Chapter Text
THE HOUSE NEXT door had been vacant for as long as Atsumu could remember. Not that he could remember that much anyways, being only seven meant that his memory was as fickle as it could be with his attention span roughly the same length as the life of a fruit-fly.
But, an empty house meant he and Osamu had nothing stopping them from wiggling underneath the splintered teeth of the wood fence to be spit out into the neighboring yard.
It was a haven for them; it was a fantastical world, a forest, a jungle, a desert. It was everything and anything they wished it to be, the grass tinted yellow and a maple tree resting in the far corner, its large shadow pooling across the ground and offering many areas of relief from the scorching sun.
One day, it was their escape, and the next day it belonged to your family. Atsumu remembered tugging at a loose thread on his shirt absentmindedly as his mom introduced you and your mom. He heard words like old friend and college roommates and clocked out pretty quick after that. You had remained by your mom's side, a soft smile appearing on your face when you caught his eye. His answering scowl made your smile waver.
You were a disruption to his life, a gear thrown haphazardly in that suddenly made everything come to a grinding halt only to start turning in a different direction.
Instead of sneaking beneath the fence, they started knocking on the chipped door. Instead of Osamu and him against the world, it was Osamu, him, and you tagging along at the instance of his mother. Instead of having Osamu's attention wholeheartedly devoted to whatever Atsumu wanted to do, he found himself competing for his twin's time as Osamu began to grow closer to you.
Atsumu was many things. Petty was one of them.
If he had any inkling of liking towards you at the start, it was quickly squashed when he realized just how close you and Osamu had gotten. In many ways, you and Osamu were similar; content to exist in silence together, trading books back and forth, willing to listen rather than be the one to start the conversation. But there were also some differences.
Quiet was one word to describe you. Extraordinarily kind another. It didn't take him long to realize that you were easily swayed to do what others asked of you and never seemed to complain when you got slighted.
Atsumu was hungry and you hadn't finished your dango yet? He'd swipe it one off your plate and all you'd do was smile, offering him another one, much to the chagrin of Osamu. Atsumu wanted an extra turn on the creaky old arcade game they frequently haunted? He could count on you being willing to offer him one of your tokens. Atsumu wanted to go catch bugs in the woods and Osamu said he was too tired? All he had to do was ask you and you'd agree, which would make Osamu sigh in annoyance before getting up to tag along.
A year passes. Then two.
Somehow in that time, he'd gotten used to your presence. He still didn't like you very much; sometimes your kindness got on his nerves, sometimes the way you were willing to do anything and everything for people you'd just met made him want to flick you to see if you had a brain, sometimes he just wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you to see if you were even capable of an emotion as strong as rage.
But, despite that, his life that had been disrupted was flowing smoothly once more. He fell into an easy rhythm with school (yuck), homework (YUCK), learning volleyball (fun), and generally being with you (meh) and Osamu (also meh).
He'd gotten used to his new routine, you'd fallen into place, and just like that, life went on.
Three years pass. Four years.
Atsumu comes to a realization one summer evening. Osamu is sitting underneath the maple tree, reading a book you were letting him borrow. You were shakily tossing a volleyball back and forth with Atsumu, your movements unsure and your body tensing every time he tossed it back towards you. Despite your hesitance, you continued to play with him, listening as he babbled on about a professional game he'd convinced his mom to let him watch the night before.
"Are you going to join a team in middle school?" You'd asked curiously.
"Duh!"
You'd just smiled that infuriatingly kind smile of yours. "What position are you gonna try to do?"
He'd caught the volleyball when you sent it back to him, a confident grin flashing across his face. "Setter 'cause that's the coolest! Imma be able to give da best tosses and beat everyone in my way."
Atsumu was many things. Prideful was one of them.
So when your response was to match his enthusiasm, albeit a bit subdued, with your eyes widening and your mouth forming an O, he felt his chest puffing out a bit more. "That does sound cool! I'm sure you'll be the best, Atsumu, after all, you're already talented."
Then you'd smiled once more, the corners of your eyes crinkling from sincerity, your head tilting slightly to the side.
Atsumu blinked. You may be quiet, but he knew you never said anything you didn't mean with absolute certainty. And to hear someone acknowledge his budding dream, to hear someone give him such simple yet sincere words of encouragement...
Huh. Maybe you weren't so bad after all.
"Ha! I guess I am pretty talented, huh." He ignores the warmth of the tips of his ears just as easily as he ignores Osamu's laugh from across the yard, instead basking in the feeling that came with your words. It was easy for him to feel hidden in his daily life, it was simply part of having a twin, but in this moment he felt seen.
Perhaps he could learn to tolerate sharing Osamu if it meant you would continue to put your unwavering faith in him.
Two months pass. Four.
Atsumu is still petty and prideful. You are still quiet and kind. Osamu remains silent and indifferent.
And yet there's been a slight change. Atsumu still takes your food, but you've grown used to it and pack extra. Osamu still likes to sneak over to your house for some peace and quiet, but on rare occasions Atsumu joins, sitting with his back against the couch hunched over a screen as he watches volleyball games. Atsumu still likes to push your buttons to see if he can make you snap, you still respond without a hint of any volatile emotion, but sometimes your eyes twinkle with amusement.
Everything ran smoothly, just like clockwork.
Five months pass. Summer is just around the corner.
Atsumu convinces Osamu and you to catch fireflies one night. Surprisingly, you're the best at it. It's annoying but the joyous giggle you make when you open your cupped palms to reveal the flickering bug makes it hard to get angry at the fact that he's technically losing. He settles for a few offhanded comments and a snarky remark whenever you miss one.
In the end, he catches more than Osamu and ties with you, something he isn't necessarily happy about but can make peace with. He finds himself laying on the cool grass with you and his twin on either side of him, the three of you staring up at the constellations overhead.
He's surprised to feel a tinge of sadness when your mom calls for you to come home.
One month. Summer is here.
Atsumu can't find his left shoe and his brother's snickers aren't helping his temper. Finally, he finds it discarded underneath the pile of clothes in the corner of their room and tugs it on impatiently, shouldering past his twin and knocking his shoulder against Osamu's. The two shove each other a few times as they leave the house, Atsumu getting in a few good hits before dodging Osamu's retaliation.
By the time they're close to the park the minor disagreement is long forgotten and they're walking side by side. Sure, they're a little late because his shoe decided to play hide-and-seek, but Atsumu figured you'd be waiting for them by the entrance, smile in place.
You're not and all it takes is a quick scan of the mostly open park to find you, his sudden growth spurt aiding him in his search.
Three boys he recognizes from school are standing in front of you and the middle one is holding a book in the air. You were still on the shorter side and it's clear they're using that to their advantages, their jeers reaching his ears. You reach up to grab the book anyways and nearly get it, only to stumble back was the middle one pushes you.
You had been on your tippy toes and the shove sends you careening backwards, landing on the ground harshly.
Atsumu is many things. Protective was one of them.
He's running before his mind catches up with his body. "That doesn' belong to ya, ya jerks!"
His shout announces his arrival, hands already balled into fists. He remembers the looks of discomfort that overcome their face as he dashed between them and you, mouth twisting into a sneer. You may still be short, but Atsumu was tall, taller than these boys and with a loose enough temper to take on all of them without a second thought.
(What he doesn't know is you had stared at him as his shadow draped over you, Atsumu reduced to little more than a silhouette outlined in a golden haze of sunlight. How oddly comforting that sight had been.)
When he turns back around, book in hand, Osamu is kneeling next to you, examining your hands. The blacktop had embedded itself into your palms, red beads of blood blooming in haphazard patterns from where you'd caught yourself when you fell. You were sniffling, a few stray tears trickling down your cheeks and you quickly whipped them away with the back of your hand.
Osamu had helped you up and Atsumu holds out the book, not looking at you.
"Look, here's your book. You don't hav'ta cry anymore, 'kay?"
You'd taken it, cradling it to your chest with your forearms to not irritate your palms anymore.
"Okay." You'd whispered back.
Osamu, ever the voice of reason, was quick to suggest that they made their way back to your house so your mom could take care of your hands. Somehow, it was just Atsumu and you who entered your house, Osamu muttering something neither of you caught before disappearing.
Your mom is kind, like you, but there's a certain severity to her that sets him on edge. Maybe it's simply her face; all sharp edges and raised eyebrows and piercing eyes that seemed to be able to pick apart truth from lie. Maybe it's because, while she's kind, he's never seen your mom smile. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Either way, he sits quietly on the couch while she cleans your palms.
He's surprised when she turns her sharp gaze to him, shrinking backwards slightly as she holds out her hand only to realize she wants to take a look at the bruises forming on his knuckles.
He expects a reprimand but all he gets is, "If you ever punch someone again, make sure you don't tuck your thumb inside your fist. You're lucky you didn't break it."
A soothing ointment cream and a few bandaids later, she leaves to put the first aid kit away. You reappear, having gone up to your room, and Atsumu is mildly curious about the large jar you're holding. It's made out of glass so he has an unobstructed view of the carefully folded origami cranes inside, all of varying sizes and colors.
You'd held it out to him shyly. "You can pick one."
Atsumu's eleven-year-old brain didn't understand. "Huh? Why?"
"As a thank you."
It's a weird thank you but he reaches inside, fishing one out at random. It's cherry red with ornamental white flowers blooming along spindly branches, golden flecks glimmering as they catch the light. You pulled the jar back towards you after he's done.
"Why do ya have so many?"
"Mama says if I fold one thousand, my wish will be granted.
He peers quizzically at the jar. "That doesn't look like a thousand ta me."
"Oh it's not, I only have twenty-one... well twenty now."
He frowns. "I don't want this paper if it's gonna mess with whatever you're doing."
"It's okay! I'll just fold one thousand and one. An extra one won't hurt, maybe it'll help my wish get granted quicker."
"Watcha wishin' for?" He puts the crane in his pocket.
For the first time, he can hear the stubbornness in your voice. "If I tell you, it won't come true."
"Hmph. You're probably wishin' for somethin' lame anyways."
Atsumu heads home soon after, finding Osamu waiting with their mom. Unlike your mom, she does reprimand him, though it ends with a his hair being ruffled and a gentle reminder to use his words instead of his fists next time.
By the time he remembers about the crane, it's nightfall. He fishes it out of his pocket, staring at the crumpled wings. He scowls slightly and smooths the wrinkled wings out before placing it on the windowsill next to his bed.
A few more months. Fall descends, winter howling at its heels.
You've gotten quieter, if that was possible. Atsumu overhears you telling Osamu your mom has been promoted at work and that she's going to have to travel to Tokyo. You end up spending a week with them until she returns, picking at your nails until he nags you into stopping.
The snow thaws. Flowers tentatively begin to bloom.
Atsumu had seen you cry countless times, hence his use of the nickname 'crybaby' for you. He'd never expected to want to cry with you when you break the news that your mom has been offered a job at a branch in Tokyo and she's going to take it. No, that's not right, he doesn't want to cry. But he doesn't feel good either, a sinking feeling overtaking him.
He's quiet. You're quiet. Osamu is quiet.
Everything is the same, except it's not. An invisible guillotine hangs overhead as the date of the move draws closer and it's almost impressive how many adventures the three of you manage to squeeze into your days in-between school and the twin's volleyball practice.
Eighteen days later, you're gone. A sudden frost kills the flowers.
The house next door is vacant once more. Once again, his life has been upheaved, and he finds himself laying on his bed, staring into space. Red catches the corner of his eye and he looks over at his windowsill.
Atsumu scowls at the paper crane before turning onto his side, deciding to get rid of it in the morning. It took years for him to get used to you, and just when he figured maybe you weren't too bad, you were moving over two hundred miles away. No more catching fireflies or getting an extra snack because you were too polite to turn him down or finally having someone stare at him like he was the sun or climbing over the rickety fence and landing with a solid thump! on the ground to the sound of your claps.
Time marches on and he doesn't resist the pull, the tide of life washing the remnants of you away. Another family moves into your house, an older couple who occasionally reprimand him for being too loud and then offer him food if he ever looks hungry.
He grows; 2 centimeters, then 3 more, 5 more, and suddenly he's a head taller than everyone he knows with the exception of Osamu. Volleyball, once a fun activity, has consumed his life, drawing him in with the allure of greatness and coaxing him to stay with the promise of glory. People begin to take notice of him and he pretends he doesn't mind that they can't tell him and Osamu apart; he forgets that there was someone who once could.
Just like that, five years erased by five hours of distance until you were nothing more than a worn childhood memory varnished with idyllic daydreams.
(He never does get around to throwing that crane away.)