Chapter Text
The silence stretched thin, the kind that made every breath sound too loud.
Osamu’s eyes stayed fixed on the floor, his fingers tapping a slow, uneven rhythm against his knee. Atsumu shifted beside you, the folded note still crumpled in his hand — the paper soft now, edges worn from being held too tightly.
You couldn’t tell which of them looked more torn.
“I didn’t mean for it to go this way,” Atsumu said finally, his voice rough. “I just… I had to tell her.”
Osamu gave a quiet, humorless huff. “You always did act first, think later.”
“Yeah, well,” Atsumu shot back, “guess thinking didn’t help you much either.”
That landed sharper than he meant it to. Osamu’s jaw clenched, his shoulders tightening.
“Don’t,” you said quietly. The word came out softer than you expected, but it cut through the tension all the same.
Both twins looked at you.
You swallowed, stepping forward a little. “Atsumu wasn’t trying to hurt you, Osamu. He was trying not to.”
Osamu frowned, brow creasing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” you said, voice trembling just enough to betray you, “that he was ready to walk away — from this, from me — because he didn’t want to make things worse between you.”
Atsumu’s head lowered slightly, the hand holding the note curling into a fist.
“He shouldn’t have to do that,” Osamu muttered.
“And you shouldn’t keep acting like you don’t matter,” you countered. “Osamu, you never said anything. You never even hinted you felt that way. How was I supposed to know?”
His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a second, you almost wished he hadn’t. There was too much in them — longing, regret, exhaustion — things he’d been burying for years.
“I thought keeping quiet was the right thing,” he said, voice rough. “He’s my brother. I didn’t want to ruin his chance.”
Your heart twisted painfully. “And what about yours?”
Osamu blinked, caught off guard. The silence that followed was deafening.
Finally, Atsumu’s voice broke through, quieter now, all the sharpness gone.
“What about you?” he asked. “How do you feel about us?”
Your chest tightened. The air felt too thick.
Two pairs of eyes — one steady, one trembling — fixed on you, waiting.
“Osamu…” you started, then turned to Atsumu. “Atsumu…”
Your name on their lips, your heartbeat echoing in your ears — it all blended into a dizzying rush of emotion.
“I—” a nervous laugh bubbled out, cracked at the edges. “Fuck, I’m sorry, this is… a lot.”
No one spoke.
You exhaled shakily, words spilling out before you could stop them.
“I love you both.”
Atsumu’s breath hitched; Osamu’s hands went still.
“I’ve loved you both,” you said again, cheeks burning. “And I just went with the flow because it’s selfish — selfish to love both and want to be loved by both of you.”
Tears welled up, blurring your vision. “But then I thought Osamu didn’t have feelings like that… and when Atsumu gave me the letter, I— I thought it’d be okay.”
Atsumu looked down at the note in his hand, thumb brushing over the faint crease where your “yes” circled in blue ink. His throat worked hard, like he was fighting something down.
You took a step back, voice breaking. “I’m sorry. I should go—”
“Don’t.”
The word hit you like a pulse.
Osamu’s voice—rough, low, stripped bare—stopped you cold.
You froze, your fingers still on the doorknob. Slowly, you turned back.
He’d pushed himself up from the bed, shoulders tense, eyes glassy under the dim light. “Don’t go,” he said again, softer this time. “Not like this.”
Atsumu’s head snapped toward his brother. The air between them crackled—years of unspoken things stirring up all at once.
Osamu’s gaze flicked between you and him, like he didn’t know which truth to face first. “You don’t just drop something like that and walk away,” he said, almost pleading. “You said you loved us. Both of us.”
“I do,” you whispered. “That’s the problem.”
“It’s not a problem,” Atsumu said quietly. His voice steadied as he spoke, the edge of panic gone. “It’s the truth. And maybe it’s about time we stopped pretending we can’t handle the truth.”
Osamu looked at him sharply. “You really think this’ll work? That we can all just—”
“I don’t know,” Atsumu cut in, shoulders rising and falling. “But I know I’d rather try and lose than walk away and wonder for the rest of my life what it could’ve been.”
The note in his hand trembled, the ink smudged faintly from where his thumb rubbed over it.
Osamu’s expression faltered. The fire in his voice dimmed into something quieter — weary, wounded. “You don’t get it, Tsumu. Once we cross this line, there’s no going back.”
Atsumu’s gaze softened, but his jaw stayed set. “We already crossed it, Samu. The second she said she loved us both, none of us were ever going back.”
The words hung in the air, heavy enough to make the room feel smaller.
Osamu looked away first, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “You make it sound easy,” he muttered. “Like you can just decide to share something like this and not… break everything that comes after.”
Atsumu’s laugh was quiet and tired. “Since when has anything about her ever been easy?”
You wanted to speak, but your throat felt locked up. All you could do was stare between them — the two halves of the same soul, both fighting against what they already knew was true.
“I don’t wanna break anything,” you finally said, the words barely above a whisper. “That’s the last thing I want.”
Osamu’s gaze snapped back to you. “Then why does it feel like that’s exactly what’s happening?”
Your breath hitched. “Because we’ve all been pretending this didn’t exist,” you said, voice trembling. “And pretending hurts too.”
Atsumu exhaled sharply through his nose, his hand tightening around the note like it could anchor him. “She’s right. We’ve been walkin’ around it for months. You think that was better?”
Osamu rubbed a hand over his face, fingers pressing into his eyes. “You think I didn’t notice?” he said quietly. “You think I didn’t see the way she looked at you? Or how you lit up when she smiled at you?”
He dropped his hand, eyes meeting his brother’s. “You were always the one people noticed first, Tsumu. Loud, charming, impossible to ignore. I figured… maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be.”
There was no bitterness in his tone, only tired honesty.
The kind that cracked something deep in your chest.
Atsumu’s voice softened. “You idiot. You think I didn’t see the way she watched you? The way she waited for you to speak before she said anythin’? You were the one she trusted first.”
Osamu’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t argue.
You took a slow breath, stepping closer. “You both keep talking like one of you deserves me more. But that’s never what this was about.”
Both of them looked at you.
You swallowed hard, heart pounding so loud it drowned out the rest of the world. “It’s not about choosing one or the other. It’s about not pretending I don’t feel what I feel anymore. For either of you.”
A heavy silence followed. You could hear the faint buzz of the ceiling light, the sound of someone’s uneven breathing — yours, maybe.
Osamu’s eyes lifted to yours, cautious. “And what happens if this doesn’t work?” His voice was rough, low. “What if one of us gets hurt?”
Atsumu shifted beside you, still holding that crumpled note. “Then we deal with it,” he said, not flinching this time. “Together.”
“That’s easy to say,” Osamu muttered.
“It’s not easy,” you cut in softly. “It’s… it’s going to take work. All of us.”
Both twins looked at you, and you forced yourself to keep going even though your voice trembled.
“If we’re going to do this, then it has to mean something. We don’t run when it gets hard. We don’t hide things. If someone’s upset, we talk. If something hurts, we fix it — or at least try to.”
Atsumu’s gaze softened, his shoulders slowly lowering. “You mean… we make rules? Like boundaries?”
You nodded. “Yeah. Not to box us in — just to make sure none of us feel lost in this.”
Osamu leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, eyes steady on you now. “Trust, then. That’s what this has to be built on.”
“Trust,” you echoed, meeting his gaze. “And honesty. We all have to be willing to talk — even when it’s uncomfortable.”
Atsumu glanced between the two of you, his usual boldness replaced by something careful, sincere. “And if it fails?” he asked, voice low.
You hesitated, then shook your head. “Then we deal with it when it happens. Not before. Not by assuming it’s doomed before we even try.”
The quiet that followed wasn’t heavy this time — it was thoughtful, alive. Like the air after a storm, when everything feels raw but new.
Osamu sat back, running a hand through his hair with a soft exhale. “You really think we can pull this off?”
You smiled faintly, tears still drying on your cheeks. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “But I want to try. Don’t you?”
Atsumu gave a small laugh, the sound shaky but warm. “Yeah… yeah, I do.” He looked at Osamu, waiting.
For a long moment, Osamu just stared at the floor, then at you, then at his twin. Finally, he nodded once, slow but sure. “Alright,” he said. “We try. But we do it right. We talk. We listen.”
Atsumu grinned, eyes wet. “And we trust each other.”
You breathed out, the tension leaving your body all at once. “Exactly.”
Osamu’s voice softened. “Then I guess that’s our answer.”
He stood first, stepping closer — close enough to reach out. His hand brushed the tear still clinging to your cheek, his thumb gentle as he wiped it away. You didn’t move when he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your eye — not quite on your lips, not quite on your cheek, just enough to ground you.
When he pulled back, Atsumu’s hand found yours, fingers lacing through instinctively. He squeezed once, firm and sure.
“So… we start here?” he murmured.
You nodded, voice barely a whisper. “Here.”
Osamu looked between you both, something small but real flickering in his eyes. “Together.”
And for the first time that night, the silence didn’t hurt. It felt whole — fragile, yes, but whole.