#of course. you're are more than welcome to continue ball threads for as long as you guys want!

[qveenofgluttony]

Instead of Beelza, the queen herself takes the stage.

"I have been informed that the killer has unfortunately...escaped. I apologize for the chaos that has ensued here, and it it because of this that I decided that it would be best to cut the ball short this year and for everyone to return to their homes.

Party's over."

[anobscurename]

ocean eyes – chris evans

previous part: PART XIX — masterlist

concept: you finally have had enough. the slowest of slow burns. part twenty of many.

pairing: chris evans x reader

word count: 2,4k

warnings: you might cry; i know i did. angst.

author's note: i needed my comedic relief comfort characters for this one in the beginning tbh cause... well... you'll see. this one is for @miss-jackson500 because i haven't dedicated one to her yet and she's? amazing?!

You had wondered – for the days that followed – that if maybe the rescheduled meet-up hadn't been cut short by Anthony, if things would be different.

You came to the conclusion that all that really would've been different was that you'd know a little less.

"You're finally going to do it, huh?" Anthony grinned from across the pool table. You had, according to the original plan, all come together at the old bar where you'd first met the two. "You're going to tell him how you feel?"

"Is it a bad idea?" You asked, missing your shot. Your mind was heavily distracted, and it was showing through. You were usually wiping the floor with the duo, but now you were losing four balls to one.

"No, no, it's a fantastic idea," Anthony bent down to line up his next shot. "Tell her it's a fantastic idea, Seb. Better yet, tell me who the Black Widow should be with."

Sebastian, who had been sat to the side, waiting for his turn, rolled his eyes and took a swig of his beer. "I admit nothing until I see a ring."

"Speaking of rings!" Anthony jumped up excitedly – either from the prospect of marriage or the thrill of pocketing his ball, leaving team Falcon and Winter Soldier with just the black on the table – "I'm thinking a round cut two carat, set in rose gold? Colour scheme would he lavender, of course, because as best man–"

"You can get fucked if you think you're going to be best man."

"Of course I'm best man! Look at me, I'm the bestest man around, I'm fine as–"

"You can both get fucked if you think there's going to be a wedding," you laughed.

Anthony hissed a curse under his breath as he missed the winning pocket, reluctantly handing the cue off to Sebastian, who hopped off the stool to land gracefully on his feet.

You chalked your cue, determined to not lose yet another game to these dipshits. "I haven't even told him yet, what if he doesn't feel the same way?"

Anthony and Sebastian both looked at you, incredulous. "I mean this with only love, and it comes from a place deep within my heart... Are you blind?"

Sebastian was even balking. "Even I could tell, and I have the social skills of a pineapple."

"Okay, fine! You both are clearly biased, you saw us kiss."

"No, we watched a softcore porno is what we did, y'all devouring each other like that in public–"

He cut himself short, having to laughingly dodge himself out of the reach of your playful slap.

"I'm asking Scott for the final opinion," you proclaimed.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, eager to play and win the game, bouncing the end of the cue on the wooden bar floor. The rubber stop muted the noise.

You opened up the text thread you had been maintaining with the younger Evans. Should I tell Chris?

You didn't need to elaborate, Scott would know what you meant. There was a pause on his end, and you had just been about to put your phone away before his response bubbled up.

Sorry, was just changing your name in my phone to sister-in-law ;)

That was all the answer you needed.

You finished the game – you lost, mind overrun with giddiness and the odds having been stacked against you long before – and you were hugging Anthony goodbye.

When you'd asked where he was headed, he'd just given you a sly wink and a "wouldn't you like to know."

That left just you and Sebastian, and you decided to walk him back to his hotel before heading home.

"How long you going to be in L.A. for?" You'd asked, just to make conversation.

"A week or so, maybe? And then I'm jetting back to New York. I haven't been home in so long, I think the dust has taken over my lease."

You chuckled, and continued on in a pleasant silence.

You gave him a departing hug in the lobby, and hailed a cab back to Chris'.

You were so high on the exhilaration of finally telling him and ending this will they/won't they charade once and for all. So excited, you'd nearly missed the unfamiliar Bentley in the driveway on your way in.

But it didn't go unnoticed.

You came in, greeted happily by a yapping Dodger, and the smell that hit you was one of Valentino perfume – overpowering the usual scent of Chris lingering in the house.

"Hey, Dodge," you whispered, giving him a vigorous petting session. "Where's Chris? Where's your dad?"

Dodger gave your hand a wet lick, slobbering over your keys, and you laughed lightly.

The door to the pool was open, and you could hear splashing and giggling – pitched more feminine than you'd ever heard Chris go.

Curiosity killed the cat. And satisfaction was never going to resurrect the plummet of your excitement. No, that was replaced by shock and anger. Even if you knew you had no right to feel that way.

"Chris?" You'd called out as you padded across the lounge. "Chris, whose car is in the driveway? I have something I–"

Blindsided, your slobber slick keys fell from your hand to jangle uselessly onto the ground. It was that that finally grabbed his attention.

He had been otherwise excruciatingly preoccupied with the topless girl in his lap, legs locked around his waist in a languid grind, his hands smoothing over her curves as they all but explored each other's tonsils in a moaning kiss.

Red flashed across your vision as well as your cheeks, and you ducked your head. Embarrassed and feeling stupid, you quickly grabbed your keys. "I'm sorry, I'll go..."

You quickly turned and dashed to your room, ignoring the tears in your eyes, and the call of your name.

"{Your name}, wait!" Chris cried, water sloshing as he clambered out of the pool. "{Your name}!"

You slammed the door shut behind you, making it clear you wanted isolation. Pulling out a duffel bag, you began throwing clothes into it, careless of what you might need, just needing to leave.

Sebastian had asked you once how much more you were going to put yourself through before you'd had enough.

And this was it. This was the breaking point. This was enough.

The strength in which Chris frantically ripped open your door had it banging against the adjacent wall, but you couldn't even look at him. Your eyes were blurry as you continued violently packing your clothes.

You didn't even know where you were going to go. You just knew you had to. Go.

"{Your name}, stop," he said, soft in direct comparison to the panic he felt in his chest. You were leaving him. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" You spat out. And then, just to change the subject, because not even you could bare to dwell on it too much: "You're getting water on your floor."

"{Your name}–"

"Don't talk to me, Chris. Rest your tongue a bit, it sure was busy earlier."

"As was yours, too, I'm sure," he bit back.

Your movements stuttered at the reciprocated rage. To your knowledge, he had no right to feel as you did in that moment. None.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

There was provocation in his eyes, and his searing gaze only fuelled your fire.

"Have fun with Sebastian?"

Your scoff was followed by a bewildered laugh. "I went out tonight with Sebastian and Anthony, Chris. We're friends. Welcome to the world of platonic relationships, professor, we've been waiting for your arrival."

And like the cut strings on a puppet, tension left his body – anger being replaced by confusion.

"I... I thought..."

"You thought wrong, Evans," you seethed, pushing past him to the bathroom to grab your toiletries. You made an effort to bump him, your shirt sticking to your skin with the water droplets still dotting his toned body. "And to think I really thought..."

"Thought what?" His voice cracked out.

"Thought that you might actually care about me!" You finally snapped. You were yelling. You didn't want to yell, but you were, voice echoing in the acoustics of the bathroom.

"I do," he whispered. His conviction was quickly draining from him, being replaced with an inevitable sadness and feeling of loss. You hadn't even left yet, but he knew that nothing he was going to say would make you stay. He knew he'd gone too far. It didn't stop him from trying. "I loved you, {your name}. I still do."

You had hoped that if he ever was to say those words, it would be under different circumstances. In fact, you'd found yourself imagining whole sunset beach scenarios, late into the night.

"I thought you were better than that, Chris. Manipulation? That's low."

"It's true. I've loved you–"

You didn't want to hear it. You weren't going to give him the opportunity of persuading you into staying. You knew you should've left long ago. "I can't say the feeling is mutual."

It was a lie. It was a lie, because if you really had felt nothing, then you wouldn't be acting like this. But you needed the upper hand, because Chris had basically knocked you over with the force of his admittance. You couldn't let yourself be dragged back in. Not this time. You had too much self respect for that. Not when he still had lipstick smudged on his lips, disappearing into the scruff that shadowed his jaw.

You had to avoid looking at his pained expression at your words. No matter how much you were hurting now at his profession of love, you knew he might possibly be hurting a little more at your rejection.

"And if you really did..." You trailed off, struggling to say the words love me. "Well, you have a really funny way of showing it."

"Pretending not to love you is the hardest role I've taken on, and I did it for you."

Red was dancing back into your vision, your shock growing alongside the fury.

"How is that for me?"

"Because that's what you wanted!" He was finding his voice again, raising it in his desperation. "Believe me, I wanted to fight for you. I would, would wage wars for you," he stuttered out. "But you never wanted that from me. You wanted to pull away, from this, from us. And I let you because I would do anything you asked of me."

"So you stayed away because you wanted to keep me?" You worded it slowly, just to make him understand how ridiculous it sounded.

"...Yes."

"Are you stupid? Actually mentally deficient?" You zipped your bag, brushing past him again, this time making sure to have as little contact as possible. He all but occupied the whole doorway.

"If I had told you then you would have left!" He was following you now, following you to the front door. "I told you I wanted you in my life, even if it meant the pain of never having you."

You had hoped to slam the door in his face to make your point known, but where Chris had slacked in fighting for you before, he was making up for now. He caught the door before it could close, trailing after you into the driveway.

"There's something wrong with me. I ruin things. So I let you have your space because you are the greatest thing that has happened to me in a long time, and I'd be fucked if I ruined you too!"

"It's a bit too late for that," you said, finally looking him in those ocean eyes. They were bloodshot with barely restrained tears. But your resolve was iron. "Congratulations, Evans. You've ruined me."

You heard Dodger pawing at the door, whining low and long for you. If you thought leaving Chris was hard, this was what made you break.

But you turned away from them, from that house, tears falling freely. A sob escaped your lips, barely stifled.

"Put on a shirt, Evans," you managed to get out. You wanted the last word, even if it brought very little satisfaction. "You have company."

———————

Your first call was to Anthony. He hadn't picked up, and you remembered his other plans.

The second also went unanswered – the friend who had become a self proclaimed L.A. local upon graduating high school, and who had let you crash at their house when you'd first arrived. She was probably at work, and so you left her a quick voicemail asking her to call you back.

The third did, on only the second ring. You had almost lost hope in anyone else being awake at that point, so you hadn't composed yourself before he picked up.

The first thing he heard was your sob, which you quickly cut off with a greeting.

"What's wrong?"

"Can I crash with you tonight? I need somewhere to go."

"What happened? Did–?"

"I don't want to talk about it," you said quickly. He shut up almost immediately. "I just... Please?"

There was a pensive silence on the other end, and you felt the need to fill it.

"I tried Anthony, but he wasn't picking up."

"Yeah," came the small chuckle crackling on the other end. "He's got a hot date tonight. Must be going well."

"I wouldn't do this if I had anywhere else to go, but I don't, and it'll only be for one night–"

"Of course you can stay," he assured, sushing you softly. "Can't believe I made you ask twice."

————————

Sebastian met you in the lobby, taking you up to his room almost immediately to avoid strange looks and any unwanted public attention.

He explained to you in the elevator that although he had tried to get you your own room, the hotel was fully booked. He sounded quite apologetic for that.

You didn't say much, because if you spoke, you were scared you were going to start crying all over again. And you'd just managed to stop, averting your eyes from your teadstained appearance in the mirrors.

Sebastian's room was a big one, on the pricier end of all the hotel had to offer. A large king sized bed stood to one side, bedsheets twisted as if he'd clambered into it right when he'd gotten back.

There was a lounge suite to the side, looking like a set-up you'd see on the glossy pages of Architectural Digest, and although the curtains were drawn, you could see the city lights sprawling out before you through the crack.

He was still in his outfit from the bar, shirt and jeans slightly rumpled.

The television was on, playing the original Nosferatu quietly in the background.

"I'll take the couch," Sebastian offered, dropping off the bags he'd taken from you.

You declined him with a shake of your head.

"{Your name}," he said, tender, placing both his hands on your shoulders to make you look at him. "You've been through a lot tonight. Take the bed, I've got the couch."

You didn't have the strength to fight his insistence. You didn't have the strength for much any more.

When you'd gotten out the shower, dressed in your pyjamas, Sebastian finally asked you again what had happened.

You just shrugged tiredly, climbing between the cool cotton sheets.

"I just had enough."

[daisukissed]

the better one | m.osamu

❧ pairing: miya osamu x gn!reader, slight miya atsumu x reader

❧ synopsis:

miya osamu was never the one to compare himself to his twin brother. he doesn't care if his brother gets more attention, is better at volleyball or is preferred over himself but as he watches you with your arms slung against atsumu's shoulders, mouth kissing him passionately like he's some sort of drug, he wishes this once, just this once, that he could be the better one.

❧ genre: angst, mild fluff

❧ warnings: none

❧ word count: 3.7k

Ding dong.

The door bell chimes through the secured walls of the Miya household, alerting everyone present in the vicinity.

Or just one, Miya Osamu.

The tall athlete stops at whatever he was doing, turning to wash his dirty hands instead in response to the door bell, feeling the cold water run against his skin.

Ding dong.

Another ring sounds off and the boy reacts quicker. He dries his hands off with his clothes, rushing his way to the front door. Twisting the metal doorknob, the wooden door opens it's way to the outside world.

You jump at the sight of the gray haired boy, a dark blue apron cladding his muscular build. It somehow suits him, you think.

"Um, is Atsumu here?"

The high school male observes your demeanor, recognizing you as his twin brother's girlfriend. He remembers Atsumu introducing you to him very briefly at school, the class bell interrupting the two of you before you could add anything else other than your name. He didn't really have the time to garner an opinion on you due to that.

Finally taking a good look at your face, he realizes that you're an exact image of his brother's type. It's no wonder how you managed to capture the condescending blonde's heart.

"Tsumu's buying groceries right now, he'll be back soon. Come on in." Osamu recalls, his muscular back already turned back into the house.

You follow his footsteps, taking in the nooks and crannies of the room. The softwood wall matches perfectly with the white ceramic floor, the furnitures within the area complimenting the both of them as well. It isn't the most lavish house nor the most special one but it's certainly the coziest one you've been to.

Taking a seat on the white couch in the living room, your eyes lock on the high school boy a few meters beside you, occupying himself in the kitchen where you can see the countless utensils lying around, a few rice grains sticking here and there.

"Ah! Are those the new samples you're working on?"

Osamu stiffens slightly at your sudden question, turning his head to face the numerous rice balls you were talking about.

"Yeah, I guess you heard from Tsumu?"

Giving him a sheepish smile and a slight nod from your head, you continue on your conversation with the light haired male.

"That's right..." You stop, contemplating whether or not you should say the next few words.

"He wasn't quiet happy with your decision, after all."

Osamu can't help but scoff lightly as a corner of his mouth twitches up in disdain, the glass plate that he was previously washing completely ignored, water gliding down the surface and to the drain.

"Sure he wasn't. Nobody was."

Osamu hates the fact that he could feel his own chest tightening, his words littered with a hint of stubbornness and... hurt?

Hurt. That's what he felt when his brother ridiculed his decision, when his parents gave him doubtful looks about his plans, when even his fangirls begged him to keep doing volleyball. It was as if the whole world was against him pursuing his passionー

"Well, I personally think that you made a great choice."

The whole world except you.

"Oi Tsumu, give these a taste!"

The young boy yells from a distance, making his way to the room beside his, a plate of filling rice balls in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

He doesn't know what changed or how it happened but his twin have been unusually supportive of his passion as of late, agreeing to support and help however he can.

Not taking any of his rare kindness for granted, Osamu constantly feeds his brother unhealthy amount of rice balls each day, asking for his thoughts and opinions.

Today was no exception.

Pushing the door handle with his elbow, he opens the door with a push of his body, careful not to spill the water nor the food he's holding.

Grey eyes immediately widens slightly as they are met with an unexpected visitor, their legs tangled up with another's as they try to wriggle their way out of the other boy's grasp.

Your cheerful laughter cuts short as you notice the young male in front of you. Putting the tickle war that happened just moments before to a stop, you give Atsumu who is hovering you a push, causing him to notice the said man as well.

"Sorry for disturbing, I'll-"

"Don't fret it, are those for us?" You give out a kind smile, waving your hands to shake off the boy's apology.

Osamu nods his head in uncertainty, eyes glancing towards his brother only to see a displeased look befalling him, probably from the disturbance of he and his girlfriend's time together. An uncomfortable feeling settle into his chest, making him regret his decision of barging into the room even more.

"I'm not eating any, I've been eating those for three days straight now."

Standing up from the sturdy bed you've been sitting on, you take the ball of rice made by the boy, one for yourself and one for your sulking boyfriend.

"Now, now, one more can't hurt." You say cheerfully, practically shoving the dish to the boy's face. Atsumu frowns to which you reply with what looks like an innocent smile, prompting the blonde to sigh in defeat and snatch the rice ball from your hand.

Seeing him take a huge bite of the triangular rice, you smirk smugly before giving yourself a mouthful bite as well.

Osamu stands still awkwardly as he watches the two of you dive into the meal, observing any slight change in expression on your face.

"This is the best you've made so far." Atsumu states, taking more and more bites despite his earlier reluctance.

You bob your head in agreement, eyes widening in shock at how well all the flavors mesh together.

"Itsch rweally gud!" You try to exclaim, words slightly muffled due to the amount of food occupying your mouth.

The small amount of nervousness in his body disappears completely when he's met with nothing but positive remarks, pride slowly welling up in exchange.

Seeing the elated look and chubby cheeks from your face, Osamu can't help but feel his own mouth curling into a soft smile.

You find yourself visiting the two siblings much more often now.

What used to be just the two of you became three, Osamu appearing more and more frequently in between the dates you and your boyfriend shared.

Silent movie nights turns into popcorn fights and unprofessional reviews, dinner with takeouts into massive taste tests of various riceballs.

It's a change that you nor Atsumu minds, honestly. He's glad that he could spend his time with two of his most favourite people while you're just happy to gain a new friend.

Ringing the melodious doorbell you've heard more and more of lately, you patiently wait for the recipient from the other side, swinging your feet back and forth as you stare at the white painted door.

It only takes a couple of seconds before a tall figure came to view, thick eyebrows lowered into a quizzical frown.

Osamu was for sure not expecting you to be at the front of his doorsteps when he opened the door, smiling at him innocently like you're supposed to be here.

It would've been okay if things were under different conditions.

If his twin, Miya Atsumu was actually home. Did you not know? Did he not tell you? He really couldn't believe that his brother would leave you without informing you about the youth camp. Just how ignorant could he be?

"Tsumu's not home."

"I know that?" You give him a matter-of-fact look, tilting your head in confusion.

More questions fill the boy's mind as he wonders about the reason of your visit. You never really came unless you were accompanied by your boyfriend so what was your point in coming when he's away? It couldn't be for his parents, you and Tsumu weren't at that level yet and of course, it couldn't be for him, you guys never really talked unless it was with the presence of his brother (much to his disappoinment). The two of you settle with friendly smiles and subtle waves instead whenever you passed by each other at school.

Choosing to squeeze pass the still boy instead of waiting for him to let you in, you invite yourself into the spacious house, the white walls you've grown familiar with welcoming you warmly.

"Can a person not spend time with a dear friend without their boyfriend?" You ask rhetorically, turning back to give your gray haired buddy an enticing smile as you raise the bag of store-bought rice balls in your hand.

If Osamu had known that letting you in that day would result to the constant pain eating at his chest, aching at every sight of you, he would've prevented you at all cost.

The unspoken boundary between you and Osamu was crossed the moment you spent your entire day in the boy's presence. The two of you were no longer threading the thin line between friendly gestures and close actions, already passing beyond that awkward phase.

Within the few days that the blonde was away, you and Osamu had already shared numerous inside jokes (none of them explained to Atsumu for entertainment purposes), countless shitty rom-coms (you complained about his tastes, to which he argued that you just don't understand the art behind itー as if there were any in overused clichés and sappy kisses) and of course, you couldn't forget the various spontaneous outings (the competitive arcade games, the midnight car rides, the trashy cooking competitions)

His days were slowly filled with you, providing him with a giddy and blissful feeling that he hadn't felt in so long. Even when his twin brother had finally arrived home, the two of you continued to spend your time together, no matter if the yellow-haired was present or absent.

It almost made him forget that you already have your heart set on his brother. Almost.

"Oh, so ya can't make it?"

"Yeah, Tsumu just invited me out. I'm really sorry. I'll make it up to you next time, promise!"

Ahー of course, relationships come first after all. It's no surprise that you would choose to spend your time with your boyfriend in preference to your best friend. Anybody would do the same.

"Hm, sure. Have fun." Osamu mumbles, not being able to prevent a twinge of his bitterness seep out from his words as he ends the call, the monotonous beep being the last thing he hears.

Turning back from where he was heading to, the silver haired male walks down the lone and empty street back home, only the sound of faraway children accompanying his journey.

He feels like shit. Like there's someone kicking dirt into his heart, staining it with this ominous emotion that he wishes he could scrub off. It doesn't help the fact that the sun's setting down either, bringing down the mood even more as it bids goodbye to the land it shone for, the once warmly lit place diminishing into a gloomy abyss.

He shouldn't feel so disturbed. So irked, so agitated, so upset. That would just prove the insatiable feeling buried deep inside his chest, hiding in denial all this time. The feeling that eats away his skin, leaving him bare with nothing but his pride and ego to defend with. The so-called feeling named jealousy.

And Osamu is a person with dignity before a person that is jealous.

There is no way that he harbors any sort of feelings towards you that are more than platonic, that his heart skips a beat whenever you scoot closer and soars at the sound of your mellifluous laugh, or that he finds himself thinking of you in every corner of his house, like the spot you always sit on the living room couch and the kitchen mug you always favor more than others. He isn't supposed to find solace in the way you ramble non-stop about another series you've grown fond of, feeling himself relax at the soft lull of your voice, neither is he supposed to feel an evergrowing tenderness in his being at the sight of your face, always beaming in contentment, eyes so bright that it brings shame to the sun, like there's nothing wrong in this ruinous world. He can't.

Not when his brother is head over heels for you.

You've been spending less and less time with Osamu these past few days. He's always either holed up in his room, the kitchen or even worse, not even in the house at all, using the same repeated excuses that you've heard more than you could count.

"Samu's not joining again?" You inquire, plopping on the cushioned seat beside your boyfriend as he scrolls through a collection of movies displayed on the TV.

"Yeah, said he was goin' to study or something." Answered the blonde, his muscular build shuffling closer to you and a lean arm making its way around your shoulders.

"Study?" That's not right. Osamu would rather take a scooter to an ankle than actually study.

"I know, I was surprised too." The athlete responds in a tone of agreement. His fingers pause upon a poster of what seems to be a grotesque movie, the image of a bloody mask staring at you menacingly. Shifting his line of vision towards you, he asks for confirmation on his movie of choice and despite having mixed feelings about it, you agree. How could you not when he's looking at you like a child begging for ice cream?

The film starts off tense, the atmosphere heavy and surroundings gloomy. Fifteen minutes in and you're already on the edge of your seat, hands gripping at the strong boy's arm in fear of a sudden jumpscare. You take a glance at your boyfriend, observing any signs of distress or terror and sure enough, there were none. You're not even surprised at this point, Atsumu's a maniac for the thrill and pumps of adrenaline provided, you're not.

Just like Osamu.

You sincerely wished that he was present in today's marathon, wanting someone to share your hatred for horror movies with. With your constant anti-horror buddy being gone, you realized the huge role he plays in your overall experience. The continuous jokes he makes whenever the character does something stupid, the collection of curses spewing from his mouth that accompanies your obnoxious scream when something horrific suddenly pops out. Despite being scared shitless himself, you never actually see him reject any of your spoiled requests. He would always run you down on what happened when you're too scared to watch, Atsumu being too focused to do it himself. His explanations were confusing and all over the place (probably due to the fact that he himself watched through the slits between his fingers) but he gets the job done. Not to mention the times you would beg him to accompany you to the restroom, trembling arms linked together as you travel down the dark corridor leading to it (the one Atsumu insists on keeping the lights off, something about maintaining the mood), leaving him all alone once you got in.

It's those little stuffs that gets you feeling extremely grateful for your collected friend and when a bright idea suddenly shots into your mind, lighting up a lightbulb over your head. You push yourself off the couch, immediately scampering towards the simple and neat kitchen, switching on the lights by the counter.

Atsumu, who got disturbed at the sudden brightness and sounds of metal clanking, pauses the motion picture in action, giving you a bemused look.

"What are you doing?" He asks, watching you prep a variety of ingredients and condiments with raised eyebrows.

"Making riceballs for Samu! His brain's probably fried by now and is in major need for sodium." You explain, scooping a hefty amount of rice into a large bowl and salting it generously after.

The tall athlete smiles defeatedly at your thoughtfulness. He was almost frustrated, honestly but he knows better than to be jealous at your kindness towards his careless sibling. Stepping into the kitchen, he turns on the faucet by the sink, roaming his hands through the rush of cold water.

"Need any help?"

Osamu lets out a frustrated groan, laying his head on the cold hard table in hopelessness, folded arms serving as a cushion to lessen the pain and discomfort. His head's aching from all the numbers and letters he forced himself to absorb, mind too tired to comprehend anything anymore.

But it's better this way, anything's better than the constant thought of you; the slightly indecent snorts mixed with the melodious ring of your laughter, the soft gaze you occasionally give out, the one where you could feel the admiration just by looking at it, your eyes brimming with nothing but warmth and love. It's a shame that none of those belongs to him and he knows that it never ever will be. You see him as nothing more than a friend, your boyfriend's brother. Osamu himself acknowledged this already, even way before the two of you got close.

That doesn't mean it hurts any less though.

He wants to stop. Stop feeling so infuriated and defeated. So desperate. So pathetic. He'd do anything to remain rational and unbothered at your presence, to not have butterflies swarming inside his stomach and flowers blooming inside his heart. He needs to. Osamu will not let a single chance in having these emotions linger any longer. He'll get rid of the venomous bud you planted so secretly yet fondly, erasing it before it blooms into something more acidic; something that will burn through his skin, leaving him vulnerable with nothing but leftover bones.

And what better way to do that than avoidance?

It started off small, like cancelling your usual plans with him, making up blatant excuses to cover up his antics. Then, it was not joining you and Atsumu's table at lunch, choosing other group of friends to eat with. Finally, he stopped seeing you altogether, avoiding any sort of situations or places that could potentially harbor your presence. He was doing so well. Oh, so well.

Until a knock sounded off from his door, intruding his fatigued thoughts.

Until your figure came in moments later, bringing with you a savory and sweet smell, overfilling the room in mere seconds.

And of course, until you set the massive ball of rice on top of his table, its white grains and hot steam staring at him along with that lovable smile of yours.

You really just can't give him a break, can't you?

Snacks of all kinds and video games of different genres are splayed messily on the carpeted floor of Osamu's room.

You let a yawn escape effortlessly, bringing up a hand to cover your indecency while the other remains the hold on your black controller, taking a slight break on attacking the group of enemies in front of you before continuing to do so again.

"You really think we can finish this run by tonight?" You ask in a weary tone, hours of gameplay and shouting beginning to take effect on your body.

"Hm. Probably not." The boy to your left replies casually, hitting the pause button when he sees the look of exhaustion riding on your face, eyes softening at the sight.

You crash into the bed behind you, back leant backwards and arms stretching to its maximum height before falling down feebly. A sigh breaks free from your lips, hinting your utmost disappointment as you position your head to lay against the bed more comfortably, eyes closing when you found a good spot.

"All that work for nothing then."

The ash haired boy watches you rest in complete silence, taking in the littlest bits of details. As the blue light from the television's screen illuminates your skin perfectly, highlighting your features in his dark room, long lashes glistening like the stars adorning the night sky, he wonders, if you yourself, is a star as well.

And just like stars, you're impossible to reach.

Miya Osamu was never the one to compare himself with his twin brother. He doesn't care if his brother gets more attention or has more fans than him. Doesn't care if his brother's better at volleyball and is personally more sought out than him. Doesn't care if his brother's labelled as the better twin in general, him dulling in comparison.

But as he watched you slip your soft hand in between the other boy's calloused one, fingers intertwined and cheeks a rosy pink.

As you wrapped yourself against the boy's built body, leaning in until no space is shared between the two of you, providing a warmth that he could only imagine.

As your arms slung against Atsumu's shoulders, standing on the tip of your toes as you kiss him passionately like he's some kind of drug.

He wishes this once, just this once, that he could be the better one.

A head falls to Osamu's shoulder and he visibly stiffens a bit. Glancing sideways, the view of you in deep slumber against his body brings heat to his cheeks. He can hear his heart palpitating against his chest, the beat of it signifying his utter adoration towards your entire being.

He wants this moment to stay forever. The feeling of your cheeks pressed against his shoulder blades, the warmth radiating from your proximity, your soft snores accompanied by the sound of his running air conditioner. It was as if the two of you were the only ones left in this world, in his dimly lit room with no disturbance nor interference apart from the sound of faraway cars speeding the lonely city.

He wants it so bad.

Yet he knows that if he stays for even another second, he'll never let you go.

And he would rather go through this suffocating feeling a thousand times than to see the hurt on your face when you and Atsumu argues.

So ignoring the tightness in his chest, he picks you up in the most gentle way possible, carrying you to the athlete's room beside his and leaving with an evermore ache in his heart.