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Miya Osamu is 24 years old. This, in and of itself, is of no real consequence- it’d be the same if he were 23, or 25.
Miya Osamu, at 24, has this handful of memories. Memories he neatly folded and tucked away into a little wooden box, the kind his mother would find at antique shops and use to store her tea, pushed carefully into the back of his head so as not to disrupt anything else. When the box has a light coating of dust over it, that's when he takes it out- carefully wipes the dust off with a soft rag, slowly opens it with bated breath, then takes each one out and carefully unfolds it. Runs his hand down it, presses it to his chest as if it will connect to his heart, then folds it and sets it aside until he’s gone through each one- then he puts them back in the box, pushes the box back again, and goes about his life.
At 23, he didn’t quite have this system- instead, they were haphazardly shoved in the general direction of the back of his mind, pushing other things, most more important, to random spots in the process. Messy, awkward, overtaking- always, forever, consistently. It was hard, and most of the time he felt like he couldn't breathe, like somewhere in the process of pushing the memories back and pushing other things aside he knocked into his lungs too. Until he slowly started building that box, then things got a bit better.
At 25, well, who knows yet?
So, maybe being 24 does have some consequence to this- or perhaps, maybe, he’s just grown up a bit. But the memories- those are most certainly of consequence.
See, they’re like this;
The first one is the oldest. He’s had it since he was 12 years old, just barely finding out that the world around him was bigger than just him, Atsumu, and their mother. He was 12 years old, and helping his mom in the kitchen to make dinner. Atsumu was watching something in the living room, and Osamu might normally snatch the remote and hide it until Atsumu got up and did something, but he was stuck with dishes later if Osamu cooked so he let it be.
His mom had rested a hand on his shoulder as he added a few spices to the dish, gentle and warm as always, and leaned in to whisper, “You could do this forever, couldn’t you?”
He had laughed, amused and warm and giddy, and shrugged. “Maybe. I dunno yet. Don’t you want us in high school first?”
She had smiled, kissed his cheek, then scooped him in her arms to move him away from the stove so she could start the teapot. That was one of the last times she was able to do that- twelve year old boys who played volleyball, as it had turned out, grew pretty fast.
That was the first time he had ever considered what to do after high school- considered that maybe volleyball wasn’t his future, like it was so obviously Atsumus. The first time he considered that maybe, one day, he’d be leaving his twin behind to do something different to him- that maybe he could.
Then, theirs the second one.
He’s 15, and just started at Inarizaki High a few days ago- Atsumu has already talked to the volleyball coach about them, let Osamu know they’d be trying out for the team the following Monday, and Osamu feels like he’s settling in okay.
His and Atsumus lockers are two down from each other, so they see each other briefly between class periods, and have first and last block together so they each other then too- it's nice, really, because Atsumu had been worried they’d only see each other at lunch (Osamu had always responded with a dry ‘I hope we do’, but privately, he was pleased things turned out how they were so he wasn't so lost).
He’s 15, and on his way to whatever new spot Atsumu had scouted out for them to eat lunch at, and he sees this boy. He has dark hair, a deep chestnut brown, and green eyes that could cut straight through Osamu if the boy so pleased. His uniform was messy and deliberately undone just enough to stay in code, and he looked to be about Osamu’s age. So, of course, when Osamu was done with his gawking (and private bisexual epiphany, but that got pushed back for another time), he walked over to him and said, dry but not rude, “You’re gonna get yourself detention with your uniform like that.”
“I know,” the boy had said. His voice was smooth, but sharp- poisoned honey. Osamu wanted to taste every last drop. “Why do you care?”
“You’re not from around here?” Osamu had asked, instead of answering.
Something had shifted in the boys expression, before he shook his head. “Nah. Aichi. My dad dropped me and my sister here with my mom.”
Osamu had watched him for a moment- a shift of the green eyes, a twitch of one finger. A half truth, said like an admission, like a confession. “Ya lyin’?”
“Why would I lie to you?” The boy had asked, and Osamu had almost believed that maybe he wasn’t lying after all- almost.
“You’re an interesting person. Wanna suffer through lunch with me and my brother?” Osamu had inclined his head, watching the boy. “My ma’ always packs extra shrimp, you can have ‘em if you want.”
“I’m allergic,” the boy had said. Osamu had met his gaze- no shift, no twitch, no telling sway in his voice. A truth.
“Good, I like ‘em. Let's go, then.”
The boy had followed without saying anything else. Osamu didn’t look back to see if he was there- he didn’t need to. A moment after they started walking, the boy had reached out to rest his hand on Osamus shoulder, as if to not get lost.
Osamu had let him.
Then there’s the third one.
16 years old. A new year, a new volleyball captain- Kita Shinsuke, who Osamu had been (and still is) equal parts fond of, scared of, and in awe of. Atsumu probably had a crush on him- but Osamu had also seen how Atsumus eyes followed Aran Ojiro across the court, so maybe Atsumu just liked everyone a little bit.
Suna Rintarou, that dark haired boy who turned out to not only be allergic to shrimp but also all other shellfish, had long since been a part of Osamu and Atsumus routine.
Every day, during second block, Osamu sat next to Suna and took notes in scrawl that even he could barely decipher, and Suna would rewrite them later to be legible for both of them in favor of sleeping through the class- in fourth block, Astumu would sit next to Suna, and most days Osamu was called to the teachers, or even on occasion the principals, office to collect them after they got themselves in trouble. Last block they all had together, so Osamu sat between them and passed their notes to each other under the table while writing half-notes that he’d just throw away to borrow Ginjimas anyway.
Then there was volleyball- Suna, freakishly flexible, was the best middle blocker Osamu had ever seen. Atsumu stepped up his game exponentially, and Osamu with him, and the three of them working together was something that even Kita had said was scary and extremely effective. The three of them often walked to the Miya household together after practice, sweaty and tired but with huge grins and were greeted by Mama Miya with cold water and then, when they could breathe again, tea and showers.
After showering, Suna would usually stay for homework and, consequently, dinner- Mama Miya would send him off each night with a hug, a kiss on the cheek, and leftovers for Sunas sister.
Sometimes, at 24, Osamu wonders what the real memory behind it is. If it's the warmth he keeps locked away, the nostalgia that always leaves his chest empty and his head reeling- or maybe, the sharp smile on the dark haired boy he met at 15 that could either warm your heart or tear it into pieces.
The fourth memory comes with the least fanfare, and leaves him the most hollow.
It was a few hours after their graduation, and the newly graduated volleyball team was sitting in an empty classroom, desks and chairs pushed away so they could sit on the floor- many of them had been sprawled across each other, in one way or another, getting the last of the warmth from each other they could before it was officially over. Kita and Aran had made it to watch them graduate, and they were sitting with them too, and as Osamu had looked around at the people that had shaped him, his life, his soul over the past few years, he had felt tears pricking his eyes.
“I’m not going pro,” Osamu had blurted, emotional and tired and eager to let it off his chest. “I told Atsumu and Rin a few weeks ago, but I wanted to let everyone know while we’re here. I’m gonna- go to college, maybe, get a degree, try and open a restaurant. I’m staying here, at least for a while.”
There had been a dull silence for a moment, not the overbearing kind that pressed on you but more so the kind where nobodies sure what to say.
“I got scouted by EJP,” Suna had said, when nobody else said anything. “Since we’re, I guess, making announcements.”
“Black Jackals,” Atsumu had said- nothing more, but he hadn’t needed to.
“College,” Ginjima had added. “Maybe volleyball after, but I want to get my degree first, figure things out.”
Another silence had followed, and then a short sniff, and Suna Rintarou- the same Suna who granted true smiles like a rarity, laughed loud when it happened but only when he wanted to, never frowned unless he was truly annoyed or disappointed at something- was sitting with one arm wrapped around himself, in front of everyone, not just crying but on the verge of sobbing.
It wasn’t the first time Osamu had seen him cry, but it had been the first time it actually meant something serious- most of the time, Suna was overwhelmed, or hurt, and would be okay within a few days and with a little TLC, but this had been different. There they were, on the night of their graduation talking about their future, all the good things it would hold- and Suna Rintarou had been crying for their past. Osamu had hugged him, the tears slipping down his face too, and Suna had let him.
Osamu didn’t see Suna again after that night before he moved. Sometimes, he thinks that was what he himself was really crying for, and just didn’t know it yet.
The last memory was, perhaps, the most dear to Osamu.
A 21 year old Miya Osamu had been in his shop, one week after the grand opening, cleaning up after closing. He had been humming to himself, an unconscious action, and had been debating playing some music on his phone when the door had opened- he never locked it until he was done with clean-up- and he had looked up and immediately been taken back to the day at 15 when he first me the dark haired boy standing in his doorway.
“Rin,” Osamu had said, breathless and surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“We had a match in Aichi, but there wasn’t a direct train from Aichi back to Tokyo, so we stopped here for the night,” Rin had explained, like it was simple. Like it hadn’t been nearly three years since they saw each other, months since they texted or called.
“Where you staying?” Osamu had asked, picking his rag back up to finish wiping down the tables if only for something to do.
“Don't know yet,” Rin had said, shrugging. “With you, if you’ll let me. If not, down the street at the hotel.”
“I don't have much space,” Osamu had said, looking up at him. Something had shifted in Rins expression- Osamu hated that he could still place it as disappointment. “So I hope your teammates all have rooms already.”
Another shift on his expression, a small quirk of the lips upward, and Rin had nodded. “They do.”
“Good,” Osamu had said, and a few minutes later he had locked the shop door and they were walking upstairs to the small apartment Osamu lived in. He had taken his shoes off by the door, as always, and Rin had followed suit. “Bathrooms over there, if you wanna shower. Kitchens there, I can make us tea or something to eat if you’re hungry, and what I generously call my bedroom is over there.”
Rin had nodded, looking around and taking everything in. Then he had went off to shower, and Osamu had started the tea. A little while later, they were sitting on Osamus bed criss-crossed, facing each other, talking over slightly over-boiled tea about all they had missed, anything new. Osamu confessed he dropped out of college after one semester and instead worked part time at three restaurants around town to learn more, then opened his shop with what he had put away. He had told him how Kita delivered the rice personally and, sometimes, vegetables, and how he already had a regular who showed up every day around the same time for the same thing. How Atsumu calls him every day, just to talk to him, and they usually get ready for bed together.
Rin had told him about their games, the good and the bad- how he was only just now being put into games, because Komori had stood up for him and told the captain to shove it if he wouldn't let Rin play after two seasons with them, how he thought he twisted his ankle two weeks after joining and had just sat there and laughed until he couldn't breathe and then started crying, right there in front of everyone. How he has a cat now, and she watches the apartment when he’s away.
When they had finished their tea and ran out of things to say, it was nearly two in the morning, so Osamu suggested they watch a movie because they were already up anyway and Rins sleep schedule had never really been healthy.
They had watched it on Osamus laptop since his TV wasn’t connected- some american film about one animal or another, that had kept them occupied enough until Suna had fallen asleep against him and Osamu didn't have the heart to wake him, so he just let the movie keep playing and went to sleep too.
They had slept until nearly noon the next day, and it was to a call from the contact ‘Loser❤’ (Komori, who was slightly worried but more so appalled at whatever meme Rin sent him sometime the previous night) on Rins phone, so they had something quick to eat and said goodbyes and Rin had hugged him and promised to call more and kissed his cheek, then had slipped on his shoes and left.
Rin had texted him through the whole train ride home, and Osamu had let himself hope.
At 24, Osamu keeps these memories locked away neatly. Not because he hates them- certainly not because that hope was for nothing- but because for him, they represent a time where things weren’t so sure for him, where he was still learning about the world and what was to come, where he didnt know where to go or what he was doing- and now that he does, well, he doesn't really need them all the time.
At 24, he’s been with Suna Rintarou officially for two years, and there's a small black box in his pocket as he’s with all his and Rin's favorite people in the apartment they got together a year ago. Kitas phone is at the ready, and Rin is none the wiser as Osamu pulls him into the center of the room, grasping for the box with one hand and holding Rins hand with the other.
He drops to one knee as he pulls the box out and opens it, and Rin gasps, one hand covering his mouth as he watches Osamu with a nervous sort of excitement.
Osamu adds a new memory to the box that night, and takes the lock off. He may not need them anymore, but there's still space in the box, so he might as well fill it.