It’s What Everyone Always Expects Of Twins — Either They Are Both The Same, Or They Are Mirror Opposites.

It’s what everyone always expects of twins — either they are both the same, or they are mirror opposites. No one ever looks at the grey area in the middle, the place that would show you that actually they are two separate, complex individuals, like any other person.

But that isn’t novel, so people don’t see it. Thus Atsumu is characterised as being the emotive twin, and Osamu the closed off twin. The ‘chill’ brother, the rational one.

From a young age Osamu played into it easily, learning to internalise everything, whereas Atsumu got to express himself. It came with advantages and disadvantages, like how Osamu could easily blame Atsumu for things he didn’t do because adults tended to believe him more.

What people didn’t know about Osamu was that he could be very jealous, spiteful even. Not that it’s inherently bad to be those things, but people didn’t expect that from him, so it was easier to keep it hidden.

It knotted up inside his stomach and took hold of his heart as he watched you laugh with Atsumu. He wished he could reach inside himself and pull it out like a weed — he knew it was irrational, that he had nothing to worry about.

Yet still, he couldn’t unwind the glare from his face, even when Suna raised his eyebrow at him in amusement as if to say ‘seriously?’

No one really expected Osamu to be insecure, especially not when it came to Atsumu. From an outsider perspective it was Tsumu that often whined about being compared to each other, recounted stories of how everyone hated him in school, how Osamu had been a better player for most of their childhood. What everyone failed to see was that Osamu was simply a good liar and Atsumu was not.

In his mind, he was… regular. He was stable, routine, closed off. Atsumu was adventurous, bright, endearing in his own way, he carried a proverbial spotlight with him wherever he went.

You had known them both your whole lives and after years of running in mental circles, he could not understand why you chose him.

Walking with your hands intertwined and sheltered in his coat pocket, he looks up to admire the cloudless night sky. You study him from the corner of your eyes, lip pressed into a tense line.

He’d been distant tonight. Actually, he had been distant for almost a week now. Initially you assumed it was because the restaurant had been much busier since he’d advertised at the MSBY Vs. Adlers game, so you thought he would benefit from seeing his friends.

Fat load of good that did, you sneer at yourself, feeling defeated. Having known him for so long, having loved him for so long, you’d wanted to let him come to you on his own terms with whatever was bothering him.

It’s becoming clearer now that he is not going to do that. You squeeze his hand to grab his attention, smiling up at him gently when he tilts his head to meet your eyes.

“You doin’ ok, handsome?” You ask, “I can tell you’ve been thinking hard about something”.

He grimaces. He should’ve anticipated that you would catch on to his awkward behaviour. It would be a lie to say he didn’t know why he hadn’t communicated with you, because knew the reason all too well.

He was afraid that you would realise he was right.

You let the question stew for a while and neither of you say anything as you continue down the familiar street close to your shared apartment. Osamu exhales headily, stopping short under a streetlight.

“M’not good at talkin’ about that kinda thing,” he frowns, feeling incredibly juvenile in that moment. You stroke your thumb along the line of his knuckles and step closer so your chests are nearly touching.

“That’s fine,” you hum, bringing your free hand up to rest against the curve where his neck meets his shoulder. “I have two decades worth of experience speaking in ‘Osamu’. I’m completely fluent”.

That startles a laugh out of him, mouth pulled up into a grin involuntarily. You weren’t wrong with that, it was unsettling how well you could read him.

“It’s hard because I know it’s irrational. I know it isn’t true, but it still bothers me”.

“That’s ok, though,” you slide your hand further up to cup his cheek, the corners of your eyes crinkling as he leans his weight into the touch. “You can know that it’s not true but still want to hear it from someone else, ‘Samu”.

A lump forms in his throat, his sight misting when he tries to swallow it down, overwhelmed at your obvious love for him.

“Sometimes I think that maybe you picked the wrong brother,” he rasps, glancing away from you. “Then sometimes I think you might’ve picked the wrong man in general”.

“Why do you think that?” You question him firmly, your voice strained in an effort to keep calm. You desperately want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him.

“I just think you could do better. You deserve someone exciting, someone that hasn’t already settled in life”.

“Well you’re wrong,” you growl, yanking your arm out of his pocket to cup the other side of his face and force him to look directly at you.

“You don’t decide what I deserve, ‘Samu, I do. And I don’t know where you got the idea that you weren’t exciting, or that you were settled for life, because you’re not—”

You pause and correct yourself, “we’re not”.

He exhales shakily, tongue sliding across his dry bottom lip as he takes in what you’re saying. “You own a business, a restaurant. You’re a fantastic and creative cook, we get to try new things all the time, meet new people every day. I don’t doubt that you’ll branch out and eventually open up other restaurants across Japan! We could end up anywhere. What about that isn’t exciting?”

“Miya Osamu, I’ve loved you my entire life and we have barely even started ours. Travelling? Marriage? Children? What about that screams settled to you, hm?”

He blinks. “You want a family with me?”

Exasperated, you fall against his chest and nuzzle into his collar, whining his name in complaint. “Yes, idiot. I’m spending the rest of my damn life with you!” You exclaim.

“So help me God, if you ever insinuate that I should’ve dated Atsumu again, I’ll—”

You’re cut off abruptly by his lips pressing hastily against your own, his arms enveloping around your waist to pull you harder against his front. He kisses you over and over, sensual and passionate to quick and fleeting, like he can’t decide how he feels. He beams against your mouth and his joy is contagious.

“I love you,” he whispers, rocking you side to side under the flickering streetlight. Perhaps he didn’t have an international spotlight but he didn’t need one.

He has you.