#new notification!

It's not as bad as it sounds. She's not really his girlfriend.

I'll try to explain.

We're colleagues, sort of. (Me and her— I'd rather starve to death than work for my brother.)

Last month, someone took a picture of us leaving the office. I was only walking her to her car but the person who took the picture wanted to imply that we were dating.

And that wouldn't have been an easy rumour for her to handle, so I got my brother (identical twin) to post a picture with her on his socials.

Obviously, just one picture wouldn't work to convince anyone, so they've been meeting up a couple times a week (they have similar interests, so they were friends already) to be seen together.

Now here's the issue— I never saw her like that before, and I thought it was just fucking annoying to watch people be lovey dovey, fake or not... but one of my other colleagues said it sounded like I was jealous.

And fuck, I am.

Do you think she'd be mad if I asked her out? I reacted pretty badly to the original picture. And I'm worried my brother likes her for real (those photos they're posting are kind of convincing...)

Edit: for everyone asking, no, I can't ask my brother. he'll know why, and if he really does like her I don't want to mess with it. and if he doesn't he won't let me hear the fucking end of it. i can hear the best man speech already.

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u/unicornpoodle • 2 hours ago

lol dude (I'm assuming you're a dude, unless you're a girl who unfortunately is built exactly like your brother) are you sure you like her and aren't just jealous of your brother being happy? fake or not

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u/fattytuna95 • 2 hours ago yeah i'm sure. I cut out a picture of one of my teammates and pasted it over his ugly mug and it made me even angrier. ↑ 35 ↓ •••

u/msbygirlie_13 • 2 hours ago

Oh hey!! I recognise you from the atsumu miya subreddit!! That's so cool you have a twin just like him!! And his brother got a gf recently too!!! (I think they're fr tho lol.)

Okay hmmm this is a tough one. wdym when yuo said 'reacted badly'??? and what was so bad about the rumour in the first place if it's an option for you now???? this is kinda weird ngl.

↑ 42 ↓ •••

u/fattytuna95 • 2 hours ago do you really they're the real deal??? I kind of laughed. And now that I look back at it, I think I might have looked way too eager to put it out there that we weren't dating. like I was disgusted or something. :( I wasn't, I just didn't want her to have any trouble. :( :( I'm sorry, I can't explain the situation any more for privacy reasons. ↑ 20 ↓ •••

u/guiltyassassin_ • 1 hour ago

well you don't have to talk to either of them... you said someone took the original photo. maybe they're still stalking?? ask them what they think?

lmfao you guys are either celebrities or highschoolers with this kinda drama

(also you keep calling your brother ugly, but then say you guys are identical? huh????)

↑ 5 ↓ •••

u/fattytuna95 • 55 minutes ago This is kind of an insane idea, but it does make sense. Maybe I'll do it. (and you wouldn't get it.) ↑ 2 ↓ •••

You sneakily glance over the top of your phone. 

Beside you on the platform, Osamu is in the middle of muffling a yawn. The glowing red numbers on the station clock behind him blink a minute closer to ten.

The one on the right, you think, after a few seconds of observation, That’s Atsumu.

Satisfied, you keep scrolling. 

And then you see it again. The thing that started all this. 

You think of it as The Picture.

(With the capitals, because even after you told yourself you wouldn’t look it up anymore, it keeps crossing your path, algorithmically intertwined as it is with Atsumu’s.)

It shouldn’t even have been incriminating— it’s just Atsumu (with his hood pulled over his head, that’s why any of this was working) walking you across the parking lot, both of you photographed mid-step under one of the pole lights— but there’s just something in your eyes, something in the way you’re looking at him while you’re laughing at something he said.

Really, it’s a good picture.

Good, because you know what that something it managed to capture is.

It’s the fact that you really are a little in love with him.

That’s why your heart had broken— again, just a little, honest— when Atsumu had seen it too, and just laughed. 

‘Now that’s convincing, ain’t it? Don’t ya worry, I’ll make sure no one believes it.’

You hastily lock your phone, trying to get Atsumu’s face out of your mind before the lump in your throat has a chance to establish itself. Unfortunately, you’re not really in a situation where you can escape being reminded of him.

“Osamu,” you say, feeling more than a little bad about your true motivations when he’s been nice enough to wait with you, “you should go home. It’s late.”

He looks at you sideways, with a grin. “Oh, did ya want to get started on the breakup rumours? It'd be a great picture, I'll give ya that. Get them a shot of ya sittin’ all lonesome on the bench over there.”

You swat him on the arm. “You’re having too much fun with this! Don’t you have to get up early to open the restaurant?”

“Nah, tomorrow's my day off too. I'm sleepin’ in.” Osamu pats you on the head like a child. “Don’t ya worry.”

It’s starting to annoy you how even now— when they’re not as easy to mix up— they still manage to be so damn similar. Enough for this ruse to work, and enough for people to occasionally pause and frown as they notice Osamu's face, trying to place where they've seen him before. 

They think he doesn't notice.

(Like right now, there’s a man on the other platform who’s been staring for the past five minutes. Osamu’s already suggested— and you’ve rejected— that he pretend to kiss you, just to give the man some more material to work with. )

Once, you asked Osamu if he minded all that attention. He’d thought for a moment, and then with a shrug said, at least he’s not on the news for bein’ a serial killer. Imagine what they’d be sayin’ about me then.

And people certainly had a lot to say. How Osamu should dye his hair back to grey, like he’d had it in highschool. How obviously, they were on the outs since he didn’t show up to Atsumu’s away game. How Osamu should quit the food industry, and take up modelling; but also how there was no way in hell he’d make it, because Atsumu was right there for everyone to compare him with. The better looking twin.

You know this is what Atsumu was trying to protect you from— these comments on your hair, your body, your life, and every single choice you did or didn’t make— by shutting down the rumour as fast as he could. 

But that didn’t make it feel any less like a rejection.

It didn’t make it hurt any less.

You can’t help but feel like some sort of obsessed fangirl, seeing how absolutely uninterested he’d been in the idea, and it’s a feeling tinged with shame. 

(Why would Atsumu Miya want you anyway? There must be other people, better people— athletes, models, actresses— lining up for a chance with him. You're a fool for even imagining it.)

Osamu’s phone pings, breaking you out of your melancholy spiral. He unlocks it and reads the text that’s just come through. 

“Our sample bento boxes just got delivered.”

This is what you’ve been working on with him. A collaboration between Onigiri Miya and the Jackals— limited edition bento, showcasing each player’s personal tastes. As the team’s nutritionist, Osamu had insisted you were the one who was best suited to helping him determine the menu. The meals had to be balanced, but not repetitive; arranged attractively, but still be practical enough for production and transport. 

They also had to be an absolute secret until it was ready to launch.

Copycats, was the one-word explanation you first got out of the publicist, as she tapped away at her phone. And then—after you heard the shwoop of an email being sent— a slightly longer elaboration: can’t trust the Jackals to be quiet either. Don’t tell them.

(She was still looking at the screen. You don’t think you’ve ever made eye contact with her.)

“That’s good,” you say, with some relief. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep everything secret. Doesn’t Atsumu ask you what we talk about every day?”

“I just say ‘food’.” 

You raise an eyebrow at him. “And you’re okay with that? I mean… doesn’t it feel like lying? By omission?”

“I enjoy lying to him without omission too.”

Growing up, Osamu had quickly tired of being thought of as part of a set— especially since with Atsumu’s flashy personality, that usually ended with him being ‘Atsumu’s brother’.

In an attempt to establish his own identity and find his 'thing', Osamu had made the ill-advised decision to borrow his much older neighbour’s collection of horror DVDs. Why a highschooler thought it would be a good idea to give an eight year old the likes of The Grudge or Texas Chainsaw Massacre (dubbed), no one ever really managed to get out of the boy.

Still, Osamu had made it a good way into that cardboard carton before his mother had caught him. 

(Atsumu had woken up in the middle of the night, and upon finding his brother missing from their bunk bed, had sleepily stumbled into the family room; where Osamu was in the middle of watching Freddy Krueger going at it. His scream had scared Osamu far more than Freddy ever did.)

The horror movie thing hadn’t really amounted to much. He’s fairly sure it’s because nothing would ever conjure up the primal fear that he’d felt after seeing the look on his mother’s face when she’d made it down the stairs that night. 

But occasionally, when he’s closing up Onigiri Miya’s kitchen all alone in the middle of the night with only a dripping faucet for company, he catches sight of the gleaming knives and his mind wanders back to those nights in front of the TV. 

Sometimes he imagines using the knives to defend himself.

And sometimes, he imagines being the slasher.

Times like right now.

“Samu! Open up! I know you’re in there!”

I could chop him into little cubes and serve him right up, Osamu thinks, pulling his blankets over his eyes; as if blocking out the light will somehow block out the incessant banging on his apartment door. They’d never catch me.

Atsumu keeps it up for a whole minute. Osamu knows his brother has more stamina than his neighbours have patience; so he rolls out of bed, pulls on a shirt, and stomps his way to his front door.

“Whad’dya want?” he asks irritably, after he wrenches the door open.

Atsumu shoots him an irritatingly bright grin. “Do I need a reason to visit my beloved brother?”

“Ew.”

“Can I come in?”

“No.”

“I’m just gonna bang on the door again if you don’t let me.”

He wouldn’t even taste all that different from chicken if I drowned the meat in soy sauce, probably, Osamu thinks as he steps aside.

Atsumu saunters in, looking around the place like he’s never seen it before. Osamu’s too sleepy to ask. 

“Pretty clean in here,” he says.

“‘M not a pig like you,” Osamu grumbles as he makes his way to the kitchen, Atsumu trailing behind. “It’s always clean.”

“Not this clean,” Atsumu insists. “Okay, forget it.”

Gladly, Osamu thinks. “If ya want to mooch breakfast offa me, go wash your hands. I just know they're filthy.”

Atsumu mumbles something under his breath, but obliges, turning off into the bathroom. And just as well— Osamu discovers he’s left the sample bento boxes on the kitchen table.

Of course, Atsumu may have grown taller, but he’s still got the hand washing technique of a particularly unhygienic ten year old, so he finishes much too quickly. He shows up again when Osamu’s still got the last box in his hands.

“What’s that?”

“Nothin’. Work stuff.” Osamu says shortly, as he puts it away and shuts the fridge.

“Looks awful cute for work stuff.”

Osamu sighs heavily, and opens his cupboard to get a pan and fry up some eggs. It's not where it usually is. He frowns for a moment, before remembering it's in the sink— along with two plates and a pot, from the late dinner he'd thrown together with you last night.

They shift noisily as he draws the pan out. Atsumu whips his head towards the sound. 

“I thought ya hated leavin’ dirty dishes overnight.”

“Why are ya actin’ like ma, for god's sake?” Osamu asks, exasperated. “I had some company over. We cooked together, and then I was too tired to clean up. Since this was supposed to be my day off, I thought I'd get some rest first, jackass.”

“You were cooking together?” Atsumu looks pale. “Is— is that a euphemism?”

Pair him with wasabi. No one would know.

“The coach said you were a little listless at practice today, Atsumu,” you tell him, skimming over his meal plan. 

“‘M a little tired today, yeah.”

Of course he was listless. He hadn’t slept a wink. He was a zombie running on coffee. (Except instead of brains, what he's craving is a stupid chocolate chip cookie, for some reason.)

He just couldn’t stop going over the evidence. 

One, his brother’s suspiciously clean apartment. (Osamu may have convinced the world otherwise, but Atsumu knows half the mess in their room growing up was his.)

Two, the tinted lip balm he’d found on the bathroom counter. He’d swatched it on the back of his hand, and the light scent of strawberry had filled the air. Definitely not Osamu’s. (The teenage boy lurking in his brain had tried to convince him to kiss his own hand, just to see what it would be like.)

Three, Osamu hurriedly putting away that bento box. Were you at the bento-making stage of the relationship already? He's screwed. Maybe it came sooner than usual because both of you were freaks about food. (Atsumu doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life only getting raisin bran cookies from you, dammit. He wants to eat your deliciously salty, deep fried, unhealthiest tempura too. And that chocolate chip.)

And fourth, most damning of all— Osamu had allowed you into his kitchen. (He barely let anyone into his kitchen, euphemistically or otherwise. This was serious.)

“Have your energy levels been okay?”

“Just peachy,” Atsumu says, because he’s trying to tell himself the faint wash of colour on your lips is more peach than strawberry.

That’s when he discovers a more pressing issue.

Your tracksuit is zipped all the way up. 

Was it always like that? He’s not sure. 

Oh god, did you have a hickey under there?

It was a mistake to think about that, because now he’s thinking about Osamu giving it to you, and Osamu’s face is his face, and god dammit, that person online was right, this was going to mess him up—

“Atsumu. You’re… kind of staring.”

Oh fuck, he was. He was staring at his brother's girlfriend. He's the worst.

“I’m just— I’m a little distracted— Sorry—” he starts frantically.

(Yes, distracted, because his brain is playing a nice little wedding montage for him right now.)

“Oh, it’s alright,” you say. “I didn’t mind.”

Atsumu freezes. You didn’t mind? You didn’t mind? 

He blames his next words on the extraordinary amount of caffeine coursing through his body. “Then can I keep starin’?”

You stare at him in shock.

Well, that’s it, he thinks, as he turns his blazing face up to the heavens, praying for a smiting.

Now you were going to report him to HR and transfer to Tokyo. Or worse, you’d awkwardly laugh it off and he'd be the guy who hit on his future sister in law. You'd make him tell the story at the wedding. In front of his mother.

When you don’t do either of those things, Atsumu reluctantly manages to pry his eyes off of the ceiling, and all he finds is you still staring at him, lips parted in surprise.

He makes eye contact. In that brief moment, he sees... something.

“Try and get more protein in,” you squeak.

And then you run.

(The camera pans to the priest solemnly addressing the gathering. “Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace”.)

(Atsumu stands up.)

r/relationship_advice • just now

u/fattytuna95

WHAT DOES IT MEAN WHEN A GIRL RUNS AWAY FROM YOU???

IN A GOOD WAY

I THINK

↑ 1 ↓ •••

u/automoderator • just now

Your submission has been deleted due to our spam filter detecting an abnormally low word count. Please review your submission and attempt posting after the cool down in 1 hour.

This is an automated post. If you think this is a mistake, please contact the moderators via the link in the sidebar.

↑ 1 ↓ •••

u/fattytuna95 • just now FUCK!! ↑ 1 ↓   •••

r/relationship_advice • 5 hours ago

u/fattytuna95

UPDATE: I want to ask out my twin brother's girlfriend.

I tried to post earlier but it got caught in the spam filter.

So I went to my brother's apartment first thing in the morning yesterday. There was some stuff I found there that made me think it was over, but then when I was talking with her at work today, I ended up... asking her if I could stare at her.

Don't ask, it's complicated.

I thought if I wasn't finished before, I sure was now. But the way she looked at me after I said it was... I don't know how to describe it. I really felt like there was something there.

And then she ran away.

I know none of that makes sense, but fuck, I really think she might like me back. But now she's not answering her phone. What the hell do I do? I can't focus, I just keep thinking about her.

(She went home but I'm not done with work yet so I'm standing in line to get the strongest coffee they're legally allowed to give me to get through the rest of the day. I won't have my phone with me. Might reply late.)

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u/unicornpoodle • 5 hours ago

why am I always the first to comment on your posts...?

dude I don't get how you think her running away from you was a good thing. how many times did you call her? you must be pretty hot if you haven't gotten an email for an HR meeting yet. lol.

↑ 45 ↓   •••

u/fattytuna95 • 5 hours ago Trust me, it was. And just twice. Yeah I'm pretty hot. ↑ 20 ↓   •••

u/guiltyassassin_ • 5 hours ago

What did you find at the apartment?

↑ 44 ↓   •••

u/fattytuna95 • 5 hours ago IT DOESN'T MATTER! ↑ 30 ↓   •••

u/msbygirlie_13 • 1 minute ago

oh my gosh im so sorry i've been busy all day and just saw this!! but don't worry it's going to work out!!! im sure of it!!!! just talk to her!!

↑ 2 ↓   •••

u/unicornpoodle • just now Real life doesn't always work out like the movies. Why is everyone just ignoring the fact that she RAN. AWAY. ↑ 1 ↓   •••

u/msbygirlie_13 • just now i knowwwww!!! but that new picture of y/n and osamu from today just makes me believe in loveee edit: that's atsumu miya's twin brother and his new gf btw ↑ 1 ↓   •••

You take another sip. The words on the mug float in front of his eyes like a threat from the universe. Atsumu desperately tries to recall if your birthday is before or after his.

Then you open your mouth to speak.

Alarm bells go off inside Atsumu’s head. 

You’re like a brother to me. 

Also, I’m seeing your brother.  

“... told me about those pictures going around.”

Atsumu realises you’re saying something else entirely.

“Huh?”

“Oh, you didn’t see?”

Atsumu has seen. “No— I, uh, did ya want me to do somethin’ about it? Post for people to quit sharin’ them?” He asks, with a sinking heart. 

It’s the exact opposite of what the publicist told him to do, but if you asked, he’d do it. 

If you want privacy with Osamu, he’d do his best to make sure you have it; even if it killed him to know and not know at the same time.

You sigh. “She said to just let it pass. And she’s the professional, I think we should listen.”

There’s silence again.

Atsumu can’t take it anymore. “Are ya datin’ Samu? I mean, genuinely?”

Your eyes widen in shock. “No! Why would you think that?”

“The pictures—”

“Why would you believe the pictures? Osamu is my friend.”

A weight is lifted off his shoulders. “I don’t believe them, but if there was anythin’ to them, I didn’t want to come between—”

You have a strange expression on your face, somewhere in between looking like you’re stopping yourself from crying, but also fighting off a smile. 

(It’s impressive, really. Atsumu would give anything to be able to take a picture of it.)

“Why would you have come between, Atsumu?” You sound as if you already know the answer.

Atsumu realises you still need him to say it. “Because— because I like ya.”

As soon as he says it, it feels like the moment after a serve, where the ball is so close to the net there’s no way he can tell if it’s going to go over or not. If it will just fall. The moment stretches into an eternity.

And then the smile wins the battle on your face, and Atsumu swears he can see the flowers on your mug blooming and twirling. 

“I like you too.”

You look so hopeful, so relieved, Atsumu can’t help but feel a little guilty. “It’ll happen again.”

“What will?” You brows are knit in confusion.

“The pictures, the harassment. People say some real mean shi— stuff.” He takes a deep breath. “You’d be better of datin’ anyone else.” 

Your smile falters. “Are you saying you don’t want to—”

“No! I do. I want to date ya,” Atsumu says, reaching for your hand. “But I don’t want ya to regret it. I don’t want ya to end up hatin’ me.”

“Atsumu—”

“Did ya see what they were sayin’? Under those pictures?”

There’s a flash of pain across your face. Atsumu's heart twists. 

“I— I did.”

“It’ll keep happenin’. Maybe not about this, but they’ll always find somethin’ to rag on about. Can ya really live with? Knowin’ that’s happening every day?” Atsumu swallows nervously. “I’m just sayin’... think on it.”

You anxiously squeeze his hand, head bowed.

You don’t say anything.

r/relationship_advice • 1 hour ago

u/fattytuna95

FINAL UPDATE: I want to ask out my twin brother's girlfriend.

I thought I owed everyone a conclusion to this whole thing.

A couple of you DMed me to ask how it went. I left you hanging, so first of all, sorry about that. 

It didn’t go well.

Yeah, that’s right. It didn’t. 

I know I set it up like some kinda romcom eleventh hour, running through the airport type of scene; but it didn’t work out like one.

I don’t know what else to say.

She’s not dating my brother, and she does like me, but we talked it out like adults (thank you for the advice, u/unicornpoodle lol) but realistically it would be a lot of stress and trouble for something we’re not all that sure about; so we decided to keep our relationship formal. 

I feel alright, I suppose. I just feel bad that I might have made my brother and her’s friendship awkward.

I think that’s it. 

Thanks again, for sticking with me.

Bye.

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u/msbygirlie_13 • 30 minutes ago

oh nooooo :(

i don't know what to say, i'm so sorry. :(

please check your inbox, i sent you a giftcard code for onigiri miya. small consolation.

↑ 205 ↓ •••

u/fattytuna95 • 20 minutes ago omfg, you didn't have to do that!! thank you though. ↑ 100 ↓   •••

u/guiltyassassin_ • 30 minutes ago

You tried, man. That's all any of us can do. Go drinking with your buddies and forget about it.

Might even meet someone there lol

↑ 150 ↓ •••

u/fattytuna95 • 20 minutes ago I'm doing pretty okay actually. Not really in a drink my sorrows away kind of mood. ↑ 83 ↓   •••

u/unicornpoodle • 10 minutes ago

So uh, I think I might have come off pretty rude and heartless this whole time. But I never wanted you to actually feel bad. I want to say sorry about that. And sorry it didn't work out. You seem like a cool dude even if you're kind of dramatic. Thanks for the shoutout. Better luck next time. And there will be a next time, don't worry.

And you're handling this really well, congratulations.

↑ 55 ↓ •••

u/fattytuna95 • just now lol you're a pretty cool dude too. thanks. ↑ 24 ↓   •••

“So you’re scammin’ people on the internet now?” Osamu scoffs. “Just straight up lyin’ for sympathy donations?” 

“I only did it because the Jackals’ publicist told me to!” Atsumu cries. “Someone sent my post to her. She glared at me all scary after I fessed up.”

“Still a scam,” Osamu says, deadpan.

“Do ya want me to pay or not?” Atsumu scoffs. “Ya know I’m not givin’ ya cash. Take the giftcard.”

“What if I throw ya out instead? That’s what I usually do to people who don’t pay.”

Atsumu rests his elbows on the shop counter, and gives Osamu the most charming smile you’ve ever seen. 

“Ya wouldn’t do that to me in front of my girlfriend.”

The word makes your face heat up like you’re still in highschool. You make an embarrassed noise and try to hide your face, but Atsumu’s still got one of your hands in his. He turns that charming smile toward you, and you really think that thing should be classified as a weapon.

“Don’t you look shy. Do ya have a crush on me, or something?”

“Atsumu!” you squeal.

Osamu just groans. “I’ll take the damn code if ya stop flirtin’ in front of me. I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Atsumu slings an arm around your shoulder and laughs triumphantly, as Osamu rolls his eyes and heads back into Onigiri Miya’s kitchen. 

Once he’s gone, you playfully smack Atsumu’s hand. “I can’t believe you didn’t turn down the giftcard.”

“Who am I to deny someone the opportunity for a good deed?” He winks at you. “Don’t ya know those come back to ya ten fold? Sometimes in the form of winnin’ a season ticket giveaway.”

“So you’re saying those are rigged.”

Atsumu sighs. “Yer as bad as Samu.”

You just giggle, and rise on your toes to peck his cheek.

Did Atsumu get you with that last post? 🤭🤭 Dont miss -> [bonus chapter ft. Osamu]

Back when you were still at university, you had a part time job at the campus gym. Legally, you weren’t allowed to call yourself a nutritionist at that point, but that’s what you did. It was never anything complicated— the hardest thing had been managing expectations. 

No, you won’t have noticeable muscle definition in a month. 

Yes, you’ll need quite a bit longer than a week to lose ten kilos.

That will give you results, but perhaps a more sustainable plan?

So yes, expectations. You’re in a career chock-full of them. You’re good at managing them. Even when it’s hard.

Or so you’d thought.

Can I keep starin’? 

(Could it really be that easy?)

With four words, Atsumu Miya had ripped open the top of that flimsy cardboard box you’d oh-so-carefully stuffed your expectations in, and now you were struggling to (convince yourself to) put them back in. For the last few hours, you’ve been fiddling with that metaphorical scotch-tape, not quite daring to believe he could be interested in you— and yet unable to let go of that fantasy.

Was it a fantasy? 

You can still picture his flushed-red face, the anticipation and anxiety in his eyes. It wasn’t the kind of look you expected from a flirty joke.

Or…

It's when Osamu has to stop you from trying to grab the piping hot handle of a cast iron pan for the second time that you realise you need to come back to your senses.

“Osamu,” you ask, timidly. “Can I ask you something? It’s about Atsumu.”

Osamu turns down the flame on the burner, and looks at you. His face is neutral— some people went as far as calling those droopy grey eyes of his ‘expressionless’, but you preferred to think of them as steady. Osamu always said it like it was. 

He’s going to give you the reality check you so obviously need.

“How stupid am I for thinking I have a chance with Atsumu?”

You brace yourself for a scathing reply. Perhaps, ‘Next time, I won’t stop ya from burning yourself.’ Or maybe, “That oaf? Sorry, the only thing he’s attracted to is balls. Volleyballs, that is.”

What he does instead, is sigh heavily, and a little exasperatedly. 

“Did ya two idiots finally figure it out?”

Your heart skips a beat. “What?”

“You heard me,” Osamu says, turning up the flame once more. He stirs the simmering broth as he speaks. “He’s been actin’ stupid all week. And you’ve been actin’ stupid around him for a while.”

Oh. Oh.

There’s no way you’re ever putting those expectations away ever again, because that stupid box is all soggy at the bottom now. Soggy, because the raging mix of relief and happiness swirling around in your chest— the weight lifted off your shoulders because you don’t have to pretend anymore—  is making you tear up. 

Osamu hears you sniffle. 

“Aw, c’mon,” he says, tapping off the broth and setting the spoon beside the stove, “you know he isn’t worth cryin' over.” There’s a cheeky grin on his face, as he brings his large hands up to your face, wiping away the tears. “Want me to beat him up for ya?”

(You think he really might be your best friend.)

“You’re just looking for an excuse to!” You say, pulling his hands away as you laugh. 

He holds them up in mock defence. “Hey, two birds and all. Are you going call him?”

You’re already scrambling inside your purse. “I… think I forgot my phone at work.” 

He clicks his tongue. “I take it back, yer perfect for each other.”

“Hey!” You say it indignantly, but his words make you feel warm. Perfect for each other. “Can I borrow your phone? Would that be weird?”

“He’d make it weird,” Osamu scoffs. “Just go over.”

“I— I should bring him something.”

He makes an amused expression. “Okay.”

“I don’t know what.”

“Are you asking me for help?”

You make your best puppy face. “Please?”

Osamu sighs. “Well, he’s been complainin’ about those raisin bran cookies for weeks now…”

“I think it would be best if you don’t say anything. Just let it blow over,” the publicist says. She’s using the speakerphone, and her voice sounds far away. Atsumu can hear the clack of keyboard keys in the background. “I mean it, Miya. Log out of everything. No, uninstall everything.”

“Don’t ya trust me even a little bit?” Atsumu asks. He tries to sound teasing, but his heart isn’t in it.

“No,” she says bluntly. The call goes blank.

Atsumu collapses back on to his bed, legs hanging over the edge. He holds his phone up over his face, staring at the ‘call ended’ until the screen turns itself off, and then sighs heavily.

It’s not that he’s worried. She was right, it would blow over. But it would happen again. And he knows that each time, it would chip off a little piece of you; and eventually leave your edges jagged and rough enough to cut.

You’d resent him for it.

Atsumu unlocks his phone. It’s easy enough to find those pictures of you and Osamu again.

You look so happy.

He doesn’t think he was being delusional earlier, he knows there was something more than plain embarrassment in your eyes when you’d looked at him; and yet, he can’t shake the thought that he’s being selfish. 

The photo is cropped awkwardly, and he knows you and Osamu are close, but he can’t help but feel disheartened, and then hate himself for feeling like that. Were you two actually seeing each other? Was he meddling in his brother’s happiness, your happiness? What did he have to offer that his brother didn’t, save for the scrutiny of strangers?

The phone buzzes.

His eyes flick up to the notification bar. It’s a DM request from one of his new-found confidantes.

(Well, it's not like I've got anything better to do.)

In that brief moment, Atsumu understands his mother, and her panic at the state of the house when guests were imminent. He even understands, as he turns a couple of the trophies he has on display a few degrees to the left, why she would go around adjusting her many throw pillows in those last few seconds. That time seemed to stretch endlessly.

And then the doorbell rings, and time seems to somehow come to a stop and rush forward at the same time.

Atsumu stumbles on the carpet as he rushes to open the door.

And there you are.

“Hey, Atsumu,” you say, fiddling with the lid of the plastic container in your hands, “can we talk?”

(Wow, he thinks for some reason. I think those are cookies.)

It's a thought that had felt improbable, and maybe even a little irrational— like thinking what it would have been like to have grown up in Hokkaido instead of Hyogo.

It was ridiculous, because the Miyas had lived and worked in Hyogo for generations— without even the whisper of a chance of ever leaving at any point in their history; and he was Osamu Miya, twin brother of Atsumu Miya. 

It was how things were. 

And growing up like that with lives so intertwined, meant that one way or another, Atsumu would show up at Onigiri Miya at least once a week; long after they were no longer considered a set. 

(Osamu didn’t want to say it was a twin thing, because he hated people calling anything he did a twin thing… but really, it was a twin thing.)

It was routine. Atsumu would walk in around the end of the afternoon, claim a stool near the cash register, order a plate, and then chat with Osamu for a couple of hours.

(Osamu is grateful for this. He knows he hasn’t been to even a quarter as many games of Atsumu’s as Atsumu has to Onigiri Miya’s lunch rushes.)

It was routine, so he notices when something is different— he notices when Atsumu brings you, one Saturday afternoon.

These are the first words you ever say to him, over the weekend special: “Oh, oh, this is lovely.”

It’s not very busy (and well, a pretty woman was complimenting his food) so he talks a little more than he usually does. “Ya want to know what’s in it?”

“Definitely.”

“The trick is in the sauce. Ya gotta get the spice mix just right, and then whip it with some olive oil.” Osamu rattles off a list, as he rings up another customer.

Atsumu looks lost. “What the hell is fenugreek?”

“It’s a spice,” you say, as you scribble everything down on a napkin. “It’s kind of bitter, but it balances out the rest.”

He's surprised. “Yer kidding, how does anything bitter taste this good?“

“That's because it's not alone!”

“Know yer way around spices?” Osamu asks.

“She’s a freak about food just like you,” Atsumu scoffs. “She knows.”

You meet his eyes for a second; and then quickly look away, embarrassed without that buffer of being entirely a stranger. 

Interesting, Osamu thinks.

“And you know, Sakusa was looking, so he said the cookies were fine.” You lean in conspiratorially. “But I saw him spitting into a napkin.”

Osamu winces. “He’s got a hell of a sweet tooth. Sorry ya had to see that.” He can’t imagine it was fun, having your cooking rejected so dramatically.  

To his surprise, you laugh. “Oh no, it was my fault. Does anyone like raisin bran? I like that he’s so honest.”

You’ve started to show up at Onigiri Miya a lot, mostly at night, near closing. You’re not as frequent a visitor as Atsumu; but you’re there enough for him to wonder if you’re showing up as he begins to square away the receipts. 

When you do come, you always have food with you. You always want to know what he thinks of your recipes.

(They start to taste better and better. He starts to look forward to it.)

The last customer, an old man, shuffles towards the register and passes him some crumpled bills. Osamu thanks him, and signals his staff to start closing. 

“Do you have a lot left to do before you go home?” you ask. 

He shrugs. “I could let the staff take care of it. But I try to help out with some of the little stuff.”

“Like?”

“Well…” Osamu bends down, and pulls out the box of fresh paper napkins. “I have to refill the holders.

“Oh, I can help with that!”

“I couldn’t ask ya to—”

You wave him off. “Don’t be silly, it’s no trouble. I’m always taking up your time, it’s the least I could do.”

It’s been a long time since Osamu has thought of being an only child. Somewhere in between when they started kindergarten (where Osamu had discovered that was an option) and the present, Atsumu had become a fact of life.

Now, as he watches you move around the tables, he thinks you’ve started to slot into his life pretty well too.

It’s the morning after you stay over that first night that he realises he’s in a little too deep.

It’s completely innocent— you both just lost track of time, working on a project for the Jackals together. Osamu couldn’t let you go home alone that late at night, and you’d known him for months at this point. He certainly hoped you didn’t think he was a creep.

It’s completely innocent. But that didn’t change the fact that you were making breakfast for him, in his kitchen, first thing in the morning. It didn’t change the fact that he’d woken up to the delicious smell of frying eggs, and an apartment that felt alive. 

(It doesn’t stop his heart from skipping a beat when you smile at him over your shoulder.)

“Take a seat! Eggs are almost done.”

Osamu sits. This isn’t real. You’re dressed and ready for the day, and you look far too put together and professional to fit into the cosy fantasy that’s fighting to play out in his head. 

“Do you like them scrambled?” you ask, as you set two plates of scrambled eggs on the kitchen table and pull out a chair for yourself. “Atsumu said he liked scrambled eggs best, once. So I thought—” you cut yourself off, embarrassed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed that just because you’re twins.”

Death. Taxes. Atsumu. Facts of life. Where every conversation inevitably ends up. 

“I like ‘em,” Osamu says, as he shovels a spoonful into his mouth. “Thanks.”

(It tastes just a little bit better than when he makes them.)

When Atsumu nervously asks him if cooking together is a euphemism; he realises three things.

One; that Atsumu has figured out that the ‘company’ Osamu has vaguely referred to having over is you.

Two, that his brother has, at the very least, a massive crush on you.

And three, that he inexplicably feels guilty for his attempts at flirting with you.

It’s not up to him, he thinks. And it’s not up to Atsumu. It’s up to you. 

He’s still thinking that when he stops you from accidentally touching the cast iron on the stove. He’s thinking it when he feels the soft skin of your wrist, and when he hurriedly lets go to try and turn his attention back to the broth he’s making.

(You’re a little out of sorts today. He doesn’t know why. He wants to ask, but every time he marshalls the words onto his tongue, that damn guilt keeps rearing its head.)

He’s thinking it when you ask him if he thinks you have a chance with Atsumu; and when he considers, for one shameful moment, if it was okay to be selfish just this once. Tell you he doesn’t think Atsumu is interested in anyone. Make a joke about how the only thing Atsumu is capable of loving is a volleyball.

Atsumu, who showed up week after week. Who fought his parents until they agreed to support Osamu’s entrepreneurial dreams. His brother, who he knew better than anyone, who he knows would back off and make it all too easy for him to believe that lie if Osamu ever told him he was interested in you.

So he doesn’t think about it after that, and settles for touching you one last time, in the guise of friendship.

Osamu hears you giggle at something his brother said, as he heads into the back of the restaurant. 

He tells himself he’ll get over it, as he puts a takeout box together. It’s true. Eventually, he’ll be able to listen to that sound without running to hide in a kitchen. 

Osamu feels himself falling into the comfort of familiar movements— chopping the ingredients and shaping the rice; feeling the sticky, starchy grains between his palms. 

It’ll be okay.

(It’s better this way. He knows Atsumu well. He’s never been good at handling bitter food.)