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Practice was tough. Tougher now that the 2021 Olympics is only months away. Coach has been trying for riskier plays, kept them practicing and practicing, making good use of the time they have left until the season begins. Their athletic trainer – Iwaizumi Hajime, a fairly laid-back man – has also gotten strict, always following up on any discomfort felt (especially on one of their promising players, Sakusa Kiyoomi, with his hypermobility), cautious to avoid injuries that may prevent a player from standing on the world-stage. Tension hung on their shoulders, heavy with the purpose of finally raking their way to the top and having a golden medal hung around their necks. It was during a short water break – and a very well deserved one – that he finally got the time to take a breath. It has been an exhausting round of serving drills. His right hand stung from the many times he hit the ball with all his force, his arm numb and his calves burn, legs almost giving up. He sat down at one of the benches, downing a long swig of water messily, droplets trickling to his chest. He took deep breaths, letting the rush wear down slowly.
He then took his phone, the screen lighting up revealing a picture that up until now never fails to put another crack to his already broken heart. A masochist – that’s what he is. He takes a moment to continue to stare at the face staring back at him, taking in the features that also litter on his own face. The same features he gets to see on his mirror every morning. The same features he gets to continue to wear while the other sleeps soundly six feet underground. A constant reminder that now – in this wide gym, bristling with steady noise, people crowding around him – he has never felt more alone.
Despite the growing ache in his chest, his lips twitched before breaking out into a lopsided smile. Nostalgia hits him hard. He might get to see his smile everyday – on the mirror, on his phone, on his face – nothing can ever top from seeing the pure, wide one with his own eyes. Getting to bask in the brightness that wraps around him like a cloak. Getting to look at him again and not on some pixels on a fucking screen.
He opened his messaging app. Series of one-sided texts showing up. His fingers tapped on the screen on instinct. As if it was second nature to keep talking to a dead person.
hey
today is so tiring
i swear to god im skipping tomorrow
well
its not like youre there to scold me now
hey
wish u were here
“Miya,” A voice cuts him off from his spiralling emotions. He looked up to see Sakusa, his voice tight and eyes looking down at him. No, not at him – at his phone.
He let him. Then, with a shaky breath, he looked away and continued, “Practice is starting again,” At that, his eyes wandered around the court, and indeed, the players have already resumed on their respective drills.
He clicked off his phone and stood up, “Yeah,” he muttered shortly. Sakusa stood still in his spot. He walked past him, letting him take his own time.
But with a small voice, Sakusa spoke again. “I miss him too,”
His footsteps slowed down, before reaching a stop. “I really, really, miss him,” He turned around. He took in Sakusa’s broad shoulders, hunched again (in his mind, he could hear his brother’s voice scolding him for going back to this bad habit), his hands clenched into tight fists, nails probably digging into flesh, his face crumpled back into a frown – laughs and smiles he once shared taken along with the ghost of the person who, with much perseverance and resolve, put them there.
He chuckled in response. “Who knew that bastard was easy to miss, huh?” He paused, then whispered a low c’mon, head gesturing towards the court.
Sakusa only smiled tightly before following him.
Miya Atsumu was a loud and annoying presence.
But Osamu would take that loud and annoying presence any day over the silence of having lost his twin brother.
***
Osamu woke up with a start, cold sweat embracing his skin. His eyes shut open before squinting at the harsh light coming in from his window. He could feel his heart running loudly, his mind replaying the scenes from his wildly vivid dream. He sat up, leaning on his headboard.
He chuckled harshly but his eyes betrayed him as tears started to gather before steadily flowing down his cheeks. He tilted his head back, breathing deeply from his chest as if doing so can remove the pain rooted tightly within.
It was a memory. Memory of Atsumu from when they were kids. He shouldn’t be this startled as his brother now takes up his dreams as he couldn’t bother Osamu in person. Even when dead, Osamu still couldn’t get rid of Atsumu like the self-centred motherfucker that he is. But this time, it was different. His dreams (Osamu would like to call them – nightly visits from his ever-loving twin – where they sit back and watch their life marathons) have mainly consisted of an older Atsumu. The youngest he had dreamt was when they were back in high school – the older sporting an infuriating piss-blonde hair and an even more infuriating smug look. To have an 8-year old Atsumu in his head brings a different kind of sentiment, an even worse one.
Osamu closed his eyes, smiling bitterly as he recalled the memory.
The weather was perfect. The sun shone just a perfect amount. The breeze brought in just a perfect temperature. They were outside their house, laying their backs on their grassy yard. Well, Atsumu was, before persuading a stubborn Osamu (ha! he was just not too keen on their mother chiding them for getting their shirts dirty) and when Osamu did not budge, eventually pulling out the ‘I’m older than you’ card. He really hated it when Atsumu pulls tricks like that. But, obediently, he laid down beside him (later, when their mother gets mad, he’ll pin it all on Atsumu). Atsumu’s smile was wide, with one tooth missing at the upper left. Osamu only rolled his eyes before closing them and letting the wind cool his sweat (they have just gone from a jogging race – one which Osamu won, but Atsumu would fight tooth and nail saying that the younger cheated only to save his own pride).
“Aaah, I’m tired,” Atsumu stated, arms spreading wide.
Osamu muttered a ‘weak’, earning a kick in the shin.
“Shut yer face, Osamu. ‘Yer ass only won ‘cuz ya cheated!” Osamu only grinned mockingly back at him which Atsumu returned with a raspberry blow.
“AND WHAT DO YA THINK YOU TWO ARE DOING?” Both children sat up quickly at their mother’s voice.
“It’s all Atsumu’s fault,” Osamu quickly said, Atsumu glaring hard at the back of his head.
~
It was on a perfectly normal day that Osamu’s perfectly normal world shattered into a million pieces. Fragments that he could never place back together to the way it was before. Nothing can ever replace the missing pieces he has lost in just one night. On a perfectly normal night, his life changed drastically in a turn he never expected. On a perfectly normal night, Atsumu instantly slipped from their fingers. On a perfectly normal night, half of Osamu died alongside the brother he shared it with.
The shop was busy. It was 7 in a winter evening and people swarmed in for a taste of their food and warmth. Osaka has always overwhelmed him. Hyogo was, by in no means, small. But, there’s just something about the city that fills Osamu with intimidation. But then again, all people are the same when it comes to hunger for delicious food. So, he’s learned to shrug off the weight over time and embrace the comfort of delighting his people with the food he makes.
Orders came rushing in, a flurry of customers coming in and out. The shop was alive. Chatters filling up the room, laughter ringing around. As the orders slowed down and their food laid down on their respective tables, Osamu watched as the scene around him unfolds.
This. This is the reason why he gave up something so precious to him, as volleyball. To give up his reputation as one-half of the Miya Twins, leave something he’s inherently good at and known for, for something he’s not even sure will succeed (no, but really, for someone as stubborn as him, he won’t accept such thing as defeat). For people to come to his shop, bond with their friends, their family, connect with all the other people around them, all while eating the hearty food Osamu made with his own hands. For them to know what love is in a bite of onigiri. The smiles wide on his customers’ faces are far greater an achievement that no amount of medals can compare.
“Miya-san, there’s a call for you. It’s Sakusa-kun,” Kaori’s voice snapped him out of his reverie. She was one of their workers, a charismatic and pretty lady – a perfect appeal to their customers.
He smiles as he takes the phone from her, muttering a small thanks. Calls from Sakusa have always been an entertainment for him. They usually consist of him grumbling about his brother. He only laughs at that. Despite being in a steady relationship with Atsumu for almost two years now, it seems like he never runs out of complaints. Sakusa’s words are harsh and blunt, but Osamu knows better. He could hear the smile in his voice, uncontrollably fond of Atsumu’s antics despite his whines. And it’s not like Osamu has any problem with that, he wouldn’t like missing a chance on listening about his brother’s stupidity.
He braces himself for an another hour-long rant but his smile dropped when Sakusa’s usual introduction of ‘guess what your brother did today’ was replaced with sobs.
His first thought was ‘'Tsumu, you’ve really fucked it up this time.’
With a relationship like theirs, Sakusa and Atsumu do fight often. Mostly, banter. Or petty conflicts. But, sometimes, things also go out of control. They are two hot-headed persons known for their lack of filter. One thing leads to another and then Atsumu will come over, wearing a heavy face with a heavier heart, and Osamu will just spring up his favorite minced tuna, no words exchanged for a while before Atsumu speaks up about the fight. He will stay over for one night – to let each other cool down and because he’s a hopelessly in love fool who can’t bear to stay away from his lover, especially when things get rough on the going.
But for something to blow up out of proportion and to have the cool and collected Sakusa Kiyoomi crying his heart out, is a first.
Osamu could hear his hiccups, almost like he’s struggling to breathe. At this Osamu spoke up, voice gentle, “Hey, hey. Sakusa, breathe. Breathe,”
But Sakusa doesn’t seem to have heard him over his sobs. “A-Atsumu..” He whimpered, his voice shivering, struggling to even utter one syllable.
So he had been right. His brother really did fuck up.
Before he could ask what’s going on, Sakusa continued, only repeating Atsumu’s name.
There’s something really wrong. It’s one thing to have Sakusa calling him, crying, and another thing for him to be this incoherent of words. His voice was wet, so thick with emotion that it also made Osamu’s chest tighten.
“H-h-he’s gone. Atsumu’s – Atsumu’s gone, ‘Samu,”
Osamu’s heart started to beat faster at Sakusa’s words. Silence enveloped his ears, the noise of the shop absent. An uncomfortable feeling settled on his stomach, making it feel heavier despite him having not eaten his dinner yet.
“He didn’t –“ His voice cracked. He paused, licking his lips, eyes roaming around the kitchen. “H-he didn’t come to the shop tonight. Try calling Bokuto.” The words came out from him before he could notice it. Like he’s running on autopilot.
His mouth feels dry. He licks his lips once more. His hands curled into fists as his breaths slowly started to shallow.
At that Sakusa only sobbed more.
“N-no. Atsumu’s gone,” Osamu held his breath, his heart thumping wildly on his chest. So hard that he almost feels dizzy. He curled his hand around the edge of the counter, digging his palm roughly along the side, anchoring himself.
“He’s dead.”
As though saying it only confirms what is really happening, Sakusa cried harder. Wet sniffs and rapid breaths flowing through the phone. It had been a terrible car crash, with Atsumu not even making it to the hospital.
Osamu’s heart stopped. His mind blank, as Sakusa’s words carefully sank in. His knees shook before his legs completely gave up. His eyes were unmoving as he fell down to the floor, phone clattering as his hold on it loosened.
His breath came in quick pants. He clutched at his chest, hoping it will alleviate the ache somehow.
Atsumu’s dead.
No. He can’t be fucking dead. This must be a fucking prank. Shits and giggles for the team.
Sakusa wouldn’t joke something like that. They would never go this far.
His hands trembled wildly. He can’t even find the strength to sit up properly.
Atsumu. Atsumu.
Atsumu.
His mind quickly recalled the last time he saw his brother. Weeks ago. Two? Three? A month? It was right after practice and his team have been utterly hungry for onigiri. It was already late in the evening, their shop empty save for the starving athletes he was currently catering to. They left fairly soon after, their captain reminding them they still have an early morning practice the next day.
Atsumu was as always, loud and boisterous. Bossily demanding for his younger brother to make him his favorite. Osamu told him to fuck off but went to prepare his minced tuna.
It warmed his heart. For Atsumu to bring his teammates with him to Osamu’s place. A form of acceptance, something he never really known he longed for. He knew perfectly fine Atsumu can go on without him. His drive to push harder to the top armored him, tunnelling his vision. But, it feels different, nicer, that he’s supported Osamu in his own dream.
Atsumu. Atsumu’s grin matched his own as he took a bite of his own onigiri, happily munching at the food Osamu made for him, especially for him. His eyes shut with glee, savoring the taste, wrinkles creasing his face. It was a look of pure joy. A look Osamu would never get to see again.
If only he had known. Fuck.
If only he had known that would be the last time he’d be seeing his brother’s face, he would’ve – he would’ve....
A laugh erupted from his mouth. A dry laugh accompanied with the stinging in his eyes. His sadistic mind replayed all of Atsumu.
Atsumu laughing. Atsumu crying. Atsumu smiling.
Atsumu’s frustation as they lost to Karasuno. Atsumu’s triumph as he led their team to victory. Atsumu’s anger as Osamu revealed his future plans.
His toes curled as he let his head hung low between his arms.
Atsumu’s tenacity as he gripped at Osamu’s jacket declaring with all his might: “When you are dead, I’ll tell you, ‘See, I was happier than you’!”
Osamu’s humorless laughter died down. A promise they both held onto. A naive promise to assure each other they’ll be fine. They’ll be happy.
He smiled bitterly, before biting sharply on his bottom lip to stop the quivering, though it was futile.
I wish I could say the same, Tsumu.
I wish I could.
Only then did he let his tears fall down.
~
Osamu’s decision was something he never really expected to make, but never regretted doing.
He turned over the shop.
Not to grieve. No.
Atsumu had been so close. He had it within his reach already, ready for the taking – ready for the grabbing. But, death had been to impatient to take its brightest star, dimming the light that was only starting to shine.
Osamu couldn’t make it this year. Instead, he took the time to refine the skills that were once harbored in his muscles. Relearning. Enhancing. Improving.
The national team took a big loss. One of its promising players – gone, just like that. It took a while for the MSBY Jackals to get back on its track – Sakusa, having to take one season off, to be able to gain back the spark he once had on the court – a spark he used to share with the love of his life.
And so as the 2020 Olympics played on his TV screen, the lack of Miya among the roster, but present on all of the players’ earnest faces, Osamu continued on practicing. His serves. His spikes.
He will never be Atsumu. And he will never try to be. Atsumu was irreplaceable – someone who left a huge motherfucking footprint on all their paths – footprint that no other shoes can fill in.
But – he’d been so close. Just a hair’s breadth away. And Osamu would do everything to make sure he gets his brother to the top – to the one goal he’s always yearned for.
And as he watches as Japan takes the crown as victors – Osamu only smiles as he sees their proud expressions, gold medals hung heavy with the weight of the player they dedicated the matches for. He watches as Sakusa closes his eyes – a serene look on his face – as if he was all alone in a stadium filled with people from many places of the world – alone with the vision of his lover right by his side, sharing in the joy of victory.
As the camera pans to show all of Japan’s national team, Osamu could only shed a tear matching the ones present on all of their faces.
***
Osamu’s nerves wouldn’t leave him as the plane touched down in the lands of Paris. His mind was empty as they have been led to their hotel, then to their respective rooms.
This was it.
This was it.
Everything he had been preparing for. Everything he had been working so hard for. It took him years to get to this stage. Long, strenuous years to come back better at a sport he left at, to prove his worth as a volleyball player again.
As if sensing his agitation, Kageyama, his roommate for the time-being, spoke.
“We’re going to win again, Miya-san.” His eyes were steeled with resolve. Fierce, yet comforting.
“Yeah,” He looked out the window. Lights shone brightly. The noise outside completely shut off. A memory danced in his head. They were in Osamu’s flat with Atsumu staring out at the night bare sky. His voice was as sure as ever.
“We’re going to win this time, ‘Samu. We’re going to get the world look at Japan – look at us.”
He smiled, a genuine one. He stared back at Kageyama, matching the fire in his eyes.
“We will.”
***
The lights of the stadium almost blinded him. The noise overwhelming his ears. Sakusa stood by his side – the serene look he always has before and after a match, written on his face. It was like he was having a conversation with his brother. At that, he smiled, facing at the crowd in front of him. The court in the middle. His teammates beside him.
We’re here, ‘Tsumu.
We’ve made it to the top.
He takes a deep, big breath, then took a step forward with his team, closer to the taste of victory.
Miya, O.
#7.
And with that, Osamu lived the dream his brother never got to. He lived a life for the both of them.
~
Osamu placed down the flowers on his brother’s grave, uttering a little prayer. He then closed his eyes, feeling the warm breeze sweep through him. A small smile took over his face. He imagined Atsumu’s own smile, the sincere one. After a few moments, he left. No words needed to be said. Just the both of them.
Together.
Because that’s all they ever needed to be.
And with every step Osamu makes, he knows his brother is just right by side.
Miya Atsumu
1995 – 2020
He who lived the happier life