Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was a matter of fact that the twins shared everything, even the less obvious things. First love. Clothes. Secrets. Hobbies. Troubles. Emotions. What’s yours is mine, what’s mine is yours. They had spent so much of their life together just sharing.

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i. first love

The first time they managed a successful rally during a practice drill, it was exhilarating. The ball dribbled away fast, in tandem with their hammering hearts.

Atsumu and Osamu locked eyes then, and it was the glee on each other’s faces that made them fall in love with volleyball. The sheer thrill that coursed through their veins after each point scored by their miracle hands and teamwork.

That was it, they decided—their dream.

—

ii. clothes

Ever since they grew out of the matching and labeled outfits that inevitably came with being twins, it was free rein for them to steal each other’s clothes.

“‘Tsumu, I know you took my shirt.”

“‘Samu, where the hell’s my sweater?”

“Oi, that’s my jacket you’re wearin’.”

“Take off my hoodie now, jackass!”

It wasn’t as if either of them ever truly cared, though.

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iii. secrets

Osamu didn't put off telling Atsumu about his own dream because he was scared. He took a long time to talk about it because he wasn’t sure if he would be happy with his decision; if this was the path he wanted to take because after all, he never imagined a future without the bright lights of a volleyball arena and his brother on the same side of the court—not because it was ever going to be a secret between them.

Atsumu knew that, of course. He was the first person to know. Their mother only found out sooner than Osamu wanted to tell her because of the cold shoulder Atsumu was giving Osamu after their fight that lasted longer than usual. 

“You didn’t tell Ma before you told me?”

“No. It wasn’t a secret or nothin’, but the plan was to tell the both of you way later. It’s just… I couldn’t keep it to myself. Once I decided it for sure, I just couldn’t stop myself from tellin’ you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

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iv. hobbies

Naturally, anything they did, they did it together.

Games? Couldn’t be anything single-player, so they’d get one they could play together. Manga? Even though they had enough for two, they always bought only one copy of Weekly Shonen Jump to read together. Volleyball?

“Can’t pepper on your own, dumbass, I don’t care how mad you are at me.”

“Piss off, ‘Samu!”

—

v. troubles

Atsumu didn’t tell anyone about his problems because he wasn’t a man with many of them in the first place, and being vulnerable was hard. But when he did, it was Osamu that he turned to. It’s easy because Osamu wasn’t just anyone.

The night after Atsumu had been appointed the captain of the Inarizaki High volleyball team, deep into the night and long after they turned off the light in their shared bedroom, Atsumu confided in Osamu for the first time in a long time.

“Could we win nationals, ‘Samu? Without Kita-san? I ain’t as good as him. How do I lead?”

There was no worry of Osamu being asleep, because he answered right away. “Just do what you always do, ‘Tsumu. I’ll be right next to you.”

Where Atsumu’s steps would falter, Osamu wouldn’t hesitate—and vice versa. He felt the light kick Osamu sent him from the bottom bunk and didn’t retaliate like he usually would.

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vi. emotions

There was nothing but joy for Inarizaki, of course, when they won nationals. The cheers that reverberated across their side of the court and bleachers were proof enough.

But there was a different kind of joy that the twins privately shared between themselves after Osamu slammed the ball from Atsumu into the opposing team’s court, when he turned to find Atsumu’s eyes, to celebrate their winning point. Together.

—

They shared everything, from their mother’s womb down to their physical features. Their minute differences even made up for each other; they formed a complete picture of Atsumu and Osamu, where one without the other would feel unbalanced and odd, as if something was missing. Where Atsumu was loud, Osamu was quiet. While Atsumu was mean, Osamu was nice. Gold was Atsumu’s color, silver was Osamu’s. Once Atsumu set, Osamu spiked. 

Even though they’d grown out of sharing just about everything like dreams, the reasons they took such good care of their hands, home, and lives, it was difficult to outgrow the 18-year-old habit of sharing.

Atsumu thought of this fact when he received his very first jersey as a professional volleyball player: the number on the black and gold jersey, 13, was unique to him. But the MIYA, in big white font above it, was not. He smiled to himself. Even over 300 kilometres away from each other, he and Osamu found a way to share something. 

Osamu shared the same thought years later when he stared up at the recently put-up shopfront sign. Onigiri Miya, the brand new thing spelled out in stylised font, signalling that the lot and restaurant were his. The Miyas’, at least. It was only fair for the ownership to also fall onto the person who supported the opening of the restaurant every little step of the way, however begrudgingly.

Osamu laughed softly as he stepped into the premises. The interior was still somewhat a work in progress. Atsumu would be coming by later to help with decorating, so he should try out the kitchen and whip up something to eat as they work. They’d share this too, of course.