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Osamu slumped through the door of a shared apartment, decorated half-hazardly with Christmas lights, and crash landed on the sofa, tired down to his aching bones. He hated his job. All he wanted to do was afford college. To get a degree in business. To open his own shop. It was a long shot, but he’d been working his ass off washing dishes, trying to earn the money. His brother told him to take a break. He didn’t listen.
Speaking of brothers, Atsumu swung his head around the doorway of the dayroom, hearing Osamu come home. He saw him collapsed on the sofa, and sighed. Osamu watched through heavy eyelids as he came to sit next to him, sinking the old cushion, dipping his head. He looked down at him, clearly judging because god damn it, he’d told him so! But Osamu didn’t care. His arms hurt, his legs hurt, he was cold and tired and sad. He sat up.
Osamu fell onto his brother. He really needed a hug, and Atsumu’s strong arms provided. They always did. He was never the emotional one of the two, he didn’t get in fights or cry at simple things, but every once in a while he ran himself into the ground. Now was one of those times. He leaned his head on Atsumu’s shoulder and sighed, long and deep and exhausted. His brother was warm, and comforting, and a bit of an ass but right now he could not find the will to care. He could fall asleep here, if Atsumu would let him. But alas,
“Alright sleepin beauty, you need to get to bed.”
And he was right, but Osamu really did not want to move.
“I’m not carryin ya, get yer ass up.”
He fake snored. Atsumu sighed, bopped him lightly on the back of the head, and heaved him up into a child’s carry. It wasn’t hard. Osamu was lighter than he looked. Atsumu knew he’d been skipping meals.
“Ya big baby,” he said, and walked the two of them into the bedroom.
It was a one-bedroom apartment. Each twin got a half of the room, each had a small bed to themselves, but nonetheless Osamu would not let his brother go. Apparently Atsumu was expecting this, because he didn’t bother trying to drop him in his own bed. God damn Atsumu and his weird knowledge of how his twin worked. If you were to ask either of them, they’d deny any telepathic abilities. If you approached a friend of theirs about it, you would get an essay on all the reasons they had some weird, twin-related magic power. But even if they did, Osamu was far too tired to use it. Snow started dusting their city like confectioner’s sugar, and he was cold.
Atsumu laid them down in his bed, a twin-size ironically, pajamas be damned. There was no way he was getting his brother to stand up, so he didn’t bother. They stayed there together, Osamu clinging to his twin like a koala. Atsumu was so warm, and he was sick and tired of the cold stupid kitchen where he worked. He held tightly, like if his grip was too loose that dirty dish-water would wash him away. Atsumu cradled his head, and sighed. He folded himself around his twin, hoping to any god that would listen that Osamu would be okay, to please take care of him.
“I’m sorry,” Osamu murmured, “You were right.”
“I know I’m right! Next time listen to me. I worry about you, ya idiot.”
Osamu nodded his head.
“I know. I will.”
The elephant in the room walked away. They felt closer, like it had been squeezing to sit between them. Osamu knew he should have listened. He meant what he said about “next time.” He also knew that his brother, partner for life, kid he was forced into bunk beds and matching outfits with, was here. He would always be here, even when Osamu fucked up. Atsumu would be there, and they would be okay. Everything would be okay.