#miyatwinsweek2024

[flyingwargle]

miya twins week day 5: birthday

sakusa and suna sit across from each other at a café with pastel walls, fairy lights strung overhead, heart-shaped cushions for every seat, and enough plants to shame the nearby forests of osaka.

“so.” suna takes a sip of his espresso. “we need a plan.”

“yes.” sakusa mirrors him with his own oat vanilla latte. “we do.”

there’s a month until the twins’ birthdays. it’s a multi-occasion affair, where they throw a huge party and invite all their friends, but on the day of, they share it with their mother at home. afterwards, they’ll celebrate with their respective partners; this year, suna is taking osamu to a michelin-starred restaurant, and sakusa is taking atsumu to a concert for his favorite indie band.

this year, since they can’t have a big party, they decided to celebrate together, just the four of them. it was easy to book a lavish ryokan for a weekend; it’s the present that stumps the partners the most.

“you dance, right?” suna asks. “we can do an interpretive dance.”

“do you dance?”

“no, but you can teach me.”

sakusa rolls his eyes. “you can draw, but can you teach me in a month?”

“only if you’re willing to suffer.”

“i’d rather not.” sakusa stirs his latte. “let’s devise a list of their interests, and see if there are commonalities to draw from.”

suna takes his phone out. they determine that the twins enjoy volleyball, food and cooking, indie rock and dubstep, hikes and nature walks, funny cat videos, wholesome content, tearjerker anime, arguing with strangers on social media, and–

“taking photos, huh.” sakusa knows how much atsumu loves taking selfies, food pics, scenery pics, and group photos, often sharing them on social media or among friends. osamu doesn’t take as many, probably since his partner could be a professional photographer, but he can’t resist taking food pics, either.

“we did a photo album last year.” suna scrolls through their list with a frown. “what else can we do?”

sakusa takes his own phone out and stares at the lock screen. it’s a selfie of him and atsumu, after their match in sendai. “the twins always talk about hypotheticals. what if we did something with that?”

“how?”

“like…did you know it’s common internet slang to ask your partner if they would love them if they were a worm? atsumu asked me that daily once, to the point that i threatened to break him up with him if he continued to ask.”

suna snickers, taking his phone back. “so, clearly, you wouldn’t love him if he were a worm.” he throws back the rest of his coffee and lowers his cup. “i like the idea. this’ll require a lot of pictures, and a lot of photoshop. are you ready for that?”

“i don’t know how to photoshop.”

“no, but you know how to find pictures. leave the photo editing to me. here’s what i’m thinking…”

it takes three cups of coffee before they finalize their plan. the next month is spent scouring the internet and photo albums for pictures, digging through attics and basements, unearthing boxes in storage closets, asking friends and friends of friends for fuel. suna recruits help from his art school days, and before the week of the twins’ birthdays, they have both a physical album, digital album, and slideshow that sakusa put together.

suna drives them to the ryokan, arriving in the early afternoon so they have time to check out the nearby town, hike the mountain trail to the shrine at the top, and indulge in the outdoor onsen. their meals are delivered to their room, a luxurious meal that uses seasonal ingredients fit for all. after the dishes are cleared, sakusa takes his laptop out to hook to the tv, bringing up the slideshow.

“atsumu, osamu. rintarou and i would like to show you our present.”

atsumu leans back against the table. “so formal, omi. whatcha got?” osamu watches in amusement as suna sits on the other side of the tv.

“we figured you like pictures and hypotheticals,” he says, “so we thought to combine the two.”

the slideshow finally appears on the screen. “this is called, ‘in every universe.” sakusa hits the spacebar.

the first universe is: what if sakusa played for inarizaki? atsumu bursts out laughing at high school sakusa in inarizaki’s black and white uniform, pointing and sputtering. suna’s photoshopping skills are quite seamless; it really looks like sakusa did wear their jersey, at one point. there’s photos of him in matches, at practice, even in the school uniform. there’s even a newspaper article where he’s added in.

the second is: what if atsumu played for itachiyama? osamu cackles at his brother in the bright yellow and green uniform, atsumu covering his eyes and groaning. sakusa smirks in amusement, heart melting at the picture of sakusa asleep in a futon at a training camp. it’s supposed to be komori asleep next to him, but atsumu replaced him.

afterwards: what if osamu went pro? there are pictures of him for both msby and ejp. “i like better in ejp colors,” he declares, a fact that suna agrees with. he falls silent at the photoshopped olympic line-up with his headshot, then at the team photo where he’s posing beside his brother, dressed in red. “ya really outdid yerself, rin.”

“i know.” the focus is him, next: what if suna played for the jackals? he looks dazzling in the black and gold uniform, newspaper articles about him replaced with the photoshopped jersey. there’s a team photo of him kneeling beside atsumu and sakusa, all smiles and proud expressions.

the last section is: what if we didn’t go pro? there are pictures of atsumu in university, photoshopped in existing photos of osamu, sakusa, and suna at their respective schools. what comes after are the hypotheticals – osamu as head chef at a luxurious restaurant; sakusa as a sports analyst; atsumu as a counselor; and suna as a photographer. the last photo is a final photoshopped masterpiece, of all of them dressed for their different professions, but still together, with arms wrapped one another’s waists, eyes bright, smiles wide.

the slideshow ends. the twins applaud, suna giving a mock bow, sakusa putting his laptop away to retrieve the physical album to give to the twins. “what we want to say with this,” he tells them, “is that no matter what universe we’re in, we would always find our way back to each other.”

“you’re the only one that i’ll ever love, ‘samu,” suna adds, sitting across from him. “no matter if it’s this life, or the next one, or anything in between.”

“i’m infinitely grateful to be alive at the same time as you, ‘tsumu.” sakusa reaches for his hand. “i could never imagine living in a world without you.”

the twins reach for them, eyes brimming with years. “every day, i thank the gods that yer here with me,” osamu murmurs. “i’ve loved ya since the day we met, rin.”

“same with me, omi. ya have no idea how lucky i am that we get ta play together an’ show the world who we are.” atsumu pulls him into a hug. “thank ya fer bein’ with me.”

their night stretches into the early hours of morning, spent drinking tea and reminiscing, joking about the slideshow, examining each of them in closer detail. when they fall asleep, each couple share a futon together, arms close, limbs tangled, pillows askew.

another day of loving the twins ended, and another day will begin, on and on and on.

[soukokuchild]

OK I'm late but I'm still proud of my FIRST!!! miya twins fic and it's actually comfort??? No hurt??? No angst??? I can barely recognize myself rn. Btw enjoy!

•2k words

•#miyatwins centric

•minor #sakuatsu & #sunaosa

•crack and fluff

•comfort no hurt

[flyingwargle]

miya twins week day 2: "why does it feel like we’re drifting apart?”

granny used to say that twin telepathy was a gift from the gods as a way to reaffirm their bond. it can be used for anything between the mundane to the serious, from asking each other answers on their tests, soothing nightmares, echoing sentiments. it can work across long distances, although they never tried it, or close proximities. the only time it fails is when the bond starts to weaken.

or so osamu thinks.

it starts in their second year of high school, from their argument about their diverging paths. “if yer so damn sure that ya’ll be the happier one,” he snarls, gripping his brother’s collar, “come back when we’re geezers! wait ‘till then ta laugh in my face an’ say ya were happier!”

atsumu stares at him, anger in his eyes. “if that’s what ya wanna do, yer on.” he shoots to his feet, gripping his shoulders tight. “i’m gonna turn an’ look right in yer face, an’ say i had the happier life!”

they never recovered after that. after graduation, osamu went to university in tokyo; atsumu was scouted by the jackals in osaka. he sent a ticket to his debut match, but osamu had an exam and couldn’t attend. osamu sent an invite to his graduation, but atsumu was overseas. atsumu sent a ticket to a game between the jackals and ejp, but osamu was busy preparing for his restaurant’s grand opening. when the doors opened for the first time, he saved a spot for atsumu, but he never made it.

he doesn’t notice when the telepathy stopped. he doesn’t notice when the messages between him and his brother gradually stop. so, when he hears his name echo in the back of his mind during the busiest hour of the day, he doesn’t question it and simply responds back.

‘samu.

it’s faint. osamu, in the middle of preparing rice, slows. ‘tsumu. he’s the only one in the kitchen, the rest of his staff busy with front of house. his eyes dart around the industrial equipment, the window cracked open, the fans whirring.

oh. a weak chuckle. it still works, huh?

whaddaya mean? osamu frowns.

he doesn’t get an immediate response. when he does, it’s fainter. onigiri miya, huh? it’s a nice name.

osamu was never the best at listening for emotions, but it’s different with telepathy. it’s just them, stripped of their external bodies, left with their inner mind’s voice. atsumu’s is mournful. regretful. apologetic.

‘tsumu, what’s wrong?

it’s that chuckle again, the self-conscious one that starts at the back of his throat, accompanied by a sheepish smile. osamu can imagine it, hear it echo from their childhood, adolescence, to now. sorry that i never came fer the grand openin’. it woulda been cool. i saw the pictures. business is boomin’, huh?

cut the shit, ‘tsumu. osamu has stopped, hands braced on the counter. why’re ya talkin’ ta me? we haven’t talked in years. they don’t follow each other on social media. they haven’t texted since high school. they haven’t called even longer. why, when you have telepathy?

telepathy. used for anything from the mundane to the serious. osamu’s blood runs cold. ‘tsumu, tell me where ya are, right now.

there’s no way ya can make it ta osaka.

watch. osamu is storming out of the kitchen and into his office, ripping his apron off, throwing his hat on top of his laptop. where are ya?

pause. i didn’t believe granny when she said twins could talk ta each other with their minds, thought it was some folktale. but when i heard ya cryin’ fer me after those bullies hit ya, i believed it. we promised each other that we’d be there, right? i completely forgot, an’ i gave ya so much shit fer wantin’ ta follow yer dreams. i’m sorry.

don’t do this ta me, ‘tsumu. osamu is checking shinkansen departures. i’m bookin’ a ticket, i’ll be there soon, don’t ya dare go dark–

i wish i coulda visited once.

he freezes. a chill runs down his spine, feels something in his mind suddenly sink into the darkness. ‘tsumu? ‘tsumu, answer me. ‘tsumu! his phone falls from his hand, vision blurring. ‘tsumu, don’t do this ta me. don’t leave me. ‘tsumu?

don’t leave before i can say sorry.

--

he learns, later that night, that atsumu was in a hit-and-run. a cyclist witnessed it and called for an ambulance. he was barely conscious by the time it arrived, drifted off before reaching the hospital. the surgery went through the night. the doctors aren't sure when he'd wake.

osamu takes the first shinkansen to osaka. when he reaches the hospital, he crashes into his ma’s waiting arms, sobbing into her shoulder. “i’m sorry,” he sobs. “he- ‘tsumu, we talked, but he didn’t- he-“

she shushes him. “baby, it’s okay. yer here, an’ that’s all that matters. shall we see him?”

atsumu’s head is wrapped in bandages, with plenty more around his limbs, hidden beneath his blanket. an iv is inserted in his vein, oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. his expression is gaunt, but his heartbeat is steady. osamu reaches for his hand, the uninjured one, and grasps it between his. “how did we drift so far apart?” he whispers.

ma sits beside him. “he never stopped talkin’ ��bout ya, whenever he visited. he was even talkin’ ‘bout makin’ a trip ta tokyo ta surprise ya, but…” her breath catches in her throat. “i’m sure he’d love ta have yer food.”

“he can have all the onigiri he wants,” osamu croaks. “every last bit o’ it.”

they stay, take turns stretching their legs, taking calls from friends and family, eating out of the vending machine in the main lobby. the black jackals visit, along with old friends from inarizaki. when night falls, his ma leaves to sleep at the hotel, but osamu stays. he doesn’t let go of atsumu’s hand, not even as he drifts off.

‘samu?

he startles awake, but he doesn't have the strength to open his eyes. ‘tsumu. listen, i’m so sorry–

i’m sorry that i made ya come all the way here. i woulda liked ta show ya the sights, sneak ya into the gym, make ya hit my tosses.

ya idiot. ya can still do all that. yer gonna be fine. i know ya will. osamu squeezes his hand. an’ yer gonna come ta tokyo, an’ we’ll do all the tourist shit ya like. yer gonna eat at my restaurant an’ sleep on my couch, an’ complain ‘bout yer back the next mornin’, an’ we’re gonna do it all again–

a faint laugh. not that self-conscious chuckle, but the quiet, exasperated yet amused laugh that comes when he doesn’t want to acknowledge his brother, yet still does. i’m still sorry ‘bout what i said back in high school.

we’re adults, now. it doesn’t matter. we’ll start again. right?

right.

osamu dares to open his eyes, and stares straight at his brother, who returns his gaze. his lips move beneath his oxygen mask, though no words come out. he hears him, loud and clear.

love ya, idiot.

love ya too, scrub.

--

inspiration: this comic of twin telepathy!

[flyingwargle]

miya twins week day 7: "do you think we're twins in every universe?"

atsumu opens his dream journal, picks up his pen, and starts writing.

i had the same dream again, the one where i’m like 7 or 8. i’m running to granny’s along the stream. there’s a boy behind me, and he gets further and further behind, until he trips and falls. he starts crying. i turn around and run back to him. this time, i say, “ya needa watch where yer goin’,” and he doesn’t say anything. i try to pull him up, but then i think the dream ends.

his dreams are always the same, always with the same boy, but never end the same way. once, he was the one who tripped while running along the stream, and the boy offered his hand. in another, they’re playing a sport in a gym, and he’d pass the ball to the boy to score. most of the times, he succeeds and they high-five, but a few times, he’d fail, and they fall in defeat.

his favorite dream, though, never changes. he and the boy are lying on the grass, watching the sky, pointing at shooting stars. despite being comforted, his chest would twist with sorrow or relief, depending on whether he dreams long enough to hear the conversation. he recorded it once, years ago, the page tear-stained, writing messy.

“hey,” i say, or maybe it’s the other kid, except we aren’t kids, but young adults. “do you think we’re twins in every universe?”

“what kinda dumbass question is that?” the other kid says, or maybe it’s me. it’s hard to tell, since we kinda sound the same. “of course we are. an’ even if we aren’t, we’ll find each other someway, somehow, somewhere." there’s so much conviction in his voice that i believe it, even though i never had a sibling. but it’s nice to know that maybe, in a past life, or just in my dreams, that i had a brother that i could rely on.

atsumu asked why he didn’t have a sibling, once. “it’s ‘cause yer pa an’ i can only handle one o’ ya,” ma said, ruffling his hair. “what, ya wish we didn’t give ya so much attention?” he laughed it off, but there were days when he’d return to a silent home, or struggle to fall asleep because of how empty his room felt. he loves his parents, but sometimes…it felt like something was missing.

or maybe someone.

when he was scouted by a university volleyball team in tokyo, he took it, saying goodbye to his high school friends and parents. in a city where it’s rare to see the same face twice, he loses himself in the crowds, meeting new people, learning from different coaches, experiencing campus life to its fullest. no matter what he did, though, the dreams didn’t stop, deepening his loneliness.

one night, he’s dragged to an izakaya with his teammates. atsumu sits at the bar, cheek in hand, thumbing through his dream journal while his beer gets warm. someone picks up the glass, and he snaps his head upwards, mouth opening when–

“i noticed yer beer’s been sittin’ fer a while. here’s a new one.”

“oh. thanks.” atsumu takes a sip, the cool, bitter liquid tickling his throat.

“whatcha readin’?”

“this? it’s nothin’, just my dream journal.”

the izakaya worker hums. “that’s pretty cool. not many people keep those.”

“yeah. i kept dreamin’ o’ the same things, so my doctor said i should write ‘em down. it’s always with this other boy that kinda looks an’ sounds like me.” atsumu chuckles to himself. “i’m startin’ ta think that he might be my twin o’ some sort. i guess the universe wanted us ta live separately, fer once.”

“that’s mighty interestin’.”

“ya don’t hafta pretend. i bet i don’t make much sense, with the beer an’ all.”

that earns him a laugh. “ya aren’t drinkin’ as much, compared ta yer teammates over there. i think yer fine.”

“thanks.” atsumu closes his journal. “ya got an accent. ya also from kansai?”

“yep. even though my family moved when i was young, tokyo never washed it out.”

“oh. whereabouts?”

“hyogo.”

atsumu gives pause. he straightens, finally locks eye with the izakaya worker. it’s like looking in a mirror – he has the same eyes, though hooded and dark gray, hair sweeping to the left. his chin is pointy, nose slightly crooked, muscles straining beneath his black t-shirt. “same,” atsumu whispers. “what’s yer name?”

“me? osamu. how 'bout ya?"

“atsumu. no surname?”

osamu falters, the corners of his mouth falling slightly. “sorry, bad habit. i always feel like i need ta use my given name, or else i’d get confused with someone else, even though no one has the same surname.”

“same.”

they stare at each other, gray against blonde. atsumu bites his bottom lip, fingers toying with the pages of his journal. then, he slides it forward. “i think ya should read this.”

after brief hesitation, osamu takes it and reads last night’s entry.

the boy and i, we’re in high school now. we’re arguing. we’ve argued before about like, stealing clothes or eating each other’s snacks, but this is different. i don’t remember how or why, but it just is, like we’re going separate ways, and it hurts, and neither of us want to admit it. i know, though, that deep down, we’d still be there for each other, and if one of us falls, the other would be there. my chest still feels tight, and i think i cried in my sleep, but i also feel…comforted? that someone i’ve never seen in my life has my back? will i ever meet him and learn who he is?

“i think it’s ya.” atsumu’s voice is quiet. “i think yer the twin that we’re supposed ta be, no matter the universe.”

osamu doesn’t say anything, just flips through some of the old entries until he stops, losing his breath. he lowers the journal, reaches for his shirt collar, and pulls it down to where a delicate moon tattoo sits on his collarbone. “when i was eighteen, i dreamed i was watchin’ the stars with someone, some boy that looks like me. we were talkin’, when the boy suddenly asked if we’d be twins in every universe. i said, o’ course, scrub, but when i woke up, i was alone. i never had a twin. i’ve always been an only child.” he releases his shirt, presses his hand over it. “i got this tattoo ta remind myself that someone out there is my sun, an’ i think…i think it’s ya.”

an’ even if we aren’t, we’ll find each other someway, somehow, somewhere. although the universe separated them, they still found each other, the moon to the sun, the silver to the gold, two halves of a whole, because not even fate can overwrite the inextricable bond between them.

brothers. if not by blood, then by choice. if not by choice, then in memory. forever, until the end of time.