Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kita Shinsuke is sixteen years old when he knows his soulmate will never put him first.

He's in the storage closet, cleaning. He has a process—he always starts at the north corner and moves clockwise, east south west, before mopping the floor in the same order, finishing at the door and leaving no tracks. He'd been interrupted to come greet the new players just before the south corner, so he picks back up there again, gloves on and hands submerged to the wrist in soapy water.

The pause has made the water go cold, though, and he debates the merits of making a whole new bucket just so it's warm again. Hot water cleans better, of course, but it would take up even more time. Too much time?

The door opens behind him. "Hey… Kita-san, right?"

He turns to find he's seeing double. Ah, right, there was a pair of twins among the first years. Miya…? Miya, something and someone. He's not sure what they want from him, but he nods in greeting.

"So uh… can ya show us yer hands real quick?"

Shinsuke pinches the tips of his gloves and works a hand out, delicately, then slides the other one off without making contact with the soapy wet ends. He sets the gloves on the rim of the bucket and holds up both hands, palms out.

The twins both look, well. Surprised, and a few other emotions that he isn't certain of. Then one of them holds out his own hand, and Shinsuke suddenly understands how they feel, because that palm is gray. And so is his own.

"…Oh," he says, and for a moment all he can think of is, This isn't part of the routine.

"Miya Osamu," that twin introduces himself as, and waves his color-stained hand. "I guess we're soulmates."

Shinsuke isn’t very close to his siblings, but he knows the importance of family. He can only imagine that the twins have an even closer connection, so this must come as a bit of a shock to them. They don't acknowledge it. If anything, Osamu seems even more determined to pick his brother first in every activity, sticking to his side like glue. Shinsuke doesn't blame him. Of course he would come second, after family.

It doesn't make it any easier to tell them apart, though. He feels like he probably should be able to, if one of them is his soulmate, but they make the same faces and they're always together and seem to share only a single braincell, at most.

It's not like Shinsuke had any expectations for a soulmate. It would happen or it wouldn't, there was no need for him to behave any differently just because he knew. He sometimes caught Aran or one of his other team members giving him a searching sort of look, though. Like they knew something he didn't, like they were waiting for another shoe to fall.

When Shinsuke gets made captain in his third year, a few things happen.

He goes out of his way to get everyone on the team's individual email addresses and phone numbers, because that's something a captain should do. Which means there are two separate entries in his contacts list: Miya Atsumu, and Miya Osamu.

(Under 'occupation', where he's written in 'Team Member' for everyone else, he puts Osamu's contact as 'Soulmate'. Just in case he forgets.)

Second, the Miya twins dye their hair.

He suddenly goes from really not being able to tell them apart until they touch to seeing it across the room. He's not sure what sparked the change, and he's not sure how he feels about it, other than… well, grateful.

But Osamu will still always put Atsumu first, and Shinsuke has no problem with this.

"You should actually try and talk to him, you know," Aran tells him as they walk home after practice one night.

"Who?"

"Osamu. Your soulmate."

Shinsuke's not used to anyone being so direct about it, but his best friend is his best friend for a reason.

"We talk," he tries to assure him. "I talk to everyone on the team." He wants to be a good captain, he makes sure his team members are looked after.

"…I don't think I've ever seen ya talk to Osamu without Atsumu there," Aran points out. "You know they're not a package deal, right? They're two people."

"Of course I know that." Where was he even going with this? Shinsuke was doing his best, and he hadn't felt like the Miyas were upset with him or anything. Where did this concern come from?

"I'm just sayin', no one would blame ya if you took some time out for them individually. Or, hell, just text him now and then. Let him know he's special."

Shinsuke doesn't see how that's relevant. He can't make his soulmate any more special than anyone else on the team, that would be favoritism. But, it's not like he doesn't have a private chat with specific people, Aran included. It… wouldn't be all that strange to have one with Osamu.

What would he even say?

Hello, remember me? Your other other half, after your twin?

He doesn't have anything to say to him that he wouldn't say to his face, in front of everyone else.

His chance comes the day Atsumu gets sick. Shinsuke does up a little care package, nothing fancy, but he always wants to take care of this team that takes care of him.

After practice, when he figures Osamu must have gotten home by then, he sends it.

Shinsuke finds himself… a little nervous, actually. He turns his phone around and around in his hands, waiting on a reply like what he'd asked was far more exciting than a simple check-in.

Shinsuke's smiling at the response, he can actually hear it in the twins' distinctive drawl, he has always admired those who can make their text voice come alive like that.

He's trying to think of what to say back, he wants to say something, when he gets another message.

Huh. He didn't know? Well, Shinsuke supposed it never came up, he wasn't in the habit of oversharing like the lively twins always did.

Shinsuke can't quite identify what he's feeling, really. Happy…? This is the most they've ever talked. His soulmate is interested in his life, he's asking questions, it.

It really, really makes him feel nice.

Shinsuke's parents weren't soulmates, but his grandparents were. He had never seen a difference in the way they loved one another, and his parents seemed perfectly happy, before his mother's death. It was an arranged marriage, two odd, un-soulmated individuals whose parents had had enough. Despite this, they had chosen one another, and built a life together.

Shinsuke stares at his phone. He has never cared more about a conversation in his whole life.

Shit, he fucked up.

…Un-fucked. Shinsuke breathes out shaky, and taps his fingertips to cheeks that have gone warm. He… likes it?

They do talk more. At school, during volleyball, everything stays exactly the same, but… every night, they trade texts like little secrets, a whole world blooming in between them like a sprout taking root.

Far before Osamu's ever ready to admit it out loud, he sends,

When Osamu's tired, his spelling and punctuation get lazy, as though Shinsuke can hear a slur in his voice from afar. He finds himself feeling all too fond about it.

It's the first time they're talking about this. About the future. Shinsuke is… nervous, again, as though Osamu will somehow judge these things he's chosen for himself.

Shin-chan. He's let that slip once or twice, and it never feels to make Shinsuke feel… wiggly.

He gets left on read, which is more of a relief than he expects. Sometimes, the Miya twins and their volatile energy make him feel like he's careening off track, pushed past the comfort of his steady pace. But in their private window, it's like Osamu knows when to leave it alone, to let things rest.

Shinsuke… didn't have any expectations for what having a soulmate would be like, but. He thinks this might be part of it.

They lose at Nationals, to a team with—Shinsuke counts carefully. Four visible soulmate pairs. Five, if you count the coaches on the bench. He hadn't considered the benefits of playing volleyball with your soulmate, or rather. It didn't seem to make a difference with him and Osamu. Another way he doesn't quite get it, this thing between them, or maybe… maybe he just isn't on Karasuno's level.

Atsumu's on fire, his eyes lit from within as he stares at Kageyama Tobio and Hinata Shouyou and the way they touch—percussive, desperate, skin on skin leaving these vibrant colors in their wake. Atsumu looks just as hungry.

Osamu, on the other hand, seems… resigned.

"Samu," he hears the older twin say, and Osamu makes a noise that Shinsuke can't place.

"I'm fine," he grumbles. "I ain't cryin'. Fuck off."

That night, in the hotel room he shares with Aran, Shinsuke gets a rather surprising text from down the hall.

Huh.

Shinsuke wiggles his feet in his slippers. He knows Osamu doesn't show his emotions as often as Atsumu, at least until provoked, but… it seemed like he was fine?

The response comes immediately, barely after he presses send.

It… it was the speed. That's all. They usually had a little space between messages; he usually… he just responded without thinking.

Shinsuke buries his face in his hands. What.

"What's wrong?" Aran asks, voice hoarse and eyes still red from crying, but he can tell this is about something else. Casually, he leans over and checks Shinsuke's phone, and he lets him. Someone else should suffer his incredible stupidity tonight.

His friend barks out a laugh. "Kita, you're embarrassed about that?"

"It's not… we don't…"

A big hand comes down on Shinsuke's head and he pats, comforting. "There, there. Welcome to the rest of the world, Kita-san."

The rest of the world was… a bit intimidating, if he's being honest.

Shinsuke smiles at his phone through misty eyes.

Osamu keeps texting, all evening, little updates here and there even though they're only a few doors apart. Shinsuke buries in the blankets, keeps to himself, they just lost at Nationals but… somehow, he still feels happy.

The Miya twins grew up in a house full of yellow.

His parents were always covered in lemon-yellow brightness, evidence of their love on every inch of skin, every day. His mom's favorite flower was sunflowers, and the laundry soap she used was citrus-scented too—everything looking back seemed soaked in sunlight and warmth.

Osamu wasn't surprised when his soul color came up… gray. He'd always felt like the drab little background character in comparison to the rest of his family, so that just checked out. Kita Shinsuke seemed like a background character too, and Osamu was never sure at the start whether he was sad about that or not.

He and Atsumu stand at the train station, ready to go in opposite directions. It feels like another one of those moments, like when they dyed their hair or he first shook Kita's hand. Was he ready to step out of Atsumu's shadow? Fuck, he'd never be ready for that. Besides, that bastard shone so brightly, the shadow he cast was way too long.

The train for Tokyo pulls up first, and they wave goodbye, then… he's alone.

He doesn't expect a reply for a while. They talk every day, if only a single exchange, but Osamu's been at school and farming takes long hours, apparently. He hasn't seen the guy or heard his voice in months, and here he is, taking a train out to meet him.

Volleyball without Kita Shinsuke is weirder than he thought it'd be. Kita was… he had this presence, his way of doing things that was so special everyone got caught up in it. Not a single person last year would contest who their captain was, who the Inarizaki team belonged to, and with him gone it just feels… untethered. Osamu's going through the motions, but feels like he'll float away every time he jumps.

He spends the train ride going over some books he'd grabbed from the library—primers on rice farming, rice preparation, recipes old and new. Not for the first time, he thinks… I really fuckin' like this. I could do this every day and I'd be happy, I think.

He's always loved eating, but his mom made him learn how to make stuff so he wouldn't ever take it for granted. Atsumu too, so he can cook a mean stir fry but he doesn't like it like Osamu does.

God, how is he gonna tell him that he ain't gonna be playin' volleyball forever.

Osamu has one resolution for this week-long vacation. He is… going to try not to think about Atsumu.

Because fuck it, if he gets to play for the national under-19 league and get called the best setter in high school and all that shit—Osamu deserves something for himself, too.

He used to think he and his brother were equal but opposite, two halves of some great thing. But… Osamu's slowly coming to understand that he might be happier with something small.

When he steps off the train, the sun's already starting to sink, washing everything in golden orange. He sees a familiar head of hair, unmistakable really, out in the parking area and he can't help grinning.

Kita looks tanner. Maybe a little taller. He's in some shapeless coverall and has a scarf around the back of his neck and he makes it work, somehow. Damn.

Plus, he's smiling.

Osamu thinks a lot about their almost-flirting, that night after Nationals. It took weeks for it to really sink in, for the idea to curl its roots into his soul that Kita Shinsuke wasn't just objectively attractive—but that he, Miya Osamu, thought so.

And that maybe, somewhere down the line, it might be true in reverse, too.

"Hey," he says, not his smoothest moment but jeez give him a break here. He's got a lot to process.

"Hey," Kita says in return, then hands over a small paper box. "My grandma made you something."

Osamu puts his butt up on the passenger seat of the truck before he pops it open. "I'm the guest, why're you guys the ones with a gift?"

"I know you didn't eat breakfast," Kita says, and damn. He didn't. Too busy being anxious as fuck and not letting any of it show, so Atsumu could freak out freely.

"…Ya got me there." It turns out to be a trio of onigiri, still warm, and he's honestly never smelled anything better in his life. "Shit, is your grandma some kinda rice god?"

"Probably," Kita says with that low, teasing smile that Osamu always wanted to keep for himself.

He is yours, a voice that sounds a lot like his brother says in his head, but he pushes it down.

Just shaddup for once, he thinks, and let me enjoy this.

Shinsuke takes Osamu home, introduces him to everyone, he shows him around and they talk more in one day than they have in person for the entire past year. Osamu's soft-spoken on his own, dryly funny, and he gets this Look on his face sometimes like whatever Shinsuke said made him think and he likes it. His grandmother is practically trying to shove them together, but they keep a respectful distance, this careful half-step apart no matter where they put their hands or bodies. It's as though touching, seeing the color come up between them, would suddenly make this far too real—a warning sign of what things are 'supposed' to be like, perhaps.

Shinsuke thinks they both feel it—a need to make something between them that isn't necessarily fated, just theirs.

One late night, over the blanket of heat and the hum of insects, Osamu starts talking.

"…I'm gonna quit playing after I graduate," he admits, facing out into the rice paddies and the wide array of stars. "Not sure what I want to do exactly, but I think… I want to do something food-related. I always wanted to. Like, have a small business and run it the way I want and make people happy with their food. You know."

Shinsuke absolutely did know. They've talked about it before, always circling around and coming back to it—the simplicity of food, as a means of giving.

"I, uh… would it be weird if I wanted to." Osamu goes quiet, but Shinsuke waits. This thing between them feels so delicate sometimes, like the wrong words will drown it away.

"…I wanna make somethin' with yer rice, Shin-chan."

Oh. Hearing out loud, it's… unfathomably intimate, and Shinsuke feels the blush heat his skin faster than a flash fry. They steam in silence side by side, the words hanging in the air, billowing between them until their lungs can adjust.

"I'd like that," he finally says, so tiny and quiet, a miniscule seed of hope nestled in the words.

"Yeah?" Osamu turns then, and his eyes are wide—lit up, just a bit. Whatever he sees in Shinsuke's face makes him even brighter. "You'd hafta get used to seein' me more often," he jokes, but it's flimsy and transparent over his hope, hope, hope.

"Osamu." Shinsuke finally, finally reaches out, his thumb touching the back of his hand in a slow drag, leaving a pale gray shadow behind. "I would like that."

The next day, they're out in the fields and Osamu suddenly pushes Shinsuke's sun hat back, pulls him in by the towel around his neck and presses their lips together. They have a few hours out here yet; it will fade by the time they get home. But here, now, that beautiful pale color is all over their lips, wherever they touch, and it hits him—all at once, like the last piece of an immense and complex puzzle.

I want this, he thinks. Not because he's his soulmate, not for any reason other than this is a person he likes, he wants him around, Kita Shinsuke can want something and be happy about it and this is for him.

Miya Osamu isn't a twin first. He belongs here.

By the time Osamu's train gets home, the gray has faded. From his hands, his neck, his cheeks, and even his lips from the searing goodbye kiss he'd been left with at the station. It hurts, looking at his naked hands—he wants it to last, he wants to cover himself in gray and have it never fade.

The reply comes instantly, faster than it ever has.

He holds his phone to his chest, and hope blooms like a flower under his skin. He's going to have a good life. He's going to be happy, not despite Atsumu, but because it's his life and he's living it.

There was a long pause, for Atsumu anyway, before his text pops up with one of his rare moments of not being a total fucking dick.

Osamu only just bares resists chucking his phone out of a moving train. What did he do to deserve this?

Seriously, when Atsumu finally finds his soulmate, it is on.