Archive of Our Own

            The TV hums from the living room. Its usual comforting background noise sounded too much of an intrusion now to Zemu who stands by the kitchen counter with fingers curled loosely on her phone and eyes drifting to the doorway from time to time, and to Aran who was leaning against its frame, one shoulder resting against the wood with arms crossed.

            It looked like he fits right in, and he always does without fail.

            “Oi.” She calls, casual and easy. “You’re just gonna stand there? Come help me.”

            A second passed, and two, and another few more. “Yeah, give me a second.” Something so small shouldn’t mean so much, right, Zemu? But when Aran doesn’t move right away, her chest tightens.

            “You’ve been saying that a lot lately.” Zemu clicks her tongue, turning back to the counter.

            “Have I?”

            “Yeah. You have.”

            In her head, it plays out how it usually goes: he walks up behind her, reaches over her shoulder to take the knife from her hand like he always does because ‘you’re going to cut yourself if you keep holding it like that, Zemu.’ However, the reality is a different story. Because he doesn’t, and the space behind her stays empty.

            Zemu exhales through her nose, sharper this time, and sets the knife down with more force than needed. “What’s your problem?”

            “…Nothing.”

            And when she turned, he was already looking at her while he was still pressed on the doorway. Same posture and all. The quiet steadiness was showing on his face. His eyes, they’re different. They do not linger on her like they used to.

            “Don’t give me that.” She says, frowning. “You’ve been weird all week.”

            “I’m not being weird.”

            “You are.”

            “I’m just…” And for a moment, Zemu thinks he’ll brush off. Change the topic, Laugh it off. He doesn’t. Aran straightens up and pushing himself off the doorway, like he’s bracing for something. “I think I know now.”

            Zemu blinks. “Know what?” Her fingers twitch at her side, instinctively brushing against the bracelet on her wrist. The thread is worn, softer than it used to be. Aran notices, his gaze drops just for a second. Then he looks away from her.

            “I think I know how you really feel.”  He continues, voice too calm for a calmer man like him. “About everything. About how things have been lately.” His words landed, like they were firm and final. “I’m going to back off.”

            “What?”

            “I’ll give you space. I think that’s what you need.”

            Her grip tightens around her wrist. “No, I don’t… what are you talking about?”

            “I don’t want to make things harder for you.”

            “Harder?” She echoes, her voice raising. “You’re not making anything harder for me…” She cuts herself off in frustration. “You’re just acting weird!”

            Aran lets out a quiet breath, not annoyed or defensive; he was just tired. “I don’t want to keep assuming that I still or will have that place in your life.”

            First, Zemu’s mouth opens, then it closes. “What place?”

            Aran finally looks at her again, and for the first time, she hesitates. As someone she’s known all her life, this is an expression she hasn’t deciphered yet. It was not anger nor sadness, but something quieter, like he’d already decided something for both of them, but hated how he had to live with it.

            “The one where I get to be the person you rely on, without having to think about it.”

            Her fingers tighten around the bracelet as she tried to search for words to say (and failing at it.) “I still…” She starts off. “You are…” Then the slight flicker that she caught in his eyes was swiftly gone too.

              “That’s what I thought too.”

               Aran was already turning, not reaching out for her despite the clear hurt and confusion in her face, and leaves. Zemu stands there in a kitchen that feels too big for her now, unmoving, uncertain, but not unchanged.

            Growing up has not made the Miya house any less chaotic.

            If one stood outside it and simply listened, they would still hear the same things: slamming doors, spilling laughter, arguments that never held any weight. Life carried its usual chaotic rhythm as if nothing was beneath it.

            “NEE-CHAN! HE TOOK MY FOOD!”

            “You left it there!”

            “I WAS SAVING IT!”

            “Then guard it with your life next time!”

            Then a pillow flies, someone yells, and someone laughs. Zemu doesn’t even glance up as these all unfold in real time. She sits at the table, surrounded by open notebooks, highlighters scattered, phone lighting up every few seconds stacked with notifications she only checks when everything is done. Line after line, page after page, her pen moves relentlessly.

            As an eldest daughter, there is always something to do. Somewhere between council work and household chores, there were also the quiet hours that Zemu carved out for her part-time tutoring in the late afternoons she spent explaining equations, reviewing and rewriting essays, guiding younger students through things she carried so easily.

            Was it for the money, or was it just another place where someone could need her?

There is always something to fix. There is always someone that needs to be taken care of, and that’s not her.

            A plate appears beside her. She didn’t notice this at first. She only does when the warmth seeped into her awareness, blinking down at it. “You’ll get a headache when you skip again.” The voice is quiet, familiar, and belongs to Aran Ojiro. He does not wait for thanks. He just sets the chopsticks neatly beside the plate, adjusts it slightly so it’s within easier reach, then steps away like it was nothing. Like it was routine. Like she was routine.

            “You’re acting like my mom.” Zemu exhales softly through her nose, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at her lips.

            “Oh, well someone has to.” A small smile curved on his lips. “Your brothers will let you starve.”

            She eats, shrugging her shoulders. “Fair point.” She does not argue with Aran. He’s always right when it comes to things like this.

            “He’s right, you know.” Zemu glances up to find Juri Kita next to Aran. Then, she went behind her back to look at what she’s studying, pressing her cheek against her shoulder as a greeting. “You have tutoring and you’ll drool all over the yummy food those kids have again.”

            Evenings are usually softer. The house fills not with noise, but with people. Familiar faces slip in like they belong there. Shoes kicked off near the door. Bags dropped carelessly. Voices overlap one after the other. Rintarou Suna is sprawled somewhere he shouldn’t be, with thumbs moving faster on his phone. A notification buzzes on Zemu’s phone.

            suna: ur brothers are fighting again

            suna: sending evidence

            Another buzz. A photo: Blurry. Chaotic. Atsumu mid-yell, Osamu mid-swing with a pillow.

            Zemu snorts, shaking her head.

            zemu: they’re literally in front of me

            zemu: u think i can’t see that??

            Across the room, Rintarou glances up, meets her eyes and smirks, slowly and smug and too pleased at himself. She points at him.

            “I know you. You’re not getting dinner if you keep instigating.”

            “But I’m not.” He says, not even pretending to sound convincing. “I’m just compiling documentation.”  Juri was beside Rintarou, watching the twins in their little fighting bubble while she whispered to Rintarou. “Stop getting pictures of Atsumu. He’s gonna cry.” She says as she giggles.

            Zemu glances to the side. Shinsuke Kita was already standing beside her, calm as ever, a quiet presence in the middle of all the noise. She doesn’t notice it immediately. She rarely does.

            “Done with the proposal already?”

            Groaning, she dropped her head back against the couch. “Please do not remind me.”

            “You said you wanted feedback.”

            “I did… Just… just not right now.”

            He hums, considering. “Alright. Later then.” It isn’t a question, never a question. Zemu tilts her head toward him, studying him for a moment. Shinsuke’s steady. Shinsuke’s grounded. Nothing shakes Shinsuke, like he’s some kind of immovable mountain that is proud and tall while still being tethered to the ground he humbly bows his head to.

            “You’re so….” She trails off. “Consistent. It’s kind of amazing.”

            Shinsuke shakes his head slightly. “It’s just habit.”

            “Still. I like it.” Zemu smiles, feeling full in moments like this, where it feels like she’s settled exactly where she’s supposed to be.

            And if there were differences since that day, they are small. Almost unnoticeable.

            The gym had already emptied out. The air smelled faintly of sweat and varnished wood. The late afternoon light stretched across the floor. Zemu had only stopped by to return something. That’s all it was supposed to be.

            “You’re still here.”

            She turned slightly, spotting Shinsuke Kita near the benches, folding something with the same care he gave everything else. “Student council ran late.” She replied, lifting the folder in her hand, “I thought I’d drop this off before heading home.”

            He nodded once. “Thank you.” It should have ended there. Instead, Shinsuke set the cloth down and looked at her. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

            "Oh?”

            “I think I like you.” There was no hesitation or theatrics or urgency. It was like he was stating another fact. “I don’t have anything figured out yet,” he continued, just as steady. “But I know that I enjoy being with you. I respect you. And I want to know you more, in that way.”  For him, confessing was just explaining something simple, after spending months sitting with it and understanding how his heart worked.

            Zemu’s grip tightened on the folder. “I…” She started, then stopped. “Shin I…” Her voice was softer, patronizing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you felt that way.” Both of his hands were folded behind his back, hiding how they twitched and they fiddled against each other restlessly, because after all, Shinsuke was just any other boy who liked a girl. “I just… I just don’t think I can return that. Well, at least not right now.”

            Shinsuke nods as he studied her face. “I understand.” He stepped back, but not away but rather back in his place. “Please take your time. There is no need to rush into anything you’re unsure of.” He gave a small smile, the kind that didn’t ask anything for return.

            After a few awkward moments, they both bid each other goodbye and a safe walk home. Zemu’s heart has not stopped racing yet, when she heard her name called out from behind her as she was approaching the school gate.

            “Zemu!”

            Her stuttering heart came to a calm seeing Aran. He stood at a distance but closed it in as soon as he could. It didn’t look like he was there at the perfect moment but rather looked like he ran. He stopped right in front of her, raised his hand, before catching his breath with the other hand on his knees.

            “Give me a moment.”

            And Zemu, despite all the emotions melting into her chest, allowed herself a soft chuckle.

            “Is it true? Shin confessed?”

            “How… How did…”

            “I was by the window. I didn’t mean to. So, I heard it right?”

            Zemu frowns, crossing her arms at him. “Yes.” She added. “And if you’re going to go all mama bear on me, I would like you to know that actually, I told him…”

            “No.” Aran cuts her off. “You told him no.” In surprise, Zemu went quiet. “Or at least, that was a not yet.” Silence answers him. It was enough. Something shifts in his expression as he straightened up, wiping a bead of sweat on the side of his forehead by the back of his hand. He steps forward, not careful but certain. “I have to say it too.” She does not interrupt him or move. She just watched him, hands curling slightly at his sides as if he was unsure what to do with them. “I don’t think I like you, Zemu. I know I do.” He continues with uneven breaths. “I’ve known for a while and I didn’t say anything because I thought I had time.”

            Zemu stared at Aran, swallowing her words. At his confession, everything flashed at her. Years of quiet things she never questioned. Moments she never named. Care she never examined too closely. Perhaps, they didn’t hold much meaning then, but will they mean differently now?

            “Aran…” Her voice softens, hand playing with the thread of the bracelet that lingered on her wrist. “Both of you… I didn’t know.” She admits with a quieter voice. “I care about you. Both of you, to be honest. You’re important to me and Shinsuke too…” Her gaze drops for a second. “But I don’t think I feel that way. Not like this.” Zemu’s chest tightened. “I’m sorry.”

            He did not force her into anything. If only, he waited for Zemu to lift her head to look at him. Even when she looked confused and closed to crying, Aran gave him a genuine smile.

            “Nobody said about deciding too soon.” He tucks her hair behind her ear, then rested his hand on her shoulder to gently squeeze it in calm reassurance. “I’ll take this as an answer too. For now.”

            Since that day, Aran doesn’t linger as long as he used to, well, not always. Sometimes, he steps back before she can ask. Sometimes, he does not pry silence from her even if he can fill it. But he’s still there, always there. He’s just quieter and more careful.

            Shinsuke, on the other hand, still walks beside her. He still asks questions and listens to answers that immediately go to a mental notebook in the nook in his head that’s reserved for Zemu. He shares things in return, like they are seeds meant to find their way in her heart and grow someday. She takes them in, with fascination and inspired to understand more and more. There are no pressure nor expectations or even the pressing feelings that invite them.

            As for Zemu, she moves through it all the same way she always has: focused and busy and certain. She still reaches for her phone when it buzzes when she’s not studying. She still scolds her brothers and feeding everyone before herself and laughs at Rintarou’s messages and leans into conversations with Shin with her wide eyes that’s bright with curiosity.

            But what she doesn’t notice, for someone so perceptive, is how everything looks the same and feels the same, except for one thing: and it is for her to figure out with the passing time, as she still eats the food Aran prepares for her that’s less than usual now.

            The noise continued in the house despite the absence. Zemu does not feel it at first. It’s hard to when there’s too much shouting and screaming and everything’s just too loud, too fast, too many things in need of her attention.

            “NEE-CHAN! HE USED MY SHAMPOO!”

            “It’s our shampoo.”

            “JURI GAVE IT TO ME! YOU USED TOO MUCH ON YOUR HAIR!”

            “My hair needs more care.”

            “Both of you, shut up.” Zemu mutters, not even looking up from her phone even though she was already behind schedule for something in her head. Deadlines stack in her head. Tasks line up one after the other. Everything is normal until her phone buzzes for a notification. Her heart did a tiny somersault, then when she quickly scrolled, oh, it’s just Shin.

            Yeah, just Shin. Reminding her if they could work on the proposal later tonight.

            She gets through the morning just fine. The routine unfolded as it usually does. Classes, student council, errands. Reminders? Sent. Papers? Signed. Problems? Solved. Her phone buzzed for another notification. Her hand scrambled to see who it was.

            suna: live entertainment

            suna: u missed it

            zemu: i miss nothing they’re always like that

            Her replies were automatic, but for a moment her thumb hovered on the screen a second longer than usual. Then she locks it and moves on.

            Somewhere in the afternoon, the exhaustion of the day managed to catch up on her. Zemu leaned back in her chair, eyes closing briefly as the weight of the day burdens on her shoulder, and the thoughts of what she’ll find at home when she gets there. There was joy in what she did, being the one who takes care of things, but happiness does not completely take away the tiredness that comes with it. In times of pondering like this, especially when the council room has emptied, the ticking of the clock is louder than it should be.

            As if even her time to rest was numbered compared to the responsibilities that do not limit themselves when it comes to Zemu.

            Her hand unconsciously goes to her wrist, fingers brushing against the bracelet wrapped around it. Worn thread. Familiar texture. She rubs it lightly between her fingers to ground her, like it always does. She steadily breathes, reminding herself that it’ll be fine. She’s just tired. That’s all this is. It must be.

            “Still here?”

            Zemu opens her eyes. It was Shinsuke Kita, staring down at her with a smile with fond eyes. He was composed as ever, as if he has been looking down at her all this time and she had simply failed to notice. She sits up, sighing.

            “This proposal is the end of me.”

            He hums in acknowledgement, pulling the chair beside her to sit down and look at the papers sprawled on the table. “Which part are we looking to fix?”

            “All of it.” She gestures vaguely.

            Shinsuke nods, scanning the papers with quiet ease. He invites her to look closer, to lean in slightly so she could follow through. His finger would point out from word choices to transitions to places where standpoints could be magnified for stronger impact and some where her ideas needed some trimming down for clarity. In about less than an hour, the main source of Zemu’s headache has been cured with Shinsuke’s careful eyes and thoughtful precision.

            “You made it sound so easy.” She mutters after a while.

            “As a whole, it does look difficult. When you break it into pieces like pie, it makes your problem smaller and easier to spot.”

            She glances at him, at his calmness. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

            “Not particularly.” He shakes his head.

            “You are.” She insists.  “The way you think about things, it’s different.”

            “If you’d like…” Shinsuke looks down, fiddling with the edge of the paper, absentmindedly. “I can help you revise the rest.”

            Zemu smiles softly. “Yeah, I’d like that.” With Shinsuke, things feel clearer, like everything can be sorted if she just pauses and takes one step at a time. No pressure, just steady progress. For the first time that afternoon, she exhales the tension from her shoulders. As Zemu leaned down again, to watch how Shinsuke does his magic on her paper, he placed his arm on the back of the seat, but never truly touched her back.

            And when she looked to the side, she realized that she’d never seen Shinsuke in this light before.

            Later, when she steps out of the room, the air feels lighter. She stretches her arms above her head, rolling her shoulders as she walks down the hallway. Her phone buzzes again, another message from Rintarou. Another update with a photo of the same, ongoing chaos. As she typed out a reply without much though, her steps slowed until she realized she was in front of the gym doors, that were closed.

            “Huh.” She tilted her head with a frown, then shakes it off. There’s no reason to be looking… or for anything to feel… off. So, she kept walking.

            There are moments with Shinsuke. Some quiet conversations. A few thoughtful exchanges. He asks her questions that make her pause, think deeper, and look at things from angles she hasn’t even considered before.

            “You know, you tend to take on too much at once.” He tells her one afternoon.

            “Someone has to.”

            “Not all at the same time.”

            “Tell that to my schedule.”

            “Perhaps your schedule needs some adjusting.”

            Zemu laughs softly at that. “You sound like my advisor.” Then, she continued. “Not that it’s a bad thing. You always know the right thing to do.” She enjoys their moments, truly. Maybe it was the way how comforting he sounds when he speaks or when his whole existence is a personification of a shoulder you can lean on. Every conversation with him leaves her feeling better, more put together, like she’s becoming someone she wants to be.

            And then, there are moments with Aran Ojiro. They’re different and less structured and less intentional, but they are just as consistent.

            “Sit.”

            “I’m fine.”

            “You’re swaying.”

            “I am not.” Her argument cuts off when he gently pushes her down onto the chair. Zemu glares at him. “You can get annoying, you know that?” She scoffs but doesn’t get up. Aran disappears for a moment, then comes back with something warm in his hands, setting it in front of her without comment. “You’re treating me like I can’t take care of myself.”

            “Oh, you can.” He says easily. “You just don’t.”

            Zemu sighs, picking up the chopsticks even with a little protest. “Thanks.”

            He shrugs like it was nothing, because for him, it was nothing. Then, he goes behind her as she enjoys the noodles, steaming into her face and making her hair stick to her skin everywhere. “Hold still.” He stepped behind her, fingers brushing lightly against her hair while he tucks all the loose strands behind her ear and gathers her hair in one hand. Instinctively, he taps on her left wrist, where her hair tie was usually at, and she just lifted her hand to let him get it off her. Both of them were familiar with this choreography after being done a hundred, a thousand times before. “There we go.” He says, before tying her hair in a low ponytail so she could focus on eating without any distractions.

            Zemu hummed her thanks. That’s it. No pause, no weight or anything deep. It was something that happens. Something that has always happened. 

            Somewhere between the moments she’s shared with them, questions begin to form. It lingers at the edges of her thoughts, clouding them slowly. She’s laughing at something Shinsuke said, listening and engaged. There’s lightness in her chest in the way the conversation flows.

            This is nice. This is good.

            Later, she’s sitting at the table, half-asleep over her notes, and Aran would quietly slide a blanket over her shoulders without waking her fully. Her mind might not remember him at that very moment, but her body would instantly react to him. Anything Aran means warmth and safety and familiarity. Zemu blinks slowly, eyes half-lidded and sleepy.

            “You’re still here?”

            He would hum softly, so not to require a lot from her to process it. “I’m always here.” Then he’d pat her head gently to sleep again. What he doesn’t know is moments like that stays with Zemu longer than they should. It invited thoughts that were impossible to answer: Why do these two feel so different?

            On times like that, Zemu frowns and just curls her fingers again at the bracelet at her wrist. The thread still presses gently against her pulse. The same as it always has been. She exhales, shaking her head and pushed away the thought before it could settle. There’s no need to think about it. No need to question something that has always been certain.

            The kitchen smells like soy sauce, butter, and something that was threatening to burn. Zemu did not even have to look up from the cutting board. “Flip it.”

            “I am flipping it.” Osamu replied.

            “You’re not.”

            “It’s sticking.”

            “It’s not going to stick.” It does. Osamu clicks his tongue, prying the edge of the omelet loose with patience. “You’re distracting me.”

            She slides the chopped vegetables into a bowl with quick, efficient, movements. “You’re doing that yourself.” Beside her, Osamu Miya works with quiet focus, the opposite of the chaos brewing outside the kitchen, which, unfortunately, is about to seep in.

            “NEE-CHAN!”

            “No.”

            “I didn’t say anything yet!”

            “You’re about to.”

            Atsumu leans against the doorway anyway, dramatic as ever, arms crossed like he’s about to deliver a life-altering speech. He was in his natural habitat after all, being loud and annoying. “So,” he starts with a grin. “I was thinking…”

            “Groundbreaking.” Osamu muttered under his breath.

            “… if you’re going to marry someone,” he continues loudly, ignoring them both. “It should be Kita-san!”

            Zemu pauses mid-chop, slowly turning her head with her squinted eyes. “What?”

            “He’s perfect!” Atsumu insists, counting off on his fingers. “Responsible. Reliable. Good at everything!”

            “No.” A quiet voice cuts through. Juri Kita is already there. No one noticed when she arrived, especially since she rarely announces herself. She stands near the counter, with sharp unreadable eyes. Zemu’s expression softens instantly.

            “Oh, Juri.” She steps in closer, without hesitation and pressing her cheek against Zemu’s arms, her own way of personal greeting. Then she turned her gaze to the twins. "Not Shin.” She repeats.

            Atsumu blinks. “Huh, why not?”

            “He’s too obvious.” She folds her arms. “Too stable.”

            “Isn’t that what Nee-chan needs?”

            Juri doesn’t even look at him. “She is already too stable. You’re not.” That shuts them up for a second. She points at Atsumu, then Osamu, then Rintarou. “None of you are stable.”

            “But your brother, he can take care of nee-chan, of us.”

            “No, he is not taking care of you.” Zemu cuts in flatly.

            “He would if he married you.”

            “I am not marrying him.”

            “Yet.”

            “Atsumu.” His twin interrupted, as he flipped the omelet cleanly this time. “Atsumu, he’s too good for her.”

            Zemu freezes, before turning to her other brother with a twitching eye. “Excuse me?”

            Osamu shrugs, not even looking at her. “I’m just saying, Kita-san’s got his life together. Nee-chan still argues with us every morning.”

            “I have my life together.”

            “You threatened to throw a slipper at me.”

            “You deserved it.”

            Then Atsumu looked at his twin. “Oh. You may be right. Kita-san does deserve better.”

            Zemu glared at both of them. “I will throw both of you out of this house .”

            “You can’t just say that!”

            “YOU ARE NOT THE LANDLORD, NEE-CHAN! LIKE…”

            “Technically, she manages most of the household.” Everyone pauses and a soft voice cuts through the chaos. Zemu exhales sharply. On the couch, sprawled like he’s always part of the furniture was Rintarou, but he doesn’t even look up from his phone. “Financially too.” He adds. “She spoils you a lot.”

            Atsumu groans, dragging his hand across his face, “You’re all missing the point. Kita-san is the obvious choice. You have to see the vision.”

            “There is no choice,” Zemu snaps, turning back to the counter. “Because I am not choosing anyone.”

            Sliding the finished omelet onto a plate, Osamu hums while he shrugs. “You say that now, nee-chan. And, oh, before you say that you mean it, I know you do. Doesn’t mean that it stays that way.”

            “Can we not?” Zemu exhales through her nose.

            “No, wait.” Atsumu cuts in, pointing at Juri. “Then who?”

            “You really want me to say it?”

            “Yeah!”

            “Aran.”

            Zemu freezes, “Juri…”

            “They asked.” Juri ignores them completely, stepping next to Rintarou and voice lowering. “He already acts like your husband.”

            “JURI!”

            “He feeds you. He fixes your hair. He waits for you.” Of course, Juri would catch that. She always watches. “Oh, and he also looks at you like you’re his.” She finishes quietly.

            Zemu opens her mouth to argue, but Rintarou speaks again. “But if you date anyone on the team, it’ll be messy.” Then silence follows. Everyone fell silent when Rintarou had to pause whatever he’s doing to put the phone down and looked up at the siblings. “Think about it. We see each other every day. Practice, matches, everything. You don’t think that it would be weird?” As if he’s stating an actual obvious. “If you break up, the team’s awkward. If you fight, the team’s awkward. If it’s Kita-san, the captain is involved. But if it’s Aran…” He pauses long enough for a smirk. “… he might get so sad he stops performing.”

            “You have one smart brother and it’s not even yours.” Juri inserted again.

            “HEY,” Atsumu instantly protests. “Aran is not that weak!”

            “Oh, but he will get affected.” Says Rintarou, as if he was scaring a child with the boogeyman.

            Osamu got into his thoughts too, hand on his chin while nodding. “Suna is right.” He added. “It’s not a good idea.” He points to Zemu. “Nee-chan, no dating Aran for you.”

            “What…”

            “You’re also not dating Kita-san.” Atsumu added, then groaned. “But are you sure? You do like, Kita-san.”

            “I admire him.” Zemu replied with arms crossed.

            “Yeah, because you like Aran more.” Osamu butted in.

            “I do not!”

            Rintarou yawns and lazily went back to his phone. “Doesn’t matter. Aran doesn’t come here as much anymore.” And with that, Zemu stills for a second. Then continued to cut like nothing happened.

            “He’s just busy.”

            “Mhm.”

            “That’s normal.”

            “Mhm.”

            “You’re making it sound like it’s not.”

            “I’m not making it sound like a thing.” Rintarou says lightly. “Just pointing it out.”

            Atsumu frowns. Osamu glances up briefly. Zemu’s grip tightens slightly around the knife, as she enunciated each word through her gritted teeth. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

            “Maybe,” Rintarou hums. “Or maybe he thinks you’ve got your eyes on someone else.” Rintarou tilts his head, watching her now. “Ooh,” he says, dragging the sound out just slightly. “Guess you won’t be seeing him around as much anymore.”

            “You’re so annoying.” Zemu rolls her eyes. “He’ll still come over.”

            “Will he?”

            “Yes.”

            “You sure?”

            “Yes.”

            “Because if I were him…” Then that sentence wasn’t fully formed, as the door slid open.

            Everyone freezes at perfect timing. As Zemu turns, there he was proving her right. Aran Ojiro stands by the entrance, one hand still on the door, like he just walked into something he wasn’t supposed to hear. Atsumu clamps a hand over his mouth. Osamu looks away, suddenly very interested in the food. Juri shrugged. Rintarou, well, Rintarou just grins. Zemu’s heart stutters. Aran looks between them once, reading the room faster than anyone else could.

            “…Did I interrupt something?”

            “No,” everyone says at once.

            Zemu clears her throat, turning back to the counter like her face isn’t just a little warmer than it should be.

            “You’re late.” It comes out normal. Almost.

            “Had to stop by,” Aran replies easily, like nothing happened. Like everything is fine.

            Osamu mutters, still not looking up. “Food’s almost ready,”

            “Good.”

            After dinner, she insisted on doing the dishes on her own. It was easy to steal the chore from her brothers, but harder with Aran. Even if there was a fight, he couldn’t do much against the head of the household. And the moment she had the silence to herself, she allowed a deep dive into her thoughts.

            To the things that happened earlier, to the careless words around the room, to the way everyone looked at her. At them.

            Maybe he thinks you’ve got your eyes on someone else.

            Zemu exhales slowly, eyes fixated on plates. That’s ridiculous, she doesn’t…. Her mind flickers to quiet conversations, to steady voices, to calm, patient guidance, to the way she feels her jaw hurting with the long periods of time she is laughing and smiling when she’s around Shinsuke Kita. Her grip loosens on the sponge.

            What if I do like him? 

            Zemu’s name is called for the third time. She looks up at too many faces, too many expectations all at the same time.

            “Did you finalize the report?”

            “Where’s the approval form?”

            “We need your signature here…”

            “Can you check this before we submit…”

            Her answers came automatically: Yes, give me a second. It’s in the folder, no, the blue one. I’ll sign it after this. But at some point, her pen stops mid-signature. Something is wrong.  It didn’t have to be visible or dramatic, but the document in front of her feels off. Zemu frowns as she tried scanning it again and again to make sense, because it was okay just earlier.

            A chair shifts softly in the corner. Juri Kita stood up, approaching her while looking down. “Zemu…” Her voice was low enough for her to only hear.

            “I’m fine.” She says quickly, already flipping the page back, “Just give me a second.” She reads it again, slower and more carefully this time. Yet, her thoughts tangle and words blur together. Something she knows she understands slips through her again and she tightens her grip on the pen.

            “This isn’t right…”

            “You’re not alright.” Juri interrupted.

            “It’s the same file from earlier.” Someone replied to her. “You already approved it.”

            “I know, I know but…” Her voice falters. She knows that. She remembers reviewing it, remembering it makes sense. So why doesn’t it now?

            “Zemu, it’s almost 5. We need to pass this or else…”

            “I said I just need a second.” Zemu replied, her voice not tearing through them, until Juri repeated it.

            “She said she needs a second.” Her tone comes out sharper. The room stills slightly. She exhales, forcing it down “Give her a minute.” Juri took a few papers in her hand, looking down and whispering at the few council members, something along the lines of “You had to ask her this? What are you, in year one?” before dragging them out to point out where they could fix it.

            As for the ones left, they nod, stepping back to give her space. She’s done this before, fixed worse than this. She just needs to focus. For a brief second, her eyes closed as she pressed her fingers to her temple. Her thoughts still won’t settle. They scatter all over like fragments that wouldn’t connect. A rare, unfamiliar, frustration creeps in. She hates not understanding something that she should understand.

            Then, her hand lifts unconsciously. Fingers brushing against the bracelet at her wrist. The thread presses softly against her pulse. Within seconds, she was already grounded. Slowly, but it helps. As she opened her eyes, the room was still waiting for her. Without thinking, her eyes locked on the doorway. It was empty, until the door slides open. And suddenly, she can breathe.

            Aran Ojiro stands there, slightly out of place in the formal setting, bag slung over his shoulder like he came straight from somewhere else. Like he wasn’t supposed to be here but came anyway. His eyes find hers right away.

            “Sorry…” he says, glancing around briefly. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.” But Zemu isn’t listening, because something in her chest unwinds, just a little. Then the question follows. “You okay?” It was simply directed only for her. Even though the room had looked at her for a while now, it was only Aran who knew tears of frustration were building up in her eyes long before they were noticeable. So, he closed the distance in a few strides and stood beside her. She turns the paper towards him without a word, afraid her choked up sobs would make its way to the surface. He taps the page lightly, at a small error that was obvious enough but could have changed the entire context.

            A breath leaves her as tension dissolves all at once.

            “You were overthinking it again.” Aran says as Zemu straightens, already fixing the error, pen moving too quickly now that she knows how to rectify the error. She sets down the pen and laid her back on the chair to ease her shoulders. She exhales slowly, brushing her fingers once more against the bracelet at her wrist. The room was slowly emptying, leaving the two together as they gathered the papers that needed to be passed.

            “They’re gone now.” Aran’s voice is quiet.

            She lets out a small breath that trembled. She didn’t mean it to. “I’m fine.” She says automatically, same answer, same reflex. Something in her chest tightens when she did not hear him argue or call her out or force her to explain, he was just there. Waiting. Zemu’s hand lifts, pressing against her eyes. “It was just one mistake…” she mutters. “I don’t even know why I…” Her voice cracks. “I hate that.” She quietly whispers. “I hate when that happens.” Her shoulders curled slightly. “It was fine earlier. I know I checked it. So, why couldn’t I see it?” The frustration was evident in her voice, lingering like some kind of venom.

            “I don’t have the luxury of messing up easily.” She continues. “Not when you’re the pillar. Not when everyone relies on you like this. There’s too much to do and so little room for errors.” Her breath stops. “I should be better than that. I am better than that… So why does it feel like I’m…” And then, she breaks.

            Zemu lets out a shaky breath that she couldn’t swallow anymore. Her shoulders tremble slightly as she presses her hands harder against her eyes. “This is so stupid.” She mutters. “It’s literally nothing, why am I so worked up about this?” Her words dissolved into quiet, frustrated sounds.

            As for Aran, he first moved to the door and made sure it was locked. Then he pulled the nearest chair next to her, to sit beside her. He was closer.

            She shook her head, like she could stop the breakdown if she refused it enough. “I’m fine. Give me a second, I’ll be fine.” Her breath fails her again. “For fuck’s sake. It’s me. The responsible one. The eldest sister. I should have known how to figure things out.” A hand settles lightly on her wrist. “I’ve been working so hard, only to still fuck it up sometimes.”

            “Zemu.” He says her name gently, like it might break too. “Look at me.”

            She doesn’t want to, but she does. Her eyes are glassy when she looks at him. “I hate feeling like this.” She admits, voice small in a way it never is. “I hate feeling that I could somehow lose my purpose, my light, even the tiniest bit of it. And I’m slipping.”

            “You’re not slipping…”

            “I am.” She insists weakly. “You saw it.”

            Aran exhaled, hand still resting against her wrist, thumb brushing lightly over the thread of her bracelet without thinking. “You do everything all the time.” He says. “’Course something’s gonna catch eventually.”

            “That’s not an excuse.”

            “It’s not supposed to be. That's the reason. An explanation.” Aran watches her composed and capable version crumble, but he wasn’t there to judge or hold it together. 

            “I’m afraid that when I lose things that make me useful, people won’t rely on me and need me anymore.”

            Aran exhales. For the first time, he decided the blow should not be softened. “Zemu, who do you think you are?” Her brows knit immediately, confusion taking over her. He repeats, firmer this time. “Yeah, you heard me. Who do you think you are?” He stands up from his chair, a trace of anger in his voice. “Some kind of machine?

            Her eyes widen slightly. “I didn’t say that…”

            “You think you can’t mess up? You think you’re supposed to carry everything on your own? You think you can’t rely on anyone?” His voice didn’t rise but every word landed on Zemu. “Your brothers. Your friends. Juri.” Her grip tightens on the chair. “Captain?” Then he paused, his voice softer but not breaking. “Me?”

            Zemu stares up at him with her tear-stained face in silence, because for once, she doesn’t have an answer.

            “You mess up. Of course, you do.” Her lips were about to part in protest, but he quickly added. “And this isn’t the last time it’s going to happen either.” Zemu flinches at the idea, and that didn’t go unnoticed. “But that’s not the point.” His thumb brushes against her bracelet again, grounding without thinking. “The point is you don’t do it alone. You’re allowed to get stuck,” Aran continues. “You’re allowed not to see something right away.” Then he paused to really look at her.

            “You’re allowed to need people.” He leaned down, face close enough to hear her hold her breath. “You’ve got us. Stop acting like you don’t.”

            Aran sits in front of her, tucking her hair in her ear and wiping her tears with his thumb. As her shoulders finally loosened, she let her head fall on his chest and sobbed, loudly. She was muffling her apologies in between her cries while he reassuringly rubbed her back to let it out. Her thoughts, messy and tangled as they still are, began to settle.

            “Zemu, you matter more than you know, to us.”

            Her mind drifts off to somewhere distant, where voices are calmer and explanations were kinder by someone who could explain the world better to her. Then, she feels Aran’s warmth, who looks at her not by what she does or what she achieves, but by just being her.

            “I hate you. You’re so annoying.” She replies weakly, voice still thick.

            Relief floods his face. “There it is.” He chuckles softly.

            “I’m literally crying.”

            “Yeah, but at least you’re arguing again.” His other hand reached out for the back of his head. “That’s improvement.”

            A broken laugh escapes her, while she rolls her eyes away from his sight. “I’m going to leave snot all over your jersey.”

            “It’s all mixed up with my sweat. I’m putting this in the Miya laundry.”

            After laughing for a while, they fell silent. And finally, after long periods of questioning, it starts to make sense for Zemu. He doesn’t just steady her, he meets her and pushes her back but holds her ground together with her.

            “Thanks.”

            “It’s nothing.” 

            It was almost finals season, and the Miya household is as loud as ever. Atsumu argues for something pointless while Osamu Miya just makes it worse or at least pretends that he isn’t. Zemu sits at the low table with her notes sprawled all over with pen in hand. She doesn’t remember when the last time was when she got up for food or for herself.

            “Your hair.” The voice is calm and familiar.  She looks up. Shinsuke stands beside her, reaching out before she can respond. There was no hesitation in him, a little awkwardness, yes. “Stay still.”

            Zemu does, not because she has to but because it’s easy to listen to him. His fingers brushed lightly against her temple as he gathered her hair in one hand and tied it with a hair tie he found on the floor. It was just a simple gesture, yet Zemu freezes. Her pen pauses for a while with how unfamiliar it feels.

            “There.” He simply says, pulling his hand back.

            “Thank you.” She resumed to her papers and tried to continue. The line she was reading does not make sense anymore. Not because they were wrong, but because her thoughts aren’t where they were.

            Across the room, Aran Ojiro didn’t say anything or even reacted. He saw it all: the way she paused, she stilled, she tightened her fingers around her pen. The way Shinsuke’s actions lingered with her after. He understands even the microscopic things that shift in Zemu. Why? Because you know people that you love in the most intimate ways.

            “Yeah, I saw that.” Juri says under her breath, while she was beside him and fiddled with her phone.

            Clean breaks and a clear shift would have been easier. It doesn’t. Instead, it happened in pieces. Yet, she cannot blame him (or perhaps, she thinks that she’s losing her mind for nothing.) Because Aran Ojiro is still there. He still shows up and talks to her the same way: kindly and gently. He was just not as close.

            When pens drop, he was not the first to pick them up anymore. When she struggles with a bag full of documents, he waits before she asks before he steps in. When she studies at home, even with Aran Ojiro, she starves before she asks one of her brothers to get her some leftovers from the fridge (and Aran would only do it when neither of the twins were listening).

            No more reaching without thinking. No more default. At first, she tells herself that it’s nothing. People don’t stay the same forever. Schedules change. Priorities shift. It’s normal. But then, whenever she says his name and stops mid-sentence, he just looks at her and waits and no longer gets to her first with saying what she needs, so she ends up saying never mind.

            And he simply nods and drops the topic.

            Why didn’t he ask?

            And when she’d asked if he has already eaten, he’d simply say yes. No more of what he ate or if it was good or if they should get it next time, or not because it does not suit her taste.

            She watches him more, without meaning to: the way he moves, the way he talks, the way he doesn’t look for her as often anymore. And the more she notices, the more something inside her starts to itch.

            He’s still here, but why does it feel like he’s not?

            “Aran!” He doesn’t stop immediately after storming out the kitchen. He doesn’t slow down anymore. He didn’t even stop. That irritated her. “Aran, wait!” She sounded insistent before he could open the front door.

            “I am waiting.” He says without turning.

            Zemu clenched her jaw and stepped closer until she was right behind him. “Look at me when I talk to you, Aran Ojiro.”

            He exhaled, then turned. There it is again. That distance, without coldness or anger but distance nonetheless. The way he held back, visibly, leaves a bad taste in her mouth. “Why are you acting like this?”

            “I already told you.”

            “No. No, you didn’t!” Her voice sharpens. “You decided something and expected me to simply agree with it.” Zemu runs a hand through her hair, pacing in front of him, frustrated. “You don’t get to pull away and act like everything is normal.”

            “I don’t act like it’s normal…”

            “But you do!” She snaps. “You’re still showing up, and still talking and still…” she gestures to him and exhaled. “but it’s not the same and you know it’s not.”

            “I know.”

            “Then why?”

            “I thought you didn’t need me like that.”

            Something in her chest tightens painfully. “I never said that.”

            “You didn’t have to.”

            Oh, she was starting to piece everything together. Aran’s distance. Rintarou’s words. Shinsuke’s actions lately. “Don’t…” she starts, breath uneven. “Don’t twist things like that.”

            “I’m not twisting anything.”

            “You are!” Her voice breaks sharper now. Frustration spilling over. “I just… ” 

            Memories came rushing like a flood. In the Miya kitchen, a knife in her hand and Aran saying, “You’re going to cut yourself if you keep holding it like that.” and effortlessly reaching over her shoulder to take it from her. A pen rolling off the table, and he’s already there to say “Got it.” Her fingers pressing against her bracelet, because he’s there. Even, in moments he isn’t truly is.

            “…You just assumed,” she says, but her voice is weaker now. “but you’re still that person,” she says, but it sounds like she’s trying to convince herself now. “You are my person and you always will be my person.” Zemu exhales shakily, repressing her sobs. “I don’t want to need you like that either.”

            The air goes still, but it’s not enough. She knows it’s not enough, because if it is, her chest wouldn’t hurt like this, not like he’s slipping.

            “…Zemu.”

            Shinsuke was simply watching her, patiently, while they studied together in the library. Except, Zemu was not studying. Zemu was looking at the door, thinking why Aran wasn’t here yet despite studying with her for every exam they shared since they met.

            “Who are you waiting for?”

            “No one.”

            “You’ve looked at the door for three times in the last five minutes.” He says, and when her pen didn’t move, he continued. “If you’re waiting for Aran, he’s going to meet a girl from another volleyball team, he’s going to pick her up at the bus station. He didn’t tell you?”

            “He what?!” Zemu’s eyes widened as her heart dropped to her stomach, ready to stuff her stuff inside her bag in a hurry, standing up. “He didn’t even tell me and…” But why would he tell her?

            “Why would he tell you, when I made it up?” Shinsuke responded in a cheeky tone, that hides some kind of disappointment. “I see. Now, sit. We got something to talk about.” He closes his book softly. “Zemu.” This time, he looked certain. “You’re in love with him.”

            “What?”

            “You’re in love with Aran.”

            “That’s…” She lets out a small, feigned laughter. “That’s not… where did that even come from?” But Shinsuke only raised an eyebrow, as he folds his arms then looked at her. Then, she shuts up. For the first time, she admits it to herself. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.” Then she straightens up, raising deflecting a question towards him. “And I thought you like me? Why are you telling me this?”

            “Oh, I do.” Shinsuke considers his words, before he replied for a moment. “Do you think what I feel for you changes because you feel something else for someone?” Zemu just blinks, as he continued. “I didn’t like you because you did not like Aran, you might misunderstand.” Shinsuke breathes in deeply. 

            Her hands lowered to her lap as she faces him fully. “What we have is different. You inspire me.” She says. “The way you think, the way your mind works, the way we click with each other under pressure. Shin, you make me want to be better.” He paused. “And I value that, deeply.”

            “But?” 

            “But it isn’t the same as loving you the way lovers do.” Her words are gentle, but firm. “Not loving you in that way, does not mean I don’t love you at all. But,”

            “Can I still hangout with Juri?”

            “Of course, you can still hangout with Juri. And me, too.”

            Then, she nods and says slowly. “I like this too. We’re okay like this.” Zemu exhales, as something settles in her chest. “Then, what do I do?” At the same time, it’s tightening. “What do I do?”

            Shinsuke watches her for a moment. “You should talk to him.” He looked down to her wrist, to her bracelet. “Before he completely convinces himself that you don’t need him anymore.”

            “I don’t know how to say it.” She admits.

            “Then don’t overthink it. Say it badly. Say it incomplete. Say it wrong.” Then he paused, smiling at her. “Most importantly, say it before it's too late.”

            “Zemu…” the way Aran says her name, was enough to ground her. He steps closer to hug her, comforting her as she eventually breaks into pieces. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll listen. I’ll listen.” He stepped back to watch her, cups her face to look how red she is after stopping herself from crying and failing.

            “I don’t want to need you like that and I mean it.” The back of her hand wipes her tears. “I don’t want to need you because I’m weak or because you’re there to fix things.” Her eyes meet his “I want to need you, because it’s you. Like to need you not because I need help, but to need you because it’s incomplete without you or it’s silent or because I don’t want anyone but you.”  That’s when it hits, not softly or gradually but all at once.  “Fuck…You’re so annoying,” she says, but her voice trembles. Zemu looks at him, really looks and her chest tightens all over again as she pushed him back lightly to play with her bracelet to calm her down.

            Zemu tried very hard to look like a big girl, even with scraped knees and flushed cheeks. She wiped it away with the back of her hand like it didn’t bother her. (It did.) Across her, Aran frowned in concentration with a scrunched nose and a tongue slightly peeking out while his fingers worked around her wrist. The string was uneven and bright against her skin. He tugged it gently.

            “Hold still.”

            “I am holding still!”

            “You just moved!”

            “I didn’t!” She sniffed loudly, not because she was crying but because her nose was running. She wiped it with the back of her hand and straightened, because big girls don’t do that. Aran glanced up at her briefly.

            “You’ve got…”

            She cut him off quickly. “I know!” She turned her face from him as he continued to work on tying the bracelet. Carefully, focused. The knot tightened, not too tight nor too loose either. Just the right kind of secure. Zemu looked down.

            “It’s a friendship bracelet!” Aran said, like it was obvious.

            She lifted her wrist, turned it slightly and watched how it caught the sunlight. “It’s kinda ugly!” Then when she saw Aran froze, she laughed and grinned widely, showing her teeth even though they had gaps. “I’m messing with ya. It’s cute.” She shook her wrist a little, letting the charms click against each other. “You made this?”

            “Yeah.”

            “By yourself?”

            “Uh huh.”

            “But why?”

            “So, you don’t forget.”

            “Forget what?”

            “That I’m here.”

            She lifted her chin slightly. “Silly. I will not forget that.” She said, as if it was obvious. “You’re always around anyway.” Then she suddenly grabbed his wrist. “Wait! Yours!”

            He blinked as she pushed him down to the dirt. She fumbled for the leftover thread. Her fingers weren’t as steady nor were the knots as neat. At then at some point, she kept pulling too tight then too loose then too tight again.

            “Oi, it’s gonna snap!”

            “It won’t!”

            “It’s literally, ow!”

            “Stop moving or I’ll make it uglier on purpose!” Then he stayed still, because she asked him to. And because she looked so serious about it. Even with sweat dripping down her face. Even with dirt on her knees. Even with her nose threatening to run. With a final touch, she slipped an identical charm to his bracelet. “Done!”

            The bracelet on his wrist was objectively worse. The knot was crooked. The thread slightly frayed. But he didn’t say anything.

            “…It’s nice,” he said instead. Not because he didn’t appreciate it, but simply because she was thoughtful enough to do the same. That he had something to match with his crush.

            Zemu lit up. “Right?!” She leaned closer, inspecting both their wrists side by side. “Now it matches!” The two bracelets, uneven and messy and unnecessarily bright as they may be, stayed on. Even years later, as they grew up.

            “So, you’re not allowed to go away now, okay?”

            “So, you’re not allowed to go away now, okay?” she says suddenly.  “Not when I just …Not when I just figured it out.”

            Aran doesn’t move right away, not because he doesn’t want to but because for a second, he can’t. His breath leaves him slowly, like he too, has given in to relief. “You… You really are something.” He starts then stops, shaking his head. “You never do things halfway, huh.”

            Zemu frowns slightly, still flushed. “Don’t make fun of me right now.”

            “I’m not.” He steps forward again, closing the space she tried to push open. Yet this time, he was careful. He’s afraid that she might disappear if he moves too fast. “I thought I lost back there.” He admits, voice lower now. “When you looked at him like that… when things started to change…” He exhales. “I thought maybe, this was it.” Aran scratches the back of his neck, then stared fully into Zemu’s eyes. “But I’ll have to let you know that even then, I knew I wasn’t going to stop.”

            A small, almost embarrassing laugh left his lips. “I’ve always wanted you. That’s why I stuck around.” He steps closer, pulling her hand with his. “Not because you need help or because you’re struggling.” His thumb brushes against the worn thread. “But because you try to carry everything on your own, even when we were kids. I wanted to be there anyway.” He held to her tightly while tilting his head.

            “Zemu, you didn’t need fixing. You needed to be taken care of, especially on days that you forget that too.” Something inside her broke as she just hugged him, arms around her waist while his was on her back. “So let me, Zemu Miya. Let me do that because I love you.”

            Aran didn’t say that like some grand thing, but like it was nothing. Loving her wasn’t special, because it’s nothing new but it was all he knew. It was easy, easier than breathing.

            “I’m sorry that I found love in your absence.” Zemu murmured on his chest. “My love for you was always there, it just had to scream into my face.” She pulls back, enough to look at him, still with glassy eyes but clearer now. “Fix my hair.”

            He blinks. “What?”

            “You heard me.” She gestures embarrassingly. “It’s messy and it’s your fault.”

            Carefully, as if it was something delicate, he lifts a hand to her hair. She tucks a loose strand behind her ear and smooths it down. “I’m sorry, my Zemu. It is my fault.” He fixes it, like he always has. “There.”  His hand lingers just a second longer than necessary. Then, without overthinking, he leans forward to press a gentle kiss on her forehead.

            The charms of the friendship bracelets brushed against each other, barely making a sound. Then, Aran chuckles softly. “We have to upgrade these bracelets now,  because we are not going to be friends after this.”

end

            Atsumu crossed his arms, as he’s squeezed in between Osamu and Rintarou in the Kita couch while he rolls his eyes. “Tell me why we’re here again?”

            “Now, now Atsumu.” Shinsuke emerges from the kitchen, with rice balls enough for everyone. He first set one down for Juri, before the boys. “We’re here so that your sister can properly have a love life after years of taking care of you.”

            “Love life?” All, including Juri, glanced sideways at Shinsuke who smiled at their reaction. 

            While he pretended not to see Juri and Osamu demanding the bet money they won from Atsumu and Rintarou, Kita just responded with a soft voice. “Yes, I figured out it's time for Zemu and Aran to sort out their feelings.” Hearing Atsumu groan, Shinsuke looked at him.

            “Don’t worry. I will still take care of you.” Then, looked at Juri. “I know more than you do.”