Chapter Text
By the time Osamu steps into the room he shares with Atsumu, Atsumu's already curled up in the bottom bunk, facing the wall.
Osamu swallows, and hovers right over his brother, deciding whether to bother him. Lately, Atsumu's been going to bed earlier than usual, and Osamu knows it's to avoid getting into an argument over which of them will be in the top bunk for the night. For the first few days, Osamu let Atsumu have the top bunk, because he was there first, and anyway, Osamu's been trying to let Atsumu have his way more often, so he won't hate Osamu any more than he already does.
Last night, he finally got tired of it, and all but pushed Atsumu out of the top bunk, because it's been four nights in a row now, and it's Osamu's turn. Atsumu went along with it without too much trouble, which was horrifying, and made Osamu wonder if his strategy of not fighting was actually making things worse.
And now, when Osamu goes to their room an hour after Atsumu does, Atsumu's already in the bottom bunk. Trying to avoid a fight.
Osamu huffs, deciding that he's done with this stupid quasi-silent treatment they've got going on. He hasn't had an actual conversation with Atsumu in a week, and it's killing him.
"Just tell me what to do," he says, harsher than he means to. "What can I do to fix it?"
Atsumu pulls the blankets tighter, confirming that he's awake- which Osamu knew he was, anyway. "Anything?" he asks.
Osamu doesn't answer, because no, he won't do anything. He won't give up cooking.
But that's not what Atsumu asks of him. What he says is muffled and indecipherable, but Osamu knows it's not "stop cooking."
He sits on his knees on the floor and rests his arms on the bed. "What?" he says.
After a long pause, Atsumu peeks over his shoulder at Osamu, and says, more clearly, "Onigiri Miya."
Osamu blinks a few times.
"That's what you should name your restaurant."
"But I was going to-"
"-have wordplay with 'Osamu,' I know!"
Atsumu turns away from him again, hiding from him. Osamu doesn't move, and waits for more, which he knows will come. There's nothing Atsumu loves more than the sound of his own voice (except, maybe, volleyball).
At last, Atsumu says, quiet but loud enough for Osamu to hear, "It's not fair to call it something with 'Osamu.'"
"Why not? It's not like you're doing anything to make this restaurant happen."
"And it's not like you're doing anything to get me on the court!"
"What?"
Atsumu doesn't answer, but after a few seconds, Osamu realizes what he means, anyway. On every court Atsumu will be on, he will have "Miya" plastered across his back. It's only fair, in Atsumu's eyes, for Osamu to be equally connected to their shared name.
It's misleading, though, to say that neither of them is helping the other get to where they want to go. If that were the case, there wouldn't be any need to put "Miya" in Osamu's restaurant's name. It's because Osamu is so ingrained in Atsumu's growth on the court, and because Atsumu will help Osamu grow his restaurant in any way he can, that Osamu will, just this once, let Atsumu win the argument.
He stands up and climbs into the top bunk. "Onigiri Miya," he murmurs, as if to himself, but he knows Atsumu can hear him.
Sounding much more relaxed now, Atsumu says, "I'm getting the top bunk tomorrow."
"Fight me for it."
"Remind me which of us is going to be a professional athlete?"
"Going to be! It hasn't happened yet, scrub!"
Atsumu snorts, amused, and the following silence isn't as tense as it has been.