fic blog

It’s official, so it’s pricey, and on such short notice, only the small size on the men’s side was available so it hangs a bit lower than it should on your thighs and collarbone.

But when you walk out of the bathroom after the lunch rush hour with it on, Osamu is awestruck.

Awestruck enough for Kita to elbow him and for his Ma to shake her head and whisper words of “hanging the moon” and “so oblivious” to Kita.

Nowadays, despite the occasional game Osamu catches, he forgets that his brother doesn’t have to put Atsumu on his back anymore. Now his brother is carrying the family on his back.

You’re wearing Atsumu’s jersey, but it’s Miya on the back, and Osamu is selfish so as he watches you lazily wash the rice, he lies to himself, says that you’re wearing it for him. He thinks of another life, one where you went to highschool together. He wonders if those three years would’ve been enough for the universe to work its magic, for him to build the courage.

The whistle blows to start the game. Plates of onigiri, bowls of rice, saucers of sauce occupy the table in front of you. You all say your thanks and dig in,

Sakusa, despite his ‘cold’ demeanour, has never been unpopular. It’s hard to be when he’s one of the top three aces in the country and the youngest of them. And his looks don’t do much to diminish the whispers surrounding him.

Still, a bubble surrounds him, one constructed with his very own worn yet clearly taken care of hands. Few people have the privilege of entering it; his sister, his parents, komori, you.