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It was the silence that Osamu dreaded the most.
Whether it was signaling the serenity straight after a catastrophe, or the quivering calm right before a massive storm, he could never tell. All he knew was that it made the air around him stand completely still, almost in fear. Like a knife hovering over his neck, about ready to fall at any given moment. It made his blood run cold.
As he loosened his tie around his neck, he let his gaze wander, staring at the wooden floor beneath his feet, clean and in pristine condition despite being fifty years old; dimly lit lamps sat atop tables cluttered with antique pottery his grandmother loved collecting; pale walls filled to the brim with photos of their family heritage. Leaning his back against the front door, his humble little home looked as normal as any other household.
For a moment, Osamu might have allowed himself to believe that, with all his heart. But the gun in his pocket felt heavy. Heavy, and warm to the touch.
Sighing, he stood up straighter, running a hand through his hair as he walked past the stairs, pausing right in front of their wall full of pictures. It amazed him how he had never seen that portion of the house bare; ever since he was a child, it always had enough space to hold their memories, no matter how old or new.
The pictures up above were characteristically monochrome, revealing histories of older generations; as his eyes travelled farther down, the pictures seemed to catch color, as his gaze led him away from the distant past. He seemed to have traversed his grandparents life from youth to their old age in a blink of an eye; at the same time, he saw his own father grow up from a young boy playing blissfully at the beach, to a well-suited man at the center of their more recent family photograph. Though there was no smile on his face, he exuded a trembling aura of authority that no one could match. The gold ring glinting on his right hand was proof of that.
Osamu’s eyes stopped there, almost out of habit. Ever since he was little, he was taught to never let his eyes waver from another man’s, especially if it was their father. Lest you reveal your weakness .
Gulping dryly, he let his gaze stray to the two young boys standing right beside the brooding man: though they were twins, they were extremely easy to differentiate, if one were to only look closely. One had a smirk playing across his lips, chin tilted up ever so slightly, while the other had a distant stare, seemingly staring right at Osamu’s soul.
No one could have guessed that lost, little boy to be the next Godfather.
Osamu could have lost himself into yet another state of reverie, if it weren’t for the sounds of someone clicking their tongue, shattering the silence.
Tsk, tsk, tsk - and then came the sharp hissing, followed by a string of colorful swears. Osamu didn’t need anyone telling him who that was. Suppressing a smile, he followed the familiar voice, keeping his footsteps light and quiet, until he stopped right in front of the kitchen. He was just about to grab the door knob when he stopped himself, as soon as he realized that there was someone else there, too:
“Hold still will you, Atsumu?”
The door was open just enough to let a sliver of white light bleed into the hallway. Carefully, Osamu positioned himself against the doorframe, so that he could peek in just enough to catch a glimpse inside. He was surprised to find his twin brother sitting on a chair next to their dining table, his bloodied dress shirt abandoned on the floor. In front of him stood Shoyo Hinata, who was too busy stitching up the wound on Atsumu’s shoulder.
Not surprisingly, his twin brother still couldn’t keep his whines to himself:
“Ah, Shoyo- but it stings like a bitch -”
“Well,” Shoyo huffed, as he cut the thread, placing the surgical scissors on the table. Even from such a distance, Osamu could tell Shoyo’s eyebrows were furrowed at the center of his forehead. “You should have thought about that before you decided to jump in the middle of a fucking crossfire .”
Osamu suppressed a heartless chuckle. Calling it a crossfire would be an understatement. What was promised was a calm dinner to discuss the division of control over their imports with a competing underground family. The other boss insisted it was all a means to let old enmities die. But Osamu knew better than to blindly trust the man. He knew as well as anyone else that some rivalries were too bitter to cure. Suddenly, the gun in his pocket felt heavy again.
“Hey, hey, I- fuck ,” Atsumu swore, getting interrupted by the swab of alcohol Shoyo rubbed against his wound. “Y’know I had everything in control, Shoyo.”
That seemed to have pushed Shoyo beyond his boiling point.
“In control?” he scoffed incredulously, throwing the swab angrily. “In control ? You knew the deal was gonna go sour, you knew they had their henchmen stationed all around us - you knew. You fucking knew , and yet somehow you thought it best to wrestle a loaded gun with your hands. Why ?”
Osamu winced at every word he spat, almost as if he were the one on the receiving end. But he was sure Atsumu was not even batting an eye, because such impulsive decisions came to him as simple as breathing. He had gotten into many a fight with his twin brother on the matter, whenever they’d meet after any meeting gone wrong, any shootout, any crossfire:
“Our lives are risky already, ‘Tsumu,” he would always insist. “Why d’ya have to make it worse?”
“To protect what I love,” would be Atsumu’s answer.
Every single time, that was his answer. Even now, in the dead of night, as Shoyo stood with his hands balled into fists at his side and his chest heaving, Osamu knew the answer well before Atsumu had even opened his mouth.
“That gun was pointed right at ya, in case ya didn’t notice. What was I supposed to do?”
His voice was calm and steady, almost as if he were asking something as straightforward as the time of day. Of course in his eyes, fighting off an armed enemy with just his knuckles was perfectly involuntary - no matter the consequence, no matter the risk.
“But Atsumu, you’re lucky you got shot in the shoulder!” Shoyo said, his voice rising with every syllable. “Just a second late, and that would have shot straight through your chest. What then, huh? Then what-”
Suddenly, Atsumu slammed his fist against the table, his voice booming through the entire house. “So what - I should’a let him shoot ya straight in the skull? Is that what y’er sayin’? Over my fuckin’ grave .”
As his last phrase died out, then came the silence yet again. That cold, unrelenting quiet that made the hairs on the back of Osamu’s neck rise. Without even realizing it, he had held his breath, moving away from the door frame, eyes now staring at the wall opposite him. Sometimes, his brother’s willingness to die for the people he loved terrified him.
And from how quiet Shoyo had gotten, it must have terrified him too.
“Just- just forget it,” Osamu heard him whisper, his voice completely broken. There was a shuffle, hinting at the other man moving away defeatedly. But then, the silence was interrupted:
“ Shoyo .”
Only Atsumu could say that name with such warmth, it felt like the cold lingering in the air had completely vanished. Only his brother could say that name with such devotion, his voice quivering like a worshipper kneeling before a shrine. Only he could say that name with a conviction so strong that it never ceased to render Osamu speechless.
“Shoyo,” he repeated, this time even more gently. “Please.”
When Osamu turned around once more to peek through the door, he noticed Atsumu holding Shoyo’s wrist, keeping him from moving any further. They both stared at each other intensely, quietly, before Shoyo let out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging as if he were carrying the weight of the world.
Almost by instinct, Shoyo moved closer, stopping until he stood in between his legs, with Atsumu’s arms around his waist. When Shoyo spoke again, his gaze was trained down at his wound.
“You could have died, Atsumu. You could have fucking died-”
“I know. I was reckless, baby, and I’m sorry,” he said, resting a hand on Shoyo’s cheek, letting his gaze meet Atsumu’s eyes. “But I just- I couldn’t let ya get even a lick of that bullet… I could never forgive myself.”
In the silence that followed, Atsumu didn’t let go of Shoyo’s face. And from how Shoyo held that hand against his cheek in place, Osamu could tell he didn’t want Atsumu to let go. Almost as if he were craving his warmth for millennia.
After what felt like forever, Shoyo spoke again:
“You know I can’t do this without you.”
Though his words were barely a whisper, the weight that they carried seemed to echo throughout the house. There was that conviction again - that devotion, that warmth. Something that the two of them seemed to hold only for each other.
“And ya won’t have to - ever ,” said Atsumu, wrapping both arms around his partner’s waist tighter. Shoyo responded by getting closer and cupping Atsumu’s cheeks, their foreheads touching.
“We promised, didn’t we? Ya know I’m a man of my word.”
From how Shoyo broke into a smile, it was crystal clear: he believed Atsumu, with all his heart.
Osamu knew better than anyone else that once born in the underworld, there was no escaping the chaos of bitter rivalries, the possible betrayal from allies, and the imminent threat of seeing your loved ones for the last time.
And yet, in the dead of night, dangling at the precipice separating life from death, Atsumu kissed Shoyo like he was his only reason to hold on.
When Osamu moved away, he felt a smile tug at his lips. For a blissful moment, he forgot how heavy his gun was.