Osamu thinks Kita Shinsuke is fucking weird.
It feels blasphemous to even think that, but there are things that cannot be ignored. And Osamu has tried to ignore it.
Osamu has always been the more observant twin.
Not smarter, no matter how many times he tells Atsumu otherwise. Not kinder either, Atsumu is just louder with his opinions.
Osamu is quieter.
And quiet people notice things.
Like back in middle school when Osamu hears his peers talk about how much they dislike his twin brother. Or when he hears Atsumu rummaging through Osamu's closet like he's being sneaky. Or how Ginjima is always the first to intervene whenever the twins fight.
Or how Kita looks at you.
It was already jarring, and seems even fictional, to find out that their robotic captain has a partner.
The shock of it all wore off after a while.
You and Kita were not a loud couple, both in personality and displays of affection. Not the clingy type either. You were focused on your duties as manager, and Kita was focused on his duties as captain.
Honestly, that made it easier to understand why the two of you were together.
Though, between you and Kita, you were much more approachable.
And that's probably when Osamu noticed it.
It happened first with Atsumu.
Atsumu liked you. Not like that, but Atsumu liked anyone who listened to him talk for more than thirty seconds without walking away. You were good at that. You nodded in the right places. Asked questions. Even laughed sometimes, which only encouraged him.
One afternoon, Atsumu leaned against the bench beside you, rambling about some serve he was working on. His towel hung around his neck, his water bottle dangled from one hand, and his entire body angled toward you in that obnoxious way he had when he wanted attention.
You were sorting through the club notebook, only half-listening.
Atsumu stepped closer to point at something on the page.
Kita appeared beside him.
Just a second ago, Kita had been speaking with the coach across the gym. The next, he was standing beside Atsumu, taking the water bottle from his hand.
Atsumu blinked. “Uh, Kita-san?”
“Your bottle is loose.”
Atsumu looked down at the bottle now in Kita’s hand. The cap was, technically, not screwed on properly. A few drops of water had already slid down the side.
But so what?
Sure, it would have been annoying if the bottle spilled. And Kita was exactly the kind of person to notice something like that.
But so what?
Osamu had been tying his shoes nearby, and he knew that nothing interrupted Kita from his tasks unless Kita decided something else had become more important.
So why had their captain left the coach mid-conversation to deal with Atsumu’s water bottle?
As if answering the question before anyone could ask it, Kita looked at you.
“Are your notes alright?”
You glanced down, confused.
There were droplets on the edge of the page.
“Oh,” you didn't notice.
Atsumu finally noticed too. “Ah, sorry ’bout that, manager!”
You shook your head. “No worries.” Then you turned to Kita with a small smile. “It’s all good, Shin.”
Kita nodded.
He handed the bottle back to Atsumu.
Then, to you, he said, “Coach and I are goin’ over the line-up for next week’s practice match.”
It sounded like information.
It also sounded like an invitation.
“Oh, yeah. Sure.” You closed the club notebook and stood. “I’ll bring the notes.”
Kita waited for you to gather your things, then walked with you back to the coach, who looked more confused than offended at being abandoned so suddenly.
Nothing happened after that.
Atsumu’s bottle had been loose. Your notes had nearly gotten wet. Kita had noticed. You had joined the conversation with the coach, which you probably needed to do anyway.
Everything made sense if Osamu looked at it directly.
The next time was Aran.
Aran was probably the safest person on the team to be around. Responsible, kind, normal in a way that felt increasingly rare among Inarizaki volleyball players. If there was anyone Kita had no reason to be strange about, it was Aran.
Which was why Osamu noticed.
It was after practice. You were helping collect stray balls while Aran sat on the bench, trying to tape his fingers with one hand.
“Manager,” Aran called, polite as ever. “Could ya help me for a second?”
You turned immediately. “Sure.”
You had barely taken two steps when Kita appeared beside you.
Kita looked at you first. “Coach is calling for us.”
Then he turned his head slightly. “Riseki.”
The first-year jolted like he had been summoned. “Yes, captain?”
“Help Aran with the tape.”
Aran looked up, surprised. “Oh. Thanks.”
Riseki scrambled over, eager and nervous, and you followed Kita toward the coach without questioning it.
That was it.
Aran needed assistance. Kita provided it. Coach probably did need both the captain and manager for something. Riseki could use the practice. Nothing about it was strange if Osamu looked at each piece separately.
“Ya think it’s jealousy?” Ginjima wondered later, half-joking.
Despite how strange the scene had been, there was no way someone like Kita got jealous.
“I guess even the captain has weaknesses,” Suna said, sounding far too interested.
Osamu remembered how Suna used to be obsessed with finding Kita’s weakness. How romantic that it turned out to be you, the team manager.
This time, it was your bag.
Your bag stood out because of the number of keychains and pins you decorated it with.
You had left it in the gym during practice, tucked beside the bench like always. It was not unusual. You were the manager. You came in and out often enough that the gym might as well have been part of your route.
The team was doing laps outside. Osamu had gone back to grab his bottle on the steps of the gym doors.
As he was drinking, he noticed the doors were slightly ajar. The gym was supposed to be empty.
It wasn’t.
Kita stood near the bench with your bag open in front of him.
For a second, Osamu thought nothing of it. But he felt like he shouldn't interrupt.
Kita was not rummaging.
Your notebook had been taken out and placed neatly on the bench. The loose papers sticking out from between the pages had been straightened and tucked back inside. Your towel, which Osamu was pretty sure had been shoved into the bag earlier, was folded into a clean square.
Kita picked up a small white paper from the bottom of the bag, glanced at it, then set it aside with the other junk.
He knew he should probably say something because it felt kind of wrong to watch in silence.
Still, he didn't move.
Kita continued calmly.
One by one, your things went back into your bag. Notebook first. Pens in the smaller pocket. Towel folded against the side. Hairbrush returned to the front compartment after Kita pulled a few loose strands from the bristles with the same absent care he used when cleaning lint off his own jacket.
The junk went into a small plastic bag.
Crumpled paper. Empty wrappers. Stray hair from the brush.
Trash, Osamu guessed.
Because what else would it be?
Kita tied the plastic bag neatly and set it aside.
You and Kita were dating. Maybe this was normal for you two. Maybe Kita always organized your things because you were used to it and he was Kita, which meant a unkempt bag was probably some kind of moral failure in his eyes. You weren't the messiest person, in Osamu's opinion, but then again, anyone compared to Kita would be considered messy.
Osamu had seen him refold towels someone else had already folded.
This was probably nothing.
So he turned away and went back outside to finish his laps.
By the time everyone returned to the gym, your bag was zipped shut and sitting exactly where you had left it.
Kita was speaking with the coach.
You came in a few minutes later, slightly out of breath from carrying the water bottle crate. When you reached into your bag and pulled out a pen, you paused.
Then you smiled.
“Thanks, Shin.”
Kita looked at you.
Nodded once.
Like he knew exactly what you meant.
Osamu watched from near the wall.
So you knew.
Or at least, you were not surprised.
That was the end of that.
Until Ginjima passed by your bag and stopped.
“Is that a Nitotan keychain?”
You turned, immediately brightening. “Yeah! I got it the other day at the gift shop when I was out shopping with my family.”
“Cute,” Ginjima said, leaning closer to look at it.
“It was the last one too,” you said, sounding pleased. “I almost didn’t get it.”
It was a passing conversation.
Nothing important.
Osamu only happened to hear it because he was nearby.
Practice resumed after that.
Kita had a strange habit of never properly putting on his sports jacket. Something about disliking the static electricity. So he wore it draped over his shoulders instead, sleeves hanging loose.
Osamu was waiting for his turn to spike when he saw something slip from Kita’s pocket.
A crumpled slip of paper, smoothed out and folded neatly.
It fluttered once before landing near Osamu’s shoe.
“Kita-san,” he called automatically, bending to pick it up. “Ya dropped—”
He stopped.
It was a receipt.
His eyes caught the item name printed near the bottom.
Nitotan keychain.
Osamu stared.
His fingers tightened around the paper. Several things going through his head.
Did Kita also buy the same keychain as you? No. If Kita were to buy Nitotan, it would've been for you.
But,
he could not have bought it for you. You had just said you bought it yourself while shopping with your family.
So why did Kita have the receipt?
Osamu’s mind moved, back to the gym earlier.
Your open bag.
The receipt from the bottom.
The plastic bag.
Trash, Osamu had thought.
Because what else would it be?
His mouth went dry.
It was trash.
Then what about the wrappers-
"What is it?"
Kita turned towards him.
His gaze dropped immediately to the paper in Osamu’s hand.
what about the hair from the brush-
For one brief moment, Osamu felt nervous.
He did not know why.
Nothing had happened. It was a receipt. There were a hundred normal explanations for it, probably. Maybe you had given it to Kita. Maybe he had picked it up by mistake. Maybe Osamu was overthinking, because Kita had that effect on people sometimes.
Still, when Kita walked toward him, Osamu resisted the urge to fold the receipt back into his own palm.
Instead, he held it out. The white paper felt heavy on his hand.
The weight of what it implied felt too much.
“Ya dropped this, Captain.”
Kita took it.
No hesitation. No flicker of embarrassment that would have made Osamu feel less insane.
“Thank you,” Kita nodded.
Then he folded the receipt once, neatly, and slipped it back into his pocket.
Kita walked away and went back to speaking with the coach.
Osamu stayed still for a moment longer than he meant to.
Then Atsumu yelled at him to hurry up, and Osamu went back to his drills, ball heavy in his hands.
He waited for his turn to spike.
He told himself it was nothing.
A receipt was nothing.
Then he looked across the gym.
Kita was looking at him.
Not even long enough for anyone else to notice.
Just one glance.
Then Kita turned away and continued speaking to the coach.
Osamu looked down at the ball in his hands.
Yeah.
Fucking weird.
