Chapter Text
Atsumu felt more alive in the streets rather than in the court. Everyone expected that one of the Miya twins, if not Osamu, Atsumu would go right to a professional team to play volleyball. After graduating from highschool, no one had heard about the Miya twins going to play in a professional setting.
It all started with the twins holding a flashlight for their father who was a mechanic. Being the older twin, Atsumu was the one who inherited the business after their father’s passing. Atsumu wanted more, he didn't want to be the one who’s just popping the hood, fixing the engines and such, he wanted more.
He wanted to race. Osamu had the same wants as his brother. Osamu decides to apply to be a professional racer, expecting his brother to do the same but Atsumu couldn’t leave the family business.
Back in highschool, Osamu had known that his brother’s wants had changed when he had been slacking off in volleyball practice. He thought it was because they had lost to Karasuno in their second year but he hadn’t seen his brother with the usual enthusiasm whenever he had the ball in his hand. Atsumu had the capability to bring the best out of his spiker, Osamu knows him best, he noticed how he didn't have that effect anymore on his team.
Few weeks passed by and Atsumu stayed the same. Osamu was worried but he would never admit it to his brother. Not in this lifetime. He decided to do something about it instead of watching his brother and wait for everything to come back to normal.
Osamu waited for Atsumu to sneak out. He pretended to not answer Atsumu or react to Atsumu’s movements when he heard him grab something from his bed and jump from their window. There was a tree near their window—so it was easy for Atsumu to climb down without injury as a result.
Osamu used his elbows as support to raise himself from his bed and climbed down from the top bunk. He grabbed his motorcycle keys, grabbed a jacket before following his older twin to God knows where.
Atsumu’s palm hit the steering wheel with force when the car’s engine didn't meet his expectations.
“Shit!” he cursed as he hit the steering wheel once more. He looked at the smoke created by the engine and tires, slowly fading. He looked at himself in the rear mirror, he saw how his golden brown eyes filled with irritation. His gaze softened as he tightened his hold at the steering wheel. He looked to his right and patted the NOS sitting in there instead of a passenger seat. He looked back to his hands.
Before, if he held the ball in his hands, he felt like he was the king of the court. The one in control. But ever since their father had passed, it didn't feel right anymore. He started to search for some equipment on the internet and started meeting people in automobile shops that sold or made car parts.
When he had finally assembled his first build, he had never felt more alive. He felt in control, he felt alone in the streets. He felt like he was the king of the streets, in control of everything as his hands held the steering wheel and the gear stick. His right foot on the accelerator and the other for the clutch and brake. He hadn’t told Osamu but he knew that sooner or later, Osamu would come for him.
He hasn't tried to hide it anymore. He felt his younger twin’s piercing gaze during practice. He had dreamt to be captain ever since first year but he had refused when he was offered the spot. He was busy building his car that he fixes in someone else’s garage so Osamu wouldn’t see it.
Ever since Papa Miya had passed away, the both of them have gotten part time jobs to provide their needs. Atsumu would always save money to buy something for his car and would only spare a little for himself.
He grinned widely as he looked at the smoke that trailed off from his tires and he peeked out his head from the window to check the drift marks in the road. His daydreaming was cut off when his phone got a notification from Suna.
[Location] Wanna race?
Atsumu smiled widely as he tossed his phone back to the dashboard and shifted the gear stick, one hand in the steering wheel as he looked at the side mirror as he went on reverse and went to the location that Suna sent him.
His right hand is placed on the steering wheel while the left one is leaned against the window. He swerved the steering wheel to the right as he changed gears. Atsumu made his way to the location sent to him by Suna. Every night, the location changes because of the police, the route changes—but never the people. Atsumu parked his car in a free spot and turned off his engine before stepping out of the car.
“Sumu!” Suna jogged his way over Atsumu. He wore a black sando, his tattoos in his shoulders now bare, it defined Suna’s muscles that could not be seen clearly when they wore their jersey. “What took you so long?”
“Waited for Samu to sleep,” Atsumu answered with a sheepish smile as he closed his car door. Atsumu removed his leather jacket and tossed it inside the car. His white sando hugged his frame, a fox tattoo that resides on his chest trails all the way to his collarbone.
“Who you got for me tonight?” Atsumu asked him excitedly, his eyes were beaming with excitement that made Suna chuckle. He put his hand in his pocket to show Atsumu the money that he will either win tonight or will lose but Suna had faith in Atsumu, not just in the court but also in the streets.
Suna flashed him a grin as he showed Atsumu the bet money. Atsumu’s golden brown eyes shined as he saw the amount of money that Suna held in his hand.
Damn.
I want to go home.
That was Kiyoomi’s first thought as he followed Motoya’s car to an unfamiliar street. His face scrunched in disgust as he saw the crowd. Music blasted, people leaning against the hoods of their cars. Women almost wore nothing as men held them by their waists or their asses.
Kiyoomi groaned as he tightened his hold on the steering wheel.
There’s time to escape. He thought. His thought was shattered when Motoya had parked his car already at the side and waved at Kiyoomi, motioning for him to park behind his car and get out of the car already.
“Fuck you,” he muttered as he flipped Motoya the middle finger before he turned the steering wheel to the right and maneuvered the car to park his behind Motoya’s.
“Why did I come with you?”
“Because you were bored and you agreed to come here,” Motoya grinned at Kiyoomi who was fixing his leather gloves, he thought that he could get out of the car without wearing it but he couldn't help it. He immediately opened his compartment a while back before stepping out of his car where he was met by smoke which made him scrunch up and wore a second layer of mask as his face was scrunched up with pure disgust. “Besides, I would love to hear your side comments about the race,”
“I don’t want anything to do with street racing. We’re professional racers, Komori. If we’re seen here by the police—” Kiyoomi started to say but Komori cut him off.
“They won’t. The people in charge here have their eyes on the police. We won’t be in trouble. I wouldn’t bring you here if we’re gonna be caught in trouble.” Komori grinned at Kiyoomi and Kiyoomi just wanted to wipe the grin off his face.
“You’ll like this, don’t worry.” Komori assured him as they walked to the center of the crowd.
Makes me want to barf.
Atsumu let them pop his hood open. They all gaped at the sight of the engine that he had built under the hood. They checked his equipment inside of his car, their heads peering inside through the window. He was smiling proudly until he heard a familiar voice, with a tinge of anger in their tone.
Atsumu froze. He also saw how Suna went rigid at the voice. They both looked at each other, their silent gazes meant the same thing, ‘Fuck!’
“Miya fucking Atsumu!”
Atsumu’s eyes widened as he turned around slowly. Familiar gray hair blended in the crowd, the people around them made way for the newcomer. Some were confused, some were thrilled as they saw the face of the newcomer. Atsumu felt himself shudder as he looked at his twin. He had never seen him like this, it was very different from his usual resting bitch face.
He’s mad mad… Atsumu thought sheepishly as he gulped, smiling sheepishly.
Shit.
“Hehe, Samu…”