#miya osamu angst

[noosayog]

002 get him back!

✧ wc: 4k

✧ warnings/content: miya osamu x fem!reader, sfw, fake dating au, angst to fluff,

✧ GUTS masterlist, regular masterlist

divider from @/cafekitsune

It all started when Miya Atsumu said that you would never be able to find anyone who could put up with you. And you would have taken that with a grain of salt, if Miya Atsumu wasn't your ex who also happened to be a thorough asshole.

“Well you dated me didn’t you?!” 

“And we broke up, duh.” he says flippantly. 

You clam up at that. You know he’s just saying things. He doesn’t mean it and he’s a complete moron. But it’s been almost a year since the break-up and not a single man has even offered to buy you a drink. Are you going to have to resort to making a Hinge profile? 

–

“I don’t know why ya let him get to ya. He’s just a moron,” Osamu says. 

“You have to say that, he’s your brother,” you grumble. 

“True. But he is an idiot.” 

You plop your face heavily into the elbow resting on the counter and blow raspberries in one big exhale. 

“Don’t get yer spit all over where my customers eat.” 

You grunt, turning over to watch Osamu work behind the counter. 

“Do you think I’m unlovable?” you ask.

“Huh?” 

“There must be a reason no one’s asked me out on a date in the past 8 months, right?” 

Osamu sighs, dropping off a plate of food in front of you. “I’m not gonna answer that.” Then he turns with his back facing you to fiddle with something on the other side of the kitchen. 

“Why not?” 

He exhales through his nose, quiet, but you hear it. 

He doesn’t get the chance to answer because the door swings open to reveal Osamu’s twin. You jolt up, fixing your posture, self-conscious about letting Atsumu think his words are getting to you. 

And rightfully so because Atsumu acts like a shark that smells blood. His lips curl up into what he thinks is a smirk, but resembles much more of a snarl. 

“What’s up with ya,” he asks oh-so-innocently. 

You have no good response and feel your face heating up in embarrassment when Osamu swoops in. 

“Are ya gonna sit down or just block my door? ‘Cause I got people that actually pay to eat here.” 

Atsumu starts yelling something at Osamu but simmers down into the seat next to you and mumbles something to himself, no doubt some choice words for his brother. It gives you momentary reprieve from Atsumu’s provocation which is the last thing you need right now with your self-esteem in the dumps. 

The break is temporary though, because like a true creature with short-term memory and a propensity for being a prick, Atsumu circles back to the topic when he’s done eating. 

“So, found a guy to take you out?” 

“What makes you think I’d answer that question,” you bite back. Weak, but it’s all you have. 

“Hah,” he scoffs. “I knew it. Ya can’t find anyone.” 

You feel the irritation boiling like a witch’s cauldron inside of you, brewing a mix of resentment, mortification, and the tiniest streak of competitiveness. Atsumu not shutting up for the rest of the night is the final ingredient that makes your red hot concoction boil over. It goes a bit like this: 

“Tell me if ya want me to set ya up with someone from the team. Might be the only chance ya get at this rate,” he teases. 

“No thanks,” you hiss. “I’ll have you know that I’m dating Osamu, widely known as the better Miya.” You point smugly at Osamu whose back is currently to you both. 

“What!” Atsumu yells. “Osamu? And you?” 

With Osamu’s back to you, you can’t see his face, but all your fingers and toes are crossed that he’ll play along so that you don’t burn up in a gas of complete humiliation. 

When Osamu turns around, his eyes go to you first. They search yours for something – what, you don’t know. He apparently finds it because he blinks away and tells his brother to mind his own business, neither denying nor validating your claim. 

It might as well be confirmation though, because Atsumu squawks in indignation, sputtering his disbelief. Osamu continues to bicker with his brother, keeping him occupied enough to not realize that he was slowly being backed out of the restaurant. 

When Osamu slams the door on Atsumu and twists the lock in a dramaticized show of finality, Atsumu finally gives up, yelling a muffled “I’ll be back.” through the windows. You could laugh at the duo if Osamu didn’t turn around and fix you with a look, similar to that of a responsible older brother scolding a child. 

“Now yer turn. What was that about?”

“Osamu! You heard the way he was talking to me. I just can’t stand it!” 

“Have ya thought this through? How’s this supposed to end, huh? We break up and Atsumu goes back to making fun of ya?”

You open your mouth to beg, because it’s always worked with Osamu. He always gives in. But he’s not done, apparently. 

“‘Least ya could’ve done is ask me out, not use me to get through yer petty grudge with ‘Tsumu.” 

That shuts you up. When you look at Osamu, he’s not looking at you. His eyes are downcast, distracting himself by wiping up the counter. It’s so brief that you convince yourself that you imagined the hurt in his voice. 

“‘Samu…” 

“Forget it. I’ll do it, but ya better have it thought out because I’m not helping ya anymore than this.” 

It should be a win and any other time, you would wrap him up in a bear hug and shower him with thanks, but the defeated way Osamu concedes makes you solemnly finish your meal. It feels unfitting to say thank you. 

–

Your first stint as Osamu’s girlfriend comes in the form of a friend’s dinner party. Since the night you forced Osamu to be your boyfriend, you have been back at Onigiri Miya to hang out, but have painfully tiptoed around the topic. The thought has occurred to you that you and Osamu should agree upon a backstory, but you haven’t had the courage to breach the topic after the way Osamu reacted. 

He had just nodded when you asked him to attend this dinner party with you. And with that, he had dutifully picked you up at your apartment, perfectly on time. You had expected a stone-faced Osamu all night, but he had surprised you with a sweet smile, one that you’re used to being on the receiving end of. But it somehow feels different tonight. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s supposed to be smiling at you as your lover tonight. It was easy, the way he had held out his arm for you, no awkwardness in sight. 

At dinner, Osamu makes no move to let go of your hand, going as far as to intertwine your fingers under the table. When any one asks how the two of you began dating, he squeezes to tell you he’ll handle this. You’re grateful and you feel undeservingly spoiled as you watch him. He looks around the room, drifts his gaze back to you where his lips flicker upwards for the tiniest second, then looks back at the crowd to flash a mysterious, close-lipped smile. You can barely hear the dinner table go wild with jeers and Atsumu squawking as you gawk at Osamu’s act.

And it goes on. 

As you eat, he keeps your fingers clasped between his, laid on his lap. Atsumu gives you two the stink-eye, questioning why Osamu was eating with his left hand. You’re pretty sure your eyes are bulging out of your head at this point, because Osamu flushes. Osamu is blushing as he reluctantly lets go of your hand, making a show out of placing your hand back on your own lap and mumbling a heavily-accented apology at no one in particular. 

–

When dinner finally ends, the party migrates to the living room. Osamu doesn’t need to ask, perfectly picking your favorite after-dinner drink of choice as he chooses a beer for himself. He has once again claimed your hand in his. His grip is tight and when you try to slip your hand out to get some space, he holds tighter. 

You lean up to whisper in his ear, “Osamu, my hands are sweaty.” 

He leans down to hear you better, but stands back up when he registers your comment. He ignores you, only squeezing twice, as if telling you to behave for him. Your head spins; you’ve never dated like this before. 

Being with Atsumu was like living in a comically unrealistic sit-com, like you were constantly finding yourself in situations and having conversations that belong in a Tom and Jerry episode. He argued with you about everything, had an ego, and a temper. A particularly memorable moment was when he was still courting you, trying to convince you to date him by saying, “I’m six foot two.” 

“Dude, nice try,” you had said. 

But somehow, right now, with Osamu standing by your side and towering over you, you think that if this younger twin used that line on you right now, you’d fold in half for him. As if you wouldn’t with all the sweet nothings he’s lavished on you in this one night. 

He only lets you get away when you embarrassingly whisper to him that you need a bathroom break. 

“I’ll walk with ya.” 

“No!” you exclaim. You lower your voice when he stares at you. “It’s okay, ‘Samu. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

He backs off and you finally get away from his orbit. 

Finally alone, you barely pull yourself together. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, slapping your cheeks lightly to pry the strange daze from your eyes. You can’t get carried away here. Osamu is doing you a favor, one he isn’t fond of. You can’t get used to Osamu treating you like this. It’s borrowed time. 

You splash water onto your face, waiting until the chill seeps into your cheeks that have been painfully hot since Osamu picked you up tonight. 

As you exit the bathroom, Atsumu is there waiting for you in the hallway. 

“I’m onto ya,” he starts. 

You scoff, immediately putting your facade back on. It’s easy with Atsumu. “Oh please, Atsumu. You’re just jealous.” 

It doesn't phase Atsumu the way you hope. “Such a weak comeback. Sounds like something you’d say to disguise the fact that yer playin’ my brother.” Your brother is the one playing me.

“Whatever, Atsumu,” you say, walking away, taking Osamu’s advice to not let Atsumu get to you. 

“I bet ya forced my brother to pretend to be yer boyfriend. I know my brother and I know you. Just admit it.” He smirks. “It’s okay that no one wants to date ya. Nothin’ to be ashamed of.” 

The fact that even Atsumu, even all of his stupidity, sees right through you makes you feel hot. You’re grateful that you’ve already turned away from him because you could not take much more damage tonight. Nothing would end you in a worse way than Atsumu seeing that he could make you cry.  

Or maybe it’s the fact that Atsumu doesn’t, for one second, believe that someone like his brother could fall for someone like you. Maybe no one does. Maybe everyone here just thinks that you’re making this up and they’re playing along to help you save face. 

It takes everything in you to keep your steps and breathing even as you take the walk back to Osamu to compose yourself. 

It’s useless apparently because Osamu seems right through you. He immediately offers to take you to the balcony, explaining to everyone that you need some fresh air to cut through the alcohol you’ve had. 

His silent understanding makes it worse because it makes it clear that you’re an open book. The act you put on is completely pointless because no one believes you anyway. 

Osamu guides you to the balcony and shuts the door behind him, leaving the two of you alone. 

He joins you at the railing, draping his jacket over you. You know he knows that you want to avoid looking into his eyes, just as much as he knows you want to avoid having this conversation altogether. He sighs. 

“Why do ya let him get to you like that?” 

You look back at him, eyes widening at the tone he rarely takes with you. His eyes are fixed forward, arms still dutifully wrapped around you, ever the dedicated boyfriend. But as his gaze flickers to you momentarily, you catch the weight of his question in his eyes. 

“Who?” you mumble. 

But Osamu’s not in the mood. He stays silent, letting the question hang in the air. 

“I don’t know… I just…” 

“Are ya still in love with my brother?” 

“No,” you answer honestly. 

Osamu raises his brows. 

“No, but I’ve known him for so long now.” You feel the need to explain. “He just gets under my skin. You of all people should understand – he’s your brother! You guys fight all day long.” 

“He’s my brother. We shared a womb. We were born to fight.” Osamu sighs. “You, though... Why can’t ya just let it go?” 

“I don’t know! I just…” you trail off. 

He continues to stare at you, not even knowing the effect he has on you. His earnest gaze pulls the truth out from under your skin. 

“I wanna get him back,” you admit. 

Osamu’s eyes go dark at that statement. His expression shutters.

“Not like that!” you quickly amend. “Not like I want to get back with him, I mean like, his face just pisses me off!” 

“Huh?” 

“I just wanna punch him in the face but I don’t think anything would give me more satisfaction than proving him wrong you know. And honestly, Osamu, you-” 

“Ya think that I’m the perfect person to piss him off for ya. ‘Cause I’m his brother and there’s no one else who would get under his skin more than if I replaced him.” 

You hear the disappointment heavy in his intonation. 

“Osamu…” 

“Am I wrong?” 

He’s not wrong, but you feel an urge to tell him how he made you tingle at dinner. It was in the way he catered to your whims, covered for you, and held your hand in secret. It was in the way he, as your not-boyfriend, made you feel loved and desired much more so than any other boyfriend you’ve ever had before. 

But when you look at his side profile, face now turned away from you and hidden by the shadows of the night, it doesn’t feel right to say any of that. Even in your mind, it sounds like an excuse. Because the bottom line is that he’s right. Your original intentions had been to use Osamu. And the fact that you might have developed a slight crush on him in the process doesn’t make you feel any less shitty and certainly doesn’t make Osamu feel any less used. 

His question goes unanswered. 

– 

The rest of the week goes by uneventfully. Actually, it goes by too uneventfully because Osamu doesn’t call or text once. Not that you’ve made an effort, but after how that last conversation with Osamu ended, you can’t find the courage to face Osamu. 

It doesn’t make you miss him any less. 

You can’t recall if you used to miss Osamu like this, think about him and wish he’d reach out even if it’s only been a couple of days since you’ve last met. You only know that right now, you wish he’d make the first move because you can’t muster up the nerve to see him, even if it’s all you wanted. It also makes you realize that Osamu has been spoiling you long before that night and long before he agreed to be your fake boyfriend. The reason you never had to miss him is because he is always the one who makes the effort to call, text, bring you lunch, pick you up from work, drive you around. 

The realization only made you feel worse about yourself.

And after days of mulling over realization after realization, each making you guiltier and guiltier, you made your decision. 

That’s how you end up running to Osamu’s apartment, late on a Thursday evening. Without pausing to compose yourself, afraid you’ll lose your momentum, you knock. 

The door swings open to reveal a very tired-looking, very handsome Osamu. He has his cap off, but his hair is unruly, as if his fingers have just recently run through it. His eyes are slightly bloodshot and his t-shirt is wrinkled. The urge to rub your thumb over his eyelids and smooth your other hand over this shirt is a sudden one you shove down because Osamu’s opening his mouth. 

“Hey, what’cha doing here so late?” 

There’s a momentary disappointment that strikes your gut. He asks you so normally, as if he isn’t plagued with thoughts of avoiding you. As if the couple of days that have gone by without any interaction between the two of you isn’t even a thought that occupies headspace.

“Uh,” you stutter. 

“Actually,” he sighs and glances behind him. “Now’s not a good time. Can ya-” 

“I don’t care about Atsumu,” you cut him off. It sounds like he’s preparing a rejection. Or he just doesn’t want to talk. Neither of which are favorable outcomes, so you barrel through to say what you need to say. 

“I don’t care about what he thinks. Not anymore and definitely not that night. I was actually thinking about you the entire time and Atsumu, well, he’s just-”

“Just wait a minute, okay-” 

“He just gets under my nerves because of the shit he says and I know he’s just saying stuff to rile me up and I’m a hothead, okay? He gets me because we’re like the same person sometimes, but I’m not doing this to get back at him anymore. It’s actually your fault because-”

“I knew it!” a voice yells from behind Osamu. 

You crane your neck to see around Osamu and curse Osamu’s big frame for taking up the entire doorway and blocking your view of the apartment because there is the older twin, grinning widely and walking up to where you’re both standing.

You instantly feel the panic rise in your system. 

“Atsumu,” Osamu begins in a warning tone. 

Ignoring his brother, Atsumu continues on. “I knew it. I knew the two of ya couldn’t be dating just like that.” 

Your nervous system goes into overdrive. Even you know how this looks. 

You barged into Osamu’s place randomly at night and picked the time when Atsumu coincidentally is here as well.

Your wide eyes meet Osamu, willing him to believe that you didn’t come to make a scene for Atsumu’s viewing. You didn’t come to confess that you might have a crush on him with this exact timing so that Atsumu would fall for the act. 

When Osamu refuses to meet your eyes, it brings your attention back to Atsumu, who continues to gloat about his victory. 

Your face burns in mortification as you take slow steps away from the twins, making room for your getaway. As Atsumu gets closer and Osamu continues to avoid your gaze, your courage wanes and the last bit of pride you’re holding onto propels you to turn away instead of retorting as you always do. 

“Aww, really let my words get to ya, didn’t ya? I knew all along-” 

Before you can start running, Osamu grabs your arm and pulls you into the apartment, the other arm shoving Atsumu out. 

“Hey, ‘Samu!” 

“Shut the fuck up, ‘Tsumu. Now that my girlfriend’s here to spend the night, get out.” Osamu shuts the door in his face. 

Atsumu’s protests fall on deaf ears, the sound of Osamu referring to you as his girlfriend echoing in your mind. He had taken your side, chosen to take the course of action that would embarrass you to least despite not having confirmed what your intentions were. The thought fills you with hope. 

He pulls you further into the apartment, sitting you on the barstool. After situating you on the chair, he makes to step out of your personal space, but you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him close. Your eyes start to sting in frustration that Osamu could somehow believe that this was all just another incident you had orchestrated to get back at his brother. This has all gotten so hopelessly messy. 

“Osamu,” you sniffle into his neck. “I didn’t come over here and say all that because I knew Atsumu was listening. I just-” missed you. 

He rubs soothing circles into your back, gently enough to make you want to cry more because you don’t deserve this but want it so badly. 

“You just…?” he prompts. 

The words won’t come out and your tears soak into his shirt. You want to tell him so badly that you’re not crying to garner his sympathy; you’re crying because you’re so angry with yourself. 

Osamu patiently strokes your back, letting you cry before quietly telling you, “Oh, baby. How long do ya think we’ve known each other? I know yer not the type to set up this whole complicated scenario just to show up my stupid brother. I believe ya.” 

His other arm is now holding your head to his neck, fingers running lightly across your scalp. “So can ya finish what you were about to say for me?” 

His words and his actions do what they always do to you. They fill you with so much hope that there’s no room to mistaken his intentions. They fill you with the courage to tell him. 

“Missed you,” you whisper. 

Finally, both of his arms wrap around your back to push you tight into his chest. He squeezes, gentle enough to keep you safe but firm enough to tell you he wants you there. It pulls the confession out of you. 

“And I like you so much, Osamu.” 

He chuckles lightly into your ear. You can feel the vibrations echo in his chest. When you squeeze back, he trails his arms down to your legs to guide them around his waist. He carries you with ease to the couch and sits you down to cry in his lap. 

You don’t know how long the two of you sit like that for, but when you finally calm down, you keep your arms wrapped around him and quietly ask, “why did you do all this for someone like me?” 

He stops stroking your hair. 

“What, ya don’t like it?” 

You pull away to protest, already too comfortable with him spoiling you again, only to find the corner of his lips quirked up in a smirk. 

He’s teasing, you realize.

You smack his face weakly and wind your arms back around him. 

You snuggle back into his neck but he’s the one who pulls you back this time. 

“Hey, seriously though,” he says. “Is this okay?” 

You nod shyly. 

“I need to hear it, sweetheart.” 

“I want it.” 

“Alright. C’mere then.” 

You oblige. 

“Can I tell ya a secret?” he murmurs into your neck. 

You nod. 

“There isn’t a man out there who’d do all that for someone he doesn’t love, ya know that?” 

It makes you flustered, but much of what Osamu does does that to you. His tenderness makes you want to try harder to meet him in the middle. 

“Can I do something?” you ask, taking a leap. Your face is incredibly hot and your heart is beating embarrassingly loudly against his. “Is it okay if I kiss you?” 

It’s easy when he responds, “You can do anything ya want to me.” 

You intend for it to be an innocent peck, your form of an apology. But he holds the back of your neck, the other arm wrapped almost all the way around your torso and doesn’t let go until you’re panting against his open mouth. 

He’s nonchalant when he shrugs. 

“You can do anything ya want but I’ll be doing the same from now on.”

#noos writes #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #hq fluff #hq angst #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #hq x y/n #hq x you #hq x reader #miya osamu #osamu miya #miya osamu x you #miya osamu x y/n #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu fluff #miya osamu angst #osamu miya x reader #osamu miya x you #osamu miya x y/n #osamu miya fluff #osamu miya angst #osamu x you #osamu x reader #osamu x y/n #osamu angst #osamu fluff

[emmyrosee]

angst, you say?

Like, I am sorry to inform you, but when you and Osamu break up, he can no longer see or make or think about your favorite foods.

Your favorite Onigiri? Not on the menu anymore.

It’s a bizarre recipe too. One he made for you by accident, one you insisted on trying while he was testing new flavor combinations. It was a pain to make, hard to replicate, but for you, he’d do anything, absolutely anything to make you smile.

Now that you’re gone, he saves himself to consistent heartache in making it, taking it off the menu in hopes to combat the sight of you, pleading him to make it, jutting your lip out and clasping your fingers together while he looks you up and down in amusement. Now that you’re gone, he saves himself the trouble of tears stinging his eyes of the memories swirling in his head of you, sitting on the counter as he makes it at home, sneaking bites of rice from him when he’s turned around, only to act like you never did it.

It was on the menu for years. Only one person ordered it consistently. You.

So it’s completely normal why he bites his thumb nail as this damn seven year old, seemingly fresh out of a dance recital comes in, hands and chin hooked on the counter as her mother orders food, asking about her favorite onigiri no longer being served.

“Sorry, Miss, we haven’t had that on the menu in months-“

“But you’ve gotta make it!” She pouts. “I always get it after my dance recitals! It’s my favorite…”

“Yumei, don’t be rude!” Her mother scolds.

Osamu takes a deep breath in and rolls his shoulders, smiling softly at the young girl.

“Maybe I can whip one up. Just for you.” He leans slightly over the register, “but don’t tell anyone, okay?”

She gasps excitedly and bounces on the balls of her feet, squeaking out a “thanks, mister!” as her mother pays.

It kills him as he puts the order into the system for the cooks to make. It kills him as the cooks look at him like he’s got five heads, “we uh… we don’t know how to make this, Miya.”

“That’s alright,” he chokes, swallowing thickly. “Just watch the register.

“I’ll take care of it.”

#osamu goes above and beyond even his own comfort for his customers 💔 #osamu miya #osamu miya angst #osamu miya x reader #osamu miya x gn!reader #osamu miya x reader angst #osamu miya imagine #osamu miya haikyuu #miya osamu #miya osamu angst #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader angst #miya osamu x gn!reader #miya osamu imagine #miya osamu haikyuu #haikyuu #haikyuu angst #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader angst #haikyuu x gn!reader #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x yn #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n

[sashimiyas]

The Burden of Being

Summary: There was an Osamu who loved you once. Who loved Onigiri Miya so much he spent most of his waking hours there, supported loyally by the members of Hyogo Ward. A fire changes that and he and his twin brother adopt their old high school motto: we don’t need the memories. Now they’re gone and memories are all you have. So as an homage to the man you love, you reopen his restaurant back up for him.

Pairings: miya osamu x reader (romantic); miya atsumu x reader (familial); akaashi keiji x reader (platonic)

Content: angst; fluff; inaccurate portrayal of how amnesia works; there is a hospital scene; fem reader; reader eats meat; reader has depressive symptoms that are, for the most part, amateurly addressed; reader attends therapy; alcohol as a coping method; undiagnosed alcoholism; unhealthy coping mechanisms; cigarette smoker Akaashi; cigarette smoker Osamu; amnesiac Osamu; pro volleyball player Osamu; the characters are all in their mid to late twenties bc this fic covers the time span of 2+ years; long passages written within parentheses are memories; there is a mentionable size difference between Osamu and reader where reader can wear his clothes and it be too big for them

Word count: 22k+

A/n: the premise for this fic was born after binging The Bear; she's gone through 4 drafts, 2 of which were completely scrapped and rewritten, and strayed much further from the initial plot than I imagined, but she's here! Thank you The 1975 for writing About You which I binged just as hard and would rec listening to it while you read! Sets the vibe, you know? Anyways, I've talked too much (obviously) but if you read, know that I love you!

The day was Tuesday, the most unforgettably forgettable Tuesday to exist.

Your downstairs neighbor was doing laundry. Or upstairs. Someone was doing laundry that day because you remember the scent of down. It lifted into your bedroom, pressed into your sheets, and made it harder for you to wake up despite your phone’s incessant vibration.

A shounen ending song, the season finale. A matcha roll. A nurse who spoke with her fingers and head tilts. A walker with tennis balls at the bottom, an annoyed cab driver, and a tourist who smelled too strong of American deodorant.

They were all there. You remember.

The hospital was the same as ever. It had ample seating, not too busy, which you recall eased the burden on your heart (only slightly) if it weren’t for the reason you were in the hospital to begin with.

An elderly woman sat at the end in one of the chairs pushed against the wall, sucking on a candy that smelled like guava when you passed. Her walker was parked right next to the seat and someone, probably her daughter because she was younger but they looked alike –they shared the same nose– sat beside her on her phone.

There was a man in an obscenely large overcoat sitting in one of the middle aisle seats. You remember because you couldn’t help but be quietly jealous of his wear considering how cold it was in the lobby. And finally, a teenager who was crying on her phone, holding her stomach as she did. Her tears gave you courage, allowed you to slip them quietly down your cheeks and soaked them up with your sleeves when you got your moment alone, away from the rest of the family. 

You weren’t there when Osamu got hurt. He was by himself in the restaurant, opening it up and getting it ready before everyone else arrived just like how he always insisted.

You weren’t there. But you do remember.

Ma held you in her arms the moment you turned the hallways. She was on her way to the cafeteria, grabbing something for Atsumu to eat. Her head was downturned, a doleful cadence in her steps, and it was obvious that she’d spent ample time shedding tears, but there was a quiet peacefulness to her. Acceptance.

Her phone call had been quick like a debrief. She mentioned an accident. A fire, a gas leak, and despite your gasp, quickly told you not to worry because the doctors said Osamu would be fine. She said to come when you could, because she was there and Atsumu was on his way and he was going to be okay.

Then when you arrived, she immediately started crying. She had pulled you into a hug, devoured your body into hers as she pressed her head into your chest to weep.

She cried before she even got to say hello. And you didn’t know then, but there was a hierarchy for the pain.

Atsumu bore Osamu’s, Mama Miya, her sons’. And with you on the outside, with you being the last arrival, you held all of theirs.

And gods, do you remember the pain.

Ma had warned you that Atsumu was attached to his brother’s bedside. He was hunched over in a chair pushed back so he could burrow his head into the crooks of his elbows. The steady rise of his back meant he was asleep, probably cried himself to it. It had been a long journey from Osaka to Hyogo, and just the news of his brother’s incident, the weeping he must have done in public and bedside, you didn’t even question his exhaustion.

With your eyes on Osamu’s still figure, you moved to rub your hand soothingly along the length of Atsumu’s back. Comfort him was your thought process. Comfort your brother because Osamu would have wanted you to.

Was it bad to say that, inside, burrowed deep in your selfishness, you felt relief? There was a certain calmness that Osamu had been lacking lately, like a Tuesday morning where he finally, begrudgingly, gave himself an extra day off.

It wasn’t until you felt liquid dip down your neck that you realized you were crying.

Dark hair sweetly tussled to the side, one hand held in Atsumu’s and the other loosely laid over his chest. The scene was a rewind to the past, a replica of a childhood stored in the photo albums you’ve perused more than once in the Miya family home, when sharing beds and staying up until dawn led them to sleeping in until noon. When was the last time you’d seen him so… calm?

If only there weren’t any bandages on his head. If only it didn’t take these kinds of circumstances to finally close his eyes, to allow himself an unlabored breath.

You pulled up a chair and situated yourself amongst them. Atsumu at Osamu’s right, and you at Atsumu’s. Rolling a hand over Osamu’s thigh, you tucked the blankets in, pressed it into the crevices, his soft body heavy under your ministrations. Neither of them noticed you. Osamu only shuffled slightly, tilted his knee to the side and then clenched Atsumu harder. Atsumu responded immediately and scooted in. You stayed beside them, observed from the side.

There was no bitterness to your actions. What they have is something different and sincerely, for them to even love you so much that their bond bent, that they made themselves flexible to fit you in, it had always been enough.

Atsumu was who you called when you couldn’t talk sense into Osamu. And Osamu was who you turned to when Atsumu’s pride refused to allow him to fully run to his brother.

Ma came later. She brought a matcha swiss roll for the both of you to share and Atsumu a complete bento. It roused both of her boys up. Atsumu woke up first.

He rubbed his eyes with the back of his left hand, the one still joined with Osamu’s and though he woke with his nose in the air, his freehand started reaching for you the moment he recognized you were there.

Your tears brought on his. His yours. Yours Ma’s. You held each other close and you whispered, because Atsumu could not bring himself to speak, words of consolation.

“He looks okay,” you muttered, eyes closed because you couldn’t chance a glance to look at him, to really, really look at him. “He’s going to be fine. He’s so stubborn. He’s going to be okay.”

Whether the words were salt or sugar on wounds, it was hard to tell because all that emptied from anyone’s eyes were tears.

No one expected to be here. Who did? Even when you watched Osamu sign the insurance policy and signed your name next to his just in case something happened. Something could never happen to you or Atsumu or Ma or Osamu. These were precautions to ease the heart, not the premise of a tragedy.

But even then, it would be dishonest for you to admit that Osamu’s accident was the most devastating part. You’re only being truthful because true pain began when Osamu woke up.

Atsumu noticed first. Even with his back to his brother, it was instinct that forced him to turn around. His groggy eyes were barely open. You could only see a slit of gray, drowsy and clouded like an overcast morning as his hand patted the edges of his bed as if in search of something. Of Atsumu.

The dutiful brother forewent everything. You, his ma, his bento, and immediately bent down to reach for his brother with both hands. He was at his side immediately, a cup of water brought to Osamu’s parched lips without a word before you could even recognize that Osamu was awake and against all disbelief, that he looked okay.

You took the napkin that was neatly folded atop of Atsumu’s bento, the one that had somehow been passed onto you and quickly made your way to Osamu’s side. To Atsumu’s side. And when Atsumu’s hand pulled back and Osamu resigned himself to a weary groan, eyes shut to take a physical break from all the hurt you were sure he was feeling, you handed Atsumu the napkin. He wiped the corner of his brother’s mouth with a gentleness you had never seen him bear.

An eerie silence persisted in the room as everyone held their breath. Osamu did so because of the aches and everyone else as a life vest because one wrong exhale felt like this reality could slip away.

It did. Frighteningly quick. Relief dissolved from your chest like cotton candy in water and all was left was this cloying and overbearing feeling of inconsolable despondence and disbelief because how? How did you end up here?

Osamu flinched when you pressed your hand against his thigh, a quick jerk that you surmised had to do with the fact that he had his eyes closed. You twisted your palm and stroked up, a move that you had done many, many times before, a premise to sex, a plea for comfort, and instead of him falling prey to your touch, he jerked out of your reach. There wasn’t even enough time for you to react because Atsumu had gripped your hand away between clammy fingers.

You looked between the two boys with a heart going brittle.

“What’s wrong, Samu?”

Said man took one quick glance at you before settling his gaze on his brother and a foreign expression passed him. Insecurity. He pressed himself deeper into his pillows and it forced Atsumu forward and you back as Osamu passed a glance to his mother.

He looked like a boy. And between exchanging glances at his mother and brother, Osamu couldn’t seem to find it in himself to return his gaze back to you.

Atsumu gripped his brother’s shoulder, “Samu, Samu. It’s okay. I’m here. We’re here.”

Osamu responded silently with a glazed stare that made Atsumu sputter. “Samu? Ya feel okay? Can ya tell me how ya feeling right now?”

The question seemed far too much to handle because all that was received was silence. Atsumu was hardly holding himself together with the tears that spilled from his eyes onto blotted, pink cheeks but you couldn’t bring yourself to move forward. You wanted to help carry this burden, hold Osamu like you’d done many times before, but the world felt skewed. Instead of being at his bedside, you felt like you were standing outside a window, watching the scene from a distance.

“Do ya… do ya know who I am?”

Ma broke first. You remember reaching backwards and gripping a wet hand full of used tissues, the fibers sticking to your skin.

“Samu. Samu.” Atsumu repeated his name over and over again like prayer, an incantation meant for miracles. “Samu. Say my name.”

“Tsumu.” The small croak was accompanied by the mildest glare, a small fire of insult always and specifically reserved for his brother and Atsumu choked.

“Fuck. Yeah, yeah, yeah. That’s me. Ya remember our birthday?”

“October.”

“What day?”

His face pinched momentarily.

“What day, Samu?”

“What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Atsumu tried to deflect, “just try to think about it. What day is our birthday, Samu?”

“Atsumu…” Ma finally gained the strength to speak, a tiny chide that she was too exhausted to actually give any weight.

“Fifth,” Osamu pushed himself to sound out, like the word was a foreign tongue.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Atsumu brushed his brother’s hair with his fingers and the sight was disconcerting because despite how close they were, how they were one part of a whole, they had never been so careful. A childhood of roughhousing and testing limits proved invincibility. 

Bruises and beatings and cuts that they wrought on eachother and yet there Atsumu was, tending to his brother as if he’d been his caretaker all his life.

“Ya recognize anyone else in the room?”

“Course I recognize Ma, ya idiot.” He coughed in between, stutters forming one worded sentences, but the attitude brought on the brightest smile on Atsumu’s face.

“Yeah, and who else?”

You remember moving to lift your hand, the one pressed against your lips to keep them from trembling, the one that wasn’t holding Ma’s, to provide a shy wave but thank the gods it stayed. Because when Osamu finally urged himself to look at you, instead of the ardor and the sweet groggy expression right before early morning kisses, he winced in pain. You muffled the sound of shock, but no one noticed with Atsumu’s screeching chair as he rushed to hover over Osamu’s anguished figure.

He writhed for an achingly long moment, though it must have been just seconds. You would have ran off if Ma didn’t force her grip on you tighter but once Osamu could melt back into his hospital bed, Atsumu turned his head.

His expression was tight and so desperately trying to be controlled despite himself. But you weren’t an idiot because beyond the glassy edge of hurt and worry and fear, if you dove deeper beneath the well of tears that pooled in his eyes, was blame.

Atsumu turned his back to you and pressed his brother’s head into his chest as he rubbed large strikes across his back. “It’s okay, Samu. Sorry I pushed ya. Ya did well. Ya did good. Ya gonna be okay.”

And before Ma could stop you, you ran out the door with the excuse that you were going to find a doctor. You turned down the hallways, heedless of direction, where you were able to find what you thought was a secluded cove. The torment was gushing, a pain that you’d never felt or could even begin to understand. No matter how you expelled the misery, in tears or heaves or wracked out sobs, the hurt never abated. It was limitless.

Because for some ridiculous reason, this felt like all your fault.

You were only able to spend minutes crouched in the privacy of your corner until a nurse found you. It must have been a usual sight because she hovered over you, a quiet calm in her voice, as she led you away with a bottle of juice in one hand and into a room where no one else was. She said nothing, only passed napkins your way and didn’t blame you when you couldn’t find it in yourself to express gratitude. Afterward, she pointed down a long hallway and told you that when you were ready, that’s where the waiting room was.

Ma came by maybe an hour later. The pain at that point had swelled into your marrow, aching at every movement you made, but the bubbling river of tears had turned shallow. Now they were silent streams. You had spent the last half hour in solidarity with the teen who cried to her mom over the phone, catching glances every time a sniffle turned wet, and seated in the spot with a lingering guava and menthol scent.

Ma sat where the grandmother had, you beside her. Without glancing up, she placed the matcha roll in your hands, half eaten but notably uneven because you had the larger half.

Her touch lingered. It stayed. When it prompted more crying, the reality that you were a pitiable sight, that this wasn’t just shared between you and the girl with her arm around her stomach and the wordless nurse, the swollen bones in your body bursted.

Ma’s cold hands easily maneuvered you into her bosom. She held like you’d seen her hold Osamu in pictures when he was sick, like how she held Aran when he cried after coming back home after being away for so long.

“We’ll get through this.”

It sounded like an empty sentiment but if anyone were able to make the impossibles come true, it was Ma and Ma alone. You barely believed her, but maybe. Most likely not, but maybe, she was right.

So you nodded into her chest but she only clicked her tongue behind her teeth.

“Together,” she told you sternly, “as a family. I don’t want to hear none of that.” Ma held you tighter when she felt you pull away. “Ya’ve been my daughter for a long time now. Even if the two of ya never got married.”

You’d been trying to be so strong. For Osamu because it was obvious. He was your partner for life, and though the vows were never spoken, you had lived them. For all the good, the bad, the happy, and the sick.

But Atsumu, his pain was tenfold and you had to do something, even if it was to tread the thorny footpath to be by his side, even if it was just your hands cupped open so you could help carry his misery.

Then Ma held you like she was strong enough to piece you together again and you trusted her. Your wails were muffled into her cardigan and she rocked you back and forth despite the arms of the uncomfortable chairs in the way.

“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t–” your breath ceased, words lingering in the air because living it is already unbearable enough.

“He does.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Ya think a love like the two of ya had is that easy to forget?”

It wasn’t. Or at least, it wasn’t supposed to. But the way Osamu had winced in pain at the sight of you, and Atsumu’s imperceptible glare, maybe it was best to be forgotten.

Ma took your silence as agreement because the circle of her arms loosened. She pulled back so that she could wipe your tears with a bent index finger.

It was jarring seeing the puffy rise below her eyes. She had always been beautiful in your opinion. A simple charm for life and the zest derived from raising two wildly vivacious boys kept her young. In a single day, she aged a decade and you wondered how you compared.

“The doctor is on their way. Come on,” she tapped you the same way she did whenever Atsumu started an unnecessary argument, “let’s go see what they have to say.”

Atsumu’s expression flashed in your mind, hesitation clenched her cardigan tighter, “but Atsumu…”

“Don’t be mad at Atsumu,” your throat had lurched when she looked away from you, head tilted to the side as if you had just slapped her across the face. “He’s going through a lot. He doesn’t know what to do.”

And you remember how your grip relaxed, how your arms had fallen into your lap, diminutive and so, very exhausted. Never did it cross your mind to be angry at the way any of them ached. Not Ma, not Atsumu, and especially not Osamu. If there was anyone you hated, it was yourself for even being there.

Ma said you were family. But Atsumu and Osamu, of course, they would always be her boys.

Osamu was asleep when you reentered the room and Atsumu held your hand as if nothing had ever happened. He stood up immediately when the doctor stopped by, eyes forward. Something had changed that day. Atsumu was a different man.

He’d have neverending stories of when he was captain at Inarizaki, and he liked to pass time by retelling another instance where he had to wrangle control of Bokuto, or Sakusa, or Hinata. Atsumu’s passion and sense of righteousness were great qualities for a leader, but his clumsy delivery always made him the butt of Osamu’s (among others) jokes.

That day had changed him. His footfall was sure despite his blemished expression as he listened faithfully to the doctor, only ascertaining everything you had already deduced.

It all made sense, logically, scientifically, situationally.

The fire was still being investigated but from the report, it had loosened the foundation of Onigiri Miya and it caused a beam from the ceiling to strike him flat against the head. He’d been knocked unconscious before the flames could even consume the restaurant and if it hadn’t been for the regulars and the community that had memorized their favorite restauranteur’s habits, no one would have even known he was inside.

As you all waited for Osamu to come to again, you’d rationalized the incident repeatedly in your mind. Reality though, was never as kind.

Because even in the tepid fluorescent light, you couldn't convince yourself. This could not be real.

It’s not. You knew this, but Osamu spoke with such vindication, honesty in every breath that even he had you fooled.

“Ya traded out Kageyama when we were six points down in the second set.” Osamu recited to his brother at his bedside, in the same spot, in the same clothes, in the same battered expression. “And I remember cheering ya on from the bench when ya set the winning point to Aran against Russia.”

The silence that followed was cold. A shiver started at the dip of your shoulder blades, and wrung you out like a towel squeezed dry.

The doctors had said something like this would happen. Memories could return a little misplaced, as if you had just moved everything two inches to the left because it exactly was as Osamu said.

In the 2020 Olympics, Japan faced Russia in the first round. They won the first set, but struggled hard in the second. To prevent risking their lead, Kageyama was subbed out for Atsumu. The tides had turned and they won with Aran scoring the last point.

Yes, Osamu was there. But rather than on the bench, he was outside the arena. You were manning the register and he’d stepped outside the final moments of the match, standing there with his arms crossed like a dad, cap in one hand, and head tilted at the enormous screen that streamed the ongoing match inside.

Atsumu was the one who made the first sound. It was strangled and faded when his brother gave him a peculiar look. Then he glanced at his mother, urging answers out with his eyes, staring at everything before landing at you. His face contorted in pain, but Atsumu saved him. He grabbed his brother’s cheeks, hair glued to his skin, and he pressed his forehead against his brothers, and nodded. 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what happened.”

That was the extent of what you could take and you ran out of the room, droplets of your tears mingling with the tile’s speckled pattern, and when the door clicked again, you didn't have to look up to know who it was.

“I’m sorry.”

Through your blurry vision, the world graying, darkness descending right before your eyes, it was like you were speaking to Osamu himself.

“He looks happy for the first time and I’m so sorry.” The Atsumu-Osamu amalgamation held your hands desperately.

Their individualism had always been easy to parse, especially with you being devotedly in love with one and having developed a brotherly affection for the other, but you allowed yourself this. If your heart must break, let Osamu herald this pain. No one else.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” He pulled you in by the shoulders and hugged you. He sniveled wet breaths into your neck just as you darkened the cloth on his back. “It’s the first time I feel whole.”

The sting reappeared between your nose and you found it harder to breathe so you clutched him tighter in a feeble attempt to expel all the excess tension that had ballooned in your chest.

“I know.”

Though the fact did little to ease you, you'd never been able to compare. What is Osamu’s had always been Atsumu’s and vice versa, too. Joint custody in all things: pride, success, pain.

Memory.

“And I don’t want to break that yet. Not for him.” Not for me he said silently. “And I love ya and I know ya love him. Ya love him so much and he loves ya too but–”

But I love him more. I love him in a way you could never.

“I know.”

Osamu would pinch your lips shut if he were really here. He’d never stand for your way of thinking because comparing yourself to his brother was a thought he never entertained.

That’s like apples to oranges or whatever that saying is. I chose ya. I choose ya for the rest of my life and I just happen to be stuck with that guy for life.

You took Atsumu’s face in your hands. Wet cheeks stuck to your fingers as you collected tears along your lash line until the world blurred just enough that blonde turned dark brown and golden rays faded to gray.

“- but I don’t want to take this away from him yet. Ya heard the doctor. He said we could try some exposure therapy so that his memory can unwonk itself out again, but ya saw that didn’t ya?”

Tears burned down your chin when you gave a somber nod, “I did.”

“When he was talking about being in the Olympics, I… I just–” he bit his lip, the memory painful, “ –and he got all those details correct, I just couldn’t tell him no.”

“I know.”

You couldn’t either.

“We’ll start the therapy when everything settles down. Maybe he’ll start remembering things on his own but it’s been a lot for him to deal with. The injuries, his memory, the shop–”

You shook your head and the man before you paused. He looked surprised with his mouth open for breath, but the foremost expression did not hide how he felt yesterday.

Your thumb started at the plump of his face and swiped up to the ridges of his cheekbones. A clean slate.

“It’s okay. Osamu will be okay.”

Your love was Osamu’s choice. Atsumu’s will always be shared.

After that day, you kept your presence minimal. Only occasionally stopping by, slowly relinquishing the things that the old Osamu, the one that knew you, valued. Each time, he’d hold the item like it was foreign. You watched from the corner of the room, like a diminutive decoration, maybe even a broom, and spectated as Atsumu helped him pull item after item.

The black hoodie, stained at the cuffs, and chewed strings at the ends, the one he had first shared with you.

(The night descended softly, like the flutter of silk sheets, and before you knew it, you’d been in Osamu’s front seat talking nonsense and sharing an assortment of leftovers he’d brought from Onigiri Miya. You’d only been talking for a couple of weeks, slowly getting to know each other outside of customer and cook, but it’s been months of patronage. When Osamu texted you after his shift and found you still awake despite your early start the next morning, he invited you out for a drive.

You’d heard him before he arrived, the worn out truck of his announcing his presence. He had the audacity to apologize for the poor state his vehicle was in, as if it wasn’t endearing, as if he didn’t make you feel like a princess when he held his hand across the console for leverage.

And here you are now, at a hilltop overlooking a beautiful city you’d  moved to in a drowsy silence. His presence is calming, a knitted blanket that softens the bite of the night air. It doesn’t stop you from shivering though.

Osamu notices immediately, head snapping to you when you do.

“Ya cold?” he asks, but regardless of your answer, he’s taking action. The man braces a hand around your bare thigh since you’d only come out in sleep shorts and shirt (though you still made sure to check yourself in the mirror before heading out) and just the warmth beneath his touch makes you ache. You lean closer, just a slight movement over the console for any residual heat he has to offer, the seats of his vehicle a sharp contrast.

“Still working on fixing her,” Osamu explains, “she’s a little off in some spots. Her heater don’t work and she leaks some fluid every hundred kilometers but she’s still a beaut.”

Your smile makes Osamu pause. His body is turned as he tries to reach for something in the back, but just the sight of your expression makes him stop and fully face you so he can take it in.

You think it’s cute how he talks about his car, how despite all her flaws, he can see her value. The world has been hard on you, but he gives you hope. From the moment you met eyes on him at your office and when you walked into his shop months later, greeting you with a fond welcome because he remembered you, he makes you think that he can see your true value too.

And with the way he leans in, his eyes glancing between yours and your lips, his hand unknowingly dragging up and down for the feel of more skin, you think he does.

The kiss is chaste, so innocent like the first drop of sunlight in the winter. It warms you from the inside out with a crisp feeling that makes you feel renewed.

Barely a second, but Osamu has you wishing for more. You’ve noticed he has a tendency to do that, to have you eager and hungry for all that he has to offer. How from just one bite of his catered food to your office, you couldn’t help but visit his shop as well.

Though your lips have parted, your faces have not. Osamu’s lashes are long from this point of view, and his skin looks lovely in the moonlight. You’re so close that you can see the small veins, blue and greens below his eyes. The colors are so distracting, his breath so warm across your cheeks, you can’t help but stare, memorize everything before the chance to do so again is taken from you.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

His husky words create a vortex of desire, consuming you wholly. You can’t help but squirm in your seat.

“Like what?” You’re doing your best to keep it cool, but you can hear the fray in your voice, reedy and needy and wanting. It’s scary to even think of the power he has over you.

“Like,” his pause forces you to glance at him and you see it too, a mirrored expression of yearning. It’s so intense the way your barriers break. It’s scary. You want to pull away, escape the emotions that are hardly within your control but he tilts your chin with an index finger and thumb. The motion is so gentle, the slightest touch with the heaviest of meanings, and he continues to stare. Maybe even admire. “Yeah, like that. Ya gonna make me go insane.”

“Me too,” you whine. It’s unfair, so unfair what he can do just with his eyes.

His expression hardens. The corners of his eyes crinkles as he glares his sight down on you, “don’t. If I kiss ya again, I don’t know if I can control myself. Ya don’t know how bad I want ya.”

“I’m right here.”

Your reply induces a vexed response. He has to breathe heavily through his nose as he fully moves his fingers to cup your cheeks. You watch as his chest rises, the breadth of it expanding as the tendons in his neck protrude at the action. Then he looks down on you from a head that’s tilted back and you see it, the subdued hunger that you’re sure he’s trying to persuade back inside. It’s frighteningly beautiful. The attraction beckons you forward despite his grip on your face keeping you still in your spot.

“Why?” You have to ask. What is all this discipline for when clearly, it’s reciprocated.

“Because,” Osamu grits. His hand travels to the back of your head and you can feel the strength of his grip, the promise of more beneath his fingertips. “If I’m gonna wreck ya, I’m gonna wreck ya right. So quit being the devil’s little thing, and let me take ya out on a real date so I can have ya properly.”

You pout but his thumb moves to push the plump of your lips back in, “no, ya hear me? Ya keep those pretty lips in. Be good and I’ll promise I’ll treat ya even better. Ya okay with that?”

His dominance, the assuredness in his words but the ragged pitch in his voice, as if he’s hardly holding himself together, as if he wants this just as bad, or maybe even more than you do has you finally agreeing despite the fact that you’d give it all. Forget the shame or the ladylike propriety of saving yourself for when you’re sure. Lust is a persuasive speaker, but Osamu, he is a promise you want to ensure you’ll  have.

“Good,” Osamu is pleased with your ascent.

His attention returns to his back seat and he pulls out a black hoodie for you to put on. When you pop your head through the collar, you don’t expect the confident man to suddenly be so bewildered, mouth agape and wrist hanging dumbly from the 12 o’clock position of his steering wheel.

“What?” you ask though you know the answer. It’s a giddy feeling to know there is a power balance between the two of you.

“Ya, uhm, ya,” Osamu coughs into his hand, turning his head away before looking back at you. “That shit’s old. All stained up and ragged but. Ya make it look good.”

You look down, sleeves well past your hands where you notice blots littering the cuffs. You can’t help but bring the strings up to eye level. There are teeth marks indenting the aglet and you give Osamu a dubious stare.

He shuffles, a nervous chuckle, “like to chew on them sometimes. Keeps my mouth busy.”

Then without a second thought, you bring it to your mouth to chew it on your own. If he won’t kiss you, an indirect kiss has to suffice. His agonized groan is worth it.

Osamu takes you out on an official date the very next day.)

Osamu spared one second for the article of clothing and tossed it to his night stand. You pretended that he didn’t just break your heart.

The next item was Vabo-chan, but not the same one Osamu had brought into your shared apartment. That one faced its demise after a neighbor’s dog ran inside when you accidentally left the door open and used it as a chew toy.

(“What are ya doing on the floor like that?” you hear the door to your bedroom creak but petulantly refuse to acknowledge him. His steps thud, hollow over the cheap wood of your home.

“Hey,” he nudges you with his foot, “ya asleep? Ya gonna hurt ya back if ya stay like that.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Are ya crying?”

“No!” Denying but not hiding, you curl into yourself even further.

Osamu bothers this time to actually hold you with his hands, gentler, more patient. He softens his tone too, “hey, hey. What are we doing?”

He waits for you to react, doesn’t continue pressing further and refuses to leave you alone.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” you lift your head up, fresh tears as you admit your failure. You expect Osamu to comfort you, abate the sting of your own proclamation. He stares at you for a moment before he starts laughing in your face.

“You hate me!”

“Hey, now that’s going too far. I don’t hate ya.”

“But you think I’m stupid.”

“Just occasionally. Like when ya make impulse decisions.”

Hearing him makes you scream into your palms. Osamu laughs and urges you into his lap.

“What’d ya do?”

He’s so mean to know you so well, all the good and the bad.

“Tell me. So we can cry together.”

You press your face into his shirt, using it as a napkin to wipe away your tears, ignoring his mild grunt of disgust when you do. “Remember when Vabo-chan got eaten? Well I bought you a new one to replace him because you were sad.”

“Did ya?” His voice sounds so surprised, it makes breaking the bad news feel even worse. “That’s mighty nice of ya. Doesn’t make ya stupid.”

“Okay, but—“ You scramble off him, knee digging into his thigh that he makes a noise of pain, to get a box tucked underneath the bed. Your hand runs across the frayed cardboard where it had ripped open from your excitement. Hesitation stops you but Osamu places his palm on top of yours. Careful and encouraging and though you know he’s going to laugh at you, you finally open it up but stop yourself by placing a hand on top of the item.

“I was so excited! Because they don’t sell him anymore, just the vintage ones that are super expensive.”

“I know.” He’d been talking about it with Atsumu and his Ma, conversations you’d overheard on the phone.

“But I saw it and it was super affordable so I bought it without thinking, but,” you look up at him and he smiles. It makes you hide your face in the box but he’ll eventually admit to you later on how cute you had looked then. How distraught you were on his behalf and that then, in that moment, he’d truly felt loved. “Don’t laugh!”

“I won’t.”

Your constant hesitation brings on Osamu’s impatience and he tries to pry your fingers away, “okay. Seriously. Don’t laugh or I’ll cry.”

“I told ya, I won’t.”

The plush comes out on your own accord and before he has any time to process the sight, you begin overexplaining. “It’s a counterfeit! They gave him a nose and his name is Bavo-kun. I’m so stupid!”

Osamu’s too quiet, expression unreadable as he looks at the stuffed toy. Your heart is teetering on the edge of a cliff, so close to falling off and on the verge of tears once again. Then he bellows out a solid bellow from the gut. Before you can crumble into embarrassment, Osamu pulls you back against him, squishing stupid Bavo-kun between you two and holding you tightly against his chest.

“I love him,” his voice turns wistful. “Bavo-kun.”

“I hate him. He’s so ugly.”

“That ain’t right to say about ya kid.”

“What?”

“Look at him.” His eyes fall to your chests, forcing you to take in the hideous sight of your failings. “He’s got ya nose.”

“That is not funny, Miya Osamu.”

“Oh no, Bavo-kun. She used my full name. What are we gonna do? Ma’s mad.”

You slap his chest. Bavo-kun is collateral damage, “don’t call me that!”

Osamu’s humor is all sorts of fucked up. His laughter is excessive, shaking the both of you that he loses his balance and you guys fall to the floor. A hand of his comes to cup your cheek, acting as a buffer before you thud onto the ground and with your heights at the same level, tears drying out, you can finally see his expression clearly.

He reminds you of gemstones at moonlight, the sparkle of something beautiful. Light cannot replicate it, only refract it. And though it’s close-lipped, his smile pulls you back from the edge, melts you to the ground and anchors you back with him.

“I love this life,” Osamu confesses, “This family. I love ya and our little mishap.”)

The way Osamu’s eyes had lit, you couldn’t help but clasp your mouth to hide the smile that blossomed beneath. It was devastating how despite it all, his joy elicited yours.

“Vabo-chan!” Osamu looked to his brother in an eager excitement. “Remember how we begged Ma to buy us this when we were little?”

“Yeah. Then we had a sleepover every night with the four of us. Tucked them in with their own pillow too”

Osamu lifted up the plush’s hands, fondness tight in his expression. His eyes roamed, though they were elsewhere, remembering the memories he never lost.

“Wait a second,” Osamu’s expression hardened. His hands traced over the lines on the Bavo-kun’s face, flipped him over to read the tag, and when it didn't provide the information he wanted, he turned the toy over again to face it directly. “This ain’t Vabo-chan. The hell is this fake shit?”’

Atsumu was quick to return to damage control the way he had been these past couple of days. He plucked the toy and tossed it to a chair on the side and told Osamu not to worry, that Vabo-chan was back in Osaka in Atsumu’s home because Osamu was kind enough to lend him his when Atsumu left the one he owned on an airplane.

New memories. Fake memories.

Lies.

You were out before anyone could stop you. Not that either of the boys would have since in the midst of this whole facade, all you were was a burdensome truth.

You laid in bed accompanied with misery. The emotion made for a poor cuddle partner but it kept you company as you shivered and wailed into pillows that hardly smelled like the Osamu who knew you anymore.

Ma called. The image of her worried eyes made you answer, but when she’d update you about Osamu, how she’d first tell you he was getting better and then, as if an afterthought, urged you to visit him, you didn’t have the heart to tell her that you didn’t want to hear it.

So you started ignoring her calls. She was persistent, as expected of a woman who raised a set of rowdy boys all on her own. She knocked on your door between two minute intervals, called and texted in the gaps between and you made excuses like you were busy working over time to catch up on the job you’d left behind.

All untrue because you’d emailed your supervisor that you’d be on an indefinite leave of absence with no explanation. There was no part of you ready to meld back into the real world again. Your world had ended, your existence ceased and now it was your duty to find your place again.

Ma’s final message was an update that Osamu was getting discharged from the hospital. She mentioned that the family would be moving to Osaka at Atsumu’s insistence. She wanted you to come by before they left.

You didn’t.

With the money you’d gotten from selling Osamu’s food truck, a phone with a dying battery lost beneath your bed, you traveled in the opposite direction to Okinawa. 

It was supposed to be healing. You were supposed to recreate a new identity here, find yourself in the beaches, among the company of strangers, smoothened into fine stone and drawn back to shore after getting caught in the riptide.

But here you are, with misery steeped so deep within your bones that it’s turned you bitter.

You leave your budget lodging only because your stomach tells you to and the measly mini fridge of your studio had nothing but flat soda. There’s no reason to look in the mirror, a quick scrub across your face is enough to remove the crust from your eyes and dried drool from the corner of your lips.

The convenience store is just around the corner from your temporary home. You’ve been trying to maintain your elusive nature, hoping you can leave the island as folklore, by limiting your patronage and entering the establishment at various times.

It’s the first time you smell fresh air, and admittedly, it does feel good against your skin. Much more palatable than your room which was already scented by mold when you entered. There’s birds singing and even the scent of smog excites your stale senses.

The world is so effortlessly beautiful.

And that’s what makes it so cruel.

You push your way into the convenience store, the aggressive movement rattling the bell above.

By your last visit, you’d memorized the aisles so you stroll on through with a single basket in hand. The thought process is careless as you pick out which shelf stable meals you’ll have for the week. It’s not until you reach the cold beverage section that this mundane visit turns into something interesting.

You squat to level yourself with the bottom shelf, debating whether or not you had the energy to carry a full twelve pack the half kilometer back. Just the thought of it hits you with a sudden feeling of fatigue that you cannot help but groan and press your forehead against the fridge door.

You’d spent the past two weeks alone so just the quiet call of your name has you jumping up defensively.

Akaashi looks down at you unimpressed.

“What are you doing here?” You look around, fearful that Atsumu or another one of Osamu’s volleyball confidants might be around. “Are you following me?”

Akaashi is an acquaintance at best, an Onigiri Miya fanatic at most. You hardly had a chance to have a conversation with the man when every time you saw him, he spent most of it with a face stuffed full of onigiri.

Your reaction flattens his expression even further.

“No, I did not take a three hour flight all the way to Okinawa only to watch you buy alcohol in your,” Akaashi pauses, “sleepwear.”

He has a point so you settle in the defeat by glaring at him.

“I am on a company retreat,” he finally explains. “You are far from home.”

“Retreat,” quick to use his verbiage, “yeah, I’m on a retreat, too.”

He eyes you then glances to the fridge door. You glance along with him and notice that the oils of your skin transferred onto the glass panel and do your best to hide your embarrassment with anger instead.

“What,” you challenge, feeling awfully prickly today and poor Akaashi is the one you get to take it out on. Who else? Certainly not Ma, or Atsumu, or Osamu or the nice landlord who handed you keys without question. Of course, you’re particularly nasty with yourself as of late, but if you can share the beating with someone like Akaashi whose deadpan nature is persevering, then so be it. Now that Osamu’s erased you from his life, it’s not like your social circles will ever collide again.

“You look…” Akaashi doesn’t spare you any grace. His eyes roam over your figure, disgust especially contorting his features when he witnesses the sight of your shoddy pants that have seen better days. In fairness, so have you. “Maudlin.”

Despite not knowing the definition of the word, you gather context from just the tone of his voice and it immediately makes you frown.

Defensive, you’re quick to retort. Because who is he, baggy eyed Akaashi, hangnail ridden Akaashi, squinty and blind Akaashi, no owning hairbrush Akaashi, to speak of your current condition?

“And you look like your retreat isn’t retreating.”

You get up, discreetly rubbing your self portrait in sebum with a pants leg, and impulsively decide that you deserve the 12 pack thanks to this new inconvenience. The pack slams against the glass door when the suspension forces it back too quickly. Akaashi moves to help but you cast a glare before he can.

“I do not need help,” you supply.

His reply is nonplussed, “you do.”

“I don’t,” and now the corner decides to catch on the gasket. Akaashi ignores your small grunts and your quiet insistence, pulling the door wide open.

You thank him begrudgingly only because it’s the socially acceptable thing to do but the man doesn’t let you stray much further.

“What if I bought another pack?” That catches your attention. More liquor, less lucidity, less opportunity to remember you’re sad. It seems to be a curse these days, the power of memory, and for once, you think it’s quite unrelenting. “And I paid for your items? Will you let me camp out wherever you’re staying?”

“There’s only one bed.”

“The floor is fine.”

“It smells like mold.”

“Let’s buy a candle before we leave.”

There’s a desperation that you recognize, a solidarity between two persons barely hanging on and the least bit put together. It shouldn’t be so exciting to find someone as miserable as you but isn’t that what they say? Misery loves company.

“Holy fuck,” you grin at him, sardonic, “I don’t remember liking you so much, Akaashi.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

It’s a stupid response, a very Akaashi response, so you giggle manically and kick a pack with the toe of your shoe.

“Grab the 24 pack. We’ve got some retreating to do.”

Akaashi is running away from his responsibilities and so are you. He locks himself in your studio without a mention of its disarray and happily sleeps on the flat futon provided by your temporary landlord with a single fitted sheet and your neck pillow. The amenities offered are quite militant, but considering the price point, you cannot complain and neither does Akaashi.

Neither of you mention what sorts of horrors plague your sleep, a respect for each other’s privacy, because despite enjoying his company, life did not bring you two together out of kindness.

There’s a reason why the underneath of his eyes have swelled to a charcoal gray the same way you cannot help but begin your mornings with a beer. The two of you watch reruns of old childhood shows and every so often, Akaashi wordlessly gets up to go outside for a smoke. You thank the heavens there’s no balcony so you wouldn’t have to face the familiar sight of a back lazily bent over a railing and the slow wisp of smoke. He comes back inside with the hint of tobacco on him and you think he’s noticed how it makes you choke because the first thing he does is wash his hands before sitting next to you again.

He chooses to abide by the code of silence until the fifth day. It’s an evening where the bed has been stripped bare, the room emptier than it already is.Your dirty clothes had been piling up but it had been a struggle to clean them when laundry felt like a hug, the firm press of a collar and a lost nape. The two of you lie on the floor and bide time while you wait for the linens and whatever paltry laundry either of you have dry.  

Akaashi dons a white undershirt and sleep shorts, you in a shirt that doesn’t belong to you. It doesn’t belong to anyone actually, because its owner has abandoned it too.

He holds a half eaten Okinawa style onigiri in his hand and the sight is so familiar you don’t pay him any mind. Your thoughts are gluey from the alcohol so it takes an extra line for the jokes to settle. Laughter is muffled by your forearms where you’ve placed your chin, laying on your belly and big toe tracing a gap between tiles on the floor.

Even the sound of Osamu’s name takes longer to process.

But you still remember. You devotedly will.

“These onigiris taste different from Myaa-sam’s,” Akaashi says beside you.

You lay a cheek on your arm and look up at the cross legged man. He finally got his glasses and other belongings from his previous room yesterday. A smile is already plastered on your face because the liquor makes Akaashi funnier than usual.

The joke never comes.

“Did you ever want to talk about it?”

His question prompts self reflection. Talk about what? What was there to say when the two of you have been so busy running. Immediately, you scramble to get up onto the smooth surface of the stripped mattress to put some distance between you two.

“That’s why you’re here, right?”

Beneath glasses, Akaashi’s eyes have a pointed edge to them.

“What do you know?” It’s suddenly so cold now with the space between you and there’s nothing to cover you up. You can only pull your knees to your chest.

“Nothing.” Akaashi turns to look at the TV. He watches the scene play out until it cuts to a commercial. “Atsumu doesn’t say anything. He’s been uncharacteristically tight lipped.”

Akaashi says uncharacteristically but you’re not surprised at all. This sounds exactly like the Atsumu you know now. It fouls your mood and has you reaching for your emotional support sake from the nightstand.

“He tells everyone to entertain Osamu lest he get a traumatic episode.”

“You’ve seen him?”

“No,” Akaashi watches your face deflate so he tacks on that Bokuto has.

Tension coils the muscles along your bones. It makes you feel frigid so you gulp down the rice wine in hopes that it warms you up from the inside out. Akaashi only watches. He never mentions your drinking habits. You don’t say anything about his smoking tendencies. These were the boundaries you were supposed to respect, but the man keeps on pushing.

“I heard you sold the food truck.”

“How else could I afford all this luxury?” Your hands stretch out to broadcast the shoebox the two of you call home.

He’s used to your defensive sarcasm by now, only taking a singular bite from his onigiri. “So the branch in Tokyo?”

You laugh. “Not happening.”

Then you finish the whole bottle with an aggressive gulp. You flatten yourself against the bare mattress. You ignore him, pretend you’re alone, pretend you’re okay, and you accept the dizzying fall into slumber.

When you wake, the laundry is brought in. It smells exactly like down and a headache. The digital clock on the nightstand tells you it’s midnight so you drink a bottle of water and work on fitting the sheets to the bed. For your efforts, you reward yourself with another can of beer. Then another. It only takes two for you to fall asleep again.

The both of you don’t broach the topic. He reels you back in with a sense of normalcy, the routine of bumming it in front of the TV and the unhealthy eating habits. Even when you blurt out that onigiris are now banned from the house, he only provides a knowing blink.

Slowly, the space between you two skitters away. He coaxes you in like a stray with indifference and eventually, he’s sat cross legged in front of the TV while you lay next to him on your belly.

The duration of your lease is running out as the month dwindles away into repetition. There’s only a couple of days left but you’ve run out of alcohol and food. It’s a weekend night with prime time television over reruns and you’ve gotten particularly attached to this drama that you started halfway through so Akaashi and you head out one evening to prepare for the last couple days of indulgence.

You should have known Akaashi had something planned when he veered to the left with the excuse of wanting to try out a different store.

Once you heard the quiet roar of waves crashing, you had to pause. A rush of trepidation overcame you. Akaashi was already halfway through the crosswalk when he turned around and noticed you weren’t there. He urged you with his eyes, sharp still below the frames of his glasses. People walk around him and you cannot help but notice their peeved expressions. The sound of cars whiz past and the waves do nothing but recede and crash and it’s all so much to take in.

“No,” you shake your head.

You want to run but where do you go? Forward? Away? Where else because there is no going back. 

The crosswalk sign starts blinking and there is renewed severity in Akaashi’s expression. He beckons you with an outstretched hand.

It reminds you of Atsumu, the way he had reached for you the first day at the hospital.

It reminds you of Osamu, the days he’d pull you out of bed when you slept in.

“Come with me,” Akaashi says.

That is all you need to go. The dramatics are uninhibited as you make your way to him, blind with your head bent as one wrist wipes away incessant tears and the other is extended to catch his hand. He takes it. It’s a foreign union with his spindly fingers that are long enough to twine around your wrist like a restrictive vine but you relinquish yourself to it.

Because, this whole time, all you’ve wanted is this: promised, unselfish companionship.

Akaashi leaves you on a bench and returns with meat pies bought from a nearby food truck. The smell of it saturates the area in an appetizing scent of fried deliciousness that has your stomach gurgling. You’ve not had a single healthy meal since you arrived in Okinawa but the alcohol you’ve imbibed religiously for the past few weeks welcomes the offering.

“Have you wondered yet what is going on with me?” A bus whips past you two with an uncomfortable gust of warm wind. You want to pretend that you didn’t hear Akaashi over the sound of the engine, but his silence is imploring.

“Always,” you say.

Akaashi entertains you with a small huff, “you could ask.”

“But then that would breach our secret NDA. Which you have breached by the way. You owe me another 24 pack.”

“Considering I no longer have a job, we might have to put that on hold.”

You reply only with a wide eyed surprise.

“I put in my resignation yesterday.” Akaashi admits. His hands glide up his thigh to clear the grease from his fingertips. “Do you want to ask questions now?”

There’s a lot of questions running through your mind. First of all, why? Why quit? What was the reason? Why did it take you in your pajamas buying alcohol before noon on a foreign island for him to do so?

“Yes, but I won’t.”

“You’re aberrant.”

“I’m assuming that means ridiculous.”

“Close.”

“Share whatever you want to share. I won’t…” you almost hand the crust of your meat pie to Akaashi out of habit. You press it into the napkin instead, crushing it with the pressure of your fingers. “I don’t want to force anything out of you if you’re not ready.”

Akaashi hums. It’s a sound similar to when the understanding of a concept finally dawns on someone. He kicks his long legs out. The Oxfords provide a bouncy noise and it’s only now that you see how aberrant Akaashi is. Near the ocean shore, he wears business casual dress with slacks and though unpressed, he still dons a button down with elbow pads. Freaking elbow pads. You must look ridiculous next to him in your novelty shirt and pajama shorts. It’s been difficult wearing anything that doesn’t have elastic lately and jeans leave for no room to breathe.

He pulls out his cigarettes from his breast pocket and when he remembers, he turns with a silent tilt of his head, asking permission to smoke. You only nod but turn your head away quickly. The gradual exposure to the smell is one thing, but the sight of him smoking might be another step you’re still not ready to take. 

The cigarette crackles twice in two long inhales and he makes a point to blow in your opposite direction.

“I’m told that literary composition is not my forte.” You remain quiet, respecting the beginning of Akaashi’s soliloquy. “People tell me that I’m not meant to be an author. The world, actually. My short stories weren’t selling so I tried my hand at writing fanfiction for Meteo Attack, the manga I edit and hardly anyone read it. I even got hostile responses for my characterization.”

He needs another two inhales from the admittance. You don’t blame him.

“My boss and I had been working on a training plan the last two quarters so I could move to the literary department and the night before I met you, we were announced our placements for the next quarter. Mine didn’t change, still editor, still in manga. And when I asked, my boss said he’d be an idiot if he let me leave. I was too good at my job to change positions now. I went on a manic binge, slept through my alarms for the scheduled office activities, saw you, and figured you’d be the best excuse I could have to avoid my boss and coworkers for the rest of the trip.”

The sound of the lighter flicks once more. You listen to the quick initial inhale and the lengthy one that follows.

“My intention was never to quit. It was just like you said, retreat. I wanted to abscond myself of responsibilities for a moment but then I ate the onigiri I bought and I remembered. I remembered lots of late nights in Hyogo with you and Myaa-sam and Bokuto. And it made me think of you.”

“If it’s pity you’re offering, I don’t need it, Akaashi.”

“It’s not. I’m offering another contract. A business one.”

You turn to him and find that the smoker had finished his cigarette already. He gathered saliva in his mouth and discretely spit it on the floor before turning back to you.

“Let’s open Onigiri Miya up again.”

The idea sickens you because just the name of the restaurant brings back an onslaught of memories you’ve been trying to avoid. Osamu in his tight arm sleeves and black apron. His musk after a long night. His weary smile that would worry you only for a second until you realized it was satisfaction that compelled it more than anything. The sweet and salty scent of sticky rice and the starchy feeling on your hands whenever you would swirl your fingers in the buckets of dried grains that Kita would present to you. Long days, long nights, and Osamu, Osamu, Osamu.

“There’s no way. I have no clue how to even begin starting a business.”

“You say that but do you even know if your job will be there when you get back home?”

That was also another pertinent issue you were still planning to avoid.

“There is an Osamu out there right now who doesn’t even know that Onigiri Miya exists. The world is telling you you’re forgotten and there are people out there willing to accept it. But did you? Did you forget?”

His intensity brings on a delicate quality to your voice, “of course not.”

Osamu could forget you, but you? Forget him? The erasure of his existence was something so foreign of a thought that even just the mention of it strained your heart raw. 

“I didn’t either. Do you want anyone else to?”

Your response is incomprehensible as you blow snot into your grease laden napkin but the point comes across. For all the weeks you and Akaashi have spent together in the apartment room, he touches you a second time ever, hand atop yours once more.

“Then let’s open Onigiri Miya back up.”

It’s minutes later until you can gather yourself up again and even longer for you to seriously entertain the idea. The night is quiet and you’re thankful there are no passersby to witness this embarrassing exchange.

You think of everyone that Osamu had brought into your life when you walked into his. All the customers and friends and neighbors that offered you joy and small gifts worth living for. Atsumu was okay with throwing it all away, abandoning it just like his high school motto had endorsed.

But they were the ones who found Osamu. They were the ones who saved him, who forced the firefighters to break down Onigiri Miya’s door when the fire began to consume. If not for the community he fostered, he would not have had the second chance he has today.

There’s an Osamu out there that does not love you, that you may never learn to love without being hurt, but there was an Osamu that was beloved by all. If you had to do it for anyone, you’d do it for him.

“Fine.” Akaashi does not move, eerily still as if to not startle you to backtrack. “We can give this a try.”

You settle in with your choice and finally, with a bit of courage, you ask “I know what I am getting out of this, but what are you?”

“A flexible schedule so I can write my novel,” the man beside you answers frankly. Then in a softer voice, he adds, “and maybe I can finally open that branch in Tokyo.”

You cannot help but crack an amused snort. Akaashi joins you with his singular chuckle.

“That seems ambitious.”

It is so grossly, overwhelmingly, exceedingly ambitious to run a restaurant and more so, to even consider a second location. Promises are easy to make on tear-stricken nights amongst the salty air of Okinawa, but back in Hyogo, the air is severely stifling.

Even with more than half a decade of partnership with Osamu, it is a steep learning curve managing all its operations. Your ex boyfriend did not make it seem easy. No, not with the long hours he’d pull or the days when he’d lash his frustrations on you. Some days, even seasons, happened to be more difficult than others but to have first hand experience all on your own is novel.

Akaashi moves in the day you guys arrive. The two week unofficial dry run makes the decision easy. He fills in the space that has been left behind, screens all the voicemails that you’d avoided when you were gone, and confirms that you are officially jobless by looking through your emails too.

What is better than one jobless, mid-twenty travesty who is one milligram of caffeine away from a breakdown? Two jobless, mid-twenty travesties who are one milligram of caffeine away from a breakdown. It’s a support system, hardly structural but functional enough.

It includes a lot of spontaneous frenzies, you and Akaashi both. He teaches you to be quite efficient with your distress. A prolonged yell helps relieve the pressure and it compels the other to join. You teach him the benefits of isolation. Sometimes, it’s simply best to take some space, to cast away the burdens for a night and relearn how to breathe.

It takes a year and a half to open the restaurant with the help of Onigiri Miya’s neighbors. Their support does not come without payment though. They ask questions you’re unprepared for and no response is ever safe. If you say you are fine, you’re scrutinized with a watchful eye, just waiting for proof of a lie. If you admit that you’re struggling, there’s pity. Some are more vocal about it than others, a patronization in their tone that never used to be there before.

The price may be steep, but it’s worth it because Hyogo ward was Osamu’s community. They carry the pieces of Osamu that you know, the ones that made the alleycats fat.

(Osamu frequently gets yelled at by the Shizuku, the florist, three doors down. She blames him for the rising cat population. Osamu laughs it off. He always did and frequently, there is a cheeky quip that follows. He says something about catnip.

Something like, “ya sure ya ain’t the one growing catnip in there?”

It taunts the woman even further, but malice never burns their interactions.

A grudge on Osamu, though easy to promise, is impossible to uphold. Not when he delivers a bouquet of onigiri right to her door the next day. Not when he accidentally tips a pot over while obnoxiously perusing through the abundance of greenery, hoping to find catnip within the collection. Not when he looks at her sheepishly, swiping his hands on his apron as if dusting away any evidence and says, “now how did that happen?”)

Shizuku’s a savior, by the way. If left to your own devices, Akaashi and you would work yourselves to the point of exhaustion but Shizuku comes in during lunch and always provides tea in plastic cups. Eventually those cups turn into a beautiful ceramic set when Kita drops off your first order of rice, a visit in disguise.

His barley eyes that were always warm to you darken at the sight of Akaashi. Their greeting is stiff which you thought just had to do with their taciturn personalities but it wasn’t until Kita pulled you into the alleyway, Akaashi left to finish painting the front, did you realize it was out of protectiveness.

“I was glad to hear from ya.” Kita leans against the waist high wall that separates two lines of shopping streets. “But I didn’t know how to feel when I found out ya were calling me about business.”

“I know,” you say, eyes cast down low. Kita has a way of making you feel guilty with so little words. He’s disappointed, you know despite his level tone, because you never called. What was there to discuss? You figured if Osamu could forget you, if Atsumu can cast you away, then there was nothing to expect out of his friends either.

“I won’t say anything because I know ya already feel bad but Gran and I were worried about ya. It’s good to know that you’re okay.”

You shrug. Okay is hardly what you’d describe yourself when you’re barely hanging on just like the threadbare sheets from the studio in Okinawa.

Kita crosses one muddy boot over the other, “and what ya got going on here, it feels like the right thing.”

It’s hard to make of what you feel, decipher the feelings that manifest inside because the days have not gotten any softer. The pain is ambiguous and persisting. Whenever you feel like you’ve made progress, another strain emerges like a new variant of the same virus. You’re doing this for Osamu. But Osamu…

“Have you talked to him lately?”

Kita’s lips line into a solemn expression. He stares you right in the eye and you hold yourself strong because you know he’s testing whether or not you can handle his answer.

“Not recently. Atsumu’s kept their distance from here. If I do see them, it’s when I stop by Osaka.”

“And…”

“And he’s good. He plans on going pro,” Kita shakes his head, “or Atsumu says, going back to pro. He tells him he took a break.”

You nod slowly. So that’s what you were. A break.

“But it ain’t him.”

The farmer’s voice is barely above a whisper and for some reason, it is gut wrenching. You have to lean against the wall with him in case you topple over. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it, the admittance that the Osamu you had was someone real. And maybe that’s why you’ll never be okay because you’re chasing after validation that has already been erased while he chases other things, of dreams unfulfilled.

“This,” Kita points to the restaurant in renovation, “this is him, but…”

He never finishes his sentence. The irony of it makes you laugh.

“Well I’ve got another delivery to drop but don’t be a stranger now. I’m serious. I ain’t letting ya. And visit Gran once in a while, will ya? She needs someone to talk to because I think she’s about had it with me.”

Kita hugs you goodbye and by the end of his visit, you think Akaashi’s gained his approval. When he leaves, he gifts the two of you the tea set. They are black with white and brown intricacies. Two of them have geometric blocking designs and the other two have one lone stalk of rice, bent gracefully by the wind.

Akaashi and you sign up for onigiri making courses where you eat them for every meal. So much so that even Akaashi of all people gets tired of it. The craft does not come easy to either of you despite your business partner’s penchant for it and Osamu’s intermittent lessons over the years. When you did help him out on the days he was short-staffed, Osamu would have you ring up customers up front, smoothly mentioning how your pretty face would help them rack up tips when you knew it was just to keep you out of the kitchen.

(He flusters you with a wink and an encouraging tap on the ass, laughing when you look back. He flings his glove into the trash can and makes his way to the handwashing station, thinking it was worth it just to see your cute pout. You know he’d wasted boxes of gloves since you’d been together just for one quick touch. Your eyes would be enraptured by the graceful jerks of his chest and the curl of his lips and later, at close, when the two of you were finally alone, he teases you about it. He asks you if you were hungry, what with the way you devoured him with your eyes. You bite his arm just to prove how hungry you were.)

“Quit drinking the mirin. That is foul and we need it.” He hides little revulsion in both tone and expression but your time with Akaashi has you immune to his harsh delivery.

You take another swig out of spite even if you didn’t plan on having another sip. It is, in fact, foul.

“This is the only thing that has alcohol in this apartment.”

Akaashi snatches the bottle with starchy hands. The residue imprints the shape of his palm onto the neck of the bottle, furthering his irritation. “Then drink something that does not have alcohol.”

“No,” you slump with your chin on the table, leveling your gaze with the practice oblongs you’ve just made. “I am sad.”

They’re lumpy and if they’re not lumpy, they are mushy. If they are not mushy, then the filling is peeking out. All in all, completely imperfect and not suited for a restaurant succeeding Onigiri Miya. Just the image of his disappointment discourages you because these were not up to his standards and certainly not to yours.

“We just need more practice,” Akaashi tries to console. “Maybe we could buy molds.”

“He didn’t use molds.”

“Unfortunate. We’re not Myaa-sam.”

“Neither is he.”

Akaashi doesn’t respond. You don’t say anything more either. If anyone is tired of your deploring, it is him and he already has to handle you enough. But it’s true, isn’t it? No one is Osamu anymore, not even the one out there who is probably doing practice sets in a gym, who wears a uniform that’s less than five years old, who has no recollection of you.

“Everyone’s going to be disappointed because it tastes nothing like the ones he used to make. They’re going to hate us for even disgracing his name.”

Akaashi’s had enough. He drops his practice roll, the heavy weight of the thud clattering the utensils on the table. You’re about to reprimand him but the man talks over you.

“Do you think that’s why people will come? Because of Osamu?”

The answer seems obvious that you can only gesticulate.

“Are you inane?”

That hasn’t been a word of the day so you haven’t learned that one yet but you can take a guess what the right answer is. “No?”

“People want to come and support you. Everyone knows Osamu’s gone off elsewhere doing whatever he is doing now. You’re the one honoring his memory. You’re the one keeping him alive. You are the reason they’d walk through our door now so get your act up.”

You glower like a child, unsure how exactly you feel. That sort of pressure seems daunting but comforting at the same time. You want to do him right. Is it really better than not even honoring him at all?

“You’re mean,” you settle on saying.

Akaashi clicks his tongue behind his teeth, “do you want to scream about it?”

You smile, “yeah.”

His mood lightens, “me too.”

“Okay, but it’s late already so we should probably scream in some pillows.”

“Yeah, that sounds right.”

The journey continues like that. Ups and downs. Ebbs and flows. Akaashi handles operations and finances. Your first job at the local government helps you complete the clerical stuff like having the proper documentation and paperworks. Your most recent job in IT helps you develop the website while Akaashi words out the marketing. You set up all the socials, design the uniforms, and the last step is to decide on the name.

The night before the opening, you have a dinner for everyone that helped as a thank you and soft launch. You and Akaashi slide in and out of service with Shizuku, Kita, Gran, and some of Akaashi’s friends like Konoha and Kuroo and Kenma as guests. It’s a small gathering of every single member of the community that never forgot about Osamu sitting around a massive table you’ve made by pushing the smaller ones together.

“Lovely what ya did with the rice, here,” Gran says beside you, a seat she had claimed.

You tilt your head to the side, “that’s all Akaashi.”

“Fine cooking, dear.”

“I followed a good recipe and had a little luck.”

“Ya better hope not,” Kita laughs and it’s comforting to hear the quiet trickle of his humor knowing fully well that Akaashi’s been accepted into the family. “Or else ya gonna have some unhappy customers.”

“Will ya tell us now what the name of the place is? Hard to advertise if I don’t know what it’s called,” Shizuku demands.

Her impatience started when she walked right through the door, but you wanted to wait for the right time when everyone was already gathered together and broken bread, heart happy and stomach satisfied. It’s how Osamu would have wanted it. It’s how you do too.

“Fine,” you say, dragging the word out with little bite in your tone.

You pull out the uniforms you’ll be wearing tomorrow. It looks not much different from what Osamu used to wear, plain black shirts with lettering on the upper left portion of the chest. Everyone lifts up from their seats to witness it.

o.mo.ide

Miya Osamu, Onigiri Miya, memories that you’ll always keep close to your heart.

There’s tears that escape, from you no different. There’s more that follows when you show them the corner right by the entrance dedicated to Onigiri Miya. You want everyone to know whose walls these actually belong to, whose essence and soul brought his dreams and yours to life, that without him, this would have never been possible.

Kita helps you kick everyone out knowing that you and Akaashi have a long day ahead. People promise to visit tomorrow just to show their support as they bid you goodbye. Gran slips an envelope of cash between your hands and quickly loops her arms around Kita’s so you can’t make a scene.

Akaashi is quick to have a foot out the alley back door after cleanup. He nods his head out, “are you ready?”

“Yes.” You run your hands through the crisp fabric once more as you shuffle your bag over your shoulder.

And the two of you leave. The black apron on the last hook closest to the back alley door waves as the door slams shut. There’s a black cap above it with the original character snaps against the wall from the wind pressure. They sway in the dark, until finally they lose momentum and settle in the dark.

They stay. They always will.

The support is so overwhelmingly kind. People show up in droves that Kita has to come in later in the day with an emergency delivery because your forecasts had been so off. Compliments come one after the other, of the design of the store, the food, and even yours and Akaashi’s service. Cheery employees were no longer in, it seemed. Everyone loved the stress-ridden ones instead. More relatable, they’d explain.

The novelty slowly wears off, but you maintain a generous rotation of regulars. Of course, Shizuku always arrives. She retains her habit of having afternoon tea with you and Akaashi. She’d bring along Hayashi, the man who owned the ice cream shop behind your store. He’s a grizzly man with a barrel chest with a right bicep so plump from years of scooping ice cream. The two are the neighborhood’s newest gossip. Flowers and ice cream. Looks like they do go together.

And you think that you have finally have this life handled. You and Akaashi settle on this pleasant routine of wake, work, and rest and the mundanity has you fooled. Still, after all this time, it takes so little to disrupt your small ecosystem of peace.

You hear someone compare o.mo.ide as a mockery of what it used to be and it sends you into a spiral. You listen with a crazed expression, hands busy scrubbing tables but ears listening like a hawk.

Osmau never needed consolation like this. He had been a master of quick glances. He was always multitasking, mind on the next task as he was still in the process of finishing the first. And his eyes never missed anything, not when you’d try and sneak into his office unnoticed to surprise him for break or how he’d always know when someone was taking their first bite. He’d watch from the corner of his eyes and he’d wait for that precious moment. It didn’t take much to make Osamu proud. Just a single hum. He’d beam from ear to ear, and as if shy from his sudden display of emotion, he’d tuck his chin into his head and pull the brim of his cap down.

But then again, this was his forte and not yours.

You start sleeping in and waking up late. You lose the habit and Akaashi has to pick up after you. In order to make it up to him, you offer to close the restaurant on your own. His response is a simple scan to check that you’re okay, but he has little energy to say a word, probably expended it screaming in the walk-in freezer when he couldn’t get you out of bed. So he goes.

You don’t even wait a full five minutes after he left to lock the doors and ignore any knocks from customers who know your regular hours.

In the silent kitchen, you situate yourself atop the recently wiped down stainless prep table, a bottle of sake in one hand and Kita’s teacup in another. A shot glass is much too small for your preferences.

“Cheers,” you raise your glass in the air. This might be your sixth one, so just the image of your hand and solo teacup is enough to make you giggle. “This one is to…”

Your gaze is glassy and there’s no one here, but the alcohol reminds you that you’re not lonely. An image of Osamu appears before you like an apparition and the sight brings on a void of yearning. You throw back the shot and quickly pour yourself another.

“To you.” This time you clink the tea cup against the bottle, already hollow in just one sitting. When the burn dies down and settles in the pit of your stomach, you begin to kick your feet.

“Hey,” you say softly. “Haven’t spoken to you in a while. Think about you every day though.”

It’s weird because you thought that with this place being saturated by Osamu’s very essence, you’d find his face everywhere you look. He’s more of an idea now, lately. A feeling you carry, memories that you play before you go to sleep. It’s difficult to accept because it feels like you’re losing him. The old Osamu, the one you knew, the one you loved. The other one in Osaka, Kita’s accidentally slipped that he likes to read as a pastime and that they’d recently visited Panama. Osamu never bought books unless they were cookbooks and that was more for aesthetic than anything. And the one you knew had never been to Panama, more so even mentioned it at all.

What you have left is the remains of his legacy and the bare bones of a former flame. You crack open another bottle. Here’s another shot to that.

“Life sucks by the way. I don’t blame you for it. I just wanted you to know. This wasn’t my dream. Yeah, I can hear you. You know, you know. But I haven’t told you in a while so you’re going to hear me say it again. I just wanted a cushy, IT job. I’d be your sugar mommy and force you on vacations, pay you for any lost wages. Any reason to have you all to myself. That’s what was supposed to happen.”

Another shot to missed opportunities. That one has you feeling woozy that you have to lay on your side but your drunken mind fails to realize how cold the stainless steel would be against your cheeks. It makes you squeal and then you can’t help but giggle, laughing at your own stupidity. That’s what’s nice about inebriation. Instead of being so serious about yourself, you can just laugh.

“And in the middle of it all, I knew that one day, I’d get absorbed into it. That’s just what you do. You say Atsumu is charismatic, but I don’t think you ever realized the power you had in just being. People get caught up in it and that includes me. And I imagined myself working hard so I could leave early from work just so I could help you in the kitchen. And then working part time until eventually, we woke up together and ran it together and did it all. Together. As a family. Ma would help when she has the time but you know her. She’s got clubs and activities and neighborhood responsibilities. And Atsumu would try and hang out but not do any work so we’d just ignore him until he ended up whining his way into the kitchen. I didn’t imagine…”

You look around the backroom. It’s nothing like how Onigiri Miya used to look. There are some items you’ve inherited like the pots and pans with their grease-stricken bellies and the three step ladder with The Little Giant (Akaashi actually wanted to throw this one away but ladders are surprisingly expensive) labeled on the top step. Everything is paltry pickings compared to the care Osamu had when working with his suppliers. It was hard enough with Kita’s endorsement to find something within your budget so you’re left with limp greens and off brand soy. And no Osamu.

Time for another shot. Should you make a game of it? Every time you thought you felt sorry for yourself, should you?

“No,” you giggle as you get up, answering your own question, “then I’d get really drunk and you’d get mad at me for that. Anyways,” you shoot it, neck craning back so swift it makes you dizzy. Your body bends wilted just like the spring onions you were talking about and you have to close your eyes, groaning and giggling, unable to discern discomfort from pleasure.

“Mmmm, what was I saying? I don’t know.” Suddenly, you’re crying. There’s a mess on the prep table that  you have no idea how to clean. Over a year now and you’re still not over Osamu and you’re missing the rest of the Miyas especially too.

“This is so hard and fuck, I feel so alone.” It’s heartbreaking to hear how much you pity yourself when there have been so many people in your life that have supported you. Like Akaashi who has dealt with your disaster tendencies and Shizuku and the neighbors and everyone that has made this possible.

But they can’t fill what you’ve secretly been trying to reclaim. Of a family that had loved you, had accepted you with open arms. The ones who held you when you needed them most but… Fuck. You just weren’t enough. You lacked the strength to hold their pain, so much so just by being, by existing, you burdened them.

And maybe this had been a ploy to simply gain approval and find some self-worth again, to show them that the love you have has value. It had been distracting enough while you and Akaashi prepared for the grand opening but only for so long until you fell into this sort of misery again. How long would the next pocket of happiness last? Could you find a stable source of bliss ever again?

Sometimes, as difficult as it is to think, you wish you never…

No, you shake your head adamantly. For all this anguish, for all the ache you’ve accidentally caused the Miyas, you want to selfishly keep all the memories, even if Osamu has to forget, even if you know how it ends. You don’t want to change a thing.

You grab the extra aprons in the back except for the black apron on the last hook closest to the back alley door and slump into the office chair in the back nook. It was a simple office with just a desk and a file folder cabinet. You cover yourself with the aprons, your impromptu blankets as you wait for the inebriation to tide over. The open sake bottle stays on the prep table with the finished one and your used tea cup and you make a mental note to hide your drinking from Akaashi who’s been passively limiting your intake lately.

You fall into a light sleep when a meowing out the alley door rouses you. The office chair snaps as you ungracefully rise. There’s remnants of your misery in the form of crusts at the corner of your eyes that you blearily wipe away.

He stares up at you with a single meow as a greeting when you open the door. The cat sits on his paws like a well mannered customer waiting to be let in. A gray puffball like a ball of lint straight from the dryer, his gold eyes blink up at you and maybe it’s the hour or your halfway sober state or just life in general because you think it’s a sign.

Many of the cats had left when Osamu did too, venturing into more fruitful alleyways that can get them the fixings that they. You’re quick to pick him up but you do it a little aggressively that his limber body bends to evade your hands. Instead, he enters o.mo.ide and you’re able to lure him in with a few slices of fish.

Akaashi is not amused when you get home, especially considering the late hour and cat in your hands.

“No,” Akaashi greets, eyes hardened, aimed at the feline creature who has taken to resting his chin into the crook of your elbow.

“But, Akaashi, look at him!” You turn your body to the side so he can witness his complete cuteness.

The man is not impressed, only closing his book, an index finger marking the pages he left off, and crossing his arms. “No. You can hardly take care of yourself.”

“But they’re low maintenance,” you mention the fact you had quickly googled before unlocking the front door, “and he was crying outside our door because he was so hungry.”

Your roommate weighs the cat with his eyes and before he can complete his calculations, you add, “if I wasn’t there, he would have starved. He needed me.”

Akaashi finds something in your expression and you think it’s this new energy, this purpose outside of yourself or Osamu and after a drawn out glare, he finally sighs. It’s a world weary sigh, the kinds only parents of rowdy and impossible children should only make and you take note that you’ll make it up to him somehow.

“Okay, fine,” he extends his hand for your new friend to sniff, “what’s his name?”

You smile, “Mumu.”

An homage to your boys, your favorite twins, and Akaashi cannot help but sigh again.

But Mumu quickly becomes your new best friend, much to his benefit. Even though Mumu never quite opens up to him, he has to worry about you less and you spend more of your time laboring efficiently at work so you can go home and play with silly things like lasers and a little rattle ball he likes to roll around. There’s energy to do your share of household chores now, and despite the slow trickle of business lately, you’re unbothered.

At the end of the day, the success of the business does not define you or your love for Osamu.

The stability lasts only for a few months because you arrive home unannounced, closing the shop early when the pelting monsoon keeps people locked in their homes.

You opted to take responsibility for the day, allowing Akaashi a break. His trust in you has slowly renewed considering it’d been a while since you dipped into the restaurant’s liquor stash. You knew he’d understand the shortened hours considering the weather but he hadn’t been prepared because when he got home, he was watching a livestream MSBY volleyball match. There was this understanding that had been established when he moved in because the both of you knew that you’d be powerless to the demise.

When you see Osamu on TV, that split second the camera had panned to him, you felt gravity warp. Your heart constricted and condensed while it felt like that floor beneath you had slipped away and you were just as helpless as any other leaf victim to the storm.

Akaashi tries to turn off the TV, but you manically topple over him, not wanting to miss what little camera time he might have.

“I don’t think this is good for you,” Akaashi’s eyes doesn’t leave you as you continue to watch the game. You agree, but you can’t strip your eyes away from the stream. You can’t believe what you’re seeing and you have to continuously wipe away your tears just to be sure, to ascertain that what you’re viewing is really true. It’s him. It’s him and this is the closest you’ve seen him, the closest he’s been to this home in basically two years and he looks so different.

“He grew out his hair,” you observe.

All you can do right now is play spot the difference. What parts of him do you still know? What is gone forever? Osamu’s hair is near shoulder length and you think he might have gained Atsumu’s salon habit because it’s curlier and fluffier than you knew. The color in his eyes have lost their luster, making them appear darker like a smoky quartz and he’s bigger. He’d always had a stronger upper body but you can tell he’s far more defined than you’d last seen him. He looks. Good.

You feel so small knowing how well he’s moved on without you. There’s always this small spark of hope that can’t help yourself from holding onto but seeing him on the screen, living a dream that he had once left behind, you figure it must be your turn to be abandoned for something else.

“He looks good,” you nod, trying to be strong. Because that’s all you’ve wanted. You’ve wanted him to be ok, to live out the life he desired, whatever that may be and regardless of how it involved you. “He looks good. I’m so–”

“You don’t–”

“–proud of him.”

The admittance makes you burst, diving head first onto the floor and crying into the rug. Mumu comes to rest between your legs, wary of Akaashi as he does his best to console you which alternates between a hand down your back and simply hovering over your figure.

But then you hear the announcer and how the music stops, and immediately your head lifts up because you know what the sound of those footsteps mean.

Miya Atsumu is on court, serving the ball with just as much assured confidence as you had left him. He passes to his brother where they easily make a point and you watch the two boys celebrate. The camera eats it up, their facial expressions, the way they hold each other in a solidified joy, and you see it. You see the true reason he’s left this all behind. This was the life he was meant to share.

And you were never meant to be a part of it.

It was delusional of you to think that their bond had enough space for you to fit in.

Of course, as much as you tell yourself Osamu’s happiness is the most important thing to witness, it still sends you on a spiral that neither Akaashi or Mumu can bring you out of. Business slows down when you can’t provide proper service and Akaashi struggles to pick up the labor you can’t complete. Days pass in a haze where you burn things by accident and your mindlessness has you putting in two servings of soy instead. 

You wallow in your sheets, so worn that the Osamu’s essence has filtered through the gaps and all that’s saturated it is your misery. Mumu leisurely snoozes beside you, happy to keep you company.

Akaashi tries to persuade you out of bed with ice cream.

You shuffle to the side of the bed pressed against the wall and tuck yourself into the crevice, “no thank you.”

He ignores you and opens the door and you whine, noisy and petulant. “This one is from Shizuku and Hayashi. They’ve missed you.”

You instantly sit up, interested because Hayashi’s ice cream had been a favorite of Osamu’s. Whenever he’d have a bad day and their schedules lined up, the two men with their solid stature would gossip in the alleyway, the brick wall separating them. One would be devouring an onigiri while the other relished the fox shaped ice cream he’d always be given as payment.

You’d peek your head out the alley door whenever you could never find Osamu in the kitchen or in his office. The alley was the only other place he’d be and Hayashi would prompt you to come out, sit and gossip with them. He’d leave so he could serve you an ice cream of your own, but you suspect he’d take longer on purpose so that you two could spend some time alone.

(“Have you heard about Shizuku and Hayashi?” Osamu asks once the confectioner steps back into his building. Your response comes for the back of your throat, a soft hum while busy licking the dessert your boyfriend offered. He laughs when he sees you nibble off the candy eye of the animal, leaving him a little lopsided but far more endearing. “Damn, I said ya could give it a try, not eat all of it.”

“I was hungry and you weren’t inside.”

“Ya could have made yaself some food. I’ve taught you enough to be self-sufficient.”

You shake your head immediately, “doesn’t taste the same. Stop changing the subject. What’s going on with Hayashi and Shizuku?”

Despite all the time you’ve spent with him, all the different faces and expressions you’ve been gifted to witness, his smile still disarms you. It’s the right combination of conniving and whimsy that has your heart traipsing the edge of a cliff.

“I was talking to the Grandma that’s got the okonomiyaki shop right there, ya know?” He points with his ice cream whose lifespan is slowly disappearing, “and she told me how she went into Hayashi’s shop and he had a full bouquet of flowers.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I wonder who got it for him.”

Osamu snorts, “Shizuku obviously. Who else would have?”

“Osamu,” you give him a discriminatory look, “are you starting rumors.”

“No, hear me out. Shizuku came by yesterday and was asking me for some cooking tips.”

“You?”

“Yeah, we have a truce right now. The onigiri won her over.” You giggle, snatching another bite from Osamu’s hand. He’s too busy telling his story to even admonish you. “And she was telling me she planned on making grilled mackerel and guess what Hayashi had for dinner last night apparently.”

You hum forcibly, drawing it out and giggle when Osamu gets irritated with you. “Mackerel?” He nods and the image of those two makes you laugh.

Hayashi’s just like the ice cream he serves, a man who longs for the richer things in life. He has women swooning out of his restaurant with his velvet words and Shizuku is a woman who knows what she wants, spritely and tough. She’d be perfect to keep him in line. 

“Now that I think about it, they’re surprisingly good for each other.”

Osamu agrees, “Grandma says Hayashi needs to lock it in and get married.”

“Shizuku’s a catch! He’d be wrong not to.”

Your statement dulls the mood because Osamu turns quiet. He hands you his ice cream for you to finish, Hayashi forgotten, and his hands clasp together, right pad of his thumb running over the back of his left. His side profile is soft, round cheeks over a strong jaw.

“Ya know that I–”

“We don’t have to get married for me to know that you love me,” you say quickly. You don’t want him to finish the thought because he gets caught up in the guilt a lot. You’re not certain what it exactly is aside from the fact that he doesn’t want your future to be tied down to one as unstable as his, as if marriage would be the only thing that could permanently hold the two of you together. As far as you know, he’s all you want for the rest of your life and Osamu makes you feel like he thinks the same.

Your admittance relieves the weight on his back. He straightens up, a thankful expression on his gaze when he rolls an arm out to wrap around you. You fit right into the crook of his body, pleasantly warm with your ice cream.

“I love ya, I really do.” You nod. “One day, when I get my shit together, I promise I’ll make ya mine for real.”

He says it like you’re not his already. He says it like this relationship is less than the ones acknowledged by law or the gods or whoever presides over the validity of unity.

He says it like he really does love you.)

Thinking about it makes you cry despite Hayashi’s ice cream. He artfully crafted the gift in a pint that he must have bought from the store because you’ve never seen him sell take-home products. A frog decorates the surface complete with blush, large, round eyes, and the brightest of smiles. Usually the confectionery is an immediate remedy but it looks like your sorrows have fallen so deep that its effects are hardly uplifting. Akaashi hands you a letter made of cardstock in a saturated red and shaped like a heart.

“What’s this?”

“Open it,” is all he replies.

You do as he says and find a poorly drawn replication of what you assume is you, serving a triangular item to a smaller stick figure human.

“That’s from Asako. She missed you when you left early today.”

Asako is the little girl who orders a plain onigiri with extra sesame seeds. Exxxxtrraaaa she likes to say and you entertain her, seeing who can lengthen the word the longest. It’s an effortless game that comes with a high reward of giggles. She comes in on Fridays when her grandparents pick her up from school. They didn’t know of Onigiri Miya then so you never thought much of them, but clearly, she had thought of you.

“I understand that we opened up o.mo.ide in order to commemorate Myaa-sam and everything he’d done for this community, but have you ever stopped and thought that in the process, you’ve integrated into it yourself?”

You hadn’t. You’d been so deeply absorbed by your own troubles that you had never bothered to even look outside of yourself or Osamu.

“We’re operating at a loss right now, but there are people like Asako that rely on us to stay open. And so help me, I need you too. We promised to do this together and I refuse to let you abandon me.”

“Oh… oh, Akaashi, I’m so–” you’re forced speechless by your own guilt.

“Don’t apologize. Just.” Akaashi searches through his vocabulary, “just get better. Have you ever thought about therapy?”

Akaashi introduces you to his therapist but after two sessions, you find that the way he gels his hair back and the nasal hums he provides every time you confide in him is unsettling. The journey through therapy is not so much a journey but more like an illegal obstacle course formed with bottomless pits and thorny vines and a portable bed.

It’s physically draining and mentally exhausting that you need a nap most days. Akaashi hardly yells at you anymore when you fall asleep in the office chair while on break as long as he knows you have an appointment scheduled at the end of the week.

You go through three more therapists. This fourth one, she’s on thin ice, but you’re five months in and she’s managed to get you to stay. She encourages you to reach out to the people you love on your own and to make time for them every week.

Now you spend time teaching Mumu new tricks. He’s mastered the command ‘sit’ and is also very good at laying down. You’ve yet to teach him much else though. Monday mornings are for mahjong with Granny. Sweet as she is, that woman is a good liar and to this day, you still haven’t won a game. According to Kita, no one has yet to beat her. You’ve extended tea dates with Shizuku into dinners after you and Akaashi close. Most of the time Hayashi is there and despite Akaashi’s indifference to their relationship, every night you gossip about the way his hands would linger around her waist or how he’d whisper something in her ear while they washed dishes. When Asako visits, you untie your apron and give her grandparents a break. Only when she is done with her meal, you walk her into the back where you tell her to mind her step and you and lift her over the wall so she can knock on Hayashi’s back door for an ice cream.

People gradually enter your lives, ones that you didn’t have courage to see. With a warning text sent like an afterthought, it’s a welcome surprise to find Bokuto seated on top of your kitchen table, towering height even more pronounced, while Akaashi showcased his skill in a new apron.

“Oh?” you say and at the sight of Akaashi’s expression, all you do is smile and wish them a good time. If there is a time that Akaashi shouldn’t be burdened by you, it would be now. You are in the process of healing after all.

Suna and Aran eventually visit, dragged along by Kita. His small build compared to the two athletes make an awkward remeet amusing.

Suna scruffles your head and cups the fat of your cheeks as a greeting, “hey, Bug. Nothing kills you, huh?”

You’re grateful when Aran saves you, pulling you into a deep hug that soothes your soul. He lifts you up once just to hold you closer, and when he’s done, they all apologize for not visiting you sooner. It was shame, they admitted. Because for Osamu, they were willing to do anything to make him feel better, even if it was to perpetuate lies.

You’re at a space now where you understand because for Osamu, you know you would and will do anything for him too. No one talks about him though. No one dares mention any Miya first, and finally, you’re not compelled to bring them up either.

Of course, it’s just as tumultuous of a ride, even more so now that you’re more aware of your issues. Some days, the social vigor of running a restaurant is so draining that all you can do is keep your head down in the back. Count inventory and roll orders whenever Akaashi places them in. Sometimes it’s even harder than that, where you end up at the convenience store with one bottle of sake. Usually the guilt hits you half a bottle in and you end up pouring the rest over the nearest drain. This time, halfway isn’t nearly enough to ease the pain.

With the amount of volleyball players that have re-entered your life, an old interview of Osamu’s is in your recommended videos to watch. You can’t not click it when the thumbnail is a closeup top angle of his face, long hair pulled into a messy bun.

He stands the same with hands on his hips and in a wide stance but even the way he speaks sounds different. Same voice, different person. Different words.

The comments prove that he has a lot of fans from all over the world. They shout words of affection, recount the best games they’ve witnessed him in and no one mentions a single word about Onigiri Miya.

You’re at a point in your life now that any sort of Osamu brings on a general longing. You miss him so much you’re willing to take whatever you can have.

The realization makes you feel like you’ve lost him again because this place, the venue where you labor yourself until your back is broken despite your lack of knowledge had been a huge part of him. Now it is all lost to his pro volleyball glamor.

Onigiri Miya Osamu will eventually fade from existence. Once more, you begin grieving.

Despite your coping methods, it takes a long time to build yourself out of your rut. The gloom lasts for days and life has a predilection for stacking up your misery.

“Miya–”

Akaashi doesn’t have to finish his sentence. The impact already hits your stomach at the surname. It doesn’t matter which Miya it is. A Miya has stepped foot into this building, the first time since the fire. Suspense boils in your gut and its noxious fumes cut the breath from your lungs.

You’ve thought about this moment in great lengths, anxiously in bed or idle thoughts as you wait for the train. Preparation has never been your strong suit though. The fact is clear with the condition of your restaurant that struggles to even get by.

Blonde hair glistens against the backdrop of an afternoon sun and distracts you from the bells that ring when he opens the door. He glances around the walls with his mouth agape, focusing mostly on the origin story next to the host stand. It’s just a few old newspaper clippings of articles and one image of Osamu’s face. It was one of your few stipulations. He must always be there to greet the customers.

When Atsumu’s gaze finally finds yours, you can’t help but grip the towel tighter in your hands. Misplaced anger simmers right behind your tightly pursed lips. His face is so similar. It’s the closest anyone could get to a clone, and the distinct features you’ve been searching for, the ones that belong to the Osamu you once knew, are not there.

It’s a lot. It’s been a bad couple of weeks.

But Atsumu doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know that you’ve worked yourself raw and instead of building calluses, all you've done is made yourself tender.

He passes the backline and you find yourself taking a step back towards the display case as he crosses your first line of defense. He acts like nothing’s changed, that he’s still got free reign of the place and maybe it hasn’t. When he pulls you in, when he mutters ‘I love ya’ and ‘I’m so sorry’ over and over again, you fall apart in his arms.

You fist his shirt at the chest and sob in a way you haven’t allowed yourself since the hospital, since you’d seen any of the Miyas last. You cry into his chest, condense the past years you’ve had to make do with just your hands or sleeves or pillows. There’s rage and pity, but most of all, there is relief. Because as much as Akaashi has sat beside you while you mourned, and how everyone had gathered to remind you of your worth, they could never fill the space that any Miya left behind. None of them understood what it was like to lose Osamu. Not Myaa-sam, or Chef, or Oji-Samu. Youhad borne that misery alone.

You can’t fault Osamu for not choosing you. And Mama Miya has tried reaching out despite your lack of response.

But Atsumu, he could have stayed. You thought there was kinship there, a shared love for his brother. You thought you could have shared the sorrow too. Instead, he’d whisked away his family to Osaka to escape any reminder of the previous life he lived. He took everything and he left you behind.

Atsumu follows you to the ground when you literally fall apart in his arms. He hugs you tighter and he ignores the stack of napkins shelved right next to you, knowing that his shirt is more than enough.

Atsumu is eventually able to get you to a park near the restaurant once you calmed down. You both lay next to each other on the grass and the sun’s power is too strong for your swollen eyes. You have to balance your water bottle over them as shade. Atsumu offers the sunglasses he likes to keep clipped to the collar of his shirt. You accept it cautiously, wary of taking too much.

“I’m sorry.”

His apology is overwhelming and the corners of your eyes overflow, unprepared.

“Don’t,” you sputter out when you have the breath, a sting clinging to the bridge of your nose, “don’t. I can’t take it. Say something else.”

“I–” the way he blunders means he must have prepared a speech and now you’ve thrown a wrench in his plans. “I… uh. It’s good to see ya.”

“Oh, gods. Why are you even here?”

“I wanted to see ya,” he answers lamely.

There’s still anger in your chest and for the past couple of years, you’d been aiming that ire at Akaashi unjustly. Atsumu’s expression from the day at the hospital still keeps you up sometimes and it’s taken months of therapy for you to realize that his emotions were also misplaced. You’d dealt with pieces of the guilt and there’s still a lot that you need to address, but you understand now, that the burden of being was never yours alone to bear.

“Now? When you’ve had all this time?”

“I know. I–” he stops himself from another apology. You’re grateful he’s grown the maturity to keep his mouth shut when asked. “I just wanted to prepare ya.”

“For what?”

“Samu went no contact on me.”

You rise to your elbows in shock, worry prickling prickling your heart, “and Ma?”

“Not Ma,” he shakes his head quickly. “He calls her sometimes, not enough, but more than me.”

“Why?”

Atsumu breathes deeply, worn and weary. He brings his arms back and rests his head on them, eyes up at the sky watching a kite flown by two children, probably siblings. “Why fucking not, ya know?”

“No, Atsumu, I wouldn’t know when you basically went no contact on me.”

Atsumu pinches his bottom lip between his front teeth. Through the dark lenses of his sunglasses, you can see the way they lighten from the pressure. He sighs again.

“I deserve this, I know. But Osamu didn’t. I fucked up but I had no clue what I was doing. Ya gotta understand. Ya were there and ya saw him and how beaten down he was and maybe I did put blame on everyone but myself. I hated Onigiri Miya for even getting him caught up in that sort of mess, and when his dreams lined up with mine, I figured it would be okay. We could leave it all behind. I tried to play God with my own brother’s life and he let me. Everyone did.”

“He listened to you?”

Atsumu shakes his head, “crazy, right? He was lost and unsure, but I was confident, ya know? I just felt so certain I was doing the right thing and I think that’s the only reason why he let himself be led all this way.”

“So what changed?”

“Are ya kidding?” Atsumu looks at you, and when he realizes you don’t have a clue, he turns to face you. “The answer is you.”

It’s a fucked up thing for Atsumu to say. The words erupt an ache in your chest. You curl into yourself, bring your knees up so that you flinch away from the pain but Atsumu grabs hold of both of your hands. He grips tightly in an attempt to siphon the pain.

“A love like yours ain’t something easy to forget.”

You remember the hospital, “that’s what Ma said.”

“It’s exactly what she told him when he left. I don’t know how he found out, but I saw that he looked up Onigiri Miya the day before he left and he’s been gone since. For about two weeks now, I think.”

“No,” you shake your head, closing your eyes to soften the blow of his words but even in the darkness, a stinging, buzzing pain wracks through your body. It’s everywhere all at once but Atsumu holds you through it.

“I love ya. I promise, I do. There wasn’t a day I didn’t regret what I did, but believe me when I tell ya. I do. I love ya,” He takes your hands that have been bunched up into fists and presses them onto the soft skin below his eyes where it’s sticky and wet. “And I’m so sorry I had to put ya through this and made ya go through this all alone, so if ya moved on, if ya got someone else, I understand and I’ll figure something out.”

You try to pull yourself from his grip but Atsumu holds onto you, head bent in repentance and the sincerity of it all spouts more tears.

“I’ll handle Osamu if that’s the case. I know Akaashi’s a really good guy so–”

You take your conjoined hands and jab him across the forehead. Atsumu sputters in shock, letting you go in the process while he tries to soothe the pain.

“Does it look like I’ve moved on, idiot?” You knock soft fists into his chest like a child. “Would I be crying in what I consider my own brother’s arms in a park if I moved on?”

“I just wanted–”

“And Akaashi? Fucking Akaashi? He’s a good guy,” you mock, irritated, “of course he is. Shut up. You know I’m in love with your brother.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Stop hitting me. I said I was sorry already.”

You make sure to put some extra force in that final punch, “you’re going to say it for the rest of your life.”

Atsumu nods gratefully, “of course.”

“And,” the words hurt coming out, “and don’t run off on me again.”

What makes the tears slip this time is forgiveness. Atsumu holds your hand against his chest where you can feel his heart. You’ve missed him, longed for him just as much as you have Osamu and slowly, you feel yourself start to heal.

“He might not need a brother right now, but I do.”

Atsumu kisses you on the cheek and pulls you close. He holds you in his arms with the same exact care he had for Osamu in the hospital, with the same protectiveness of an elder brother.

Finally, you feel understood. 

Atsumu spends his off season in Hyogo where you find out Ma has moved back. Akaashi doesn’t take kindly to a change in routines, but he begins helping out where he can along with Ma. 

When Ma first sees you, all she can do is hold you at arm’s length, picking her vernacular apart with words that she wanted to say. You just shake your head and let yourself be swallowed by her cardigan comfort. She encourages you to come to family dinner and you have to ask if Akaashi is invited too. She pats his cheek and says of course like the question was unnecessary to begin with.

The world shifts almost exactly the way you imagined it. Life has a funny way of doing that. Atsumu helps around the restaurant and Ma stops by with some of her friends after an activity. She meets Asako who she adores and is adored just as equally. Ma takes ice cream duty from you while Atsumu, because it’s his off season, likes to overstay his welcome at your apartment. Akaashi kicks him out and the athlete tries to use Mumu as an excuse. Mumu, unfortunately, likes Atsumu even less than Akaashi.

Sometimes Atsumu will try to broach the topic of contacting Osamu, something that both you and Ma are against. Osamu has been through enough, you both reason. And he’s probably had his fill of someone telling him what to do.

The restaurant fills and though you know that yours or Akaashi’s food cannot compare, the laughter spills out the doors from friends and family and neighbors that continuously visit. They manage when you accidentally don’t order enough fish, opting for broth and rice and when you run out of beverages, someone offers to run to the convenience store to buy drinks.

It’s not a perfect venue, but it embodies Osamu’s very being, a place that has become a home.

One day, Akaashi is out of town and Atsumu helps you while he’s gone. He’s not as focused as your usual business partner, whose eyes continuously drift out onto the streets and he even leaves early when you haven’t finished clearing up for the day.

“Alright, I gotta go but I’ll lock the door,” Atsumu runs off quickly. “Ya can handle this, right?”

You look at the stack of dishes and the ready to go items that haven’t been put away yet. It’s not much, but it would certainly be easier if he stayed. Unfortunately, his question is apparently rhetorical because the man does not wait for an answer. He reiterates his farewell and with a jingle, the door is shut.

“Okay,” you say, blinking at his figure that eventually passes a corner and disappears. You scan your surroundings, running a mental image of what would be the most efficient process. Wipe down the tables, you decide. Some haven’t been bussed yet so you head over with a fresh rag and empty tray.

Atsumu likes to turn up the music the moment the o.mo.ide closes as a way to decompress. You hum along. It’s a mindless process now that you’ve done it so many times. Clear the tables. Sanitize the tables. Sanitize the chair. Bend down eye level with the table and make sure you haven’t missed any crumbs. You’re not even thinking, just lost in the routine and it’s why the sound of the bell startles you.

It’s so like Atsumu to forget to lock the door. You compose yourself with a slow inhale and prepare for an irate customer who might argue at your innocent error, but the breath expels from your mouth.

You stand there stupidly, hands holding your chest like you’re about to dive backwards into water. It’s that feeling, where two characters catch eyes on a crowded street. Despite everything that has happened and all that separates you, he holds you captive. Your feet are planted to the ground and everything, heart, mind, body, and breath is under his power.

“O – Oh…”

Even saying his name feels foreign because as much as you’ve thought of him, you can’t remember when was the last time you did. It feels foreign on your tongue and you can’t blurt anything out but the first letter, and you witness his demeanor change.

“Osamu,” you say only because you think it’ll make him smile. It does and because of it, you want to fall down on your knees.

Everything, everything that you had observed different about him, his hair that looks like he’s cut but is still longer than you remember, the cut of his jaw that’s sharper, his brows that he’d boast about being strong look trimmed, and even his choice of clothes is different, opting for a sleeveless tee over his favored oversized shirts, all of that is negligent because seeing him once more, you recognize he is still your Osamu.

“Hi,” he greets and your heart flutters. Was this really how it felt when you were falling in love because everything he does brings upon a desire that you doubt could ever be quelled. “Are ya closed?”

“Yes,” you answer honestly and the wilt of his face makes you overcompensate, “but– but it’s fine! You’re come in… I mean, oh…”

This is so fucking embarrassing. “You’re always welcome. Come in and have a seat wherever you want.”

He points at a bar seat with a head tilt. You nod and make sure to lock the door behind him. The bus tub, the rag, you forego it all and pass the swinging door that separates the register and eating area. Your hands perspire at the stress of perfection. It’s a foreign thing for him to be seated while you serve him and maybe it’s you overthinking, but it feels like he’s watching your every move.

Osamu quickly diverts his gaze when you turn around. His not so subtle glancing of the venue, head craned back as he looks at the decorations on the walls and the lighting fixtures you and Akaashi picked, amuses you but you try not to show it too hard. Osamu seems shyer than you’re used to. That’s okay. You’re nervous too.

“Did you come hungry?”

“I did.”

Ease washes over you. Thank the gods, that has stayed the same.

You apologize for the lack of options and Osamu tries to downplay the inconvenience. “It’s okay. I didn’t… Well I did, but I didn’t really come here to eat.”

“No?”

Osamu plays with a stray grain of rice between his fingers. He rolls the sticky piece into a ball, back and forth as he thinks of what he wants to say.

“No, I… To be honest, I didn’t think I was going to go inside.”

“Oh.”

“But I…” then he stops his rolling and he looks at you, like really looks at you. And whatever it is, you feel it too. “But I just had to.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah, well, it took me all up until closing to work up the courage.”

“That’s okay,” you tell him. You pull up the stool near the rear register and situate yourself across from him. The boundary that separates you two is familiar, 76 centimeters of space that you know by heart and it makes conversation flow smoother. “I’m happy you came at all. How was your day?”

“Shit.”

The answer takes you by surprise, him too by the way he stops chewing, lips puckering close together as he ruminates whether or not meant to say those words. But he owns them, and continues on.

“My smoothie spilled all over my cup holder.”

“Oh no. Did you ask for another one?”

“Pretty sure they tried to sabotage me by giving me a cracked cup.”

You break in the most unexpected way. A smile splits your lips and a giggle strikes through your chest. Everything feels so similar, so weightless. It feels like a dam has been broken with just a couple of words.

“It ain’t funny.”

You agree, “I know. It’s the worst.”

“Then why are ya laughing?”

“I don’t even know. It’s not funny at all.”

“It’s not. I had to stuff a bunch of napkins in there.”

“No, it’s going to get sticky!”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“Cry.”

Osamu sputters, rice flying from his mouth. He’s embarrassed for only a millisecond, fearful of your reaction, but all it does is make you bend over, sincerely losing control of your body. Osamu joins you, laughing at who knows what, but you’re grateful. For as much pain misery brings, it takes so little for you to be happy.

“Fuck,” he says once he’s able to catch a breath. He says quietly with wonder and it has your giggles soften to match his energy. “I’ve imagined every way this meeting could go.”

Your heart constricts like it’s being pinched from the bottom. “Is it everything you thought it’d be?”

“No,” Osamu shakes his head genuinely. You almost apologize. “I thought I’d mess it all up but,” he looks at you and it’s the gaze you had been searching when he had first woken up all those years ago. A quiet ardor, soft around the edges but saturated in passion, “but I didn’t expect it to be so easy.”

“Stop,” you have to hide your lips.

Osamu doesn’t understand, back straightening, “what?”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Saying those things.”

His lips pucker themselves out, “why can’t I?”

“Because,” you blink furiously, willing the tears away because you want to remember this with clarity, “you’re making me too happy.”

He grins too, but it’s still shy as he bends his head down, nodding slightly as he does, “how do ya think I feel?”

There’s a calmness that settles now that your mania has subsided. Your eyes appraise, trying to find more topics to talk about so he can stay just a little longer.

“Are those cigarettes?” you observe the square box in his breast pocket.

He nods as he pulls them out, holding them in his hands as if they were novel.

“Are you smoking a lot?”

He looks at you curiously, “did I used to?”

The past tense makes you stumble, but you do your best to answer him honestly. “Sometimes. Only the bad days. That’s how we knew you were having a bad day because we’d smell them on you.”

He’d lean his chest against the railings like his body was too heavy, curved his body like a treble clef as he smoked. And often you’d find him in the alleyway, a cigarette in one hand and food for the cats in another.

“It’s crazy how I do shit without knowing the real meaning.”

You shrug, “habits are harder to break than memory.”

Osamu nods. A beat passes before he continues the conversation on his own.

“I’ve had this same pack since I left the hospital.” He opens it and reveals only a few sticks missing, “play with it for the most part but I’ll smoke one when I get overwhelmed. I dreamt of you once and my heart wouldn’t stop beating. I had to go outside and calm myself. Nearly gave Tsumu a heart attack when he noticed my bed was empty.”

“He’s a worrywort.”

The sound Osamu makes is not kind. There’s still animosity for his brother, “even more so now.”

“He means well.”

“Sure he does.”

“I’m sorry.”

Your apology takes him by surprise. Osamu shuts the pack and places it back in his pocket. “For what?”

“For, I don’t know.” A lot of things. For burdening him with faded memories, for not being who he needed, for not being enough, “for being in your dream.”

“What are ya saying? It was a good dream. It felt… nice.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he nods earnestly while looking at you. “I can’t explain it because I really don’t know the specifics, but it felt good. Made me wish I dreamed about ya more.”

The sunset is almost complete, dark orange hues streak the tile floor. Osamu’s been done eating for minutes now. With his plate clean and the conversation running its course, it feels like a good place for this to end. But you don’t think you can part with him just yet. A culmination of yearning and grieving and mourning and aching has led to this and you’ll be damned if it’s over now.

You hop off the stool and Osamu sighs. He matches your movements, slowly getting up, too. He looks ready to leave but you won’t let him go without trying. Not this time.

“Would you like to see the back?”

“Really?” his giddiness prompts yours.

“Yeah, of course.” You lead him to the back and grab your apron. Then you point at the black one on the last hook closest to the back alley door . “Take that apron.”

He hooks his finger around the neck, “this one?”

You nod. “Yeah, that one’s yours.”

He takes it in his hand, shy and foreign in his fingers. It’s different, clumsier, but it’s familiar enough to let your heart burn.

He pulls the fabric over his head and adjusts it along his shoulder. The apron is knotted up by habit, his hands reaching there after the three usual tugs and when he looks up, your stomach swirls at the sight of his beam.

He’s everything you’ve missed in more ways than one, but finally, thank gods, finally. He’s right where he belongs.

#reina.writeshaikyuu!! #haikyuu angst #miya osamu angst #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #i think i’m going to have a drink now

[teamatsumu]

was i meant to love you? (part one)

pairing: miya osamu x reader

summary: the kanji on your arm says Miya Atsumu’s name. but every fiber of your being is in love with his twin brother.

word count: 2796

warnings: soulmate au, fem!reader, miya atsumu x reader, angst, fluff, swearing

series masterlist

As a young child, your parents always told you that the universe created soulmates to form and nurture the bonds of love. No human on this planet would be left alone, because everyone had someone created for them. To love and care for them, to fill the gaps in their hearts and provide people with the bliss of knowing that they meant the whole world to someone.

There was nothing sad or difficult about it, the universe had ensured it.

At an infant’s first birthday, neat kanji letters would appear on their forearm, clear as day, specifying the first and last names of their soulmates. There was no ambiguity. The universe ensured that you would find your soulmate no matter what. An individual would grow up knowing who they were meant to be with, and they would die at a ripe old age with that person after spending their whole lives with them.

You were no exception to the rule. When the clock struck midnight, your tiny, one year old arm was marked with the letters that would be there until you died. A simple name.

Miya Atsumu.

Your mother was ever the hopeless romantic. She had met your father in her late teens, considering he lived all the way across the globe and getting there wasn’t easy. So she wanted for you what she had never had. A childhood romance. A kinship between children that would one day transform into a comfortable, familiar love. She wanted you to grow up with the person you were meant to be with, to stand by his side through everything, no matter how trivial. The thought of maturing with your other half had her sighing and batting her eyelashes dreamily, so the minute your kanji appeared, the hunt for Miya Atsumu was on.

Imagine her overjoyed reaction when she found out he was in the same country. Nothing could stop her from uprooting your lives in Tokyo to move all the way to Hyogo, and your father, the man who could never deny her anything, had agreed to go along of course. Anything for his wife. And anything to secure love for his child.

And so you met the Miya Twins. Same age as you, scarily identical and hard to differentiate in your tiny, underdeveloped mind. You had moved in only a few blocks away, and once your mother had spoken to their parents, it seemed you were woven into their lives permanently.

Miya Atsumu, your soulmate, was okay. He was a baby, you were a baby. You have no concept of love, or fate, or other halves. All you cared about was that he was active and loved to play. But he didn’t like sharing his toys which often made you cry. In moments like these, his twin, Miya Osamu, would share with you what was his, both of you playing together and occasionally scowling over at Atsumu. Eventually, Atsumu would get tired of being left out, and he would offer you his own toys just so all of you would play together.

Your mother thought it was very cute. The twins’ mother was endlessly relieved. At least one of her boys had found his soulmate. Because for the other, it seemed a hopeless case.

For you see, Miya Osamu’s arm was blank. There were no deep red kanji letters on his skin, telling him who his soulmate was. As far as the eye could tell, Miya Osamu had no one.

The boy had no concept of how doomed he was. But his parents did. And his mother had cried and sobbed herself to sickness thinking her boy was an anomaly. That somehow, the universe believed that maybe Osamu didn’t deserve love. It broke their hearts. So when Atsumu’s soulmate was brought to them, they felt slightly at ease. Just a bit. Just enough to lighten their load slightly. Because you got along so well with Osamu. You liked to play with him, you enjoyed sharing with him. Sometimes, you even ate off the same plate (something Atsumu would never tolerate. That was his food. He doesn’t share).

Their mother could rest easy knowing that even if Osamu didn’t have a soulmate, his twin brother’s soulmate would not cut him out. That Osamu could still rely on family, even if he didn’t have somebody of his own.

In hindsight, these early interactions between toddlers should have been an indication of the future. But your mothers never noticed something off. If only you had a brain developed enough to realize what was happening at such an early age.

And so you grew up with the twins, same daycares, same schools, same playgrounds. At no point were you separated. From the moment you could form coherent thoughts, they were with you, and you with them. Atsumu was your loud, boisterous soulmate. Always ready for a challenge, endlessly hungry for victory. In his middle school days he had decided he wanted to play volleyball for the rest of his life, and so that’s what he focused on. Atsumu was a simple person, his intentions and objectives were clear.

In middle school, you first wrapped your head around the fact that Atsumu was someone you had to like romantically. It was almost a foreign concept, but the young girl in you was curious, just as anyone your age would be while going through puberty. So you were excited when you and Atsumu started ‘dating’. It was what Fate had dictated, after all. You and him were meant to be together, weren’t you?

You had your first kiss with him after a volleyball game. You had been cheering from the sidelines, and Atsumu barrelled right into you after the final whistle. He was sweaty, and very sticky, and he laid an equally sticky smooch on your lips. You and him both buzzed with the adrenaline of the win, and the kiss felt nice.

You would hold hands at school, and Atsumu would walk you to class. You would always stay on the balcony during after-school practice, watching the twins play. To onlookers, it was endlessly cute. Young love, as they say.

You didn’t think too much about the fact that you did it more out of obligation than for love. You assumed this is what it was. The ‘soulmate bond’ or whatever. You didn’t need to consider it. You had always been told that your life and Atsumu’s were connected, so that was that.

And then there was Osamu. Quieter than Atsumu, but just as determined. He had a competitive streak just as mean as his brother, and at no point did he get left behind. Osamu loved volleyball, maybe not as much as his brother, but enough to invest a whole lot of his time into it. In every aspect, the twins balanced each other perfectly. Osamu knew exactly when to reign Atsumu in. He was more perceptive in that sense. He picked up on stuff that flew over Atsumu’s head sometimes. And that applied to you too.

He was your best friend.

When you would fall on the playground and skin your knees, Osamu would help you up. He would wipe the tears and snot off your face and shoulder you as you walked home. He would hold your hand while your mother would clean and patch you up. Osamu would share all his snacks with you, including candy. He didn’t mind. He always insisted that you ate so little that it hardly mattered.

In middle school, Osamu made sure to ask the volleyball team coach for permission to let you stay and watch practices. Onlookers weren’t really allowed for day-to-day training, but Osamu convinced him to make an exception. You studied together for every quiz, every test. When you would fall asleep while studying, it would always somehow be on Osamu’s bed, and he would tuck you in without fail every single time.

While Atsumu kept looking forward in life, Osamu made sure to glance back and hold your hand tight to make sure you didn’t get left behind.

He was here now too, standing outside the volleyball coach’s office with you. Your first year in Inarizaki High, and you clutched your application in your hand tightly, making Osamu tut and pull the paper from your hands lest you wrinkle it even more. He smoothed it out and gave you a quick once over, sighing a bit.

“Ya gotta cool it.” He spoke up, watching how you nervously fidgeted all over the place.

“Thanks, that helps a lot.” Sarcasm dripped from your words and you gave him a nasty look. He only rolled his eyes in return, reading over your application one more time.

“Yer gonna be fine. Once he knows you and Tsumu are soulmates, yer practically guaranteed the manager position.” He said, trying to soothe you a bit.

“How is that a guarantee?” You scoffed, staring at the closed office door.

“Because he’ll think ya can keep that scrub in line.”

You would’ve laughed if you weren’t so nervous. “He would be dead wrong. When has Atsumu ever listened to me?”

Osamu snorted. “‘M not sayin’ he would be right. But don’t ya dare correct him. I need ya on that team to keep me sane.”

You finally gave him a smile, feeling better slightly. It wasn’t really his words. Osamu’s whole presence just helped you feel better.

And he was also right. You easily got the managerial role for the Boys’ Volleyball Team. The twins whooped in celebration when you gave them the news, Atsumu laying a sloppy kiss on your cheek while Osamu just gave you an encouraging grin.

Something in you stirred when you realized that in the moment, you wanted Osamu to kiss your cheek too.

Whoa. Where did that come from?

It was easy enough to dismiss though, because Atsumu was pulling you into his lap on the couch, talking about how awesome it would be to have you actively helping the team instead of just being a spectator. Osamu’s stare wavered before dropping from you entirely. And you could’ve sworn you saw his eyes dim.

Nah, it couldn’t be, right? There was nothing to be sad about. You had just gotten the manager position. But when Atsumu tucked your head under his chin, it hit you. Osamu’s sadness was likely due to him not having a soulmate.

The topic of Osamu’s absent soulmate was something that was never brought up. Somehow, it was always ignored. He never mentioned it, and neither did you. You were unsure if he had ever talked about it with Atsumu, but you hesitated to ask. You didn’t want him feeling worse than he already probably did. And you were sure that your and Atsumu’s open displays of affection weren’t helping that fact either.

You stayed silent, though you did slowly detach Atsumu’s arms from around you and slid off his lap, instead sitting between the twins on the couch. He didn’t notice, too engrossed with whatever was happening on the TV before him. Your attention was entirely on Osamu though, trying to decipher his expression from the corner of your eye. He was still as a rock, not giving anything away.

You fought the urge to hug him.

Back in middle school, Osamu had first questioned the fact that he did not have a name on his arm. It was a silly childish tantrum, something about how come Tsumu had something that he didn’t? He had pestered his mother about it until she sat him down and explained. You don’t know what exactly they talked about, but you never heard him complain about it again.

Your overthinking mind immediately started mulling through your memories, thinking about all the times you and Atsumu had done something in front of Osamu. You felt guilt ripple through you when you realized that it all probably reminded him of his lack of soulmate. And he never said anything about it. You knew that must have been a struggle. Osamu told you everything. But maybe he felt that he couldn’t tell you about this.

The thought made your heart ache for him.

“Tsumu?”

Your boyfriend hummed in response, too focused on whatever video game he was currently obsessing over. His tongue was sticking out from the corner of his mouth, eyebrows scrunched in concentration. You rolled your eyes.

“Hey, c’mon. Turn that off. I gotta talk to you about something.”

“Gimme five minutes.”

You groaned and flopped down on his bed, knowing five minutes meant at least twenty, and resigning yourself to wait for that time. If you forcefully made him quit the game, he would be distracted throughout your conversation. You needed him to be fully attentive for this.

When you finally had him settled on the bed in front of you, game turned off and him frowning at how serious you were being, you got straight to the point.

“We need to tone shit down in front of Samu.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“What does that mean?”

You explained to him how you felt that Osamu might be feeling left out when Atsumu draped himself all over you, making him hum and rub on his chin in thought.

“He never said anythin’.”

You nodded. “But he always gets kind of upset about it.”

“I haven’t noticed.”

“That’s because you’re dumb as bricks.”

“Hey!”

The conversation abruptly ends there, with Atsumu pinning you down on the bed and holding you hostage until you apologised for calling him dumb. But the agreement is made, and from then on, you and Atsumu tone down your physical affection when you’re around Osamu.

No more kisses when they picked you for school in the mornings, or after practices when they walked you home. And no more unnecessarily long hugs. And of course, no more sitting on Atsumu’s lap while Osamu was there.

You hadn’t anticipated that this meant almost no intimacy at all, because Osamu was around you two all the time. You didn’t notice that you spent so much time with him until you had to be mindful of your actions. And as the weeks passed by, your and Atsumu’s physical relationship fizzled to almost nothing.

It should have been concerning. It should have. But it wasn’t. The lack of affection did almost nothing to you. If anything, the thing you were concerned about was why you weren’t concerned. Atsumu was your soulmate, yet you could go days and weeks without feeling any need or want to kiss him or hug him. You were still around each other all the time, but the instinctual habit of being in his arms was breaking, and you felt this gnawing fear that without it, your and Atsumu’s relationship was barely a relationship.

In trying to accommodate Osamu, you discovered your lack of feelings for your soulmate.

Your second year of high school was plagued with thoughts of your hesitation, why you tried and tried, but felt almost nothing for the blond twin except the sense of kinship that came with knowing him for so long. You stared at Atsumu as he rose up in the world of volleyball. Making Nationals, going to Youth Camp, and while you did feel proud of him, there was not an ounce of you that loved him romantically.

And it made you feel lost.

All your life, you had been told Atsumu was the one for you. Your other half. The one you would marry and have kids with and die with. You had been friends with him since you could barely walk. And he had been your boyfriend since you knew what a boyfriend was. You had kissed him and hugged him and cuddled with him so often that it was almost by default. Instinct. But now that your instinct was no longer there, you felt….. nothing.

Atsumu was your friend. One of your very best friends, but no part of him made your heart beat faster or your breaths come shallower. He was just….. Atsumu.

When you kissed him in the comfort of your room, alone, you felt nothing. Zip. Zilch. Nada. You had always felt nothing. But when it was part of your routine, you didn’t realise how fucked up these lack of feelings were.

Now you did.

Fear filled you when you realized how abnormal your feelings were. How could you be like this? The universe had decided Atsumu was the one for you. The fucking universe. Who were you to deny it? Who were you to question his place in your life? And how could you possibly make these feelings go away?

You were alone in this.

If only you had known back then that not loving Atsumu would soon be the very least of your concerns.

#miya osamu x reader #miya osamu fluff #miya osamu angst #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #miya osamu x you #miya osamu x y/n #miya atsumu x reader #miya osamu fanfiction #soulmate au #miya osamu imagine #haikyuu angst

[cottonlemonade]

Hello,

May I please order a small cherry lemonade with extra ice for 'samu, please?

Archnemesis

word count: 1066 || avg. reading time: 4 mins.

pairing: 3rd year rival!Osamu x chubby!Reader

genre: angst, fluff, pining

warnings: swearing, mentions of insecurities, hurtful comments about your weight (but it’s quick and not done by Osamu)

_________________________________

Osamu groaned when he saw the pitiful little bus pull up and people in black training suits jump out. Trying not to be too obvious he kept throwing glances over to the fast growing group assembling in front of the blond coach. When he spotted you amongst them, easily identified since you were fuller than everyone else, he felt excited but turned away and went back into the building.

Sure, he would be the first to admit that you initially caught his eye while you were blissfully munching on an onigiri and he may or may not have wanted to ask you out so badly that he choked on his water but that was besides the point. You were from Karasuno and therefore automatically the enemy.

Last year, when he first came across the crows it was hard to explain to his captain why he seemed to have beef with a member of the women‘s team of all people but Kita had graduated and wasn‘t their captain anymore, soooo… now he could be petty to his heart‘s content. He enjoyed your little rivalry, because although you may look cute enough to eat you could really dish it out.

While he waited in the lobby for his brother to come back from the bathroom, the Karasuno teams entered and walked stoically towards the changing rooms, ignoring the whispers of admiration and awe. Apparently you decided to become even prettier since the last time he saw you. So that’s how you were gonna play it, huh? Well, fuck you.

Wait, why did they all stop next to him? Why did they stare? You were grinning, so you probably just said something scathing, right? Osamu hadn’t paid attention. Okay, there was a 50/50 chance this would work. “Oh, we‘re gonna see about that.“, he said, attempting and … and failing to return the trash talk.

You looked at him in confusion and the team captains ushered you along.

To no surprise of absolutely anyone Inarizaki won their first rounds with ease and after a victory shower Osamu decided to break your concentration by watching your last match of the day quietly from the sidelines. Menacing. Lurking. You’d get the message. Much like with the little number 10 he enjoyed people‘s reaction to seeing you play for the first time. Initially, they would wonder if someone was grievously injured that they sent „that chubby girl“ onto the field, not knowing what was coming. A grimly satisfied smile played on his lips when he heard the surprised whispers from the crowd when you served four aces in a row. Of course his (completely baseless) archnemesis was strong, what did they expect?

Atsumu and Aran appeared next to him towards the end of the game, his brother holding out a bag of snacks to him, watching with genuine disinterest as the opposing team missed a fake spike.

The next ball seemed to last forever, your receives however stayed clean and precise. But then the roaring cheers changed to a murmur. During a particularly harrowing rally you had jumped over the barricade, just managing to lop the ball back onto the field but crashed into the wall after a harsh stumble, your foot having gotten caught in a chair. You somehow made it back onto the court, receiving the next spike with one hand, giving your setter the opportunity to play to your team‘s ace - but then you didn‘t get back up.

Osamu had grabbed his brother‘s sleeve, knuckles turning white when the medic made their way to you.

He saw you being asked a few questions and then your manager pulled you up, slowly leading you towards the exit.

“Figures that the fatty got injured. Can‘t stop a charging rhino.“

“I‘m just impressed she didn‘t take anyone else down with her.“

Osamu‘s head snapped around to see three guys snickering. His shoulders began to shake with anger. No one - no one - was allowed to talk about you like this. Aran followed his gaze, equally disgusted by the comments, and muttered, “Ugh. We‘re playin’ these jerks tomorrow.“

The older twin‘s eyes went blank - murderous. Good, Osamu thought, together they would make these bastards regret ever choosing this sport.

Osamu turned on his heel and jogged out into the corridor, looking around. He turned pale when he found you leaning against a wall, breathing hard, and a small trickle of blood coming from just beyond your hairline.

Your team‘s manager quickly said something, then ran off, probably to get some help.

As if in trance Osamu walked over to you and without a word knelt down with his back towards you.

“What are you doing?“, you asked in a small voice.

“Get on.“, he said tonelessly, and when you didn‘t move, added, “Come on, the floor is gettin‘ uncomfortable.“

Your answer was barely above a whisper. “No, it‘s fine. Honoka will be back in a second with the doctor. And… and I don‘t want you to get hurt, too.“

Osamu let out a huff, turning his head, “Are ya calling me weak?“

“No, I‘m calling me heavy.“, you mumbled.

“Stop it!“ He hadn‘t meant to shout, he looked to the ground, “Just… shut up and get on.“

Glad you understood that he wasn‘t going to stop pushing, he heard you hobble a step forward and carefully leaned on him.

“Put yer arms around my shoulders, go on.“, Osamu encouraged quietly, his voice much gentler now. You seemed to hesitate again. “Don‘t worry, y/n-san. You won‘t hurt me.“

He froze when he felt something wet seeping through the back of his shirt and realized that you were crying, “I… I can‘t lift my left arm.“ So that‘s why you only received the last ball one handed…

Thinking quickly he pressed out, “Alright, just hold on tight with yer right, then. I‘ll make sure ya won‘t fall.“

Bonus: The next day

Two sharp whistle blows signalled the end of the game and the crowd erupted into cheers. The Inarizaki orchestra began playing their well practised victory song and Osamu used his shoulder to wipe the sweat from his brow.

“Wh-what-what happened?“, he heard a guy from the other team stammer.

The foxes had won in two sets, the score telling the story of complete and utter humiliation. The twins grinned.

With a shaking finger, the opposing libero pointed towards Osamu, “This guy is a beast.“

________________________________

a/n: this was such a juicy prompt! Ugh! I’m sorry it got a bit away from me and I ended up adding fluff and mixed in some taking care of you, too. I hope you like it nonetheless, though 🫠

#sunnys lemonade stand #osamu miya x chubby reader #osamu miya x reader #osamu x chubby Reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #haikyuu fluff #chubby reader #haikyuu angst #miya osamu #osamu x reader #osamu angst #miya osamu angst #osamu fluff #miya osamu fluff

[ceijoh]

you get jealous of a manager 

relationship: osamu x f!reader 

content/warnings: jealousy, angst, self-doubt, osamu is kinda toxic here ngl but he makes up for it, fluff 

summary: you get jealous of a manager 

notes: happy birthday, osamu! 

masterlist

atsumu & matsukawa’s part | daichi’s part | bokuto’s part | kuroo’s part

Everyone always thought that Atsumu was the more emotionally constipated twin, but it was actually Osamu. 

You were friends for a while, still are, but every single day you feel like you’re tiptoeing that line that crosses into lovers instead. 

Ever since you woke up one day and realised that you were in love with Osamu, and have been for a while, you were hoping that one day he would do the same too. 

It was one of those days where the MSBY team were coming to Miya Onigiri, it’s been a tradition since Atsumu joined the team and Osamu opened up his shop. 

It usually consisted of the team in their post workout gear, tired off their feet and just wanting to fill their empty stomachs. 

Ordering an amount of onigiri that would feed an entire nation for one feeding

You would have never thought that you would be surrounded almost daily by gigantic athletic men, but here you are. 

There was something that changed though. An unfamiliar face followed the team. The new person, you assumed, was the new temporary manager for MSBY. 

She was spritely and nice, introducing herself to you 

Then she saw Osamu. 

Appearing from the kitchen, you could basically see the hearts form in her eyes. Watching as they made eye contact, watching as he gave her the smile that you hoped to be at the end of one day. 

Despondently, you watched as Osamu subtly (but not subtle enough for you) talk to the new manager. You watched as he continued smiling at her, handing her the onigiri. 

Your heart began to hurt as you watched her giggle at whatever he said, turning around, you faced the bench.  

Gulping, you forced out a smile as you saw Sakusa and Hinata making their way to you. 

“Is everything okay, (Y/N)-san?” Noticing your look, Sakusa asked as he wiped the table with his wipes. 

“Fine, just tired,” you replied, and then turning to Hinata, “how was practice?”

“(Y/L/N)-chan,” turning, you saw the MSBY captain and bowed immediately, causing him to chuckle. 

“Meian-san,” you smiled.

“What have I told you about calling me that?” Playfully bumping his shoulder into yours, causing you both to chuckle. “Makes me feel old.” 

“32 is not old,” you rolled your eyes as you stalked off. 

“So, you’re saying you’d date a 32 year old?” 

Laughing at his comment, “Of course! I mean, Fukuro-san is that age, and who could say no to him?” You teased lightly, laughing harder when you saw his eyes narrow. 

Your conversation with Meian took your mind off briefly from what you were upset about before but it was short lived as you heard Osamu chuckle. 

Turning your head to where they were, you watched as he laughed loudly and you wondered if he was going to topple over with how hard he was laughing at whatever she was saying. 

Gone was the easiness you just felt, and all you had was the pettiness and anger inside of you. 

--

It was like that for the next couple of weeks. Watching as the team come in, watch as she and Osamu flirt with each other, your hope diminishing everytime. 

It would have been fine, if it wasn’t what happened after they left. 

Because after they left, it was back to ‘normal’; Osamu playfully teasing you, flirting subtly with you. And after every time you felt yourself slowly fall for him again. 

You felt like he was playing tug of war with you and your feelings. 

And honestly? You were sick and tired of it. 

Sick and tired of hopelessly pining after someone, who was obviously interested in someone else. 

You were not some plaything for some man to discard when something shinier comes through the door. 

With this new motive in mind, you barely paid attention to Osamu’s flirting.

Keeping the conversations between the two of you in the restaurant professional and curt. 

If you were going to get over him and not have your heart feel like it’s been stomped on everytime he flirts with her, you need to keep your space. 

--

“What was that?” As soon as the team left, Osamu locked the door and shut the blinds before turning to you. 

“What was what?” You asked as you tidied up the counter. 

Rolling his eyes, Osamu walked over to you. “I think yer know what I’m talkin’ about.” 

Sighing, you placed down the towel and looked at him, “I honestly don’t know, Osamu. So please, enlighten me.” 

Losing his cool, Osamu sputtered out, “The fact that ye agreed to a date with the captain!” 

“It’s not a date, he invited me to a party which you were also invited to,” you explained, resuming your tidying. 

“It is a date!” 

Rolling your eyes, not bothering to look at him, “It’s not a date.” 

“He asked ye!” 

“And you also got invited to the party by the manager!” Fed up at the ongoing conversation, you licked your lips in annoyance and stared at Osamu. “By your definition you’re also going on a date, Osamu.” 

“That’s not a date.” 

“Oh my god,” you groaned out. “Are you fucking kidding me? Why is it a date for me, and not for you?” 

Before he could open up his mouth, you put up your hand to stop him, “No, you know what. Stop. I don’t want this conversation to continue. It’s not a date, ‘Samu,” you spoke defeatedly. “Even if it was, it shouldn’t be your problem.” 

Slamming the towel down, you walked away angrily to the office. 

“Why wouldn’t it be my problem?” 

Turning around, you pointed your finger at him, “You’re my friend, Osamu, that’s it. You’re not my parents, you’re not my boyfriend, you’re my friend and my boss.” 

Grabbing your arm before you could walk away again, “I thought we’re more than that.” 

Yanking your arm off, you scowled at Osamu, fire settling deep in your belly, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Are you serious right now?” Narrowing your eyes at Osamu, “We are not anything. We have never been anything.” 

“(Y/N),” Osamu started softly. Heart beating rapidly at your words. “Ye know that’s not true.” 

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed at the man. “Then you’re doing a shitty job of being in a thing with me by flirting with other women.” 

Realisation set in, he knew the playful conversation that he had with the delivery girls, the customers and the manager of the MSBY team was suddenly coming around to beat his ass. 

It wasn’t that he wanted to flirt with them, but he just needed that confirmation, and the extra attention that he got from you was certainly hot. 

But when you started doing the same thing with Meian in front of him, all he wanted to do was lock the shop and cry. 

He was never the softer twin, he was never the more emotional twin, that was all Atsumu. Osamu prided himself in being more logical, being rational when the situation called for it. 

But he still shared the same genes with Atsumu. 

So he carried on, making you jealous. He wasn’t stupid. 

He knew that you were jealous, your face, your demeanour changing. 

He just didn’t think far enough to maybe think you’d have enough of it and start focusing on someone else. 

“I was bein’ stupid, wasn’t I?” 

Well that was the biggest understatement of the century. 

“Yes, you were,” you agreed, no hesitation whatsoever. “I expected this from ‘Tsum.” 

The clock catching your eye, you closed your eyes as you thought of the words to end this conversation. This was all too much for one night. 

You knew that you and Osamu had to talk about this, but you weren’t ready just yet. 

“Listen, ‘Samu, why don’t you go home and I’ll finish closing up, alright?”

When he didn’t move, you began moving around him. 

“How can I make it up to ya?” 

Without missing a beat, “Maybe don’t fucking flirt with other women.” Barely paying attention to him, you began to move out of the office. 

“Done,” Osamu responded, his voice loud and clear. 

You rolled your eyes. Finally turning around, you crossed your arms over your chest and faced Osamu, “Oh really? Until when? Until she decides to come back tomorrow? Or maybe that new delivery girl? Or maybe there’s going to be someone new! Keep me on my toes,” you goaded nastily. 

This behaviour was beneath you but all you wanted was for your words to hurt him, just as much as his actions hurt you. 

“Give me a break, ‘Samu,” you scoffed. “You may have feelings for me but obviously it wasn’t strong enough for you not to flirt with other people.” 

“Look, if you’re not going to go home, maybe I will,” untying your apron, you began to put it on the hook. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Why the fuck do ya think-,” Osamu started and then abruptly finished. Tugging your hand so you faced him, you scowled at his touch. “Why the fuck are ya sayin’ that my feelings aren’t strong enough for ya?” 

“The thought of intentionally flirting with someone else that isn’t you makes me physically sick,” you slowly spat out. “The thought of touching another man the way I want to touch you, Osamu, even if you’re not mine makes me want to die because I feel like I’m betraying you.” 

“But you?” Scoffing, looking straight at him. “You not only could do that willingly, but you made me watch. You make me watch as you give these women the attention that I’ve been craving from you, you give them attention in front of other people while I’m always left in the dark. You make them think they have a chance with you.” 

“You, Miya Osamu, make me feel like everyone else, like I’m just a nobody in your world,” you confessed. You don’t know if your point got across but that was all you were willing to say to the man in front of you. 

“How could you ever think that about yourself?”

"How could you ever make me feel like that about myself?” 

--

Osamu had no words. 

He wanted to explain to you that he never intended to hurt you. He didn’t mean for you to ever doubt that you were the one he wanted. 

“I’m sorry,” that’s what Osamu decided to start with. 

“You’re sorry,” you repeated. “That’s all?” 

“It was stupid,” Osamu confessed. “I was being stupid. I should have never done this.” 

You sighed, suddenly feeling tired. You were done with this, you just wanted to go home and sleep. Maybe take the next day off. 

Sensing your hesitance, Osamu moved slowly forward. Reaching out to you, he slowly clutched your hand with his. It was gentle. 

“(Y/N), words can’t describe ma feelings for ya,” cradling your hand with his, you watched as his thumb caressed your knuckles. 

“‘Samu,” you pleaded. You couldn’t do this. Even if this was what you’ve been dreaming of, you don’t know what you would do if Osamu took it all back.  

“Do you feel this?” 

At the feel of his steady heartbeat underneath the palm of your hand, you nodded once. 

“Please look at me,” at his request, you slowly looked up. Fighting the urge to look away, you took a deep breath and faced him. 

“Yer the only person that has ever made me feel at peace, the only one that has ever made me feel calm and safe. My god, all these years you are the first person that I think of in every situation that I’m in.” 

His confession, all out in the open, the words that you’ve been waiting for since you’ve discovered your feelings for Osamu.  

“And I know that I pushed you to your limits, to make you think that someone else could ever take your place. I’m sorry that I made you feel like that. I’m sorry that I ever made you think that yer just a normal person in my life, that someone else could ever take your place,” he tugged you closer to his body. Hearing the break in his voice, all you now wanted was to wrap your arms around him but you knew there was more to be said. 

Looking down at you, Osamu began to berate himself even more. He could see the doubt still in your eyes. The hurt and the pain that he caused. 

“You are the most important person in my life, you bring so much light in my world, and I know that I don’t deserve ya, not after pullin’ that shitty stunt, but I’m askin’ ya,” he sighed once, knowing that this was going to make him or break him. “Just please let me love you.” 

“Please give me that chance.” 

--

Should you though? 

Multiple feelings coursed through your veins. Your head was telling you that, no, you should not do this. This is a horrible idea. 

But the other part of you, the one who still believed in happy ever afters, and the love that can be found in books and songs. The part that no matter how hard you tried to push her down she kept coming back up was fighting for Osamu. 

He just can’t hurt you again. 

If he did, you don’t know what you’d do with yourself. 

“(Y/N)?” Hearing your silence was worse than when you were yelling at him. Because at least then you were speaking to him, you were still acknowledging him. 

He should have never listened to the stupid idea of making you jealous, he should have never even entertained it. 

If he just waited instead of diving head first into the stupidest idea he ever had. 

Gazing up at Osamu, you finally unclasped your hands, watching as his eyes widen and mouth part in shock and sadness. 

Before he could react anymore, you wrapped your arms around him. “Miya Osamu, I think you might just be stupider than your brother.” 

“You ever do that again and I’ll make sure you’re on cleaning duty for the rest of your life,” you warned but you knew deep down in your heart, Osamu would never do that to you again. You chuckled together, and the tension in the room eased. 

Burrowing your face into his chest, you felt the steady heartbeat beneath your cheek, you sighed out the pain and the longing.

“You can’t hurt me again, Osamu.” 

“I’m gonna treat you the way you deserve.”

--

“I hope ye know that yer goin’ to that stupid party with me,” Osamu nudged you playfully.

“But it’s not a date right?”  

You laughed loudly as you watched his face fall, then scrunch up. 

“Yer such a brat!”

let me know what y’all think! 

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #osamu x reader #osamu angst #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu angst #haikyuu one shot #haikyuu imagine #osamu one shot #haikyuu #osamu scenarios #haikyuu scenarios #osamu imagine #miya osamu #haikyuu headcanons #osamu headcanons

[tteokdoroki]

“osamu, what the hell is your problem?”

osamu miya isn’t one to act out like this, he’s never one to run head first into a fight with no armour. he’s not brash and unreasonable like ‘tsumu. he’s supposed to be the better twin at this compared to the blonde scrub he should have eaten in the womb.

but when it comes to you, he loses all sense of rationality— the slightest change in your emotions still has osamu acting a fool after all this time.

“i was defending yer honour!” he announces adamantly, slur heavier than usual as he flinches away from the bag of frozen peas you have pressed into his swelling cheek. osamu hates frozen veg, it ruins the quality and taste of his product, so he prefers to start afresh every time to make sure everyone gets the very best of what he has to offer but boy is he glad that he kept the bag in his kitchen’s freezers from when he first started out.

he still can’t believe he got punched in his own damn shop.

your face twists as you peel back the defrosting packet, analysing the tender area on the younger miya twin’s face. still handsome, even when bruised like a softly ripened peach. “osamu miya,” he hates how his full name sounds on your tongue, bitter and still slightly resentful— nothing like the ‘samu’s he’s used to. “i do not need defending! god…you don’t change. you never do!” frustration sits caked on your features like a layer of sweat after a gruelling day in the kitchens. “when will you realise that i can be my own person outside of you? i can take care of myself. i don’t need you to back me up, tell me to sit this one out like you do with ‘tsumu. i don’t need protecting.” you shift awkwardly on your knees, the tiled floor in onigiri miya’s kitchen cutting into your skin. “and besides…i like him.”

osamu pushes the peas from your grip, brows knotted together as he scowls at you like what you’ve said isn’t true. you could tell him those words a thousand times and he’d selfishly ignore them because you’re way too good to go unprotected in this world.

“yer still s’fuckin’ naive,”

the curse word slipping from the restaurant owners lips surprises you— it upsets you, the hurt sweltering in your chest. “‘samu that’s not fair…”

“i don’t care if it is! i see the way ya grimace when he touches ya, the way ya avoid his gaze. how he treats ya like a fuckin’ pet rather than a human being!” the miya twin roars back, and if he was loud enough you’re sure he’d rattle the pots out to dry on the dish-rack. “that’s not love. you know that.”

your face scrunches up, expression foul and osamu knows he shouldn’t have said that.

“and you do?” he can hear the tired tremble in your voice, you’ve both been here before, stuck in a loop of the same argument. osamu shouldn’t cast judgement on the people you date, not when he ruined the concept of love and happiness for you in the first place. he gave you up when you’d done nothing but cherish him for years after the team went their separate ways.

he was the one to let you go.

he was the one desperate to see you again, dropping hints to kita to invite the old inarizaki manager to the reunion at his precious store in osaka after atsumu’s big game.

he was the one who threw the first punch at your now fiancé because the way he held you wasn’t right.

it was too tight, too rough for someone who deserved the world like you. osamu could read the twitch of pain on your face probably before you even felt it…because he still loved you, he still knew everything about you and he didn’t even have the right to. he probably deserved to get his shit rocked before aran and suna dragged your fiancé outside the shop ( atsumu would have ripped the guy’s head off too for hurting his brother…but kita was there and you’d pleaded with him not to ).

so osamu miya stays silent, becomes a little more reserved unlike his bastard brother and zips his lips once more— throwing away the key while he avoids your desperate gaze. “nothin’.” he mumbles simply, looking away from your wounded puppy dog eyes.

“of course,” you say quietly, even though he can hear the crack of tears in your voice. “because you could never love anyone outside of this stupid shop.”

and as you let it slip you’re crying up, and back away from him on the kitchen floor of onigiri miya, osamu realises…there’s no starting over with you. it’s far too late for that.

#miya osamu x reader #osamu miya x reader #miya osamu angst #osamu drabble #osamu angst #osamu imagine #osamu x reader #hq x reader #hq imagines #hq drabbles #osamu miya #hq angst #hq smut #haikyuu drabbles #haikyuu angst #haikyuu x reader #tteokdoroki #🗑. aali’s chatroom

[peachy-hk]

Rewind.

Miya Osamu x Reader, angst.

Warnings: cheating, gn reader, timeskip spoilers, and cursing :)

(theres also foreshadowing of suna x reader but we're gonna leave that for another time)

Wordcount: 1.3k

Read part one here and next part here.

How are you supposed to feel when somebody leaves you? 

Sadness is given, anger is given, and regret...

Regret is circumstantial. 

Weeks after you left the life of Osamu Miya, he still sits in his apartment, rotting in regret. 

Why did I do it? Why didn’t I say no? Why didn’t I leave?

Would you still be here?

“Just this once”, he tells her, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear as they enter the hotel lobby. The hotel is in the middle of town, so he makes sure to cover his face as much as possible. The last thing he needs is to have someone recognize him getting into a hotel room with someone who very clearly isn’t his partner. 

“Just a room for the night please” he speaks quietly to the clerk, sliding his personal credit card across the counter to her. “What name would you like it under?” she asks back with a smile. 

He pauses for a moment, wondering if he should really go through with this. The part timer standing in front of him was not worth risking his years of marriage with you for, but he chooses to live in the moment and continue with it anyway.  “Atsumu Miya.”

-

He didn’t mean for it to turn out like this. The friendly banter during training was never supposed to turn into cheating on you. He never planned to take that girl into a hotel. He never meant for anything to happen with her. 

How can he possibly tell you all of that when you’re not even around anymore? Every physical trace of you is gone from the house you once lived in together. Your clothes, your flowers, your cooking, all of it, it’s all gone. You had come back when he was at work and taken everything. He was heartbroken that day, coming home to a house that had nothing to show of your presence. 

Defeated, he slumped into his bed . His eyes heavy, and dark circles prominent as he had lost countless nights of sleep without you next to him. He grabbed your pillow and hugged it tight to his chest, pretending that you were there, inhaling the last of your scent that still clung to it. 

He wondered if you had eaten, or where you were staying. He also thought about giving you a call to ask about having a chat to work things out, but you had already blocked his number. 

Instead, he choses to call someone he knows will be able to comfort him. 

He calls his brother, Atsumu. 

“You got some nerve taking this long to call.”

“So you know?”

“Of course I know. I’m your brother.”

the two sit in the call for a minute before Atsumu breaks the silence.

“Let’s meet tomorrow, coffee at our usual spot. Is 10 okay for you?” He asks.

“Yeah, see you at 10.”

-

Osamu can admit, he’s seen better days. His hair is unkept and his facial hair is overgrown. He can’t be bothered to deal with it all, it’s not important in his mind right now.

“Hey,” he says with a huff, sliding his body into the cushioned booth Atsumu was already sitting in, “you look good, did you order already?”

His twin gives him a nod, and lets out a sigh. He doesn’t know how to start this conversation; he doesn’t know how to confront his brother.

“ ‘Samu I don’t even know what to ask you, how could you do that? What happened?” he speaks, clearly frustrated.

“I don’t know what to tell you either ‘Tsumu. I didn’t want anything to happen with that part timer, I had no intentions of hurting y/n, you of all people would know that.” he says back. he’s talking as if you’re here. As if he’s finally getting the chance to explain himself to you, not Atsumu.

“It doesn’t matter if it wasn’t your intention, you still hurt them. Can you imagine what it was like to open my door to them with tears streaming down their face, barely able to form a sentence? Do you realize how painful it was for them for you to call her instead of comforting them that night? What were you thinking?” He argues, getting more frustrated with his brother.

Osamu sits their in awe of his brother. You have all been friends since high school, but he never knew that he had this kind of protective relationship with you. His mouth dries up, unsure of what to say.

“I don’t know what I was thinking. I don’t even think i was thinking that night. I panicked and called her to yell, to be angry. I didn’t want to take my anger out on y/n so I took it out on her instead, ok? Call me dumb and a fool for it but I thought it was the better thing to do in that moment.”

“Are you fucking stupid?”

Osamu’s eyes widen at the sudden change of tone. Sure, he and Atsumu have argued over the years, but he’s never gone this far. He has never used this tone with him before.

“You thought that calling the woman you cheated on them with was a better thing to do in the moment than to apologize, to explain, to do ANYTHING else?”

“Did you even apologize?”

He sits there. Reliving the night you walked out on him. Rethinking everything he said, and realizing that not once, did he say he was sorry.

He looks up at the other side of the booth. Atsumu’s hands are crossed, and he is clearly disappointed by his brothers reaction. It’s not like Atsumu didn’t know this. You had spent the night sobbing and reliving it over in his apartment. He had Suna go out and buy food for you and told you to stay for as long as you needed, even offering to move you in. He knew you were probably still at home with Suna crying in his arms, while he came out and dealt with his brother.

"You fucked up 'Samu." Atsumu sighs after letting this phrase out his mouth. It's been something that he has been thinking over for the past hour before this confrontation. Does he side with his brother or with one of his best and closest friends of his life? He knows that his brother is in the wrong, but blood is thicker than water, right?

"You think I don't know that?"

"I think you need to have someone else wake you up and tell you shit for real. At face value. You're here whining and complaining, doing absolutely nothing to actually fix the mistake you made. I know you can't fire the part-timer now because of conflict of interest and whatever power imbalance legalities there are behind that, but have you at least tried making boundaries with her? Have you made efforts to minimize your damage to Y/N? Have you tried doing anything but moping around and acting like with enough of it they'll feel some sort of pity for you and come back?"

Osamu feels like he just gotten slapped across the face by his brother. Maybe even more like a punch to the gut, or a stab in the back. He's left with his jaw dropped, and his head empty.

'I tried 'Tsumu! They blocked me on everything and I had- actually I still don't have any way of contacting them! I don't know if we're going to get divorced, or if they're going to come back and make me go to counselling . I don't know what to do."

"They're not coming back Osamu. You fucked up, hard. There is no coming back. There is no counciling. It's over. You threw it all away. You threw my trust away too. Why the fuck did you use my name on your hotel room?"

Atsumu huffs, realizing that there really isn't anything left to be said.

"I doubt there's really anything left, but I'll come over tomorrow to pick up anything Y/N may have forgotten to grab." He says before walking out the cafe and into his car.

Osamu watches this happen from the booth Atsumu was sitting in with him seconds before. He watches as another one of the most important people of his life walk out on him.

He is crushed to say the least.

-

part 3 coming soon ??!!?!?!

Per request a tag list has been opened! comment to be added to it :))

#haikyuu x reader #hq angst #haikyuu angst #miya osamu angst #osamu angst #miya osamu x reader #haikyuu #miya osamu

[ghostlygeto]

six years passed | osamu miya

pairing: osamu miya x reader

warning: angst, hurt/no comfort, me failing at doing the miya accent, osamu being lovesick heartbroken pathetic all at the same time, reader is in the wrong 100%, idk please be nice i worked really hard on this, potential for part 2 but who knows with me

wc: 4.6k

sometimes, osamu would check your old social media profiles to see if you had been active. you never were.

it had been six years exactly since you ran away without saying goodbye to anyone. osamu had shown up to your house the next morning, the morning after their birthday, only for your parents to tell him that you weren’t there. they hadn’t heard from you. no one had. they didn’t seem to care much, though that didn’t surprise him. and it seemed like everyone else got over your disappearance quickly. after two weeks he noticed they’d stopped comments on your posts, ‘tsumu said he stopped texting you. after a month they stopped saying your name, and after two it felt like life had officially moved on without you. for everyone except osamu.

“are ya comin’ out with us today?” his twin asked, peaking his head in osamu’s room, “everyone’s ‘round. wanna go out fer drinks or somethin’.” atsumu knew that ‘samu would decline the offer. this day had been hard on all of them, they all missed you. but over the years the ache had lessened and they had stopped getting caught up in it. not osamu, though.

“can’t ya tell ‘m busy?” osamu groaned, moving his face out of his pillow. he forgot that everyone would be in tokyo tonight. it’d be the first time in awhile that they’d be able to make it to tokyo to celebrate the twins’ birthday. he’d feel guilty if he missed it, but did they really have to schedule it for today? certainly ‘tsumu had remembered what day it was. “don’ really think i’d be muchuva good time.”

“‘samu,” atsumu sighed, walking further into his brother’s room, “i know s’hard for ya, but don’ ya think it’s ‘bout time ya stop sulkin’ over it?” he sat at the edge of ‘samu’s bed, not wanting to invade his space too much. “i mean, i know they meant a lot t’ya ‘nd all, but s’been years. y/n wouldn’t want ya to still be so stuck.”

osamu wanted to scoff at his brother, but he knew ‘tsumu meant well. afterall, it was a little pathetic for him to be sulking in his room over someone at the age of twenty-four. it was easy for ‘tsumu to say all of those things. even though it felt unfair to hold over his brother’s head, you two had only been friends. osamu had been dating you. for a long time, at that. two and a half years together before you ran away, not counting the years of friendship before that. doing the math in his head quickly, it had been close to five years that you had known each other.

osamu hated the idea of you being gone for longer than he had known you.

“dunno. gimme a few hours, ‘nd i’ll get back to ya,” osamu tried to dismiss his brother, which thankfully worked. he enjoyed living with his brother, ‘tsumu was away a lot of the time anyway for volleyball games or whatever so he got to spend most of his time alone. but on the other hand it meant that on days like today, when all osamu wanted to do was rot in his bed, ‘tsumu made that harder. they always had each other’s best interest in mind, and sometimes that was infuriating. 

osamu laid in his bed for another hour before he decided that going out with his friends would be the best. he missed them, the five of them never had time to get together anymore. he was pretty sure the last time they had all been together would’ve been when kita introduced them to his girlfriend (also when they announced their pregnancy). the baby had definitely been born by now and osamu still hadn’t met him. that wasn’t entirely his fault though, whenever he’d go to the kita’s farm for more fresh rice (osamu refused to get anything else for onigiri miya, he trusted kita with his life and restaurant) mrs. kita would be out with their son, or osamu had been in too much of a rush to meet the little one. and don’t begin bring up suna’s girlfriend- osamu was pretty sure suna would never let him live down the fact that they hadn’t met yet.

osamu somehow just realize how horrible he had been to his friend’s and their families.

with a sigh, osamu found himself standing in front of the mirror hanging off the back of his bathroom door. he frowned at the sight of himself, hair a wreck wearing the same onigiri miya shirt from his previous day’s work. he hadn’t realized that he looked just as bad as he felt until just now (probably because this was the first time he had really gotten out of bed for the day).

it took him twenty minutes in the shower to feel like he had gotten the previous day’s work ick off his body; and an additional five minutes of standing under the showerhead as the water got colder to convince himself going out was a good idea. he hadn’t officially told ‘tsumu yet, so it wasn’t too late to back out. he didn’t want to be around a bunch of people who’d be enjoying themselves, laughing like today wasn’t a bad day for all of them. for him.

“‘samu have ya decided- oh, ya showered!” atsumu had a wide smile on his face, one that made osamu realize immediately that he wouldn’t be able to tell his brother no. “so yer comin’ out with us?” asumu studied his brother’s face closely, watching as his expression went from ‘no, ya moron’ to ‘fine, i guess’.

“yes.”

“awesome!” atsumu cheered, immediately pulling out his phone to text their little group chat they’d had since high school (that osamu had muted since almost the day it started- suna sent way too many memes back in the day). “we’ll leave ‘ere soon, that okay?” it didn’t really matter what ‘samu would say back, atsumu knew if he left it to his brother they’d never leave. “i’ll be knockin’ in fifteen.”

— – - – — – - – —

he didn’t know it at the time, but osamu would soon learn the universe works in mysterious ways.

he didn’t regret going out with the other’s, not by any means. getting to know kita’s fiancée and suna’s girlfriend had been an amazing time, they meshed into the group very well. he couldn’t believe he hadn’t done this sooner (don’t let him lie, he absolutely could believe it). but it didn’t take long for his mind to wander, thinking he could hear your voice in the crowded bar.

even though he knew that your voice had probably changed over the last six years, he figured it hadn’t changed that much. and he knew that he’d be able to pick your laugh out of a stadium full of people (he did often during highschool volleyball games). he kept looking around the bar trying to find out, thinking he had been casual enough with it that the other’s wouldn’t notice.

but atsumu did, of course. because of course atsumu would, he sense a shift in ‘samu from the other side of the house. he watched with a nervous face as ‘samu looked around the room, a hurt-puppy type expression on his face. he sighed, realizing now that maybe he shouldn’t have had ‘samu come out with them. even if they were celebrating their birthday, and it wouldn’t be the same without him, it was a hard day for him. if he were being honest, atsumu requested they do it on this day intentionally. they all had a hard time today, even if everyone else had gotten over it more than ‘samu had. they all found themselves mourning the loss of their friend, and being together to do so would be better than the five of them doing it alone.

atsumu nudged kita, who was sat next to him. silently signaling the older man to get ‘samu’s attention. “osamu,” kita grabbed his younger friend’s attention, “how’s onigiri miya been doin’? are ya due fer more rice soon?”

“oh,” osamu let out a little nervous laugh, running his hand though his hair, “meant to get to ya about that soon, but didn’t want to talk business while we were out,” he smiled at them, “i’ll probably order double the amount that i did last time. the more i buy the bigger discount, right?”

kita smiled, a chuckled escaping his lips. “sure, i guess i can manage that fer ya,” he gave osamu a nod before changing the topic to something that osamu didn’t have to put his full attention into. 

suna’s girlfriend started chatting to kita and his fiance about wedding things, aran, ‘tsumu, and suna all chatting about recent volleyball things. he knew they weren’t doing it intentionally, but osamu felt very alone. a feeling he had never felt while sitting in the group of his brother and best friends, he hated it.

osamu had been ready to leave, standing to excuse himself from the table and say goodnight to his friends. but something told him to look to his left, a weird little twinge in his stomach, the same feeling he’d got when he told ‘tsumu he wasn’t going to pursue volleyball. dread, guilt, hope. he almost had to do a double take, but god you were unmistakable. sitting at the table with a friend at the other side of the bar.

“‘samu, the hell ‘re ya- oh my god,” atsumu looked in the direction that ‘samu had been, his eyes falling straight to you as well. “well i’ll be damned..” he wasn’t sure what to do. on one hand, he wanted to go up to you. he wanted to ask you how you’d been, where you’d been. but, even with their sharp stares, you hadn’t noticed them, though he almost wished you had. you probably would’ve left if you saw them, and that would’ve been better for all of everyone.

by now the others noticed osamu standing completely still with an awestruck look on his face and atsumu staring in the same direction. osamu was too focused on your face to really hear what they said, but he definitely heard your name and a few profanities whispered.

“y/n, keep it casual, but there’s an entire table of hot guys staring at you,” your friend whispered, lightly shoving her head to your right. “like, really hot, holy shit.” at this point her face had turned a light shade of pink.

subtly had never been your thing; but surely if they had all been staring long enough for your very oblivious friend to notice then they wouldn’t mind if you made eye contact with at least one of them. you had it planned out in your mind already, you’d glance over your shoulder to meet eyes with one of the ‘hot’ men, wink, and then leave them (hopefully) flustered. maybe they’d argue over who you had winked at and have a little competition trying to get your number or something.

you brushed your hair over your shoulder, mentally replaying your little plan over and over in your head. eye contact, wink, look away. you were confident in yourself, excited to get a free drink or two from a guy probably far too drunk to be making financial decisions. however you did not expect to be greeted by the shocked faces of four of your high school best friends, and the heartbroken look from the boyfriend you never officially broke up with.

it felt like the wind had been knocked out of you the second you met osamu’s eyes. like you were going to throw up or pass out, maybe both. everything you had been hiding from for the last six years stood right in front of you now and you didn’t know how to react. it seemed like osamu didn’t either.

“wait, that’s miya atsumu,” your friend whispered, realizing now that she knew the blond man, “like the volleyball player..”

“jesus, i know who they are,” you finally took your eyes off of osamu to gare at your friend. it wasn’t her fault, she didn’t know. you never told her about things before you came to tokyo, you figured the less you spoke of it the easier it would be to get over. and you were right for awhile, you had somehow managed to stop thinking about the twins and everyone else every single day after a year and a half of living in tokyo. now they only occupied your mind on days like their birthdays (the twins turned 24 yesterday), and the day you left.

today.

your friend seemed to notice the tension and excused herself to the bathroom, leaving you alone under the men’s stare. you didn’t look back up, rather directed your eyes down to the drink in front of you.

neither you or osamu wanted to be the first one to move. he felt like if he got any closer to you that you’d disappear. even though everyone else could clearly see you. he heard kita and suna explaining the situation to their partners, the recounting of his memories causing a pain in his chest: they didn’t know you. had kita and suna really never spoken about you? he hated that they all made it seem like you never existed after you left.

“are ya gonna go o’er there?” atsumu whispered to ‘samu, pushing him toward you. it had been three solid minutes of silence and staring, and atsumu had gotten tired of it. he knew that if he didn’t force his brother to go over there nothing would happen, because you definitely weren’t making any kind of effort to talk to them.

osamu’s body moved with the shove, finding himself standing right in front of you. his facial expression had finally changed from shock to pain as he sat in the free chair next to you. he knew he needed to think about what he would say next, worried that if he didn’t think it through he’d say something he’d regret.

what are you doing here? where have you been?

why did you leave me?

you finally looked away from your drink and spoke up, “we should go somewhere else and talk, miya,” you watched the way he reacted to being called by his last name. you had never done that before, because the twins hated being called by their last name. but it had been too long to call him anything else.

“since when d’ya call me that?” osamu let out a dry chuckle, unamused by your use of his surname. still he followed you outside, finally finding the right words to express the way he felt. “what the fuck, l/n,” your last name tasted sour in his mouth, he hated calling you that. but still, he hissed your name.

you flinched at osamu’s harsh use of language, you weren’t sure you had ever heard him speak that way to you before. not that you didn’t deserve it, of course you deserved it after everything you’d put him through. but still, you couldn’t help but shrink into yourself. “i know. i know i have a lot of explaining to do,” you hid your face in your hands, stopping in your place. it was late, only an hour or so until the bars would start closing, so the streets were empty. really only the two of you outside. “i just, i can’t. i don’t know what to say,”

“how ‘bout ya start with an apology?” he glared, but as soon as he saw the look on your face he felt guilty. how could he not when you look at him with those eyes? still, he kept his composure. “maybe an explanation as t’where ya’ve been the last six years?”

you struggled for a second, trying to find the right words. but there weren’t any, not really. none that could heal the pain you’ve caused him over the last six years, none that could even begin to make any sense to osamu. “i’m sorry,” you looked down at your fingers, picking at your cuticles, “really, i am. i would’ve told you that i was leaving but i couldn’t.”

“couldn’t?” osamu wanted to laugh, “y/n ya knew i would’ve followed ya to the ends of the earth if ya asked me. how could ya feel like ya couldn’t tell me?”

“that’s the issue, ‘samu!” your voice grew louder and broke, the lump in your throat making it’s way up. “you had so much going for you in hyogo. i couldn’t tell you i was leaving because i’d never forgive myself if you followed. and you would’ve. and i couldn’t let you talk me out of it. i had to go.” you tried not to let your tears fall. you didn’t deserve to cry, this wasn’t your moment. this was his, you needed to let him have it. he needed this.

it took osamu a full thirty seconds to process what you had said. you were right, if you had told him you were packing up and leaving he’d try and talk you out of it. and when (not if, because he knew you were very stubborn) that didn’t work, he’d go with you. but how could he not, even at eighteen osamu was pretty sure you were the person he would marry. he couldn’t see himself with anyone else. “so yer solution was t’disappear? not even havin’ the balls t’break up with me before hand?”

his words stung, you had to remind yourself that he needed to get this out. “it made sense at the time, ‘samu! i was eighteen. i needed away, it was a last minute decision. i spent all my money to get to tokyo in the middle of the night because i was too afraid that if i didn’t do it right then i’d be stuck and stay forever,” you weren’t trying to make excuses, you hoped he know that. “and once i was in tokyo, i didn’t want you to know. you would’ve skipped school, dropped all your plans, to come and find me. i figured if i ghosted, you’d worry for awhile and then get over it. get over me.”

get over you? surely you had to be joking, right? “do ya really believe that i had gotten over ya? that just leaving would make me magically forget ‘bout ya or somethin’? yer smarter than that, y/n,” osamu rolled his eyes, “i had it planned out in my head, how it’d go if i ever saw ya again. wanted t’give ya a piece of my mind and then leave ya standin’ alone dealin’ with it by yerself. but now that ‘m here, now that we’re here, all i can think about is how bad i missed ya this whole time. how ya still look the way i ‘member ya did.” osamu felt thankful you two had stopped in a dimly lit area, so you couldn’t see the redness in his face. he wasn’t sure if it had been from anger or embarrassment, but either way he didn’t want you to see it.

he felt pathetic. how could all of his anger fade away so quickly only to be replaced with the love he had never stopped feeling toward you? “couldja at leas’ break up with me? lemme move on ‘nd all,” his voice broke, a hand running down his face. he was trying not to cry, osamu hated crying. 

the crack in osamu’s voice caught your attention. until this point you hadn’t understood how upset he had really been. you expected anger, maybe hatred. but for him to cry? you wouldn’t have expected that from him. even though you knew he wasn’t one to hold onto emotions like that, he had always been more mellow than his twin. at least in the years you had known him he had been. but osamu was different now, you could see that. his face may look the same, but he kept his hair natural now and his shoulders looked wider. everything about him just seemed more mature. “let you move on? ‘samu don’t tell me you’ve been alone this whole time?”

alone wasn’t the right word, surely. osamu wouldn’t describe himself a lonely, but he did stay single. he had told ‘tsumu (and everyone else) that it was because he wanted to focus on onigiri miya and everything else going on in his life the whole time. “nah, been too focused on the shop t’date. s’all,” he refused to tell you that he hadn’t dated anyone in six years because it felt wrong. whether it be because you two had never officially broken up or because he was just so in love with you that he didn’t want to be with anyone else (was there really a difference?) he wasn’t sure.

you knew osamu was lying, as it seemed his tells hadn’t changed over the years. but even if you wanted him to tell you the truth, you knew he would only tell you when he felt ready. so you didn’t push it any further. “maybe we should get together tomorrow,” you offered the idea, knowing osamu probably had a lot he wanted to say but in the moment he couldn’t find any of his words.

osamu wanted to object, he was worried that if he agreed to meet up tomorrow then you’d just disappear again. he’d have no chance of finding you if you ran off again. “‘m not sure that’s-”

“i won’t run off again,” you shook your head, knowing what he was trying to say before he even finished. he was right to be worrisome about it, you couldn’t blame him. “here,” you pulled out your phone and sent him a text, watching as he pulled it out at the sound of a text. you didn’t really want to tell him that you’d kept his number saved in your phone all these years just in case you decided to reach out, but he needed the extra level of reassurance. “now you know i won’t just run away. i really mean it, we should meet up tomorrow and talk about this some more.” 

you could see the hesitance in his face, you felt bad that this was all happening. it was your fault, after all. maybe if you hadn’t been a stupid eighteen year old, if you had stopped being selfish for just a second back then, things wouldn’t be like this now.

you honestly wondered if things would’ve stayed the same between you and osamu. would you two have stayed together? would he still be running his restaurant here in tokyo (which yes, you knew about. your friends tried to drag you there on multiple occasions but you always found your way out, somehow)? there were so many things you knew you missed out on when running away, but you didn’t think you’d miss things you never had this badly.

“meet me at the shop,” osamu offers, “i open late on mondays. be there ‘round 11?” 

of course he opened late on mondays. they had always been his least favorite day of the week, and now that he was in control of his schedule it didn’t surprise you that he’d make it that way. “i’ll be there.”

— – - – — – - – —

having all night to clear his head and put his thoughts into words didn’t really help osamu at all. in fact, he could barely sleep that night. he’d be running onigiri miya off of steam and vibes alone today.

maybe starting off his day with talking things out with you hadn’t been the best idea osamu had ever had. it would set the tone for the rest of the day, so he could only hope that it went well. though he wasn’t sure how it could, the best ending for the two of you would probably be to never speak again, if he were being honest with himself.

but that’s not what osamu wanted.

even though it was stupid of him (‘tsumu wouldn’t let him hear the end of it the night before), osamu knew that he didn’t want to just call things quits and give up. he was never much of a quitter before, and he sure as hell wasn’t now. but it would be hard, he knew that. to even begin to build any amount of trust between the two of you would take ages. you’d be lucky if things got better within a year.

when you showed up to onigiri miya you could see osamu moving around inside through the windows. he seemed worked up, pacing around in his own world. you watched him jump when you knocked on the door, a wave of relief seeming to wash over him when he saw your face. it made you feel bad, he had probably been nervous all morning as to whether or not you were actually going to show.

“mornin’,” he greeted, unlocking to door to let you in and relocking it behind you. he made sure that the sign was flipped to closed and that none of the exterior lights were on yet, he didn’t want anyone to interrupt this talk between you. “how’d ya sleep?”

like shit. you wanted to tell him, but you refrained. “good morning, i slept okay. yourself?” the tension between the two of you remained thick, neither of you wanted to be the first to break it. this was your mess, therefore your job to fix it. “so did you uh, get to think about things? collect all your thoughts?”

osamu sucked in a breath. even though that was the main reason you were both here (well, main reason you were here. this is his job), he wasn’t sure if he were ready yet. though if he were being honest, he’d probably never be ready. “i’ll let ya go first,” he sat down at a table, gesturing for you to sit across from him. you obliged, figuring that it was better than standing.

“i guess, is it stupid to ask if you’re mad at me?” you gave a small, pathetic little chuckle. you already knew the answer to that question. “i’m not even sure how i convinced myself that running away was a good idea. i know i told you last night that i had to do it right then or i thought i’d be stuck. i stand by that, i wouldn’t have left if i hadn’t done it right then. but you guys didn’t deserve to just be left in the dark like that. you didn’t deserve that, ‘samu. not from someone you loved,”

love. he wanted to correct you, but held back. “i wanna be mad at ya, i really do. t’be honest, y/n ya really deserve me t’be mad at ya. i jus’, i really need ya t’break up with me,” he was worried he sounded just as pathetic as he felt, asking for that. as if you disappearing hadn’t been a very clear indication of a breakup. but without the real words, osamu felt sick to his stomach any time he even thought about being with someone else. at least now he’d be able to try and move on properly.

“right,” you puffed out your cheeks. why were you so nervous? ‘breaking up’ shouldn’t be a big thing, you two had been apart all this time. so why now were you so hesitant? the thought of saying those words to osamu made you feel like you couldn’t breathe. your chest tightening as you tried to find the words. “osamu i… i think we should break up,”

comments, like, and reblogs appreciated!! <3

#osamu miya x reader #osamu miya angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu angst #miya osamu #osamu miya #six years passed #syp!osamu #syp!reader

[noosayog]

[Reciprocity] you leave Osamu at the altar despite wanting more than anything to say yes

wc: 600

warnings/content: angst to fluff, arranged marriage au

“I can’t do it.” 

You leave Osamu at the altar. It’s painstakingly dramatic, the way you run the wrong way down the aisle, dress hiked up with shaky hands. 

It’s a quiet corner in the cherry tree grove, where the reception after the ceremony was supposed to take place. The whole place was lined in string lights, perfect white lily and baby’s breath arrangements on tables, and candles to bathe the space in a romantic, intimate light. According to the program, you, and the man you are very much in love with, should be having a celebratory toast and dancing the night away with friends and family in this very spot in two and a half hours. But you’re here now, hours ahead of schedule, alone, and sobbing uncontrollably. 

“Hey.” 

It’s the only person capable of making you cry like this. 

He sits down next to you, keeping a respectable 5-feet distance between you two. 

“I thought, when we talked last night, you were still okay with going through with this.” 

I am, you think. I want to be with you so bad but- 

“I thought we agreed that we could be good together even if this was arranged by our parents.” 

And you did think that last night. When it was just the two of you and you weren’t standing at the altar. It was when the two of you were in just your sleepwear, in the privacy of your shared home.

But today, you were in a wedding gown, standing in front of a crowd, staring into the man of your dream’s eyes, and you felt anything but beautiful. 

How can I promise to be yours, knowing that I fully mean it, but you don't? 

“I’m sorry, Osamu. I’m so sorry, but I just can’t.” 

After a long moment of silence, he says, “okay.” 

You don’t know what okay means, but it sounds a lot like “it’s over.” 

“Okay,” he repeats. “I went along with our parents’ wishes because ya were okay with it. I don’t want to do anything ya don’t want to do.” 

What about you? What do you want, you want to ask. The indifference towards his own wedding was heartbreaking. Maybe if he had the right partner, he would care more. 

He stands up and holds his hand out to you. “Let’s go back and call it off.” 

If only you could tell him how badly you didn’t want to take his hand. Taking his hand now would be the death knell to your foolish hopes and dreams of a life with him. How ironic. 

At your hesitance, he retracts his hand and crouches down to come back to your eye level. When your eyes meet his, he’s looking at you intensely. Despite his usual aloof demeanor, Osamu has always been this way: open, with his heart on his sleeve. He’s always been clear that he would only do what you wanted to do. 

“I haven’t been as straightforward as I should’ve been during this entire… process. I should’ve told ya this before we even moved in together, but I’m in love with ya. I love ya. We don’t have to get married now if yer not ready. We don’t have to ever, if ya don’t want to. But on the off chance that ya could love me, I want to be with ya.” 

He holds his hand out, this time, with entirely different meaning. 

You don’t hesitate in throwing your arms around his neck, savoring the deep grunt by your ear when he reels back from the impact, and blubbering your apologies and reasonings for why you couldn’t say yes. It’s all unintelligible to anyone else, but you know Osamu understands because he lifts you up, holding you close to him, whispering a soft “it’s okay,” and kissing your worries away.

#noos writes #haikyuu angst #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #hq x reader #hq x y/n #hq x you #hq fluff #hq angst #hq imagines #miya osamu #osamu miya #miya osamu angst #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu fluff #osamu x you #osamu miya fluff #osamu miya angst

[emmyrosee]

you asked for angst and I hate angst but imma give you some bc I love you.

It is widely accepted that the Miya twins dad is not in the picture. Mama Miya is a single mom and is worshipped by her twin boys. They always prioritize taking care of her bc "she's got no one else but us". Which is great, its one of the reason why you feel in love with your man. But it becomes a hindrance when he starts missing out on things important to you. Esp when their mom didn't even need them there at that moment.

Could work for either Osamu or Atsumu.

I hate my brain.

LIT RALLY HAD A PIECE SIMILAR TO THIS IN THE WORKS BUT I GOT TOO SCARED TO POST IT ABDBEJSBEEI SO THIS IS NOW MY OUTLET 😯🫶🏻

—-

The moon is high in the sky when Osamu finally comes home, your hands buried in the sink as you wash dishes that have been sitting there far too long.

You’d asked osamu to do it, but he hasn’t even been home to look at them. A phone call from his mother took him straight from work to her house almost two hours away, leaving you to your own thoughts and feelings.

You adored Ms. Miya. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was your feeling of neglect brewing in your chest, with each time he leaves you with no regard for your needs.

“Hey Angel,” he hums as he finally crosses over the threshold, toeing off his shoes and tossing his keys on the hook. He says nothing when you merely grunt back, but he does make his way over for a kiss.

You return his kiss, despite your own desires to not, you just wanted to be close to him again, feel his hands cradling your body and relight the love in your soul.

“How was your night?”

“Quiet,” you sigh. “Just… cleaning up from dinner.”

“Shit, you made dinner?” At that moment, his stomach growls, “I was so busy at Ma’s I didn’t get the chance to eat. Do we have leftovers?”

You nod sadly, “yeah. Help yourself.”

“…everything okay?”

“Peachy.”

He clears his throat and picks up a plate from the strainer, “are you sure…? these used to have a design on them.”

You scrub harder.

“Talk to me, baby. I don’t like us keeping secrets from each other.”

“We don’t have secrets. If you can’t use your cognitive thinking skills as to why the person you’re going to marry is mad at you, that’s not my problem.”

“Is this about today?” He asks, voice dropping in defeat.

“Usually is.”

“Baby, you know I-“

The plate snaps under the force of your scrubbing, but you don’t focus on that, though osamu’s brows shoot up.

“Your mother needs you, your mother comes first, your mother asked you, your mother this, your mother that, I KNOW, OSAMU!” You bark, wet fists balled angrily and teeth gritted sharply. “I know the damn drill!”

He takes a step back and raises his hands in surrender, but his brows are furrowed in worry, “hey… it’s okay-“

“It’s not okay!” You yell. Your hands come up to grip your chest, “what about when I need you? Hmm? Where’s my turn to be selfish and need you-“

“My mother is not selfish,” he growls. His brows furrow, “you damn know that.”

You roll your eyes, “no, she’s not. But I want to be. I want to be the big important thing in your life for once, I want to be the thing you run to; I want to be the one you drop everything for.”

“You are, but she needed me today, atsumu couldn’t make it-“

“Yeah, what was the big emergency today, huh? Problem with the internet? Phone bill? Fridge cleaning?”

He doesn’t say anything; merely scratches the back of his head, looking at you with tired eyes as if you’d done this dance far too many times. Which you had- but that’s not your fault.

“Tell you what,” you begin, using your wet hand to grab the engagement ring from the edge of the sink and grab his hand to put it in, “when you can give me more than 4 hours out of the day, you can propose to me again.”

He grips your hand sharply, and for a moment it snaps you back to reality for what you were saying, how venomous and toxic your words were, and your jaw slacks softly, “I… didn’t mean that-“

“We are not going to be this couple,” he snarls. “We are not going to weaponize our engagement when we get into fights. Understand?”

“It just came out-“

“Then keep it in. Do not question my love for you in such a meaningless fight. Do not give me the ring that I decided to give you back, sheerly because you’re mad at me. We’re not going to be a couple that threatens our love from each other. You know better than that.”

The room is silent, the only noise coming from the creaks of the house and osamu doesn’t let go of your hand. His eyes are firm but they shine with betrayal, and his Adams Apple bobs as he swallows thickly.

You sniffle under his intense gaze, “all I wanted was for you to come home,” you whimper. “I got a promotion at work. I cooked dinner, I bought a cake, I-I-I just wanted you to show up.” Your bottom lip wobbles as he simply nods at your words, encouraging you to speak up more if you need to. “I hate sharing you all the time. I want to be selfish and have you come home to me, and not have to wonder about when or if you’re going to come home because of how far away she lives.” He lets go of your hand to wipe a stream of tears that dribble from your eye.

“I just miss you, ‘samu…”

He takes a deep inhale in before pulling you in for a hug, cradling you close and letting you cry in his chest. “Thank you, for being honest,” he says softly, kissing your head. “It must be frustrating to have to share my attention, especially when you have something important to tell me.” He lets you cry it out for a few minutes, before squeezing you closer, “but you have to communicate with me. You have to tell me if you’re feeling neglected. I can’t be here if I don’t know, baby.” He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “I’m sure you wanted to surprise me today, and I’m sorry that fell through.”

You nod in his chest, relishing in the smell of rice and cologne, mewling and squeezing him tighter.

“How about we take tomorrow off?” He hums, pulling back to cradle your cheek in his big hand. “We can celebrate your promotion, and be together, yeah?”

“W-What about the shop?” You whimper. “That’s more important-“

“No.” He pulls back and looks down firmly. “Don’t finish that sentence. The shop will be plenty fine for one day.” He smiles softly, “after all. Need to celebrate my baby’s big break.”

You give him a watery laugh before inching to be closer to him again, more than anything just glad to be in his vicinity after so long.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” you whispered.

“Hmm… what was that?” He asks, cheekily.

Brat.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” you repeat, this time with some giggles.

“One more time?”

“Osamu!”

He snickers and places a kiss on top of your head, “I’m so sorry I was busy with Ma all day. I didn’t think it would take that long.”

“What did she need?”

“Eh, she needed her oil changed and god knows atsumu’s not going to do that.”

You laugh against his chest and nod, “he’d never risk messing up his hair like that.”

“Never.”

#osamu miya #osamu miya angst #osamu miya x reader #osamu miya x gn!reader #osamu miya x reader angst #osamu miya imagine #osamu miya haikyuu #miya osamu #miya osamu angst #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader angst #miya osamu x gn!reader #miya osamu imagine #miya osamu haikyuu #haikyuu #haikyuu angst #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader angst #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x gn!reader #haikyuu x yn #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #hurt to comfort #hurt/comfort

[rinslutz]

HOW IT ENDS   ࿔ CHARACTERS

distance makes the heart grow fonder” is what you tried to convince yourself of when you left to study overseas. your main fear was that your long-distance relationship with suna would fail. your biggest fear becomes your biggest nightmare when you’re sent a video of suna making out with a girl at a party.

𓊘 M.LIST | NEXT

taglist: (open)

@rntrsuna @sukunasrealgf @cloudsinthecosmos @daiception @miss-manupilative @sunarintarouswhore @highhjime

#series: how it ends #haikyuu angst #haikyuu smau series #haikyuu smau #smau #suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro #suna x y/n #suna x female reader #osamu #miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #osamu smau #miya osamu smau #suna smau #suna rintaro angst #miya osamu angst #suna rintaro smau #suna angst #osamu angst

[teamatsumu]

was i meant to love you? (last part)

pairing: miya osamu x reader

summary: the kanji on your arm says miya atsumu’s name. but every fiber of your being is in love with his twin brother.

word count: 1501

warnings: swearing, some angst, happy ending

tags: @hadukada @utopiamiroh @angstylittleb1tch @sassycheesecake @i-have-no-life-charlie @tsukiran-blog @mommyourcall420 @ak-aaa-li @ti-mame @ellesalazar @seijaelee @hiraethwa

a/n: this is so late im so sorry writers block is a little bitch but omg this is the last part! I hope you all like it xx

previous part // series masterlist

The living room was hardly silent, between the sitcom playing on TV and Atsumu’s incredibly loud chewing, but it still felt like the air was thick and still around you. You were sure it was just you, and not Atsumu who felt this way. It likely had to do with your apprehension, trying to prepare yourself for the topic at hand. You remembered Osamu’s words, drawing confidence from his encouragement. You tried to revise in your head how to approach this, but your bravery was failing you.

How the hell were you supposed to tell your soulmate that you weren’t in love with him?

Osamu’s platonic soulmates theory didn’t sound all too convincing to you, but hearing that it came from Kita did give you some confidence. You were sure Kita would never put forth an idea that he didn’t consider to have merit. So maybe there was some weight to his words. You were still on the fence though. It all depended on what Atsumu had to say about it.

Speaking of, you watched Atsumu slurp down his ramen like it was his last meal on earth, and you could empathize with him. His routine was grueling. A lot went into being a pro athlete, much more than you could have anticipated. You almost felt bad for springing this on him after a tiring day when he was trying to wind down. But you didn’t exactly have any other opportunity for it.

You cleared your throat and shifted in place, turning so you were facing Atsumu instead of the TV. He turned to look at you, slurping up a noodle dangling from his mouth before licking his lips and giving you a look.

“I need to talk to you about something.” You fidgeted with your fingers, unable to look him in the eye. Atsumu seemed to freeze, leaning forward to place his bowl on the coffee table before facing you and giving you his full attention. Somehow that made it harder for you to get the words out. Your mouth opened and closed like a dumb goldfish. Several moments passed.

Atsumu’s hand landed on top of your own, halting the nervous movements of your fingers. You closed your eyes, feeling a sudden wave of shame wash over you.

“Just say it.” He spoke gently, as if understanding the turmoil going on in your head. You looked up at him, at the calming brown of his eyes and the soft curl of his mouth, and you felt yourself tear up.

“You don’t deserve this.” You breathed, shaking your head. “I can’t do this to you. I’m a horrible person.”

His lip ticked up in a little smile. “Ya gotta give me more than that, babe. I have no idea what yer talkin’ about.”

“I don’t-” You felt the words pour out of you like vomit. “I don’t think I love you. Not like I should. And it’s tearing me apart because I care for you so much and Osamu told me about this thing called platonic soulmates which sounds like bullshit, I know, but it explains the way I’m feeling! But sometimes I just feel like I’m a bad person and this is my way of justifying it-”

“Wait-”

“And I do love you. So much Tsumu, you’re my closest friend and you understand me so well but I don’t feel it romantically at all, which is so fucked up-”

“Hey!” You stopped short, staring at the man before you with teary eyes. You expected him to look horrified. Maybe confused. Definitely hurt. But all you saw was amusement.

“Ya gotta cool it.” He grinned, running a hand through your hair while the other squeezed yours comfortingly.

“S-sorry.” You choked out, sniffling a bit.

Atsumu sighed, staring down at your joined hands. The moment was silent except your wet sniffles, and the very low volume of the TV playing in the background. You watched as Atsumu smiled a bit.

“I’m relieved.” He spoke up, and you blinked at his words. “I always thought I was a fuckin’ asshole, ya know? ‘Cause yer so beautiful and a great person. But kissing ya was kinda painful.”

You gasped. “Hey!”

“Yer telling me the thought of layin’ a smooch on me didn’t make ya wanna barf?” Atsumu retaliated, and you fell silent, still sneering. He chuckled a bit, shaking his head.

“What did ya say it was called?”

“Platonic soulmates.”

Atsumu hummed. “Makes sense. Yer my best friend.”

You smiled at that, squeezing his hand. “And you’re mine.”

When he opened his arms, you fell into them, reveling in his embrace. Somehow, it felt ten times better than any time you had hugged him. You figured it had to do with the fact that your chronic guilt was not bothering you anymore. You buried your face in Atsumu’s neck.

“I love ya.”

“I love you, too.”

A bout of silence.

“But not like that.”

You let out a laugh. “I get it, Tsumu.”

“Just wanted ta make it clear.”

“Shut up.”

And he did. You smiled and settled into him, feeling lighter than you had in years.

……………………

When Osamu saw the look on Atsumu’s face, he immediately froze. He knew, in that instant, that you had talked to his brother. He just knew Atsumu too well to not know any change in his demeanor. And his demeanor had definitely changed. Except it wasn’t the change he was expecting.

Atsumu looked more relaxed. Happier, even? Maybe that was going too far. But then his twin was grinning up at him and settling into a stool in front of the counter, and Osamu could no longer ignore the spring in his step.

“What’s got ya so preppy?” He tested, trying not to build up his hope. Atsumu grinned.

“I just got answers ta some really old questions.” He replied, and Osamu raised an eyebrow.

“Wanna tell me what yer talkin’ about?”

And Atsumu did, sounding jovial, and with a light tone. Osamu stayed rock still as he spoke, unable to believe that Atsumu too had felt this way his whole life. He was almost shocked that he had missed such a huge part of his brother’s feelings, but it was overshadowed by the kindling of hope in his chest at the prospect that he could actually be with the girl he loved.

So when Atsumu had stopped talking, and Osamu had served him a plate of fresh Onigiri, he worked up the courage to drop another bomb on his twin. One that was arguably worse than the Platonic Soulmates one.

“Tsumu,” he began. “What do ya think about her datin’…. someone else?”

“Hm?” Atsumu looked up at his brother. “Why? She like someone?”

Osamu nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He finally let the words leave his mouth.

“M-me.”

Atsumu stopped eating then, eyes meeting Osamu’s. Osamu felt like he was holding his breath, heart racing.

“I like her too. Uh, it’s- I’ve liked her for a while. Didn’t do anythin’ for obvious reasons, ya know.”

Atsumu sighed, turning back to his plate. He bit into another rice ball.

“What is this? Kimchi mayo? It’s real good.”

Osamu blinked, trying to fight off his incredulity in favor of staring down his brother.

“Are ya for real?”

Atsumu rolled his eyes. “Samu, ‘m not really shocked. It’s pretty obvious ya got a thing for her. And I don’t have anything with her at all, so if ya wanna date, go ahead.”

Then he gave Osamu a lopsided grin, and Osamu felt like everything in the universe had just fallen into place.

“Ya better not break her heart though. She’s still my soulmate.”

Osamu’s smile was genuine. His relief was immense. He felt almost stupid with joy at that point. And he realized he gave Atsumu far less credit than his due. His brother had just stumped him completely, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

“I won’t.”

………………….

Your and Osamu’s first kiss wasn’t anything to write home about. It was at a train station, rushed and messy, so quick that you almost didn’t feel it. It was immediately followed by a feeling of regret, panic and guilt. Something you both wanted so bad, but couldn’t have. So forbidden that it broke your heart into pieces.

Your second kiss was the exact opposite in every single way. Everything that had broken your heart seemed to mend now. Heart and stomachs both full after the wonderful date you had just been on, when Osamu finally leaned down to press his lips on yours. It felt like every fiber of your body had been pulled taut and then released, and your hands felt shaky as you finally allowed them to run over his body. His own grip was worryingly tight, arms enveloping you completely, not that you minded. You reveled in the feeling of his mouth, hoping you never stopped kissing him. Hoping he never let you go.

The kiss did end. But he never let you go.

#miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #miya osamu fluff #miya osamu angst #miya osamu x you #miya osamu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu angst #hq angst #hq fluff #miya atsumu x reader

[mavrintarou]

Lord Miya Osamu [3-end]

One more series to cross off my bucket list! Thank you for hanging on to Lord Osamu's bandwagon! I'm not sure who is next but stay tune! If you're new, this is the last part and you can find the first two in my masterlist or the link below. I do have other Lord series for some of the other characters, check them out!

Warning: angst; fluff; explicit smut

Second part

.

The engagement to the Imai’s daughter ended mutually and shortly after and their daughter met and married her husband.

After being dismissed from the Matsui’s, Osamu returned home completely devastated.

His parents has never seen their youngest son in such a state that they didn’t know what to do.

He slept his pain away and spoke to no one. His food would return untouched and cold.

The colors in his life slowly fading by the day.

Atsumu and his sister-in-law were the only ones who could really talk some sense into him.

After two months, Osamu finally left the compound.

That was only at the request of Lord Aran.

He is guided to the main room where he can hear mumblings of two people.

“He needs to know…”

“I know, dear, but you mustn’t stress –“

The servant announced Osamu’s arrival.

He greets his old friend and his wife and wasn’t surprised when his eyes landed on her bulging belly.

“Congratulations Lord Aran and Lady Aran.” Osamu said with excitement, the most excitement he’s heard in his own tone.

The gentle giant gives Osamu a soft smile but not his pregnant wife. She turns away, one hand resting behind her back and one hand at her belly.

Osamu looks at Ojiro with confusion.

“We have… uh – you see… Saeko she asked for –“

“I demanded, Ojiro. Demanded.” The pregnant woman corrected.

Ojiro nod and sighed, “she demanded that you come here immediately because she has something to…” he glances back at his wife who narrows her eyes at him before he turns his attention back to Osamu. “We have something to tell you.”

Osamu’s eyes switches from his friend and to his wife. What could the pair have to tell him?

“You see,” Ojiro struggles, “my brother-in-law has returned and he has informed Saeko –“

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Lady Aran shouted, wobbling over to the two men.

Osamu still confused at the tension in the room. “I don’t understand? Is there something I should know –“

“Yes!” She rests a hand on Ojiro’s shoulder for support. “Y/n is pregnant!”

Ojiro inhales sharply, mumbling a what happened to letting me do the talking.

The blank look on Osamu’s face had Saeko waving her hand in front of his face. “Lord Miya? Did you hear me?”

Osamu flinched hearing his name. “Yes,” he uttered. Hearing Y/n’s name put him in a state of shock, but hearing she is pregnant nearly made him brain dead.

His Y/n, pregnant by another man.

“Did you… hear me?” she repeated.

“Yes,” he answered, slightly annoyed. “Yes I heard you, I am… happy for her.”

Lady Aran tilt her head, her ears turning red by the second. “Happy… for… her?”

Osamu wasn’t sure why she was growling, “if you want me to congratulate her, Lady Aran, I cannot. Quite frankly I am not really happy for her either –“

“You fool!” she yelled, grabbing an orange from the fruit bowl, and chucking it right at Osamu’s chest.

He gasped, a hand rubbing the sore spot she just threw the orange at. Ojiro immediately tries to console his wife, but she pushed him aside and grabs two more fruits before swaying around the table. Osamu quickly gets up, retracting and hands out in a defense mechanism as the heavily pregnant woman charges at him at a turtle’s speed. She throws another orange and Osamu dodges it before it could hit him in the face. “You impregnant her and left her bear the pregnancy alone?!”

Osamu immediately stunned at what she just said that he was too slow to dodge when the second fruit came flying at him. The extremely ripe red apple knocked him right above his left eye.

It was as if he didn’t feel the pain or noticed the apple residue now dripping from his face. “What?”

Ojiro grabs a cloth, handing it to Osamu before trying to calm his wife down.

With one swipe, Osamu tosses the cloth aside and tries to get to Lady Aran, but Ojiro blocks him. “I need to talk to your wife, Ojiro, please move aside.”

“Just… have a seat.” Ojiro pleaded desperately.

Osamu takes a seat and impatiently waits for the couple to stop whispering to themselves. He heard bits and piece of their conversation.

I told you that Lord Osamu would not have known. I know he is not like that…

Why hasn’t he answered her letters then?

I’m not sure, that is something we need to ask him and not jump to conclusion that he did not care about Lady Miyazaki.

Osamu clears his throat, getting both their attention. “Lady Aran, please explain yourself. What do you mean by you impregnated her and left her to bear the pregnancy alone.”

She spends the next two minutes, trying to sit down across from him. “A few weeks ago, my brother did propose to Y/n again after your engagement with Lady Imai was announced.” She reaches for an apple and a knife and Osamu shifted backwards without realizing it. She begins cutting the skin of the apple, continuing, “with you marrying, Y/n thought it was the right thing to do and marry my brother since he proposed a second time.” She takes a bite out of the apple, “my brother respected our cousin Tadashi and when he passed away from his illness, he brought it up our parents offering to marry Y/n but said no the first time.”

Ojiro reaches over to take the small knife out of her hand since she was waving it as she was speaking. “Let me cut the peel for you, love.”

Lady Aran pushes other apple towards him and return her attention back to Osamu, “since he asked a second time, she said she consider it, but she wanted to return home to her family for some time.” Her palms slams down on the table making both men flinch. “But Satoshi took her home and things began to change!”

She took a deep breath, “she confirmed what she already suspected that she has been pregnant for some time and declined to marry my brother.”

Osamu’s breath hitched.

“My brother offered to still marry her and raise this child…” she looks straight into his eyes, “your child as his own –“

Osamu’s face darken and the atmosphere in the room changed instantly. Ojiro quickly intervened and assured, “but nothing happened, Y/n still did not proceed to marry Satoshi.” He assured with a forceful smile and chuckle.

“She stayed in her hometown with her family, she wrote to you – are you ignoring her?”

It was Osamu’s turn to slam his hands on the table, “what? She sent me a letter?”

“Yes! Letters apparently, that is why my brother is here to deliver them since you weren’t responding to her.” She snatched the apple Aran is holding out to her and chomps angrily.

Speak of the devil.

Lord Matsui Satoshi walks in hearing his sister’s upset voice. “What is going on?” His eyes falls upon her guest, “I presume Lord Miya is being informed of Lady Miyazaki’s condition?”

“Correct,” Osamu growled, standing up and walking to him. They stood shoulder to shoulder, “let’s talk in private.”

.

“Things changed during our journey back to her family home. She couldn’t keep food down and was unwell the entire time until we got to her home.”

Osamu remained quiet, refraining himself from asking questions and to listen to what he had to say.

“Even in the comfort of her own home, she wasn’t getting better. I sought a doctor and she refused, saying a doctor would not be able to assist and it was something she needed to get over.” He sighed, “I believe she knew then of her condition.”

“A few weeks past and sure enough, she did get over it. Her appetite increased and I noticed and was happy to see she had gained weight and color to her face.” He chuckled, looking straight at Lord Miya. “It wasn’t long before she was not able to hide the bump.”

Osamu’s eyes shifted to the servant that just entered the room, handing Lord Matsui a box before exiting.

Satoshi’s fingers grip hard at the box before thrusting it towards Osamu. “She wrote you letters but didn’t have the courage to send them to you. I stole them and I’m here to deliver them to you.” Osamu’s hand slightly tremble as he accepted the box. Satoshi sighed deeply, “I faith you know what you should do, but, if you do not take any action…” Satoshi move to stand shoulder to shoulder, facing the opposite direction. In a low voice, “I will.”

. .

Lifting the box cover there were a handful of letters with his name neatly scribbled on the top.

Miya ‘Samu,

I am sorry to write you this letter. As I am a coward, and I was not able to truly tell you about my feelings from the bottom of my heart.

I shouldn’t be thinking about you. I shouldn’t be wanting you. I shouldn’t even be writing you this letter.

But here I am, writing to you, ‘Samu.

I regret not telling that I love you and if we there is ever another opportunity in the next life time that I will come find you.

Miyazaki Y/n

His eyes reread the entire letter again, and again before he opened the second letter.

Miya ‘Samu,

Tonight, I dreamed of you.

But it is every night that I wish everything was different.

I wish I had the courage to tell you that I am with child, my love.

And I’m so scared.

Miyazaki Y/n

Osamu’s hands tremble as he tries to comprehend everything. “I need to go to her.”

. .

Y/n learned to ignore the whispers and the obvious glances in her direction.

She is the talk of the town, a widow, pregnant and unwedded.

Placing a protective hand around her belly, Y/n continued shopping for the necessities.

Satoshi had returned home saying he would return in a few days.

As much as she tells him she can manage, she is forever thankful of his presence. Just having him there by her side regardless of her always tell him not to.

At one point she believed she could have returned his feelings but after discovering she is with child; she couldn’t do that to him. Or Osamu.

Guilt sat heavy on her shoulders as the last time she saw Osamu, he spilled his heart out to her and she wanted badly to forget all the right things she should do and allow her heart to lead. To go wherever as long as it was with him. She had already suspected she was with child then, but she wasn’t quite sure.

Her family has been nothing but supported of her, she was prepared to be disowned. Y/n was shocked when her mother hugged her, telling her there is nothing to worry about and that she will be there beside her.

Her body changed every day, and she logged letters to Osamu. It was her only source of comfort. Satoshi caught her writing these letters and inquired if she would send them to him, but she answered him with a simple no. She just needed a way to offload the feelings of knowing she’ll be alone during the pregnancy.

Y/n would talk to her unborn baby, describing their father and assured them they will be loved.

It was her first pregnancy; she didn’t know what to expect but she knew enough that when her tummy protruded immediately and immensely…

“Either you are much further along or… could you be expecting twins?” Her sister-in-law noted, nursing her 6-month-old baby. “I didn’t show that much until I was at the end of the pregnancy.”

The village midwife came to visit and confirmed what they all suspected, Y/n was expecting twins. “It will be much difficult but not impossible. You are at higher risk, but I have delivered many twins, have faith in me.”

Y/n paid the lady, placing the two cabbages in her basket and tightens her scarf around her head before returning home.

Her 4-year-old niece greeted her around the corner of their compound. “Aunty!”

“Iya,” Y/n smiles but her smile ceased when the look on her niece’s face alerts her. “Is something wrong?”

“Someone is here for you.”

Y/n didn’t need to ask who it was, the person appeared around the corner.

Osamu’s expression was unreadable. She could feel his eyes burning at her belly.

“Iya, can you tell your mother I’m going to go for a walk with him and I’ll be right back.” Y/n hands the basket to her, “can you take this to grandma?”

Once the little girl was out of sight, Y/n exhales softly, “Lord Miya.” Her heart thumped loudly as he stalked towards her. When he showed no sign of stopping she held her hands out to stop him, but he over powered her, pulling her into his arms. She melted into his touch for a few seconds before struggling to escape. “We mustn’t –“

Osamu pulls away and cups her face, forcing her to look right at him. “I did not marry Lady Imai.”

“What?” Her voice faintly whispered.

His eyes gaze at her longingly before he noticed the eyes of bystanders and they sharpen immediately. “Let’s find somewhere to talk in private.”

.

The first thing Osamu did was kiss her senseless the moment they walked into the empty kitchen. A large hand protected the back of her head as he backed her against the wall. He

He breaks away and they both gasp breathless.

Osamu pulls her tightly against his chest, cradling the back of her head. “I missed you. Missed you so much.” He pulls away and looks down between them before dropping down on to one knee. He presses both his palms to her belly, staring at it silently before looking up at her.

Y/n nods her head and places her hands over his, silently answering him.

Yes, yours…

Tears prick his eyes, and he blinks letting them slip at corner of his eyes. “I can’t… I can’t let you two go now…” he chokes on his words. “Please Y/n…”

With one hand, she wiped away his tear and smile. “Three.”

He frown confused, “what?”

“There may be two babies in there,” she answered softly.

“Two?” he gasped, and Y/n nodded. He pressed his forehead against her belly, hot tears spilling from his eyes. “I will give up everything… just – just don’t leave me again.”

.

The guest room door slides open, and Y/n looks up at her mother walking in with a tray of food. One glance at the sleeping figure on the futon,  she shook her head with a smile. She quietly stepped in and sets the food on the table. “He must be hungry, wake him up to eat. Dinner won’t be served for another few hours.”

Y/n nods and quietly thanks her mother who exits.

Looking down beside her, Osamu slept deeply away. After a meltdown she had to beg him to get up. Even though he was almost a whole head taller than her, he look like a child wiping away his tears. Once his tears was dried you can see the tiredness in them.

“When was the last time you slept?” Y/n asked cupping his cheek.

He leaned into her hand, “I was in a rush to get here, probably slept a total of like ten hours in my two-day ride?”

She took him to the guest room and made him change his clothes. She ordered him to rest, and she’ll come back for him at dinner time.

Y/n looked down at the hand that’s holding her back. “Stay with me.”

“’Samu –“

“Please?”

She couldn’t say no to those eyes.

She ran her fingers through his hair and watched him fall into a slumber, his grip on her other hand was firm, as if he was afraid she would run for it once he slept.

It has been over an hour since he’s fallen asleep. Running her fingers through his hair and she leans down whispering, “’Samu… wake up.”

He hums, turning his head to kiss her palm. “I’m not dreaming, right?”

Y/n giggles, “open your eyes and check for yourself.”

His eyes open and he smiles, “this is real, right?”

She nods, “yes, you, me and us.” He shifts his head onto her lap and nuzzle against her belly. “You should eat before the food gets cold.” He mumbles something against her pregnant belly. She pushes his head back, “what did you say?”

With no shame, “I want to eat you.”

Her eyes widen and she smacks his shoulder, whispering, “’Samu! Don’t say things like that.”

He bites his lower lip and hiding his smile. “Fine…”

. .

Y/n feels her face heating up by the second feeling the eyes of her family members burning at hers and Osamu’s locked hands.

Her family gathered to one side of the room while Osamu and Y/n sat on the other side. It was clear as day that he was the father of her unborn babies with the way his aura was spreading in the room.

Osamu would move mountains just to be with Y/n. He would no longer allow anything to get in his way to be with her and their unborn babies.

Her father was the first to speak after clearing his throat. “My Lord, you… you are aware my daughter here is a widow, right?”

“Yes, father, I am aware.” Osamu answered without a heartbeat.

Y/n’s head dropped as her face flushed into a darker pink at Osamu calling her father, father.

She could hear her mother and sister-in-law’s giggle and her brother and father’s gasp.

“Uh…” her father choked; he too begin to blush.

Osamu pulls his hand away from Y/n and bow, head to the floor.

Everyone in the room, including Y/n gasped.

“Please my Lord!” Her family shouted all in union.

He ignores Y/n’s attempt to lift his head. “Please forgive me, I am here to take responsibility and ask for your approval and blessing to marry Y/n.”

“My Lord, please lift your head and sit up.” Y/n’s mother pleaded.

With a deep sigh from her father, “yes, I forgive you. Please lift your head.”

Osamu lifts his head, “and your blessing?”

Her father cleared his throat again, “as long as you… are aware of her status– we have nothing else to say.”

“You will give us your blessing, father?” Osamu asked again.

Her father nodded, a growing smile on his face, “you have my blessing.”

Osamu immediately looks at Y/n with gleaming eyes.

“Y/n, look at me,” her father softly ordered. His eyes soften at his daughter, “be happy.”

. .

Her hand is sweaty against Osamu’s as they now sit in front of his parents, twin brother, and also pregnant sister-in-law.

Osamu’s mother burst out in tears. “Forgive your father and I, Osamu,” she looks at Y/n with tears falling. “And Y/n too, we hope you two will find it in your heart to forgive us and allow us to move forward from here.” She dabs her eyes with her sleeve, “I want to be part of my grandchildren’s life.”

“Of course,” Y/n softly answered.

Osamu’s father breaks his silence, “yes, please forgive us.” He looks at Y/n, “we welcome to the Miya family, Y/n.”

Y/n inhales, eyes becoming wet, “thank you, I am honor.”

“We forgive you,” Osamu answers quietly and looks at Y/n, “we would like our children to be part of their grandparent’s life too.”

Lady Atsumu smiles at Y/n and rubs her belly that seems to be the same size as hers. “Welcome to the family, Y/n.”

Osamu’s twin smiles identically to Osamu, “welcome to the family sister-in-law.”

. .

Osamu’s grunts fill their room with Y/n’s soft quiet moans.

Her belly has tremendously grown to protect his unborn babies and Osamu quickly discovered his wife looks amazingly beautiful pregnant.

She became tired from bouncing on is cock, so Osamu took over, shifting her on to her back and lifts one leg to hug it while thrusting slowly into her sweet pussy.

Osamu rubs her puffy clit bringing her over the edge as she cums around his cock.

“’Samu!” She moaned his name loudly, trembling and clutching onto the pillow.

He was close too, rolling his hips a few times he stilled as he shoots his load inside of her.

After a few seconds, stares down where his cock is still jerking from sensitivity. He loved staying buried inside of her, especially now when her pussy seemed to be more sensitive then usual.

“I love you,” he kisses her ankle before setting her leg down. He leans over to kiss her but stopped when he noticed something milky leaking from the tip of her nipples. With a closer look, he sees beads of milk forming. “Are you… lactating?”

Eyes closed and energy depleted, Y/n muttered, “for the last couple of days it’s been doing that.” It was fine until Osamu suckled her bosoms moments ago, stimulating the nipple to leak. She was just about to slip into slumber when she feels a pair of lips latch on to her tit and a hot tongue suckling.

Her hand slips into his messy hair, pushing his face further into her breast. “What – what are you doing?”

He mumbles something incoherent and continues to suckle and slurp.

After a few seconds Osamu lifts his head, tongue licking the corner of his lips. “Must take my share now before I have to start sharing.” He switches over to the other side.

Y/n covered her mouth with the back of her hand, to cover her moans. With Osamu still embedded inside of her too she was unconsciously clenching around his cock that became erect again.

. .

“For you.”

Y/n accepts the box wrapped in red ribbon from Lady Atsumu. “Thank you, sister-in-law.” She opens the gift, to reveal a beautiful wind-chime. “Oh my! It’s so beautiful.”

“Every home need one.” Lady Atsumu smiles.

Osamu and Y/n was gifted an estate as their wedding gift, and recently just settled in.

“May I touch your belly?”

Y/n gasp, “oh, yes!” Lady Atsumu presses her palm against her belly. “Osamu tells me you are expecting twins too. What are the odds of both of us pregnant with twins? Do you hope for boys or girls? Or one of each?”

“Ideally, one of each would be nice but many experience mothers who birth twins is telling me that I may be having boys.” Lady Atsumu pats Y/n’s belly, “how about you?”

“I want one of each too,” Y/n answered with hope, “but deep down, I have a feeling they will be boys, which is fine too.”

Lady Atsumu laughs, “what will we do with all boys?”

“Osamu and I will definitely get a taste of our own medicine then.” Lord Atsumu answers from behind. He hugs his wife and rubs her belly.

“If we do end up having boys, it will be they will be gentlemen for sure.” Osamu promised, coming from behind Y/n and hugging her close. “Boy or girl, I hope they will look like their mom.”

.

A few weeks later, Y/n gives birth to their twin sons two days later after Lady and Lord Atsumu who welcomed their twin sons.

The set of twins are a carbon copy of their twin fathers.

Like Atsumu, Osamu is over the moon with his sons. He is on his toes at any sort of movement or cry, ready to love and pamper his babies, including Y/n.

“They are adorable, you did well Lady Miyazaki.” One of the nurses said looking down at two infants in the same cot.  

Osamu had his arms wrapped protectively around his wife. “Miya.” Osamu corrected, “Just Miya. Lady Miya Y/n.”

.

.

.

E/n: #happytears. Again, thank you for being patient with me through my crazy imagination. I have requests for Tsukishima and Akaashi - so those two are on the list. I know I've mentioned Kuroo... and maybe Ushijima. Oh, I don't think I can leave Oikawa out. Or Iwa... the list will go on. I am getting back in touch with Wipe Your Eyes - I think I have it figured out where I want to go with that series. I may release a Naruto one-shot in between...

>>>@hellatrashdontask @queenelleee @wrongimagine @eadyladlegard @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @satoritendoucultsacrifice @yourgonvermnethooker @littlemochi @cloud-lyy @pana-dolle @basmamme @haitanifxn @itsroseally @warrior-of-justice @jmnfilter @captainchrisstan @natriae @haikyuubiggestsimp

#haikyuu lords #haikyuu osamu #haikyuu miya osamu #miya osamu smut #miya osamu fluff #miya osamu angst #miya osamu x y/n #miya osamu x reader #osamu smut #osamu fluff #osamu angst #osamu x y/n #osamu x reader #haikyuu atsumu #miya atsumu #haikyuu miya twins

[tteokdoroki]

“you clean up pretty nicely fer someone who’s such a fuckin’ scrub.”

osamu loves his brother dearly, though his smile doesn’t quite reach his homey brown eyes as he fixes the pretty gold bow tie around his twin brother’s neck. instead of snarling back a playful response, atsumu only blinks at the reflection of himself in the mirror— sweat beading on his brow, Adam’s apple nervously bobbing up and down as he recites his words in his head.

“oi!” osamu snaps his fingers in front of his brother’s face, frown on his identical features while he grabs the lapels of atsumu’s tux. “whas’the matter with you, dickwad—?”

the blonde blinks— cutting the younger twin off. “ya think she’s ready f’me ‘samu?” the great atsumu miya, voted sexiest man in sport by Japan vogue, pride and joy of their national team, the better miya despite how brash and loud he can be…nervous. it hits osamu like a truck. “i mean like…’m a lot to deal with, she’s gonna have’ta deal with the shitty media, with shitty me and ‘m scared, ‘samu. what if she changes her mind about me?”

“don’t be stupid, she’s dealt with your dumbass f’this long. she loves you enough to want your last name.” osamu grunts, ruffling his brother’s perfectly styled hair and even though his ma will probably kill him, ‘tsumu somehow looks better than before. more like himself.

“will ya go and check on her?” the blonde half begs. “it’ll make me feel better.”

osamu obliges, heading straight to a dressing room further down the hall— knocking twice but not expecting to be whacked in the face by a lace garter.

“atsumu miya i told you not to come in here! it’s bad luck to see the bride before the—oh! osamu!”

you look like a bride, no, you’re prettier than most. the sweetheart necklace of your couture wedding gown looks perfect on you, the lacey bodice hugging your figure perfectly. you have that glow of someone who’s just about to be married, who’s going to be happy for the rest of her life— and it only shines brighter because of the sweet little gems accenting everything you wear. osamu miya’s heart nearly stops in its place.

“hope yer not confusing me with my stupid mug of a brother,” he finally says when he enters the room— hand held out to twirl you and watch your dress spin under the warm afternoon sun.

“you’re identical, osamu.”

“but he’s the uglier one,” the younger miya twin says pointedly, making you smile, melting at your gentle laugh while you politely cover your mouth with your manicured hand. “‘n stop calling me that, ‘m not your boss anymore and yer practically family now.”

still giggling, you nod cutely, looking up at osamu and he swears he might die. “sorry ‘samu, it’s a shame about ‘tsumu though; wouldn’t want him to ruin any wedding photos.”

“impossible,” the restaurant owner whispers without thinking. “you’ll be in ‘em, and you look so beautiful.” he twirls you again, as if watching your skirts spin in a brilliant flowing circle will turn back time. take osamu back to when he first met you; when you were meek and shy and looking for a part time job in onigiri miya to make ends meet.

he would have turned back time to a place in your lives where he would have taken you on dates instead of pushing you away the night you confessed to him in the back office. he would have stolen you away on a trip to his favourite ice cream parlour in his hometown to tell you he loved you before atsumu confessed his love to you at a big game in Tokyo with the whole world watching. he would have held your hand a little tighter instead of letting them brush softly while you worked together in the kitchens, he would have walked you home more often, danced with you around his shop after closing time, held your hands between his to warm them up in the cold winters.

he wouldn’t have fought his own twin brother in the onigiri miya staff car park for a chance to make you happy. he wouldn’t have let atsumu pin him down into the gravel, straddling his hips and shaking him by the collar with blood blossoming from the cut on his twin’s lower lip. “i can’t give her up b’fore i’ve even tried, ‘samu. i’m not like you.” atsumu wouldn’t have said, teary eyed in fear of betraying the person he loves most in the world.

then none of you would be here on your wedding day, engaged and soon to be married to the one and only atsumu miya.

then he wouldn’t be picturing you at the end of the makeshift aisle outside his family shrine hyogo, marrying osamu instead.

then osamu wouldn’t be hurting, living a life with only one regret.

“‘samu?” your voice penetrates his thoughts even while so quiet. “do you think he’s ready for me?”

funny how you’ve said the same thing as his twin, you’re both so alike and maybe that makes you perfect for one another. “of course he is, if he wasn’t i’d have to knock some sense into that empty skull of his.” osamu hums when you face him again, biting his tongue. he could have told you how much he had loved you all these years, he could have ruined everything but then he wouldn’t have been able to see that angelic smile grace your lips and watch the spark in your eyes nearly blind him.

“oh, thank you ‘samu…”

you’re about to say more, he’s about to do the same but your bridesmaids rush in shoo him out to add the finishing touches to your bridal look. the door closes in osamu’s face, and he sighs, because although he can’t go back and turn back time…part of him still wishes he fought back, to be then one that loves you now, instead.

#miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x you #miya osamu angst #osamu angst #osamu x reader #osamu drabble #osamu imagine #hq x reader #hq x you #hq angst #hq imagines #osamu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu imagines #tteokdoroki #haikyuu drabbles #🗑. aali’s chatroom

[peachy-hk]

Time.

Miya Osamu x Reader, angst. 

Warnings: cheating, gn reader, timeskip spoilers!

in which time is lost, discarded, and unable to be returned. 

Word Count: 1.4K

read the second part here!

What is time? Why do some people value it so much, while others seem to make it the bane of their existence?

“Time is the continued sequence of existence and events that occurs in an apparently irreversible succession from the past, present, or future.”  

You know that time is irreversible. That you couldn’t turn back the hands on the clock and go back to before you met him. But, why did you want to do it so badly? 

Finding out your husband cheated on you is one thing. Finding out because you overheard some part timers in the back talking about it, is another.  Maybe you should have seen it coming. A new, cute, and young, employee. What were you supposed to expect? Obviously men get bored after a couple years of marriage and he wanted something new.  “She told me that she slept with him at a hotel last week. She has pictures with him in the room and everything.” As you count the money left in the register at the end of the day, you overhear the conversation between two of the newer employees who are supposed to be cleaning the kitchen behind you. “No way,” the other responds in shock, “Isn’t he married to the person in the front right now?” 

Everything gets worse and worse as you continue listening to the two workers gossip. By the time they walk back to the front of the store, it’s too late for them to realize that they were speaking way too loud. The way you looked at them was bone chilling, traumatizing even. The two quickly bowed to you, said a barely audible “good night miya san”, and hurried to gather their things and leave.   “Miya san” a surname you were previously proud to have, that now leaves a worse than bitter taste on your tongue.  You finish the last of the things you had to do and close the restaurant. Ironic how the restaurant is also named “Onigiri Miya”, the bitter feeling worsens as you push and twist your key into the lock, and the doors snap shut; you have to go home to him now. Just to stall, you test the doors to make sure they’re locked.  Maybe you can stall for longer, waste some time to avoid the confrontation you’re about to have with your husband of four years. How long could you possibly stay out before he calls you worried that you’re later than usual? You estimate that you have around 20 extra minutes to waste before you deal with the shitshow that’s going to happen in your home.  You get into your car and look at the store from outside the window. It’s only around 7pm, but everyone closes early on Sundays. There are pedestrians walking down the street, trying to find places to eat that haven’t closed up yet. It’s light enough outside for you to see into the store windows.  “This is it! I’m going to be a restaurant owner!” Osamu exclaims. There are stars in his eyes as he looks at the empty, beat up restaurant. Four years ago he proposed to you in the empty restaurant. He told you that all of his life’s dreams came true that day. Right after you said yes.  It’s crazy how time can change things. You never would have imagined that after four years you’d be ready to leave this life, leave the restaurant, leave the future you had built with him. But now that years have passed, and times have changed, the unimaginable is becoming reality. 

As you walk into your home with him, you feel so different - you feel so out of place. Even though this has been your home for years, nothing feels the same. You wonder if it had been happening in your home and you were just too happy to realize. Maybe living life with the rose coloured glasses of love had masked what was really going on. 

Osamu is sitting on the couch when you walk in. You’re greeted with “Welcome home honey, how was the store today?”

You stop in front of your kitchen sink, washing off the germs from everything outside today. Washing your hands frequently had become a habit after working at Onigiri Miya for so long. While you’re scrubbing you try to think of a way to respond to him. Do you tell him what you overheard from the part timers? Do you lie and wait for him to tell you on his own? Either way, you’re going to get hurt. 

No tears come out as you decide to confront him about what you heard. “I overheard some part timers gossiping today,” you start, gaining an “mhm” from him, prompting you to continue, “they said that you slept with one of the new part timers”.

The way the smile on his face drops makes your heart crack a little more in your chest. You hoped he would reassure you, tell you that the part timer was just saying it for attention, but he doesn’t. It’s more than enough of an answer. 

You trudge into your shared bedroom after drying your hands, and grab your emergency suitcase from the back of your walk in closet. You and Osamu both have one packed at all times in case of a family or business emergency. 

You hear Osamu get up off the couch, for a second you wonder if he’s coming to explain himself, but his footsteps turn in the direction of the back door. You hear him make a call. 

As he’s talking on the phone -quite angrily, you think to yourself- you carry your small suitcase to your front door, throwing your coat back on and stuffing your keys into your pocket before sitting down to put your shoes back on. Osamu’s eyes go wide as he watches you do these things, and he rushes towards you, disregarding his phone call. 

“Baby please hear me out. It was a mistake. I didn’t want it to happen” he begins pleading with you, kneeling in front of you as his eyes gloss over.  “If it happened it wasn’t a mistake, Osamu.” You look back at him sternly, watching his expression change from desperate to hurt, then to confused. “So what, you’re just going to pack up and leave? What about me? What about us?” He sits down, with his back against the wall, he runs his hand through his hair, you watch as the silver band that you picked out as his wedding ring shines lightly through the locks of his hair.  “You chose to let me pack up and leave the second you entered the hotel with that girl. I loved you so much, and I thought I was enough for you, but you threw it all away with her ‘Samu”. You grab his left hand and hold it between your own two, noticing the temperature difference between his fingers and the cool silver ring. 

“It won’t happen again, please don’t go. I love you so much. If I could turn back time, I wouldn’t do it. Stay, please?” you listen to his voice crack as he says please. Part of you wants to give into him, to pull him into a hug, and tell him that you forgive him, that you’ll stay and work things out with him. But you can’t, this isn’t the first time you’ve been cheated on and you know that it will happen again. 

“You can’t turn back time though ‘Samu,” you start, your voice is gentle as you stare at the leather watch on your wrist. “It’s not like you can turn back the clock and give me back all the years we spent together. All the mornings, all the dinners, all the dates. You just can’t do that. Trust me, if we could do that, I would have already asked you to do it, to think about me before you walked into the hotel with that girl, but I can’t”. You can’t bring yourself look at him, as you know that if you see him crying, you’ll start crying too. 

You stand, pulling him to sit on the stool that you were previously sitting on, even though it was a tense situation, you still knew that his body would start to hurt if he sat there for much longer. You lean in and give him one final kiss on the forehead. 

An unspoken goodbye. A seal of your once affection for him, that will be no longer. 

“Thank you, Osamu. The past few years of my life have been amazing, and I’ve made so many memories with you that I will never forget. But, it’s my time to go, and we both know it.” You slide off your wedding ring, and place it into his palm, pressing his hands shut around it. 

“Maybe in another timeline, our lives would have played out differently.”

And just like that, you walk out of Miya Osamu’s life. 

Creak.

Swing. 

Click.

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