Chapter Text
Atsumu is 18 when he realises he’s just a little bit lonely.
Scrutinising the idea that to be lonely is a thought and not just a feeling, Atsumu deciphers that the thought of being lonely differs from being entirely alone. Physically, he could be present in a social setting with warm hands and loud-belly laughs for comfort, yet it does nothing to soothe the deep cold ache in his ribs. It boils down to the idea that he is simultaneously alone and lonely altogether. Through and through, Atsumu’s thought hard about what it truly means to be lonely.
Loneliness does nothing to foster happiness. Although Atsumu is convinced he does not need to be social to be happy, the thought still lingers inside him from time to time. However, there were a lot of things that he’s happy about, mostly his psychic twin superpowers shared with Osamu, and his career in volleyball. That was truly all he needed to be happy.
There were many things in life that Atsumu could be happier without, mostly if you asked him, he'd tell you that he's much happier without his twin. It’s a weird contradiction, since he spent most of his journals detailing his appreciation for his twin despite never actually admitting it. But, it's true to a certain extent, but once he's repeated it far too many times to count, it gets bored on his tongue. His thoughts dull around it, where would he be without Osamu? How would life fair without his annoying grey-haired counterpart? It boils down to the simple things, minuscule but quietly gentle; like a soft shrug when he needs it, a warm meal after a long day, cutting strands of hair when he needs it.
He'd never admit it, but Atsumu would never know who he'd become if he didn't have Osamu.
He doesn't want to know what it'd be like either. From the bottom of his heart he has accepted the fact that he's stuck forever with the slightly more annoying version of himself— a fervent reminder of his capabilities and incapabilities, a striking similar handsome face that made him feel awfully narcissistic if he stared too long.
Sometimes, between the lull of sleep and the waking dawn, Atsumu wakes up in cold sweat and he wonders what life would be like without Osamu. He thinks it would be lonely.
But he feels loneliest in their shared apartment, loneliest underneath the warm kitchen lights, loneliest in front of the buzzing rainbow-screened television. Most of all, he feels loneliest in his own head.
He’d never had the time to ponder over these sort of things, since he was busy making a name for himself in the volleyball scene. Adventuring into university, Atsumu didn't think leaving high school was a big deal.
It wasn't like he didn't care per se, but to him it was mostly just another drawer shut and an opened window. He's never been one for sentimentalities, unlike Osamu, who clutched his second button tightly as though he'd never let it go. He gave it away too easily, Atsumu thought. To someone he'd barely known, and someone Atsumu could care even less about. Osamu's girl, she was deemed, was never actually in a relationship with his twin, but they were close enough to kiss, just not close enough for Osamu to have qualms about leaving for a university in Tokyo. Heartbreaker to his core, Miya Atsumu knew he could never have something that Osamu and his high school girlfriend could have, and throughout his life he'd never care about it.
Atsumu didn't need the tangled mess of emotion, feelings and full tacit-understanding. Atsumu needed something real, something he could touch and mould to its core. He needed a skill, something like volleyball. And he did have volleyball, he always will. All he had to do was go through university, which was really no big deal. One degree, four years and he's out, hopefully in a division 1 volleyball team. That was the dream, always have and always will be.
Somewhere along the way, he's in his apartment. Cool-tiled and barefooted, Atsumu stands next to Osamu with his hands elbow-deep into whipping cream. On his mess of blonde streaks there was flour, probably some butter and eggs. Osamu couldn't help but call out to him, he says they could make a whole cake on Atsumu's ‘fat head’.
Osamu's smiling again, and he wonders why. He’s been doing it a lot lately. It leaves a cold feeling in his gut.
"You're happy, ain'tcha?" Atsumu speaks aloud, twisting the cool metal bowl in the crook of his elbow as his other hand controls the electric whisk. "Ya been real quiet lately about something, 'Samu. What'dya keeping from lil ol' me?"
A sharp dismiss felt more like a knife to the heart than it should. Osamu scoffs like he couldn't be bothered to explain his social endeavours to his stupid little brother. It hurt, for a moment, it stung for a long while afterwards, but the rising anger boiling inside Atsumu made his head so much clearer. It felt like grief, more like dying than anything.
Osamu shakes his head after a while, "I ain't keepin' anything from ya." He continues measuring the flour like it's no big deal.
"The fuck ya are!" Atsumu explodes, head higher than the ceiling lights. "Ya been smirkin' about 'n gigglin' around. It's real fuckin’ annoying. Just what are ya so happy about?!" He drops the whisk in a fit of rage, red has always been his colour. It's been simmering for far too long inside him, like milk bubbled around the corners of a hot pan and curdled slightly. He's at the right temperature to lose it all.
Atsumu has never been good at reigning in his emotions, it's his most fatal flaw. In middle school. people skittered around him in fear for his unpredictable personality. He thought it was dumb, so he never said anything about it despite feeling lonely about it all. It's stupid really, at its core it's just people conforming to the standard procedures of society.
Nobody's ever bothered to read between the lines or peel away at Atsumu like an onion, not like Osamu or Suna did. Nobody looked at him for his truest realest self, and that in itself is such a waste. Anyway, he didn't want to be around people like that in the first place. He's grateful for his colourful personality guarding him from runts like that.
It's not like he has anger issues, he's been through this plenty of times with Osamu; mostly underneath the blue moon and the whispers of autumn calling for them. Atsumu always gets the loneliest during their birthday, and it makes him vulnerable. And when he's vulnerable, he's at his worst. Not even his colourful personality could shield him away from being true to himself and Osamu. Just like that, Osamu tells him he's a kind person. Atsumu doesn't want to believe him, so he doesn't.
"I thought we were brothers." Atsumu continues, his twin quiet and dull around the sifter. "Ya can tell me anythin' y'know? I'm not mad at ya, I just feel left out."
"Ya gonna think it's stupid." Osamu grunts out finally.
Atsumu raises an eyebrow, "I always think you're stupid. 'S never stopped ya from telling me dumb shit all the time."
"You wouldn't get it, Atsumu." his twin stops sifting, and turns away from him. He hides in front of the window, a frown present on his face.
"Then fuckin' explain it to me?" He says like it's the most obvious thing ever. And then Osamu caves in.
"I met someone." Osamu grumbles, fast in speed shielded by the low tone of his gruff voice. Atsumu almost loses his head from how fast he swivels to face his twin. The grey-haired boy had pink stained cheeks and trembling lips. He's never looked this disgruntled in his entire life, not even when he confessed to his high school girlfriend.
From the look on his face, Atsumu understands now. He knows what it means to fall in love and like someone, he's just never wanted to. He's never held a desire like that for anything other than volleyball, and his love for Sunarin is mostly platonic no matter how tall, dark and mysterious the other boy is. Atsumu's just never wanted a partner, ever. Not for intimacy, not for sex and most definitely not for life. He couldn't see himself with someone, he didn't feel like he deserved that sort of privacy yet.
Growing up with a brother, love and lust weren't difficult to comprehend especially since they had each other to confide in. The first time Osamu expresses his need to kiss his high school girlfriend, that was when Atsumu knew he couldn't understand it. Most of all, he couldn't understand it because Osamu loved her. He loved her so much he wanted to kiss her and share all sorts of intimacies with her. That is what he couldn't understand.
Atsumu is certain he could get it up for a girl, that much is true. But he'd never wanted to, nor did he really ever have the opportunity to. The one thing he could never understand was falling in love and being intimate, that is what had him in knots. The intimacy, and the vulnerability, all that was not for him. Not to say he's too good for that shit, it's more like he'd never deserve it. Not in a million years, not when he's set on his career. He'd never love anyone more than volleyball, that's what his mother always said.
It really did feel bitter, like burnt sugar far too bitter to taste sweet. Osamu has never revealed his thoughts on Atsumu's disposition, but hearing it now felt far worse than he'd expected.
Maybe some things should be kept to himself, he wonders.
"Who?" He says, despite it all. Even though he's deflated and crumbling at the edges, he'd never let his own personal feelings disrupt his brother's happiness. "Who's got ya in such a twist?"
"It's no big deal, alright?" Osamu says, but he blushes and contradicts his statement. "We're group mates for a history paper due in four months. We just started, and I think she's super cool, that's all."
He continues sifting the flour lackadaisically, but Atsumu knew better. His twin's got his head wrapped around the idea of being with someone again, and it's clouding his judgement. He doesn't want to assume, but he definitely wants to scope it out.
"Keep it in ya pants, 'Samu."
Osamu seethes, "I knew ya wouldn't fuckin' get it." He drops the sift and stares Atsumu dead in the eyes, "Ya couldn't like someone not even for the life of ya. Y'know why, 'Tsumu? It's ‘cause you're obsessed with yourself."
Osamu didn't stop him from putting down the whisk, he didn't stop him from breaking a bowl, he didn't stop him when he left. Osamu didn't stop him from coming home at 8 AM covered in kiss-marks and pockets full of condom wrappers. Osamu didn't say anything as he continued to destruct. It had Atsumu questioning, why would he? He's old enough to make his own decisions, he doesn't need Osamu to tell him what's wrong and what's right. He didn't even think Osamu noticed.
Through it all, Osamu didn't stop him from floating further away from his orbit. Atsumu's in Pluto now, he's in for the deep.
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Atsumu didn't know the thrill of addiction until he was kissed for the first time.
He was in his head, tired and angry from Osamu's painful truest thoughts of him. There was a build up inside him like clogged lumen collecting for years, akin to dust between the bookshelves of his mother's old library books she has yet to return. When he grabs his coat and his wallet, he was expecting for Osamu to stop him, or do anything. In turn he got radio silence and an even louder hum of anger inside him. He left their apartment and sought out Suna Rintarou.
If all else fails, he could go to Sunarin, he always could. No matter how close Sunarin and Osamu are, he still had a place in the fox-eyed boy's heart, he knows he does. He's certain of it.
Suna owes it to him, but he wasn't going to bring that up to him. He's just hoping the other boy would get the memo and do something about his thrumming anxiety and pained pride.
He's phoning the sleepy-eyed boy minutes after he steps out the elevator, moving towards his car, and he's buckled in by the time Suna declines. Atsumu sighs, and he waits for a text, or something, anything that could keep him just slightly together. Where the fuck would he go anyway? He didn't fucking know, but he knew he couldn't be in their apartment right now. It made him sick just to think about it, playing stupid like Osamu's words didn't make him feel like shit. His twin really hit home, as expected from someone who's known him his entire life.
That in itself is enough to shock him out of his dazed stupor, combined with the buzzed text from Sunarin.
>> Econs seminar, Hall D. What do u want?
fought w samu.
i'll be back late.>> where u going? don't do smth stupid w/o me there.
dunno yet
think I'll hang w bokkun>> ok.
don't tell samu tho
I don't want him to know where I am>> no shit sherlock.
fuck ya sunarin (￢_￢;)
And then, Atsumu is left on seen, and he's scrambling to start the car. He's sure Bokuto wouldn't mind him barging in, it's not like it's the first time doing so. The only few times he's been over at Bokuto's was because he lives near to his university.
He met Bokuto through Shoyo, who he's in close contact with. Too bad he's far in Brazil, but that didn't stop him from watching over Atsumu via the owl-haired boy. He's grateful for it, he had one other person besides Suna Rintarou to befriend. Most importantly, he didn't have to share Bokuto with Osamu, because they don't know each other at all.
He'd like it to stay like that, he thinks he'd die than have Bokuto around Osamu. He likes Bokuto, energetic and kind, he finds himself comforted by it. He likes himself around the other boy too, he thinks he's the better part of himself with him.
Atsumu knocks on a spray painted white door minutes later, his hands tucked into his jacket and hair standing on his neck. It was a cold night, good for his burning anger but not good enough for his aching ribs. When the door opens, it was not Bokuto who answers. Someone he had yet to meet, a sly smirk and nerdy glasses, complemented with super rad bed-hair. He finds himself questioning the laws of gravity by how oddly placed his hair fell.
"Kuroo Tetsurou." The bed-haired boy smiles. "Are you here for someone?"
"Miya Atsumu." He grins back, "I'm here for Bokkun. You're the new roommate right? Ya go to the uni here?"
Kuroo opens the door wider and ushers him in with a wider smirk, "Just moved in and yeah, I study chem there."
"'S sick bro. Ya gotta be super smart or somethin'" Atsumu says, and he finds himself sat on the couch with Kuroo, "'S no wonder ya hair can stand that way, ya got those magical STEM powers to keep it up, don'tcha?"
“Fuck yeah bro!" Kuroo grins wider, and then he calls out to Bokuto from the living room, "Bo! Your super cool tall tanned hot blonde friend is here!"
He shares a secret smirk with Kuroo, one that looks devious and devilish, but also quiet and careful. He can see the calculative gaze in Kuroo's eyes, he knows a middle blocker when he sees one. Something inside him swells up like a balloon, he feels comforted by Kuroo's curious eyes and happy grins. But even still, Osamu's words travel back to him, even more when he sees a picture of a girl on Kuroo's phone. He sees it when the screen lights up, it was a text from someone, presumably his girlfriend, and then he’s knee-deep back to the sour conversation he had with Osamu about the girl he likes.
Atsumu didn't know how long he'd been staring at the coffee table where Kuroo's phone lay, but he knew it was long enough to be suspicious. Especially when Kuroo tapped him on his back, curious gazed but misty smirks on. He gestures to the pillows on the couch and eyes Atsumu deviously.
When Bokuto Koutarou walks in, he loses his footing over the pillows thrown at him from the scheming two nestled comfortably on the couch.
"What's up Tsum-tsum?" The smiling boy says, wrestling a pillow over Kuroo Tetsurou's head. "It's pretty late — you drove here?"
He gestures to the couch, and then he's sandwiched between the sly boy and the happy boy, "Yeah, I did." It's all he offers, as if it is the only thing he could say without throwing a fit. He doesn't want to do that anymore, he wants to let go.
Atsumu doesn't want to feel this itching white-hot burn underneath his skin whenever he allows himself the luxury of being real. It's not worth it. Atsumu wants to forget so badly, until Osamu's disposition left his body and he could no longer feel guilty for being the somebody that he is. Forget he must.
Kuroo slid him a raised brow, and pursed lips, "You wanna talk about it?"
A beat later Atsumu sends a manic grin, bright but eerie, his eyes were like two pools of liquid honey. Deep and drowned, tortured and quiet.
"I wanna get fucking smashed."
A couple of coin tosses later; Atsumu, Kuroo and Bokuto end up knee deep in mud and wasted out of their fucking minds.
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Osamu is silent when he gets home. It's quiet in the morning, colourful splashes of sunlight filtered through the tinted glass pane covering the living room with a hue of golden blue. When Atsumu gets home, he gets home quietly. Although his head is spinning like Jupiter on orbit, his legs filled with lead and his heart heavier than he'd care to admit— he's still quiet and light-footed. For his Sunarin's sake only, he'd argue. Not the person who lived his life alongside him. It felt too raw to speak about something like that, so he doesn't ruminate it further.
Though his footsteps are quiet, Osamu waits for him in the living room with a stern frown on his face. If he recalls, Osamu had never bothered to wait for him before this. He must be feeling really guilty, but for what exactly? Guilt is measured by the waking conscience as a sadistic round-about for the sleeping subconscious. Atsumu didn't understand why Osamu looked so guilty for saying something true. Even though it stung, he wasn't any less incorrect. The more he stared at Osamu's twisted brows and worried eyes, the brighter his anger burnt.
Atsumu walks further into the living room, passing through to get into the green-tiled kitchen. On his feet, he crushes a can of beer and slams it into the trashcan, that is when Osamu breaks.
"Where the fuck were ya scrub?!"
Atsumu pays him no mind, and reaches into his coat to pull out another can of beer. It's warm in his hands, like heated clay in his malleable palms. When he grasps the handle of the refrigerator, the heat gets too hot to bare. Osamu grabs his shoulders and pins him to the other end of the counter. His hands are cold, but the beer stays warm.
He knows Osamu can smell his breath, "Are ya a meathead? Obviously I went out, stupid." Osamu meets his eyes with uncertainty scrutinised deeply into his sclera, and for a moment, Atsumu sees something shift in the universe between them. Hot breath laced with traces of beer, and the sharp disappointment from his twin brother were enough to send him deeper into orbit.
Between the two, the distance grows further, and then far enough until Osamu releases his grip on Atsumu's shoulders. There's something bitter in the air, and it trails around Osamu's shoulders, lifting his hair and crawling out of his throat. Nothing was exchanged between the two, just pure unadulterated misery and the painful hope for an excuse. He knew Osamu wanted something, a word, an apology, an excuse, anything but deafened silence. Atsumu also knows that he's not strong enough to give Osamu anything.
The grey-haired twin stays silent for a breath, and then he lifts his eyes away from Atsumu. "I hope you know what you're fucking doing." the boy says in disdain. He pulls away enough to get a good look at Atsumu, noting the smell of sweat and fresh bruises on his neck.
One look at Atsumu and he already knew they're shifting apart.
“Obviously I fucking know what i’m doing.”
“Really?” Osamu grinds, “‘Cuz it really doesn't look like it.” His voice is cold, and it softens something inside Atsumu.
He steps closer to Osamu, and now he’s the one gripping his twin’s collar. His teeth are a mess of lipstick stains and they grind against each other, mimicking Osamu’s angry sneer. He really doesn’t feel like getting into a fight with Osamu, at least nothing physical just yet. He’s tired and wasted, and he really needs a fucking nap.
“Ya don’t look fucking good either.” He takes a dig at Osamu’s bruised eye bags and worried lines. Atsumu finds that his twin looks far older than he does when he’s worried, especially over something miniscule and mundane. It’s not like Osamu’s never gotten fucked before.
His twin bares his teeth, “Bullshit! I’m doin’ better than ya and ya know it. What the fuck is wrong with you, ‘Tsumu? And where the fuck have ya been?” Osamu pushes out in one harsh breath, and Atsumu can hear his voice waver just a slight.
“I don’t hafta fuckin’ tell ya anything.” Atsumu breathes, and lets go of his collar. “Especially when ya don’t tell me jack shit and act all pissy either.”
Atsumu moves to break away from the cool distance between them, he cant stand the look in Osamu’s eyes. It made him feel seen, and scrutinised, something harsher than the wondering eyes of Kuroo but gentle like he knows something that Atsumu doesn’t. It makes him sick, and he wants to puke out the last bits of his hangover.
He’s halfway through the living room when Osamu breathes out the last word, “Who the fuck are you?” And It stings more than it needs to. He doesn’t hear the last bit of Osamu’s drained dialogue, probably berating him over his poor life choices and he doesn’t fucking want to either.
There's nothing that could be said to shorten the distance between them. On one day short of Spring, Atsumu and Osamu are light-years apart.