunches, very, very displeased. “Then I guess so.”

“How about the inverse? Would you give me up to play volleyball?” Hinata bats his lashes dramatically.

“In a heartbeat.”

Hinata drops the facade, lips turning into a dramatic pout. “Not a damn romantic bone in that—super hot—body...”

Tobio shrugs. “You know you’d say the same.”

Hinata waggles a finger. “This isn’t about me, Kageyama-kun,” he says, proving Tobio’s point. “It’s about showing proper gratitude and appreciation for your partner, which is important for maintaining a long-term relationship.”

Hinata must be drunk if he’s talking about their ... romantic partnership in public. It’s not like they actively hide it, but they certainly don’t go out of their way to publicize it. Tobio can hardly believe it himself most days, even though it’s been established for nearly a year now. The idea of liking Hinata Shouyou ... as much as he hated it, he’d come to terms with it years ago. However, the idea that Hinata returns those feelings? Them acting on it? Mortifying.

And, yet, here they are.

“Trouble in paradise?” Miya manifests to Tobio’s right out of nowhere, causing him to startle. Damn, maybe he’s drunk, too.

“Kageyama said he’d give me up for volleyball,” Hinata says, fake sniffling. “Isn’t that cruel?”

Miya swings an arm over Tobio’s shoulders, jostling him around. Tobio’s head spins, as does the room. “Tobio-kun, do you forget my advice so soon? Toldja you need to lie sometimes to spare people’s feelings, ‘specially your partner’s.”

Hinata’s gaze flicks across the room warily. “Don’t let Omi-san hear you say that, Atsumu-san. He’d probably break up with you.”

Miya opens his mouth to reply, but Tobio beats him to the punch. “Miya-san and Sakusa-san are dating?”

Hinata and Miya stare at him blankly. “Bro,” Miya says. “For, like, six months. You’ve seen us in that time. More than once.”

Tobio crosses his arms, feeling defensive. “Every time you interact, you’re arguing. It wasn’t clear if you even liked each other as people.”

Miya barks out a laugh. “Tobio-kun, you got no leg to stand on. You and Shouyou-kun practically fist fight every time you speak. Thought bickering was, like, your weird-ass idea of foreplay.”

Tobio flushes up to his roots.

“Takes one to know one, Atsumu-san!” Hinata fires back. Miya just smirks and shrugs.

Miya drops his arm from Tobio’s shoulders but stays close as he and Hinata strike up another conversation. Tobio’s eyes once again gravitate to Miya’s hair. The curiosity building at the back of his throat has been swelling with each drink. He turns the questions over with his tongue, wondering how to even broach the subject.

“You can just ask him, Kageyama-kun,” Komori whispers into his ear, also springing up out of nowhere. “It’s Atsumu. You know he doesn’t take anything personally.”

“Yeah, and he’s probably too drunk to remember the conversation by tomorrow,” Suna says from across the table, fiddling with his cell phone. “So if you do somehow offend him, he won’t remember.”

Tobio nods, satisfied with their logic. He waits for a lull in the conversation before clearing his throat. “Miya-san, I have a question for you.”

“Yes, you can have my autograph,” Miya says, pulling a pen out of thin air. “Never thought you’d ask.”

“No, not that,” Tobio says, then points. “How do you get it to stay on during games?”

Miya’s hands go to his hair. “Get what to stay on?”

“Your toupee.”

Miya drops the pen. Tobio doesn’t think he’s ever seen him take so long to formulate a response. When he finally does, it’s just a half-shouted, “My what?”

Across the table, Suna’s shoulders are trembling, lips a wiggly line, as if trying to hold back laughter.

“Your toupee,” Tobio says again. “You told me about it last time I was here but were too busy to answer any questions. I’ve just been wondering because back in high school, this dumbass”—Tobio elbows Hinata—“flubbed a receive and the ball ended up hitting the Vice Principal in the face and his toupee...” Tobio gestures, wiggling fingers arcing through the air until they land on Hinata’s head. “Flew off.”

Hinata shakes his hand off. “It’s not like Atsumu-san’s getting hit in the face every game with the ball.”

Tobio shrugs. “Yeah, but with the amount he’s tipping his neck back to set and just generally moving around, it doesn't seem like something that would easily stay on his head.” He turns his attention back to Miya. “My sister works with hair, and I asked her about it. She said it’s very impressive that you manage to keep it on all game. Also that there’s no visible divide between the wig and your natural hairline...” Tobio squints again, another futile attempt to see if he can pick up said divide.

Miya’s jaw is on the floor. Seems like Tobio did offend him.

Suna breaks like a damn, laughter escaping him in raspy wheezes. Komori starts cackling, too, fist pounding against the table. “Yeah, Atsumu,” Suna says in between breaths, “teach us natural-haired folks a tip or two for when we start balding, too.”

Miya whips towards Suna, face as red as a tomato. His eyes flick from Suna’s eyes to his phone, camera directed towards Miya. “Suna,” Miya says, voice dark. “What the fuck did you tell Tobio-kun?”

Suna’s brows raise innocently. “Lil ol’ me? Nothing. You heard the guy—you told him last time he was in. Motoya and I were just witnesses to your rare, brave moment of honesty.”

Miya’s jaw ticks, hands balling into fists. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him.”

“No, you won’t,” Suna says. “You rely on his charity too much for survival at this point.”

“We live in different cities! I don’t need shit from him!” Miya spits. He turns to Tobio, hands darting up to grip his shoulders. “Tobio-kun. The person that told you that obvious lie wasn’t me, it was Samu.”

Tobio’s head tilts to the side. “Who?”

Miya lifts one of his hands to drag it over his face. “Osamu? Miya Osamu?”

Tobio’s brow furrows, wracking his brain for more context.

“You played us in high school. Twice.” Miya shakes him. “You don’t remember the Miya Twins from Inarizaki?”

Tobio’s shoulders tense. “I... have played a lot of games since high school Nationals...”

“For Christ’s sake.” Miya drops his shoulders and storms towards the front. Tobio has been facing away from the counter all night, so he hadn’t noticed who was working at it. Miya drags someone out from behind it, the person’s face obscured by a baseball hat’s brim.

When the duo are a few steps away, the person lifts their head.

Tobio’s first thought is oh.

Tobio’s second thought is oh, God. There’s two Miyas?

Tobio can barely handle one of them.

Then he thinks back to all the times that he’s come into the shop: how the in-store Miya was much quieter, much less energetic—how he calls him by his family name and is just generally more tolerable. He feels his hackles relax. He can deal with the existence of Two Miyas as long as they’re not both like Volleyball Miya.

Onigiri Miya gives Tobio a sheepish grin. “Hey, Kageyama-kun. Sorry for lying to ya for so long. For your trouble.” He hands Tobio a card.

“Y-you just—had that shit ready?” Volleyball Miya blubbers. “You planned this?”

“Duh,” Suna says, then motions at Onigiri Miya. “C’mere, Osamu, I got it on video.”

“Fuck yes,” Onigiri Miya says, starting towards the other side of the table.

“Get the fuck back here, Samu!” Volleyball Miya shouts. “I’m not done fucking murdering you!”

“Enticing,” Onigiri Miya says, dodging Volleyball Miya’s flailing limbs. “Kageyama-kun, you should really grab his hair to check that he’s not lying.”

Tobio’s body moves on instinct at being issued a request by an elder, hand flying up to curl into Volleyball Miya’s hair; Volleyball Miya stumbles back with a yelp. Tobio’s grip tightens, yanking roughly at the roots. He’s still not fully convinced that Volleyball Miya doesn’t super glue a toupee to his scalp.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow, Jesus, Tobio-kun, lay up,” Volleyball Miya snaps, and with a final tug, Tobio lets go.

“You aren’t lying, for once,” Tobio confirms.

“I fuckin’ said that already!” Volleyball Miya makes his way to the other side of the table, where Suna and Onigiri Miya are cracking up watching Suna’s phone screen.

Tobio can hear the twins begin to argue again, but as he’s wont to do, he tunes Volleyball Miya’s voice out. He glances down at the card in his hand. It’s a white index card with what he assumes to be Onigiri Miya’s signature at the bottom.

Unlimited free tuna mayo onigiri for the rest of 2019. Show at counter to redeem if I’m not the one there.

- Miya Osamu

Tobio slides it into his wallet, a giddy smile pulling at his lips.

If he hadn’t been convinced before, he definitely prefers Onigiri Miya now.