#posb

"She's going to dump you." Osamu watches his twin closely through half-lidded eyes and notes the way his jaw clenches with a hint of amusement. He warms up flawlessly, concentration unbroken and motions fluid, save for the tensing of that little, itty bitty muscle. (His tell.) "She told me."

"She's lying."

"Keep tellin' yourself that and you'll eventually convince yourself too." 

"Shut up. She doesn't even like you. She's just playin' mind games like always because she's pissed about last weekend." Osamu keeps staring dully. (Man was ‘Tsumu full of shit.) "Sure I kinda fucked up but I'm under a lotta stress, and I can't be mean to fans or I'll be the jerk, 'cause they can't help being' excited. And you know they’ve been touchy since high school.”

"What, did ya cheat or something?"

"No way!" Atsumu finally tears himself away from his workout long enough to look Osamu straight in the eye. "What d'ya think I am, stupid?" 

“Think?” 

(The abandoned volleyball bounces loudly across the court before rolling to a stop against the gym wall.) 

“I’m busy, ‘kay? It’s not like I’m ignoring her.” 

“You’re full of shit.” 

Atsumu looks angry, which is surprising because there’s nobody to be mad at for this news except himself. (He doesunderstand accountability.) “She could’ve come and talked to me instead of goin’ around braggin’ to you about how she’ll get back at me.” 

“Like it’d have gotten through your thick skull.” 

“Whose side are you on?!” 

(Osamu’s tempted to sock him.) “I should be askin' you that, seeing how you're so hellbent on screwing things up yourself."

"Butt out 'Samu."

"She didn't even realize she told me. She's bein' serious this time."

"Did she accidentally tell you why she's so pissed too, since she's so serious?" His tone's a classic mix of taunting and so self-assured that it actually pisses Osamu off. He doesn't know much about your relationship—the two of you are on frigid terms at best, and 'Tsumu rarely if ever mentioned you in casual conversation—but watching the way his brother manhandled you made everyone uncomfortable. 

He gets up from the stands. 

"I tried to warn ya."

(He was always cleaning up after his messes.) (He sees no reason why this would be any different.)

/

His brother texts him a string of expletives around midday, while Osamu's wiping off his counters. He replies with a single question mark, as though he doesn't know what he'd meant. Atsumu doesn't text him again.

/

Osamu'd be nervous if he was the type to be, he thinks. (He hadn't seen 'Tsumu but he knows him, and he knows he'd kill 'im if he knew you were perched uncomfortably at his dining table.)

"Didn't think you'd show up." 

"Me neither." (He'd forgotten how mean you could look.) Underneath the sharp jet black stroke of your eyeliner was a sharper, colder look in your eyes, fixed straight onto him. (You're nothing like Atsumu's type.) "But I thought you'd snitch to Atsumu too, so I guess we're even."

He shrugs his shoulders. (It's not lying if he keeps his mouth shut.) "Ramen's almost done."

"I'm not here for dinner," you shoot back, eager to get this day over with and finally curl up in bed for the weekend. "What'd you call me over for?"

"Your loss then. I'm a great cook." 

He is, but you're not hungry. "I'm single, not free to wait around 'til you decide to fill me in on whatever was so important that it couldn't be handled over text." (You regret coming over after how nauseous Atsumu's chilled reaction to your declaration—'Let's break up'—had left you. You hadn't expected him to beg you to stay, but you'd stuck around with him for a year. Almost two.) (He's gotten more emotional about overcooked barbecue.)

(Osamu looks just like him.)

He gets right to the point. (The whiplash is dizzying.)

"You really wanna stick it to that asshole?"

You narrow your eyes, suspicious, but lean in curiously. (The Miyas may fight tooth and nail most days but they were still blood and you can't imagine either betraying the other, especially not for a no-name ex-girlfriend like yourself.) (You'll still hear him out. Osamu's much less predictable.) "And if I do?"

Osamu grins. "Go out with me. He'll go apeshit."

You gag, moving back against your seat as far as possible. "As if. You're so not my type."

"C'mon, we're literally identical twins. Biologically speaking you're already attracted to me."

"Biologically speaking both you and your brother are a real bunch of pigs. I'm done dating Miyas for now and forever, thank you very much."

He chuckles, clapping his hands together. "Relax—s'not like I’m actually asking you out. Atsumu just has to think we're dating."

You’re still unconvinced. "He'd never buy it. He's dense, but he’s not a complete idiot. Who'd believe that we're into each other?” You pause and tack on a halfhearted, “No offense."

"I'm being serious." 

"Do I look like I'm joking?" You scoff, in complete disbelief. "We date, and then what? Atsumu realizes he's actually been madly in love with me all along and quits making his agent text me his itinerary so he can drag me along to his events without having to lift a finger? I'm sure he'll see me with you and remember how to be a boyfriend instead of a fucking PR machine."

"Fake date."

"My bad," you sneer. 

"Who cares if he does?"

"How exactly are we sticking it to him otherwise?" (This was a bad idea.) (Favor or not, you and Osamu are not friends. He'd ignored you on good days, and the evening you'd dumped his brother was far from that.) (Had it been a bad day for his brother? You couldn't tell.) (You wish you could erase the memory of his clipped tone—'Your call'—out of the grooves of your brain.) 

Osamu can't read your frozen expression when he reminds you, "It'll piss him off."

"Come again?"

He's more confident when he speaks this time. "He'll lose it. 'Tsumu hates sharing."

You don't have to complain about how dehumanizing that kind of language is out loud. (You broke up with Atsumu for that exact reason, after all.) "This is sick."

"What?"

"You're him," you spit out, and those two words mean so many different things all at once. (How could you stomach looking at him when you saw Osamu? How would you ever get over Atsumu? Why would he offer this like he cared, when you knew he didn't?) 

The familiar territory is amusing. "Far from it, I think. Doesn't matter though. You and I both know I'm right about this."

(For once, he actually is.)

"This is really sick," you repeat, but you're already losing your conviction. (Atsumu'd hung up on you like you had donesomething wrong. He hadn't even asked why.) ("Let's break up.") ("Your call.") ("I want to break up.") (And he'd given you what you'd wanted.)

You know it'd be healthier to walk away and move on and let yourself heal. (You can't kid yourself. Nobody who prioritized health would've hung onto Atsumu for as long as you had.) You can't bring yourself to care.

"Go out with me?"

(You swallow past the lump in your throat, impulse flooding through you, and nod.)

"Maybe."

(Maybe isn't no, which practically makes it yes.) Osamu nods back, content.

You hate yourself for staying with Atsumu even though he's horrible, and the only possible (sane) reason you could've endured this for so long was an addiction to the microdoses of fame that dating a famous athlete brought you. (Half-dating.) (Like you could call him your boyfriend in front of friends or in Instagram captions, but not while he fucked you or things got awkward.)

He's probably off chugging beer or competing in some macho man drinking game while you're expected to sit at his booth and look pretty and wait around to finally be graced with his presence for a mere five minutes of the night. It'd been fine the first five hundred fucking times it'd happened at the MSBY post-game parties, but eventually the novelty of your presence had worn off and you'd blended into the background with the furniture. You're as much a fixture at these events as one of the barstools.

You're not a fucking barstool. 

(What are you doing here?)

You've thought of breaking things off with him before, but mostly during fights that left you dizzy with anger. You're impulsive, sure, but even you know better than to break off this (admittedly mutually beneficial) arrangement over a simple argument. You'd needed to make sure you'd lose more by staying than by leaving first.

You swirl your half-empty drink, half-heartedly noting the chipped polish on your middle finger. (You needed a touch up.) You were losing.

It'd be funny to dump him right here and right now in front of his entire team and their livestream audience tuned in to see whatever brilliantly stupid antics the victors were getting up to. He'd hate it. (And by extension, hate you.) (Therein lies the problem, of course.)

You'd never admit this out loud—you've barely admitted it to yourself, for fuck's sake—but you think you love Atsumu, in your own twisted way. You've never been a flowery person—you can count the times you've said 'I love you' out loud to him on your hands, and pet names are out of the question entirely—but the thought of seeing him with another trophy girlfriend makes you so mad that the glass in your hand nearly shatters. (You set it down. The last thing you need tonight is stitches.)

Love is cheap though, and no amount of it is worth being used as a decoration when you know you deserve so much better.

(For starters, a boyfriend that didn't treat you like an accessory.)

You won't dump him in front of his team, not tonight. (Tomorrow, you resolve. You type the reminder into your phone next to the alarm to take your vitamins.) (This will be way better for you than vitamins.)

"Don't you look real pretty tonight?"

(You lock your phone, slamming it face down against your half-bare thigh hard enough to sting.)

"I know."

"It's never a 'thank you' with you, huh?" Osamu makes himself comfortable in the seat across from yours. You wish he wouldn't, but you've lived through this exact scene enough times to know asking isn't worth your breath. (The Miyas do what they want.)

You smile sweetly. "You're welcome."

"You and Atsumu deserve each other," he shoots back, sans the smile. (For what it's worth, you drop your own.) 

"Why don't you go bother him then?" 

He grins now, looking so much like his brother that you're tempted to hurl the rest of your drink at him. "You just look so sad all alone. Figured you needed the company to cheer you up. Pretty girls should smile on Friday nights."

"You're a real asshole."

"Don't shoot the messenger." He chuckles, grabbing your drink and polishing it off with a giant gulp. "He really likes you, you know."

You wave in front of your face disgustedly, piecing together his patronizing words of comfort through his belching. (You're not sure what's grosser, the fruity fumes or that he felt the need to convince you that you were a catch. As if you didn't know.) (You were losing.) "Even twin telepathy has its limits, Miya. Butt out."

"I'm right."

"You always think you're right."

"Because I am." 

"Don't you know that your piece of shit brother only keeps me around for appearances, like some sort of Barbie to show off to his alpha male fans and teammates, or do I have to spell it out for you?" (You have to make a conscious effort to unlock your jaw.) (You're so fucking tense.) "Or do you already know, and just think this shit is funny?"

Osamu's upper lip curls into a sneer. "Don't talk about my piece of shit brother like that again." You quirk an eyebrow upwards. He leans in close enough to drown you in the stench of the alcohol he's downed. (Not that you're any better off yourself.) "He's still my problem."

(A shiver traces down your back.)

"Teach him some basic manners and I'll consider it."

"Quit it."

You roll your eyes, carefully crossing one leg over the other. (He always watches so closely. Not in a creepy way, but you notice because Atsumu never sees anything. They're like night and day.) "Or?"

"Or what?"

"That's what I'm asking." You groan. Osamu holds his liquor well—he's always way drunker than he looks—but he's a nightmare once he reaches his limit. You move to call Atsumu (because it'd be a cold day in Hell before you babysit a man-child for free, let alone one you don't even like), but Osamu swats the phone out of your reach.

"What're you gonna do about it?" 

"I told you to mind your business."

"Are you just gonna keep mopin' about Atsumu being a shitty boyfriend forever? 'Cause that's real fucking boring." You grimace, and he shrugs his shoulders. "I'm just bein' honest."

"You're literally the last person I'd ask for fair, unbiased advice about anything, and also Atsumu's twin brother if I remember correctly." You grab your phone again and stand to leave. "Tell him I went home early." 

"How're you getting there?"

"A cab charged to his card."

He laughs, loudly enough to draw attention from some of the other guests (who you glare at until they pretend to stop eavesdropping). "Is that your plan? You're just gonna cling to him until his money dries up? Lame. Real fuckin' boring." 

Your face burns up, and you hiss when you speak. "I'm going to let this slide once, because you're blacked out and I'll never see your stupid fucking face again after I dump your brother, but you do not get to talk to me like that." You don't care that the cab is 10 minutes away—you're getting out of here now. You'll figure out the dumping part tomorrow.

(You can't figure out which Miya you're more annoyed with.)

Osamu curses under his breath. You'd been pissed with Atsumu for a long time, sure, but damn were you pent up tonight. (He can't say that he's surprised. 'Tsumu's not exactly a romantic.)

Atsumu claps his brother on the back, hard enough to knock him off his seat. "Where the fuck've you been?" He's grinning that wide, shit-eating grin of his that comes out when he's feeling real good.

"What's it to ya?"