Archive of Our Own

When Atsumu had been sitting at his desk earlier this afternoon - stubbornly editing a coworker’s markup for a typesetting proposal the two of them had collaborated on to pitch (he knew they weren’t going to organize the folders the way he wanted - the correct way) - the last thing he expected was every notification setting on every device in his possession to go off.

One after another, notifications began buzzing from his pocket, his messenger bag, his laptop, and his watch. The damn fax machine on his desk even started printing a memo. None of these devices were set to make noise when pinged, thank god, but the buzzing was more than a little annoying.

It became especially annoying when Atsumu was forced to check these notifications - partially out of the perfectly reasonable fear that someone had died, and partly due to the fact that he had nowhere else to turn to even if he wanted to ignore it out of sheer pettiness since every screen he could possibly use had been taken up by obnoxious messages.

The annoyance settling in Atsumu’s brain pitched a fucking tent and set up camp for the day when he realized every notification had come from a single forwarded calendar update and learned of its sender and contents.

“The fuck?” Atsumu questioned audibly, but still half under his breath. He was at work, after all.

Then, another ding. This time from his email. Again.

From: Miya Osamu <[email protected]>

To: Miya Atsumu <[email protected]>

CC: Suna Rintarou <[email protected]>

Subject: Dinner Tonight - 7PM

 

Accept the invite.

And so, Atsumu didn’t have much of a choice in the matter (not that he would have minded free dinner from ’Samu anyways). A few texts to Shin and two morally- and professionally-questionable email threads with ’Samu later, Atsumu is walking into the apartment his brother and Rin share at seven PM on the dot.

“If the two of ya wanted to have dinner with me, ya didn’t have’ta send a damn email,” Atsumu whines, letting the door shut behind him with a thud. “What’re we? Coworkers?”

“Yes.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes in the general direction of where Rin’s voice had come from.

“Ya know that’s not what I meant.” Atsumu turns and faces the kitchen, where ’Samu is hunched over a series of pans that are emitting smells that make his mouth water.

“’Samu, yer literally my brother. The fuck are ya sendin’ me evites for?”

’Samu doesn’t even pick up his head to look at him, the bastard.

“Can’t believe yer so picky about how I contact ya. Don’t you and Kita-san message each other exclusively over email or somethin’?”

“Definitely,” Rin chimes in from where he’s sitting at the table, also not looking up at Atsumu. Instead he appears to be sucked into whatever’s on his phone screen.

Atsumu takes his shoes and coat off with a huff and places his keys in a bowl by the door.

“Yer both idiots. Shin has a phone like everyone else in the twenty-first century.”

Rin snorts. “To send emails on.”

Atsumu feels a twang of annoyance. It’s different than the usual annoyance he gets whenever he spends more than five seconds with ’Samu and Rin when they’re at their worst. No, this pang in his ribs hits much closer to the soft middle part of his chest - likely due to the fact his brother and Rin are making jabs at Shin.

Atsumu knows he’s getting defensive over innocuous banter - he’s been around Rin and ’Samu his entire life and knows they’re harmless, even if they are bitchy. He suppresses the litany of curses threatening to rise from his throat and settles for a much more toned-down response.

“Fuck you, Rin. We text and call each other using our phone numbers like normal people.”

Subtle. Non-defensive. Perfect.

Rin clicks his tongue and Atsumu imagines strangling him across the dinner table.

“Typical.”

Atsumu leans back against the kitchen counter, a few feet from the mess his brother has made on the countertop and in direct view of where Rin is sitting. He folds his arms across his chest dramatically with a roll of his eyes.

“What do the two of ya use to message each other then? Fuckin’ telepathy?”

’Samu barks a laugh. “The word yer lookin’ for is telekinesis, dumbass, and a’course not. Telekinesis isn’t real.”

Atsumu turns to Rin incredulously, mouth agape at his own twin’s abject stupidity. Rin is already snickering silently at the table where ’Samu cant see him. He shrugs at Atsumu, as if to say ‘Well? You heard him.’ Atsumu flicks him off. Rin is no stranger to telling someone they said something dumb, even his dumbass fiance, but he prefers making Atsumu mad by saying nothing and letting ’Samu think he’s in the right.

Atsumu bites his cheek to stop a series of insults from spilling from his mouth. Growing up with a twin requires reading the situation at hand and becoming adept at picking which battles are worth the next few hours of his life, and after more than one second’s worth of thought he knows there’s no winning this argument against his literal idiot of a brother, especially if Rin keeps quiet.

“Whatever.” Atsumu waves his hand flippantly. “Why ’m I here?”

’Samu turns to face him and points the spatula in his hands at Atsumu, jabbing at him a couple times for good measure. Atsumu has half a mind to grab the end of the spatula and yank it out of his hand.

“Don’t catch that attitude with me, is it a crime to spend time with my piece’a shit brother every once in a while? I’ll tell ma when I call her tomorrow that ya gave me lip the last time I so graciously opened my home to the likes of you.”

“And I’ll tell her that yer treatin’ me like a random coworker instead’a the brother ya were blessed to have been given.”

’Samu snorts and returns both his gaze and his spatula to the pan.

“Yeah, okay. Put our plates on the table if yer done bitchin’ and talkin’ nonsense.” Atsumu opens his mouth to argue that he was provoked first, but ’Samu interrupts him before he can so much as whine in disagreement.

“Sunarin, can ya watch him and make sure he doesn’t fuck it up somehow?”

Atsumu settles for flicking his brother off instead. A classic in the Miya household growing up, much to their ma’s dismay.

Rin sets his phone down and gets up from the table. “Already on it.”

“Oh, fuck off - both of ya.”

Rin goes over to the cabinet behind Atsumu’s head, pulls down three sets of plates, and holds them out to him with a sarcastic smile. Atsumu accepts the dishes with a huff and goes to place them on the table while Rin gets napkins and drinks from the fridge.

Atsumu settles in his spot at the table and watches his good-for-nothing brother and Rin from his seat. Rin helps ’Samu transfer the food he made from the pan to a bowl and collects the rice cooker to put on the table.

There’s nothing particularly romantic about it - they’re not even talking to each other. But Atsumu sees their soft edges as they move around each other in the kitchen wordlessly, in a dance of sorts. Atsumu can’t help the way his chest warms at the sight of two of the closest people in his life happy, together.

Shin has made him such a sap when it comes to love. It’s almost disgusting how clearly he can see tenderness in ’Samu’s eyes and fondness in Rin’s smile when they’re together. Sure, he saw it before, but now Atsumu sees Shin’s eyes, Shin’s mouth, hears Shin’s voice in every affectionate moment between the two, and it makes him much softer than it ever had in the past.

Atsumu doesn’t hate it as much as he maybe thinks he should. It’s his brother for god’s sake. But also, it’s his brother. And he’s happy. Disgusting.

But - not really.

They’re still bastards, though - no matter how in love they are or how happy Atsumu is for them.

In the time it takes for Atsumu to collect his thoughts concerning ’Samu and Rin’s love life, the devils themselves have finished setting the table and are already serving themselves. Atsumu quickly follows suit to appease the growing emptiness in his stomach, helping himself to a generous serving of rice which has ’Samu scowling as if he doesn’t make extra when Atsumu comes. Which he definitely does - Atsumu knows he does.

Atsumu shoves enough food in his mouth that it could probably be deemed a choking hazard. At the taste of ’Samu’s home cooking - a perfect recreation of the tonkatsu their ma used to make - his shoulders sink, relieving tension he didn’t even know he was holding. It burns the roof of his mouth slightly, but that can be easily overlooked in favor of the warmth that immediately fills his fingertips when the meat melts on his tongue.

“How’re things with Kita-san?”

Atsumu’s mouth stills mid-chew and he squints at ’Samu accusatorily. He swallows his bite whole, ignoring the slight strain in his throat on its way down and his ma’s voice in the back of his head telling him not to swallow all of his food at once. He points at ’Samu with his chopsticks and gestures towards Rin with them.

“What’s wrong with ya? Did you two break up or somethin’?”

Rin snorts. A sarcastic display of confusion crosses ’Samu’s features.

“Jesus, no. What’s got yer panties in a twist? Can’t even ask a damn question.”

“Ya never ask about Shin. In fact, ’m pretty sure ya hate him.”

“We don’t hate him. It’s a genuine question,” Rin replies between bites.

“Tell that to the jokes ya were makin’ earlier.”

’Samu dismisses Atsumu with a wave of his hand.

“Yer mad about that? That was just jokes, ’Tsumu. Don’t tell me love has made ya lose yer sense of humor.”

Atsumu makes a sound of protest. A few grains of rice spill from his very full mouth, and ’Samu winces in disgust. He swallows quickly and presses on because maybe, just maybe, saying they hated Shin was a bit of an exaggeration on his part.

“But ya are scared of him, for whatever reason.”

“You used to be scared of him, too, before you decided it was hot,” Rin counters simply. He flashes a grin that makes Atsumu want to slam his own head into the dining table.

“That’s not what -” Atsumu falters, Rin’s words catching up to him in waves.

“Shin’s real nice. Ya just gotta understand that everythin’ he says comes from a good place.”

Rin raises his eyebrow.

“It’s true! Ya could also start callin ‘im Shin, too, if ya wanted. He doesn’t mind.”

“No way in hell am I calling Kita-san Shin to his face. You still call him Shinsuke-san at the office, so I’m not taking your advice on what to call him.”

The tips of Atsumu’s ears burn. He wishes they didn’t because he has no reason to be embarrassed that he calls Shin something else at work. It’s not like he calls him Kita-san like he did before they started dating or anything, so Rin can shove it.

“It’s because we’re at the office! We hafta keep it at least a little professional. S’not my problem both of ya choose to be unprofessional at work,” Atsumu argues. He continues quickly, before either of them point out he refers to the two of them by nicknames when they’re at the office.

“Ya could for sure call him something other than Kita-san when yer not at work. He won’t bite.”

’Samu interrupts before Rin can say anything else, thankfully (or not, Atsumu isn’t sure).

“Listen, ’Tsumu, we hear ya. We believe everythin’ you’ve been sayin’. Personally, it still doesn’t stop me from thinkin’ he’s gonna hit the backs of my hands with a ruler whenever I put the wrong date somewhere on one of those forms of his. So, ’m gonna refrain from callin’ him anythin’ other than Kita-san for the foreseeable future.”

Rin turns to ’Samu and gestures vaguely at Atsumu, igniting a new annoyance-caused migraine over his left temple.

“’Samu, he’s not going to get it. Kita-san probably does hit him with a ruler - he just likes it.”

Atsumu stuffs his mouth with food and lifts a hand up, imagining pushing the two of them away with some kind of telekinetic (not telepathic) power he desperately wishes he had at this moment. He closes his eyes and shakes his head as he swallows yet another bite far too big to be safe.

“Yer disgusting. Stop projecting yer sex-life onto mine.”

Rin sticks out his tongue, showing Atsumu the chewed-up food in his mouth.

“You wish you had what we have.”

Atsumu pretends to throw up with an obnoxiously loud retching sound. He shudders at the thought of Rin and ’Samu having sex. Fuck, now that’s disgusting.

“I absolutely do not, thanks. ‘M more than satisfied where I am now.”

“So ya keep tellin’ us,” ’Samu replies with the most annoying lilt in his voice that makes Atsumu want to rip his hair out.

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Rin adds. “I would have preferred to go my whole life without thinking about you two fucking. Or either of you fucking at all.”

’Samu raises his chopsticks in agreement.

“Yer preachin’ to the choir here, Sunarin.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes. They are such hypocrites. Way more than they’ve ever claimed Atsumu to be, that’s for sure.

“It’s not like y’all aren’t disgusting, too. I know way too much about yer business.” A few dozen memories of the times he accidentally opened the wrong drawers at Rin’s place before he moved in with ’Samu and a number of drunk conversations with his loose-lipped brother over the years play through his mind like the shittiest record player in the world.

“Ya probably wouldn’t if ya didn’t come around and make me cook for ya all the time,” ’Samu argues - like it’s somehow his fault that ’Samu gets giggly and gossipy like a schoolgirl when he’s had too much to drink.

Atsumu whines.

“But yer just so good at it, ’Samu, what else am I s’pposed to do?”

“Make yer boyfriend cook for ya. Or maybe ya should learn how’ta cook for him for a change.”

“Shin already does cook for me. I can’t ask him to do it any more than he already does,” Atsumu groans. “And ‘m a mess in the kitchen unless I practice, ya know that - I’ve already wowed Shin with the things I can make, I need more time to do it again. Ma had no choice but to give you most of her cookin’ skills after she gave me all her good looks.”

’Samu grunts.

“Damn right she gave me all her cookin’ skills. I got everythin’ she had to offer. You got the leftovers.”

Rin ignores their commentary on their ma and butts in before Atsumu can even start a reply to that outrageously false claim.

“Feeling guilt over asking someone to cook for you doesn’t seem like you.”

“Yer so mean. I’m a person, yanno. I have feelin’s too,” Atsumu juts his bottom lip out in an over-exaggerated pout he knows Rin hates.

A look of disgust twitches on Rin’s face.

“It’s gross how much you like him.”

And huh - look at that. Having Rin point out how soft he is doesn’t embarrass him as much as he expects it to. It’s almost enough to make him laugh at Rin’s failure to provoke him.

In fact, he just barely stops himself from barking a laugh, only because it would come off as sarcastic, and he is definitely very much in love with Shin.

“The two of ya are literally getting married in, like, two months or some bullshit,” Atsumu counters, trying to get attention away from himself before either of them can notice the amusement he can’t seem to suppress slipping through in the form of his curled lip.

’Samu grunts, as if he has something of more value to add than comment on the fact that he’s getting married in just a couple short months.

“Speaking of, ya wanna come to the weddin’?”

Atsumu gapes at him. He shifts his gaze to Rin, who is looking at him and chewing his food slowly like he’s bored. He turns his attention back to ’Samu and waves his arms incredulously.

“A’course I do - what the fuck! Was I not invited before?”

Rin shrugs.

“We were talking about it.”

“Fuck you.”

’Samu snaps at Atsumu - literally snaps at him, with his fingers.

“Oi, watch yer mouth.” God, Atsumu has never wanted to give in to his childhood carnal urges to bite ’Samu so hard he draws blood as badly as he does right now.

Before he gets the chance to weigh his options and decide if he wants to make a snide remark in return or kick ’Samu under the table, ’Samu gets up and rifles through a box on their wooden coffee table. He takes out a crisp, white envelope, and slides it across the tabletop to Atsumu as he returns to his seat.

“Here’s the invite, before ya start spewin’ more filth. We were gonna give Kita-san his own, but we could only order these in even sets. So we figured ya could just bring him as yer plus one.”

Atsumu eyes the envelope in his hands. His name and address is written in fine blue pen in neat handwriting that is no doubt Rin’s. Atsumu cracks a smile over the mental image he is thanked with of Rin spending an entire afternoon tediously putting together, addressing, and labelling envelopes in his pretty handwriting while no doubt spewing curses and complaints left and right.

“Yer so cheap.”

“Hey, weddin’s are expensive,” ’Samu clicks his tongue and begins eating again.

“Fine. I’ll let ’im know.” Atsumu turns the envelope over and sticks his thumb in the seal to rip it open. He pauses before taking the invitation out and eyes ’Samu and Rin suspiciously.

“How come I still haven’t heard anythin’ about bein’ one of yer best men?”

“You didn’t make the cut,” Rin deadpans.

’Samu snorts a laugh and jabs his chopsticks at Atsumu before he has a chance to even feign offense.

“We decided havin’ groomsmen and all that would get too annoying to deal with. We’re pickin’ people to speak at the reception instead.”

Typical. It’s so like Rin and ’Samu to find something so simple annoying and choose to forgo it altogether. No groomsmen at all? No best man? Does that mean there won’t even be a single bachelor party that Atsumu was definitely not planning on using as an excuse to get drunker than he has in years? Lame.

Atsumu rolls his eyes and slides the invitation out of the envelope at last.

“It’s okay if ya got in a fight over both wantin’ me as yer best man and just decided to not do them altogether. I’d understand.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what happened. We just both wanted you so bad we almost cancelled the wedding over it,” Rin replies with enough sarcasm to send Atsumu’s entire brain into the mental equivalent of another eyeroll.

“Thank ya,” Atsumu says with a cheeky grin sure to make Rin wish he could ignore him for the rest of dinner. He turns the invitation over in his fingertips and inspects the beautiful dark characters that read, ‘Please join us as we exchange wedding vows’ at the top, right below the bold, sweeping characters spelling out their names. Below which lists the time and location of the wedding, along with contact information to send an RSVP.

At least the invite is tasteful, that’s a good sign that they might have actually put work into planning the wedding well.

“‘M I speakin’ at the reception?”

“No,” Rin interrupts before Atsumu has even finished asking his question, as expected. Atsumu shoots daggers at him with his eyes and waits for ’Samu’s answer.

’Samu seems to think about his answer carefully, which makes Atsumu even more annoyed than if he had just said no like Rin had. Of course Atsumu’s going to be speaking at the reception. He's the brother of one of the grooms, and the best friend of the other. He checks literally every possible box on this metaphorical list - what the fuck is ’Samu even doing pretending to consider an answer other than yes.

“If ya want, I guess we can fill ya in.”

They’re tasteless - both of them.

“Sign me up.”

Rin groans, but it lacks the irritated bite it usually does. Atsumu grins back, as obnoxiously as he can muster, and packs more food in his mouth once Rin has flicked him off.

By the time Atsumu is leaving ’Samu and Rin’s, he has had another two servings of dinner, gotten Rin to flick him off a sum total of four more times, and already started a plan of attack for his wedding reception speech. It’ll be a damn good one, too, because he’s a perfect friend and an even more perfect brother - if such a thing is even possible.

As soon as he steps out into the cold December air, he pulls out his phone and texts Shin.

To: Shin! <3
>>We’re invited to Samu and Rin’s wedding

Shin is quick to reply, almost as if he has been waiting for Atsumu to text him like he had promised he would when he left. Atsumu smiles to no one but himself.

From: Shin! <3
>>That’s nice of them

Atsumu snorts and squeezes his hand into a fist a few times to warm up his fingers before responding.

To: Shin! <3
>>I’ve known Rin since we were kids
>>Samu is literally my brother
>>I didn’t need a whole dinner just to tell me I’m invited
>>I expected an invite

From: Shin! <3
>>Would you rather they never gave you the invitation?

To: Shin! <3
>>Of course not
>>Wtf

Atsumu pulls his keys out of his jacket pocket and gets in his car. He starts the ignition and sets his air vents to heat, but he knows the effort will prove fruitless since his car is old and will probably take most of the drive home before warming up. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, and allows himself a moment to fantasize about getting a handsome bonus for the holidays - one he would spend on a newer car, a car he could drive Shin around in during the winter without having to worry about the state of his fingers. He’d get a nice one, something he could show off to Shin, ’Samu, Rin, his ma, his other coworkers, to show how good he is at his job -

Atsumu drags himself out of his daydream reluctantly when his phone rings. His reluctance disappears immediately upon seeing the caller ID listed and he answers animatedly with a smile on his face. He tells ’Samu’s annoying voice in the back of his head calling him a dork to shut the fuck up.

“Listen to this, Shin - they’re not even doin’ groomsmen at their -”

“Hello, ’Tsumu,” Shin interrupts, his voice light. Despite the biting cold that will unfortunately surround him until his heater starts working, the tips of Atsumu’s ears warm in the familiar mixture of affection and vague embarrassment that being teased by Shin provides him.

“Yes, sorry, hello, Shin. How’ve ya been? Have ya eaten already?”

“I’m well. Happy to be on the phone with ya.” Atsumu smiles and finally puts the car in drive and starts to make his way home.

Shin continues, “And yes, I ate already.”

“Good. Did’ya have the leftovers from the other night?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Sounds good. It was real good when ya made it, ‘m sure it was still good after a day.”

“It was. Now what were ya sayin’ about groomsmen?”

Atsumu’s early excitement returns quickly.

“They’re not doin a weddin’ party! Can ya believe that?”

Shin pauses.

“So yer not Osamu-san’s best man?”

Cutting straight to the point, Atsumu thinks fondly. Shin knows him so well. Then he returns his focus to Shin’s question, and annoyance takes root once more.

“No! He’s a bastard for that.”

“Did they say why not?”

Atsumu rolls his eyes and almost drives straight through a red light. He curses.

“Somethin’ about it bein’ too much of a hassle, the lazy fucks.”

“Sounds like a perfectly reasonable decision to me,” Shin comments, like Atsumu knew he would.

“Of course ya would say that. Ya shoulda seen ’em tonight, Shin. They were workin’ at max strength to get me riled up, I’m sure of it.”

Shin hums - it’s a sweet sound, one that sends a tickle up Atsumu’s spine and encourages him to explain further, if only to poke fun at Atsumu as well while it does so. Atsumu takes his opening and begins his first of what is sure to be a long string of complaints.

“They started out the night by makin’ fun of us, sayin’ we only talk over email. First thing, right when I walked through their door!”

“Now, why would they say somethin’ like that?” Shin returns, his voice lifting unmistakably in amusement.

“Because they’re jackasses. I told ’em they could call ya Shin too, but they’re still too scared of ya to call ya anythin’ other than Kita-san.”

At this, Shin laughs. It’s surprisingly loud, and it sparks both affection and confusion in Atsumu, who can’t seem to figure out what’s funny about his brother and Rin being afraid of his boyfriend, but will take every possible opportunity to hear said boyfriend laugh.

“Uh, Shin? What’s so funny?”

Shin catches his breath in a chuckle.

“Nothin’, it’s just cute the way ya try’n make the people ya care about all soft for me.”

Atsumu’s face warms, and he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. He will not do or say anything embarrassing, he tells himself. He will not do or say anything embarrassing. He will not do or say anything embarrassing.

“It’s because ya deserve it. ’M not sure what isn’t makin’ sense in that single brain cell they share, but they seem’ta be convinced you have it out for ’em.” There. Perfect. Practice makes perfect.

“And what if I do?” Shin asks coyly. Atsumu stutters, erasing his internal whiteboard labelled Days since the last time I acted like a middle school girl with a crush and changing the number from two to zero.

“Kiddin’.” Atsumu can tell Shin is smiling as he talks.

Atsumu breathes a laugh, because Shin is cute and is good at making jokes, despite what Rin or his brother might say.

“They’re just frustratin’.”

“Siblings are certainly not exempt from bein’ frustratin’, even I know that.”

“You get annoyed at yer siblings?” Atsumu balks. “I’m findin’ that hard to believe. I can’t imagine ya talkin to either of ’em like I talk to ’Samu.”

Atsumu recalls a picture Shin had showed him when Atsumu had asked about his family about a month into dating. In it, Shin was around nine years old, but had the demeanor of someone about four times that age. Atsumu had found it incredibly endearing.

He had also learned about Shin’s siblings, whose matching salt-and-pepper hair dominates the entire photo. His older sister Yumie, named after their granny, and his younger brother Hideo. Yumie was around twelve in the picture, but she had the rigid posture and serious look in her eye that made her feel even older than Shin. Hideo had been three when the picture was taken, and Yumie held him with one arm against her hip, the other hand intertwined with Shin’s.

Atsumu would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little scared of Shin’s family. Yumie especially. Even as a child she just had this look about her, like she would cut him down if he made one misstep.

Okay, so maybe he’s a hypocrite - so what? Is it a crime to be intimidated by your boyfriend’s family - specifically the members that look like they could shatter him like glass with a single look?

“Yer right that we definitely don’t talk like you and Osamu-san do,” Shin admits.

“But siblings are siblings. They’re supposed to get on yer nerves sometimes - that’s what happens when yer together too much when yer young, I think.”

And isn’t that the understatement of the century.

“If that’s the case then me and ’Samu were doomed from the start.”

Although they are on the phone, he can almost see the way Shin’s eyes crinkle - a sarcastic look that says, ‘Really?’.

“Personally, I think he’s always got somethin’ to say because he cares about ya.”

“Yeah, yeah, and I care about ’im too when he’s not crackin’ jokes about my boyfriend. And have I told ya he’s tattlin’ on me to ma still? We’re twenty-seven!”

“Yes, I know how old ya are.” Shin doesn’t ask, but Atsumu also knows Shin is twenty-eight. “I think it’s sweet how close the two of ya are still.”

“It’s because he doesn’t leave me alone,” Atsumu groans.

“Now, ’Tsumu, ya’know that’s not true.”

Of course he knows that’s not true. ’Samu may be a thorn in his side but he’s also the first call Atsumu makes when he’s in trouble - not to his ma, definitely not to Rin, and not to Shin (although Shin would be a close second).

“Yes, I know.”

“Good. I know that’s how the two of ya are, but I think ya could stand to be a little nicer to each other sometimes.”

Atsumu smiles softly to himself, feeling the warmth of Shin’s sentiment fill his chest until he’s near melting.

“Yer a sap.”

“That’s because I love ya.”

It is not an exaggeration to say that even after being together for five months and hearing that phrase for the last month of it, his chest melts, allowing a gooey, tooth-rotting, sticky feeling to fill what remains of his bloodstream, his marrow. He breathes in, fills his lungs with it.

“I love ya, too.”

It’s been a month of saying it - exactly thirty-four days and four hours from this very moment - but it still sticks to Atsumu’s tongue, lingering there long after it has escaped his lips, just like the very first time.

Shin hums, and it is Atsumu’s favorite song. “If you’ve gotten everythin’ off yer chest, I think I’m gonna take a shower and get ready for bed.”

“Alright, I’ll text ya.”

“Sounds good. Love ya.”

“Love ya,” Atsumu sings back.

The phone call ends, and Atsumu continues driving home in content silence with the small smile on his face that hasn’t left since the day he started dating Shin, one that hopefully won’t leave for a long time. Maybe never.

His breath hitches at the thought, and he turns on his radio quickly. When he reaches his apartment, he wonders why he turned the radio up so loud.

Evidently, wedding planning is a lot more work than Atsumu had ever considered. He’s not sure what ’Samu and Rin have left to do in the final month and a half leading up to their wedding - he always figured that once it was all planned, the stress was over for the last couple months until the day of the actual wedding - but they are certainly much busier than they have been up until this point.

It’s become harder and harder to mooch off ’Samu’s cooking for dinner on the days he’s got nothing better to do, to accost Rin and demand his attention during their lunch breaks when Shin is in meetings, and to make up for these lost hours over a weekend or two. Atsumu has been forced, against his will, to willingly strike up conversations with his brother and Rin the old-fashioned way - over text - like a goddamn caveman.

Sure, maybe texting isn’t exactly the lowest-tech option, but it feels like it with the way they hold conversations. ’Samu in particular, for reasons Atsumu cannot seem to wrap his brain around.

Rin at the very least is capable of being a good texter. He responds quickly, even if Atsumu knows he should definitely be working or paying attention in some conference call. And as nice as that is, Rin’s downfall lies in the content of his replies, which more often than not make Atsumu want to rip his hair out due to their illegibility. He speaks in words and phrases Atsumu has never read before and insists they are real text slang when Atsumu demands to know just what the fuck he’s talking about. Atsumu has bitten his cheek and suppressed his pride at a number of these messages and opened a private browser online to google the texts Rin sends. These are his lowest points of the day.

’Samu - somehow - is the worst texter he has ever interacted with. He takes somewhere between eight hours and two business days to reply to Atsumu’s texts, which Atsumu is convinced has to be on purpose - evidenced by the fact that ’Samu will always pick up his calls within the first three rings, and replies quickly when the messages are time-sensitive. And if that wasn’t already enough to send Atsumu into a tantrum, ’Samu has the same texting grammar and language choices as Rin.

This fact is likely because the two of them have texted each other pretty much nonstop since the moment they both got phones in high school. And who could have predicted that it would come back to bite Atsumu in the ass now, when they’re all fully-grown adults with full-time jobs who should not be texting like they’re still in 2006.

It’s honestly making Atsumu go a little crazy. He never thought he would miss talking to ’Samu and Rin in person as much as he does, but he also never thought he would be in a position where receiving a text could make him fantasize about what it would feel like to drag a rake across the folds of his brain. So there’s a first for everything, he supposes.

And at the end of it all, somehow, his greatest shame isn’t even missing his brother’s apartment or even craving time shit-talking annoying coworkers with Rin at lunch. He’s come to terms with those feelings - he’s allowed to miss his brother and his best friend.

No, what’s worse is the way he has caught himself almost using the same terms and slang they do in his own texts.

As soon as their wedding is over - the moment ’Samu and Rin take a step away from that altar - Atsumu is never going to send a single text to either of them ever again if he can help it. Nope. It’ll be calls and calls alone from then on out, whether it’s convenient or not.

He almost has half a mind to start sending them emails instead of texts because they are far more likely to respond to those professionally out of habit, but he doesn’t think he can bring himself to do it after the jokes they had made at dinner about him and Shin. His heart (and his resolve) has been weakened exponentially with every unintelligible text received, and he might just keel over and die if they start making fun of him for the way he communicates.

They do, however, send wedding updates over email. These emails are a breath of fresh air between the indecipherable responses, ignored messages littering his phone, and the inane natural stresses of his usual work day. Most of them are normal and just serve as reminders for older family members to book train tickets if they’re coming, but some of them are suspiciously directed, like the one that graces his inbox this afternoon, three weeks since the last time Atsumu had dinner with them.

From: Miya Osamu <[email protected]>

To: Miya Atsumu <[email protected]>, Miya Katsuko <[email protected]>, Suna Reiko <[email protected]>, + 14 others

CC: Suna Rintarou <[email protected]>

Subject: Reminder - RSVP

Hello, everyone.

Rin and I just wanted to send a quick reminder concerning the importance of your RSVP for all wedding events. We need to send numbers to vendors and the location staff, so it’s imperative that we have an accurate count.

I have attached a spreadsheet of RSVP’s we have already received for your convenience since many of you have already contacted one of us about attending. Please check it out if you are unsure.

Shoot me or Rin an email/text/call if you have any questions about the dates and/or times, and please let us know if you are or aren’t coming to the rehearsal dinner by the end of this week.

Thank you to those of you who have reached out already! We are so excited to celebrate with everyone soon!

Miya Osamu

 

Attached: WeddingEventsAttendance.xlsx

Atsumu snorts and clicks the file attachment, hoping to see which relative is undoubtedly making ’Samu want to rip his hair out. The spreadsheet attached has different columns for the wedding, reception, and rehearsal ceremony, and the rows are labelled with everyone in the email thread who seems to be invited to the rehearsal.

Atsumu thinks the aggressive color-coding is a bit overboard, as almost every single cell of the document is shaded in a violent, harsh green that clearly means they have RSVPed or otherwise noted any conflicts. For someone with such a visual eye for interior design and food plating, ’Samu is certainly not a digital designer, unlike Rin, who could make a spreadsheet better than this with his eyes closed, probably.

Although it hurts Atsumu’s eyes and forces him to lower his computer brightness, it does make the singular red row stick out like a sore thumb. It’s hard to read the black text under the vivid red cell highlight, but Atsumu has seen his name enough times to recognize it without looking too closely.

Before he has even really comprehended the meaning of his name listed in violent red, his phone is in his hand, ringing as he waits for his absolute piece of shit brother to pick up.

Two rings in, and ’Samu picks up, as expected.

“What’s up? Don’t ya know I’m at lunch with a fuckin’ client right now?”

A garbled sound emerges from Atsumu’s throat as his mind races to put together the words he wants to say. There are about eight things he wants to yell, but he is merely human, and humans are woefully unevolved, unable to vocalize more than one complaint at a time.

“If yer not gonna say anythin’ I’m hangin’ up.”

“Why the fuck did ya send a wedding email if yer at a meeting?”

The phone crackles on the other end when ’Samu sighs. Atsumu’s nose wrinkles in annoyance.

“I drafted it and set it on a timer earlier this mornin’, since I know yer more likely to check yer email right before lunch.”

Atsumu stares at his now-dark computer screen incredulously, as if his brother were really there to be on the receiving end of his disbelief.

“I did RSVP, ya fuckin’ scrub!” Atsumu lowers his voice when he remembers he has coworkers trying to get stuff done nearby.

“And ya sent lies out in an email to our family! And Rin’s family! They’re gonna think I’m n’idiot now because of ya.”

“They already knew ya were,” ’Samu deadpans. “Listen, I just put the information we had into a spreadsheet. If yer name was in red, it’s because ya haven’t RSVPed.”

“I’m literally speakin’ at the reception!” Atsumu defends. “I texted ya two days ago checkin’ the date of the rehearsal so I could ask off.”

“And where in there did ya ever tell me or Sunarin, ‘hey, I’m comin’ to the rehearsal, wedding, and reception’ in clear words?”

Atsumu imagines the top of his head blowing off in a fit of smoke like that volcano in America he learned about in school once.

“I’m comin’ to yer shitty rehearsal, weddin’, and reception.”

“I’ll make sure to write it down after this meetin’,” ’Samu accepts cooly. Atsumu wishes he could strangle his brother over the phone. He says something else, but it’s distant, and his words sound disgustingly formal without his Kansai dialect. Atsumu grimaces at how fake ’Samu’s customer service voice sounds while he reassures whoever he’s with that he will be back in just a second.

“I’m gonna make sure everybody at the weddin’ knows yer a piece of shit that has it out for yer perfect brother.”

’Samu replies with what sounds like a dismissive ’Yeah, yeah,’.

Atsumu interrupts, rushing to get the last word in.

“Do good wooin’ whoever it is yer there with - yer gonna need the commission money when I steal all the goshugi ya don’t deserve.”

At this, ’Samu sputters a response that’s probably about how he’d love to see Atsumu try to steal the money their ma gifts him, but Atsumu hangs up without gracing him the attention.

He sighs deeply at his darkened computer screen and decides now is the best time to take lunch. He sends Shin a text and stands with a grunt, setting his sights on making it just another five minutes until Shin undoubtedly refreshes his spirit enough to get him through the rest of the day.

Shin, the gift that keeps on giving, follows through as he always does.

Atsumu and Shin have taken to eating lunch together most days now, especially since the wedding-planners always make some sort of excuse whenever Atsumu so graciously offers his time for them nowadays. Food-tasting, he thinks, is bizarre. Just taste the food at lunch. What’s so hard about that?

He snorts with a mouth full of food. His eyes refocus on Shin, sitting across from him at the little round table in his office, who is staring at him with an expression somewhere between concerned and confused.

“Should I ask?” Shin asks after a brief pause.

“’Samu,” Atsumu sighs.

Shin’s expression melts back into his standard neutral one, and he takes a bite of his food. His response clearly gives away how familiar he is with this topic of conversation, which Atsumu curses ’Samu for.

“Ah,” He acknowledges. “Did he get yer mother on yer case about somethin’ again?”

Atsumu shakes his head.

“No, nothin’ like that this time, thankfully. The sadist bastard’s probably waitin’ until right before the weddin’ for that so ma can get on me at the ceremony.”

“I see,” Shin replies simply, easily, but with an added lilt that has Atsumu narrowing his eyes.

“What?”

Shin doesn’t even blink at the accusatory stare or prodding question.

“Wedding related, then.”

Atsumu’s eyes narrow further as confusion begins to settle in. Whatever Shin’s trying to get at, Atsumu is not getting it.

“Yes? What’s that look in yer eye?” Other than his chewing, Shin doesn’t move. Atsumu wiggles in his seat under his boyfriend’s unreadable stare.

“Please blink, Shin, yer scarin’ me.”

Shin blinks. Thank god.

“Ya always get so worked up when the weddin’ comes up, ’Tsumu.”

“Because they like to work me up,” Atsumu scoffs, shoving a large bite of leftovers into his mouth. “Ain’t nothin’ else about it.”

Shin looks down into his bento and stirs something around, seemingly in thought. Atsumu props his elbow up on the table and rests the side of his face in his hand, head bouncing as he chews and waits for Shin’s thoughts to catch up to his mouth. He wracks his brain for what Shin could possibly be hinting at and comes up empty handed.

“I’m thinkin’ there’s more to it than just that, though, if ya don’t mind me speculatin’,” Shin begins, leaning back and crossing his legs under the table.

“The two of ’em have always been like that, but recently, it’s gotten ya a bit more than I’m used to seein’.”

Atsumu’s eyebrows furrow.

“I have no idea what yer talkin’ about.”

Shin takes another pause and scans Atsumu’s expression. Atsumu flashes a closed-lip smile with a mouth full of food, and Shin smiles back softly. His eyes crinkle in the corners, and Atsumu’s heart skips a beat, momentarily washing over his confusion.

“Are ya scared of losin yer brother now that the weddin’s so close?” Shin asks bluntly.

Atsumu tilts his head further to the side against his palm and blinks. Huh? That’s what this is about?

He lifts his head and waves his hand in a gesture he hopes comes off as reassuring and not dismissive. “Absolutely not, ’Samu’s been with Rin longer than he hasn’t. If I was scared of somethin’ like that, I woulda flipped in high school when they started spendin’ all their time together.”

Shin doesn’t miss a beat.

“But still, it changes something, doesn’t it? Marriage? It’s the start of somethin’ new and different. They could adopt a kid or two, move away to somewhere bigger and better fit for a new family.”

Atsumu snorts. He, again, hopes it doesn’t come off as dismissive. But the idea of ’Samu and Rin doing all that family stuff is almost enough to make him laugh. They both hate kids. Sure, maybe they might move one day, but that won’t be until they finally save enough money for ’Samu to open the restaurant he’s always wanted. And they could do any of that stuff without being married, anyway. Marriage is for the party and the tax benefits - anything else is guesswork and luck.

Atsumu pokes his chopsticks through his rice in sudden discomfort. “Marriage isn’t anythin’ special, Shin, it doesn’t change what they already have. They were together before, they’ll be together after, they could still break up at any time and a piece’a paper wouldn’t change any of that.”

Shin’s eyes widen - for only a split second, but Atsumu has been with Shin long enough to know those minute changes are the most important when reading Shin’s emotions. It’s not as though Shin isn’t expressive. He just shows his feelings in harder places to see, and Atsumu knows his boyfriend well enough to see the almost imperceptible flash in his eyes and the inhale he takes before opening his mouth to speak -

Atsumu frees his hands so quickly his chopsticks fall onto the table. He ignores this so he can close his eyes, shake his head, and wave his hands in front of him like a big X, aiming to interrupt Shin before he latches too closely onto his poor choice of words.

“Uh-uh, stop that. I know yer readin’ into that too deep. I didn’t mean anythin’ serious by it.” Atsumu opens his eyes and picks his chopsticks back up. Shin is stalled, mouth still slightly agape.

“Promise,” Atsumu continues.

Shin’s mouth closes.

“Mmm.”

Atsumu’s face heats under Shin’s knowing gaze. His heart pounds for reasons he justifies as perfectly reasonable and understandable given the mistake he just made. Because that’s what it was, and he needs to make sure Shin knows that.

“What! I didn’t mean anythin’ serious!”

“I know, love,” Shin concedes softly, using a term of endearment he rarely uses at work and taking another bite of his lunch in finality.

If Atsumu didn’t know any better, he would take that as the end and move on. But he does know better - although he seriously wishes he didn’t right about now.

“Then what’s that face for?”

“Absolutely nothin’,” Shin turns his voice in the very familiar and very recognizable way he does when he’s amused.

Atsumu waves his chopsticks in the air.

“Yer a rotten liar, ya know that?” He points them at Shin, who is now smiling outright.

“Who woulda thought - Shin, HR rep extraordinaire, is a dirty liar. I woulda smacked somebody for sayin’ that less than a year ago.”

Shin’s laugh comes out closer to a giggle. Atsumu’s brain fries. Lunch is largely uneventful, save for the discomfort settled in the pit of Atsumu’s stomach that he can’t quite place.

Atsumu goes to Shin’s apartment after work, and walking in the door is just as comfortable there as it is in his own apartment. Inside, Shin has already started making dinner, and Atsumu makes quick work of assisting as his handsy sous chef. Shin laughs and brushes it off, like he always does, making a comment about ‘saving that for later’ that makes Atsumu’s blood grow hot.

They’ve been watching dramas together recently, so they turn on a few episodes after they eat. Atsumu - primarily fueled by impulsive teenage urges - continues his efforts to distract. Really, it’s all about the chase. There are few things on this Earth Atsumu believes are as satisfying as watching Shin’s expression grow lax and his cheeks turn a flushed pink due to his ministrations until eventually Shin’s decorum devolves completely and they have a mess on their hands (literally) and a slight red burn on their knees.

And after all that, Atsumu is in bed, Shin by his side. Comfortable, as he always is on the nights they spend together.

Only now is he able to place the elusive discomfort that he had felt earlier. Throughout the night, a handful of images and discoveries picked at him until now, where he can no longer live in willful ignorance.

The first is that Shin had bought the both of them new house slippers, ones that matched. This left Shin’s extra guest pairs looking distinctly different in a way that both made Atsumu’s heart explode and chest tight.

The second is that Shin unknowingly revealed a drawer of Atsumu’s clothes Atsumu had no idea existed when he arrived at Shin’s apartment with nothing to lounge in before bed.

The third is where he is now, laying on his side in Shin’s bed, staring at Shin’s side profile as he reads a book quietly before they call it a night. Atsumu is one to romanticize his partners but none more so than Shin. Atsumu traces with his eyes the sharp cut of his boyfriend’s jawline, the swoop of his nose, the freckles on his cheeks that have nearly faded in the winter, and the softness of his lips.

Atsumu realizes he’s in love. So desperately in love that it either has to last forever or ruin him when it ends. The thought terrifies him in much the same way it comforts him.

This thought, of course, should have reached him sooner. Because of course he’s hopelessly in love, no fucking duh. That’s probably the most redundant realization he’s ever had, and if he were to share this with Rin or ’Samu, he’d be laughed out of house and home.

But no, it’s not the fact that he’s utterly and completely love-struck that has him drinking in Shin’s features like this is the last time he’ll ever see him. It’s the unknowns lying far ahead, somewhere he can’t see, that has his anxieties in a chokehold. And there’s no doubt in his mind that all the recent talk about the wedding has brought that to light - because of course it’s partially ’Samu and Rin’s fault. It usually is.

Atsumu’s breath catches when Shin’s eyes flick over to him and hold his attention with crinkled fondness. Atsumu’s breath hitches in more ways than one.

“Waitin’ for me to finish up before goin’ to bed?” Shin asks.

Atsumu nods silently, noting how Shin’s hair bunches around his forehead at the end of the day like he’s the moon itself, and Atsumu is noting every observation he makes as if each one is a brand new scientific discovery.

Shin smiles fondly and returns his book carefully to his nightstand before turning the lamp off and surrounding the room in the sort of darkness that is only comfortable when two people can hear each other’s heartbeats from less than a foot away.

Atsumu, without having to ask, tucks himself into Shin’s side, Shin’s arm wrapping around his back and tugging him closer. Atsumu closes his eyes and lets out a breath, finally feeling warm and content enough to maybe get some sleep tonight despite the anxiety that has him in a loose (but still incredibly uncomfortable) headlock.

Fingers drag up his back, up his arm, and finally to his head, where they brush through his hair and play with his undercut. This, Atsumu thinks, must be what heaven is like, if such a place exists.

“Can we talk about this afternoon?” Shin asks softly, his voice sounding like a dream, as he twirls a piece of Atsumu’s hair between his fingers delicately.

“No,” Atsumu says into Shin’s shirt, tightening his grip on the fabric with one hand like Shin’s going to float away if he doesn’t.

“I just wanna lay here with ya. I don’t wanna think about all that right now.”

“Okay.”

They lay like this for a bit longer; long enough for Atsumu to forget Shin asked and for his breathing to even, his back rising and falling steadily as he grows warmer. Although this doesn’t necessarily mean much time passed at all, since he is exceptionally good at ignoring things and convincing himself that they, in fact, never happened at all.

“Forever doesn’t scare me, ’Tsumu,” Shin offers. Atsumu does not open his eyes and, instead, nudges his head into Shin’s hand, which has been resting around his temple, to indicate that he’s listening.

Shin starts brushing his hair around his ear and continues.

“One way or another, everythin’ ends somehow. Ya just gotta let things be and fight like hell if ya don’t think it’s time.”

Atsumu pauses, lets that settle for a long moment, and buries his face in Shin’s side.

“I don’t know how ya can just say things like that.”

A soft exhale has Shin’s chest falling in a small laugh.

“My truth?”

“Spillin’ yer heart out like that.”

Atsumu’s head moves with Shin’s shoulder when he shrugs.

“Ya make it easy. Ya got love comin’ from every pore.”

In the dark, Atsumu’s face burns.

“’M not sure I could do all that. Yer much braver than I am.”

“Now look at who’s the dirty liar,” Shin jokes. Atsumu can’t see his boyfriend at the moment, but he can hear the smile in his voice. Atsumu whines.

Shin laughs lightly.

“Yer plenty brave. Just look at where we are now. Layin’ together after spendin’ the night cookin’ and watchin’ our shows, selflessly devotin’ ourselves to makin’ sure the other feels good in bed, holdin’ each other and talkin’ about forever until we wake up in the mornin’ and go to work.” Shin kisses the crown of Atsumu’s forehead. “It’s a two way street, love.”

Atsumu, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last time, fucking melts at the warm and gentle press of Shin’s lips to his forehead.

“Ya get me all giddy and warm like yer my first, ya know that? It’s embarrassin’.”

Shin hums.

“I like seein’ how pink yer face gets.”

“Hey! You can’t even see me!”

“I can enough.”

Atsumu knows his cheeks are pink. He also knows that, somehow, Shin knows that too. He sighs contentedly and squeezes his arm around Shin’s torso.

“I love ya.”

Shin presses another kiss to Atsumu’s forehead, like he knew he would.

“I love ya, too. Don’t stay up too late thinkin’ too much. It’ll give ya bad dreams.”

“I know, I know,” Atsumu dismisses easily. He picks his head up and waits for Shin to find his lips to press a kiss to them. It is just as gentle and warm as it was on his forehead.

“G’night, Shin.”

“Goodnight, love.”

They kiss once more, signaling butterflies in Atsumu’s stomach, and he wiggles over to place his head on his own pillow to maybe, hopefully, get decent sleep tonight.

As he lays in bed, listening to Shin’s breathing and willing the part of himself that has the uncanny ability to sleep anywhere, anytime, to show up, he finds he’s still thinking about what Shin had said.

Making peace with not knowing?

Sure, in concept that sounds like an easy thing to do. To a certain extent, every living person has to do that every single day. But this is them. The future - or lack thereof - of their relationship. How can he just make peace with that?

But what’s the alternative? Deciding right now if their relationship is something that’s going to last for the rest of their lives? Breaking up if he doesn’t think it will? That’s no way to live. A relationship’s worth isn’t based in it’s longevity, but it does carry more weight at their current age than it did when he was fucking around in college.

Atsumu opens his eyes and watches Shin’s silhouette as it is illuminated by the window behind him. His breathing is slow and even. He looks ethereal, ephemeral, angelic, even in his sleep. How does he even do that?

“I haven’t made peace with any kind of endin’ for us, yet - forever or not,” Atsumu says quietly, to his sleeping boyfriend.

“I don’t know how to make peace with not knowin’.”

Shin readjusts with a small grunt and extends his arm.

“That’s okay,” He reassures in the low and cracked voice of a person inches from sleep. “’M here until ya do.”

“I know ya are,” Atsumu replies, and he’s never been more sure about anything today than he is about that.

And maybe that’s enough for now.

“C’mere. Ya need’ta get good sleep tonight.”

Atsumu returns to Shin’s side not totally cured of his anxieties, but content that he has time to deal with them and confident that Shin will be his rock while he does.