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If Osamu had to pin down one moment, he thinks it would be an innocuous one.
Maybe he’d always known, but he hadn’t really realized until second year. He was still a starting line member of Inarizaki volleyball team, and he’d still been invited to the National Youth Training Camp the year before. But… something was off. For the longest time, he hadn’t been able to pinpoint what it was.
He loved volleyball. At one point he would have even said that he loved volleyball as much as Atsumu did. Not anymore though.
While Atsumu had been obsessing over his craft, Osamu had had a lot of time to reflect. Yes, he loved volleyball, but there was this extra layer to Atsumu’s love of the sport. Osamu enjoyed playing — he loved the rush of a game and sharing those feelings with his team. But if he woke up the next day unable to play volleyball ever again, it wouldn’t be the end of the world for him; not like it would be for Atsumu. Osamu would survive and move on.
Oh, he would grieve. He might never stop grieving, but he could walk with a limp. Atsumu without volleyball would be like breaking a horse’s leg. He loved volleyball like he breathed. As more time passed, Osamu found it harder and harder to understand him.
He just didn’t get how Atsumu was so passionate. He saw the way Atsumu internalized every defeat and every uncovered weakness. He held his twin while he cried in pain after working too hard and collapsing in exhaustion. Atsumu burned bright and fast, and Osamu didn’t know whether or not he’d reach the stars or crash and burn and snuff out forever.
Osamu was more of a slow rolling burn, barely maintaining a boil.
Going into professional volleyball wouldn’t be easy, but if he really worked, it could be possible. He just… hesitated.
He didn’t want it enough.
Part — and a large part at that — of the reason that people made it in industries like pro sports was because they wanted it more than anything in life and acted like it. There also needed to be a helping hand of natural talent, but even the best prodigy needed some element of want in order to be the best. Osamu just… didn’t have the drive. He didn’t love it enough.
It was a hard pill to swallow, because while he did derive some modicum of joy from other things in life, volleyball was the one he got the greatest happiness from. He never soared higher than when he was on the court and suddenly he was just as much of a main character as Atsumu was.
Only now that he was one year away from graduating, the reality of his situation was setting in and that happiness was becoming bittersweet. It was difficult for him to wrap his head around it. It was daunting; to not only give up on what you thought was your passion and then not know where to go from there.
But pro sports was a world where only those who really wanted it even had a chance of making it. Osamu needed something more realistic.
So what else was he good at?
Eventually, he settled on planning to own his own restaurant. He was good at business, and with the way they grew up, having something that was his own was appealing.
The Miya family loved to cook — Osamu would even go so far to say that all of their love languages were food and acts of service.
His mother in particular had always preached that the way to someone’s heart was through their stomach. It was how she wooed their father, as she always reminisced. Osamu found that it was much the same for him with Suna, so he couldn’t exactly complain. Atsumu had yet to really buy into the idea completely, but he’d always been more focused on his career than any potential romance in his life. Osamu took after their mother and was a romantic at heart.
They were a small but proud family. Osamu thinks it would be nice to share food and the Miya family love of food with others. As far as a career went, it wasn’t that bad.
(He hated how it felt like he was trying to talk himself into this, but it wasn’t like he had any other choice.)
(He’d never make it in volleyball. Not like Atsumu — and he knew himself well enough to know that being faced with repeated failure would make him grow bitter and resent the sport he once so loved.)
He was okay with settling for contentment. He could find happiness elsewhere. And besides, he did love food.
(It just hurt to know that even though he knew the door would eventually have closed on his face anyway, he was the one closing that door prematurely in an attempt to prevent further hurt.)
He just wasn’t the only one he had to convince of that fact.
“What do you mean you’re quitting?” Atsumu demanded.
Osamu had stayed late at practice with Atsumu to have this conversation. At the end of their second year, the season was already over, but Atsumu didn’t know the meaning of rest and had wanted to practice more. He was to be captain for their third year. He couldn’t afford to slack off.
Osamu just didn’t want to have this conversation in front of an audience; family or otherwise
“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Osamu drawled, plopping down on a bench. “I’m still playing with you until the end of high school. I’m just not going pro.”
Atsumu’s eyes were wide and even just a little bit watery. Osamu had never wanted to know what his own face looked like when devastated.
“’Samu, what do you mean?” Atsumu asked again, this time quieter. He sounded a little lost. Like a child.
Osamu let out a heavy sigh, ignoring how his own eyes began to water. “This wasn’t going to continue on forever, he said softly. ”I love volleyball, ‘Tsumu, but not the way you do. It’s not enough to turn into a career.“
“So you’re not even going to try?” his twin demanded his eyes wild.
“I don’t think I could handle trying.”
That stopped both of them in their tracks. Osamu hadn’t meant to be so honest.
“I’m no prodigy,” Osamu continued. “I’m good, but it’s not enough; not when competing with monsters like you and those other Youth Camp players. I just don’t compare. I wouldn’t make the cut.”
“Then work harder!” Atsumu demanded, but Osamu could see the understanding slow understanding behind the anger in his eyes. He knew as well as Osamu that just ‘working harder’ wasn’t going to be enough.
Osamu shook his head. “My blood doesn’t sing for it the way it does for you. Volleyball is a sport that I enjoy, but at the end of the day, it’s just a sport. I wouldn’t make it far enough for it to be worth it. And I would hate it.”
The Miya twins were infamously competitive. Neither of them handled failure well, but the way they internalized it was different.
Failure fueled Atsumu with fire. He internalized all of his faults and targeted them without mercy in order to never make the same mistakes again. It filled him with spite and this almost rage-like fervour. He had a tendency to blame himself for losses that couldn’t possibly be his fault, but it never brought him down for too long.
Osamu internalized it too, but contrary to what he showed outwardly, he took it a lot harder. It was like failure doused the light of passion inside Osamu. Every mistake was a personal failing that would keep him up at night. He couldn’t stop turning the situation over and over in his head even if he knew that at the end of the day, he made the best possible decision. Every hint of failure still plagued him and he just couldn’t let them go. He did his best to hide it but he was quick to grow bitter when confronted with failure. He almost didn’t want to continue because it would only get worse. Would a lack of success ruin it for him?
He didn’t know and that terrified him.
“But won’t you regret not going for it even though it’s your passion?” Atsumu asked. “There’s only so much time…”
“I’m just not enough. I’m not meant for it,” Osamu replied. “I need achievable goals and even though I believe in you, I don’t believe in me.” He smiled wryly. “Besides, I love food too.”
Atsumu was quiet for a moment.
“We were supposed to do this together.”
“It’s not like I’ll completely quit volleyball,” Osamu said, knowing his words offered little comfort to his twin. “I’ll still keep it in my life as a hobby and we’ll play together full-time for another year.”
“But it won’t be the same,” Atsumu said. “I wouldn’t be setting to you.”
“We still have another year.”
“But then I’ll be on my own.”
Osamu sighed. “You did it once at the Youth Camp this year,” he pointed out. “And even if I went pro, the odds of a team signing both of us are so low. You wouldn’t be setting to me forever.”
For as upset as Atsumu was, Osamu knew that this wasn’t the first time he’d had to think about this reality. As much as he acted otherwise, Atsumu wasn’t stupid nor naïve. He knew that there was an expiration date on their career as the Miya duo on the court. He supposed that Atsumu just hadn’t expected how it would feel or just how soon it would be.
“I wish you’d reconsider.”
“You know I’ve thought this through.”
“Yeah,” Atsumu admitted softly. “This is what will make you happy?”
Osamu bit his lip glancing away from Atsumu’s searching gaze. He knew his twin saw right through him, but it was a truth that should remain unspoken. “I can be,” he said. That was as much truth as he could allow to be spoken out loud.
Atsumu pursed his lips, clearly unhappy with Osamu’s choice but knowing his twin well enough to know that he had made up his mind for better or for worse and there was no point in continuing to remind him of all the pitfalls. It would just make both of them more miserable.
“Fine. But we’re winning Nationals this year so you better work hard.”
Osamu couldn’t help but smile. Atsumu may sound demanding but Osamu could see his words for the gesture that they were. Atsumu wanted their last year together to be one to remember; a last hurrah. Atsumu had always been the kind of dramatic bitch to want to go out with a bang.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he snorted. “We have to make it to nationals first.”
“That’s not even a concern.”
Out of the two twins, no one expected that it would be Osamu that would struggle.
Atsumu was that much louder, that much more passionate about a seemingly unattainable career path. He was reckless and outspoken, and he didn’t care about anyone’s feelings but his own. He spoke without hesitation, and angered those around him freely.
Osamu, was different. Where Atsumu was a burning sun, Osamu was the calm and cool moon. He didn’t lash out with anyone but Atsumu, and he was very clearly the twin that reigned in the other. Oh, he was still just as crazy as Atsumu, but he knew how to keep it under wraps better. He cared about seeming in control where Atsumu simply didn’t.
He was content to let Atsumu take the spotlight. Osamu liked being a setter just as well — technically, he even had more skill than his twin — but he didn’t possess the fire that Atsumu did. Above all else, Osamu loved his brother, so why would he fight him for a position that didn’t matter as much to Osamu as it did to Atsumu?
If he thought about it, that was probably where all of his issues stemmed from.
When your face isn’t really your own, that comes with identity issues. Nothing ever really belonged to just Osamu, but that was okay. It just became a little difficult when Osamu looked back on himself and really saw who he was. He loved volleyball, don’t get him wrong, but he didn’t love it nearly as much as Atsumu seemed to. He just couldn’t understand where the never-ending passion came from.
What about the bitter taste of defeat? What about the twinge that came from caring so much, only to fall a tiny bit short every time? Osamu didn’t know how Atsumu did it.
(He hoped that whatever Atsumu did that made him bounce back didn't fade anytime soon because now Osamu wouldn't be there to pick up the pieces should there be a failure that broke the camel's back.)
Osamu didn’t know when everything really began?
His relationship with Atsumu was as good as ever, and now that he was on his own at university, the status of being one half of a whole wasn’t something that hung over his head amongst his peers. He was more his own person than ever before.
Even the people he played volleyball with didn’t really make a big deal out of him being a Miya twin. Sure, they knew that his brother was in the pro leagues, but they judged him based on his own abilities so it was basically a moot point.
He picked a good business school, but it didn’t exactly have strong sports teams. Then again, Osamu wasn’t looking to compete, just keep volleyball in his life, so it served him well enough.
They had a combination of hobby and formerly competitive players. Everyone from starting players to third line and at first Osamu loved it. It reminded him why he loved the sport — and of that one rant the former Nekoma captain was always going on and on about — and just how rewarding teaching could be. He got to see the way his teammates lit up when they finally started getting the hang of a skill. He got to work alongside people that in another life he had competed against.
Their games were against each other and local community teams. It was low stakes and had a flexible schedule which was great for students. Osamu had fun!
So yeah, he really didn’t know when it started.
There was no big event or anything that could serve as a stressor. He was on top of his assignments and he didn’t have any midterm to stress about. Perhaps it would be most accurate to say that it began insidiously.
Practices became more and more tiring. School was long and hard, yes, but he hadn’t expected how reluctant it would make him to go. Sure, once he got to the gym it was fine, but every moment leading up to crossing that threshold just sucked.
Then practice itself started being hard to get through. There was just this ever-present want to go home. That feeling didn’t abate when he was on the court and flying again, and it didn’t abate when he got back to his dorm either. It didn’t even abate when he went back to Hyogo.
Osamu came to the conclusion that perhaps his idea of home, only existed in memories. Perhaps his home was the memory itself.
He lied and called Suna home.
He couldn’t even really say that these feelings ever really came to a head.
He was aware of what was happening, but it was like he was stuck inside his head behind a layer of plexiglass out of volleyball.
Perhaps saying that it didn’t come to a head would be wrong.
It was the middle of practice — Osamu was working with a new club member on the basics of setting while the others had a practice match — when he was stuck with a thought. He felt completely numb. He was just going through the motions and there was no feeling behind his actions.
He was smiling and acting normal but he felt completely dead. He just wanted to go home and lay down in his bed — even though he knew that once he got to his bed, he wouldn’t feel any better.
He finished the rest of practice like he was in a daze. He showered at the gym and then walked home. It was after dark. His dorm was empty. His roommate must have gone home.
He’d barely crossed the threshold of the room before the tears began to slip down his face.
All of a sudden, emotion slammed into him like a truck. His heartrate pounded in his ears and it was like his lungs couldn’t take in oxygen no matter how much he heaved.
His eyes shot wildly around the room but he didn’t even know what he was looking for. He buried his hands in his hair, pulling taught and tried to hold himself together. He slid down the door, hitting the floor with a thunk. He didn’t understand where all the panic was coming from.
He fumbled with his phone, dropping it twice in his attempt to get it out from his pocket. His eyesight was blurry with tears but he was well practiced in dialing Suna’s number by now. He held it to his ear with a trembling hand, nervously running his other through his hair in some effort to self-soothe.
“Babe?” Suna’s voice filtered through the speaker and past the sound of his own blood racing. “Is everything okay? It’s late and you don’t usually call on Tuesdays.”
“I can’t do it anymore.”
“Babe?” Osamu could hear Suna’s sharp inhale and he knew that he’d phrased it badly but now that he’d started, he wasn’t able to stop the word vomit.
“Volleyball,” Osamu bit out. “I can’t do it. I can’t handle it anymore.”
He knew he wasn’t making sense. He was blubbering and stuttering and he hadn’t even planned on calling everyone.
“Osamu, what—”
“I felt nothing,” Osamu cut him off. “I was at practice today and all I wanted to do was go home. But i can’t go home! Home doesn’t exist anymore and I’m so lost and I don’t know what to do,” he rambled.
“I thought I’d be able to do it. I thought that I would be okay with keeping volleyball in my life in this way but I was gravely mistaken,” he continued, ignoring whatever attempt Suna made to get a word in edgewise. “I didn’t pursue it professionally because I was terrified that I’d grow bitter and grow to hate it when I inevitably didn’t make it. I didn’t think I’d grow to hate it anyway!”
“You hate—?”
“And it’s so shitty!” Osamu blubbered. “It’s so stupid because why am I so selfish? I’m not jealous of ‘Tsumu, I just feel like I could never measure up. I’m just not enough. Every time I touch the ball, I’m reminded of what I used to be and what I could still be if I wasn’t like this!”
“I chose this!” he yelled. “Because I’m self-aware enough to know myself and my capabilities. I wouldn’t have made it. But it burns to watch as the door slowly closes behind me. It’s too late to start but age-wise I’m still in the range so the door isn’t shut completely and I can’t stop thinking about it. Why am I like this?!”
“It’s not too late,” Suna said softly. “The decision isn’t set in stone. You can still try.”
Osamu snorted in a rather unflattering and wet way. “I’m not the player I was in high school, Rintarou. It’s been years and I just don’t have it in me anymore. Why would I willingly commit to that humiliation and disappointment?”
“It would make you happy—”
“But it wouldn’t!” he snapped. “It wouldn’t,” he repeated, this time, a little softer. “It’s stupid and juvenile, but while I’m still good, the feeling is just too different. I’m not happy. I’m not even content. I’m damn miserable and I’m bitter and toxic. It’s suffocating, Rin. I’m drowning and I can’t feel and I’m so nauseous I could throw up. The worst part is that it’s just a sport. It shouldn’t matter this much.”
Suna was quiet for a moment. “It was years of your life,” he said. “Hell, for high school, it very well became your life. That’s not something you can just get over. You haven’t really grieved, have you?”
“I didn’t think I had to! It’s not like I stopped playing.”
“But you did,” Suna responds calmly. His calm almost sending Osamu deeper into his spiral. “You’re no longer competing and you’re not playing with Atsumu anymore. You gave up on your dream. Yeah, you can move on, but you have to grieve first.”
Osamu inhaled, his breath rattling in his chest and catching on a sob. “I didn’t want to be like this.”
“It’s okay to be upset,” Suna said.
“I thought I could avoid this.” Now he was just whining. God, he really was a child. “I just… I can’t do it anymore. I can’t keep going through the motions.”
“Then quit.”
It felt like he’d been punched in the chest. He couldn’t keep going like this, but the thought of quitting — actually fulling quitting — hurt more than he could have expected.
“It wasn’t meant to be like this.”
He wasn’t meant to be crying alone on the floor of his university dorm on the phone with his boyfriend who was across the country. He wasn’t supposed to be having breakdown after breakdown left and right and making it everyone else’s problem.
He was the good twin.
And yet his life was falling apart around him.
He took a pause, breathing in slowly and trying to steel himself. "I can't quit," he said softly. "I only have this last year before it's effectively over forever. I'll only have the occasional game you guys rope me into. Even if I feel absolutely horrible, I know that I'll regret not going."
"Osamu..." Suna said. "You don't have to do this to yourself."
"I already have to deal with these what-ifs," he said, shaking his head even though he knew that Suna couldn't see it. "I can't just up and leave either. I'm an upperclassmen and I have a responsibility."
"This isn't high school. It's okay to step away if it will be better for your health."
Osamu found it funny, the implication that in high school their mental health hadn't mattered. Sometimes he forgot that Suna was every bit the volleyball crazed freak that his brother was because he wasn't all that loud about it. But he'd made it to pro. There had to be some element of crazy.
"I can't, Rin," he repeated. "I'd regret it more if I didn't stay. I just... God, I'm so tired, Rin. I wish I didn't have to feel like this."
"I wish you didn't either."
Osamu thunked his head back against the door, squeezing his eyes closed tight. "I should go. I have a paper that's due in a week that I should really get a start on."
"Are you sure you'll be okay?"
He swallowed thickly. "Yeah."
"Okay. I love you, you know?"
"I know, I love you too."
He hung up before Suna could say anything else - ask Osamu again if he was sure or okay or something else equally heartbreaking. He didn't really have a paper. He shouldn't have called at all.
He let his hand drop to his side, staring blankly at the black screen of his phone.
Maybe he'd feel better if he got some sleep.