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Atsumu moves to England with Osamu when he’s twenty-three years old and fresh out of university. It’s one hundred percent Osamu’s fault; Osamu hasn’t been shutting up about opening his own onigiri shop abroad for years, and he decides to finally go through with it when Atsumu has just finished university.
And sure, Atsumu could just wish him good luck, call once a week like a good brother and ruin his phone bills while he mocks Osamu for fleeing so far.
But there are many factors that decide Atsumu’s day to day decisions. One of them is that he doesn’t know how to exist without Osamu close-by. That he is dependent on his twin’s proximity, in a way.
He’s been called ‘worryingly codependent’ before; he’s willing to take the mark if it means he always has Osamu close.
And so Osamu decides to open a shop abroad, and Atsumu applies for jobs in sports broadcasting abroad, and they move to England together; Osamu to open his first Onigiri Miya, Atsumu to take a job as a reporter for a small local sports radio.
They get a small flat on the outskirts of London, which is still horrendously costly for how little it offers: a kitchen, a bathroom that is so small Atsumu can touch the sink from the bathtub without a problem if he stretches his arm out, a tiny living room that just about fits a sofa and couch table, and then a small, shared bedroom in which they somehow cramp two small beds.
Aran asks them about twenty times if they’re sure that they don’t want to look for a flat with two bedrooms, but they’re sure; if they really wanted their own space, they could have turned the living room into a second bedroom. But they’ve been sharing a bedroom for the majority of their lives, the only interruption being Atsumu going to university, to play volleyball and study journalism while Osamu had gone to culinary school.
Sharing a bedroom now seems easily enough done.
They don’t have to justify the decision anymore once they move to England, at least not to more people: mostly because Atsumu doesn’t really tell anyone that he even has a brother, much less lives with him, because he’s too busy trying to act cool in front of his new co-workers, and Osamu doesn’t tell anyone anything because he’s too busy opening a food shop. It’s apparently a lot of work; in fact, Osamu works so much that Atsumu barely sees him during the first few weeks.
It gets to a point where Atsumu makes up excuses to get out of weird reporting hours, just so he can be at home and clean their flat, put food on the table for when Osamu comes home.
It is, in a sense, a weird feeling, because Osamu’s always been the one taking care of Atsumu, not the other way around. But, strangely enough, Atsumu doesn’t really mind it all that much. In fact, whenever Osamu comes home and smiles broadly at him, sinks against him on the couch while he munches down the food Atsumu has tried his best not to burn, Atsumu feels really, really good about it.
He makes up a boyfriend in front of his co-workers, to have a reason for why he can’t work that late. A boyfriend who has a food shop and works horrible hours. It’s only a half-lie, at least.
He starts calling the boyfriend “Samu”; it happens because he’s quietly complaining about his brother one day, mumbling “I can’t believe Samu is going to work the entire Sunday again,” to himself, and a co-worker overhears and immediately assumes he’s talking about his boyfriend. A logical assumption, seeing as neither she nor any of his other co-workers know that he even has a brother, and seeing as he’s been using a made-up boyfriend to get out of things.
And so Samu the boyfriend is born, all so Atsumu can be a better housewife for Samu, his brother.
With time, Samu the boyfriend becomes a more and more fleshed out character (who may or may not be a little too similar to Osamu his brother), partially due to the fact that they get a new intern.
Sandy is a nice person in general, but she won’t stop flirting with Atsumu. And as nice as Sandy is, she also does not seem to take friendly hints. And Atsumu is not into girls and, well, in the eyes of his co-workers he is also already happily dating, so there really is no point not to use his made-up boyfriend a little more extensively. And maybe flesh him out in the process, until he becomes basically indistinguishable from his brother, character-wise.
Suna would never let him live it down if he were there to see it, but that’s one good thing about living an ocean away: No Suna to make fun of him. It’s glorious.
- -
It’s not a problem until Atsumu has been working for his new job for nearly two months and his manager tells him that they’re going to have an office party, partners not only welcome but encouraged.
And office parties are nice, and Atsumu loves mingling, and he could really use the opportunity to network.
But Sandy drops by at his desk later, looks him straight into the eyes and says “I can’t wait to meet your boyfriend. As long as he still is your boyfriend.” And puts a hand on his arm, letting it linger a little.
And then, a few minutes later, Atsumu’s co-worker Janice, with real excitement, tells him, “I really can’t wait to meet Samu. You talk so much about him, he must be a great guy! I’m bringing my girlfriend too!”
And Atsumu realises, horrifyingly, that the only Samu in his life is his brother, and he has an office party coming up that he has no date to bring to.
- -
When Osamu comes home at midnight that day, Atsumu is still sitting on their sofa, staring listlessly at the wall.
It’s a very empty colourless drywall. It’s not giving him the glorious idea that he so desperately needs to get out of this.
“Why are ya sitting silently on the couch and looking dumb,” Osamu more accuses than asks as he strolls into the living room.
“We have an office party in two weeks,” Atsumu replies, ending his eyes’ grand love-affair with the drywall to look at his brother, who is narrowing his eyes at Atsumu.
Osamu looks exhausted from a long day of work, as he does on most days. And yet, as always, he also still looks unfairly good, his black Onigiri Miya shirt straining over his wide shoulders and biceps, his dark hair framing his handsome face.
Atsumu wonders, for a moment, why he’s cursed to always notice these things; he isn’t that insecure, and yet he can’t stop staring at the way his twin’s body is slowly bulking up.
“But ya love every kind of party,” Osamu says, ripping him out of his thoughts effectively and reminding him of the problem at hand.
“They expect me to bring my boyfriend,” Atsumu murmurs.
“Ya don’t have a boyfriend,” Osamu says, narrowing his eyes at Atsumu again.
“Exactly,” Atsumu sighs. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Osamu just stares at him, for a moment. Then he sighs heavily and rolls his eyes before sitting down on the couch next to Atsumu. He’s a warm and comforting presence; Atsumu wants to lean into him.
“Pray tell,” Osamu says, “why the fuck does yer office think ya have a boyfriend.”
“I made one up to get out of working weird hours. And to get away from the clingy colleague I told you about,” Atsumu mutters miserably.
Osamu sighs again, even heavier, as if being Atsumu’s sibling is nothing but an endless amount of suffering that he’s been taxed with.
“Ya made up a boyfriend,” he repeats.
“Yes. And if I don’t bring one, my co-workers will wonder where the mystery man is, and Sandy will start becoming unbearable,” Atsumu whines.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but why don’t ya get a friend to play yer boyfriend?”
Atsumu’s head whips around, and he stares at his brother again.
“You’re a genius!” he says, before something dawns on him.
“I don’t have a good friend here to play my boyfriend,” he sighs, misery taking hold of him again. “I haven’t lived here that long, Samu! Everyone I know in this country works with me!”
“You also know me,” Osamu says. “But I see yer point.”
Atsumu stares at Osamu. At Osamu’s beautiful, handsome face. At his gorgeous body, that’s slowly bulking out, losing its resemblance of Atsumu’s. At his hair, back to its natural dark hair colour, so different from Atsumu’s dyed blonde.
He’s having an idea. It’s either the best or worst idea he’s ever had, but it’s slowly shaping up, taking form.
“You’re right. I also know you,” he says. “You. You do it.”
Osamu’s jaw falls for a second before he gets his composure back, snaps his jaw shut again and stares at Atsumu.
“What the fuck,” he says.
“Hear me out!” Atsumu begs. “You’re really similar to the person I made up. My co-workers don’t know I have a brother. And we don’t look identical enough anymore for dumb white people to immediately tell that we’re related. I only have white co-workers. All of them basically think Asian people look the same.”
“You’ve lost yer entire goddamn mind,” Osamu says.
“Ya wouldn’t have to do too much! Just hold my hand and vaguely exist and we can leave early!” Atsumu says. The idea is taking more and more form. He can see it now, him and Osamu, holding hands; Osamu, by his side, one hand firmly on Atsumu’s back; Osamu, introducing himself as Atsumu’s boyfriend. Something hotly pleased bubbles in his stomach at the idea.
He is a great idea smith when he has to be, after all.
“What the fuck,” Osamu repeats.
“And ya owe me one anyways!” Atsumu throws out, his last saving grace. “I’ve done double the work in our apartment over the last two months because you’re so busy with yer restaurant! And I moved to England for ya.”
“Ya didn’t have to do that. I didn’t ask ya to,” Osamu grumbles. And then, after a few seconds: “Okay, fine. But ya do the talking and we leave as early as possible and it never happens again.”
Happiness, absurdly bright for the fact that all Osamu did was agree to a plan that everyone they know would call entirely hare-brained, takes hold of Atsumu.
He beams.
“You’re the best!” He says, and throws his arms around Osamu. Osamu grumbles louder, but he also hugs Atsumu back.
He smells really good, like his favourite cologne and just sweat and himself. Atsumu likes the way his brother smells. It always makes him feel grounded and warm. He could breathe in the scent of Osamu’s sweat in particular all day long. Not that he’d ever tell Osamu this. But he sinks into the hug, and breathes Osamu’s scent in deeply.
- -
Atsumu sits Osamu down two days before the office party is taking place. His colleagues have been hounding him, overly excited to finally meet the boyfriend Atsumu can’t shut up about, and he’ll be damned if he lets this go wrong.
“We need to figure out a backstory,” Atsumu says. “Details, or something, in case someone asks.”
Osamu sighs. He’s been doing a lot of that lately. “Ya want to come up with a whole story?” he asks.
“At least ground details! Samu, we need to at least have a story! So that we can tell people how we fell in love. Make it believable. We can’t not have an answer for that! People always remember the moment they realised they were in love, and their first date.”
“I never want to hear ya use the sentence ‘how we fell in love’ in relation to us ever again,” Osamu says. There is something unreadable in his eyes.
The words sting, for some reason; dig deep into Atsumu’s chest and leave a gaping hole there. Probably because he’s never been good at dealing with his brother’s distaste towards his ideas, no matter how absurd said ideas are.
“We still need to figure out a backstory,” Atsumu says firmly.
“Okay. Great.” Osamu sighs, and then he looks at Atsumu, looks him right into the eyes. There is something in his face Atsumu cannot decipher for the life of him. “How ‘bout this. We’ve known each other our whole lives. We never really noticed anything growing up. But when we were in tenth grade, ya decided to go out with this girl from our class. She asked ya out, and ya actually agreed. Ya asked me for advice on how to dress. I watched ya slip on yer best shirt and realised in that moment that I was in love with you. That I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing ya with her. That I wanted ya to worry about how to dress for me and only me, not some dumb girl who didn’t even know yer favourite meal.”
Atsumu swallows heavily. There is suddenly a big lump in his throat; he has no idea where it has come from.
“Childhood friends angle,” he says, “cute. And playing off real events. Less lying, makes it sound more believable. Clever.” His voice sounds rough even to his own ears. He clears his throat again. Osamu looks away.
“And how’d we get together?” Atsumu asks.
“I told ya that I couldn’t let ya date the girl. I stopped ya from going on the date. Ya told me ya never liked her anyways,” Osamu says, still not looking at Atsumu. “Or somethin’.”
Atsumu can’t look away from Osamu’s face. “Yeah,” he says, voice still raspy. “Yeah, sounds good.”
- -
They don’t talk about details as far as body contact and intimacy in front of Atsumu’s colleagues go, but Atsumu figures that they don’t really need to; they’re obviously not going to kiss, and Osamu had agreed to hand-holding in their original conversation, and Atsumu has always loved to hang off of people, his brother included.
It’s only when they’re in the car, on their way to the office party, that he starts to get nervous.
He looks good, he knows, and Osamu looks even better; he’s wearing a shirt that clings to his body again, the material straining over his bulky biceps, and Atsumu watches him drive—Osamu keeps insisting that Atsumu is an unsafe driver—and asks himself how anyone could ever believe he could bag that. Sure, Atsumu is a catch, but his brother looks impossibly good, almost out of this world; he’s the sort of person a model would look ugly next to, not that Atsumu would ever tell him that. They have the same face, and yet, somehow, there is something about Osamu that takes even Atsumu’s breath away.
Atsumu is worried, suddenly, that Sandy will see him and immediately start flirting with Osamu. As nice as it would be to get some respite from her, the mere idea of any of his co-workers flirting with his brother makes him feel almost violently uncomfortable.
And then his doubts start to trickle in: what if they didn’t make up enough of a backstory. What if their co-workers see them interact and clock them as siblings within two seconds. What if nobody believes that Atsumu could ever be in the league of someone like Osamu, which is true.
“Tsumu,” Osamu says, ripping Atsumu out of his thoughts. “Whatever you’re thinking about, don’t. Don’t worry yer pretty little head. This’ll work, and you’ll never have to take me to an office party again. It’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” Atsumu says quietly, already calming down. Osamu always knows how to handle him, for some stupid reason. “Okay.”
- -
They arrive at the office party just late enough to not be too early, and early enough to not to be too late. Tastefully on time. Usually Atsumu is the kind of person to opt for a dramatic late entrance, but he needs this work event to forge connections, and having more time to do so can only help.
He takes Osamu’s hand shortly before they enter the building; it’s a weird feeling, in a way, because he hasn’t held his brother’s hand since they were children, still in primary school.
It does, however, feel weirdly good to hold Osamu’s hand. It’s a warm and grounding weight in Atsumu’s.
They step into the office space where the party is being held; all chairs and desks have been moved out of the way. There are two tables to the right-hand side, stacked with snacks and drinks. Atsumu also almost immediately spots Sandy, perhaps because she spots him first and starts waving him over; she’s got her blonde hair falling over her shoulder in open waves and is wearing a dress. Atsumu has never seen her with open hair or in a dress.
Were he straight, he would perhaps be into her; she’s not effortlessly beautiful, but she is beautiful. But he’d figured out pretty quickly that he’s not into girls, in the one and only relationship he’s ever had with one, back in tenth grade.
Atsumu makes his way over to her, Osamu right by his side. He lets go of Osamu’s hand when they reach her to let himself be pulled into a hug, and then watches her hug Osamu after, feeling weirdly uncomfortable about it.
“Hi Sandy,” he says. “This is my boyfriend, Osamu. Samu, this is Sandy.” It feels weird, introducing Osamu, his brother, as his boyfriend; yet, at the same time, a warm, comforting feeling settles deeply in Atsumu’s gut. Probably relief.
“Hi, Sandy,” Osamu says, and from the way his eyes narrow a little, it’s clear he knows exactly which Sandy it is, not that Atsumu works with more than one.
“Hi, Osamu,” Sandy says, her smile sharpening. “Atsumu talks so much about you. Must be pretty exhausting to be your boyfriend, if he spends that much time taking care of things while you’re working.”
“Well, Tsumu’s never talked about you before,” Osamu replies, before Atsumu can intervene, and his voice drips with fake friendliness. “But he is pretty busy being my boyfriend, so he wouldn’t have time to talk about some co-worker.”
“Samu,” Atsumu hisses quietly. Osamu just raises one eyebrow at him. It’s his ‘let me handle this’ face. He sets one of his hands firmly on Atsumu’s lower back, almost possessively.
Heat starts pooling low in Atsumu’s stomach almost immediately. He’s never been able to resist someone who can and will take care of things, and apparently he’s been single for long enough that even his brother makes him react this way, makes the horny part of his brain sigh out attractive. Then again, it’s not the first time he’s found Osamu attractive; it’s probably a normal sibling thing.
Sandy’s face, in the meantime, has hardened quite a bit.
“Oh, is that so?” she asks, syrupy-sweet. “Or maybe he just doesn’t want to make you insecure, talking about others.” Her smile could cut glass.
“Oh, I don’t think I have any reason to be insecure. Isn’t that right, baby?” Osamu looks at Atsumu then, right into his eyes, his hand still firm on Atsumu’s back. A tremble goes through Atsumu’s entire body; he suddenly feels very hot and shaky. He is distantly aware that Osamu calling him ‘baby’ should feel weird, probably, but he feels so incredibly good that he doesn’t have the time to think about that. He leans against Osamu a little bit; he wants Osamu to touch him even more firmly, call him ‘baby’ again.
“Yeah,” he sighs, looking up at Osamu’s face. He trembles more under Osamu’s hot gaze.
Osamu holds his gaze for a few more seconds and then looks back at Sandy. Atsumu tries really hard to make his knees feel more sturdy.
“But I’m sure it’s not easy to be surrounded by him and know you can’t have him,” Osamu tells Sandy, fully confrontational, his smile sharp too, and Atsumu would say something, but he doesn’t feel entirely capable of words at the moment.
So he just follows as Osamu softly guides him further away from Sandy, who looks about ready to have steam coming out of her ears. He is also distantly aware that maybe he should try to fix things with her a little, seeing as she is his co-worker and he’ll still be working with her come the next morning.
But he’s too fixated on how good Osamu’s hand feels on his back, and how nice it is to have someone else handle things for once, make Atsumu feel taken care of. And he really wants Sandy to stop hitting on him.
The rest of the evening goes by almost without fanfare; Atsumu talks to people, makes connections, Osamu the perfect presence by his side, quiet and supportive and so incredibly charming when he needs to be.
Atsumu is getting ready to leave the party—he’d promised Osamu an early exit after all, even though now that they’re here, he himself really doesn’t feel uncomfortable enough about the situation to still want it, but a promise is a promise.
And then Janice interrupts his tentative leaving plans by showing up more than just fashionably late, a woman that must be her girlfriend in tow. Atsumu can’t leave now.
Janice grins broadly at him, dragging her girlfriend along by the hand as she comes over. She’s got her hair put up in an intimidating construct of a braid; her girlfriend is wearing hers as a simple afro. She looks good next to Janice, dressed in a sleek suit where Janice is wearing a sparkly dress.
“This is Nadia!” Janice introduces happily. “Nadia, this is Atsumu! And you must be Atsumu’s boyfriend!” Janice is the sort of person to talk fast, and a lot, but Atsumu’s English is good enough that he doesn’t mind it anymore. Osamu’s is too; he has to deal with all kinds of language variation every day at his job.
“Yes, I’m Osamu,” Osamu introduces himself, smiling a little. “Nice to meet you.” He still has one hand protectively on Atsumu’s lower back. It’s stayed there the entire evening so far since they’ve talked to Sandy; Atsumu really hopes he won’t take it off.
He thinks that he could happily live with Osamu’s hand on the small of his back for the rest of his life. It’s a weird thought to have, perhaps, but Osamu has always been good at making Atsumu feel content and grounded.
“So nice to finally meet you!” Janice blubbers excitedly at Osamu. “Atsumu talks about you so much!” Atsumu turns beet red. It’s really not the kind of thing he wants Osamu to know, but it’s definitely not a lie. He does talk about Osamu a lot. Just not as his brother.
Osamu raises one eyebrow at Atsumu. “All positive, I hope,” he says.
“Mostly!” Janice is grinning. “Ah, I’m so excited! You two have to tell me everything about how you got together now. Atsumu’s always avoided the topic.”
It’s been a low effort evening in pretending so far; now, Atsumu is really, really glad they came up with a story beforehand.
“It’s not that interesting,” Osamu still tries to deflect.
“Everything,” Janice repeats, grinning devilishly.
“There’s no hiding details from her,” Nadia says, laughing.
“If you insist,” Atsumu gives in, shrugging his shoulders, and then looks at Osamu. It had been Osamu who’d come up with the story; he feels like it should be Osamu telling it. And, weirdly, he wants Osamu to; kind of really wants to hear it again, watch his brother’s face as he tells it.
“Don’t get too excited,” Osamu says, but Atsumu can tell from his tone of voice that he, too, is obliging.
“We’ve known each other since we were children,” Osamu starts, and it’s the same story, the one Osamu had come up with when they’d talked about this, but Atsumu can’t stop looking at his face this time, can’t stop leaning into his touch. There is something almost wistful when Osamu talks about stepping in, about making Atsumu his; something about his tone of voice that makes the entire story not seem like a made-up story at all. And that’s absurd; this is his brother, and there is no reason for Atsumu to be staring, to have a chill run down his spine, to lean even further into Osamu, seeking out his touch, and yet that is what he does.
Perhaps, after all the years they have known each other, it is simply another testament to how close they are.
I would have put the date off for you, Atsumu thinks, stupidly, watching Osamu, and this, too, is just another testament to how strong their bond as brothers is.
“You’re so sweet,” Janice says when they finish, almost cooing at them. And then her gaze sharpens. “And I have the perfect idea! I’m going on a couple’s retreat with Nadia and a few friends and their significant others soon. My parents have this big beach house we’re using. You guys have to come.”
Atsumu stares. The horrible thing is that his first thought is yes, before he remembers all the reasons why this is a phenomenally bad idea. Namely that Osamu is his brother and not his boyfriend, and that Atsumu had promised him it would be just one short evening. One evening that is already getting longer than Osamu envisioned, probably, and turning out to be much more than handholding. Osamu is in all likeliness already feeling really sick from all of this acting as Atsumu’s significant other, and for some reason, that thought stings.
Atsumu has never been good at handling rejection after all, in all of its forms.
“Maybe,” Atsumu says, nervously. “Samu’s got a really busy schedule, we have to see.” It’s not even a lie, and something Janice is already well-acquainted with. Still, she looks at them with big, pleading eyes.
“Please try?” She says. “It’s the weekend three weeks from now, it’s just the Saturday evening and Sunday, please.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Osamu says. To Atsumu’s surprise, he actually sounds honest.
“Great!” Janice is already back to grinning like an idiot.
“You never take time off for me,” Atsumu pouts.
Osamu rolls his eyes at him. “Technically, this is for you. These are your work friends, baby,” he says, and another tremor wrecks Atsumu’s body. The baby sits hot and heavy in his lower stomach. He almost wants to purr.
“I’ll forgive you just this once,” he says, and then, without thinking about it, just because it feels like the right thing to do, leans in and pecks Osamu on the lips. And stills.
Slowly moves back again. There is something in Osamu’s eyes he can’t quite read. His face has gone impressively blank.
“Sorry,” Atsumu says, scratching at the back of his neck, going beet-red.
“Don’t apologise on my behalf,” Janice winks. “I don’t mind PDA.”
“She really doesn’t,” Nadia snorts.
“Samu’s not that big on it,” Atsumu says, trying to salvage the situation, “I just forget, sometimes.”
He’s trying very, very hard not to freak out. He just kissed his brother. And he’d promised Osamu that they wouldn’t have to do more than hold hands.
And the worst part is, he feels not even slightly grossed out by it. Instead, his lips still tingle.
“Well,” Osamu says, “it’s time for us to go home anyway, I have to work early tomorrow. Tsumu will let you know about the couple’s getaway.”
“Great!” Janice grins. “Have a nice evening, you guys!”
“It was nice meeting you,” Nadia adds.
“You too!” Atsumu says. He slips one of his hands, sweaty now, into Osamu’s, and starts moving, tugging his brother along.
Atsumu has just kissed his own brother, without any good reason.
He is an idiot, and he has to apologise and make this right before Osamu never speaks to him again.
Atsumu opens his mouth as soon as they’re in the car.
“I’m so, so sorry,” he says, feeling panicked, staring at Osamu, who still looks impressively blank. “I should not have done that. It just felt like that’s what a couple would do, but I shouldn’t have, I overstepped all sorts of boundaries, I’m sorry.” He doesn’t apologise out of his own accord often, but when he does, he means every word of it.
“It’s okay,” Osamu says, and then he softly puts a hand on Atsumu’s cheek and leans in.
His lips are warm and soft, and they send tingles down Atsumu’s spine, make every part of him flutter.
When Osamu moves back again just a short moment later, Atsumu just sits there, stunned, for a few seconds, blinking slowly. He almost reaches over to tug Osamu back in. There is the desire to repeat the kiss, to see how deeply Osamu would let him kiss him, running through him. And he knows that that’s wrong. This is his brother.
But then again, Atsumu hasn’t kissed anyone in ages; it’s probably just months of pent-up desire for physical intimacy.
“What was that for?” he finally asks, dumbly.
“Practice,” Osamu says. “If we want to go to that retreat—and we want to, I can read your face, idiot—then we can’t look like we’re not used to physical intimacy.”
He starts the car and backs out of the parking spot as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
“Smart,” Atsumu says, and tries not to look like he feels: like a person whose entire world feels like it might be turned upside down very, very soon. Like a person on the cusp of a big realisation.
- -
They don’t really talk about it, and nothing changes.
That is until one and a half weeks after the work event.
Atsumu is standing in the kitchen, forlornly staring at the recipe he’s trying to cook, when Osamu comes into the room, softly sliding an arm around Atsumu’s hip.
“I’m back home,” he says.
“I noticed. You’re not quiet,” Atsumu mocks, and turns around a little in Osamu’s grasp so he can look at him.
That’s the moment when Osamu softly puts his free hand on Atsumu’s face and leans in again, mimicking his actions in the car after the work party.
His lips slide softly against Atsumu’s, and Atsumu sighs into the touch, his own hands coming to wind around Osamu’s neck, tug hum closer; he’s thought about this so much, as much as he’s tried not to, dreamt about Osamu’s kiss, and to finally, finally feel Osamu’s lips on his again is the sweetest relief.
He’d never thought he’d become so affection-starved that he’d welcome his own brother’s kiss, but here he is, and Osamu’s lips feel way too good for him to mind.
Osamu ends the kiss, softly backing away, taking his hand from Atsumu’s face and hips. Atsumu’s eyes flutter open. He doesn’t remember closing them.
“Hng?” he makes intelligently.
“I got the weekend organised,” Osamu says. “We can go to Janice’s beach house thing, if ya want. So we should work on looking like we’re used to physical intimacy.”
“By getting used to it?” Atsumu asks.
Osamu shrugs his shoulders. “If ya have a better idea, be my guest,” he says. “Not like I want to kiss yer dirty lips.”
The words hurt, sink like a palpable weight down Atsumu’s stomach, rest there heavily, uncomfortably.
“Ya don’t have to, if it’s that much of a chore,” he grumbles.
Osamu rolls his eyes. “Ya were right. I owe ya one. So I say we do this. I don’t like owing ya things. Besides, ya really want to go.”
Atsumu almost wants to tell Osamu to fuck off, if it’s that much of a hassle. But he does want to go to Janice’s beach house; it sounds awesome, and he hasn’t really made friends in the country yet or been invited to anything cool at all.
And the idea of having Osamu all over him again for one and a half days, hot hands on his back, hip, maybe even Osamu’s lips on his again—Atsumu truly is affection-starved, apparently, because the idea sends hot shivers down his spine, pools like liquid heat in his stomach.
“Deal,” he says.
Osamu grins at him.
“Now let me see what ya were trying to cook. Key-word trying, huh,” he says. “Be glad you’re not a housewife, ya have neither the looks nor the skills.”
“Leave me alone,” Atsumu pouts, “I would make a great housewife.”
“Sure, baby,” Osamu mocks, and Atsumu shudders happily again. If this fake dating thing gets him more of Osamu’s pet names, he’s so on board for it.
He watches as Osamu reads the recipe, as Osamu pulls ingredients out that are not actually in the recipe and Atsumu never would have thought to add, and knows he’s going to get fed well. Gods, he’s missed Osamu’s cooking.
He smiles.
Two wins in one evening.
- -
“We’re actually coming to your couple’s getaway,” Atsumu tells Janice excitedly the next morning, and she grins at him like he’s hung the moon.
“I’m so excited!” she half-squeals. “Can’t wait to see Osamu again!”
Next to her, Sandy snorts.
“Really don’t know what’s so great about that Osamu guy,” she mutters.
Atsumu’s head snaps around, immediately insulted. Osamu may not be his actual boyfriend, but he’s his brother, and Atsumu won’t have anyone insult him on his watch. The only one allowed to talk badly about Osamu is him.
“What did you just say?” he asks, slowly.
“I just don’t understand the big deal,” Sandy says. “He’s never at home, apparently, and he doesn’t seem that nice. Is he really that great in bed that you’d be willing to overlook all of that?”
The image of Osamu, in bed with Atsumu, floods Atsumu’s brain for a moment; Osamu, thick and heavy, naked, looming over him; Osamu’s eyes, half-lidded and heated, trained on Atsumu alone; Osamu’s hands, slowly roaming over Atsumu’s skin; Osamu’s voice, rough the way it only gets when he’s just woken up, rasping out what a good boy Atsumu is, telling him to keep still.
The image is almost too much, and he pushes it away forcibly. Being so affection-starved that he enjoys his brother’s kisses is one thing; fantasising about said brother in bed is something else entirely.
He focuses back on Sandy.
“Samu is great,” he says. “He works a lot, yes, but I appreciate that about him, how much effort he’s willing to put into things that matter to him. One of these things being me.” He breathes in deeply.
“He puts effort into making me happy. He can be a dickhead, mostly for fun, but he’s also so gentle, and sturdy, and reliable, and he always, always takes care of me when I need him to, and is there for me when it matters. I would not have followed anyone else to another country, but for him? I didn’t even need to think about it. He has so much to do at work, but he knew I wanted to go to Janice’s weekend getaway, so he found someone else to cover for him, just for me. The big deal about him is that I love him.”
Sandy stares. She presses her lips together in a very thin line.
“Whatever,” she says, then, and turns around.
Janice rolls her eyes at Sandy’s back.
“Ignore her,” she says. “I, for one, think the two of you are very cute.”
I wonder if you’d still say that if you knew that we’re related, Atsumu thinks, but he sends her a thankful smile.
- -
Osamu starts implementing more touches at home. They’ve never not been touchy; Atsumu can be clingy and whiny, sometimes, and even when he’s grouchy and tries to keep to himself, the thing that works best to get him out of his shell again is being cuddled.
Osamu knows that, and so Atsumu has always been lucky enough to get indulged by Osamu a lot, get hugs and a warm body to cuddle up to on the couch when they’re watching movies, and a bed to crawl into on the nights he feels off and needs someone close.
Osamu doesn’t question him, he just indulges.
But the touches become more, now, with the goal of making them seem like a believable couple for more than just a short evening in mind.
Osamu will press little kisses to Atsumu’s forehead, his hair, his cheek, every now and again.
Sometimes he even leans in for a soft peck on the mouth.
Atsumu can’t read Osamu’s eyes when he does it; still wonders how uncomfortable all of this makes Osamu. He hopes that it doesn’t make him too uncomfortable; not when he’s enjoying it so much.
It’s like years of waiting, of pent-up need, are finally being released. Which is absurd, because it’s only been about ten months since Atsumu’s last relationship ended, courtesy of his ex-boyfriend not seeing a future for them with Atsumu’s move to England approaching. Not that Atsumu misses said ex-boyfriend; he’s always been a plaster for loneliness and a sturdy source of sex at best.
Osamu’s kisses are incredible, too; they never last long, but they make Atsumu flutter and heat up in a way nobody else has ever managed, and Atsumu has half a mind to ask his brother to teach all of his future partners how to kiss him properly. Please him properly, even; he’s sure that Osamu knows him well enough to know exactly how to make Atsumu whimper and whine in bed, and that thought is a dangerous road to go down when he’s sex-starved and getting used to Osamu’s lips on his skin.
So he doesn’t go down that road.
He’s not into his brother, after all.
- -
Atsumu is not the best housewife, perhaps, but he does try his best to take care of things for Osamu while Osamu keeps his new shop running smoothly. Osamu is slowly getting more time off as the shop gets more settled, but it is still a lot of work, so Atsumu keeps making sure everything at home runs smoothly, too.
The one duty he luckily does not have to fulfill as the self-dubbed housewife is making lunch for Osamu, because Osamu works in his own food shop.
He does make lunch for himself, though.
Usually, that is. Sometimes, Osamu will make him lunch before he leaves for work at arse o’clock in the morning—those days are his highlights—and sometimes he goes out with colleagues for lunch. And sometimes, he forgets.
It’s a Wednesday, the Wednesday before the upcoming weekend getaway, and Atsumu looks into his bag to see what kind of lunch he’s made, because he can’t remember and his lunch break is only an hour away—he’s in the office today, not outside on reporting duty, which means his lunch breaks are strict—and he just wants to check, wants to know what to look forward to.
He rummages around in his bag, but he can’t find his lunch.
He rummages around more. There is no lunch in his bag. No haphazardly prepared bento. He tries to remember where it could be, which is when it hits him that he’s forgotten to make it.
“Oh no,” Atsumu says, staring at his bag. And he was so looking forward to his lunch.
So he does the sensible thing: he texts Osamu to complain.
>I forgot to make myself lunch, Samu >.< Life hates me
<You’re so whiny. Life doesn’t hate you, and I have work to do. You’ll survive
>MY LUNCH WAS THE ONLY THING GETTING ME THROUGH THE DAY
<And I have work to do, shut up and do yours, fucking hell
Atsumu pouts at his phone.
>You’re so mean to me, he sends and puts his phone away again. Osamu is a little right, after all; he should do his work.
Lunch break comes around without much fanfare. Atsumu sighs, looking at the clock, and is debating whether or not he should try to make it to the sandwich place the next street over or just get something from one of the vending machines, when a very familiar person strolls into the room.
“Tsumu,” Osamu says, knocking his fingers against Atsumu’s desk.
“What are you doing here?” Atsumu asks, confused. He did not expect Osamu to come visit him at work. Osamu’s never done that before, not even when Atsumu’s out on reporting or researching duty. Usually it’s Atsumu who visits Osamu at work.
“Yeah, what are you doing here?” Sandy mumbles from her desk.
“Ya were whiny, so I made ya lunch,” Osamu says, in Japanese, and places a small plastic bag gently on Atsumu’s desk.
“Ya made me lunch?” Atsumu asks, switching languages too, peeking into the bag. Sitting there, wrapped very neatly, are three beautiful onigiri.
Atsumu floods with warmth. Osamu’s love language has always been acts of service, preparing food for others; Osamu bringing him food is a bigger reminder that he’s cherished than anything else. And his food is good. Osamu is a great cook, and he knows Atsumu like nobody else. These onigiri have no choice but to be incredible, and Atsumu is hungry.
“I knew ya weren’t a complete asshole after all,” Atsumu breathes. Osamu is looking at him with warmth in his eyes, and everything in Atsumu is telling him to, so he leans in and softly kisses Osamu on the mouth, just for a second.
His colleagues all think they’re dating; he has deniability, if Osamu asks. But if he’s being honest with himself, this is not about his colleagues, not even a little bit.
“Sap,” Osamu says fondly.
“Says the one who brought me food,” Atsumu trills happily, holding up his plastic bag.
“Whatever,” Osamu grumbles. “I have to get back to work now.” But he’s looking very pleased with himself.
He gives Atsumu a small, soft kiss on the cheek, waves to Janice, and then he turns around and strolls out the same way he came in. Atsumu stares after him fondly.
“You two are so whipped for each other,” Janice says. “It’s cute.”
“Yeah,” Atsumu replies, looking at his lunch.
For the first time, he wonders if it should feel this natural to kiss his brother, to want to, to have the urge to do so as nothing more than a simple thanks.
- -
On Friday evening, the day before Janice’s big getaway, Osamu turns to Atsumu after dinner, just when Atsumu has stashed the plates in their dishwasher.
“I’ve been thinking,” he says.
“Never a good idea. Ya should leave that to someone else,” Atsumu replies, grinning.
Osamu rolls his eyes. “Shaddup, Tsumu. Anyways, I’ve been thinking, and ya know what would make this more believable? Us?”
“We’re plenty believable,” Atsumu grumbles petulantly, “but go ahead.”
Osamu rolls his eyes again. “Hickeys,” he says. “And if they stay ‘til Monday, maybe Sandy will have another reason to fuck off, too.”
Atsumu wants to say that Sandy has been grumpy but has stopped flirting recently, thankfully, but his mind is stuck on hickeys.
“Ya wanna give me a hickey?” he asks dumbly.
“One or several,” Osamu says. “Just to make sure.”
Atsumu is still staring.
“We don’t have to, if it makes ya uncomfortable,” Osamu grumbles, interpreting Atsumu’s silence entirely wrong. “Was just an idea.”
“No!” Atsumu says, perhaps a little too quickly. He swallows. “No,” he tries again, slower, “I think it’s a good idea. Especially to ward Sandy off.” Sandy, who’s lately been pretty much leaving him alone entirely.
Osamu studies his face for a moment. Then, he nods. “Alright, Tsumu, let’s do it,” he says, and crowds into Atsumu’s space, pressing Atsumu against the kitchen counter. And then, before Atsumu has the time to mentally prepare himself, Osamu’s mouth is on his neck, and Atsumu’s brain short-circuits entirely.
He knows how Osamu’s lips feel on his skin, from all the small kisses in the last few weeks, and if he’d thought that felt good, well, it’s nothing compared to this: to Osamu, slowly, studiously sucking and nibbling at Atsumu’s neck, finding all the little spots that make Atsumu’s breath hitch.
Atsumu is panting, might be moaning or whimpering, his back arching, and he knows he shouldn’t, that this shouldn’t turn him on, that this is but a means to an end, but he can’t help it. He’s so turned on; he’s hard, his cock straining against the zipper of his jeans, heat pooling low in his stomach, every part of his body on fire.
Osamu’s mouth feels so, so good on Atsumu’s neck, and Atsumu has always been sensitive there, but it’s never been like this, never felt this incredible.
And Osamu knows how to read him, has found the spot where Atsumu is most sensitive, the spot that makes Atsumu tremble, makes him keen, pretty much immediately, and he’s lavishing it with attention, sucking and biting at it lovingly, and Atsumu’s about to either slide to the ground because his knees feel too weak for his body, or do something really, really dumb, like start rutting against his brother, who is simply trying to repay a favour he owes him.
When he’s just about to lose his self control, seconds away from begging, Osamu moves back, his lips gently separating from Atsumu’s neck.
Atsumu whines softly under his breath.
“Not bad,” Osamu says, regarding his handiwork. “That should definitely work.” Atsumu is not sure if he’s imagining Osamu’s voice sounding a little deeper, raspier.
And Atsumu needs to see, suddenly, needs to see how he looks, all marked up by Osamu. The thought is almost unbearably hot.
And he really, really needs to get off.
“Good,” he says, his own voice rough, and then: “I’m gonna go take a shower, scrub all yer dirty germs off of me.”
“A thank you would have been nice,” Osamu taunts good-naturedly.
“Fuck off,” Atsumu mutters, and flees into the bathroom, locking the door behind him firmly. Then, he stares at himself in the mirror.
There are dark hickeys littering the entire left side of his neck. They’re a deep purple, and there’s almost no bit of skin left untouched.
“Fuck,” he sighs, getting even harder.
He turns the shower on, strips off almost mindlessly.
As soon as he’s naked and in the shower, his hand finds his achingly hard cock, and he starts jacking off furiously, thinking about Osamu, crowding him against the kitchen counter, sucking hickeys into his neck; Osamu, his big hands like a brand on Atsumu’s hips. Osamu, saying ‘baby’ in his beautiful, beautiful voice.
He cums all over himself, pictures of Osamu playing in his mind.
“Fuck,” he says quietly, watches as the water washes his cum away.
This doesn’t have to mean anything, he thinks, desperately. I don’t have to think about this.
- -
Atsumu sleeps fitfully that night. It’s the first time in his entire life he’s wished not to share a room with Osamu, and just because he feels ashamed, with Osamu’s bed so close to his, acting as if nothing were the case, when he’s been the worst possible person, gotten off to something that Osamu’s only done as a favour.
He still refuses to think about why he would get off to his brother in the first place.
It’s not the kind of self-examination he has the time for; especially not with one and a half days of pretending to be Osamu’s boyfriend looming this close.
- -
They start the drive with Osamu bitching about Atsumu’s bad packing habits and a soft kiss to Atsumu’s forehead, almost as if to offset the harshness of Osamu’s words.
Atsumu feels entirely off-kilter, sitting next to Osamu in the car, watching his brother drive, knowing he’s only two hours away from a weekend of Osamu acting like his loving boyfriend—and only one and a half days away from this whole charade being over, from Osamu never kissing him again, from his brother firmly moving back into the category of twin brother and twin brother only.
It should be a relief, but somehow, it’s anything but.
Atsumu doesn’t think about that either.
The drive is quiet, mostly.
They listen to the radio; English pop songs and strong British accents that Atsumu is getting used to after months in England. He misses the soothing lull of Japanese, sometimes, when he turns on the radio; spends a few hours looking for Japanese radio stations to listen to with his phone, every now and again.
Osamu is the only person who talks to him in his native language, in this foreign country. Osamu is the one thing Atsumu knows, the one thing Atsumu understands without a problem, and yet, in the last weeks, he’s felt more and more as if maybe Osamu isn’t as known to him as he’d thought he was. Or maybe Osamu is, and Atsumu is the one who is unrecognisable to himself.
Especially now, with everything feeling so weird and off-kilter, he could do with a familiar language, with songs he understands the lyrics of, but instead he’s sitting in a car, watching a road he’s never been on change before his eyes, and the only familiar and comforting thing is Osamu, who’s making Atsumu recognise feelings in himself he wishes weren’t familiar at all.
- -
From the three cars already parked in the driveway, Atsumu guesses they’re the last ones to arrive. Janice had only mentioned two other couples to him, at least.
He and Osamu get their bags out of the trunk and walk up to the house.
It’s a beautiful cottage with a big patio and a lovely garden, the beach in viewing and walking distance. Usually, Atsumu loves these kinds of houses, loves feeling like he’s on the countryside. Where the bustle of big cities excites him, the countryside calms him down, puts him at ease.
And still, now, he is anything but calm.
Nervously, he stares at the doorbell.
Until now, hadn’t really thought about what they’re to do, what charade they’re about to pull off, but the truth is: if even one of Janice’s friends realises how similar his and Osamu’s facial features are, or how much like siblings they act, he will have a huge problem.
Janice is a work colleague. If she finds out he’s pretending to date his brother, his life as he knows it will take a sharp turn for the worse.
He steels himself and rings the doorbell.
Janice almost rips the door out in her excitement as she opens it, green eyes sparkling happily.
“You made it!” she says, smiling widely. “Come in, come in, I’ll show you your room!”
“We get our own room?” Atsumu asks.
“This house has two guest bedrooms and one second living room that can double as a guest bedroom. I’m one of four children, so the bedroom situation was kind of important for our parents when they bought the house,” Janice explains, happily. “So yes, you’re in luck! You even get one of the bedrooms. Mary and James are obsessed with the second living room, for some reason.”
“Good,” Atsumu says, relaxing just a little bit. He had been fearing that he and Osamu would have to spend the night sharing a room with another couple; it would have been fine, but having a space to retreat back into, where they don’t have to fear being caught pretending, is a relief.
The bedroom they get looks really nice; it’s small, with light wood furniture and a big window facing the beachside of the house. The bed is right in the middle of it, a nice double-bed adorned with a light blue quilt that looks handmade.
“My sisters Maddy and Lily used to share this room when we came here as children. They’re twins,” Janice explains happily, before whooshing out of the room, leaving them to settle in and unpack for the one night they’re staying. Atsumu tries very hard to not think about that irony.
“I expect you down in ten minutes to meet everyone else!” Janice tells them before closing the door and leaving them alone.
Atsumu relaxes.
“Ya look stressed,” Osamu says, taking him in. “Weren’t ya the one who wanted to come?”
“Yes,” Atsumu says petulantly, “but I didn’t realise how dumb of an idea it was.”
Osamu rolls his eyes. Then, he slowly steps forward, cradles Atsumu’s face in his hands in a gesture that has become familiar over the last few days. Atsumu’s stomach is fluttering.
“Hey,” he says. “We’re great at this, dumbass. We’ve practiced, haven’t we?”
“Yes,” Atsumu admits, his mind flashing back to all the little kisses Osamu’s left, to yesterday, Osamu sucking on Atsumu’s neck as if he wanted to leave his mark not only for the next few days, but forever, give Atsumu something to remember him by.
“Good. Now stop thinking. Yer brain isn’t big enough for that, you’re only going to hurt yourself that way.” Osamu says. “Now come pretend to be in love with me for the next few hours. Ya can do that, right?”
“Yes,” Atsumu says, looking at Osamu’s handsome face, into his gorgeous eyes. Pretending to be in love with the man in front of him won’t be a problem.
Not when he’s—
Oh, he thinks. Oh no.
- -
Janice, her girlfriend and her friends are all in the downstairs living room when he and Osamu come down. Their friends consist of a short woman with a black pixie haircut who’s balancing an even shorter blonde on her lap, and a tall man with dark eyes and curls and a curvy redhead, who must be the aforementioned James and Mary.
It’s a relief that Atsumu and Osamu are the only Asian people in the room; this, at least, does bode well for their not being found out.
“Atsumu, Osamu, meet the group—Dianne, Leah, James and Mary. Group, meet Atsumu and Osamu!” Janice introduces happily.
“Hi everyone,” Atsumu says, and five seconds later, he has his arms full of excitable blonde.
“I’m so happy Janice brought new people along,” squeals Leah, before moving on to hug Osamu, too.
Atsumu watches her with narrowed eyes. He knows it’s stupid, but he doesn’t particularly like other people touching Osamu. Has never liked it. He’s always wondered why; there is no good reason for him to dislike people touching his twin.
Now, after his earlier realisation, it makes a lot more sense.
He ignores that thought steadily. He does not have time for this. He has a weekend of being Osamu’s boyfriend, of having this one thing that’s so wrong and that he yet desperately wants, and he should focus on that, and, even more importantly, on not ruining their façade.
He can still freak out after the weekend is over.
“Sorry about that,” Janice says, grinning. “Leah is a little extroverted.”
“A little,” Dianne snorts from over on the couch, but her tone of voice is fond.
“Like you can talk,” Nadia grins, nudging Janice a little, who pouts over-exaggeratedly.
“The rest of us are much more subdued, we promise,” James says with a wry grin.
“I’m sure,” Atsumu replies, and inconspicuously grabs Osamu’s hand, letting their fingers tangle together. The touch is grounding, helps.
Something like mine shoots through Atsumu, a dumb and entirely inappropriate thought. Yet another one to ignore.
- -
The evening is pretty straightforward. They sit around and chat, and then at some point James gets up to mix cocktails—apparently he works as a bartender, and therefore usually ends up being in charge of beverages when the group meets.
It shows, too, because his cocktails are really fucking good. Better than the majority of cocktails Atsumu’s had in his life.
He tells James as much. “You’re incredible at this,” he says from where he’s snuggled into Osamu’s side on the couch—Dianne and Leah have made some space for them, not that they take up much in the first place, seeing as Leah refuses to actually sit on the couch, apparently much preferring her girlfriend’s lap. Atsumu envies them just the tiniest bit.
“Thank you,” James replies, grinning. “Making good drinks for pretty people is my speciality.”
“And being an incorrigible flirt,” Mary snorts.
Atsumu can feel Osamu’s hand tighten on his hip; he’s got the one arm that isn’t occupied with holding a glass wound around his brother. Atsumu leans more strongly into the touch.
“He’s in good company, then,” Osamu says. “Tsumu is also an incorrigible flirt.”
“Am so not,” Atsumu says, affronted.
“Oh yeah? You flutter your eyelashes at Hinata every time he walks into a room.”
“To make you jealous,” Atsumu says, and only realises the moment the words leave his mouth that it’s true. He’s always been impressed by Hinata as a volleyball player, but even more than that, he’d seen they way Osamu’s eyes narrowed when Atsumu’s had lit up upon first seeing Hinata’s quick attack, and something deep inside of him had decided that very moment that he would milk it for all it’s worth.
Atsumu isn’t necessarily the easiest person to deal with, but he’s also not horrible to deal with. At least not when you’re not Osamu. Around Osamu, he’s a nightmare around eighty percent of the time, and much of that is influenced by the fact that every time he doesn’t have Osamu’s attention on him, he feels like a wilting houseplant.
As a result, he’s looked his entire life for ways to ensure that Osamu never stops looking at him, even though rationally, he knows that Osamu is his twin and that Osamu won’t just leave him behind.
Osamu is looking softly at him now.
“You’re so dumb,” he says, fondly, and leans forward a little bit. Atsumu leans in too, already desperate to have Osamu’s lips on his again, and that’s when several people loudly awww and Osamu flinches back.
Atsumu suppresses a pout.
“James doesn’t have such noble pursuits, he just likes to flirt,” Mary says, but from the laugh in her voice, it’s clear that she doesn’t mind it at all.
James shoots her a wink. “Obviously,” he says. “It’s how I got you, baby.”
Mary laughs, loudly. “Don’t believe any of the lies he tells. We actually met at a comic convention and I liked his superwoman cosplay.”
“I do look sexy with boobs,” James adds, gravely, and that sets the entire room off with giggles. Osamu’s hand is still strong and secure on Atsumu’s hip. Atsumu aches with the kiss he did not get.
He wants to put his glass down, use both his hands to tug Osamu closer and kiss him, really kiss him, until neither of them remembers their first name; wants to tug Osamu upstairs and be taken apart by him. Wants Osamu’s lips to suck on his neck again until Atsumu cums from that sensation alone.
He does none of those things.
Instead, he tries to forcefully clear his mind, and calls out, “Mary, do you have pictures?”
“Of course I do!” she replies, already digging her phone out.
Atsumu likes these people, is happy to have been invited and to have Osamu by his side.
It’s fun.
It’s not enough.
- -
It’s a little after midnight when Janice decides that since they’re only spending one night here, they need to make it count.
“We’re going swimming!” she declares, loudly. “Nothing better than night swimming!”
Atsumu whoops loudly. It’s been a while since he’s swam after dark. The last time had been when they were still in high school, and Suna, ever the little trouble-causing rascal, decided breaking into a pool at night would be a great idea. Somehow, he’d roped Atsumu and Osamu into it with him.
Truth be told, Atsumu enjoyed the thrill of it, of doing something forbidden.
This, being herded to the beach by Janice and an excitedly squealing Leah, doesn’t hold quite the same feeling, and yet it’s exciting, fun.
“The proximity to the beach is the best thing about this house,” Janice tells them as their toes touch the sand, and then, without much preamble, strips off her clothes and runs into the water.
Atsumu looks at Osamu, who raises his eyebrows.
“We did pack swim clothes,” he says. “We could go back to get ‘em, if you want.”
“What do I look like, a bore? Europeans are the ones with weird bathing hang-ups. Not me. Swimming naked is half the fun,” Atsumu says, and strips off his clothes, too. Afterwards, he looks at Osamu again, expecting him to still be staring or thinking, and instead finds him naked but for his underwear.
Atsumu swallows heavily.
It’s not like he’s never seen his brother naked or half-naked before, is the thing; they grew up together, and they share an apartment, even a bedroom, now.
It’s more that Atsumu usually never lets himself look.
He can’t help but to stare, now.
Osamu looks breathtaking, his wide chest and thick arms illuminated only by the moonlight. Atsumu wants Osamu to crush his skull between his biceps. Atsumu wants Osamu to throw him to the ground and have his way with him, to take, to use all that muscle on Atsumu.
Atsumu wants Osamu to grab him so hard he leaves bruises, a scattering of purple that matches the purple on his neck.
He swallows again and looks away before he can get hard, here, where he’s naked, for everyone to see.
“Last one to the water loses!” he exclaims, and starts sprinting, Osamu immediately hot on his heels.
Atsumu breaches the water first, throws himself into the soothing coolness of it, Osamu following just seconds later.
“Ya little asshole,” Osamu says, shoving at Atsumu so that he stumbles and goes under, coming back up spluttering.
He splashes water at Osamu hard in retaliation, and then has to try to get away as Osamu grabs for him again.
For a moment, time stands still and they’re back years in time; when they were just kids, playing in the sea during beach holidays; when Atsumu didn’t look at Osamu and feel like his heart was going to burst out of his chest with need.
And then Osamu does reach and grab him, and his hands burn into Atsumu’s skin, and Atsumu feels foolish, dumb, as everything around him fades and he doesn’t try to struggle away but presses back, winds his arms around Osamu’s neck, and kisses him, kisses him desperately, like he never will again; and chances are he will, indeed, never get to kiss Osamu again. Not like this. Not after the weekend is over.
Osamu’s lips taste like salt water and everything good about life, and he kisses back just as hard, burying one of his big, strong hands in Atsumu’s hair.
And this isn’t a show kiss, doesn’t feel like a show kiss; none of their kisses have felt like show, if Atsumu is being quite honest, only ever real, natural, but this one is the one that stands out the most; Osamu’s lips, firm, demanding on Atsumu’s, almost as if he’s doing it despite others being around instead of because of it, and Atsumu doesn’t know how he’s ever supposed to live without this, now that he knows what it feels like to be taken apart by the simple press of Osamu’s mouth.
“Alright, lovebirds, stop it,” someone—presumably Leah, from the voice—says, hitting Atsumu on the shoulder, and Atsumu and Osamu disentangle.
“Rude,” Atsumu says, and immediately starts splashing her with water, making her break out in giggles and flee.
He can feel Osamu’s gaze on him as he does so. He’d been so sure that he knew what’s going on.
He suddenly doesn’t feel that sure anymore.
- -
There is a tension that simmers between him and Osamu as they swim, as they leave the water, put their clothes back on; as all of them slowly retire to their respective rooms.
Atsumu shuts the door to the guest bedroom he’s sharing with Osamu, and then he’s being crowded against it, Osamu’s mouth hot and desperate on his.
Atsumu grabs at Osamu, clings to him, gives the same desperation right back; the same desperation he felt on the beach, in the water, and now.
This isn’t for show or practice. Everyone has gone to bed, and they have no need for practice anymore.
This is Osamu, burying his hands in Atsumu’s hair, and Atsumu, desperately clinging to him.
This is Osamu, mouth hot and heavy on Atsumu’s, licking into Atsumu’s mouth, making his brain short-circuit.
This is Osamu, taking one hand out of Atsumu’s hair to sneak it under his shirt, stroke his skin, press at a nipple, making Atsumu whimper and press into the touch.
“Samu,” he says into Osamu’s mouth, almost incoherent.
Osamu shushes him and twists at his nipple, and Atsumu throws his head back so hard it thumps against the door. It smarts. He doesn’t care about that, not when Osamu is still thumbing at his nipple, has taken this as an invitation to lick at Atsumu’s neck, and Atsumu wants him so badly.
He has to bite his lip to keep from moaning, and then Osamu’s second hand finds its way to Atsumu’s shorts, undoes the zipper, tugs Atsumu’s cock out, and Atsumu can’t help but moan then.
“Quiet, ya idiot,” Osamu grumbles, but Atsumu can barely hear him over the rushing in his ears.
Osamu’s hand on his cock feels so good, and he helplessly bucks into the touch, but that’s still not—cumming would be nice but it’s not entirely what he wants, right now.
He slaps Osamu’s hands away. Osamu stills.
Atsumu doesn’t give him the time to panic. He sinks to his knees in front of him and desperately opens the fly of Osamu’s trousers, tugs them down, and the underwear right with them. Osamu’s cock is a heavy red, already completely hard and obscenely flushed before him, leaking tiny droplets of precum, and Atsumu almost whimpers as he takes it into his mouth.
“Fucking hell,” Osamu hisses, above him. “Should’ve known you’re a cockslut.”
The words zip right through Atsumu, make him drip all over the ground. He doesn’t care; can’t think right now, not with Osamu heavy on his tongue, feeling so, so good.
Instead, he helplessly sucks at Osamu’s cock, letting it slide all the way down his throat.
He looks up at Osamu’s face, and Osamu looks wrecked; just as wrecked as Atsumu’s feeling.
Atsumu bobs his head faster, sucks harder; has to close his eyes just to concentrate on all that he’s feeling, tasting.
It’s been so long since he’s had a cock in his mouth, and it’s never been this good before. The knowledge that it’s Osamu, his brother, who Atsumu is on his knees for, makes everything in Atsumu sing. He helplessly whimpers around Osamu and takes his own leaking cock into one hand. The other hand he puts on Osamu’s hips, grips him there, shoves his hips forward, encouraging Osamu to fuck his mouth.
And then Osamu does; thrusts into Atsumu’s mouth, and Atsumu whimpers again, helplessly starts jacking himself off while Osamu is fucking his mouth, his cock hitting the back of Atsumu’s throat on every second thrust.
Atsumu is vaguely aware that he’s crying, but he doesn’t care about that either; it just feels so, so good.
“Tsumu, fuck,” Osamu hisses, “I’m going to—” He makes a move to slide out, but Atsumu doesn’t let him, clenches his hand on Osamu’s hip to keep him there, and then Osamu spills deep down his throat.
It’s enough for Atsumu to follow him over the edge too, cum all over himself.
“Shit, Tsumu,” Osamu pants above him, and Atsumu does let him slip out, then.
He opens his eyes again and looks up at his brother.
“Fuck, you’re a mess,” Osamu says.
Atsumu can do nothing more but whimper a little again. He feels entirely boneless, and a deep happiness; he is distantly aware that he should probably be terrified of what’s just happened, what this means for them, but he can’t bring himself to care.
“God,” Osamu says, and goes over to rummage through his bag. He comes back with tissues, cleans the floor first and then, gently, tugs Atsumu up and softly cleans him too, deposits him on the bed.
“We definitely need to shower tomorrow morning,” Osamu says, opening the window. The room smells like sex.
Atsumu hums agreeably.
Osamu comes back to the bed. And he looks at Atsumu then, really looks at him. His eyes are searching.
“Fuck,” he says again, but this time it doesn’t sound positive.
He says nothing more, just climbs into the bed too, under the covers. Atsumu snuggles himself close to him. Osamu goes stiff for a second, and then he sighs and wraps his arms around Atsumu, tugs him even closer.
“Ya don’t even know what ya do to me,” he murmurs into Atsumu’s hair, pressing a soft kiss onto Atsumu’s head.
Atsumu wants to say something stupid like ‘I love you,’ but he’s too tired now, his eyes already so, so heavy. All he manages are a few garbled sounds, and then he can feel his mind drift off to sleep.
- -
When Atsumu wakes up, the space next to him is cold and empty. He stares at the spot where Osamu should be, and something cold and clammy clenches around his heart.
He closes his eyes. Opens them again. The memories of the prior night are drifting back, clawing into him, and Atsumu feels horrible, suddenly.
He hadn’t thought about it, the night before, but—there is no going back from what they’ve done. They can’t undo it. Atsumu has no idea what it means. All he knows is that if he’ll find Osamu acting like nothing happened, or, even worse, avoiding him, he is going to have a breakdown.
He wants to cry.
It’s one thing to know how your brother kisses. This, the sex—that’s a different thing entirely. Atsumu had been right, when he’d had the thought that Osamu would probably know how to make him whimper like nobody else. Osamu hadn’t even done much the last evening, and it’s still the best sex Atsumu’s ever had. The idea of an Osamu who truly sets his mind to taking him apart is mind-numbingly hot.
It’s so much worse now. Now that he knows what Osamu sounds like when he’s turned on, what he looks like when he has his cock in Atsumu’s mouth.
He’d already known he could never forget how Osamu kisses, but this? He’s sure that even if he were to forget everything he’s ever known, the memory of Osamu’s cock on his tongue would stay with him.
And Osamu is not here with him. The side of the bed that is Osamu’s is cold.
Atsumu gets up sluggishly; grabs one of the towels he packed and goes looking for the bathroom.
It’s at the end of the floor, clean but looking like it’s come right out of the seventies. Not that it matters.
The water in the shower is hot, comfortable. Atsumu takes his time under the shower, washing away every trace of the prior night.
When he comes back out, he’s squeaky clean. He can still feel the ghost of Osamu’s touch on him.
- -
He wanders downstairs after that. The clock lets him know it’s already eleven am.
When he comes into the living room, he finds everyone else already up, lounging on the couch and armchairs, including Osamu, who musters him with an inscrutable expression on his face.
“Told y’all that he sleeps in long,” Osamu says to the group at large.
“It’s still morning,” Atsumu retorts, indignant. He can’t take his eyes off of Osamu. His skin feels too tight.
Osamu rolls his eyes at him. But then he pats the couch next to him.
“Come ‘ere,” he says. “I even made ya coffee, if ya want some.” He holds up a mug that’s been standing next to the couch. Atsumu hadn’t noticed it until now. “Although it’s lukewarm at best now.”
Atsumu suddenly feels a lot lighter. He saunters over and sits down next to Osamu, and Osamu immediately puts a hand on his thigh.
“Good morning,” he says softly, handing Atsumu the mug, which Atsumu takes gratefully.
“You’re the best,” he says, and can’t stop himself from pressing a quick kiss to Osamu’s cheek. To his immense relief, Osamu doesn’t flinch away.
“You two are nauseatingly cute,” Mary piques up from the armchair she’s lounging in.
“I know,” Atsumu lies. “But don’t worry, not everyone can be blessed with such perfection in life.”
Osamu rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he says.
Janice and Leah are laughing. James is too.
“At least I have pictures of my boyfriend in a superwoman costume,” Mary grins. “You can’t beat that.”
Atsumu shoots Osamu a look.
“No,” he says immediately. “Absolutely not. James is the only boyfriend in this room who’ll put on a superwoman costume, don’t even try.”
“You’re mean,” Atsumu pouts, and wonders if his voice sounds as off to the others as it feels to him.
Boyfriend is ringing in his ears. And he knows it’s only part of this act they’re putting on but—
Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend, his thoughts chant, and he has to take a big sip of his appallingly cold coffee to drive the thoughts back out.
- -
The rest of the Sunday goes off without a hitch. They go swimming again in the afternoon, this time clothed in swimwear, and Janice makes hotdogs for all of them.
When they say their goodbyes that evening, Atsumu has almost forgotten the fear that is still sitting beneath his ribcage, the conversation he knows he needs to have.
“It was so nice to have you here,” Nadia tells them at the door.
“Drive home safely,” Janice adds, before tugging both of them into a hug.
“Thank you so much again for inviting us,” Atsumu says, and Janice tugs him into another hug.
“Of course, of course,” she says, smiling. “Next time we do this, you’re definitely invited again!”
“Thank you,” Atsumu and Osamu chorus, but the words sit heavy in Atsumu’s stomach as he gets into the car.
Next time.
Chances are, there isn’t going to be a next time. Not for Osamu and him.
Not when this, this entire weekend, is just a culmination of everything Atsumu is not allowed to want, not even a little bit.
Osamu doesn’t say anything as he starts the car.
Neither does Atsumu.
Atsumu turns on the radio; he is vaguely tempted to put on his own music, his Osamu Hates This playlist, the one he’d specifically made to get a rise out of Osamu, a few years back.
It works like a charm every time. Atsumu is so desperate to make Osamu pay attention to him, talk to him, that he’s willing to be annoying now.
Still, perhaps for the first time, he doesn’t do it. He knows he’s being stupid.
He knows there is no reason for his gut to clench this hard, for his heart to feel this heavy. This should be fine, this should be great; every normal person would be relieved to no longer have to play their sibling’s significant other.
But Atsumu looks at Osamu and feels pain.
- -
The drive home is silent. They’re also silent as they go upstairs, deposit their things in their flat, Osamu unpacking his bag right away. He doesn’t tell Atsumu that he’s filthy and should unpack, the way he usually would. He just takes everything out of his bag, putting it away, and doesn’t so much as look at Atsumu.
Atsumu watches him for almost two minutes.
Then he breaks.
“Samu,” he says. His voice sounds shaky even to his own ears.
Osamu looks up at him. “Don’t,” he says. “Just—don’t.” It feels like a punch to the gut.
“Samu,” Atsumu repeats. He sounds desperate, pleading. He doesn’t know how to sound any other way.
“Damnit, Tsumu,” Osamu says, almost forcefully zipping his bag shut. “Don’t look at me like that. Just—ya know that we can’t. This—we can’t.” There is something in his voice that sounds almost pained.
“Why not?” Atsumu asks, dumb, stubbornly. He knows why not. He knows it so well. And yet—
“You’re my brother,” Osamu says, and there is definite pain in his voice now.
“Nobody here knows that!” Atsumu says. “They all think we’re dating!”
“This is stupid!” Osamu shoots back. “What do we do when Suna comes to visit us, or Aran, or anyone, huh. What then?”
“We don’t have to tell them! We can pretend!” Atsumu says, pleads.
“And what about our names? What do we do when anyone here figures that out?”
“We’ll just say we married,” Atsumu begs, and for a moment, Osamu stills. Atsumu can almost see the pictures running through his brain; the both of them, standing in front of an officiant, softly putting rings on each other’s fingers.
Osamu shakes his head almost violently. “And what if someone finds our old high school volleyball videos and figures it out then?” There is a shake to his voice. Atsumu knows the expression on Osamu’s face, because he knows this face better than he does his own. It says convince me.
He steps closer. “Do ya really want to live a life knowing ya can never have this? Acting as if being brothers is enough?” He asks. “Look, Samu, I’m dumb. I’ll admit it. I only figured this out a few days ago. But I know that if I had to give ya up, that if I had to watch ya try to date someone else, I’d go insane.”
He takes a deep breath. Plays his last card. “What about the high school scene? The confession?”
“I made that up,” Osamu says. “Ya know that.”
“But ya wish that you didn’t,” Atsumu replies. “It’s what ya wanted to do that day. I know I’m right.”
Osamu looks upwards, stares at the ceiling for a second. Finally, he looks at Atsumu again.
“You absolute bastard,” he says. “If they ever figure it out, you’re the one who can figure out how the fuck we’re gonna get out of this mess.”
And then he surges forwards, grabs Atsumu by the collar, and kisses him, harshly.
This kiss, finally, counts.
- -
Someone does figure it out. Two months later, when they get a group visit of old friends, and then some vague acquaintances—like Komori, who has been dragged along by Suna, his volleyball teammate, and Sakusa, who has been dragged along by Komori.
Suna takes one critical look at them and then uses the first opportunity where he has the both of them alone to say, entirely deadpan, “You’re fucking.”
Atsumu spits his drink out.
“Good for you,” Suna adds. “I’ve been waiting for this for way too long.”
“What the fuck,” Osamu says.
Suna shrugs his shoulders. “Komori’s fucking his cousin, if you want to start an incest support group, or something. Or if you want a foursome.”
“What the fuck,” Atsumu repeats.
“And if you want a whole orgy, I could be persuaded,” Suna adds, smirking.
“Shut the fuck up,” Osamu says.
“You’re gross,” Atsumu says. He suddenly feels a whole ton lighter.
(And if they do exchange numbers with Komori and Sakusa later on, that can stay between them. They don’t plan a foursome though. Or an orgy.)