five times you call Atsumu by his name and one time you don't
contains: gn!reader (no pronouns used, brief mention of Atsumu gifting you lipstick once), 5+1 things, unresolved angst, forbidden romance/problematic relationship (as in: cheating on Atsumu with Osamu), suggestive themes mentioned, flawed human beings with messy feelings, switching POVs between you and Atsumu, no use of Y/N, fluff moments but again: heavy on the angst. written as a gift for my beloved @paperspirits for our secret santa ♡
my biggest thanks to my twin @hiraethwa for beta reading!
word count: 5.2k
・❥・ONE
Osamu is Atsumu’s blessing. You wonder if that makes you his curse.
When Atsumu laughs, boisterous and without a care in the world, your heart gets really quiet. Calm. It takes you back to the man you fell in love with; the one who had been pining after you, his beloved senpai, all the way back since middle school until he finally got to kiss you for the first time almost a decade later. That’s how it’s always been with Atsumu once he set his eyes on a goal–stretching towards the heavens until his tender hands could reach it; reach you. A puppy love that grew into something bigger, so big it scares both of you sometimes.
You never made wise decisions. You make even worse ones when you’re frightened.
Maybe that’s how you ended up with your hands tangled in Osamu’s hair as he licks into your mouth with an insatiable hunger. Your phone is discarded somewhere on the floor, 13 missed calls and counting from Atsumu piling up on your lock screen. His apologies always come too late, too meekly, after he had already twisted the knife and made it look as if it was your own fault. As if your knife didn’t leave him bleeding out just the same. He’s too prideful to admit that.
On good days, Atsumu can be the dream boyfriend. His touch then is almost reverent and worshipping, his eyes flickering to your lips and kissing the words off them until you laugh breathlessly into him, his arms circling around you as if he never wants to let go of you.
As if he isn’t the one who always leaves.
On bad days, he ruins everything—a mutual destruction. Makes you feel forgotten and small.
Unloved.
He’s thriving in his career and gets to see the world, but you don't get to be a part of it. You’re my home, it’s what he says. His anchor that he always returns too. Wraps you into his arms after he’s been gone for weeks and fails to see how loneliness chipped away from you.
It’s Osamu who puts you back together. Not Atsumu.
It’s Osamu who kisses you like your heart is on fire. Not Atsumu.
It’s Osamu who lets you sit in silence with him until it all passes. Not Atsumu.
In the morning you look at his bare back as he makes you breakfast. You told him he shouldn’t, but Osamu insisted, another kiss pressed to your temple before he slipped out of the warm bed before you. The door to his bedroom stays a crack open, because he knows you enjoy watching him moving around in the kitchen, and because he enjoys watching you tangled up in his bedsheets—in a secret that lasts from dusk till dawn.
Osamu doesn't mind getting up first to let you have this for a few minutes longer, until reality harshly claims you again. He doesn’t ask how you drink your tea because he remembers how you like it best. Adjusts the volume of the radio so it won't bother you when your mind is swimming with everything that stays unspoken between you.
Somewhere between Osamu leaving a trail of open mouthed kisses against the side of your neck and the sound of his name—Osamu, not Atsumu—rolling feverishly off your tongue, your phone had died, putting an end to Atsumu's attempts to call you to apologize. Or whatever he counts as an apology.
Atsumu always says he's sorry. He never truly means it.
When you plug your phone back in, it only takes three minutes for his name—Atsumu, not Osamu—to light up on your screen again. Incoming call. It's almost midnight in Paris right now and the Olympics need him. How much you need him doesn't matter.
"Atsumu," you murmur when you pick up his call, tainted in feigned softness that you know will make him cower in guilt even more. It makes his name the easiest lie that ever slipped past your lips. You pull the blanket over your head to drown out the sounds of Osamu rummaging around in the kitchen. Atsumu knows you never cook yourself a proper breakfast.
"Baby, I'm sooo sorry," Atsumu's voice crackles through the speaker. He's whiny, like a puppy dog that got scolded. Somewhere in the background you can hear the lively buzzing of the Olympic village. "Did ya fall asleep without charging your phone again?"
"Yeah." Half a lie. "Sorry about that. Didn't want to worry you." The other half.
"'s all good. Was hoping we could talk it out before bed, y'know? Like we always do. But I know how sleepy you get. Didn't want to upset you like that, babe. Didn't mean it like that. Are ya still mad at me?"
It's always a rapid fire of words with Atsumu, leaving you no room to get a word in. You don't remember when you started to feed him lies because he doesn't listen to you anyway. It's a broken dance you both have perfected over time, orbiting around another, a constant push and shove.
You love Atsumu, you really do, but it's a quiet ache that never really goes away.
"No, not mad," you mumble and hear Atsumu sighing in relief before he instantly overwhelms you with another barrage of words; everything he couldn't tell you in the past hours, about their training and the infamous Olympic beds and the chocolate muffins at the cafeteria.
It would be endearing if it didn't make you feel so damn lonely.
The mattress dips under Osamu's weight when he sits down on the edge of it, slowly peeling away the blanket from you, smiling down at your sleep-tussled appearance and the guilty look in your eyes. Your phone rests next to your head on the pillow, Atsumu's voice still babbling while Osamu's lips trail stolen kisses up your stomach to the valley of your chest, where your heart sighs out a different name.
・❥・TWO
Like a prayer. Something divine.
Every time you say his name, Atsumu understands what real love is.
It doesn't matter if you're coming apart on top of him, sob it into his shoulder after he's been gone for too long, or spit it out like poison in the middle of an argument—it always feels like something holy.
Because you see him for who he is, because you let him grow from a lovesick kouhai into an even lovesicker man, someone worthy of being by your side. The moment when he got to kiss you for the first time (right after you moved back to Osaka for your job and his career was just setting off) still plays on loop when he closes his eyes in another empty hotel bed. This kiss, your muttered out insult of what took him so long, followed by a beaming smile—it was his dream coming true after all this time.
What's a decade of pining if you got the rest of your lives together, right?
You're his home. The one always waiting for his return, the constant that keeps him grounded. Atsumu is used to being adored—worshipped even—but it's you who taught him the difference between love and devotion.
He always scans for your face in the crowd. You're so easy to spot, too; as if his eyes can't help but be drawn to the brightest light in the room, like staring directly at the sun. It's blinding, but the warmth is so alluring. At times he understands how Icarus got too close; burned and drowned.
When you scream out his name from the top of your lungs, Atsumu feels like he's invincible. We don't need memories—he thinks so too, because the sound of his name out of your mouth is not a memory but a blessing, so sacred it's engraved into his being.
For tonight's game you are wearing his jersey number on your back, MIYA spelled out in big letters, too. Atsumu thinks of the small velvet box that sits in a pocket of his gym bag and how one day his last name won't just be borrowed for a match night, but something forever.
(He has no doubts you will say yes. You always do. There's no figment of his mind that could ever imagine a life without you by his side.)
Osamu is standing next to you in the cheering crowd, watching him just the same. It's nice knowing you two get along this well, and that Osamu will be there for you when Atsumu is hundreds of miles away from home. Making sure your fridge is stocked and that you've eaten, driving you to the doctors when you caught a cold, watching his matches on TV together when your schedule didn't allow you to be there in person.
How lucky he is to have not just one but two people he can love and trust so deeply.
A reporter approaches you and wants to know who you are cheering for tonight. You're jumping up and down in unbridled joy and calling out his name, and Atsumu never believed in gods but he knows an angel when he sees one.
・❥・THREE
"Atsumu."
Your voice is quieter, softer. Another lie wrapped up in silent pleading. He doesn't hear you. You don't remember the last time he did.
You touch Atsumu's bare back to get his attention, but he only responds with an absent hum, his eyes too focused on the video replaying on loop on his phone. It's clips of his fan cam, highlighting every move he made during the game earlier (including the jump serve that cost them their victory).
The bathroom mirror is still fogged up from the hot shower you shared just a few minutes ago. Whenever they lose a match, sex is the only thing that can give you the illusion of being close to Atsumu again. Otherwise he's too far away, too out of reach, in an orbit you can't get close to no matter how many rounds around the sun you take.
His pent-up frustrations, the leftover energy, the teeth aching to sink into something—you can endure anything if it means feeling less like a ghost around him.
You repeat his name and wrap your arms around him from behind, burying your face between his shoulders, breathing him in. As if to remind yourself of a time when he would hold you like you're his whole world. Now it feels as if you're drifting apart, slowly but inevitably.
Did he always feel this far away? Did you always feel this hollow?
His skin is still damp from the shower. You used to love the sight of his broad back—curled up next to you in bed, making burnt toast for breakfast with nothing but your Hello Kitty pajama pants on, reflected in the mirror while he went down on you for what felt like hours.
He used to look back at you whenever you called out to him. Now he doesn't even bother doing that anymore, assuming you're gonna be there right behind him anyway. You could just leave and he would only notice when your warmth didn't linger any longer.
When was the last time he looked at you, looked past the constellation of lies you made up and really saw you for who you are? In all your messy, aching glory? Would he still love you if you showed him the parts of your heart that are now covered in claw marks and bruises?
Your head is swimming with questions you don't dare to ask because you know the answers to them already.
I'm so fucking lonely, Tsumu.
The words threaten to spill past your lips but you're quick to swallow them down. Too bitter, too heavy. You don't think Atsumu could carry them.
(But Osamu would.)
(Without complaining, without adding more weight to them. He is that kind of man. Made of everything Atsumu isn't and gives you everything Atsumu doesn't.)
It's not love—not yet, you realize with terror—but the falling petals of something that should have never bloomed to begin with.
・❥・FOUR
Osamu has a thing for strays.
Ever since they were kids he would always feed the last bites of his food to the cats lingering around the conbini, waiting for someone to have mercy with them, to see them. They always purred and rubbed against Osamu's legs, never Atsumu's.
"Yer a cheater, Samu! You buy their love!"
"Nah, I earned it. You just assume they'll worship you for breathing around them."
The blurry childhood memory flickers before his eyes when Osamu opens the door.
Atsumu blinks once, twice, then you squeal and squeeze past him to get inside his brother's apartment first. Osamu hasn't changed out of his work clothes yet, holding the door open with a black kitten in one arm, the other wrapping around you for a side hug.
You linger by his side without pulling away as you gush about the tiny cat, and for a heartbeat Atsumu feels a strange sensation rattling in his chest.
He used to love seeing Osamu and you together. His favorite people in the entire world. He still does, but something has shifted just now. Just what is it? Why does his body feel hot and cold seeing you like this, leaning into someone else's touch?
Atsumu exhales and the feeling fades as fast as it had crawled up on him.
It's probably his mind playing tricks on him, the sleep deprivation from jet lag and his packed schedule for the upcoming weeks catching up on him. You always tell him to slow down and not do everything at 200%, but when has he ever listened to what you said? Even tonight he can't just enjoy a simple night with you and Osamu, instead he has to leave again in an hour to catch a flight for another charity event.
"Need to borrow a shirt. Mine are all at the cleaners," Atsumu says as he crams past you and Osamu in the hallway, heading straight to his brother's bedroom. What belongs to one, belongs to the other. It's how they always shared ever since they were kids.
"My shirts won't fit ya anymore," Osamu huffs as he follows behind Atsumu, now without the kitten. He takes his cap off and hangs it up by the mirror as Atsumu flips through his wardrobe. "My shoulders are much broader than yours now from lifting bags of rice all day."
"Bullshit. I'm the pro athlete of the family, I'm way fitter than you. Tell him, babe!"
Your laughter echoes through the apartment but you don't reply, probably too distracted by the furball to register Atsumu huffing and puffing. It's strange. You always used to be there when he called.
You still are, right?
Atsumu grabs a handful of hangers and pulls out the shirts, flipping through them while Osamu peels away his arm sleeves and unties the messy apron around his waist. With his back facing Atsumu, he can't help but admit that maybe his brother is the broader one of them. Not like he's ever gonna say that out loud.
"The white one with the embroidery on the sleeves should fit ya," Osamu says but his attention is somewhere else, drawn to the sound of your voice like a siren call. Outside the bedroom you sing a little made up song to the kitten and think out loud about names for the sweet thing. Loving someone comes so easy to you.
It's moments like these that make Atsumu's heart clench from all the love he harbors for you, growing and sprouting like flowers in his ribcage, and aching as if it's gonna burst at its seams any moment.
He finds the white shirt Osamu mentioned and holds it up against himself in the mirror to see if it's gonna fit. Only then he notices the faint marks on the collar, smeared and messy, a poppy red.
Blood? Why the fuck would there be blood on Osamu's shirt? And when did he even wear that shirt to begin with, when he practically lives in his work attire and nothing else? Atsumu leans closer and only then he registers the marks as lipstick.
It's a shade similar to the one he got you for your birthday earlier this year.
That's a funny coincidence.
"Hey, Samu."
His throat feels dry all of sudden. There's a knot twisting in his stomach, weighing heavier than anything he ever swallowed. His fingertips trace the stained collar as if to reassure himself that his eyes aren't playing any tricks on him.
When Osamu doesn't turn around he calls out to him again, nudging his arm. Osamu snaps around as if woken from a daydream, his eyes flicking to him, then down to the collar.
He freezes. He doesn't look back up to Atsumu.
"Why didn't you tell me you got laid?"
Atsumu's voice is too loud, too cheerful. It's the same voice he would use to wrap up whatever cruelty was coming from his mouth ever since they were little.
"I guess our twin telepathy is failing me. Maybe I really need some more sleep," Atsumu adds with a laugh. Something to muffle the boiling up fear in the pits of his stomach.
Osamu reaches out and takes the shirt from his hands before crumbling it up and tossing it in the laundry basket. He goes and picks up another shirt from his closet.
"Was just a one night stand. Nothing worth mentioning," he says, quieter than usual, this time meeting Atsumu's eyes. They look clouded by guilt and something else Atsumu can't quite pin down just yet.
Something is not right. It can't be what he thinks it is.
You wouldn't—you wouldn't be this cruel. Right?
"Atsumu!"
The sound of your voice cuts through the silence and makes both Atsumu and Osamu flinch first, then draws their gaze at you standing in the doorframe, holding the kitten close to your face as if you're just gonna inhale it from cuteness aggression (and "for a little dose of toxoplasmosis").
Your eyes sparkle with love and adoration and for a heartbeat Atsumu wonders if all of that is still for him.
"Can we get a cat, too? Please? See how cute she is!"
Atsumu's hand trembles slightly when he cups the side of your face that's currently not squished against the kitten. He leans down to kiss you; not just a peck but a slow, deep kiss, the kind he would only give you in the privacy of your home.
As if to stop your pretty mouth from saying any other name but his.
As if to purge all these thoughts and feelings that had been bubbling up inside of him in the last few minutes.
As if to claim something, someone, that may have never been fully his to begin with.
・❥・FIVE
It was supposed to be just a few hours with Osamu. Just long enough for him to hold you while you cry about Atsumu and how he forgot your anniversary again, but still found enough time to boast about his new designer promotion that launched the same day. The comments under his post piled up, fangirls and other admirers gushing and inflating his ego even more than it already is.
Atsumu is so loved. He selfishly keeps it all to himself.
And so the hours turned into days, and the syllables of his name melted into something else in your mouth—in Osamu's mouth, on his tongue, down his throat. Osamu always swallows everything you offer him. Nothing is ever too heavy for him to stomach.
Not your guilt, not your lies. Never your love.
Your steps feel light on your short walk back to your apartment. It's not like you wanted to leave Osamu's arms, but he had to do some prepping for the morning shift the next day and you ran out of clean clothes to wear (not that you wore a lot when you were with him to begin with). And so you let him wrap you up in his oversized jacket and his scarf before he sent you off with another kiss on your lips and the crown of your head. You still feel his warmth seeping into every fiber of your body.
It started snowing while you were tangled up in Osamu's sheets. Your neighborhood is quiet this hour of the night, only your quiet puffs of air and the crunching sounds of your sneakers in the fresh snow. You pull his jacket up higher and nestle deeper into his scarf, inhaling Osamu's scent that's still clinging to the fabric. The streetlight in front of your apartment complex flickers as it always does, your last name and Osa—Atsumu's last name on the door bell blurring into one; and for a moment your universes are overlapping, leaving you in a void of utter love and loneliness.
You unlock the door (didn't you lock it twice before you left?), flick the lights on and freeze like a deer in the headlights.
"Atsumu," you stutter out. Your voice is higher than usual, a slight tremble to it. His name feels heavy in your mouth, foreign and strange. Like a memory long faded.
He isn't supposed to be here, not yet. He told you all about the interviews he had lined up and the promo shots they were doing with MSBY, the fundraiser he was attending; that maybe he can get here the day after tomorrow, but only for a night before he has to leave again, and chances were slim and—
Atsumu steps into the genkan, strong arms wrapping around you, his face buried in your hair as he pulls you close.
"Missed ya too much so I came home early," he murmurs, his breath fanning over your temples, soft kisses trailing down to your jaw as he peels the scarf away, revealing more of your face to him.
You catch his gaze without looking away and your heart is plunging into a void inside your chest.
Atsumu sees his own reflection in your eyes, sees how you see him, how you love him.
Osamu sees you, where you ache, where you yearn, where you grieve.
"Atsumu," you say again. Atsumu, not Osamu. The lines are blurring and only your fingertips recognize the shape of the one that's standing tall before you. Your hands tangle in his hair and pull him down to your lips because that's what you always do—kissing him until you remember how to love him again.
Only when you pull apart again Atsumu's eyes dart over your form, his hands still holding your face in his calloused hands, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. A smile tugs on the corner of his mouth but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Where have you been? First I thought you just went out for a quick conbini run because the fridge is empty as balls, but I've been here for three hours and you didn't answer your phone," he says casually, but you know him long enough not to miss the slight wavering of his voice. "Is that Osamu's jacket?"
Atsumu has never felt so far away. You always used to find your way back to each other, but now there's cracks in everything that no liquid gold can fix; because kintsugi may work on a broken plate but not on two broken hearts who refuse to stop beating for another.
You muster up your sweetest smile, leaning into his palm as you put your hand over his. Even with a knife pressed to your ribs you can't help but yearn for his touch, so starved of it that you'd rather bleed out than to deprive yourself of it.
"Yeah, I was at Osamu's place. He invited me over for dinner because they had a lot of leftovers from the shop tonight and we watched the new episodes of that cooking show I told you about together," you reply. Not a lie, right?
"It's gotten quite late and the cat was snoozing curled up on my jacket, and I didn't have the heart to wake it after it had the zoomies earlier," you blabber on, now slowly peeling yourself out of the scarf and the jacket, as if trying to get rid of the evidence that you were with Osamu not even an hour ago. "So Osamu lent me one of his jackets. I also brought some leftovers! Are you hungry? We can warm them up in a bit, let me just wash up first, okay?"
If you keep filling the silence with empty words, maybe the sound of what was left of your heart shattering won't echo as loud for him to hear. Love me, love me, love me. How much longer do you need to beg him to see you in your suffering before he puts an end to it?
Just when you want to squeeze past Atsumu and his suitcases that he left in the hallway (like a bad omen of his looming absence) he holds you back by your arm, slender fingers wrapping around you as if he was scared of you slipping away from him. For a brief moment it seems as if he wants to say something, his lips parting, then closing again. His eyes flicker across your face and you wonder what he sees in you.
The dream he chased after for years until he finally had you?
The home that's nothing more but a haunted house?
The promise of forever that burnt out like a star?
"I really missed ya," he mutters, his arms coming to wrap once more around you and pulling you close. "'m so happy to be back with you again."
He never felt more far away than he does now.
・❥・ONE, AGAIN
Atsumu has been looking forward to the winter break. He declined all invitations, has moved around all appointments, turned down everyone demanding his presence—he did it all for you. It's the time of the year that belongs to you as a couple and no one else. An universe of your own. He knows he can't offer you much but he can give you this, to make up for all the time he can't be there in person when you need him.
At least you have Osamu.
It's a thought that doesn't feel as light as it used to.
Atsumu is not dumb. He knows you're sleeping with his brother.
But it's just sex, right? You've always been a touchstarved person ever since he's known you. He would try, but he could never give you everything you need, and yet you still choose to be with him.
With him, not Osamu.
He catches your gaze in the steamed up bathroom mirror, something unspoken hanging between you. Maybe you're both cruel in your own ways.
Atsumu cages you in between his arms and the bathroom sink, nipping at your earlobe and kissing down the side of your neck. You let out a small huffed laughter and duck away from him like a cat that doesn't want to be petted, trying to brush your teeth in peace without Atsumu initiating another round of you crying out his name.
Neither of you bothered doing the laundry since he got home last night, his suitcases still half unpacked, so now you're sharing a pajama—you got the top, half unbuttoned, slipping off your shoulders, while Atsumu wears the bottoms, hanging loosely off his hips, his bare back pressed against you. His hands slide underneath the fabric, tracing the hem of your panties while he bites down gently on your exposed shoulder, leaving another faint mark.
To adorn you, not to claim you, he lies to himself.
"C'mon now, I'm still sore, you animal. Gimme a break, Samu—"
Atsumu bites down harder on your shoulder and you inhale sharply, freezing up like a prey animal. He can feel your pulse fluttering, your entire body tensing up and surrendering now that he sunk his teeth into you.
This wasn't a slip-up. It was simply muscle memory, your body and your mind remembering the one who made you feel seen and loved, whose name tasted overly sweet in your mouth during times when Atsumu was starving you of everything.
You know better than to correct yourself. His name has been suffocating you slowly and there's no need to pretend that it did not anymore.
Something ugly unravels inside of Atsumu, claws its way up his spine and forces him to look at you; forces him to see everything he so desperately tried to avert his eyes from.
It's not just sex, he realizes now.
Osamu occupies a space in your heart and your mouth where love lives when you're not fighting it. You made him a home there, exactly where Atsumu used to return to after he's been gone for too long. It's not like you pushed him out. He did that to himself. Allowed you to fill the void of his absence with someone who is everything Atsumu is not.
Maybe Osamu is the better twin after all, Atsumu thinks. At least he would never take fragments of your heart with him whenever he left you behind. Osamu kept you whole when you were falling apart, all while Atsumu broke you so he could shine brighter for you to see in the distance.
He took your patience for granted, assumed his devotion after pining after you for so long would be enough to keep you warm when he left you alone. Or maybe he just wanted to believe that he's deserving of your love; that even someone like him—fickle, selfish, headstrong—could feel a pair of warm palms cradling his face and making him believe he was worthy of it all.
When has he lost you?
When did your heart start growing thrones—not to hurt him, but to protect yourself?
When did you fall out of love?
You still love him.
When did you fall out of love?
Do you?
"When did you fall out of love?"
He doesn't even realize that he asks the question out loud, the words like shards in his mouth when he swallows. His head sinks down onto your shoulder, forehead pressed against your skin like a prayer.
Not in defeat but in devotion.
Your hand comes up to tangle in his hair, your other resting on top of yours on the bathroom sink. The tremble that goes through you resonates within him, shaking up the part of his heart that has your name written all over its walls. He should have shown it to you more often, shouldn't have left you guessing.
If only he could hear you saying his name once more without it sounding like a curse.
a/n: hi melk sweet!! i got so excited when i pulled your name for the exchange because i loved your wishlist and i love you! thank you for letting me write messy twins for you, i hope i did your idea justice mwah mwah. i'm so happy to know you. happy holidays!! ♡
Oh dear lord I just went through my following and almost everyone from my writers circle hasn’t posted in over a year 😭😭 if anyone knows any active haikyuu posters (esp writers) plz lmk so I can check out their blog (don’t be shy to rec yourself!!!)
No one is more surprised than Hinata when Kageyama does, in fact, come over. Actually, that’s not true. Of all of them, Kageyama seems the most surprised. It’s as if aliens abducted him and dropped him off at Hinata’s family home with an adorable gift box of fruit jellies.
It’s pretty late—eight o’clock at night. So perhaps it’s less that Kageyama did not realize he was coming over and more that he miscalculated how long it would take him to get here and now isn’t sure if it’s appropriate for him to be here. Hinata grabs his wrist and jerks him inside before he can change his mind.
In which Hinata gets Kageyama drunk (by accident!) and learns how Kageyama sees it.
(This took a rather obnoxiously long time all things considered.)
when's that suna series coming back? i loved it so much i need more.
silent, sweet, stolen.
when suna thinks of his relationship with you, that’s all that comes to mind: stolen moments, quick interactions, a secret covertly kept from wandering eyes.
he knows why: his fans (despite only being a high schooler for crying out loud), your rival like nature to the masses (the supposed game), but it mostly still was due to your love for the thrill, the rush of hiding, the adrenaline of affection in secret. suna was mostly game for it too, he’d never turn down a chase or a thrill, especially when you were involved.
“i like them.”
well, that was at least until his best friend voiced out his crush for his partner.
“i like yn.”
“it’s about time you admit it,” osamu scoffs sitting down next to his brother.
“you knew?” atsumu laughs.
“of course i did,” osamu answers. “don’t think i don’t catch you staring at them.”
atsumu’s grin grows wider, almost as if he can’t control it. “yeah, and i think they-”
“are you gonna do anything about it?” suna cuts in.
the twins look at suna across the table, his poker face unknowingly beginning to show cracks.
“i mean,” atsumu laughs, “i might ask them out.”
“you will?” osamu’s eyes go wide.
“you might,” suna mumbles, the chopsticks between his fingers now seconds from snapping.
atsumu runs a hand through his hair, “i have no clue if i should. i mean, do you think they like me?”
“they might,” osamu mumbles. “they’ve turned down a lot of people in the past though.”
“they said they weren’t ready for a relationship,” suna adds. “remember that one time that kid from their math class?”
he remembers it well, the pride from you saying no, the way you both snuck up to the roof when no one was looking, the way you kissed him to reassure him before he-
suna blinks, he’s getting off track.
“but what if they are?” osamu tries. “and what if they’re ready for one with atsumu?” he jokes nudging his brother.
“you’re being oddly supportive,” atsumu mumbles.
“well they haven’t dated anyone in awhile, and neither have you,” osamu explains. “i see how you both interact, and besides, there’s no harm in trying.”
a grin appears on atsumu’s face, “you’re right. i think i’ll at least try.”
and suna’s stomach twists.
“try what?”
you stand over suna with a grin on your face as the boys turn to you.
“nothing,” atsumu quickly replies.
your eyes narrow, grin growing wider as you sit down next to suna, “what were you talking about?”
“nothing,” osamu waves off. “how was your class?”
“stupid,” you answer dully before turning to his twin, “what are you trying?”
there’s a slight blush on his face, “it’s really nothing, i’ll tell you later.”
“you better,” you grin.
and suna does a mental facepalm.
“after school then,” atsumu nods.
“sure,” you answer.
and his stomach twists even tighter.
“atsumu,” suna cuts in.
“what’s up?”
“i have something i need to tell you.”
and that gets the attention of the entire table.
“woah,” atsumu’s eyes widen slightly. “you’re never this serious.”
“is it important?” osamu questions.
and suna looks toward you.
“it is.”
your eyes widen as his eyes plead with you.
and you get his question instantly. “are you sure?” you whisper.
“i need to,” he almost begs. “you win, you won.”
“i win,” you mumble.
“you’ll continue to win until the very end if you please, i’ll give up for you any time,” suna confesses. “i just want this game to end.”
“rin,” you sigh.
“we’ll play a billion more,” he tells you, bringing a grin to your face. “just let me lose this one.”
and you nod, “okay,” before turning to the twins now with knit brows and tilted heads. “we have something to tell you.”
“what is it?” atsumu answers almost softly.
suna lets out a breath.
“we’re together.”
kairakeiji renaissance eraa: i'm still a bit rusty lol but i hope you all liked this hehe
thanks so much for reading!! reblogs/interactions are incredibly appreciated <33
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