#Osamu miya comfort

[bokutoko]

ᴏꜱᴀᴍᴜ loves you like it’s breathing.

sure, you might be cranky in the morning before your first cup of coffee. that’s why he makes sure he has your favorite mug already underneath the keurig machine.

“samu, i’m about to kill somebody.”

“that’s real unfortunate, darlin'," he answers as he presses the 12 oz button to brew your coffee.

and of course, you might return home late, weary and drained—physically, mentally, and emotionally—from work. when you’re quiet, too quiet, he knows the thoughts in that pretty brain of yours are getting a little too loud, and with a soft sigh, he guides you to the bathroom to take a nice, hot shower or bath.

and while you rest your mind, he prepares your comfort meal, knowing it’ll ease your mind, even if just slightly.

“you didn’t have to do all this,” you’d whisper after dinner as you both sit on the roof of the building, watching the stars.

looking down at you, he’d just give you that same soft, crooked smile that always brings one to your own face with the same gentle words: “i know. i wanted to.”

ever such a stubborn human... "i know i can be a lot."

"good thing i can't ever get enough of ya."

so when you feel difficult to love, osamu is always there to remind you that it's easy and innate, like how your heart beats in your chest and pumps blood through your veins. you’re in his heart, in his veins.

hell, you are his heart, and he'll continue to prove to you that you deserve it—brewing your coffee and cooking you supper for the rest of your loving, quiet days together.

a/n: such a gentle, patient man… sigh

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please do not copy, alter, or repost my work. ©bokutoko 2025.

[emmyrosee]

Give us 22 with our boy osamu 😭🌷

22 with osamu… comfort 🥺

Your nails dig into your palms as you stare, blankly, at the book in front of you. You haven’t absorbed a word in the past twelve minutes, and it’s a book you haven’t touched in months. You should feel invested.

But you don’t. And it’s killing you.

You’re not quite sure why, but the happy whistling coming from Osamu has a well of tears flooding to your waterline, the books words start melting together and your breathing picks up at his happy, “hey baby.”

When you ignore him, you feel his gaze bore into you. “Uhh… babe? You okay?”

“Mhm.”

“You… positive?” He says, and you screw your eyes shut. “I don’t want to prod you, but you seem tense, and I don’t like it for you.”

“Im fine, Osamu,” you grit your teeth. The next thing you know, a cup of juice gets placed next to your book, and he’s next to you, a warm hand on your back as he rubs soothing circles and god, you don’t want to take this out on him. Not when he treats you so good, not when he cares so much about you.

Not when you can’t do anything right, and yet he’s right there to love you.

“Talk to me,” he whispers, and you screw your eyes shut and shake your head. “Please? Let me in.”

You take a deep breath in and can’t help the wobbling in your voice, “I can’t… even… read correctly.”

“Huh?”

“I can’t read correctly!” You repeat, this time in a sob as you throw yourself into osamu’s stomach, his head immediately cradling the back of your head. “I’ve been trying and trying for the past twelve minutes, and I’ve retained none of it! My back hurts and my eyes keep vibrating, and I can’t even read correctly, for the love of god!”

He shushed you softly as his thumb gingerly rubs over your head, letting you cry it out for a bit in his shirt. You feel his breath pattern even out as an attempt to encourage you to do the same. You finally are able to stop crying long enough to breath, and he clears his throat.

“Are you doing your best?” He asks.

“What?” You ask.

“Are you doing your best right now?”

He’s not talking about reading. His words are carefully crafted to not just be about reading, and you wail into his stomach again. You nod, and he clicks his tongue, “then that’s okay. It’s okay to feel frustrated right now. But you know how to read, baby. You know how to open a book and retain every word that’s printed- you know that.”

You nod against him, and he continues, “you’re doing your best right now, and that’s plenty. I’m proud of you for all you’re doing. It’s enough- I promise you.”

“I don’t feel like it is,” you sniffle. “I don’t feel like it is enough.”

“It’s plenty,” he repeats. “Dont sabotage yourself into thinking otherwise.”

“Okay,” you whimper. You pull back to flick your eyes up at him, “I want to stop reading, please.”

He chuckles and grabs your bookmark to slip into the page, “what do you want to do?”

“I want to stay here, and cry more.”

“I can do that,” he promises, fixing his stance to be firmer and he guides you to rest your head back on his stomach. “Anything, for you.”

“Thank you.”

“Any time, babe. You know that.”

[sexyandcringe]

Hopeless romantic

Part 2 ◇ Part 3 ◇ Part 4

Warnings: none, osamu feeling inferior to tsumu :(

Content: osamu x reader, Angst (to fluff in the next chapters), hurt/comfort

A/n: Osamu's POV! I swear i'm gonna continue the story-line in the next chap.!

All of his childhood, Osamu felt like he was divided in half because of his brother: half food, half clothes, and half affection from their parents. It was almost like people didn’t see him as his own person. To the world, they were “The Twins”, never just “Osamu” and just “Atsumu”.

Time changed, things changed, they each started to become their own person, dreaming of different futures and places to go to.

Osamu always felt like he was the shadow to the light named Miya Atsumu, but he loved him dearly, so much that even today he half-expects to find Atsumu tangled up beneath the sheets of their childhood bunker bed, only to be greeted by the disappointing sight of his mirror, where his reflection gets blurred with the lines of his twin brother.

Osamu loved Atsumu but he didn’t want to hurt people like Atsumu often did; he told his brother that he was never going to become like him, so he became a little less selfish, less stubborn and less greedy.

With you, though, he is greedy. And he wants all of you.

He wants to hold you while you two watch some stupid anime called Haikyuu that you’re obsessed with, he wants to listen to you rambling about your day and your disdain for Alice, the insufferable colleague of yours; he wants to cook for you and feed you with his own hands and he wants to wait for you in your shared bed.

Osamu didn’t want a lot of things in his life, except his restaurant and his family, but since the day he saw you walk in with wet hair and drenched clothes, he started to want a lot more than he could afford, from the most mundane acts of waking up together to the intimacy of making love to you.

He is patient though, he lets your relationship grow steadily.

He thought that he would be happy with the leftover crumbles of affection that you gave him, but when you stopped coming to his shop, Osamu lost it completely. 

He was waiting for you around 7 PM like every Friday, he was feeling confident that day and wanted to suggest a casual outing to the neighbouring town's food fair.

(Nothing like a date, just a friendly hang out, he told himself).

His resolve wavered when you didn’t show up, not for one, not for two, but for three weeks in a row. He thought of all the possibilities as to why you didn’t come for so long, and he tried his best not to imagine the worst-case scenario. That can’t be. Nope.

On the third Friday of your absence, Osamu was crumbling. He closed the shop earlier than usual and went straight into the supermarket to get his guilty pleasure: the Butter Cookies.

His grandma always used to get them for him and unlike many other children, he never found sewing tools or anything of the sort in the box; his grandma knew that that kind of disappointment would be far too great for a six-year-old, food-enthusiast ‘Samu.

Well, grandma, that kind of disappointment is too great for a twenty-six-year-old ‘Samu too, because the guy was nearly panicking when he couldn’t find the boxes of Butter Cookies at their usual place. 

He was positive, though, because even after searching everywhere and not finding them, he didn’t lose hope. They will be available in another grocery store for sure. He got his priority straight and redirected his steps to another store across the town.

Luckily for him, the store was still open for another hour and it didn’t take him long to finally see his comfort food, in all its glory, staring at him from the shelf in the second aisle.

He was just about to go and pay for his box when he caught a glimpse of your silhouette, halting him in his tracks and confirming that it was, in fact, you.

Concern etches across his features as he looks at your tired and empty eyes, wondering if you have been taking care of yourself. Did you eat enough? Sleep enough?

The desire to call out to you is strong, leaving him no time to think before he is already approaching you, “That one will go bad in like 2 days.”

You look like a deer caught in headlights, doe eyes staring at him in what he wants to believe is awe.  You smile timidly before saying: “Hi Osamu, long time no see.” 

Yeah, long time no see, indeed. Osamu wants to be mad at you for making him so worried, for not coming to his shop, for not letting him know if you were doing okay, but he is just the owner of a restaurant and you’re just a regular client.

At least, you used to be a regular client. He can’t force you to like his company or his shop, no matter how much he wishes it.

Despite this, he can’t stop the bitter remark that slips past his lips,“Yeah, because someone hasn’t been coming to my restaurant lately.” you visibly wince, though he can’t seem to care enough.

You stutter some poor excuse as he inspects the other vegetables in the aisle, handing you one with a clean surface that will last at least five days, per Osamu’s calculations.

His hands touch yours and it makes him blush like a middle schooler.

You both talk about nothing and everything and in between the mundane banter and playful jabs, Osamu finds himself agreeing to a cooking lesson at your apartment.

And he couldn’t be happier.

Reblogs are really appreciated!

Tags: @lees-chaotic-brain @writingsofanomnivore @pressuredtreasure @k4sumis0u

[writingsofanomnivore]

Peace- Osamu x reader

warnings; a bit depressive. reader is someone who gets seasonal depression.

As someone who gets sad during a specific time of the year- I could only really think of Osamu comforting me

angst to fluff with comfort. Osamu being the great man he is.

Our coming of age has come and gone.

There’s so much you admire Osamu for—his love for food, his gentle yet firm personality, his maturity, his courage to step down from the volleyball world and create his own world, a world of food and things he loved. Seeing that, some days, you couldn’t help but feel small. To love and be loved by this man felt like an honor, a lucky draw ticket you won.

You wonder if what you do is enough. Becoming a Miya, making his brother your brother. All the endless things he does, with grace and valor—one can’t help but feel jealous. There’s only so much you can do before you crumble down. Only so much you can give before you feel empty, before you have nothing left to give.

You wonder when he will realize this—how pathetic of a partner you are. How he could easily find a good wife who would stay at home for him, take care of his kids, be truly motherly. Not like you, putting your career ahead. Not like you, being a burden on him instead of easing his. Not being there for him when you should.

Is he sick of this already, or is he just unaware?

Before you know it, there are tears streaming down your face. You wish you could stop, but within a minute, a sob escapes you. Quickly turning to his sleeping figure in the morning light, you hurry to the living room. Before you can get up, a hand pulls you down—Osamu, getting up, eyes barely open, blinking the sleep away from his eyes. His dark grey irises stare at you. Without saying a word, he pulls you into him, holding you, embracing you.

There are so many thoughts racing through your head, but not a single word can be formed. He holds you, lets you cry, kissing your forehead and nape every few minutes.

What is happening?

You want to push him away and go.

Where?

You don’t know. You never will. His shining glory is nothing compared to your dull life. All you are is a speck of dust on his shelf. But all you can do is sob.

That is the last thing you remember.

The noon sun shining through your windowsill. Your bed empty. There’s a sound from the kitchen—he is cooking something.

You want to sneak out, go somewhere until your head clears up.

Not getting much time to think, you hear the padding of footsteps. Wiping any residue of sleep from your eyes, trying to look at least a bit presentable, you see him standing at the doorway. An apron on his old shirt, dark brown hair tousled perfectly, his grey eyes filled with warmth and a soft smile on his face.

You don’t expect him to bring up the early morning drama—he’s way better than that. Then again, you are the flawed one.

“Breakfast’s ready. Do ye want to have it here?”

You want to shake your head, do something, but all you can do is hang your head low. His hand cups your face. There’s probably drool on your cheek, your hair is messy, your eyes are sharp with those weird things in them, but the way he looks at you, the way he looks at you makes you feel so loved, so adored. There’s just no word to describe it.

It feels like the same cycle—these months coming with your gloom, and he has to face it again.

Why does he not feel sick of this?

“Do ye want to talk about it, sweetheart? It’s okay, I’m here.”

He pulls you into his chest.

Do you? Do you want to burden him with this again?

It won’t be long before you’re left alone, like you deserve to be.

With this inner turmoil, he sits down, takes your hand.

“Today, I’ve taken a holiday. We will spend the day together, alright? After lunch, we’re going to go to yer favorite park and have that gelato.”

Your eyes are brimming with tears, but all you can do is nod and pull him closer. Because he is the morning sun after your stormy night, and just like after every storm, you see the sun shine—he will always be there, no matter how much you want to push him away.

[sweetlyvibe]

𝗖𝗔𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗕𝗘𝗧𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗡

PAIRING : Osamu Miya x F!Reader ,

GENRE : angst/comfort

WC: 2.5k

SUMMARY : Osamu Miya always felt second to his brother, Atsumu, especially in love. But when you confess your feelings to Osamu, he’s shocked—especially when he discovers Atsumu likes you too.

CONTENT/WARNINGS : Insecurity, love triangle, jealousy, emotional conflict, unrequited love, use of y/n, Imk if i missed anything!

Osamu Miya wasn’t one to get hung up on things. Life was simple for him—school, volleyball, helping at the family restaurant. He wasn’t chasing after big dreams like his twin brother, Atsumu, who wanted to be the best setter in Japan. No, Osamu was content with keeping things balanced. It was probably why everyone gravitated toward Atsumu more than him, and he was fine with that. At least, he used to be.

But it started to sting a little when it came to you.

Every time he saw you laughing at one of Atsumu’s jokes, or worse, when he caught his brother bragging about how you looked at him during practice, it was like a knot in his stomach that wouldn’t loosen. Osamu knew Atsumu had charm, that magnetic pull that brought people in effortlessly. Atsumu would get confessions left and right, girls practically fawning over him, while Osamu stayed on the sidelines. Not that it bothered him most of the time—those girls didn’t even bother to learn the difference between the two.

But you weren’t like most girls. That’s what made it harder for him. And maybe that’s why Osamu was convinced you’d never look at him the way you looked at Atsumu.

Because who would?

Osamu couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he realized he liked you more than he wanted to admit. It was probably one of those quiet moments after practice, when you smiled at him like he was the only one in the room. But then, without fail, Atsumu would butt in with his usual confidence, and you’d shift your attention back to his brother. Osamu would shrug it off, pretending like it didn’t matter, like he didn’t notice the way Atsumu’s eyes lit up whenever he saw you.

As much as it bothered him, Osamu didn’t hate his brother for it. Atsumu was his twin, after all. They didn’t talk much about feelings, but Osamu could tell that Atsumu liked you too. That should’ve been enough to stop him from getting his hopes up. Atsumu was always the one people chose—why would this time be any different?

Osamu tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter. He was fine just being your friend, having quiet conversations with you when Atsumu wasn’t around to steal the spotlight. But the more he thought about it, the more it felt like he was stuck in his brother’s shadow, unable to step out and tell you how he really felt.

He wasn’t flashy like Atsumu. He didn’t have the same loud confidence, the same need to be seen by everyone. And maybe that’s why he believed he didn’t stand a chance with you. You were friendly with him, sure, but so was everyone else. To Osamu, he was just the other Miya twin—the quieter one, the one you probably didn’t see in the same way.

The day everything turned upside down started off like any other. It was a slow morning after practice, and Osamu was heading to the lockers to grab his things. His mind was still on the game—what they could’ve done better, how Atsumu had nagged at him for missing a spike, the usual banter. He didn’t even notice the small piece of paper sticking out of his locker until he was pulling out his shoes.

At first, Osamu thought it was some leftover flyer from the school festival or something, but when he opened it, his stomach dropped.

It was a letter.

A love letter.

Osamu stared at it, his mind struggling to catch up. The neat handwriting spelled out his name, and a few lines below, a simple but direct confession. His heart started beating faster than he wanted to admit, and for a second, he wondered if this was some kind of joke. Him? Getting a love letter?

But then, he saw the name at the bottom.

Your name.

Osamu blinked, rereading it, making sure he wasn’t hallucinating. But there it was, in your handwriting, as clear as day. You liked him?

He didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to think. All this time, Osamu had convinced himself that you were like everyone else, that you probably had a crush on Atsumu like most people did. But this letter—it was real. You liked him, not his brother. It was like the ground had shifted beneath him, leaving him standing on unsteady footing.

A part of Osamu felt guilty. He knew Atsumu liked you—he could see it in the way his brother tried to impress you, how he talked about you after practice like you were someone special. And here Osamu was, holding the proof that you liked him instead.

Later that day, when Osamu saw you, his heart did this strange thing, like it couldn’t decide whether to race or stop entirely. You didn’t seem different, didn’t act any different. You were just you, smiling at him like you always did when you passed by.

Osamu thought about how easy it would be to just pretend he never saw the letter. Maybe it would be better for everyone. He could ignore it, let you and Atsumu have a shot at each other. Atsumu was better at this sort of thing—more confident, more open. He wouldn’t hesitate like Osamu was doing now. Maybe it was selfish for Osamu to think he deserved your attention.

But then he remembered the way your handwriting had spelled out his name, how you’d written that you liked him, not Atsumu. And that was enough to push him to act.

Osamu found himself waiting for you after class. His nerves twisted in his stomach the whole time, but when you finally came out, you looked surprised to see him standing there.

“Hey,” Osamu said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Can we talk for a second?”

You raised an eyebrow but nodded. “Sure, what’s up?”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the folded letter. “I found this… in my locker.”

Your eyes widened when you saw the letter, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. Osamu couldn’t read your expression, and he didn’t know what to expect. Did you regret it? Was it a joke? Had you written it by mistake?

“I… I didn’t know if I should bring it up,” Osamu admitted, unsure of how to navigate the situation. “But… is it real? Like, do you really…?”

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked down, nodding. “Yeah, it’s real. I wasn’t sure if you’d see it, or if you’d even want to talk about it, but… yeah.”

Osamu’s heart was pounding. This was real. You really liked him. After all the doubts, after convincing himself that you were just like everyone else, you had chosen him.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I didn’t think you’d feel that way about me.”

You smiled, a small, gentle smile that made Osamu’s heart race all over again. “Why wouldn’t I? I like you because you’re you, Osamu. You’re thoughtful, calm, and funny in a way that doesn’t need attention. You don’t try to be anyone else. I like that. I like you.”

Osamu could hardly believe what he was hearing. The words didn’t feel real, like they belonged in someone else’s life. Yet here you were, standing in front of him, looking at him with eyes that said you meant every word.

“I like you too,” Osamu finally managed to say, the words clumsy but honest. “I just didn’t think I had a chance.”

You stepped a little closer, your voice soft but clear. “Well, now you know. You do.”

The next few days passed in a blur, Osamu floating through them with a mixture of disbelief and happiness. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, about the fact that you had chosen him. For the first time, he didn’t feel like he was just the other Miya twin. He was someone you saw, someone you liked.

But there was something nagging at the back of his mind. Atsumu. He hadn’t told him yet, and he wasn’t sure how to. Osamu knew his brother better than anyone. He knew that Atsumu didn’t take rejection well, especially when it came to something he cared about. And even though you hadn’t outright rejected Atsumu, Osamu knew that his brother liked you. A lot.

The storm was coming, and Osamu couldn’t avoid it forever.

It came sooner than he expected. A few days later, after practice, Atsumu cornered him in the locker room, his signature smirk plastered on his face.

“Oi, Osamu,” Atsumu called out, leaning against the lockers. “Guess what? I think Y/N’s about to confess to me.”

Osamu froze, pretending to busy himself with his things. “Oh yeah?” he muttered, trying to sound casual.

“Yeah,” Atsumu went on, oblivious to the tension building. “She’s been hangin’ around me a lot more lately. It’s only a matter of time, I can feel it.”

Osamu’s stomach twisted. He knew this moment was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Atsumu continued talking, his voice filled with excitement. “I’ve been waitin’ for this. I think she’s finally gonna make a move.”

Osamu clenched his fists, his heart pounding. He couldn’t avoid it any longer. “Atsumu… about that.”

Atsumu frowned, his smirk faltering as he noticed the serious tone in Osamu’s voice. “What? You jealous or somethin’?”

Osamu shook his head. “No. It’s just… she already confessed.”

Atsumu blinked in confusion. “She already confessed to me?”

“No,” Osamu said quietly, feeling the weight of his words. “She confessed to me.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Atsumu stared at him, processing what Osamu had just said. Then his confusion shifted into disbelief, followed by a slow dawning of understanding.

“Wait… what?” Atsumu’s voice was quieter now, almost cautious. “You’re tellin’ me… she chose you?”

Osamu nodded, his chest tightening. He didn’t want to hurt his brother, but there was no way around it. “Yeah. She left a letter in my locker. She told me she likes me.”

Atsumu’s face was unreadable for a few seconds, the smirk completely gone now. The playful, teasing edge that usually colored his voice was nowhere to be found.

“So, she… likes you?” Atsumu asked again, his tone flat, like he was still trying to wrap his head around it.

Osamu felt a surge of guilt. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I didn’t plan this, Atsumu. I didn’t think she’d—”

“It’s fine,” Atsumu cut him off, his voice sharp. “You don’t need to explain.”

The air between them grew tense, and Osamu could see the hurt flicker across Atsumu’s face, even though his brother was doing his best to hide it. Atsumu had never been good at dealing with rejection—he thrived on being wanted, on being the center of attention. And now, for the first time, someone had chosen Osamu over him.

Atsumu let out a bitter laugh, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Well, ain’t that somethin’. Guess I’m not as irresistible as I thought.”

Osamu winced at the sarcastic tone, wishing there was a way to make this easier. He knew Atsumu’s pride was bruised, and no amount of explanation would change that.

“Look, I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Osamu started, but Atsumu held up a hand, cutting him off again.

“It’s fine, Osamu,” Atsumu repeated, though his voice was tight with frustration. “You don’t have to explain.”

The silence that followed was heavy, both brothers unsure of what to say next. Atsumu ran a hand through his hair, glancing away as if trying to process everything.

“Guess you finally one-upped me, huh?” Atsumu said with a forced smirk, though the bitterness in his voice was hard to miss.

Osamu wanted to say something, anything to make this less painful, but before he could, Atsumu turned on his heel and headed toward the door. “Don’t worry about it, ‘Samu. I’ll be fine.”

And with that, Atsumu walked out of the locker room, leaving Osamu standing there alone, a mix of relief and guilt swirling in his chest.

The days after that conversation were strange. Atsumu wasn’t the type to stay upset for long, and soon enough, he was back to his usual self, at least on the surface. He still joked around, still bragged and teased, but there was something different in the way he interacted with Osamu. It wasn’t obvious to most people, but Osamu could tell. There was a slight distance between them, an unspoken tension that neither of them wanted to address directly.

But despite the guilt Osamu felt, there was something else too—something warm and undeniable that came from knowing you had chosen him. Whenever he saw you, his heart would race in that unfamiliar, but welcome way. You were still you, kind and thoughtful, treating him the same way you always had, but now there was something more between the two of you. Something real.

Osamu still wasn’t used to it, the idea that you liked him, but he was trying to get there. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling that he wasn’t supposed to be the one in this position—that Atsumu was supposed to be the one who got your attention, not him. But every time you smiled at him or laughed at one of his dry comments, those insecurities faded a little more.

One afternoon, a few weeks after the confession, Osamu found himself sitting next to you outside the school, the late afternoon sun casting a warm glow over the courtyard. You were talking about something—Osamu wasn’t really paying attention, his mind too busy replaying everything that had happened over the past few weeks.

“Osamu?” you said, nudging him gently. “You’re spacing out.”

He blinked, realizing he hadn’t been listening. “Sorry,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just thinkin’.”

You tilted your head, giving him a curious look. “About what?”

Osamu hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should bring it up. But something about the way you were looking at him made him feel like he could be honest. “I still don’t get why you chose me,” he admitted quietly. “I just… I didn’t think I was the type of guy someone would go for. Especially when Atsumu’s right there.”

You frowned slightly, shifting closer to him. “Osamu, I already told you. I chose you because you’re you. Atsumu’s great, but… he’s not you.”

Osamu looked at you, a mixture of surprise and warmth filling his chest. He’d heard you say it before, but each time, it felt like he was hearing it for the first time.

You reached out, gently resting your hand on his. “You don’t have to compare yourself to him. I don’t. I like you for who you are, Osamu. And nothing’s going to change that.”

For the first time in a long while, Osamu felt like he didn’t have to live in his brother’s shadow. You saw him, just as he was, and that was enough.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he looked at you. “Thanks,” he said softly. “That… means a lot.”

You smiled back, squeezing his hand gently. “Anytime.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Osamu Miya felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

. 🏐 〃 ⋯ TAGGING : : @0samuslove @yoghurtsan @lxdymoon0357 @achy-boo

[rosierin]

a place to fall apart │ osamu miya

synopsis; osamu comes home without a word. atsumu, suna and (y/n) know something’s wrong. in the dead of night, (y/n) hears him cry—and she refuses to let him face it alone.

aka osamu gets his heart broken and (y/n) comforts him through the night

disclaimer; despite the tags, this is not a ship!! 'tis purely platonic!osamu x reader

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

The front door clicked shut.

No heavy footsteps. No sigh of relief. No muttered complaint about his long day.

Just quiet.

(Y/n) glanced up from her spot on the couch. Atsumu and Suna barely acknowledged it, too caught up in their conversation—until Osamu walked past the living room and straight into the kitchen without so much as a glance their way.

That was the first sign.

Her brows furrowed. That wasn’t right. Osamu always acknowledged them. Even if it was just a nod, a wave, a passing comment—there was usually something.

Suna’s gaze flicked toward the kitchen, catching on. Atsumu followed, twisting where he sat, frowning.

“Oi.” Atsumu called after him. “What’s with the long face? Barely heard ya come in."

No response.

(Y/n) and Suna exchanged a glance. Neither had the heart to address it. Not yet, at least.

Atsumu, on the other hand, pushed further without missing a beat.

“Seriously, what’s up with ya? Ya look like a slapped ass."

Still, nothing.

Osamu opened a cupboard, grabbed a glass, filled it with water. His movements were slow, measured—almost like he was just going through the motions.

Atsumu scoffed, shaking his head. “Geez, what, did ya get dumped or somethin’?”

It was a joke. A bad one, sure, but that was just how Atsumu was. He could be awfully tactless at times.

Still, it was bait—and Osamu always bit back.

But this time—

Osamu barely reacted. Not a flinch. No eye roll. Didn't tell his brother to shut up.

Just grabbed the glass. Lifted it to his lips.

Took a sip.

Set it down.

Shrugged.

“M’fine. Just tired.”

A beat of silence. Heavy. Unspoken.

Suna and (y/n) exchanged glances once more. A flicker of concern passed between them—because this wasn’t right.

Osamu was always composed, always level-headed, always the one who kept things moving.

But now, he just stood there. Staring at nothing in particular.

(Y/n) stood up slowly, stepped closer, tilting her head inquisitively. “Osamu…”

Her fingers brushed his arm—light, tentative, just enough to say I’m here. You can talk to me.

Instead, he stepped back. Brushed past her.

“I’m goin’ to bed.”

The words were flat. Hollow.

He dragged his feet up the stairs.

Then—the quiet click of his bedroom door.

And with that, it was as though the air had been sucked out of the room.

(Y/n) turned back to the boys. This time, Atsumu’s face flickered with something different. Not amusement. Not exasperation.

Concern.

Suna offered a light shrug, but even his usual impassive features flickered with something solemn.

(Y/n) swallowed hard, biting her lip.

But—she was (y/n). Ever the optimist. Ever the one to try.

She pushed herself up, padded over to the base of the stairs, tilting her head back just slightly.

She forced a little brightness into her voice.

“There’s lasagna if you want some!” she chirped. “It’s homemade!”

Light. Sweet. Hopeful.

Maybe he’d come down. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe—

A meek voice came from his bedroom.

“Not hungry.”

A tiny, broken exhale slipped past (y/n)'s lips.

Her heart sank.

Her bottom lip wobbled.

Slowly, she turned back to the others.

Grief flashed across her face, crept in, before finally taking over.

Atsumu was still staring at the stairs, brows pulled tight. Suna exhaled through his nose, tipping his head back against the couch.

No one had to say it.

They all knew it.

Something was seriously wrong.

Nobody saw or heard from Osamu that entire evening.

The house felt off without him—like a puzzle missing its final piece.

There was nobody for (y/n) to have her usual, easy-going chats with. Nobody to keep Atsumu in check. Nobody to add onto Suna’s dry quips with an equally witty remark.

And speaking of Atsumu—

He had been restless all night. Fidgeting with his phone, tapping his foot, staring blankly at the TV without really paying attention to those around him. He had barely spoken since dinner, aside from the occasional grunt or muttered response.

The air was heavy, to say the least.

Thick with something almost oppressive, like a dark cloud looming over their heads.

It settled over the apartment, making even (y/n) feel on edge.

And yet—Osamu’s door stayed shut.

The next time she heard from him was in the dead of night.

Muffled. Broken.

(Y/n) stirred awake, blinking sleepily before realizing—no. She wasn’t imagining it.

The soft, shuddering sounds bled through the thin walls.

There was doubt about it.

Osamu was crying.

Her stomach twisted.

Her Osamu. The calm one. The reasonable one. The one who never wavered.

Crying.

She laid there, frozen, her chest aching at the sound. He was so close—just on the other side of the wall—and yet, she had never felt so far away from him.

Her fingers tightened around the bedsheets. She felt useless.

Her mind reeled, trying to grasp at possibilities. What could’ve happened?

And then—Atsumu’s voice from earlier.

"What, did ya get dumped or somethin’?"

(Y/n) winced.

The words felt so much heavier now.

Because—what if...?

That idiot.

She exhaled sharply, staring at her ceiling.

Should she go to him?

Would he even want her there?

Osamu wasn’t the type to seek comfort. He was the type to push through on his own. The type to wipe his face, inhale deep, and pretend like nothing happened.

Maybe he wanted privacy.

Maybe she should let him be.

But then—

A quiet, shaking breath. A stifled sob.

(Y/n) made her decision.

She slipped out of bed, padding softly across the floor, careful not to make a sound.

The hallway was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow under Osamu’s door.

She stood outside it, suddenly hesitant.

Then, gently, she raised her hand—

Knock, knock.

Soft. Barely there. Just enough to let him know.

A pause.

Then, as quietly, as gently as she could manage—

"It’s just me..."

Her voice was small. Careful. Afraid that if she spoke too loud, she might push him away.

A heartbeat of silence.

Then—shuffling.

(Y/n) waited, fiddling with the sleeve of her pyjamas.

Would he send her away?

She didn't have much time to ponder before the door clicked open.

Just an inch. Just enough for her to see a tired pair of red eyes peeking through the crack.

Her heart broke all over again.

She tilted her head slightly, offering a tiny, reassuring smile. No words. Just presence.

(Y/n) swallowed, hesitant.

“…Can I come in?”

Osamu stood at the doorway, still sniffling lightly, his knuckles rubbing against one tired eye.

She wasn’t sure if she was imposing. She wasn’t sure if he wanted to be alone.

But she couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear the thought of him curled up in the dark, crying alone in silence.

If it were her, she’d want someone there.

So maybe—just maybe—he wanted the same.

Osamu didn’t respond at first. He just inhaled sharply, then nodded. A small, tired nod.

And then, without a word, he stepped aside.

(Y/n) slipped past him, padding softly across the room. She settled onto his bed, hands loosely clasped in her lap, waiting for him.

The air inside his room was thick.

Not just from the heat lingering under the covers, not just from the faint scent of laundry detergent and cologne—but from the weight of everything left unsaid.

The mattress dipped slightly beside her as he sat down.

She shifted just a little—just enough for her thigh to brush against his. A subtle, silent kind of comfort.

Osamu sat stiffly at first, shoulders hunched, body language closed off. She thought of ways to break the silence—but he beat her to it.

“…You come in here to ask me to cook for ya again?”

It was meant as a joke. A light-hearted jab.

But it wasn’t him.

It felt off. Forced. Like he was trying to be okay—trying to play the part of Osamu Miya, the easy-going, steady one—but the cracks were showing.

Somehow, that hurt (y/n) more.

She forced a small laugh anyway, shaking her head. “No.”

Then, gently—

“…What’s wrong?”

Her voice was soft. As soft as she could muster. Like she was afraid that if she pushed too hard, he’d shatter all over again.

“I’m worried about you, ‘Samu.”

She saw it immediately.

The way his shoulders stiffened. The way his breath hitched. Like he was holding something in—like it was going to burst out whether he wanted it to or not.

Osamu let out a slow exhale.

“I know,” he muttered. “I know you are.”

He ran a hand through his messy, sleep-tousled hair, fingers raking harshly through the strands before his shoulders sagged. His gaze drifted away, his voice almost empty.

And then—

"My girlfriend broke up with me."

(Y/n) froze.

The words knocked the wind out of her.

Atsumu’s voice from earlier replayed in her mind.

She clenched her jaw, eyebrows marring into a deep frown.

She'd make sure to smack him the next time she saw him.

Her chest ached as realization set in.

It all made sense now.

Why Osamu had come home so quiet. Why he had barely looked at them. Why he had shut himself in his room.

Sensing her mounting rage, Osamu smoothly cut in before she could explode.

"I know what yer thinkin' and it's fine. He didn't know. He didn't mean it."

Her eyes flickered up to his face, trying to get a read of his expression, if he was being sincere.

The tension slowly left her shoulders, heading his words.

That's when another sharp flash of anger curled inside her chest—not at Osamu, not even at Atsumu—but at the girl, this time.

Because who the hell would be stupid enough to leave Osamu?

He was funny. Smart. Thoughtful. Sweet. A great cook, for god’s sake!

She almost said it.

But then she caught the look on his face.

And she swallowed it down.

“Why?”

It slipped out before she could stop herself—before she could decide if it was the right thing to ask.

Osamu gave a weak shrug.

“Dunno,” he muttered, voice strained. “Said she lost the spark, or somethin’.”

(Y/n)’s brows furrowed.

Her chest tightened with confusion. Frustration. Sadness.

What did that even mean? How could she just leave? How could she just walk away from someone like him?

Osamu’s fingers curled into the fabric of his sweatpants.

It was clear—he didn’t understand it either.

Another beat of silence passed.

Then, softly, (y/n) exhaled.

“…I’m so sorry, ‘Samu.”

Osamu swallowed, shaking his head. “S’alright.”

But they both knew it wasn’t.

The room went quiet again. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock on his wall, the slow, uneven breaths from the boy beside her.

Then—

(Y/n) moved.

She didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t need to.

She just reached out—and pulled him into her arms.

Osamu stiffened at first, caught off guard—but then, suddenly, all at once—

A sharp, hitched breath—

And then, before he could stop it—

A sob.

One. Then two. Then more, spilling out like he couldn’t keep them in any longer.

(Y/n) held him tighter.

She felt his fingers clutch at the back of her shirt, gripping like she was the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

Her own eyes burned with unshed tears.

Because—in a very Miya fashion—Osamu loved deeply. Blindly. Without reservation. And that’s what hurt the most.

The fact that he must have really, truly loved this girl.

And now—he had to learn how to unlove her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, resting her chin against the top of his head, rocking him just slightly.

“It's okay,” she whispered. "It'll be okay."

And for the first time that night—he let himself believe her.

Moments later, the sobs slowed.

Little by little, his shaking breaths steadied, his grip on her shirt loosening.

But Osamu didn’t move.

Didn’t pull away.

And (y/n) didn’t let go.

She just kept holding him, kept running her fingers soothingly through his hair, as if keeping him together with the simplest of touches.

The weight of him against her was heavy, but not unbearable.

He needed this.

And, in a way, she did too.

Osamu exhaled, long and tired, his forehead still resting against her shoulder. He wasn’t crying anymore, but there was something hollow in the way he sat there.

Like an empty shell.

Like his body had given up before his mind had caught up.

(Y/n) swallowed. Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke.

“…What do you need?”

She didn’t ask if he was okay. That wasn’t the right question.

Osamu let out a slow, shaky breath. His shoulders lifted in a weak shrug.

“Dunno.”

He didn’t sound sad anymore. Just exhausted.

A deep kind of tired that wasn’t just from crying.

(Y/n) hesitated, glancing around his room.

Then, carefully—tentatively—she moved.

Still slow, still gentle, she reached for his blanket, tugging it over both of them.

Then, she laid back against his pillows.

Osamu finally lifted his head, brows furrowing slightly in question.

(Y/n) patted the empty space beside her.

“Lie down, dummy.”

He blinked at her.

(Y/n) offered a small, tender smile. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

A weak huff of amusement left him. It wasn’t a laugh, not really, but it was the closest thing to one tonight.

And that was enough.

Osamu let out another breath, heavier this time, but he listened.

He shifted, moving to lie down beside her. The bed dipped slightly beneath his weight, the warmth of him settling next to hers.

A beat of silence passed.

Then—a soft, tired murmur.

“…Thanks, (y/n).”

(Y/n) turned her head to look at him, threading her fingers through his hair.

His eyes were half-lidded, heavy with exhaustion. But for the first time tonight—he looked a little lighter.

She smiled softly.

“Anytime, ‘Samu.”

The room fell quiet again. The only sound was the occasional hum of cars passing outside, the faint thrum of the A.C.

Then, without thinking—

(Y/n) reached out.

Just a small gesture—her pinky hooking lightly around his.

Osamu didn’t react at first.

Then—his pinky curled back.

A silent way of saying thank you.

Neither of them spoke again.

And for the first time that night—Osamu finally, finally let himself sleep.

[mirrology]

𝒞ARE (.n) ꒰৯ ໒꒱ ━━    " the process of protecting someone or something and providing what that person or thing needs " wc: 373

── .✦ 𝒴our brothers are idiots. You know that very well, they get into scuffles almost daily and can never stop bickering. Every time you walk into their room they're already arguing about who knows what. Despite all of this, you know that they care about each other, you suppose that throwing insults at the other is their love language.

They care for each other, and they care for you too. Whenever you feel like your world is falling apart, they always know how to make you smile. Atsumu's hair ruffles might be annoying, but they bring you back to reality when you start to spiral and remind you that you’re not alone. Osamu’s rare home-cooked meals provide warmth and serve as a reminder that even when you don’t see it, there will always be someone who is concerned for your well-being.

Yes, your brothers may be idiots, but it didn't matter to you.

↳ Soft snores escaped your slightly open mouth as you gripped the soft blanket in your closed fist. Your eyes were puffy and red, and drying tear tracks shone under the dim light of a lamp. A calloused hand stroked your head, the same one that lulled you to sleep not too long ago. "Geez, they fell asleep pretty fast." Atsumu hummed with an amused grin, propping his arm on the plush bed as he lay on his stomach. Osamu nodded, continuing to provide you with comfort, even if you were asleep.

"They must have been exhausted." The grey-haired twin uttered, his eyes narrowing at the sight of your tear-stained face. Atsumu picked up on his twin's gaze, "D'ya think it was someone?" His face turned serious. Osamu only shook his head. It was a possibility, but they would have found out by now if someone was making fun of you.

The fake blond only raised an eyebrow, still not convinced. "We can ask when they wake up if it makes you feel better." Osamu huffed at his twin's judgemental stare, giving him a deadpan in retaliation. Atsumu nodded and turned to lay on his back, perhaps he could also take a nap in the meantime. Osamu rolled his eyes at the other, but he didn't mind looking over his siblings.

[waveofthot]

-Say "ahh"

Osamu x Reader

Warnings: Reader not having eaten due to work, comfort, fluffy end!

Your boss had been flooding your schedule. Making you stay longer hours and eating up all of your time. Even the time you needed to...well... eat! Opting to you buying cheap convenience store food and coffee to keep you sane.

It was finally the weekend though, and your first break in a long time, and by the time you got back, you'd have come home to a quiet house, as your husband already laid in bed asleep

.

.

.

Osamu was a light sleeper, so despite your best efforts the movement around him had him waking up, though he gladly opened his arms to make room once he realized you were back home.

Getting comfortable was easy, you would always nuzzle into him, the warmth from his body embracing your entire being, shielding you from whatever worries you may have had. "Welcome home babe, how was work...?" His voice was rough, sleep still evident. And you were about to reply, but with what felt like your body betraying you and your dignity...

*Growl*

His glances jumped between you and your stomach as he slowly opened his mouth. "Haven't ya eaten, baby?" You kept yours shut, turning your body away as your ears turned red. Despite the tiredness of the previous work days, you suddenly felt the embarrasment of your growling stomach hang in the air.

"Baby?" You felt his body shift, as his hand rested on your arm concern laced in his voice. Looking back at him a bit you see him sat up hovering over you. "Mmm, I did... I- had noodles". His concern didn't disappear, but with a simple sigh it softened. "Actual noodles wouldn't leave ya this hungry Y/N. Fuck... you've been in a work frenzy this past week I assumed ya ate before ya got home..."

*Growl*

Your body betrayed you once more. The way too obvious sound made your body crawl into a ball like some sort of rollie pollie, as if that'll hide you away. His arm didn't follow your movements though, if anything his movements stopped, but only briefly before he placed it back down on you.

"Y/N, have ya even eaten breakfast?" This time it was your turn to freeze. Another sigh followed. The bed moved under you before it stopped and with footsteps approaching, Osamu had squatted down right where you could see him.

His brows tilted up and he carried a soft smile. Even in your nervous state his smile always calmed you down, even if just a bit. "I'm sorry I haven't payed enough attention to ya recently. Here come on, I'll cook ya somethin'. A proper meal." You hastily sat up, muttering a "'Samu it's almost twelve-" just for him to start walking out of the room, only stopping by the door frame to give you a nod signaling you to join him in what definitely is a trip to the kitchen.

You blinked a few times, a tugging on your heart as you realized what just happened. Only interrupted by your stomach growling once more, urging you to follow him.

You slowly stepped forward, eyes watching him as he already started working his magic. He left work before you did and you usually got home late, so your together time, especially this week was scarce and it'd be a crime to say you didn't miss his cooking. Watching how he worked so diligently in preparing a meal *this* late at night, a smile never leaving his face, was just a silent reminder of why you married this man.

At one point he looked back at you. A chuckle escaping his lips. "Watchu lookin' at?" His smile turning into a playful smirk. "Hmm...just looking at my handsome husband... Thank you, 'Samu." His face softened once again, before he grabbed a spoon, scooping up some of whatever he was making, before blowing on it.

"Here babe, try this...whaddya think?" He brought the spoon up to you, signaling you to open your mouth, which you happily oblige. The flavors danced on your tongue, and the warmth of home cooked goodness had you melting. He gives a satisfied hum at your reaction before going back, now plating the food before setting the dish Infront of you.

He sits down, thoroughly enjoying the sight before him. "Yer pretty when ya ain't starvin'" it was almost a whisper, but you were too busy eating to even notice. His eyes briefly fly down to your face before his hand reaches over, thumb gliding over your bottom lip, your body freezing. Your eyes followed his hand as he brings it up to his mouth tongue swiping across the same finger. "Ya had some rice there...would be a waste for it to not get eaten". The only reaction you could give was a quick kiss to his lips before you went back to eating.

He leaned his head on his hand. Heart almost beating out of his chest when you ask for seconds.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ-

I'm back with more haikyuu!!!

I swear the more I post the longer the fic, but no one's booing so ig it's fine ╮⁠(⁠＾⁠▽⁠＾⁠)⁠╭

[kittenisstarstruck]

HOW THEY WOULD REACT IF YOU FELL OFF YOUR SKATEBOARD

part one here (click me!)

Tobio Kageyama:

You winced as you stepped through the door, your skateboard tucked under one arm, the other clutching your scraped-up elbow. Your knees ached, your palms stung, and honestly? Your pride was probably the most wounded thing of all.

Kageyama looked up from the couch the second he heard you come in. His brows furrowed at the way you shuffled inside, moving slower than usual. Then his sharp blue eyes landed on your arm, and his whole body stiffened.

“…What happened?”

You sighed, kicking off your shoes with a wince. “Took a nasty fall. Some stupid crack in the pavement caught my wheel.”

In an instant, Kageyama was on his feet, striding over to you with a frown. “Are you okay?” His voice was firm, but there was a softness underneath, the kind of quiet concern he didn’t always know how to express.

“I’m fine, Tobio,” you reassured him, though your hiss of pain as you adjusted your arm completely betrayed you.

His frown deepened. “That doesn’t sound fine.”

Before you could argue, he gently took your wrist, inspecting the scrapes littering your skin. His thumb ghosted over a particularly nasty bruise forming on your knee, and you swore you heard him grumble under his breath.

Without another word, he walked off toward the bathroom. You blinked, watching as he returned with a first aid kit, his movements quick and purposeful.

“Tobio, I can—”

“Sit.”

You sighed but obeyed, plopping onto the couch as he knelt beside you. His hands were careful, more than you expected from someone with such a sharp, no-nonsense demeanor. The sting of disinfectant made you wince, but the way Kageyama’s free hand rested against your thigh, grounding you, made it easier to bear.

“You need to be more careful,” he muttered, wrapping a bandage around your elbow with practiced precision.

You smirked, trying to lighten the mood. “Didn’t know you were such a nurse.”

He scoffed, glancing away to hide the slight flush on his ears. “You get hurt too much. Had to learn.”

Your heart softened. Of course he did.

Once he was done, Kageyama didn’t move away immediately. Instead, his fingers traced absentmindedly over your uninjured arm, his touch hesitant but warm. “…Does it hurt a lot?”

You shook your head, leaning into him slightly. “Not anymore.”

He exhaled, tension finally leaving his shoulders as he rested his forehead against yours. “Good.”

For a moment, the two of you just sat there, close and quiet, the warmth of his presence melting away the lingering ache in your body.

Then, Kageyama sighed. “You’re not getting back on that thing for at least a week.”

You snorted, nudging him playfully. “We’ll see about that.”

He groaned, but the way his arms wrapped around you, holding you close like he never wanted to let go, told you exactly how much he cared—even if he’d never say it out loud.

Kotaro Bokuto:

The moment you walked through the door, Bokuto’s golden eyes lit up, his usual bright smile already forming—until he took a closer look at you.

Your scraped-up knees. The bruises forming on your arms. The way you winced as you set your skateboard against the wall.

His smile dropped instantly.

“WHAT HAPPENED?!”

Before you could even blink, Bokuto was right there, hovering over you like a worried mother hen, his hands flailing slightly as if he didn’t know where to touch you without making things worse.

“Babe?! Are you okay?! Who did this?! Was it some jerk at the park?! Do I need to fight someone?!”

You sighed, shaking your head with a small, amused smile. “Bo, no one did this to me. I just… fell.”

His eyes widened. “Off your skateboard?!”

“Yeah,” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. “Hit a rough patch, lost my balance, and kinda ate it.”

Bokuto gasped dramatically, gripping your shoulders with so much urgency you almost forgot about your scrapes. “BABE. This is a TRAGEDY.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his theatrics, even as he carefully ushered you to the couch, his strong arms practically caging you in like he could shield you from any further harm.

“Okay, okay, sit. Stay. I’ll get the first aid kit!” he announced, sprinting off like this was a life-or-death emergency.

You barely had time to blink before he was back, fumbling with bandages and antiseptic wipes, his brows furrowed in deep, deep concentration.

“This is gonna sting, okay? But I’ll be gentle, I promise,” he said, his voice softer now, more serious.

You nodded, watching as he carefully dabbed at your scrapes, his lips pressed into a tight line. It was so unlike his usual boisterous energy, and it made your heart ache in the best way.

After he finished wrapping your worst cuts, he sat back on his heels, arms crossed as he pouted at you.

“No more skateboarding,” he declared.

You snorted. “Bokuto—”

“Nope! Not happening! I forbid it!” He huffed, looking genuinely distressed. “You’re too precious to be falling all over the place!”

You rolled your eyes, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Bo. It’s just a couple of scrapes. I’ll be fine.”

He grumbled something under his breath before leaning into your touch with a dramatic sigh. “Still don’t like it…”

You smiled, tugging him closer until he was practically lying on top of you, his warmth pressing against your side as he nuzzled into your shoulder.

“…At least let me be your official skateboarding bodyguard,” he mumbled.

You laughed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Deal.”

Osamu Miya:

You hissed as you sat up, shaking out your aching limbs and brushing the gravel off your scraped palms. Your skateboard had rolled a few feet away, the culprit of your fall—a sneaky crack in the pavement—mocking you silently.

“Damn it,” you muttered, poking at your knee to assess the damage.

“Y’got a death wish or somethin’?”

You jumped slightly at the familiar drawl, looking up to see Osamu Miya standing a few feet away, arms crossed, brows furrowed as he took in the sight of you—bruised, battered, and still sitting on the sidewalk like a sad little lump.

“Samu,” you sighed, letting your head fall back dramatically. “Don’t start.”

He huffed, walking over and crouching down beside you, his sharp gray eyes scanning your injuries. “Ain’t gotta start anythin’—looks like the ground already whooped yer ass.”

You shot him a half-hearted glare, and he smirked, reaching out to dust off a few stray pebbles clinging to your sleeve.

“I meant to do that,” you grumbled, making a poor attempt at salvaging your dignity.

Osamu raised a brow, lips twitching. “Oh yeah? Fallin’ on yer face is part of the trick?”

You groaned, flopping back dramatically. “I hate you.”

“Nah, ya love me,” he drawled, standing up before offering you his hand. “Now c’mon, up ya go.”

You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet, but the moment you put weight on your leg, you winced. Okay, maybe that fall hurt more than you thought.

Osamu clicked his tongue, not missing a thing. “You’re done for today.”

“I can still—”

“Nope.” He was already plucking up your skateboard with one hand, the other settling on your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Yer goin’ home, and I’m comin’ with ya.”

You blinked up at him. “You don’t have to—”

He shot you a flat look. “Do ya really think I’m lettin�� ya limp home alone like an idiot?”

“…No.”

“Exactly.”

You sighed, but deep down, warmth bloomed in your chest as Osamu easily tucked you against his side, guiding you down the street like it was his job to keep you safe.

“You’re bossy,” you muttered.

“Yeah, yeah,” he drawled, squeezing your waist. “Just shut up and lean on me, darlin’.”

So you did.

And maybe—just maybe—you fell a little harder for him than you had for the pavement.

[noorpersona]

I’m being greedy here,

but it would be funny if Inarizaki was trying to figure out if their manager has a secret admirer. With all the snacks, food and encouraging notes being given to them, but it just turned out to be their (platonic) girlfriend

No greed at all! I love it ehehe

Hope you enjoy! and thanks for the ask <333 I love doing these --

It started small. A sports drink left on the bench, a protein bar tucked neatly beside your clipboard, a sticky note with a simple Good job today! scribbled in neat handwriting.

You hadn’t thought much of it at first. Maybe someone had left the drink behind by accident, maybe the protein bar was a spare someone had tossed your way. The note? Probably just an afterthought. No big deal.

But then it kept happening.

Snacks. Energy drinks. Even small bento boxes labeled with your name, left in the exact same spot every single time. The notes became more frequent too—little words scrawled on post-its, ranging from Eat something before practice, idiot. to You better be drinking enough water. and Take a break before you pass out.

By the end of the week, the team had noticed.

And by the end of the next, they had declared a full-blown investigation.

“I’m tellin’ ya, this is definitely the work of a secret admirer.” Ginjima crossed his arms, nodding as if he were uncovering something straight out of a mystery novel.

Osamu, unimpressed, leaned back against the gym wall. “Or, y’know, it’s just someone bein’ nice.”

“No way, ‘Samu! This is classic romance material.” Atsumu leaned in, eyes alight with interest. “Secret notes? Snacks? Somebody’s tryna woo our manager.”

“‘Woo’?” Suna repeated, unimpressed. “Who the hell says ‘woo’?”

“You get what I mean.”

Aran, ever the voice of reason, sighed. “Maybe it’s just a fan. Not everything has to be a romance novel, guys.”

“No way.” Ginjima shook his head. “This is deeper than that. It’s been weeks. This is a long game play.”

Osamu scoffed. “So what? You think it’s some secret, undyin’ love confession?”

Atsumu nodded, smirking. “Or maybe it’s someone right under our noses.”

That’s when they all turned their heads toward Suna.

He blinked. “No.”

“You’re bein’ awfully quiet about all this,” Atsumu pointed out, grin widening. “Kinda suspicious.”

Suna didn’t even blink. “I don’t care enough to do all that.”

“Suspicious,” Osamu agreed, just to mess with him.

Suna sighed. “Go to hell.”

But the team wasn’t done. They spent the rest of the week staking out the gym, watching like hawks every time you left your clipboard unattended. They devised shifts. Shifts. They trailed behind you in the hallways, whispering conspiracies amongst themselves. At one point, they even considered interrogating Kita—only for Osamu to firmly shoot that idea down because “If ya bother him with this nonsense, we’re all dead.”

Their investigation escalated. They started tracking patterns—when the notes appeared, the exact minute snacks were placed. They cross-referenced schedules, trying to narrow down suspects. Ginjima even went so far as to create a messy suspect board in the clubroom, red strings connecting completely unrelated names, post-it notes containing unhinged theories.

“Alright, so if we rule out known variables—” Ginjima began, tapping the board with a marker.

“Did ya seriously make a conspiracy wall?” Osamu asked flatly.

“It’s called evidence, ‘Samu.”

“It’s called insanity,” Suna corrected, lazily eating a rice cracker.

And then, just when tensions were reaching their peak—when Atsumu was this close to breaking into your locker just to “gather more clues”—the answer came crashing down on them in the form of a very cheerful visitor.

“Hey, loser, I got your favorite snacks again!”

You barely had time to turn before a familiar arm was slinging around your shoulder, a plastic bag dangling from their other hand. The entire team froze. You could feel the sheer intensity of their collective stare boring into the back of your head.

Your best friend—your very, very platonic best friend—blinked at the awkward tension in the gym. “Uh. What’s with them?”

You sighed, already knowing where this was going. “They think I have a secret admirer.”

Your friend snorted. “Pfft—you? Please, who would want you?”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

Atsumu, standing dumbfounded beside Osamu, made a strangled noise. “You? It was you this whole time?!”

“Duh.” Your friend rolled their eyes. “What, you guys thought someone was trying to date them?”

Ginjima sputtered. “So—wait—you were just—just doing all this platonically?”

You deadpanned. “Yes. That is what friendship is.”

Osamu sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Y’all are idiots.”

Suna, who had been unfairly accused, leaned back smugly. “Told you so.”

Atsumu looked personally betrayed. “Weeks—weeks—of stakeouts, of investigation, of tracking patterns—for this?!”

Your friend snickered. “God, you guys need a hobby.”

Kita, passing by without even stopping, simply muttered, “I told you all to drop it.”

Aran chuckled, shaking his head. “All that effort, just for nothing.”

Atsumu groaned dramatically, dropping onto one of the benches as if the weight of the world had just crushed him. “This is devastating.”

Osamu patted his shoulder. “Ya brought this on yerself.”

Ginjima, looking up at his massive evidence board, sighed. “Guess I should take this down.”

Suna, still smug, pulled out his phone. “No, keep it. I’m sending this to the group chat.”

And just like that, the case was closed.

[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.”

[sexyandcringe]

Hopeless romantic

Part 1 ◇ Part 2

Warnings: none except mentions of readers past traumas, mention of sexual objectification.

Content: osamu x reader, Angst (to fluff in the next chapters), hurt no comfort.

A/n: it's my first long-fic, please be nice :)

You're not used to being loved.

Your parents were always strict, hardly ever showing their affection, you didn't even have any close friends until you started working, where you found your best friend who showed you the blessings of a platonic love; but time passes and things happen, you had to move out of the town, leave your one true friend behind.

You are not used to love but especially romantic love, because all men did was see you as the object of their sexual desires, or maybe a good time-pass until a better one came along. Never as a person with feelings, never as a woman who loved them more than they loved her.

Sometimes you were too much, sometimes you weren't enough.

Too affectionate, too clingy, too dramatic, too loud. Not pretty enough, not smart enough, not horny enough. You tried and tried to be more, to be less, to be loved, but despite your efforts, love remained elusive, even with women.

So, after years of hoping and yearning, you resigned yourself to a loveless existence.

It is not to say that you never felt happy; even if you didn’t have love, you had fun and drama, you had friends to drink with (accompanied by the ting of pain the day after), you had a lot of books to read (leaving a bitter taste in your mouth whenever you finished one), you had dates and clothes and all the good and beautiful things in life and you've learned to appreciate these fragments of happiness.

But sometimes you get lonely.

You are used to it at this point, the crushing weight in your chest at 11 PM is your daily ritual before you finally give in to sleep.

So when you see Osamu Miya’s warm smile as he greets you in his restaurant, you battle to stop your stupid crazed heart, which is currently trying to jump out of your mouth.

You are just a client, his smile doesn’t mean anything, he is only doing his job, and you have seen him give the same smile to the old ladies who only order a coffee and linger to chatter for more than two hours, too. He’s a professional, after all. You are a regular and all he wants is your money, the bastard.

(you completely ignore the fact that he remembers details about you that no one bothers to remember; like the colour of your jewellery, the names of the dogs in your shelter or how your eyeliner is a little glittered today.)

Still, you are glad you got to know him. If anything, at least he is a good friend to you, always listening to what you have to say and filling your stomach with delicious food.

“ ‘Evening, Y/N. The usual?” He asks. You nod as you sit on the corner of the counter, the same seat you sat on the first day you came in.

(Osamu puts a “Reserved” sign on it every day until your arrival, not letting anyone else sit on it because it’s yours. But you don’t need to know that.)

You chatter with Tsumoto, the part-timer student who works in his shop, about his new crush, giving him advice you wouldn’t listen to nor follow from somebody else, and just as you are about to tell him that he should just write love letters to his crush, the doorbell rings; a pretty girl with dark long hair and the body of a goddess walks in, looking around for something, or better, for someone.

“‘Samuuu!” she calls him just as he comes out of the kitchen, and his face lights up, his arms envelop her figure and her lips meet his cheeks in an affectionate gesture.

… what?

“Emi! How are you, doll?” his voice holds tenderness as he guides the girl to one of the seats available, “Have a seat, I'll fix something up for you.”

She is a beautiful girl indeed, her hair flutters in the air like sea waves and her deep green eyes would make any man weak in his knees. She graces him with a smile, her flawless teeth gleaming.“A coffee is enough ‘Samu, I’m going to meet a friend soon.”

“Roger that!” he nods, signaling to Tsumoto for the order, before returning his attention to her.

He looks happy, you don’t think he has ever looked at you with this much fondness, and you’ve never witnessed any girl embrace him, let alone kiss his cheek. Hell, you didn’t even know if he had any female friends who were not his friends’s girlfriends.

(You feel your vision blur and something clenches in your chest. You swallow it down.)

You have no idea what they are talking about, you are not listening, all you can think about is how much you feel so so stupid. You didn’t hope for anything, you tried not to hope for anything at all, but feelings are hard to get rid of, especially if you see the one causing these feelings every week.

You look at them talking like best friends who haven’t seen each other for a long time and the feeling of inadequacy gnaws at you. You wonder if you ever even stood a chance to begin with. You yearned to be someone close to Osamu, someone who could give him hugs and kisses easily, someone who knew everything about him; you yearned to be part of his inner circle, but now you feel utterly stupid and delusional. Of course, he would never see you in that light, his affection is reserved only for a pretty girl like her. Of course he wouldn’t even think about getting physical with you. What were you even thinking?

Of course, you can’t be part of his world.

Reblogs are really appreciated! - Part 2

[fluffyf0x]

Miya twins with little sister!reader

There was never a boring day with your two older brothers around. They found new ways to cause trouble, new reasons to fight, new possibilities to have fun.

The way you started playing volleyball because of them. The way you love your big brother, Osamu's onigiris. The way you went home every valentine's helping them bring home large amounts of gifts and letters from their fangirls. The way you watched them in every game they competed in the nationals. The way the three of you huddled together, watching a movie after your first breakup. The way you felt so at home, so at ease with them.

But now it's gone....all gone

Osamu and Atsumu were still close, even after Atsumu left to play for MSBY, even after Osamu chose to stop playing volleyball and decided to open up his own restaurant.

But you? You felt so detached from them.

Atsumu moving left you in pieces. Osamu who stopped playing volleyball messed up your system. You, who sat alone in your classroom, knowing that you won't be going home with the twins after class or after practice. You, who didn't really watch Inarazaki's matches as the twins wouldn't be seen on court. They were such light things. But it was such a big deal for you. Everything changed. Everything is changing. It scared you. It scared you so so much.

"Stop being so hung up on what happened y/n"

Osamu's voice snapped you out of your train of thought. Tears were welling up at your eyes and you couldn't stop it.

"'Tsumu is still alive, somewhere in Japan, I'm still here. We'll still be your brothers no matter what."

You looked down, your eyes trailing at the plate of onigiri Osamu made for you. Osamu smiled.

"Eat, and stop being a whiny baby, mom's gonna get worried again."

Right, the world's not ending. They'll still be here, they'll still be your brothers.

You noticed Osamu answer a call, and he put it on speaker.

"SAMUUUUUUUU, WHERE'S Y/N"

"SHUT THE HELL UP SHE'S RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME"

You laughed. Right, still your brothers.

<3

[areioshq]

Osamu to bless your 2024 🤍🍙🤍

[rosierin]

cuddles in the kitchen | atsumu, osamu, suna

synopsis; struggling to shake the weight in her chest, (y/n) seeks solace in a late-night kitchen trip—only to find comfort in Atsumu’s quiet warmth. When Osamu and Suna join in, she’s reminded that sometimes, the best remedy isn’t words, but simply knowing you’re not alone

aka (y/n) has been feeling anxious all day and her friends try to cheer her up in their own way

a/n; for my anxious girlies, i gift you this fic

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

The apartment was quiet.

Not the usual kind of quiet—the comfortable, lazy kind that came with late afternoons spent lounging around, simply existing in each others' presence. This was different. It was the quiet of something off, something missing.

(Y/n) had been sluggish all day. Quieter than usual. She still responded when spoken to, still smiled when necessary, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She laughed at their usual antics, but it was hollow, distant—like she wasn’t fully there.

Suna noticed first, he always did. The way she blinked a little too long, like she was trying to clear a thought away. The way her fingers fidgeted in her lap, the way she looked at her phone but didn’t really see it, the lack of that distinctive spark in her eyes.

Osamu noticed too. How could he not? From his place in the kitchen, he saw the way she barely touched her food, just pushing it around with her fork, zoning out between bites. The sight nagged him, like an itch he couldn't quite scratch.

Atsumu, naturally, was the loudest about it.

“Yer bein’ weird.”

Osamu shot him a warning look. "Leave 'er alone, 'Tsumu."

(Y/n) blinked, snapping back to the present. “Huh?”

Atsumu leaned against the couch, arms crossed. “You’re all…” He gestured vaguely at her, as if that would explain anything. “Like. Not you.”

She hesitated, suddenly aware of their collective attention. Truth was, she didn’t know what she wanted. It wasn’t sadness, not exactly. Just… a sense of being untethered, like she was floating a little too far from herself. She didn’t know how to put it into words—the way her chest felt tight, but for no reason. The way she felt like something should be wrong, but there was nothing. And yet, the absence of stress somehow made her more stressed.

“I feel…” She swallowed. “I feel stressed… because there’s nothing to be stressed about.” She exhaled a humourless laugh. “And that stresses me out.”

The boys exchanged glances, but no one teased.

The rest of the day felt heavy, like the hours had been drawn out— night-time feeling so out of reach. (Y/n) wanted nothing but to fall asleep, to do a full factory reset and wake up tomorrow feeling brand-new.

Her friends, however, had other plans.

They never did like letting her fall asleep on a bad note.

Osamu spent the rest of his evening cooking. (Y/n) didn't think much of it until a few minutes later, a plate appeared in front of her.

She blinked at it. Her favourite meal, still warm, the scent curling around her like something safe.

Osamu pulled out a chair, sitting across from her, arms crossed lazily on the table. “Eat. Yer body needs it."

She stared at him. “'Samu— you didn't have to—”

“Didn’t ask," he said flatly, but his words has no real bite to them. He nodded at the plate. “Now eat before it gets cold.”

So she did.

The first bite grounded her, warmth spreading through her chest. The simple act of chewing, of tasting something familiar, pulled her back into the moment.

Osamu didn’t say much, just talked about something random—the restaurant, some customer that annoyed him, a new recipe he wanted to try. She didn’t have to respond, just listen. And slowly, bit by bit, she felt the weight in her chest ease.

Later, she sank into the couch, staring at the ceiling. The feeling was still there, clinging like mist—lighter, but not gone.

Suna sat next to her, stretching his long legs out. He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask any more questions. Just opened his phone and started scrolling.

Buzz. Her phone lit up.

A Vine. The one they quoted almost on the daily.

Buzz. Another one. A video of someone walking into a glass door.

Buzz. A baby duck wearing a flower-hat, swimming around a petal-adorned sink.

She huffed a small, almost-laugh.

Suna smirked, eyes still on his screen. “Knew you’d like that one.”

They sat in easy silence, trading dumb videos, until finally, he muttered, “Y’know… you don’t have to pretend. Feeling off is still a feeling. None of us blame you for it."

She turned her head, looking at him. His expression didn’t change, but there was something knowing in his gaze, something understanding.

She nodded, pressing her lips together to keep them from trembling. “Thank you.”

Somehow, that's all she needed to hear.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, night settled over the apartment, slow and quiet. At last, (y/n) could switch her brain off, fall asleep, and try again tomorrow.

At least that was the plan.

The truth was, she couldn't sleep.

She had done her usual night routine—washed up, put on her comfiest pyjamas, gone through her skincare routine on autopilot. Usually, these routine steps felt therapeutic—a way to distract her busy mind and regain a sense of control. But even after all of it, she still felt off. It just felt like something was sitting in her chest, pressing down, refusing to ease.

It frustrated her.

With a defeated sigh, she decisively tossed the covers off herself and padded into the kitchen for a glass of water.

Maybe that would help.

Running a tired hand through her hair, (y/n)'s gaze flickered towards Atsumu, surprised to see he was already there. He seemed busy rummaging through the cupboards— likely looking for a midnight snack.

His blond head popped up at the sound of her footsteps. “Hey, pretty,” he drawled, voice warm and easy. “What’re you doin’ up?”

(Y/n) shrugged, grabbing a glass. “Couldn’t sleep.”

The dip in her mood was glaringly obvious—she was never good at hiding her emotions, even when she tried. Or perhaps, she was simply too tired to care.

A slight frown settled upon his face, watching as she filled her glass from the sink. “Still feelin' off?"

(Y/n) took a sip, then exhaled through her nose, giving a vague hum of acknowledgment. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either.

Atsumu’s frown deepened. He hated vague answers. Hated feeling like he was being pushed aside.

“Hey,” he said suddenly, stepping forward before she could retreat back to her room.

(Y/n) paused, startled by the sudden shift in his tone.

It sucked, seeing her like this.

Usually, she's all smiles and quick-witted jabs, gentle touches and girlish giggles.

Today? None of that.

And frankly, it put Atsumu on edge.

Was this what withdrawal symptoms felt like?

Atsumu had been trying to get her to smile all day. Nothing worked, no matter how much he probed her. So, eventually, he just did the only thing he knew would work—

Pulling her into a hug.

“Wha—”

(Y/n) tensed— visibly caught off guard by the sudden contact— but she didn't fight, nor question it. Instead, she simply stood still and breathed.

Atsumu's arms wrapped tight around her, pulling her in, holding her firmly— his presence grounding. His body swayed gently, his chin resting against the top of her head.

He was warm. His hoodie smelled like freshly washed cotton, something faintly like vanilla and cedarwood. Comforting, familiar—like the scent of home after a long day.

She let out a slow breath, sinking into him.

His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.

The room faded into the background, leaving only his warmth, his presence, his heartbeat beneath her ear—slow, steady, unwavering.

Atsumu didn’t say anything at first. Just let her be, swaying slightly, his grip never loosening.

She closed her eyes, pressing her forehead into his shoulder. It was rare, moments like this—when Atsumu wasn’t being loud, wasn’t trying too hard, wasn’t covering up how much he truly cared. Right now, there were no jokes, no forced laughter. Just this. Just him.

A lump formed in her throat. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, holding on a little longer than necessary.

His voice was softer when he spoke. “Feelin’ better?”

She nodded against him.

He squeezed her once more before letting go—but not before pressing a chaste, lingering kiss against the crown of her hair, a silent I got you.

She lingered for a moment after he pulled away, blinking up at him, arms still loosely hooked around each other's waist. He gave her a small, lopsided smile, but there was something gentle behind it—something subtle but understood.

Before she could say anything, the distant sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway. The soft murmur of voices approached, lazy and unhurried. The kitchen lights cast a warm glow, stretching shadows across the floor as Osamu and Suna wandered in, mid-conversation, looking for something to snack on.

They both paused at the sight of them.

Osamu chuckled. Suna huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

"Y'all are such softies," Osamu teased, a fondness in his voice.

A half-hearted laugh slipped past (y/n)'s lips, suddenly feeling shy under their gaze.

What she didn’t expect was for Osamu to actually join in.

The latter stepped forward first, arms looping around (y/n) and Atsumu, his grip firm but unspoken in its comfort. A silent way of saying we’re here too.

Suna sighed, dramatically slow, before stepping in as well. “What the heck...” he murmured with resignation, arms draping lazily around them.

For a second, there were no words.

Just the steady weight of their arms, the warmth of being surrounded, engulfed in their protective embrace.

The unvoiced understanding that sometimes, this was enough lingered in the air. No fixing, no forced pep talks—just being there. Just them, together.

(Y/n) let her eyes slip shut, exhaustion tugging at her. She could have fallen asleep right here, safe and warm.

But then, the hum of Suna’s voice broke the silence, popping the figurative bubble of comfort.

“That’s all the affection you’re getting for the next six months."

The twins scoffed, shaking their heads, teasing him for acting like such a 'tough guy.'

After a long day of feeling glum, (y/n) finally—finally—let out a real, genuine laugh.

And just like that, things felt a little lighter again.

[flyingwargle]

tuesdays are the twins’ designated day to spend together. they take turns visiting each other, either in osaka or hyogo, and this week is osamu’s turn to visit atsumu. he waits for his brother’s text to confirm where and when to pick him up, but falls asleep before it comes. when he wakes the next morning though, no new notifications greet him.

weird. there’s no way he could’ve forgotten, when this has been their routine for the last two years. osamu cooks breakfast, sips his morning coffee, reads the newspaper, keeps an ear out for his phone. it still doesn’t go off. he waits until noon, when he knows practice is over, and calls atsumu.

it goes to voicemail. what is that scrub doing? osamu opens his list of contacts, where he has a few of the jackals' numbers saved, acquainted with them after one too many spontaneous nights out at onigiri miya. he calls the one that’s most agreeable and slides the phone to his ear.

“hi, osamu-san!”

“hey, hinata. sorry ta bother ya, but d’ya know where my idiot brother is?”

“huh? aren’t you supposed to be with him?”

osamu frowns. “i mean, we usually have lunch together today, but that scrub never told me where ta go or where ta meet him, an’ he didn’t pick up when i called.”

“oh! we thought so,” hinata mumbles.

“what’s that supposed ta mean?”

“actually, atsumu-san collapsed during practice today. it turns out he’s sick. meian-san wanted to take him to the hospital, but atsumu-san said that you'll take care of him. we weren’t sure whether to believe him or not, but he left before we could do anything. one of our coaches drove him home, so he should still be there.”

dread trickles down his spine. collapsed during practice. that hadn’t happened since their last year in high school. what happened to cause this? “thanks, hinata. i better get my ass over there.”

“bokuto-san, omi-san, and i will stop by later! we just have to get through a meeting first.”

“take yer time. he ain’t goin’ anywhere.” osamu ends the call, swears under his breath, and flies into action. what the heck, ‘tsumu? what happened ta ya?

he cuts the half hour drive down to twenty minutes, pulling into the visitor stall of his brother’s apartment and taking two stairs at a time because the elevator is too slow. there’s no point in knocking; he pulls his keys out and inserts the correct one, pushing it open. “hey, scrub! are ya still alive?”

no answer. osamu closes the door, takes his shoes off beside his brother’s runners. the lights are off, dishes left in the sink, curtains pulled shut. he drops his bag on the couch and steps into the bedroom, where an atsumu-shaped bundle is huddled under the blankets. osamu tugs them aside.

atsumu gives him a weak glare. his nose is red, hair greasy with sweat. he’s still in his practice clothes, socks included. “what’re ya doin’ here?”

“ya didn’t pick up when i called, so i had ta learn from hinata that yer pathetic ass went ta practice while sick.” osamu tosses pajamas at him. “go change, unless ya want me ta drive ya ta the doctor.”

“it’s whatever. i just caught a cold.” atsumu struggles, so osamu helps him. he steps into the bathroom to wet a cloth, returning to run it over his forehead, his brother complaining. “i ain’t a child.”

“sure ya are. who goes ta practice when they’re sick? yer a pro now, ‘tsumu. ya can’t just not take care of yerself.” he fixes his blankets to tuck him in. “go sleep. i’ll make ya somethin’ ta eat.”

there isn’t much in the fridge, but luckily, osamu brought ingredients. atsumu has rice, at least, which he uses for porridge. while it simmers, he texts his manager to hold the fort down for him, and updates hinata that atsumu is, unfortunately, alive. when the porridge is ready, he brings a bowl to his brother.

atsumu is listless as he eats. osamu sits on the desk chair beside him, watches him eat every spoonful until the bowl is clean. he takes it back, leaves it on the desk. “so? what made ya overwork yerself?"

"it’s nothin’.”

“ya were always worse at hidin’ stuff between the two of us.” osamu taps his eyes, indicating his brother’s swollen eyelids. “what got ya cryin’ this time?”

his brother doesn’t look at him, keeps his eyes on his lap. “d’ya ever feel like what ya do is enough?”

“i do. don’t ya?”

“no. i mean, most of the time, i do, but…”

osamu nods. “it gets ta ya, doesn’t it? i know.” they’re cut from the same cloth, after all. both of them continue to run, side by side, always striving to be the best, do all they can, haunted by the same question: is it enough? is there more that can be done? is it okay to stop?

it never is, when you’re competing to see who has a happier life, but if one twin needs to slow down, the other will be there to jog with them.

“i dunno, it just hit me like a tonna bricks. tobio-kun beat me in the rankings an’ as startin’ setter durin’ the olympics. yeah, the jackals got the championship win this season, but that’s after a long streak of losin’, of gettin’ so close, but not enough. an’ now…” atsumu lets out a breath. “ya just gotta do it all over again, an’ again.”

“ain’t that life, though?” osamu replies. “we’re adults now. we just gotta find the lil’ things in life ta make us happy, ta make it seem like what we do is enough. an’ that includes takin’ care of yerself so we can do the things we like.”

atsumu rolls his eyes, though it’s weak and drowsy. “ya didn’t hafta come.”

“an’ what? pretend yer all right when ya didn’t even reply ta me ‘bout today’s lunch plans?”

“oh. that was today?”

“yes, ya scrub. that’s why i’m here.” osamu punches his shoulder, light and exasperated. “an’ i’m gonna stay here ‘till ya feel better, so ya better get some sleep ta rest those eyes that are gonna see me fer a few days.”

“ew. thanks for the heads-up, i guess.” atsumu settles back on the bed, osamu pulling the blanket over him. just as he stands to leave, his brother’s drowsy murmur gives him pause. “thanks, ‘samu.”

“any time, ‘tsumu.” for all their bickering and teasing, they know they can be there for each other, no matter what.