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Let it be known that Miya Atsumu is a good captain who looks after his team and makes sure everyone’s in the best condition they can be. He’s a good captain, filling in Kita-san’s shoes. He’s a captain who can command the respect of the team.
Apparently, his batchmates didn’t get the memo.
---
“Oi! Get yer asses over here, practice ain’t over just yet!”
Atsumu leaves the second years to tend to the spanking-new first years as he attempts to herd his fellow third-yearers into a huddle. It’s his fifth practice as team captain, and he wants to make a good impression.
And to make said good impression, doesn’t he need the cooperation of his dear batchmates?
“Samu, yer vice-captain! Do somethin’!”
Next to him, his brother lowers his water bottle from his mouth and sighs. “Alright, alright,” he mutters, walking ahead to slap Suna on the shoulder. “Oi, Captain wants us.”
Suna and Gin, who are standing to the side watching a video on Suna’s phone, turn around. Suna clicks his phone shut.
“I thought you said it was free practice,” Suna says mildly.
“If it helps, we’re actually watchin’ volleyball videos,” Gin quips.
Atsumu crosses his arms. “Yeah, yeah, but what I really meant was, we’re gonna practice our serves and receives today, ‘cause Kita-san’s no longer with us and we needa hold down the fort with a good defensive tactic. Like we discussed this afternoon?”
“Ya idiot, don’t make it sound like Kita-san departed or somethin’.”
“Yadda yadda, Samu, ya know what I meant!” Atsumu waves his hand in frustration. “Let’s go, one last round of drills before we call it a day!”
Gin nods vigorously and runs to grab a volleyball as Suna sighs and places his phone on the nearby bench.
“The sun’s gonna set...” he mutters reluctantly, but before Atsumu can retort back Osamu dumps a ball in Suna’s hands and pushes him away.
“It’s for ya own good. Just fifteen more minutes.”
Suna grumbles a little, but lets himself be pushed to the other corner of the court. Gin laughs as he jogs to Atsumu with another ball in hand.
“That’s some teamwork between ya and Osamu, ain’t it?”
“Teamwork? I-” Atsumu huffs. “I just wanna be a good captain, that’s all.”
Atsumu, quietly, has in his mind one goal this school year, above and beyond going to Nationals: he wants to prove that he’s a good captain, able to lead his team and bring out their best potential. He needs to face Kita-san and Aran-kun and see warmth and pride in their faces. He needs his brother to admit that hey, volleyball’s the best, after all.
Gin shrugs. “Yeah, an’ Osamu’s supportin’ ya, ain’t he?”
They watch as Osamu shouts something at Suna, and Suna, who’s tossing the ball in his hands, sends it flying. They start a quick rally which ends with the ball flying across the court, both of them chasing after it.
Atsumu scoffs. Scrub.
“Supportin’ me?”
Gin nods, sticking a giant thumbs-up in his face.
Atsumu takes a deep breath, putting some distance between himself and Gin before getting into position and gesturing for Gin to begin the drills.
He’s doing okay. He’s here, doing drills. His team is doing fine. He’s okay.
---
...He just needs to hear it from someone who can validate this for him.
“Aran-kuuuuuun.”
Atsumu rolls over in his bed as Aran sighs in his ear.
“...Atsumu, I told ya, yer doin’ fine.”
“But, Aran-kun,” Atsumu whines. “I don’t wanna be doin’ just fine. I wanna be doin’ the best!”
He and Aran do have calls every now and then. Aran, the ever-so-reliable senior, gives him good advice about being a third-year and tells him about the operations of the V-League, which he most recently entered. Atsumu catches him up on Inarizaki news and embarrassing stories about Osamu. The embarrassing stories are a must.
“Ya a good player and a good leader. Did you ever stop to think about why Shinsuke chose ya to lead the team?”
Atsumu sputters. He knows he’s good, that’s a given. It’s not that he’s not confident in himself. “Well-yeah, but...” he gulps. “I kinda wish I could command respect as easily as Kita-san, yanno?”
Give one stare and send chills down their spines. That’s the kind of power Kita held in Inarizaki.
Aran chuckles lightly. “Atsumu, ya need to earn respect. It doesn’t just come to ya. Even Shinsuke had to shake it outta ya at the beginning.”
“...Ah.”
“And, everyone develops their own brand of respect. Ya don’t needa chase Shinsuke for his brand of leadership. Ya choose ya own.”
---
Atsumu ponders over Aran’s advice, folds it and keep it in his pocket as he starts to figure out what his “brand” of leadership is. So he decides that he needs to observe his teammates more closely than before, to figure out their quirks and pull them together.
He finds out that the tallest first-year has weak ankles, and orders him to buy ankle guards. He finds out that Riseki, now a second-year, is poor at math, and pushes Osamu to share his notes with him. He finds out that the nearest convenience store has started stocking his favourite brand of sports drink, and makes it a point to store some extra bottles in the locker room for the club’s use.
The third-years are fine, he thinks at first. He knows them well. They’ve been through a lot together - I mean, he’s known Osamu since they were embryos.
He doesn’t expect to find out that there are still some things that he doesn’t know.
---
It’s in the savoury foods aisle of the convenience store the day after that Atsumu unlocks his phone and notices Sakusa Kiyoomi on his instagram feed. Again. And, you see-
-Two months ago, Itachiyama’s Sakusa made his first and only instagram account. In the span of the past two months, he posted one photo of him with an egg sandwich. And, and.
In the span of these two months, he’s amassed six more followers than Miya Atsumu, who has been in the game since the start of high school.
A rush of irritation runs through his veins. Look, he’s got nothing against the guy (except their loss at last year’s Inter-High, which, yes, is personal), but besting him on a social media app despite putting in zero effort is an irredeemable act.
“The nerve of this fella…” he mutters under his breath, checking the post. It’s not Sakusa’s account; it’s a sports journalism account, recounting an interview from January and displaying a photo of him spiking beyond a row of three blockers. His wrist is swung twisted, ball a blur on the other side of the court, and on his face he sports a look of concentration, marred only by a slight smirk on his lips, like he knows he’s already gotten the point.
Of course. Asshole. Atsumu huffs. It’s not his fault they can’t get good photos like that of him in matches. He’s a setter, not a spiker. He’d probably just look like he’s doing an incredible squat. But the setters get the work done, not the spikers. Look at this guy, blocking his setter from view, he thinks irritably. That’s the real champion right there, his setter, having to set for this pompous arse.
He nudges his brother with his elbow. “Samu, get a load of this idiot.”
When his brother doesn’t respond straight away, he turns and waves his phone at him. “Samu.”
It’s apparent that his brother’s not paying attention to him, but what sticks out to Atsumu is that his brother’s lips have this tiny uplift as he glances down at his phone and types something. Hah?
In an instant, Osamu’s face smoothens out and he pockets it. “What?”
Atsumu raises a brow, hand still midair with his phone. “What was that?”
“What was what?”
Atsumu lowers his arm slowly, Sakusa forgotten. “Ya smiled at ya phone.”
“I didn’t smile.”
“Ya did!”
Osamu rolls his eyes. “Whatever, Tsumu. I don’t hafta answer to ya.”
Atsumu eyes him suspiciously as they walk to the next aisle.
“All right,” he mutters. “Keep yer secrets.” For now, that is. Twins don’t keep secrets from each other. That’s just gospel truth.
---
The chuupet that Osamu buys is for Suna.
Atsumu doesn’t get the appeal of chuupets in any season other than summer. They’re sweet, but hold zero nutritional value and aren’t even that refreshing when the weather’s equally cold.
“Is Suna eating okay?” he asks Osamu one evening when they’re washing the dishes.
Osamu gives him a look. “Why wouldja ask me that kinda question?”
“He’s always eatin’ chuupets,'' Atsumu grumbles. “It’s unhealthy. We shouldn’t let him.”
Osamu stares at him for a moment, and then laughs. “He’s not your son, Tsumu,” he chortles. “He can do whatever the hell he wants.”
Atsumu’s eyes narrow. No, this is it. His time to shine as captain.
The next day, he catches Suna’s arm as he’s exiting the gym after practice.
“Ya better be eatin’ proper, ya dunce,” he barks, “or ya don’t get to be a regular anymore.”
Suna glances at him, surveying him once over.
“I am eating proper,” he says nonchalantly.
He doesn’t elaborate. Atsumu frowns.
“Okay, but-” he rattles Suna’s arm, determined. “-wouldja not eat so many sweets all the time? Think about the nutrition, would ya.”
“I don’t eat chuupets all the time.”
“Okay, well. Just promise me yer eatin’ three meals a day.”
Suna sighs as he frees himself of Atsumu’s grip. “Alright, alright, I promise,” he mutters, waving him away. “Sheesh, you’re like a mother hen. Go cluck at someone else.”
Suna walks away as Atsumu stands there, stunned.
Oh, he sees now. He’s the mother hen. This is his brand of leadership.
Osamu, the asshole, laughs at him all night when he tells him that.
---
Despite it all, he supposes, Osamu is as every bit of a mother hen as he is, though he shows it differently.
“Try this.” Osamu sets down a plate of onigiri in front of him. “Tuna mayo. I added a handful of chopped spring onion this time.”
Atsumu bites down, teeth sinking into rice, and immediately he lights up. It’s made fresh, so the rice is still warm, unlike those sold at convenience stores. Osamu told him before, sometimes for sushi it’s better to have the rice be a little colder, but when it comes to rice balls, nothing beats the feeling of biting into something freshly packed, dense with filling and warmth. He feels it now, the soft mix of tuna and mayonnaise fitting in with the crunch of finely chopped spring onion, held together by the firm, solid grains of rice.
It’s good, like good, good. Like, people may willingly pay money for this, good. Of course, he’d never say that to his brother’s face.
Osamu surveys his expression closely. Atsumu takes a second bite and sighs in contentment.
“Eh?” Osamu’s face splits into a grin. “Not bad, right?”
Atsumu nods, chewing. Shit, it’s good. It’s so good that Atsumu actually feels uplifted. A strange pride settles in his chest.
“It’s-” he swallows. “Samu, are ya gonna feed this to me all the time, when we graduate?”
Osamu cocks his head to the side.
“If ya pay me, I will.” He starts laughing before Atsumu can say anything. “Relax, Tsumu,” he says, grin widening. “Once I get my business up and runnin’, yer always welcome ta come by. What kinda brother do ya take me for?”
It’s unfair that his brother’s having this much fun not playing volleyball, but Atsumu can’t find it within him to curse his happiness.
He cradles the onigiri in his hands.
“How didja know to add spring onions?” he asks.
Osamu’s gaze settles on the rice ball closest to him, and picks it up, eyeing the shape.
“Suna said it’d go together,” he says simply, before taking a bite.
Ah. Atsumu continues to eat his onigiri in silence. If Atsumu’s eating the finished product, then Suna’s the guinea pig. It doesn’t come as a surprise to him, since he’s already vaguely aware about Osamu’s food experiments and the fact that his brother feeds Suna, sometimes. Atsumu gets their leftovers on Saturday mornings.
“Well,” he says, finishing the last bite, “‘s a good addition.”
Osamu’s expression seems to soften.
“Yeah.” Steam wafts gently out of the open half of his half-eaten rice ball as he glances at it thoughtfully. “It’s a good fit.”
Atsumu is dimly aware of some possibly deeper meaning into this, but he shoves it aside in the name of a second helping.
---
They visit Kita at the end of their summer holidays, in what is an exciting but nerve-wracking journey to his family’s farm. Atsumu stands in awe in front of Kita’s traditional home, which sits in front of an impressive field and rolling hills dotted with farmlife. It’s freeing to look at.
“It’s incredible,” Atsumu finds himself saying. “Samu, should I be a farmer?”
Osamu scoffs. “Ya wouldn’t be able to last one day in the fields, Tsumu.”
“Why, you-” Atsumu opens his mouth, but freezes as he hears the door creaking open. Kita’s grandmother steps out, smiling warmly at them both.
“Come in,” she says, taking their hands. “Shin-chan’s tendin’ to the crops but he’ll be here in a minute, if ya don’t mind waitin’.”
Atsumu meekly complies. “U-Uh, of course, Obaa-chan.”
Visiting Kita is arguably the highlight of his summer. Kita chats with them amiably, his sternness from high school having settled into a calm, sturdy presence. They learn more about his studies and experience at the farm, and Osamu asks questions about farming and food.
Kita is comforting and familiar, yet he reminds Atsumu that in half a year, things will change, again, and he and Osamu, as will the rest of Inarizaki, will go their separate ways.
He’s okay. He’s ready.
Kita ends up giving them a whole honey melon, a dozen fresh eggs, strawberries, and a bundle of vegetables. Osamu’s eyes light up like he’s receiving the grand prize for a lucky draw.
The next day, Suna comes over to steal some melon slices, and joins them in making strawberry ice pops.
---
Summer doesn’t last for very long after that, and soon the landscape is overtaken by a smattering of yellow and red.
Today, Atsumu decides, is the last day they can lunch on the school rooftop. His ass is cold. His fingers are cold. He’s gonna have to moisturise the tips again after this or he’ll have to recalibrate his grip on the ball during practice.
The benefit is that he gets a bento from Osamu. Unfortunately, that also means he has to sit around while he and Suna laugh over his instagram profile and compare it to bloody Sakusa Kiyoomi, who again has captured the hearts of six more volleyball-loving fans than he has.
The tamagoyaki is, actually, so tasty Atsumu is willing to overlook everything.
What he can’t overlook comes next.
Osamu and Suna are speaking, saying something stupid, probably, when Osamu suddenly smiles and places a piece of egg into Suna’s box. Suna himself looks a bit astonished, but his expression softens and he eats it anyway.
This isn’t real. Atsumu is dreaming. The Miya Osamu he grew up with never shares food.
He looks down at his chopsticks, clicks them together, and looks back at Osamu again. He heard the clink of his utensils. He can still feel the wind on his face and his grip on his bento box.
He forgets to say goodbye to Suna when he picks himself up and leaves, because he’s still stuck on the fact that it’s the first time he’s actually seen Osamu willingly share food with someone else.
Osamu raises a brow at him, and he realises he’s gaping. “...What.”
“Ya just...” Atsumu blinks. “Yanno. Didja just...do that?”
“Do what?”
Okay, his brother’s taking him for a ride. “No, lemme demonstrate-” Atsumu leans forward with his chopsticks, stretching towards his bento, only to be swatted away by Osamu - as Osamu has done, over and over again, each time he’s tried it under any circumstance. “Ya see? Ya don’t let me take your food, ever, Or anyone.”
Osamu continues to play dumb. “Yeah, and?”
Atsumu groans. He really has to point out the obvious. Well, if that’s how he wants to play.
“But ya just gave Suna a piece. Willingly. He didn’t even ask. Ya just...did.””
Osamu blinks.
“And so what if I did?” he replies.
“Wha- ya really- Samu.” Atsumu wants to toss his chopsticks at him, manners be damned. “Since when have you been okay with sharin’ food with anyone at all?”
Because the Miya Osamu he knows and grew up with is a selfish fucker who doesn’t share food, not with his friends, not with him, not with their mom. Atsumu’s not being even remotely dramatic. Does Suna know how significant this is?
Osamu has the audacity, at this point, to blush. “’S not like I’ve not let him do that before,” he mutters. “I cook sometimes. We share food.”
Atsumu is actually going to punch him.
“Ya cook for him?” He corrects himself. “Okay, I know that already, but ya share food with him? Next thing I know, ya gon- oh.”
Atsumu’s jaw hangs open. Oh, okay, he sees now. He sees the heck out of it now.
Osamu’s connection to food goes beyond his ambition of owning a restaurant. Atsumu’s known from young that it’s part of his love language, too; helping out in the kitchen to show his appreciation, making food as a part of his routine to start or end the day, criticising convenience-store-bought Valentine’s day chocolates because they’re not made with love. It’s dumb. Osamu’s philosophy around food is so, so dumb.
But it makes him so, so obvious.
“Ohhh. Osamuuuu.”
Osamu frowns at him. “Tsumu, what?”
Judging by his brother’s blank look, Osamu isn’t playing dumb. He’s just, actually, dumb. Atsumu slaps his mouth shut.
“‘M not sayin’ anything.”
The frown deepens. “‘Cause there’s nothin’ to say.”
“Nope. There’s something to unpack here, alright.”
“Nothing’s happening,” Osamu says, but as he utters that, doubt flickers across his face.
Oh, something’s happening and he knows it, Atsumu thinks as he watches his brother go through the five stages of grief to process this. It’s not really his fault that his brother’s questioning his entire life before him, fifteen minutes to the end of their lunch break, but he supposes he should probably snap him out of it now and deal with it later.
“Uh, Samu?”
Physically, Osamu is there. Mentally, he’s knocking his head on a lamppost. Probably. Atsumu doesn’t know. He’s a twin, not a psychic.
“Oi, Samu!”
Something registers with Osamu and his eyes widen. “Nothing’s happening,” he says again, although, judging by the look on his face, he’s had maybe a quarter of an epiphany.
Atsumu’s eyes narrow. Clearly, something is happening, but his brother is stupid and truly, that can’t be helped. This isn’t homework, he’s not gonna help him. Yet.
“Yer-” he starts, before closing his mouth, realising that nothing that he says today is going to stick. He huffs and shakes his head. “Forget it. Yer an idiot, Samu. Figure it out yerself.”
The energy, for now, is better spent eating his lunch.
---
As much as Atsumu wants to call his brother out on his bullshit, he has better things to occupy himself with, like Nationals, exams, and securing his entry into the V-League. Hopefully, somewhere in between, Osamu does something.
Unfortunately, for them both, he does literally nothing. Not after Nationals, not after exams, not even after Atsumu signs with the MSBY Black Jackals and tells him to catch up with him. Atsumu doesn’t really get it, because the more he observes them, the more he realises that they like each other.
It’s subtle, and not at all about the wallpapers Osamu has on his phone (which, by the way, are all food, held in Suna’s hands, come on). It’s about how they can be rough with each other and gentle the next, lowered voices to convey messages just between them, small knocks and touches at the elbows and knuckles that Atsumu sometimes notices when they walk, talk, or eat together.
It’s ridiculous. Atsumu makes sure he conveys it to Osamu.
“It’s just...complicated. I don’t think I can. Ya don’t get it, Tsumu.”
Atsumu hates it when people tell him it’s complicated and refuse to work through their problems. It’s lazy.
“Tell me what I don’t get.”
It all boils down to the fact that Osamu is taking root in Hyogo and Suna is not. Osamu’s scared.
Atsumu huffs. Coward. So be it. He’s not the guardian of his brother’s happiness, anyway.
Privately, he knows Suna’s in talks with the EJP Raijin. He wonders if he’s told Osamu yet.
---
When Osamu says to him on the evening after graduation that he realised that Suna’s moving away, Atsumu figures that nope, he didn’t. He doesn’t really know why.
“Tsumu,” Osamu mumbles, breaking the silence at their dinner table. “Did I mess up?”
Atsumu glances at him. It’s confusing, because Osamu’s wearing this expression like he just broke up with Suna or something, which is literally impossible because they never did get together.
Who’s to blame? He wants to say to him, because maybe if Osamu didn’t keep his feelings to himself and wasn’t such a coward, he’d be happier today.
He sighs. “I can’t say,” he replies instead, because that’s the truth. What’s between them is between them. He can’t make his brother’s (incredibly stupid) decisions for him.
---
He and Suna do meet, every week or so, to gym or practice at the neighbourhood gym, while they plan their respective moves out of town.
“You’re barely moving,” Suna points out to him one day. “You’re going to Osaka; that’s a direct train ride away.”
“Everything’s a train ride away,” Atsumu retorts, jabbing at the metro map Suna’s produced on his phone. “Ya ain’t that far either.”
That’s not exactly true. For now, Suna’s relocating to Shizuoka which, fair enough, is a few hours away, not accounting for the local train timings. Suna rolls his eyes and moves his phone away.
“It’s far enough,” he replies. Atsumu feels a stab.
“Um.” He doesn’t know if he should say this. “Are ya gonna be okay, movin’?”
“Hm?” Suna glances at him. “I’ll be fine. I’ve moved before.”
Atsumu shakes his head. “Y’know what I mean.”
For a moment, Suna appears as though he’s contemplating feigning ignorance. Then, he sighs.
“I’ll be fine,” he repeats.
Atsumu is not entirely convinced.
He moves in six weeks. Suna, in four.
---
Samu
I left my phone charger at work today
Could ya help me get it
Atsumu grumbles at the message. Fine, Osamu cut his palm, fine, he’ll do him a favour. The bakery’s on the way home, so he’ll do it.
Tsumu
Yer so useless. I’ll do it
Ya owe me a croissant
As he enters the shop, he notices the person behind the counter eyeing him and his blonde hair.
“Ah.” The lady nods to herself. “The other Miya.”
“Oh.” So that’s Marie-san. He raises an arm in greeting. “Heya, boss...?”
She extends her arm and drops an item into his palm. “His phone charger,” she says. “He texted me. And also-” she extends her other arm, dropping a small paper bag on top. “For Rin-kun.”
Um. “Rintarou?” Atsumu looks at her in confusion. “Why? And where?”
“He helped us out earlier, when your brother cut his hand.” She sighs and points to the stairs. “He’s on the rooftop. See if he’s okay?”
Atsumu has more questions than he has answers, but he nods, dumping the charger in his bag and moving to the stairs. “Should I be concerned?”
She shakes her head. “Youth,” she says, simply.
---
Miraculously, when Atsumu steps onto the rooftop, he’s met with one startled Suna Rintarou, empty coffee cup at his side.
Suna’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t move from where he’s seated. “Atsumu?”
“’Course it’s me, ya dummy,” he says, walking towards him. “What’re ya even doin’ here?”
“No, wait, I-” Suna clears his throat. “What are you doing here?”
Atsumu sighs. “I came here to collect Samu’s charger, but his boss said ya were up here.”
At the mention of Osamu, Suna winces. Atsumu gulps. Well, he’s here now, so. No other way to get through this but be direct.
“Didja fight with him?”
“What do you think?” Suna scowls at him, before his expression drops entirely. “Okay, that’s not a fair question. I’m sorry.”
“Uh.” Suna’s not normally this volatile. Atsumu doesn’t know how to approach him. He extends his arm, holding out the paper bag.
“Croissant from the boss?”
Suna slowly takes it from him, placing it on his lap. “...Thanks,” he mumbles, looking down.
Atsumu sighs. “Look, what happened? Are ya okay?”
Suna stares at him before his face suddenly scrunches up and he brings his head into his hands.
“Fuck, Atsumu, I’m so stupid,” he mutters.
Atsumu is struck, there and then, with the realisation that in the three years he has known and been friends with Suna Rintarou, he’s never seen him be this emotional. He wonders if times like this warrant an emergency call to Aran-kun. Or maybe Kita-san. Oh, man.
He inches over cautiously, seating himself on the floor next to him. “Um…do you wanna…” Talk about it, he tries to say, but then realises that he’s wading into unchartered territory and has no idea where to start.
Suna shakes his head and shudders a little. “I’m panicking. Just…sit there for a while.”
“Ah…” Atsumu stares at him, bewildered, as he notices the slight unsteadiness in Suna’s hands and shoulders. It’s uncharacteristic, and somewhat alarming, and just beneath there’s a drop of water on the floor, oh, wait, there’s another, oh, what the fuck-
“Suna, are ya…crying?”
Suna turns his head sharply. “No, water’s just leaking out of my face- yes, you dipshit, I’m crying,” he snaps, the irritation in his voice largely drowned out by the slow drip of tears down his cheeks and onto his shaking palms. “You have a problem with that?”
“No! I’m just-” Atsumu sputters. “I’m concerned, okay? You’ve never ever cried in front of any of us before, so what the fuck happened?”
Instead of following up with a sarcastic remark, Suna seems to deflate a little more into himself, which sets off alarm bells in Atsumu’s head.
“Atsumu, look- I don’t have my life together,” he says, shakily.
“Same, dumbass. We’re young.”
“Yeah, but you have a plan. You always had one. I don’t, really.” The other boy’s hands tremble. “It boils down to the fact that I don't know exactly what to do about the future, about-” he exhales. “-about the people in my life. I’ve never had to think about it, until now.”
Is this about Samu? Fuck, it’s about Samu.
“Well, do ya really need to?” Atsumu offers. “Bother about where people, I mean. As long as ya have yerself.”
Suna shakes his head.
“I don’t need to,” he says, “but I want to.”
Atsumu contemplates him, and decides, fuck this, I’m taking one for the team.
“How about you just tell Samu?”
Suna glances at him through the tears, startled. “Huh?”
It’s obvious, isn’t it. “Tell Samu that you’re in love with him.”
Atsumu watches as Suna’s eyes widen and he goes completely still.
“…Or I’ll tell him for ya.”
“You wouldn’t-” Suna opens his mouth, gapes, and closes it. Suddenly, he looks afraid. “Atsumu…what do you know?”
Atsumu contemplates telling him everything he’s learnt from Osamu. “Yanno, ya should just stay it straight,” he says instead. “Samu’s too stupid to understand it otherwise.”
Suna wrings his fingers nervously.
“I think I may have said it already,” he admits, “but not out loud.”
Oh, he realises. This is why they fought.
“Yer sayin’,” Atsumu breathes. “That my brother said no.”
Suna doesn’t respond. Atsumu is furious.
“What the fuck.” Osamu has the audacity to pine for a year and not do anything, then sulk, and then reject the affection that he was after. The thought that maybe violence is the answer crosses his mind. “I’m gonna beat the shit outta him.”
Suna glances at him quickly. “No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No, you’re-” Suna sighs in frustration. “Why are we even going through this?”
“Because,” Atsumu argues, “he’s making a mistake, and I think he knows it too.” He can’t believe he’s saying this. “Give my brother a second chance.”
Suna falls quiet again, silence punctuated by stuttering breaths.
“How can you just say that,” he mutters, eventually.
“Trust me, Suna.” He’s gonna fix this whether they like it or not. Whether it involves a punch or two, that’s up to him to decide. They can thank him later.
Suna shakes his head, but lets it go. “Do what you want,” he says, quietly.
Atsumu nods. “You gonna be okay here? Better leave soon.”
“Yeah, yeah, I-” he sighs, wiping his eyes. “I’ll go soon. I’m okay.”
He hesitates as he glances up.
“Thanks, Tsumu.”
Atsumu slaps him on his head.
“Ya save yer thanks for a better occasion, dumbass.”
---
Atsumu slaps the top of Osamu’s hand as he winds the bandage around his palm the next day.
“Ow- what the fuck!” Osamu exclaims, flinching, but Atsumu’s grip is firm.
“Ya deserve it,” he mutters back. “Ya waited too long and dug yerself into this mess.”
“Nothin’ to do with this cut,” Osamu mumbles, but he stills, letting Atsumu tuck in the tape at the corner. “...Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Atsumu shakes his hands off. “Get outta here, ya scrub.”
---
Oh, the satisfaction of being correct and Osamu being wrong and dumb.
Suna
Can I say my thanks now?
Atsumu gleams with self-satisfaction as he eyes the text message and image sent in by Suna and his brother respectively. His brother’s happy, but you know who’s happier? One Miya Atsumu, because now, Samu owes him big time.
Tsumu
Yer both welcome
---
BONUS SCENE:
Atsumu wrinkles his nose at Osamu when he returns home that night. “Ew, gross.”
His brother stops at the doorway. “What?”
“Ya look happy.” Atsumu waves his spoon at him. “Too happy. Make it stop.”
Osamu rolls his eyes at him. “Ass. I’m not even smilin’ or anything.”
That is true, but it doesn’t change the fact that Osamu’s humming and his eyes seem soft. With feeling. Again, gross.
Atsumu waves his arm. “‘S not that! It’s the vibes, Samu. Yer gonna be all couply and stuff and I hafta watch all of that.” He cringes. “Wow, I hate that visual image.”
Osamu shakes his head. “Yer a literal child. Also, you only have yourself to thank for this, yanno.”
Which, well, fine, that’s fair. He did this to himself. He made his brother happy. What a dick move.
“Whatever.” Atsumu’s lips curl into a grin. “Now, ya owe me.”
Osamu stares at him warily. Slowly, he folds his arms.
“...Whaddya want, Tsumu?”
Atsumu’s grin widens as he raises his phone towards Osamu’s face because oh, yes, you owe me, and we’re gonna do something that’s so much better than you chasing after Suna Rintarou.
“We’re gonna topple Sakusa Kiyoomi’s Instagram account.”