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On a cold winter’s day, the Miya twins found themselves in a rather precarious dilemma, one that endangered their lives as their eyes bored holes into the abomination that lay innocently yet perniciously, on the couch.
“What is it?” Atsumu muttered, appalled.
Osamu sniffed. “I think . . . it’s a sweater.”
“A sweater?” Atsumu scoffed, unimpressed. “More like an insult to the history of fashion. It’s garish.”
“It is quite pink,” Osamu reaffirmed.
“It’s not pink! It’s magenta, ya dolt. What, are ya colour blind too?” Atsumu sneered at his brother, a pleased grin forming on his lips to receive an involuntary twitch of the eye. The small movement is more than enough to convey his brother’s agitation and satiate Atsumu’s desire to be the bane of his brother’s existence.
“At least I won’t make people blind by wearing it. You can have it.” Osamu spat out, his lips quirking upward because although subdued, Osamu also revels in being a menace. Atsumu’s gasped, aghast.
“You can’t be serious! Leave with that, thing—on and yer beggin’ for a public execution! No thanks, I’d rather die.” Atsumu grimaced. The longer he looked at the article of clothing, the more it physically repulsed him. “It’s got such an ugly neckline too.” He sniffed as if he were scrutinising it from the perspective of a designer—to which he might as well be because his fashion sense is impeccable thank you very much. Atsumu might not wear Prada but he’d be damned if he wasn’t the Devil.
Osamu’s eyes suddenly brightened at the mention of death. If Atsumu had to be honest, it was almost unsettling with how they gleamed, an empty smile on his brother’s lips as he chipped in with a little too much zeal, “What’s yer preferred method of death? I specialise in strangulation and fists.”
Atsumu snorted, crossing his arms. “Yeah right, if ya wanted to murder me ya would have done it ages ago.” Although he said that, Atsumu kept a wary eye on his brother, tapping his foot nervously, an unintentional mechanism that helped get his limbs moving should he find the need to run.
Osamu’s eyes flattened again, copying his brother’s stance if not slightly slumping in posture because everything about Osamu has to deflate a little. “Boo, mood killer.”
Atsumu only opted to roll his eyes as they landed on the far more pressing emergency than Osamu’s supposed murderous intents. “Whatever ‘Samu, I’m not wearing it--”
“ToolateIcalldibsontheblackone!” Osamu hastily spilled in one breath, immediately lunging for the other side of the couch.
The black sweater was within a fingertip’s reach before the force of gravity—or alternatively, Atsumu’s gargantuan-sized ego, pulled Osamu down, smashing his face into the carpeted floor as Atsumu’s arm encircled his waist, pinning him to the floor.
“ABSOLUTELY NOT, IT’S MINE!” Atsumu roared in fury, announcing his battle cry as he straddled Osamu’s back, forcing him to stay put on the ground. It wasn’t until Osamu growled did Atsumu’s eyes widen in horror, a foreboding sensation electrifying him. He briefly wondered if this is what it meant to have your ‘flight’ response triggered.
“EAT SHIT ‘TSUMU!”
With Osamu’s words still ringing in his ear, Atsumu was too late to stop his brother from twisting his hips to pierce his elbow into Atsumu’s side like a spear. The fatal jab to his side elicited an agonising groan before Atsumu froze entirely, realising something crucially important that threatened his very safety and the likelihood of him making it past the ripe age of seventeen.
He had forgotten that Osamu was very much stronger than him.
With that, his brother suplexes him and Atsumu found himself hurled across the room.
Atsumu had released an unruly scream while Osamu clumsily scrambled to his feet and made a mad dash toward the black sweater. Osamu felt as though he had won the lottery, but instead of a winning ticket, he ran his fingers across the warm woollen fabric and pulled it towards him—
Only to find a pair of hardened, criminal golden eyes seething with fury glowering at him from the other end of the sweater.
Osamu felt something almost primal awaken in him, the hair on the back of his neck standing up as he bristled. Growling lowly, Osamu narrowed his eyes.
“Let go ‘Tsumu. Last warning.”
Atsumu let out a crisp and bitter laugh. Sometimes, Osamu worried about his brother. Even behind the dishevelled curtain of his fraying piss-blonde hair, he saw the way those eyes of his gleamed, filled with ravenous killing intent. He saw how a vacant smile would eerily crawl to his lips which he’d lick as if he was about to devour his prey. His voice would become too melodious for their rough accent, it’d sound too alluring, too pretty for someone avaricious as Atsumu.
Atsumu’s hunger was of a different kind after all.
There were times when Osamu was genuinely concerned about the fact he might have a sociopath sleeping under his bed.
“Suck my dick ‘Samu.”
Atsumu’s golden eyes glistened with something rabid, it was almost enough to make Osamu feel intimidated.
Then again, he knew better than anyone that his brother was just a filthy cocksucker that gets off on his own attempts at looking cool because he’s just that fucking vain. Osamu grinned.
“Can’t. It’s shrivelled up from how many times you’ve choked on it.”
The gates of Hell opened but even Lucifer himself would never dare to intervene between the two cataclysmic forces of abyssal chaos that were the Miya twins.
The cacophonous sounds of screaming, screeching and crude profanities echoed through the walls, it was enough to make old sailors blush down to the root of their hair. Osamu overpowered Atsumu with good ole’ brute force, he’d bring his fists down with the intent to summon lightning and thunder while the swings of his kicks were as tumultuous and destructive as howling tornadoes.
Atsumu, always being, just a smidge, weaker than Osamu when it comes to strength, more than makes up for it with tactical brilliance and well-aimed strikes.
Meaning, the fucker aims at Osamu’s joints and almost clocked him in the balls. Asshole.
Atsumu’s eyes widened dangerously, his nostrils flaring as he risked taking a hand off the sweater. Osamu considered yanking it straight out of his grip but he saw the way Atsumu brought his arm back, folding it as he assumed an attacking stance. Osamu clicked his tongue. When it came to fists, there was no way he’d let his pig-headed brother win.
“TAKE THIS ‘SAMU, SUPER OUT OF BODY IMPACT ATTAAAAAAACK!”
Osamu scoffed, already bringing his arm back to cut Atsumu’s lifespan down by ten years.
“THAT’S FUCKING LAAAAAAAAME!”
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
“What on earth is goin’ on?”
It was a comical and absurd scene to walk into, to say the least.
They stood hunched over the precious prize that is the non-ugly sweater like cavemen, their mouths agape and their voices muted from fear. Both of their fists were digging into the other’s cheek, rendered completely ineffective and harmless as their strength had been completely sapped by their mother’s wrath cutting the tension with a blade of steel. Their eyes widened, terrified to be in the presence of the indomitable deity that is their mother. They began to sweat profusely, their fists shaking but never detaching from the other’s face as they felt themselves crumple in size as the weight of their mother’s leering glare became larger and larger, engulfing them both in a stony lour.
In their disillusioned minds, they supposed it wouldn’t be too far of a stretch to compare her to Medusa. Their mother was the only being in the entire galaxy, no, the entire universe that could strike terror into their hearts (the only one to have ever rivalled her brilliance in intimidation was their beloved but frigid captain—but it was like comparing a flickering candle to a raging inferno). She could render them speechless, ashamed, and still in the span of three seconds alone (a rather impressive feat—their captain still required at least five).
It was quiet as they held their breaths, waiting for the inevitable end that their mum will bring to their pitiful lives.
Something far worse beyond their imagining had happened instead.
“Honestly, it’s too late for this you two . . . please use yer indoor voices.”
She sighed tiredly, rubbing her temples with one hand as she closed her eyes, slightly pained.
Osamu and Atsumu immediately glanced at each other. A good portion of their face was painted with shock before they were met with a flurry of concern. In the silence, they telepathically communicated a truce as they hesitantly dislodged each other’s fists from the other’s cheeks, slowly bringing their hands to their sides.
At the end of the day, they are still but a pair of brothers.
This meant Osamu immediately broke their mutual agreement and swiftly yanked the sweater right out of Atsumu’s grasp. Atsumu cursed, frantically grabbing at thin air before hissing at his brother.
“Atsumu.”
His mother sharply snapped her tongue and he winced, going rigid as a board as he stood up a little straighter at her call. Osamu choked back on a sound that sounded suspiciously like a laugh but he coughed gently into his hand, hiding a smug smile. Atsumu wanted to punch him but right now he had the current threat that was his benefactor to deal with first.
“Y-yeah?” he asked timidly, feeling mildly embarrassed that he still got this scared by his mum before he felt an unknown emotion swirl in his chest when she looked at him in a way she had never done before.
Her luscious raven tresses were in a dishevelled bird’s nest that he had to infer was intended to be a bun. He noticed the way her figure seemed to slump, or how the w’s on her forehead would run endlessly to the finish line that was the roots of her hair. Her golden eyes that they inherited so proudly, had seemingly lost their vigour, their alluring shine. They were reminiscent of rusting copper instead of the glow of honey.
She looked . . . so tired.
Atsumu tasted something horribly bitter in his mouth, seeing his mother look at him like that.
“What are ya guys fightin’ over now?” she asked, mildly exasperated but he could hear a hint of amusement which dulled the gross taste, just a bit.
“Ma! ‘Samu stole my sweater!” he whined petulantly, pointing at his Osamu as if he were revealing a notorious perpetrator and Atsumu was about to blow this case wide open. Osamu offered him a look of unparalleled disgust in return.
‘Ew. Yer sixteen and ya still feel a need to appeal to her maternal instincts by acting like a brat. Only scumbags take advantage of their mums like that.’
Atsumu resisted the urge to smirk back at him.
‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’
“First come, first serve, ain’t that right Ma?” Osamu says calmly in response but his breath hitched for a moment as his eyes became as wide as plates to hear his mother’s response.
“Ah, that’s true. Try not to push around your brother too much though, okay?”
The smile she had given him was one of resignation, not amusement.
Now alert, both twins watched their mother warily, analysing each and every movement she made as she kept rubbing her head, pained. “Just, don’t make too much noise, yeah? I think I’ve got a migraine . . .” she lamented for a moment and resisted making any unnecessary movement, almost as if hammer was digging a nail into the back of her head. The pounding sensation made her grimace while her brain remained rattled, still perplexed as to why her sons would make such a fuss over a sweater. “I know you two like ta fight over these little things, but you usually aren’t so adamant, is the other one I got really that bad . . .?”
They both watched her shuffle slowly to the couch and glanced at each other fretfully. Seeing her current state, neither of them wanted to admit her unusually repulsive taste in winter-wear this time around. The guilt was eating them alive.
“A-ah, it’s not that bad but--!” Atsumu hastily spluttered out, looking at Osamu helplessly, urging him to finish the excuse off to which his useless idiot of a brother shrugged in return.
“…but with Tsumu’s piss poor body shape, it just makes him look fat.”
“HAH!? WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!?” Atsumu screeched back, largely offended and just a tad self-conscious. Sure he’d been eating more of Osamu’s pudding recently but there’s no way that would ruin the hard-earned muscles he’s cultivated from the years of training, over-exerting himself for the sport he loves!
Osamu gave him an angry warning look, tilting his head to their mum in a jagged movement. Atsumu recoiled before he slapped a hand over his mouth, completely forgetting about her migraine. Before he could apologize to their mum, they both snapped their head in her direction as they heard the sound of fabric sliding off the couch as she gingerly held it up in front of her face.
With bated breath, they waited for hell to arrive.
“Huh. It’s hideous.”
They blinked together.
“What.” / “What?!”
“It’s hideous. It’s honestly hurting my eyes,” she reaffirmed. She examined it closely with her lips turning downward in what they could only assume to be repulse. Her confused expression mirrored their own as she scrunched up her face, thoroughly perplexed. “Why on earth did I buy this?” she mused to herself, baffled as the twins' shoulders slumped simultaneously.
“Yer askin’ us!?” they exclaimed in befuddled unison.
She let out a laugh and while they always loved making their mother laugh, it was as if someone had chipped a crack in their fortress as they felt their walls crumble to hear how strained it was. She languidly sauntered over to Atsumu, her movements were slow like she were in a somnambulistic trance, pulled along by a string. She tenderly placed her hand on Atsumu’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.
Atsumu knew what his mother’s strong hands felt like. He knew because Osamu makes a point to punch him every day with those very same hands he inherited from her, strong, calloused, and thick. He had never realised, just how frail they had become.
She smiled gently. Atsumu wanted to vomit.
“I’m sorry sweetie, there was this cool red one I wanted ta grab for ya but I think I got this pink one by mistake. I was too excited since it said ya could get the second one 50% off. I guess I’m not paying ‘nough attention these days.” She opened her eyes, genuinely looking remorseful. Atsumu’s held his breath, ducking his head a little when her hand trailed up his cheek to land on his hair as she gently brushed through them, raking her fingers across his scalp. He watched her inquisitively, absorbing each movement as her brows twitched up with something he couldn’t quite discern—but it made him feel weird. A bad weird. “You’ll forgive yer mum, won’t ya honey? I’ll exchange it when I get the chance so no fighting, kay?”
Atsumu looked down. He revelled in his mother’s rare touch. She was always working so it wasn’t too often he got to be showered in attention like this. It’s even better because Osamu wasn’t getting the same treatment. She always like ruffling Atsumu’s hair more than Osamu’s, he knew it. He looked her in the eye as she slowly retracted her hand and was about to walk past him when he clenched his fists, agitated.
“I want it.”
Both his mother and brother turned to him in shock as his mother spluttered, “Wh-what? But it’s ugly!”
Atsumu huffed, angrily pouting with his arms crossed over his chest. “Too bad! I want it! If it’s me then it’ll be alright.” Atsumu smirked playfully, flicking his hair up with a cool air of confidence that made Osamu want to barf. “After all, anything can look good if I’m the one that’s wearing it.”
Osamu and their mother glanced at each other, flabbergasted with the development as Atsumu marched up to their mum before snatching the pink sweater away, placing his hands on his hips as if he were posing for a photo shoot.
“Don’t worry about it Ma, ya shouldn’t be pushin’ yerself so hard anyways.” He smiled placidly at her as she narrowed her eyes before chortling.
She let out a nice hearty laugh which brightened up both twins before she shook her head, going over to Atsumu to pinch his cheek. His face immediately contorted into one of pain as he began a whining spiel filled with ‘Ma!’s and ‘Ow!’s. He was only met with her sadistic glee, something far more familiar than any expression she had made in this whole exchange.
She eventually let go as Atsumu rubbed his cheek, jutting his lip in a pout that made his mother want to embarrass him further, but for the sake of her son’s pride, she restrained herself, content with this.
“Yer real cheeky, ya know that?” she told him, her copper eyes twinkling a little as if on the verge of being polished before she pulled his chin down and gave his left brow a quick peck. He looked at her in surprise as she smiled endearingly.
“Thank you, Atsumu.”
Suddenly feeling flustered, his bravado was completely lost as he tried to conjure up a sentence but his mother merely laughed before she made her way down the stairs.
“I’ll be sure to make ya lotsa tuna tonight!” she called out, before humming happily with a new spring in her step.
They watched their mother’s figure disappear, the silence enveloping them.
“Awwh, you’re such a cheeky baby~” Osamu sang monotonously and Atsumu flushed, quick to retort to his ass of a brother.
“SHUT YER TRAP ‘SAMU, AT LEAST SHE LOVES ME MORE THAN YOU! SHE’S EVEN MAKIN’ EXTRA TUNA, JUST FER ME!”
“She got your one 50% off. Therefore her love for you is also 50% off. Heh, I guess you’re just me but atta discounted price, huh? Probably ‘cause yer defected and an asshole.”
“SHADDUP YOU SHIT SNIVELLING SCRUB! IF ANYTHING—YER JUST A DISCOUNT OF ME ‘CAUSE I’M OLDER!”
“YER JUST MAD BECAUSE SHE LOVES ME 50% MORE!”
“FUCK YOU!”