Archive of Our Own

To be honest, Osamu didn't even notice little number ten in the beginning. 

Well, okay, maybe he recognized the stupidly high jump and his short stature and possibly — very possibly — the bright orange hair, but none of those attributes made Osamu notice number ten. It just made him aware. It made him wary of the player on the court, made him think twice about the energetic decoy that popped up in his vision. His jump was impressive, but Osamu wasn't drooling over it like his brother. And his hair was just eye catching. Anyone would recognize it. It wasn't what made Osamu notice that number ten.

It was the moment he looked hungry.

Osamu stared at the other side of the court, nearly slack-jawed at number ten — at Hinata Shoyo's expression. He had just made a flawless receive and it was very clear he was riding that high, which was typical for athletes. Osamu couldn't count how many times he pulled something off in a game that made him feel elated, like he was walking on air. But while he was mostly satisfied, Hinata Shoyo just looked like he wanted more. He looked starved, like he had only taken a nibble of what he wanted, what he strived for. Hinata Shoyo didn't want a nibble, didn't want a bite. He wanted a full course. And that was evident on his face.

After that, Osamu noticed Hinata Shoyo. And if he bit too hard on a couple of his decoy jumps, it only went to show how intensely he noticed him. It was hard to look away, Osamu found. There were moments — ones that Kita would give him a look for and Atsumu would yell at him for — where he waited a split second too long to react, simply because he wanted to see what Hinata Shoyo would do. He wanted to see that hungry expression, he wanted to see Hinata Shoyo want.

Even as the game ended and they lost, leaving a bitter taste in Osamu's mouth, his eyes still found the mop of orange hair. He couldn't help it. Once Hinata Shoyo made you look, you couldn't just look away.

And Osamu was not disappointed.

Hinata Shoyo glowed, smile feral as he looked at Inarizaki — past Inarizaki. His tongue flicked out, picking up a drop of sweat. He wasn't even focused on the game that had just ended. He was ready, hungry, starving for the next.

And Osamu wanted to see him fed.

--

Osamu didn't want to think about Atsumu and his cringe-worthy declaration. It was ridiculous — and he said so. It was clearly a loser's last chance at looking cool, which made it all the more lame. It was stupid and it made him sick to think about. Because it was embarrassing, not because Atsumu wanted the same thing Osamu did. He shoved the interaction aside, burying it under the piles of insecurity and self-esteem issues he hand rotting in the corner of his brain. He had other things to attend to.

Like getting Hinata Shoyo's number.

Which is why he's here, waiting against the wall just outside the gym doors. He told his teammates that there was a food stall he wanted to try, that he would catch up with them later. Aran offered to stay with him, but Kita pulled him back, giving Osamu a knowing look. 

"Don't take long."

Now Osamu kind of wishes Aran had come with him. It would've been less awkward for two teammates to stand together than one loser to stand by himself. Not only that, but Osamu was about to talk to Hinata Shoyo, the guy with the hungry face that makes Osamu want. It shouldn't have been so nerve-wracking — it was just one guy that he so happened to want to talk to — but the thought of seeing Hinata Shoyo up close made him nervous. He felt his hands go clammy as he waited. If this was what wanting felt like, Osamu didn't want any part of it.

He spotted a head of orange hair zooming by him. His heart skipped a beat. He cursed it for skipping.

He grabbed Hinata Shoyo's arm, wrapping a hand around his wrist. It was small, Osamu realized. He briefly wondered how much Hinata Shoyo ate.

Hinata froze, turning around with a frightened look on his face. Osamu let him go, trying to force himself to relax. He probably scared the guy, which was not a good first impression to make to the guy you wanted to feed. Or watch eat. Watch starve? Osamu was a little confused about it.

"Hey." Osamu winced at his own voice, hating how strained it sounded. "You're Hinata Shoyo, right?"

Hinata gaped at him. Osamu could see a million thoughts run through his head as he blinked. He watched as Hinata brought up a hand to rub his eyes. His hands were small, smaller than Osamu's. He wanted to watch him lick sauce off of them.

The silence between them would've been awkward if they weren't lost in their own thoughts — and many people passing by would've noted the awkwardness had they grown the courage to say it. After a quick vision of Hinata Shoyo and barbecue sauce, Osamu was about to ask for his number. But before he could get a word out—

"Ah! The other Miya Atsumu!"

Osamu felt his world crumble. He felt his stomach drop and his appetite disappear. He had heard this sentence before, always paired with misplaced expectations and excitement turned pity. People looked at Osamu and expected Atsumu. It happened too many times to count, too many crestfallen faces and disappointed sighs. Sixteen years of insecurity fueled complexes and esteem destroying sentiments all summed up in one sentence. And by the guy who Osamu wanted. It was enough to crush his soul.

But not his spirit, apparently.

"Osamu," he corrected, flicking Hinata's forehead. "I'm Miya Osamu."

Hinata snapped his fingers, a look of recognition painting his face. "Right! Miya Osamu! Miya-san?"

Osamu shuddered at the thought of Atsumu thinking Hinata was calling out to him instead of Osamu. "Don't worry 'bout it. Just call me Osamu."

Nodding, Hinata smiled. "Okay, Osamu-san!"

Osamu wanted to eat him. 

He grinned back as he pulled out his phone. "So, Shoyo... I was wonderin' if I could get ya number?" 

Hinata's eyes widened, frantically looking from Osamu's face to his phone. "Huh?"

"Ya number." Osamu winked, hoping it came off as cool and sexy as he thought it did. "Can I have it?"

Hinata's head bobbed up and down, practically snatching Osamu's phone from his hands. He typed in his number, bouncing from one foot to another. He had a lot of energy, Osamu noticed. He wondered how much he ate to maintain such high stamina.

"Here you go!" Hinata handed his phone back, beaming. "I hope we talk soon!"

Osamu nodded, giving Hinata a smile he really hoped said 'desperate, but not too desperate.' "I can't wait."

He watched as Hinata bounced off, waving wildly at another teammate. The tall blond, Osamu realized, with the glasses and the mean mug. The blond rolled his eyes at Hinata's overall cheer, then looked slightly past him to see Osamu. He frowned. Osamu grinned, giving him a small wave. The blond's frown deepened as he grabbed Hinata's head and dragged him away, much to Osamu's chagrin. 

He looked down at his phone, his smug grin turning giddy. He has Hinata Shoyo's number. He got it first, before his brother. He wanted him first. It didn't matter that Hinata had called him the other Atsumu — it stung to think about, not that he'd admit it aloud. All that mattered was Osamu got there first. Atsumu may have had a head start with his ridiculous — committed, Osamu thought bitterly, romantic — declaration, but Osamu would have the last laugh. He would get Hinata Shoyo first.

He nearly skipped to the bus, narrowly avoiding the piercing look in Kita's eyes. He sat next to Suna, right across from Atsumu, who was glaring at him. Osamu glared right back.

"What?" He spit, annoyed that Atsumu was pulling him down from his high.

"You're smilin'. We just lost and you're smilin'." Atsumu sneered. "Like an idiot."

Osamu, in the split second before he reacted, realized he had a choice. He could take the bait, could start a fight in the middle of the bus and potentially — definitely — aquire the wrath of Kita. He could poke the bear, make Atsumu riled up and properly pissed so that he'd throw the first punch — still receiving Kita's wrath. Or, he thought in the mere millisecond before he acted, he could do secret option three.

His lips twisted into a smug grin as he held up his phone, Hinata Shoyo's contact on screen. Atsumu's jaw dropped.

"I got a certain cutie's number. You might've heard of him? Shoyo?"

The fight — and the Kita brand scolding — was worth it to see Atsumu's fuse blown.

--

"So, do ya still text him?"

Osamu glared at Atsumu. "Stop eatin' chips on my bed."

Atsumu shoved a handful of chips in his mouth, chewing loudly before repeating himself. "You and Shoyo. You still text him?"

"You're cleanin' my bed."

"Nuh uh!"

Osamu shoved him off the bed, snatching the chips from his hands and stomping on his leg. He kicked him away as he dumped the bag on Atsumu's bed. Atsumu cried out, indignant.

"Jerk! Why'd ya go and do that?"

"Stop askin' 'bout Shoyo. I'm not givin' ya his number."

Atsumu pouted, wiping his mouth. "Sharin' is carin', ya know."

Glaring, Osamu gave him another kick to the leg. "I ain't sharin' this one. I want him for myself."

Osamu walked out, ignoring his brother's cries for mercy and pleas for Shoyo's number. 

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling his phone around his hand. Osamu had been texting Shoyo for the past few months. Nearly every day, not that he'd tell Atsumu. They'd call and even video chat at times. He was caught up on every detail of Shoyo's life. He nearly cried with him when Shoyo told him how his last match went — it also intimidated him that Shoyo was playing his team and was sick, but Osamu kept that thought to himself. Osamu couldn't go an hour without texting Shoyo, couldn't see a cat on the street or an oddly shaped leaf without taking a picture and sending it. He was worried the first time, nervous that Shoyo would find him clingy and overbearing. It made his heart flutter when Shoyo started doing the same, sending him bits and pieces of his day. It was cute. Osamu wouldn't trade it for the world. 

He loved their calls, too. Shoyo could go on for hours, talking about every single part of his day. Osamu found that he loved to listen. Something about Shoyo's voice was captivating. If it were a meal, Osamu would finish every bite. It made him feel especially warm when Shoyo would listen to his own rants. Whether it was about food — a favorite topic of theirs — or volleyball — Shoyo was shocked to hear that Osamu was quitting — Shoyo would listen. He would chime in, give his own little comments and input. It made Osamu feel heard. In a house full of Atsumu, it was rather nice to be heard.

He wanted to keep these moments to himself. He didn't want to share Shoyo with Atsumu. He already shared a room, a name, and a face; the last thing he needed was more sharing. 

Shoyo was his. He wanted him to be his. And he wanted Shoyo to think of himself as his. Not as "the other Miya Atsumu." As Osamu. His friend. His lover. His boyfriend. His—

A buzz came from Osamu's pocket. He rushed to grab his phone, fumbling as he pulled it out. A gooey smile appeared on his face.

From: Shoyo

hey osamu-san! it's cloudy in miyagi, but the sky reminds me of your eyes!!! 

[image]

so pretty!! 

Osamu slapped a hand on his face, holding back the stupid schoolgirl giggles that threatened to spill out. The sky, he thought, reminded him of my eyes. He called it pretty. He called me pretty.

Osamu breathed in deeply. He clutched his phone and walked towards the backyard, ignoring the indignant cries from his brother. He opened the door, took another deep breath, and yelled:

"HE CALLED ME PRETTY!"

He went back inside, his face the pristine picture of calm. He walked past his parents, who looked at him like he had lost his mind, to his room. A quick once-over on his bed — Atsumu had cleaned it, shockingly — and then he fell face first into the pillow, smothering his giggles.

On the top bunk, Atsumu clicked his tongue. "Pretty ugly, I bet's what he meant."

But Osamu wasn't paying attention. He didn't spare the comment a single thought. Shoyo thought he was pretty. He could die right now and be a happy man.

Actually, no. He'd still like to kiss him. Or at least ask him out first. 

His phone buzzed again. He peeled his face off of his pillow, holding it tightly as he brought the phone up. 

From: Shoyo

to be clear, i think the sky is pretty. 

i think your eyes are prettier!!

Nevermind. He could die right now a fulfilled man. 

"Tsumu?"

"What?"

"He said my eyes are prettier than the sky."

He could hear the eye roll. "Must be an ugly sky."

Osamu ignored him. His grin was all warm sugar and melted marshmallow as he texted back. Shoyo thought he was pretty. His eyes, not Atsumu's, not Atsumu Miya's brother's — Osamu's. It made him giddy.

Later that day, Osamu kicked Atsumu's bed, gaining his brother's attention. 

"Whaddya want now?" Atsumu snarled.

"I'm gonna prove I ain't just the other you."

Atsumu went quiet. He leaned over the bed, looking at Osamu upside down. He frowned. "You ain't, though."

Osamu nodded, gripping his sheets. "I know. But I'mma prove to Shoyo that I ain't the other you." He grinned, cocksure. "I'mma prove I'm better."

Frown slipping into something more hostile, Atsumu glared at his brother. "Good luck. I'm already the best setter. I'm his other half."

"On the court," Osamu said matter-of-factly, "you are his other half. In life?" Osamu leaned back, wiggling around in his bed. "I'll be his better half."

Atsumu sneered at him, reaching behind and hitting him with his pillow. Osamu dodged, barely. Atsumu would calm down eventually.

He was serious, though. Atsumu could have— no, he could borrow Shoyo on the court. But Osamu will have him during everything else. He didn't want to share more than he had to. Shoyo was going to be his. He wanted Shoyo to be his.

He was hungry for it.

--

Osamu pouted as he stared at his laptop screen, eyes focused on the video playing. It was late, he knew, and he was dead tired from the work he'd done today, but he's never missed an upload before and he isn't starting now.

Atsumu had called him obsessed. Hands on his hips, scowling, he berated him for acting so desperate. Osamu scoffed, reminding Atsumu who was the one who almost bought himself a ticket to Brazil. Atsumu digressed. Not that Osamu was one to talk. There had been a few times where he found himself staring at Brazil flights, wondering if today would be the day he caves. He hadn't. Not yet.

Instead he lays on his bed, staring at a laptop screen, devouring every minute of Hinata Shoyo he could. 

When Shoyo had called him and told him that he was leaving to Brazil after his third year, Osamu was more than stunned. 

"Brazil?" He asked, nearly startling the cafe-goers around him.

Shoyo laughed on the other side, a sound that Osamu found as a delicacy of the finest variety. "Yeah! I'm going to try beach volleyball."

Osamu gulped, throat dry. Brazil was far. "That's... a long ways away, don't ya think?"

Shoyo hummed. "Yeah. It is."

The call went silent for a while. Osamu, though he'd never admit it, started to worry. Shoyo was going to Brazil — and it was very clear he was committed to it. Osamu knew that once Shoyo desired something, was hungry for something, he'd pursue it until he was satisfied — and he was hardly satisfied. Maybe Shoyo deciding to drop everything and go to Brazil wasn't as crazy as Osamu initially thought.

A part of him was devastated. He had been planning the perfect time to ask him out for months. Now he had to bury all the affection he felt for Shoyo underneath the guise of friendship. He had to watch as Shoyo left to pursue his dream. In Brazil. If Osamu was being honest, he didn't know how much longer he could wait.

"Osamu-san?"

"Shoyo?"

"What are you eating right now?"

Fighting the urge to grin — he was in the middle of being sad, for crying out loud — he poked at the half-eaten pastry in front of him. "Raspberry danish."

"Sounds tasty."

Osamu shrugged. "It's a little on the sweet side."

Shoyo chuckled, light and airy. "You know... I'm hungry, too."

Osamu sucked in a breath. Right. How could he forget? In fact, how dare he forget? The whole reason he fell for Shoyo was because of his hunger, his want. Who was he to stop Shoyo from being hungry? Didn't he want to see him fed? If he had to wait a few more years, hold out for a little longer, he would. He wanted to see Shoyo fed. He wanted to feed him. He wanted to watch him eat. It was still confusing, not that he'd say anything.

Osamu let himself smile. "I'll make ya some onigiri when you get back."

"Is that a deal?"

"It's a promise."

He heard Shoyo giggle on the other side of the phone. "Sweet! You'll just have to watch me until then!"

And here Osamu was, sitting on his bed at three in the morning, watching. 

He loved watching Shoyo play on the beach. There was something criminally sexy about beach volleyball players — or maybe Osamu just had Shoyo-vision. It didn't matter. Shoyo was an amazing player. It was a sight to see, if he was being honest. And he saw it often.

He nearly jumped when his phone buzzed. He paused the video — a nice shot of Shoyo mid-jump, might he add — and pulled out his phone. His jaw dropped.

From: Shoyo (my future husband)

osamu!! ik you're probably asleep rn, but i've got some good news! i'll be back in japan in a couple of weeks and... i'm trying out for the black jackals!! 

Osamu's smile was torn. On one hand, Shoyo was coming back. It was everything Osamu had been waiting for and he was beyond ready for it. On the other hand, he was going for the Black Jackals, which was Atsumu's team. Which meant more sharing. Osamu's mood soured.

From: Shoyo (my future husband)

pls don't tell atsumu yet!! i haven't told many people and i want to surprise him

Osamu's frown solidified. He wanted to surprise Atsumu, wanted Atsumu's attention when he came back to Japan.

From: Shoyo (my future husband)

i wanted to surprise you, too, but i couldn't wait. 

guess i've been waiting too long, haha

Mood suddenly lightened, Osamu fought back a grin. He could wait for Atsumu, but he couldn't wait for him. Atsumu would have all the court time he wanted with Shoyo, but Shoyo couldn't wait for Osamu outside of the court. 

From: Shoyo (my future husband)

hope you have my onigiri ready!!!

Osamu fell back on his bed, still for a moment. He inhaled, holding his breath, before kicking his legs in the air. He pressed his hands go his face, muffling any squeals that managed to leak out. 

For you, Shoyo, Osamu thought, I'll be more than ready.

--

Needless to say, Atsumu was pissed when he found out that Osamu knew.

He was fuming on the other side of Osamu's countertop, lips curled into a scowl. "Ya bastard, you knew?!"

Osamu bit back a grin. "Did ya come into my shop just to yell at me?"

Stomping his foot, Atsumu huffed. "Maybe. I have every right to."

Osamu picked at the rice between his fingers. "No, ya don't."

"Yeah, I do!" Atsumu slammed his hand on the counter, shaking the onigiri on the other side. "Shoyo-kun's mine. I saw him first!"

"You called him a sucky player. Amazing first impression."

Atsumu's face went red. "That— that don't matter!" He stuttered, trying to save face.

Osamu sighed. His brother was always talking about how he saw Shoyo first and how he spoke to him first. It was up to Osamu to remind him how terrible he acted. Unlike Osamu, who made an amazing first impression and an even better second one.

"It matters, all right." Osamu placed a plate of onigiri in front of Atsumu, who was still standing with a red-faced pout. "Because I don't think Shoyo would want a boyfriend who's a jerk."

Atsumu glared at him. "I don't think Shoyo-kun would want a boyfriend who's a glutton."

Osamu felt the barest of anger settle in his gut. "I don't think Shoyo would want a boyfriend who's an attention-hog."

Inhaling sharply, Atsumu growled. "I don't think Shoyo-kun would want a boyfriend who's a quitter."

Oh. That one hurt.

"I don't think," Osamu started, feeling the anger claw up his throat, "Shoyo would want a boyfriend who's a self-centered bipolar jackass with insecurities barely covered by a superiority complex."

Atsumu's eyes widened as he went slack-jawed. Osamu winced. Maybe bringing up the complex was a bit too much.

"Really?" Atsumu shoved the plate of onigiri to the side, slamming his hands down on the counter. "I don't think Shoyo-kun would want a boyfriend who's only reason for wantin' him is because he said you were just another me." He pushed off the counter and walked towards the door, footsteps echoing in the empty shop. He opened the door, then turned back around to face Osamu, eyes narrowed and cold.

"Even though that's what you are. Just another me. Just the other Miya Atsumu."

He let the door slam shut as he stormed out, face red and angry.

Osamu stared at the door, his anger simmering in his stomach. That was too far. Atsumu of all people knows how Osamu feels about always being compared to him, always being mistaken for the other Miya twin. He knows about the years Osamu spent trying to separate them, force people to differentiate between the two. But even as Osamu became the nice one, the cool-headed one, the one people had no qualms being around, he always came in second to Atsumu. He was the one people looked for, not looked over. He was the one people wanted to be around. The more interesting Miya twin, the more famous one, the better one.

A teardrop rolled down Osamu's cheek. He inhaled painfully, surprised. He hardly cried nowadays — couldn't find the time between rice cooking and flavor sampling — but he assumed that now would be a good time to let it all out.

Slowly, he knelt down behind the counter. He grabbed a nearby rag that he had used for his hands and pressed his face into it. He took a deep breath, held it.

Then proceeded to let out a gut-wrenching sob he doubts went unheard.

He hated that Atsumu knew exactly where to strike him. Osamu knew that he wanted Shoyo, wanted to watch as he climbed the ladder that was meant to be too tall for him. He knew he wanted him, but in the deep corners of his mind, he sometimes wondered why. Was it really because Shoyo had called him "the other Miya Atsumu?" Was it because of his drive? Was it because Atsumu wanted him first? He hated that it plagued him, hated that in the corner of his mind was the question 'do I want what's Atsumu's just to prove I'm not Atsumu?'

The bombardment of thoughts made his head hurt, adding on to the pain of crying. Who knew sobbing could cause a headache? 

He wiped his face, standing up on wobbly legs. It felt good to cry, to let it all out. He only wished he had someone to cry with, to cry to. But maybe that was a bad idea, just like wanting.

"... Osamu?"

Osamu felt his heart drop. He knew that voice. He spent hours everyday playing it on loop. It sung him to sleep and roused him in the morning. It was the one thing that comforted him after a hard day's work. He memorized that voice inside and out, every word and syllable. 

He took a sharp breath. He knew he just wished for someone to cry with, but Hinata Shoyo was not the person he wanted to see. Not after what just happened with Atsumu. Not with his thoughts a jumble of insecurity.

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder. "Osamu? Are you okay?"

Osamu turned around, taking his time, hoping that his eyes weren't as red and irritated as he thought they were. He hasn't seen Shoyo in two and a half years and he's going to greet him with teary eyes. He almost doesn't look down.

But he does, because it's Shoyo. And Osamu nearly melts.

Shoyo stares up at him with his large brown eyes, eyebrows dipped in concern. His lip is jutted out, head tilted slightly. He looks worried. And tanned — Osamu nearly forgets everything the moment he realizes. He's changed, but he's still Shoyo. Still caring enough about Osamu to ask if he was okay.

In a fraction of a second, Osamu saw their entire friendship flash before his eyes. He saw the day he asked Shoyo for his number, the day they called for nine hours straight, the day Shoyo sent his first miscellaneous picture, the day Osamu sent his. The long winded texts. The late night facetimes. He saw every smile, heard every laugh. He saw each time Osamu had to bite his tongue so he didn't saw something he'd regret, so he didn't say something that would absolutely destroy their friendship. Something like—

"I love you."

Shoyo's eyes widened slightly. Osamu paled. That was not how he was supposed to say it. In fact, he was gearing up to never say it at all. Suddenly, Osamu wished he was a rice grain on the counter.

Shoyo blinked, a slight smile playing on his face. "You... You love me?"

Panic washed over Osamu like a tsunami. "That wasn't supposed to happen!" He waved his arms frantically, seemingly trying to grab the words out of the air. "I didn't mean to say that!"

Frowning, Shoyo took a step back. "You didn't?"

Osamu was doused in another wave of panic. "No! Well, yeah... Well— it wasn't supposed to happen here!"

"It wasn't?"

"No!" Osamu exclaimed, feeling stray tears well up. "It was supposed to be at the park... Man, I had it all worked out and everythin'! I was gonna take ya out for a picnic, then we were supposed to watch the sunset, then I'd tell ya! But it's all ruined now!" Osamu slammed his head on the counter, shoulders drooping. Tears fell from his eyes. "And now I look like a total idiot. Maybe you really are better off with Tsumu."

Osamu felt a hand run through his hair, gentle and sweet. "Osamu... Why would you say that?"

"Because!" Osamu started, not bothering to hide the tears streaming down his face. "He's your other half! He's your setter — or he's gonna be — and he saw you first. He told you... he said he was gonna set for ya. And that he's perfect for ya. And I'm—" Osamu sniffed, lifting his head and wiping away the tears in his eyes. "I'm just a quitter. The expendable one. The other Tsumu."

The next minute was silent, making Osamu more nervous than he already was. If Shoyo was going to reject him, he better do it quickly. Osamu doesn't think he could stand in this tension for longer than he already has.

"Osamu... You're not the other Atsumu-san."

Osamu moved his arm away from his face, staring at Shoyo. He looked angry, like a mix of concern and fury. His hands lingered on the counter between them, but his fingers were flexed. Osamu hardly got to see Shoyo mad, but this didn't feel like the time to dissect how it made him feel.

Shoyo brought up a hand to wave in front of Osamu's face. "Hello? Did you hear me? You're not another Atsumu-san!"

Osamu went to open his mouth, but Shoyo persisted. "You're not a quitter, either! I've never seen someone work as hard as you do. You keep up your own shop, make nearly every onigiri yourself, and still find a way to hold stands open for festivals! You have a whole journal dedicated to food and how flavors mix! You spent what should have been your party-filled college years working in order to afford your own shop! That doesn't sound like a quitter to me."

Osamu traced every furious line in Shoyo's face, commiting him to memory. He said Osamu wasn't a quitter, even after he left volleyball. He went to say something—

"And you are definitely not another Atsumu-san! What gave you the thought?" Shoyo crossed his arms, glaring at Osamu as if he expected an answer. "Was it because you two look alike? Because he's older? Do you think you're inferior to him?"

Gulping, Osamu avoided his gaze. He didn't want his whole pile of insecurity out in the open — not for Shoyo to see.

He heard Shoyo's foot tap. "Do you think because he stayed a volleyball player, because he's more famous and more known, that he's better than you? That you're just spare parts?" 

Osamu squeezed his eyes shut. He cannot have this conversation right now, not when there were too many things up in the air. He fought with Atsumu. He ruined his confession plan. The fact Shoyo had yet to respond to that. There was too much for Osamu to have his whole life's worst thoughts sprinkled on top.

"Guess what? You're not Atsumu!"

Shoyo grabbed Osamu's downcast face, forcing him to look at Shoyo in the eyes. Osamu was only half surprised to find they were wet with tears as well. 

"You're not blond. You're not taller. You weren't born first. You're not a star setter." Shoyo gave him a soft smile, voice narrowing down to a whisper. "You have black hair. You cook. You own your own shop. You hate too sweet pastries. You think aprons are sexy. You like watching people eat and enjoy themselves. You like watching your brother play volleyball and enjoy himself. You laugh like you're seventy. You mumble when you get excited. You didn't quit volleyball, you pursued your passion." Shoyo brushed a strand of hair out of Osamu's face, pulling him closer from across the counter. "You said you love me. You didn't give me a chance to say it back."

This time, there was no split second or hesitation. Osamu dove right in for a kiss he would remember for the rest of his life — maybe even beyond it. His stomach pressed against the marble countertop, his hand wrapped around a rag, his knee against a cabinet handle, and Hinata Shoyo pulling him closer. 

Maybe he hated wanting, maybe he hated that part of him still felt insecure about it, but Shoyo loved him. 

He couldn't want anything more.

--

Osamu really didn't want to apologize to Atsumu for anything. He would argue that the bastard started it the moment they were born. But Shoyo was insistent, mentioning that he saw Atsumu storm out crying and saying they needed to resolve whatever they had argued about. And Osamu, being the good boyfriend he was, folded in an instant. He would apologize, sort some twin stuff out, and then dive back into Shoyo's arms. Which were large, significantly larger than before, and tanned like caramel. Osamu couldn't wait to get this apology over with.

Standing at the door of the gymnasium, Osamu watched as Atsumu practiced set after set, each one with dangerous accuracy. He was probably practicing for Shoyo, gearing up to set to the spiker he's desired for years. Osamu gulped. This apology was going to be a little harder than he thought.

He cleared his throat, trying to get Atsumu's attention, but the latter didn't spare him a glance. The sets got faster, sharper. Osamu frowned. He cleared his throat louder. Balls fell, each set with pinpoint accuracy. Osamu rolled his eyes. He put down the lunchbox in his arms and grabbed a nearby ball. He rolled it around his hands, getting a nice feel for it. He missed the weight of it, sometimes. Whenever he was feeling down, like maybe he picked the wrong path, he swore he could feel the solid heaviness of a volleyball in his hands. He didn't miss it much, nowadays.

He cocked his arm back and threw, the ball hitting Atsumu square in the head. 

Atsumu slapped a hand to his head, cursing. He turned around to face Osamu, a simmering rage on his face. "What the hell, Samu?! Why'd ya do that?!"

Osamu sneered. "Don't go ignorin' me. I'm tryin' to apologize."

Rolling his eyes, Atsumu picked up another ball. "Heck of a sorry ya got there."

"Haven't started yet, scrub."

"You're the scrub."

They stared at each other. Osamu debated if an apology was really in order. Maybe they should duke it out like they did back in high school. The thought dissipated as quickly as it formed. Shoyo said resolve, not beat each other bloody. Osamu picked up the lunchbox at his feet and walked towards the left court bench. He sat down, plopping the box in his lap and unzipping, revealing Atsumu's abandoned food. After a moment, Atsumu walked over, sitting beside him. He grabbed an onigiri.

"... Thank ya for the food." He took a large bite.

Osamu nodded, looking forward as Atsumu ate beside him. A breath passed. "Y'know," Osamu started, "I don't think you're actually a bipolar jackass. And I shouldn't have brought up the complex." Osamu nudged his brother's arm. "You are self-centered, though."

He heard Atsumu snicker, slightly. Maybe this apology thing was working.

"I just..." Taking a deep breath, he continued. "I just got so pissed when ya said I was a quitter, that Shoyo wouldn't like me because of it—"

"I didn't mean it," Atsumu said, cheeks full of rice. Swallowing, he proceeded. "Really. You ain't a quitter. And Shoyo-kun would be real happy with ya. Real happy." Atsumu's shoulders dipped. "A lot happier with you than me. Ya ain't the other me, Samu. I'm the other you."

Osamu bit back his first five replies. It seemed that the twin inferiority complex ran in the bloodline. Although, the more Osamu thought about it, the more it made sense. Both of them were each other's compliment. Anything one wasn't, the other made up for. It was their entire brand in high school and it clearly followed them into adulthood. A callous thing to hold and a difficult thing to release, Osamu knew. 

"Ya ain't the other me." Osamu sighed, leaning back on his hands. "And I ain't the other you. You're Atsumu, the setter with an arsenal of spikers. I'm Osamu, the chef with an arsenal of flavor." Osamu looked over at his brother, smiling. "We ain't gotta be each other's shadow."

Atsumu swallowed the last of his onigiri. He grinned back. "Guess we don't, huh."

Osamu shook his head. "Not anymore."

Atsumu nodded, grin still prevalent. He stretched, letting out a groan. "Such a stupid thought. Have we really had it all our lives?"

Standing up, Osamu laughed. "Pretty much."

"Stupid..." Atsumu rolled his eyes, standing up beside Osamu. He elbowed Osamu's ribs, Osamu got him back. Before they could mentally regress into teenagers again, Atsumu's phone buzzed.

He pulled it out of his pocket and Osamu got a glance at the contact name. He gasped.

"You cocky son of a—"

"Ah ah!" Atsumu clicked his tongue. "Same mother!"

Osamu snatched Atsumu's phone out of his hands, reading the text fully.

From: Shoyo-kun (MY future husband)

atsumu-san!! did you and osamu talk yet?? i hope you're feeling better!!

Osamu's heart fluttered at the concern, but it was stifled by the contact name. He glared at Atsumu, who simply shrugged.

"Just predicting the future." Atsumu gave him a smug grin. "You would know about that, wouldn't ya?"

Osamu almost bit, almost gave into the obvious bait placed in front of him. He could've. But there was more than one option on the table. Option one was to bite and let his petty anger flow. Option two was to let Atsumu have it, let it go in the sake of good brotherly forgiveness. But option three was far more tempting.

Tossing Atsumu back his phone, Osamu grinned. "I'd appreciate it if ya didn't call my boyfriend your future husband."

It took every fiber in his being not to cry laughing at Atsumu's dumbstruck expression. His eyes went wide, his jaw hanging low. He glanced down at his phone and back up at Osamu, stunned. Osamu suddenly wished he could take a photo. 

He grabbed the lunchbox and gave Atsumu a pity pat on his shoulder. "Stick to spiking, setter boy."

Osamu walked out of the gym, ten times lighter and a lot less single. He couldn't wait to get into Shoyo's — his boyfriend's — arms.

And possibly take a bite.