Chapter 1: Between Brothers
Chapter Text
You’d all been friends for years — through high school, through the start of everything that came after. The Miya twins had always been a constant in your life, and you in theirs.
You weren’t trying to win them over. You didn’t flirt, didn’t linger too long on looks, didn’t think there was anything to read between the lines. You were just there — cheering from the stands, tagging along to dinners, listening to them bicker like always.
You thought it was simple.
It always had been.
You never noticed the way Atsumu’s smile would hang around a little longer when you looked at him.
Or the way Osamu’s eyes would soften when you laughed.
Atsumu didn’t know Osamu loved you first.
And Osamu didn’t know Atsumu’s feelings had already caught fire.
Atsumu’s love came bright and restless — all heat and impulse, like he’d burst if he didn’t tell you.
Osamu’s was quiet, patient — a slow ache that settled into something deeper than he’d meant to let it.
None of you meant for it to happen. But in the end, timing decided everything.
---
Years later, things between you and the Miya twins hadn’t really changed — or at least, that’s what you told yourself.
You still met up when schedules allowed. Sometimes at Onigiri Miya, sometimes at Atsumu’s apartment, sometimes at whatever restaurant Osamu decided was worth his “chef’s approval.” The jokes were the same, the laughter easy. It was comfortable — familiar.
It felt safe.
You weren’t thinking about anything deeper when you agreed to hang out that night. You were just waiting on Osamu, who’d texted that he was running late. You and Atsumu were sprawled on the couch, a movie playing low in the background, when he suddenly cleared his throat.
“Hey, uh—” he started, voice weirdly careful.
You turned, brow raised. “What’s up?”
He hesitated, pulling something from his hoodie pocket — a folded piece of paper.
You frowned, half amused. “What’s this? A secret strategy plan?”
He didn’t laugh. The pink dusting across his cheeks told you enough.
“Just… read it,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.
The joke died in your throat. You unfolded the paper, smoothing out the crease. His handwriting was messy — familiar, rushed. The kind of scrawl you’d recognize anywhere.
Your heart tripped a little over the first line.
It wasn’t long, but it didn’t need to be.
"Okay, before you say anything—yeah, I wrote this. Like an actual letter. Don’t laugh.
You’ve been around forever, and I kept waiting for it to go away — this thing, whatever it is — but it didn’t.
So here it is. I like you, a lot. Might even say love you with all the time we've spent together. So, if there’s even a chance you might feel the same, I’d like to try.
Yes/No
(You can pretend you never saw this if it’s weird. I’ll just die quietly or something.)"
Your chest went tight.
It was simple. Stupidly simple. And yet your hand was shaking when you reached for the pen on the coffee table.
Before you could even think too hard about it, you circled yes.
You looked up just as the front door opened.
“Hope you didn’t start without me,” Osamu called, kicking off his shoes. His hair was damp from a shower, his hoodie a little too big on him. He froze halfway into the room, eyes flicking to the paper in your hands.
“What, we sharing love notes now?” he teased, grin tugging at his lips.
You froze. The air shifted.
Atsumu tensed beside you.
“Something like that…” you managed, forcing an awkward smile.
Osamu chuckled, heading toward his room. “Didn’t know you two turned into middle schoolers since I left.”
He disappeared down the hallway, door shutting softly behind him.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Atsumu’s hand shot out, almost panicked, and he took the note back before Osamu could double back. His eyes flicked down to the page — and there it was. The tiny, trembling circle around yes.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Atsumu’s hands were shaking a little as he unfolded the paper again, eyes scanning over your handwriting — the small circle around yes, like something so small could change everything.
“You—you mean it?” he asked, voice half a laugh, half a breathless sound.
You nodded. “Yeah. I do.”
He grinned, bright and unsteady. The kind that didn’t quite know how to fit on his face yet.
And just like that, something shifted.
---
Atsumu hovered outside Osamu’s door for a second before knocking — soft, hesitant.
He waited. Nothing.
So he cracked it open anyway.
Osamu was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, phone in his hands but not looking at it. The light from the hallway spilled across him, pale and tired.
Atsumu cleared his throat. “Hey. You good?”
Osamu didn’t look up. “Yeah,” he said, though it didn’t sound like it.
Atsumu stepped in, closing the door behind him. The air felt heavy, like even breathing too loud might set something off.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You, uh… left kinda fast, and never came back out ”
“Didn’t wanna interrupt,” Osamu said quietly. Then, after a pause, “That note was an actual confession?”
Atsumu froze mid-step. His fingers tightened against his hoodie pocket, where the folded paper still sat.
“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “Yeah. I finally told her.”
Osamu’s mouth twitched — something that might’ve been a smile if it didn’t hurt so much.
“Figures you’d do it first,” he murmured. “You were always better at that.”
Atsumu frowned, taking a small step closer. “Better at what?”
Osamu looked up then, eyes dull in the low light. “Sayin’ what you feel.”
The silence stretched between them, long and fragile.
Atsumu shifted, uneasy. “I— I didn’t know you liked her.”
Osamu huffed a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah. I didn’t really advertise it.” His gaze dropped to the floor. “Didn’t think it’d matter.”
The words landed with a dull weight.
Neither of them moved. The TV hummed faintly in the other room, your soft laugh echoing from the couch — like the world hadn’t just cracked open between them.
Osamu finally stood, shoving his hands into his pockets. “It’s fine, Tsumu.”
Atsumu’s brow furrowed. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like it’s fine.”
Osamu met his eyes — steady, tired, resigned. “You like her. She likes you. That’s all there is to it.”
“Sam’u—”
“Don’t,” Osamu said, too sharp. The word hung in the air before he softened it with a sigh. “Don’t apologize for bein’ the one she picked.”
Atsumu swallowed hard, chest tightening. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
“I know,” Osamu said quietly. “That’s what makes it worse.”
---
You heard the door click shut down the hall, faint over the low buzz of the TV. The movie had ended a while ago, but you hadn’t bothered to move — just sat there on the couch, legs tucked under you, the folded blanket half-forgotten in your lap.
When Atsumu came back out, he didn’t look the same.
His shoulders were tense, his jaw tight in a way you hadn’t seen since high school matches — the kind of quiet that wasn’t really calm.
You straightened a little. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he said too quickly, brushing a hand through his hair. “Just talked to Samu for a bit.”
You studied his face — the faint crease between his brows, the way he wouldn’t quite meet your eyes. “He’s feeling alright?”
Atsumu paused halfway to the couch, then forced a small smile. “Yeah. He’s fine.”
But he didn’t sit down right away. He hovered — like he was caught between wanting to stay and wanting to run.
You frowned. “Tsumu?”
He exhaled, then finally dropped down beside you. The couch dipped, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the hum of the TV and the faint tick of the clock.
He sat forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced tight like he was holding himself together. You watched him, your chest tight with worry.
“What’s wrong?” you asked softly.
Atsumu was quiet for a long time. Then, without looking at you, he said,
“Do you… ever think about if things were different?”
You blinked. “Different how?”
He hesitated — long enough for your stomach to start to knot.
“Like if you could choose.”
Your brow furrowed. “Choose?”
He finally turned toward you, his eyes searching yours, voice barely above a whisper.
“Choose… who to be with.”
The words hit you like a cold shock. You stared at him, unsure you’d heard right.
He gave a strained, almost apologetic smile. “I know it’s not fair to ask. Especially now. But I had to know if—if you ever thought about it too.”
You felt the breath leave your lungs, quiet and shaky.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve seen the way you look at him sometimes,” Atsumu said, eyes flicking down, like it hurt to say it out loud. “The way you laugh with him when you think no one’s watching.” His voice broke a little on the next words. “And I can’t help but wonder…”
The unfinished thought hung between you like static — sharp and heavy.
Your throat felt dry. “Do you mean… if I were to choose between Osamu or you?”
Atsumu nodded slowly, gaze never leaving yours. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I know it’s a shitty thing to ask. But I need to know.”
The silence stretched, too heavy, too full of things neither of you knew how to say.
He took a slow breath, the kind that sounded like it hurt. His hand found yours, fingers trembling.
“Because if there’s even a chance you might choose him,” he said, voice cracking on the edges, “then maybe I should step aside. Maybe it’s what’s best for everyone.”
Your heart twisted painfully. “Tsumu…”
“I love you,” he said, barely more than a breath. “More than anything. But I also love my brother. And if bein’ with him would make you happier…” He swallowed hard. “Then I think I could learn to live with that.”
You stared at him, wide-eyed, the words echoing through your chest until you didn’t know what hurt more — the idea of losing him, or the thought of him meaning it. "Atsumu..."
He looked down, the corner of that once-bright smile trembling. That’s when you noticed it — the note clutched tight in his hand, the paper creased from him holding it since the moment he saw you circled 'Yes'.
“I didn’t mean to make you feel pressured,” he murmured, voice unsteady, almost lost. “I wrote the note because I wanted you to know how much you mean to me.”
His free hand lifted, hesitating before cupping your cheek — warm and gentle, like he was afraid you’d pull away. “But I also want you to be happy. And if that means letting you go…” His throat bobbed with the effort of the words. “Then I’ll find the strength to do it.”
You blinked, trying to process it, your heart aching in your chest. “Atsumu, I don’t understand…” you said softly, your gaze searching his. “Osamu’s never shown any interest in me. Where is this coming from?”
Atsumu’s expression softened, sadness flickering behind his eyes. “You really don’t see it, do you?” he whispered. His thumb brushed across your cheekbone, tender and aching. “The way he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching. The way he smiles when you’re around.”
You froze, your mind trying to chase back memories — laughter in the kitchen, quiet looks you never thought twice about, Osamu’s easy calm that suddenly felt heavier in hindsight.
Atsumu hesitated, his gaze drifting toward the floor. “And the other night,” he said quietly, "I found him staring at the photo of us on the fridge…” He swallowed hard. “He looked so lost. So lonely.”
The words hit like a slow bruise.
He sighed, his hand falling from your face as if it took too much effort to keep it there. “I think a part of him’s always loved you,” he said finally. “He just… never said anything because he knew how I felt.”
You stared at your hands, fingers tangled with his. His grip was light now — hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to hold you anymore.
“Maybe it’s time for him to have his chance,” he murmured.
Your breath caught. “But what about us…” The words came out in a whisper, raw and trembling. “What about what you wrote in this note…” You hated the way your voice cracked, the way the words felt too fragile to hold.
Atsumu looked up at you, eyes bright with emotion he could barely contain. “I meant every word,” he said, voice breaking. “Every single one. I love you — God, I love you. But I don’t want you to feel trapped in this… in us… if your heart’s somewhere else.”
You shook your head, a tear slipping free before you could stop it. “I’m not trapped, Tsumu,” you whispered. “I just… think we all need to talk. You, me, and Osamu.”
He went still at that — a quiet kind of stillness that felt like the eye of a storm. His hand tightened around yours, grounding and trembling all at once.
“Yeah,” he said finally, the word barely audible. “Yeah, maybe we do.”
You sat there for a moment, the quiet stretching between you. The TV flickered faintly in the corner — a forgotten light in a room that suddenly felt too heavy to stay in.
Atsumu pushed himself to his feet first, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what he was doing. “He might be asleep,” he muttered, glancing toward the hallway.
You rose beside him. “Then we’ll wake him.”
He hesitated, but you were already walking. The soft pads of your feet on the floor seemed too loud in the silence. When you stopped outside Osamu’s door, you hesitated — the wood cool beneath your knuckles as you raised your hand to knock.
“Osamu… you alright?” Atsumu called quietly, voice careful, like he was afraid of the answer.
There was no response at first. Just stillness. Then, a muffled groan came from inside, low and groggy.
“We’re coming in, Osamu,” Atsumu said, and before either of you could change your mind, he turned the handle.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft spill of light from the hallway. Osamu blinked blearily from his bed, pushing himself upright. His hair was a mess, the collar of his T-shirt twisted, and his expression went from half-asleep confusion to alert caution the second he saw both of you standing there.
His eyes widened slightly — a flicker of surprise, confusion, and something deeper that you couldn’t quite name.
“What’s going on?” he asked, voice still rough with sleep. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned back against the headboard, gaze darting between the two of you. “Is everything okay?”
You opened your mouth, but Atsumu beat you to it. He shot you a quick glance — nervous, uncertain — before stepping further into the room and quietly shutting the door behind him.
“We need to talk,” he said softly, his usual confidence stripped down to something bare. “About us. About her.”
The silence that followed was thin, sharp.
Osamu’s gaze flicked to you, lingering for a second too long before falling away. You caught the faintest tremor in his hands as he folded them loosely in his lap.
“Okay,” he murmured, voice low. “Let’s talk.”
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.
Notes:
The downside of having a few chapters written in advance is that I wanna upload them and spoil you all, but I also want to build the anticipation 😭
Chapter 3: Something Like Normal
Chapter Text
You woke to the soft clatter of dishes and the low hum of a familiar voice drifting from the kitchen.
For a moment, you didn’t know where you were. The couch creaked as you shifted, the blanket slipping down your legs. Morning light poured through the blinds, cutting warm lines across the small living room — their living room.
The twins’ apartment always had this strange kind of comfort to it. Lived-in, messy in the right places, and smelling faintly of Osamu’s cooking and Atsumu’s cologne.
You hadn’t slept on their couch since college. Your neck immediately regretted it.
Memories of the night before pressed in — the words, the tears, the raw honesty that had cracked something open between the three of you. You still weren’t sure what to call it yet, but it was real. You could feel it lingering in the air like the quiet after a storm.
Osamu was already up, moving around the kitchen with familiar precision — half-focused, half-trying not to think too much.
“Morning,” he said without turning, voice rough from sleep.
“Morning,” you murmured back, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. “You always wake up this early?”
He huffed a laugh. “Force of habit. Restaurant life doesn’t sleep in.”
The smell of rice and miso drifted through the air, grounding and warm.
Atsumu stumbled out of his room a few minutes later, hair sticking up in every direction, wearing one of Osamu’s old shirts. His voice came out rough and sleepy. “The hell you two doin’ up already? It’s Saturday.”
Osamu rolled his eyes. “Some of us actually have routines.”
Atsumu rubbed at his eyes, still half-asleep, and grumbled, “Yeah, well, some of us were too busy thinkin’ ‘bout last night to get much sleep.”
That earned him a quiet snort from Osamu, though his gaze flicked briefly in your direction — a quick, unreadable glance before returning to his coffee.
You tried to smile, even if it came out a little thin. “Guess that makes three of us.”
For a beat, the only sound was the soft clink of a spoon against Osamu’s mug. The air wasn’t heavy — not anymore — but it was… delicate. Like one wrong word might tip everything back into the confusion you’d finally climbed out of.
Atsumu broke the tension with a low groan and a stretch that made his shirt ride up just enough to draw your eyes before you caught yourself. “Alright, alright, enough moping,” he said, forcing a grin. “It’s too damn early for that kinda silence. Coffee’s ready?”
“Yeah,” Osamu said, dry as ever. “Made extra strong. Figured we’d need it.”
You took a sip from the mug he handed you, the warmth steadying your nerves. “I was actually gonna run some errands in a bit,” you said, voice softer now. “Didn’t want to hang around if… you two needed space.”
Atsumu frowned immediately. “What? No, you don’t gotta leave.”
“Yeah,” Osamu added after a moment, quieter but sincere. “Ain’t like we can just hide from it. Might as well figure out what normal looks like now.”
Your lips twitched into something small but real. “Normal, huh?”
Atsumu grinned. “Normal’s overrated.”
You laughed, setting your mug down. “Still, I’ll be back later. Maybe grab a few drinks for tonight. Something tells me we’ll need a little help if we’re gonna have any more deep conversations.”
Osamu’s mouth curved just slightly at the corner. “You plannin’ on talkin’ or distractin’ us?”
“Why not both?” you shot back, and for the first time since last night, all three of you laughed — soft, easy, the sound settling into the quiet apartment like it belonged there.
---
When you finally return to the apartment, your arms are full — a case of beer balanced against your hip, a bottle of sake peeking out of the bag, and the smell of hot pizza trailing behind you.
The door clicks shut behind you, and both twins look up from the couch. Osamu is half-reclined, phone in hand, while Atsumu flips idly through channels, remote clicking every few seconds.
“Whoa,” Atsumu said, eyes lighting up at the sight of your haul. “You actually meant it with the drinks.”
“Need a hand?” Osamu asked, already standing as Atsumu jumped up beside him.
You smiled faintly, shifting the bags toward them. “Please. Before I drop all of this.”
They each take something from your hands — Atsumu grabbing the pizza, Osamu taking the bottle of sake with practiced ease. For a brief moment, it almost feels normal again. Just another weekend hangout, like the dozens you’d shared before everything changed.
Osamu peeked into the bag, giving a low whistle. “You really tryin’ to get us all drunk?”
You grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. “Well, I thought a little liquid courage might help loosen us up for… you know, this whole thing.”
Atsumu barked a laugh. “Loosen up, huh? That’s one way to say it.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “I even brought food because I know how you feel about drinking on an empty stomach, Osamu.”
At that, he paused — looking away quickly, but not before you caught the faintest blush dusting his ears.
Soon enough, the three of you were settled on the couch — pizza boxes open, bottles uncapped, glasses filled. It was how it usually was: you in the middle, Osamu to your left, Atsumu to your right. But the air was thicker now, humming with everything unsaid.
For a while, the only sounds were the soft clinks of glass and the low murmur of the TV in the background.
Atsumu reached for a slice first, tearing off the tip with his teeth, still half-watching the TV. “Man, this almost feels like old times,” he said around a mouthful of pizza. “Just hangin’ out, eatin’, drinkin’—no heavy talk.”
You smiled faintly, leaning back into the couch. “Almost.”
Osamu glanced your way at that, one brow raised. “Almost?”
You shrugged, eyes fixed on the bottle of beer in your hands. “There’s still this… weight,” you admitted. “Like we’re all trying to pretend we don’t know what we’re thinking.”
Neither of them said anything for a moment. The silence that followed wasn’t sharp, but it wasn’t easy either. It lingered, filled with small glances and things better left unsaid.
Osamu was the first to move again—he reached for another slice, brushing his fingers against yours as you grabbed for the same one. You both froze, his touch light but grounding. You looked up, meeting his gaze.
“Sorry,” he murmured, pulling his hand back, though his thumb still lingered against your skin a heartbeat longer than necessary.
You shook your head, voice soft. “It’s okay.”
Atsumu noticed—of course he did—and his grin faltered just slightly. He took another sip of beer, setting the can down with more force than he meant to.
That was the first spark of it—the quiet jealousy neither of you wanted to name.
You noticed the shift instantly. “Atsumu…”
He waved you off, smile snapping back into place. “Nah, nah, I’m fine. Promise.”
But his eyes didn’t match his words.
Osamu sighed, reaching for his drink. “See? This is exactly what we gotta avoid.”
Atsumu shot him a glare. “Avoid what, bein’ human?”
“Bein’ stupid,” Osamu countered, voice calm but firm. “You can’t just bottle it up and pretend it’s fine, Tsumu.”
You watched the exchange unfold like something delicate balanced on the edge of breaking. “Hey,” you said finally, voice cutting through their tension. “We said we’d talk about things, right? This counts.”
Atsumu scrubbed a hand over his face, muttering under his breath. “I just… it’s weird, okay? I’m not used to sharin’ the person I—” He stopped himself, the word catching in his throat.
Osamu glanced at you, then at him. “Neither am I.”
That honesty hung between them like a fragile truce.
You leaned forward slightly, catching Atsumu’s gaze first. “You don’t have to hide it. Jealousy doesn’t make you a bad person. It just means you care.” Then you turned to Osamu. “Same for you. If something feels off, you don’t get to shut down and say nothing, okay? We deal with it together.”
Osamu’s lips twitched, a ghost of a smile breaking through. “Bossy,” he murmured.
“Honest,” you corrected, grinning softly.
That earned a small laugh from Atsumu, tension easing from his shoulders. “You really are somethin’, you know that?”
“Good somethin’ or bad somethin’?” you teased, raising your glass again.
“Depends how much I drink,” he said, smirking.
The three of you laughed—quiet, but real this time.
Osamu shook his head, amusement tugging at his mouth. “You two are ridiculous.”
You grinned, tipping your glass toward him. “And yet you’re still here.”
“Yeah, well,” he said, taking a sip of his sake, “someone’s gotta keep an eye on you both. Make sure you don’t burn the place down.”
Atsumu leaned back with a mock gasp. “Excuse me? I’m perfectly responsible.”
You and Osamu said it at the same time. “No, you’re not.”
That earned a snort from Osamu and a loud groan from Atsumu, who threw a napkin at his brother. You ducked when it sailed past you, laughter bubbling up again before you could stop it.
And for a moment, it felt easy—normal again.
Pizza boxes half-open on the table, empty bottles scattered across the counter, the warm hum of alcohol softening the edges of everything that had been too sharp the night before.
You leaned back into the couch, your shoulders brushing both twins. It was small, accidental, but no one moved. Atsumu’s thigh pressed lightly against yours, Osamu’s arm stretched behind you on the backrest.
The closeness felt fragile, but comforting too. Like testing the weight of something you didn’t yet know how to carry.
“So…” Atsumu began, his voice low now, not teasing. “If we’re really doin’ this—what does that mean?”
You tilted your head toward him. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged, fiddling with the edge of the pizza box. “Like… what’s okay? What’s not? Are we takin’ turns? Or just—wingin’ it?”
Osamu groaned softly. “You make it sound like a game.”
“Well, it kinda feels like one right now,” Atsumu said, rubbing the back of his neck. “One where I don’t know the rules yet.”
The warmth of the sake had crept into your cheeks, softening everything—the tension, the edges of the couch, even the heavy silence that followed Atsumu’s words. You leaned back, glass dangling loosely between your fingers.
“It’s not a game,” you said finally, the words slightly slurred but steady. “No rules, no winning or losing. Just… figuring out what works. Listening to each other.”
Osamu raised a brow, eyes flicking from your hand to your face. “Listenin’, huh?” His tone was light but his gaze wasn’t. “So if I were to, say… listen to what I’m feelin’ right now…”
Atsumu snorted, trying to diffuse the moment. “Don’t start gettin’ philosophical on us now, Samu.”
But Osamu didn’t take his eyes off you. The alcohol made his voice a shade softer, words slipping out with less restraint. “What if what I’m feelin’ is that I wanna kiss her?”
The air went thick. You froze, half-turned toward him, your glass hovering near your lips. Atsumu’s grin faded, his fingers tightening around his beer bottle.
Osamu didn’t wait. His hand slid around the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you closer. The kiss was slow, deliberate—sake lingering on his tongue as it brushed against yours. You tasted the sharp sweetness and felt the heat of his palm against your skin, grounding and dizzying all at once.
Beside you, Atsumu drew in a sharp breath. Before Osamu could pull back, Atsumu’s hand clamped down on your thigh—tight, almost possessive—and he hauled you sideways onto his lap. "My turn," he growled, tilting your chin toward him. His kiss was fierce, demanding, nothing like Osamu’s deliberate warmth. Teeth scraped your bottom lip, fingers digging into your hip as if to brand you.
Osamu watched, silent, eyes darkening as Atsumu’s tongue swept hotly against yours. The sharp scent of beer mingled with the lingering sweetness of sake, flooding your senses until the TV’s drone faded to static.
Atsumu broke away abruptly, breath ragged, his thumb tracing your swollen lip. He didn’t look at Osamu—couldn’t—but his voice cracked like shattered glass. "That—that okay? Or was that too much?"
Osamu’s laugh burst out low and incredulous, sharp as a knife twist. "Now you ask?" He shifted closer until his knees bracketed yours, the warmth of his palms settling on your waist. "After draggin’ her halfway across the couch without so much as a 'you mind?'" His fingers slid beneath your shirt, calloused pads skimming your ribs, and you shuddered, trapped between their heat.
Atsumu’s breath hitched against your neck—hot, unsteady—as his arms circled you from behind, pulling you flush against his chest. "Didn’t need to ask," he murmured, teeth grazing your earlobe. "She ain’t runnin’."
His hands slid lower, possessive and rough, kneading your hips while Osamu’s mouth claimed yours again, slower this time but deeper. You gasped into it, trapped between their bodies—Atsumu’s chest firm against your back, Osamu’s fingers tangled in your hair. The scent of them overwhelmed everything: Osamu’s sharp, clean soap mixed with the musk of Atsumu’s skin, the beer on his breath warm against your neck.
You felt dizzy, breathless—like drowning in honey. Each touch burned, each kiss pulled you deeper into the storm they’d become. Atsumu’s teeth scraped your shoulder through your shirt, and Osamu’s thumb traced the frantic pulse at your throat.
“Samu—” Atsumu’s voice was rough, half-challenge, half-plea. He slid a hand beneath your shirt, palm hot against your stomach. “You’re hoggin’ her.”
Osamu pulled back just enough to smirk, his thumb trailing your bottom lip. “You had your turn. My turn now.” His fingers tightened in your hair, tilting your head back as he kissed you again—slower, deeper—while Atsumu’s hands roamed your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh above your waistband. The sharp scent of beer mingled with Osamu’s sake-soaked tongue, overwhelming your senses as you arched between them.
Atsumu growled low in his throat, his breath hot against your neck. “Like hell you get to hog her,” he muttered, sliding a hand up your shirt to cup your breast, thumb circling your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra. You gasped into Osamu’s mouth, the sensation electric.
Osamu broke the kiss with a dark chuckle. “Jealous?” His fingers tightened in your hair as his other hand slid down to your thigh, pushing your legs apart to kneel between them. The rough denim of his jeans scraped your inner thighs.
Atsumu’s answering growl vibrated against your spine. “Damn right I am,” he hissed, biting your shoulder through the fabric.
Osamu’s gaze locked with yours, dark and questioning. His knuckles brushed the waistband of your jeans—a silent, deliberate pause. You nodded, breath catching in your throat. Permission granted.
His fingers worked the button slowly, the rasp of denim echoing in the charged silence. Beside you, Atsumu’s hand slid beneath your shirt again, rough palms skating up your ribs as his thumb circled your nipple. You arched into the touch, gasping as Osamu tugged your zipper down inch by agonizing inch. Cool air kissed your exposed skin when he peeled the fabric aside, revealing the damp lace beneath. His calloused fingertips traced the edge of your underwear, heat blooming where they lingered—a promise, a question. You whimpered, hips lifting off the couch.
Osamu’s gaze locked with yours, dark and unwavering. His knuckles brushed the soaked fabric over your clit, a fleeting pressure that drew a sharp cry from your throat. "Okay?" he murmured, voice thick.
You nodded frantically, fingers twisting in the couch cushion. He hooked a thumb under the lace, dragging it down your thighs while Atsumu’s breath hitched against your neck.
"Fuck," Atsumu groaned, his free hand sliding down your belly to replace Osamu’s—pressing hard circles against your clit.
Osamu’s fingers slipped inside you without warning, thick and demanding. You arched, gasping as he curled them upward—slow, relentless strokes that scraped every nerve ending.
"Too much?" he breathed against your ear, but didn’t stop. You shook your head, whimpering.
"Don’t stop, please—"
Atsumu’s laugh was ragged as he bit your shoulder. "Hear that, Samu? She likes it rough." His thumb rolled your clit faster, matching Osamu’s rhythm until pleasure coiled tight in your belly.
You tried to deny it—to cling to some shred of control—but your hips jerked against Osamu’s hand, muscles clenching hard around his fingers.
Osamu’s lips trailed hotly down your neck, teeth scraping your collarbone before he shifted lower—his breath ghosting over your trembling belly. You gasped, arching off the couch as his tongue dragged a slow, torturous path along your inner thigh.
"Let me taste," Osamu murmured, voice rough against your skin. His breath ghosted hot over your inner thigh before his tongue swept through your slick folds—slow, deliberate, savoring your release like it was something precious. The sensation drew a ragged gasp from you, thighs trembling against his shoulders.
Before the sound could fully escape, Atsumu crushed his mouth to yours. His kiss swallowed your choked moan whole—hot, possessive, beer-bitter and breathless. His tongue invaded yours, stealing your air as Osamu’s tongue circled your clit with relentless pressure. You arched wildly, trapped between them: Osamu’s hands pinning your hips to the couch, Atsumu’s fingers tangling in your hair to deepen the kiss until your lungs burned. His thumb traced your jawline, forcing your chin higher as he drank every stifled cry.
Osamu hummed against you—a low, satisfied vibration that echoed through your bones. His tongue flattened against your clit, pressing hard as he suckled gently. The dual assault shattered you. You bucked violently, gasping against Atsumu’s lips as Osamu’s fingers plunged deeper inside you, curling relentlessly.
Pleasure detonated—white-hot and consuming—as you came with a muffled scream against Atsumu’s mouth. Your hips jerked uncontrollably against Osamu’s face, thighs clamping around his ears. He didn’t pull away, lapping at your release until the tremors faded into shuddering aftershocks.
Your body trembled as the last waves of pleasure faded, leaving only warmth and the sound of shallow breathing. The TV hummed quietly in the background, casting soft light across tangled limbs and flushed skin.
Osamu finally pulled back, resting his forehead against your thigh before looking up at you, his voice a low murmur. “You okay?”
You managed a shaky smile, fingers brushing through his hair. “Yeah… more than okay.”
Atsumu tightened his hold around your waist, lips ghosting over your shoulder. “Good,” he murmured, voice thick with something softer than teasing. “Can’t have you runnin’ off on us now.”
You laughed quietly, the sound small but real, and leaned into him. “Not planning on it.”
Osamu shifted closer until you were cocooned between them, his arm draped over your middle, Atsumu’s thumb tracing idle circles over your hip. The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time—it was full, warm, alive.
For a long moment, none of you spoke. Then Atsumu’s voice came, quiet and certain. “I think we really can make this work.”
Osamu’s eyes met yours over the space between. He smiled faintly—steady, sure. “Yeah,” he said. “We can.”
You exhaled slowly, letting yourself sink deeper into the heat of them—their breath, their heartbeat, the safety of this strange new thing you were building together. It wasn’t perfect. It wouldn’t always be easy. But right then, in the soft quiet between them, it felt possible.
Chapter 4: Worth the Restraint
Chapter Text
Morning crept in slow and golden, spilling through the half-closed curtains and settling over the mess of limbs on the couch.
The three of you had crashed there after a night of drinks and laughter—but never like this. Never this tangled, this close.
Atsumu was flat on his back, mouth slightly open, one arm slung lazily around your waist. You were nestled between his legs, your back pressed against his chest, head tucked under his chin. And Osamu—Osamu was curled on his side, head pillowed on your hip, one arm draped over your legs like he meant to keep you there.
The air was warm, soft with sleep and faintly scented of sake, pizza, and something a little too intimate to name.
Your first clear thought was that your neck hurt.
The second was that you were very warm—too warm.
You shifted a little, trying to ease the crick in your neck, and that small movement set off a quiet chain reaction: Atsumu’s arm tightened instinctively around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, while Osamu let out a low, sleepy sound and nuzzled closer into your hip like he had no plans of waking up anytime soon.
You froze, blinking at the ceiling.
It wasn’t the first time the three of you had fallen asleep in a pile after a late night—but it was the first time your jeans were abandoned on the floor beside the couch, your legs bare. The realization made your face burn, though the warmth that followed wasn’t entirely embarrassment.
A groggy voice rumbled behind you. “Why’re you movin’?” Atsumu mumbled against your hair, his breath hot against the back of your neck.
“I can’t feel my arm,” you whispered, though your voice came out breathier than you meant it to.
“Tragic,” he said, tightening his hold. “Guess you’re stuck.”
You rolled your eyes, but didn’t really fight him.
A low groan came from your lap. “Would you two keep it down?” Osamu’s voice was rough with sleep as he blinked awake. He propped himself on one elbow, hair sticking in every direction. “Some of us are tryin’ to pretend this hangover doesn’t exist.”
You smiled faintly. “Good morning.”
He squinted up at you, still half buried in the blanket, eyes narrowing at the sunlight spilling in. “Good mornin’, huh?” he rasped, voice low and scratchy. “Bit too bright for that.”
You smiled sleepily. “It’s not the sun’s fault you’re hungover, you know.”
Atsumu snorted from behind you. “She’s got ya there.” He stretched, yawning so wide his jaw cracked before flopping dramatically back against the couch. “You look worse than I feel, and that’s sayin’ somethin’.”
You shook your head, smiling faintly as you stood and reached for your jeans. They were still crumpled on the floor beside the couch — evidence of the night before that made your face warm as you picked them up.
The twins didn’t say anything, but you could feel both sets of eyes on you as you pulled them on. You didn’t address it — didn’t trust your voice not to give away how aware you were of their gazes — just focused on tugging the denim over hips.
“You know,” Osamu finally said, his voice low and gravelly with sleep, “I kinda liked the view better before you covered up.”
Atsumu chuckled from the couch, stretching lazily like a satisfied cat. “Seconded."
You snorted as you fixed your hair, fingers fumbling slightly. "Water and food first," you declared, voice steadier than you felt. "Then flirting." The words earned twin groans—Osamu’s muffled against his arm, Atsumu’s dramatic as he rolled off the cushions.
Osamu dragged a hand down his face, sitting up with a groan. “Fine, fine. But if I’m cookin’, you’re cleanin’.”
“Deal,” you said quickly, stepping over the pile of blankets. “As long as it involves coffee. Lots of it.”
“Already on it,” he muttered, heading toward the kitchen with a lazy stretch that made his shirt ride up, revealing a strip of skin. You caught yourself staring and quickly looked away—only to find Atsumu watching you with a knowing smirk.
“What?” you asked, defensive despite yourself.
“Nothin’,” he said, grin widening. “Just… this feels weirdly domestic, doesn’t it? Like we woke up after a sleepover and forgot the part where we’re supposed to be awkward about it.”
You tried not to smile, tugging at the hem of your shirt. “Who says I’m not awkward?”
He laughed, leaning back on the couch. “You hide it well, then.”
Osamu’s voice floated out from the kitchen. “You two gonna sit there makin’ eyes at each other or actually help?”
“Help with what?” Atsumu called back, already grinning. “You got this covered, Chef.”
You rolled your eyes and joined him at the counter, nudging his shoulder. “Ignore him. He just wants attention.”
Osamu snorted, cracking eggs into a pan. “And you’re givin’ it to him.”
You shot him a look that made him laugh under his breath. The air felt lighter now—buzzed, easy, like the tension of last night had been replaced by something quieter, steadier.
As the smell of breakfast filled the apartment, Atsumu hopped up to sit on the counter, watching Osamu work. “Hey,” he said suddenly, tapping his finger against his thigh. “I was thinkin’ last night—if we’re gonna make this work, maybe we should try somethin’.”
Osamu didn’t look up. “That sentence never ends well when you start it.”
Atsumu ignored him, looking at you instead. “Solo days. One-on-one time. You with me, then you with him. Kinda build things separate so the whole thing’s stronger, yeah?”
You blinked, surprised, but not opposed. “That… actually makes sense.”
Osamu finally glanced over, arching a brow. “So who gets to go first?”
Atsumu grinned, eyes glinting with challenge. “Simple. She thinks of a number between one and ten. Closest one wins.”
You laughed, leaning back against the counter. “Really? That’s your grand system?”
“Don’t knock it till you try it,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. “Go on, sweetheart. Pick a number.”
You hid your smile behind your coffee mug. “Alright. Got one.”
Atsumu leaned forward. “Seven.”
Osamu crossed his arms. “Four.”
You paused just long enough for dramatic effect. “It was eight.”
Atsumu shot upright like he’d just scored a match-winning point. “Ha! Knew it! Knew my luck was unbeatable!” He said, throwing his hands up in triumph before immediately wincing.
Osamu groaned, dragging a hand down his face, sliding an omelet in front of you. “You’re proud of yourself for guessin’ a number. Congratulations, genius.”
Atsumu shot him a look, still smiling. “Hey, don’t ruin my moment. I never win these things.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head, taking a bite. The egg fluffy on your tongue. “Alright, champ. What exactly will we do one a solo day?”
Atsumu leaned his elbows on the counter, expression softening into something a little more genuine. “We could do anything, really. A date, hangin’ out, talkin’—y’know, actually doin’ the whole ‘communication’ thing we pretended we were gonna do last night before the drinks hit and we got...distracted.”
You snorted. “You both thought it'd be a good idea too....”
“Details,” he said with a dismissive wave, though his grin lingered. “Point is, it’s just us. A chance to breathe a little, get to know each other intimately without all the noise.”
Osamu leaned against the fridge, arms folded, watching his brother with quiet amusement. “That’s… actually not a bad idea,” he admitted. “Might keep us from steppin’ on each other’s toes.”
You finished the last bite of your breakfast, the easy rhythm between the three of you settling into something almost domestic again. The conversation wasn’t heavy anymore, but beneath the teasing and coffee refills there was an awareness—a quiet hum that hadn’t existed before.
Osamu rinsed his plate, the clatter of ceramic against the sink breaking the silence. “So when’s this big ‘solo day’ supposed to happen, then?”
Atsumu perked up immediately. “Today, obviously.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “Today?”
“Why not?” he asked, already sliding off the counter with that familiar spark in his eyes. “You’re free, I’m free. Seems like fate, don’t it?”
Osamu shot him a flat look. “Yeah, fate or your complete lack of patience.”
“Call it enthusiasm,” Atsumu said, smirking.
Osamu snorted, shaking his head. “Enthusiasm’s one word for it.”
Atsumu just grinned wider, clearly pleased with himself. “What can I say? When I’ve got an idea, I move fast.”
You leaned back against the counter, still smiling. “Yeah, I’m starting to see that.”
Osamu rolled his eyes, rinsing his coffee mug. “You mean he’s impatient.”
“Efficient,” Atsumu corrected, pointing at him with mock seriousness. “There’s a difference.”
You laughed softly, setting your empty plate in the sink. “Well, if you’re planning on dragging me out today, I should probably go home and make myself presentable first. I’m still half hungover and smell like a brewery.”
Atsumu chuckled, following as you moved toward the door. “That’s fair. I’ll swing by and grab ya at two, yeah?”
“Sounds good,” you said, slipping on your shoes.
He opened the door for you, leaning casually against the frame, that familiar spark in his eyes softened by something warmer. “Try not to miss me too much.”
You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the grin tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” he said easily, “but you like me anyway.”
You shook your head, stepping past him into the hallway. “See you at two, Atsumu.”
He gave a small two-fingered salute, grin still in place. “Count on it.”
The door shut behind you with a soft click, leaving you with the lingering scent of coffee and the faint hum of laughter.
Back home, you let the shower run hot, the water easing the last of the dull ache behind your eyes. You closed your eyes and exhaled, flashes of the morning—Osamu’s sleepy drawl, Atsumu’s bright grin—curling through your mind.
By the time you stepped out and dressed, your hangover had faded, replaced by a quiet buzz of anticipation. You pulled on something comfortable but cute—soft fabric that hugged just right, casual enough to pretend you weren’t overthinking it, though you definitely were.
And as you checked the clock, realizing two wasn’t far off, you caught yourself smiling—nervous, excited, and maybe just a little curious about what a “solo day” with Atsumu Miya would really mean.
---
Atsumu was already waiting when you stepped outside, leaning against the railing like he’d been there for ages even though it wasn’t even two yet. His black t-shirt fit a little too well, sleeves snug around his arms, jeans comfortably worn.
The grin he gave you was instant and boyish. “There she is,” he said, straightening. “Been waitin’ all day for this.”
You raised a brow. “It’s been five hours since breakfast.”
“Exactly,” he shot back, falling into step beside you. “Five hours too long.”
You tried to hide your smile behind a scoff, but he caught it anyway, his laugh bright in the afternoon air.
The first stop was a small music shop tucked between a café and a bookstore, the kind with faded posters and a bell that jingled when you walked in. You wandered between aisles lined with vinyls and CDs, pointing out a few you both loved — and, to your surprise, realizing your playlists overlapped more than you thought.
Atsumu, of course, couldn’t resist being dramatic about it. He slipped on a pair of sample headphones, pressing play on a familiar track before mouthing along with exaggerated flair, one hand over his chest like he was performing for an arena.
You couldn’t help it — laughter bubbled out of you, bright and unrestrained.
The sound made him glance over, grin spreading slow and lazy. “That laugh,” he said, pulling off the headphones. “Gonna have to record that. Use it as motivation next time I run drills.”
“Or maybe don’t,” you said, cheeks warm.
He chuckled, tipping his head toward the door. “C’mon. You’re smilin’. I’m buyin’ you somethin’ sweet before you change your mind.”
That “something sweet” turned out to be ice cream from a shop down the block. You found a bench just outside, sunlight spilling over the both of you as you sat — closer than you usually would, knees brushing, the kind of closeness that made your heartbeat a little uneven.
Maybe it was the hangover fading, or maybe it was the newness of this whole “solo day” thing, but it felt… different. Softer.
You were halfway through your cone when Atsumu leaned in, eyes catching the corner of your mouth. “Hold still.”
Before you could ask why, his thumb brushed the side of your lip, slow and deliberate. He wiped away a small smear of melted ice cream — and didn’t move back right away.
Your breath hitched. For a moment, it felt like the world narrowed to just that — his hand near your mouth, his gaze steady on yours, the faint curve of a smile playing at his lips.
Then his grin turned wicked. “What?” he murmured. “Expectin’ somethin’ else?”
You blinked, heat flooding your face. “I—no! I just thought—”
“That I was gonna kiss ya?” he teased, voice dipping low, eyes glinting. “Maybe next time, if you ask nicely.”
You shoved his shoulder lightly, but the smile that pulled at your lips gave you away. He laughed — bright, easy, maybe a little smug — and leaned back, licking his cone with exaggerated innocence.
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t fight the laugh that slipped out, soft and a little shaky. He grinned like he’d won something—though what, exactly, you weren’t sure.
The two of you lingered on that bench a while longer, eating in comfortable quiet. The breeze was gentle, brushing through the trees, the sun warm against your shoulders. Every now and then, Atsumu’s knee would bump yours, casual at first—then not so casual. You didn’t move away, and neither did he.
When your cone was nothing but the last bite of wafer, you stood, brushing crumbs from your hands. “Walk it off?”
“Lead the way,” he said, tossing his napkin into the bin.
The park wasn’t big, but it was pretty—late afternoon light filtering through gold-tipped leaves, laughter from a playground somewhere in the distance. You fell into step side by side, your shoulders occasionally brushing.
For a few steps, there was only the quiet crunch of gravel beneath your shoes, the sound of wind brushing through the trees. Then his voice softened, stripped of the teasing edge he usually carried.
Atsumu kicked at a pebble, watching it skip down the path. “I’ve been thinkin’ about that first night—the note I gave you Friday, all that tension hanging in the air. I didn’t really know what I was doin’,” he admitted, voice quieter than usual. “Thought maybe I pushed too much. That you’d wake up Saturday morning, realize how messy it all was, and just… leave.”
You looked up at him, surprised by the quiet honesty in his tone.
“But you didn’t,” he said, a small, crooked smile tugging at his mouth. He then let out a breath, shoving his hands into his pockets before glancing sideways at you. “So,” he started again, a flicker of nerves sneaking into his grin, “’bout last night…”
You hummed, unsure where he was going.
“You okay with it? With… us?” His voice softened, losing all its usual playfulness. “I just wanna make sure you’re not overwhelmed. I know this is new—for all of us.”
You met his gaze, feeling that gentle pull again, the steadiness beneath his teasing exterior. “Yeah,” you said, the word coming out quieter than you meant. “It’s new. A lot, maybe. But it didn’t feel wrong.”
He nodded slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Good. ’Cause now it feels… better. Real. Like we’re actually buildin’ somethin’, not just messin’ around tryin’ to figure out what it means.”
You smiled, bumping his arm lightly. “Then we’re on the same page.”
Atsumu chuckled, low and genuine, the sound tugging at something deep inside you. “Guess that means I didn’t screw up too bad, huh?”
“Not yet,” you teased.
That earned a laugh, bright and warm. “Then I’ll keep tryin’ not to.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you shot back, nudging his shoulder lightly as you walked. “Otherwise I’d be scolding you for all the chaos you caused.”
He grinned, leaning closer, eyes glinting with mischief. “Chaos, huh? I prefer ‘creative influence.’ Makes the day more interesting.”
You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitched. “Right. Very creative.”
“Hey,” he said, voice dipping just a little, playful and low, “I think you enjoy it almost as much as I do.”
You froze for a second, heat creeping up your neck, and he noticed, tilting his head like he’d just scored. “What? Me?” you said, trying to laugh it off, though your pulse had picked up.
“Yeah. You, smirking all innocent-like while knowing exactly what you’re doin’ to me,” he teased, stepping a fraction closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “It’s unfair, you know.”
“Oh, it’s unfair?” you challenged, arching a brow. “Should I stop then?”
His grin widened, slow and confident. “Stop?” He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t think that’s even possible.”
You bit your lip, a little flustered, caught in the easy rhythm between teasing and something warmer. The world felt smaller, just the two of you in this quiet stretch of the path.
“I think someone’s enjoying their solo day a little too much,” you murmured, voice low.
“Can you blame me?” He replied, leaning in just slightly, enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. “You’re making it hard to… behave.”
You swallowed, pulse quickening at how close he was, at the warmth radiating off him. “Behave, huh?” you murmured back, voice low, teasing, but there was a hint of nerves threading through it.
“Yeah,” he said, leaning in just a fraction more, so close you could feel the faint brush of his arm against yours. “Keep my hands to myself, keep my thoughts in check… all that responsible adult stuff.”
You let out a soft, incredulous laugh, biting the inside of your cheek. “Sounds exhausting.”
“Tell me about it,” he replied, eyes narrowing just a touch, playful but darkening with something heavier beneath. “Especially when the person making it hard to behave is walking right beside you.”
Heat flared across your chest, and you stepped just slightly closer without thinking, drawn in by that mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh? You think I’m doing it on purpose?”
He tilted his head, grin teasing and confident. “Maybe,” he said, letting the word hang between you. Then he added, voice dropping to a lower, warmer register, “Maybe I hope you are.”
You could feel your breath catch, the words sending a thrill up your spine. “You’re impossible,” you whispered, though there was no real irritation in it, only the fluttering of nerves and anticipation.
“Mm, yeah,” he said, leaning in just enough that the tip of his shoulder grazed yours again, the contact deliberate this time. “But you like it.”
You bit your lip, the heat in your cheeks spreading. “I might.” you admitted softly, almost involuntarily.
Atsumu’s grin widened, slow and satisfied, and he let out a low chuckle. “Good. Means we’re on the same page… or at least, the same side of mischief.”
You laughed, breathless, shaking your head slightly. “Careful. If you keep that up, I may actually start to enjoy this too much.”
“Is that a threat or a confession?” he asked, voice teasing but with a hint of something heavier, slower, almost possessive.
“Possibly both,” you replied, stepping closer so that the space between you felt charged, every brush of his arm and the sway of his body against yours sending sparks through you.
He let his gaze drop to your lips for a moment, then back up to your eyes, slow and deliberate. “I like both,” he said, voice low, playful, and intimate all at once. “Especially when it’s clear you’re enjoying it as much as I am.”
You swallowed hard, pulse quickening at how close he was, at the warmth radiating off him.
“C’mon,” Atsumu said, voice low and warm, grin tugging at his mouth. “Before I say somethin’ I shouldn’t.”
You laughed, though your heart was still racing. “That’s assuming you haven’t already.”
He huffed through his nose. “Fair point.”
The walk back stretched longer than it should’ve, filled with quiet laughter and stolen glances. Every brush of your arms felt deliberate—small sparks that made it hard to breathe.
By the time you reached your street, the sky was painted gold and pink. Atsumu slowed, hands in his pockets. “Guess that’s the end of our solo day, huh?”
“Guess so.”
“Tragic,” he said, tone playful but edged with something heavier. “Was kinda hopin’ it wouldn’t end yet.”
You smiled, trying to sound steady. “You’ll survive.”
“Not sure I will,” he murmured, stepping close enough that his shadow merged with yours. “You’ve got me all flustered. Gonna be hard to focus at all tomorrow.”
The warmth in his voice made your breath catch. By the time you reached your door, the air between you had thickened—soft with dusk, charged with everything left unsaid.
You turned, your back brushing the door as you fumbled for the key. Atsumu stopped just short of you, one hand braced against the doorframe above your shoulder, close enough that his scent and the faint heat of his skin curled around you.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. His eyes flicked from your face to your lips, then back again, and that teasing grin faltered into something quieter—something almost hesitant.
“Guess this is where I say goodnight,” he said softly.
You nodded, though neither of you moved. “Guess so.”
His gaze dipped once more, and before you could process it, he leaned in—just enough to press a quick, firm kiss to your lips. Warm. Surprising. Gone almost before it began.
He froze for a beat, breath catching before a quiet laugh escaped him—low, disbelieving. His hand came up to cover his face, fingers dragging down as color crept up his neck.
“God,” he muttered through his palm, voice rough and a little shaky. “You really should go inside before I do somethin’ stupid… like ask for another.”
You felt your lips curve, heart still racing, the air between you warm and charged. “Maybe I wouldn’t say no,” you murmured, half teasing, half honest.
That earned you a muffled groan from behind his hand. “You’re killin’ me,” he said, laughter tangled with something deeper. “Go. Before I lose the little bit of control I’ve got left.”
You smiled, stepping back to your door and turning the handle. “Goodnight, Atsumu.”
He peeked at you from between his fingers, grin soft and crooked. “Goodnight...”
The door clicked shut, leaving you pressed against it, pulse still thrumming, his laughter echoing faintly down the hall—and the ghost of that kiss still lingering on your lips.
Chapter 5: The Ease of You
Chapter Text
The apartment was quiet when Atsumu slipped through the door, soft hum of the fridge filling the space. He toed off his sneakers and ran a hand through his hair, still warm from the evening air.
Osamu glanced up from the kitchen counter where he was rinsing out a bowl. “Well,” he said, tone casual but eyes sharp. “You look suspiciously pleased with yourself.”
Atsumu huffed a laugh, tossing his keys into the dish by the door. “What, can’t a guy come home happy?”
“Not when it’s that obvious,” Osamu replied, shutting off the tap. “You’ve been grinnin’ since you walked in. So?”
“So what?”
Osamu gave him a flat look, drying his hands. “Don’t play dumb, Tsumu. How’d it go?”
Atsumu leaned against the counter, smirk tugging at his lips. “Better than good. She’s somethin’ else, y’know that?”
Osamu’s mouth quirked. “Figured as much. You didn’t scare her off?”
“Not this time,” Atsumu said, chuckling. “Pretty sure she even liked me a little by the end of it.”
“Miracle.”
Atsumu threw him a mock glare. “You’re hilarious.”
“I try,” Osamu said, grabbing a towel and leaning back against the counter beside him. “So what actually happened?”
“Why?” Atsumu teased. “Jealous already?”
Osamu snorted. “Just curious. Tryin’ to figure out what I’m walkin’ into for my day.”
Atsumu paused, grin softening. “Relax, Samu. It was easy. Fun. We talked a lot.” He hesitated, eyes darting away briefly. “Kinda… kissed, too.”
That made Osamu glance over, brows lifting. “Yeah?”
Atsumu shrugged one shoulder, feigning nonchalance but unable to hide the faint flush creeping up his neck. “Yeah. Nothin’ wild. Just… nice.”
Osamu hummed low, unreadable for a moment. Then he said quietly, “Good.”
Atsumu studied him, lips quirking again. “You sure?”
Osamu’s gaze flicked to him, a dry smile tugging at his mouth. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’re not the only one who’s kissed her, remember?”
Atsumu’s grin widened. “Yeah, but mine was tonight — freshest counts for somethin’, don’t it?” He tilted his head, watching Osamu’s expression. “Didn’t think you’d care, but looks like you’re thinkin’ about it anyway.”
Osamu’s jaw flexed, but his smirk stayed put. “Thinkin’ about how annoyin’ you are, maybe.”
“Sure,” Atsumu drawled, grin widening. “That why you’ve been askin’ about it?”
The silence that followed wasn’t sharp though—it was familiar, comfortable. The kind that filled the space between brothers who’d long since learned how to argue without real heat.
Then Osamu spoke again, quieter this time. “So… she seemed happy?”
Atsumu’s grin softened, eyes warm. “Yeah. Really happy.”
The words hung in the air, simple but enough. No teasing, no games—just the quiet acknowledgment that made the apartment feel… content.
-----
You created the group chat that night — just something simple, a small gesture that felt overdue. A place for the three of you to talk without juggling two separate threads.
After a moment’s hesitation, you titled it:
“Sandwich Action 🥪🖤”
Atsumu was the first to respond.
Atsumu: Finally! How the hell have we not made a group chat until now?
You smiled.
You: Figured this made more sense. Easier to plan stuff. Easier to talk.
Osamu chimed in next.
Osamu: Good call, but what's with the name?
You: Well I wanted to do Menage à Twats, but that seemed too crude 😅
Atsumu: 💀 Menage à Twats—I’m actually offended we didn’t go with that.
Osamu: Of course you are.
Atsumu: It’s genius!
You: I’ll keep it in mind for the rebrand.
Osamu: 😂 Either way, this feels nice. Feels like… us.
Atsumu: Yeah, agreed. Finally somethin’ that’s all three of us.
The little wave of affection that brought made you grin at your screen.
You: I’m glad you think so.
Atsumu was the first to break the softness, of course.
Atsumu: Sooo how’s my favorite person doin’? Still thinkin’ about me? 😉
You: Maybe. Thinking about today. Wish I’d taken more pictures. We were having too much fun to think about it.
Atsumu: Thank god you didn’t. I probably looked ridiculous.
You: I mean, I did get one 👀
You send the picture of Atsumu mid-song in the music shop, half-serious, half-dramatic, mouth open mid-note, one hand clutching his chest like a tragic singer.
Osamu: …Oh, that’s gold.
Atsumu: DELETE THAT. IMMEDIATELY. 😭
You: Absolutely not. It’s iconic.
Osamu: I’m savin’ it. Frame-worthy.
Atsumu: SAMU, DON’T—
Osamu: Too late.
Atsumu: TRAITOR.
You laughed quietly to yourself, thumbs moving before you could overthink it.
You: I like this. Us.
There was a pause—long enough for your pulse to quicken—before both replies came in almost at once.
Osamu: Me too.
Atsumu: Yeah. Feels right.
You: I’m really looking forward to my solo day with you, Osamu.
Atsumu: Careful, yer gonna make me jealous already 😏
Osamu: Let him be. He had his turn.
Atsumu: Yeah, but I set the bar real high.
Osamu: No pressure, right?
Atsumu: None at all. She’s probably still thinkin’ about me singin’ my heart out.
You: Oh absolutely. I’ll never forget the tragic performance.
Atsumu: Art like that changes people 😌
Osamu: I’ll take a different approach. Real food. Real peace.
Atsumu: So your plan is bribery? Win her heart with rice balls?
Osamu: It could work.
Atsumu: Unfair advantage. 😤
You: I don’t recall complainin’ about either of you.
Atsumu: …yet.
Osamu: Yet.
You leaned back against your pillows, cozy in your oversized sweater, hair a little messy from lounging. The bedroom light was soft, casting everything in a warm, intimate glow. Carefully, you angled your phone, framing yourself so your smile looked natural and your sweater just hinted at cleavage without being obvious. Satisfied, you snapped the picture and sent it to the group chat with a quick:
You: Good night, boys~ 😘
Within seconds, the familiar ping of notifications had you giggling.
Atsumu: WHAT. 😳 Stop. That is illegal.
Osamu: Seriously… this isn’t fair. How am I supposed to sleep now?
-----
Monday morning came faster than you were ready for. The alarm buzzed, soft but insistent, pulling you from the remnants of a weekend spent with Atsumu. You groaned, stretching, and rubbed at your eyes. Work awaited, but a small thrill ran through you anyway—Osamu’s solo day was looming, and the thought made your morning routine feel lighter than usual.
As you were brushing your hair, your phone buzzed. A message from Osamu:
Osamu: Morning. Could you swing by real quick before work?
Curious, you typed back:
You: Sure, what’s up?
Osamu: Made you lunch. Nothing fancy, but thought you might want to take something decent instead of whatever cafeteria chaos awaits.
Your heart gave a little flip.
You: You didn’t have to!
You replied, though a smile tugged at your lips.
Osamu: I know. But I wanted to. Call it… early solo day prep.
By the time you arrived at his place, he was in the kitchen, apron slightly askew over a casual shirt, a tray in hand. “Here,” he said, offering you a neatly packed lunch. “Figured you could use something decent to eat today.”
“Wow,” you murmured, touched. “This looks amazing.”
He shrugged, eyes soft. “Don’t mention it. Just… enjoy it, okay?”
You tucked the lunch into your bag, heart a little warmer than it had been that morning. “Thanks, Samu. Really.”
“Anytime,” he replied, eyes lingering on you a moment longer than necessary before you headed out the door.
-----
The workday passed with a slow buzz of anticipation in your chest. Every time your phone buzzed, you half-expected a message from him, a reminder of the evening to come.
Osamu: Meet me at my place when you’re ready.
Osamu: Got somethin’ planned for us tonight.
You smiled at your screen, thumbs hovering before you typed back:
You: That sounds suspicious.
A moment later—
Osamu: Good. It’s supposed to.
You could practically hear the smirk behind the words.
You made it to the apartment just as the sky began to dim, the golden light of early evening spilling through the windows. Osamu was waiting by the door, jacket in hand, looking effortlessly put together in that quiet, understated way of his. His expression softened when he saw you.
“Hey,” he said, voice low but warm. “Perfect timing.”
You smiled. “So what’s the plan, mystery man?”
He gave a small shrug, that faint curve of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Nothin’ too crazy. Thought we’d catch a movie. Figured you could use somethin’ easy after work.”
You grinned, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “A movie, huh? That actually sounds perfect.”
“Good,” he said simply, falling into step beside you as you made your way down the hall. “Didn’t wanna overcomplicate things. Just… spend time with ya.”
That last part came out softer, almost shy — like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. You glanced up at him, catching the faint pink dusting his ears, and bit back a smile.
The drive to the theater was easy. The windows cracked open just enough to let in the evening breeze, city lights blinking past in lazy rhythm. Osamu hummed quietly along with the radio, low and tuneful in a way that made your chest tighten a little.
When you arrived, he insisted on paying for the tickets, brushing off your attempt to argue with a playful roll of his eyes. “Don’t start. You can get popcorn if it makes ya feel better.”
You nudged his arm with your shoulder as you walked inside. “Fine. But I’m gettin’ the big one.”
He chuckled — a quiet, warm sound that settled right under your skin — and held the door to the theater open for you.
Inside, the lights dimmed as the previews started. You sank into your seat, the buttery scent of popcorn mixing with the faint chill of the air conditioning. Osamu sat close — close enough that his arm brushed yours when he reached for the popcorn between you.
Every time his fingers grazed yours in the tub, you felt it — that tiny jolt of awareness sparking up your arm. Neither of you said a word, but the tension between you started to hum softly, like something alive.
Halfway through the movie, his pinky brushed against yours again. Just barely. Once, twice — then lingered.
You didn’t move away.
When his hand shifted, fingers slowly threading between yours, you turned your head — finding him already looking at you, eyes dark and searching in the flickering light of the screen.
“Is this okay?” he murmured, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t catch it.
Your heart thudded once, hard, before you gave his hand a small squeeze.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “It’s okay.”
He didn’t look away right away — just held your gaze for a moment longer, the light from the screen flickering across his face, softening the sharp line of his jaw. Then he exhaled, almost like he’d been holding his breath, and gave your hand another gentle squeeze before turning back to the movie.
The rest of the film passed in that quiet, shared bubble — your fingers tangled together between the seats, his thumb brushing over your knuckles every now and then like he couldn’t help it. You weren’t sure you could recall much of the actual plot by the time the credits rolled, but it didn’t matter.
When the lights came back up, Osamu stretched, his other hand reluctantly letting go of yours. “Guess that’s my new favorite movie,” he said lightly, even though the faint flush still hadn’t left his cheeks.
You laughed, standing and brushing crumbs from your lap. “Pretty sure you didn’t even watch half of it.”
He gave a quiet huff, not quite meeting your eyes. “Can’t prove that.”
Outside, the night air was cool and a little damp, the streets glinting under the glow of passing cars. Osamu walked beside you, hands tucked in his pockets, but his shoulder brushed yours every few steps — small, wordless touches that spoke louder than either of you dared to.
After a few minutes, he tilted his head toward you. “You hungry? There’s a ramen place still open a few blocks down.”
You smiled, warmth curling through your chest. “Only if you promise to let me pay this time.”
He smirked. “We’ll see.”
The night air was cool when you stepped out of the theater, the glow of the marquee washing gold across Osamu’s face. Neither of you spoke for a while — it didn’t feel like silence needed to be filled. His hand brushed yours again as you walked, and this time, he didn’t hesitate. Fingers slid against yours, slow and sure, until they settled between them like they’d been waiting to fit there all along.
You felt him glance at you. “Still okay?”
You smiled, thumb brushing lightly over the back of his hand. “Yeah. More than okay.”
He exhaled — a quiet, almost disbelieving sound — and for a moment, it felt like the whole city had slowed around you.
After a few blocks, he spoke again, voice low. “I keep thinkin’ about how weird this should feel.”
Your brow lifted, curious. “Weird?”
“Yeah,” he said, giving a small huff of laughter. “Sharin’ someone. With my own twin, no less. Sounds like a recipe for a disaster, right?”
You tilted your head, waiting. He wasn’t joking — not really.
“But then…” He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “Then it’s you. And suddenly it ain’t weird at all. It’s… I dunno. Easy.”
The words hung there, unguarded. Honest.
By the time you reached the ramen shop, the streets had thinned out, the neon lights bleeding color into the damp pavement. The place was small — one of those tucked-away corners of the city where the broth always tasted like home.
Osamu held the door for you, a faint grin curving his mouth. “You trust me to order?”
“Considering I’ve never seen you mess up food in your life, yeah,” you teased, slipping into a booth.
You ended up sharing one big bowl since it was late, and neither of you had the energy to pretend you weren’t already comfortable like that. It was easy, sitting shoulder to shoulder in the narrow booth, the steam curling between you, your knees brushing now and then beneath the table.
“Alright,” Osamu said, tapping his chopsticks against the rim. “Bet you can’t handle the spice in this broth.”
You arched a brow. “You forget who you’re dealin’ with, Osamu.”
The next few minutes dissolved into laughter — you trying (and failing) not to cough after an overambitious sip, him looking far too smug about it, both of you wiping tears from your eyes. It was simple, unguarded fun — the kind that slipped past your defenses without asking permission.
You both eventually slowed down, the easy rhythm of eating replacing the laughter — quiet slurps, the soft clink of chopsticks against the bowl, the occasional brush of your shoulders. The broth had cooled a little, the spice mellowing, but the warmth between you hadn’t.
At some point, without either of you noticing, you both started on the same strand of noodle — you from one side, him from the other. It was small at first, something your brain didn’t quite register until it was too late.
You glanced up just as he did, realization flickering in his eyes, but neither of you stopped.
He leaned forward just slightly, lips parting to take the next bite, and you followed suit — like it was a challenge now. A silent game of chicken neither wanted to lose.
The noodle grew shorter. Your heartbeat louder.
And then it was gone, replaced by the soft, unexpected brush of his mouth against yours.
It was soft at first. Hesitant, almost questioning. Then it deepened, slow and certain, the faint taste of spice and broth still clinging between you. His hand brushed against your cheek, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw as if to make sure this was real.
When you finally pulled apart, the air between you was thick with quiet laughter and something else — something that made your pulse skip and your stomach flutter.
Osamu’s thumb lingered near your cheek for a second longer before he dropped his hand, clearing his throat softly. “Guess that wasn’t on the menu,” he said, voice low, the faintest edge of a grin tugging at his mouth.
You huffed out a laugh, trying to ignore how warm your face felt. “Pretty sure you started it.”
“Yeah?” He tilted his head, eyes glinting beneath the restaurant’s dim light. “Didn’t see you complainin’.”
You nudged him with your knee under the table, but the smile that broke across his face was worth it — small and real, the kind that softened the air between you again.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world outside felt far away — just the soft hum of the ramen shop, the clatter of dishes in the kitchen, and the steady beat of your hearts finding a rhythm.
Eventually, Osamu leaned back with a soft sigh, eyes still warm when they met yours. “Guess we should get goin’ before they kick us out.”
You chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Wouldn’t be the worst way to end a night.”
He laughed quietly at that, sliding out of the booth and offering you his hand — not because you needed help, but because it felt right. Familiar. Easy.
The walk to the car was calm, the city’s late-night sounds wrapping around you — distant traffic, the soft hiss of tires on wet pavement, a faint song spilling from a bar down the street. You didn’t need to fill the silence; it felt comfortable, settled.
When you reached the car, Osamu opened the door for you before circling around to his side. The drive back was quiet in the best way — windows slightly cracked, cool air brushing through, the kind of peace that only came from being exactly where you wanted to be.
Chapter 6: In Our Hands
Chapter Text
The week slipped by in quiet rhythms — work, messages, late-night check-ins that always ended with sleepy emojis or half-coherent voice notes.
It wasn’t constant, but steady. Comfortable.
A good morning text from Osamu before opening his shop.
A picture from Atsumu in the middle of practice, all sweat and grin and chaos.
Little pieces of them threaded through your days, familiar as breath.
By Friday, your heart felt light again — a rhythm of normal that still carried an undercurrent of something new, something fragile and thrilling.
You were halfway through brushing your hair when your phone buzzed.
Atsumu: Movie night? Our place? I got snacks.
Osamu: He means I bought snacks.
You: Either way, I’m in.
The three of you hadn’t hung out together since the solo days. It felt overdue.
-----
When you arrived, Atsumu greeted you first — all energy and warmth, dragging you into a one-armed hug before you’d even gotten your shoes off.
“You’re late,” he teased, grinning down at you.
“I’m right on time,” you shot back, smiling. “You just get too excited.”
From the kitchen, Osamu hummed. “He’s been hoverin’ by the door for ten minutes. Thought he was gonna wear a hole in the floor.”
“Shut up, Samu,” Atsumu groaned, throwing him a look that was half-affection, half-annoyance.
You laughed, the sound easing the edge that flickered in the air. The twins looked at each other for a moment — something unspoken passing between them — before Atsumu flopped onto the couch beside you with a huff.
It was small at first. The shift.
The way Osamu’s eyes lingered when Atsumu brushed your shoulder.
The way Atsumu’s jokes started to sound a little sharper around the edges.
You noticed it — the tension laced in their smiles.
Halfway through the movie, you reached forward, lowering the volume. “Okay,” you said softly, glancing between them. “What’s goin’ on?”
Atsumu blinked. “Nothin’—”
“Atsumu,” you said gently, and his mouth snapped shut.
Osamu exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s nothin’ bad. Just… feels weird, sometimes. Seein’ things shift. Tryin’ to figure out how to fit into it, y’know?”
Atsumu nodded, quiet for once. “Yeah. Like, I know what this is. I want this. But sometimes I forget it ain’t a competition.”
Your chest softened.
You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. “It’s okay to feel that way. I just… I don’t want either of you to feel like you’re losin’ me when you’re not.”
Silence lingered, not heavy — just full.
Osamu’s hand brushed yours on the couch. “We’ll figure it out. Long as we keep talkin’.”
Atsumu sighed, but his smile returned, boyish and crooked. “Guess I could do better with that, huh?”
You smiled back. “Guess we all could.”
The quiet that followed wasn’t uneasy anymore. It was warm — fragile, but steady — like something that had just found its balance.
Osamu’s thumb traced a slow circle over the back of your hand, his touch gentle but sure. The small motion drew your attention, and when you looked up, his eyes were already on you — soft, unreadable, and full of things he wasn’t saying aloud.
Then Atsumu shifted closer on your other side, draping his arm across the back of the couch, his fingers brushing the nape of your neck. You shivered — not from cold, but from the awareness of being between them.
“You two…” you murmured, trying for lightness but your voice came out quieter, breathier. “You’re impossible.”
Atsumu grinned. “You love it.”
And maybe he was right.
The air seemed to thicken — not tense, but weighted with care and curiosity. Osamu’s touch remained at your hand, steady and grounding, while Atsumu’s fingers toyed gently with a loose strand of your hair.
When Osamu leaned in, it was unhurried, his forehead brushing yours first, his breath warm against your lips — a silent question, not a demand. You met him halfway, your lips finding his in a kiss that was soft but deep enough to make your heart stutter.
Before you could even pull back, Atsumu’s hand came up to your jaw, tilting your face just enough that his mouth replaced his brother’s — slower, more teasing, like he wanted to draw out every flicker of emotion left lingering in the air.
When it finally broke, you exhaled, eyes fluttering open to find both of them watching you — no jealousy there, only a quiet, shared tenderness.
---
Your chest rose and fell rapidly, still catching your breath from the twin waves of affection. Atsumu’s fingers lingered at your jaw, brushing softly over your skin, tracing the curve of your face with a light, deliberate touch. Osamu’s hand remained over yours, palm warm and steady, anchoring you both in the moment.
Atsumu leaned just slightly, so his forehead brushed yours, breath mingling with yours in the quiet. “I… I’ve been holding back,” he murmured, voice rough with the weight of it. “I didn’t think I could feel like this… all at once. But now, seeing you here… I can’t hide it anymore. I love you. Every bit of you.”
You swallowed, heat pooling in your chest. The warmth of his touch, his closeness, made your skin tingle. “Atsumu…” you whispered, voice soft and caught between awe and desire, your fingers curling lightly around his wrist.
Osamu leaned in from the other side, brushing his nose along your temple, lips barely grazing your skin. “Me too,” he breathed, his voice low, steady, intimate. “I’ve been trying not to… but I can’t. I love you. I want this — all of it, with both of you.”
Atsumu’s thumb traced slow circles over your jawline, every motion deliberate, lingering. Osamu’s fingers tightened slightly around yours, thumbs stroking in quiet, unhurried rhythms. The small touches — fingertips grazing knuckles, hair falling between your fingers — set your nerves alight.
Atsumu’s lips brushed the curve of your temple again, lingering just long enough to send a shiver down your spine. Osamu’s lips pressed softly to your knuckles, thumb caressing the back of your hand with a gentleness that contrasted the fire in his eyes.
You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the space between them. Their warmth pressed in from both sides, hearts beating in near synchrony with yours. Each touch, each brush of lips or fingertips, spoke more than words ever could — desire, trust, and affection all tangled together.
Atsumu tilted his head, lips grazing your collarbone through the soft sweater, just enough to make your breath hitch. Osamu leaned closer, nuzzling lightly against your shoulder, thumb moving from the back of your hand to trail lightly up your arm. Your body hummed with awareness, alive to every delicate, deliberate contact.
You breathed their names softly, a mixture of wonder and contentment, curling into the space between them. The world outside faded — there was only this, only warmth, only the gentle heat of being loved so completely by two people who had held back for far too long.
You leaned back slightly, feeling the steady warmth of Osamu against your back, his arms naturally curling around you as if you’d always belonged there. Atsumu’s presence in front of you was different — electric, teasing, his hands brushing lightly over yours as they rested in your lap, fingers tracing idle, tantalizing patterns that made your pulse race.
Atsumu’s lips hovered at your jaw first, soft and exploratory, brushing gently before teasing a path toward your neck. You shivered, tilting your head back into the space he carved for himself, your breath catching with every deliberate graze.
“So,” Atsumu finally murmured, his voice a low thrum against your ear. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes bright. “You gonna say somethin’ back to two desperate men?”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again, utterly at a loss for words. Heat blossomed in your chest.
Osamu’s low laugh vibrated near your ear, deep and soft, sending another shiver down your spine. “Look at you,” he murmured, his hand tightening just slightly over yours, steadying yet claiming. “All flustered and speechless.”
Your lips parted, but all that came out was a quiet, helpless sound — somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “You two…”
Osamu’s chuckle came again, softer this time, brushing the edge of your ear. “What about us?”
You turned your head slightly, your nose nearly brushing his cheek. “You know exactly what,” you managed, though your voice had gone breathy, laced with something fragile and real.
For a moment, none of you moved. The quiet between you wasn’t heavy — it pulsed, alive with everything that hadn’t needed words. Osamu’s thumb traced an absent pattern against your hand while Atsumu’s fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, both of them watching you with the kind of focus that made your chest ache.
“You’ve got no idea what you do to us,” Atsumu murmured, his teasing replaced by something softer. “It ain’t just wantin’ you. It’s…” He hesitated, glancing briefly at his brother before looking back at you. “It’s more than that.”
Osamu’s chin rested against your shoulder, his voice low and certain. “It’s all of it. The mess, the quiet, the good days, the hard ones. You make it feel worth figurin’ out.”
Atsumu’s fingers slid down your arm, tracing the curve of your elbow before drifting lower. “Especially the messy parts,” he murmured, his gaze locking with yours, sharp and playful. “Like how Samu got to taste you first that night.” His palm settled on your thigh, fingertips digging in possessively through the soft fabric of your pants. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout how unfair that is.”
Osamu snorted softly against your shoulder but didn’t protest. Atsumu leaned closer, his lips grazing your ear as his free hand hooked into your waistband. “I want my turn,” he breathed, tugging the fabric down inch by deliberate inch. Cool air kissed your skin as your pants slid past your hips, pooling around your thighs like a surrender.
You gasped, heat flooding your cheeks as Osamu shifted behind you. His mouth found the curve of your neck—not soft this time, but hungry. His teeth scraped your pulse point before his tongue soothed the sting. One hand slid beneath your sweater, palm searing against your stomach.
Atsumu’s groan vibrated against your thigh before he nuzzled higher, his breath hot and damp through your dampening underwear. "Look at you," he rasped, fingers digging into your hips. "Already soaked just knowin' I'm gonna taste you." He didn’t tease—just hooked his thumbs under the lace and dragged it down your legs.
The sudden rush of cool air evaporated instantly as he buried his face between your thighs, licking a broad, messy stripe from entrance to clit.
You arched off the couch cushions with a choked gasp. His tongue was relentless—flat and demanding where Osamu had been methodical—lapping at your slickness like he was starved for it. Every flick sent sparks up your spine.
You tangled your fingers in his hair, not pushing, just anchoring yourself as he sucked your clit roughly, then soothed it with the flat of his tongue. Whimpers spilled from your lips—high, involuntary sounds—as your hips jerked against his mouth. He growled approval, the vibration rippling through you like electricity.
Osamu watched from behind you, his breath hot and uneven against your neck. His hand slid higher beneath your sweater, calloused fingers finding and pinching your nipple. "That's it," he murmured, voice thick. "Let him hear how much you need it."
You moaned louder, helplessly grinding against Atsumu's face as he drove two fingers deep inside you, curling them just right. The stretch burned beautifully, and you clenched around him instinctively. He groaned against your thigh, the sound muffled and desperate.
"Fuck," he gasped, pulling back just enough to speak, lips glistening with you. "Taste like heaven soaked in sin." His thumb rubbed tight circles on your clit while his fingers pumped relentlessly, the wet sounds obscenely loud in the quiet room. "Could get drunk on this."
You writhed, back arching against Osamu's solid warmth as pleasure coiled impossibly tight. The twin sensations—Atsumu's demanding mouth returning to suck hard at your clit, Osamu's teeth grazing your shoulder while his hand roughly kneaded your breast—built a wildfire low in your belly.
With a sharp cry, your hips jerked uncontrollably against Atsumu's face. Pleasure exploded in bright, shuddering waves that left you gasping and trembling, thighs clamping around his head as he rode you through it, tongue flicking lazily against your oversensitive clit until you whimpered. When he finally pulled back, chin glistening, his grin was wild and triumphant.
Osamu loosened his grip beneath your sweater, his breathing rough behind you. "Satisfied?" he murmured against your ear, voice thick with unspoken hunger. His hand remained low on your stomach—possessive yet trembling with restraint.
Atsumu lifted his head from your lap, gaze hot and intense as he wiped his chin with the back of his hand.
The ache between your legs pulsed with every slowing heartbeat, leaving you yearning for completion. "You're not," you breathed, fingers tightening in his hair. "Neither of you got—"
Osamu's hand slid lower beneath your sweater, tracing the dip above your hipbone. "Don't," he murmured, lips brushing your earlobe. "Gettin' you like this was enough." His thumb pressed into the soft flesh below your navel, possessive and grounding.
You whimpered, arching against the couch cushions. "Please," you breathed, fingers tightening in Atsumu's hair as his tongue traced your inner thigh. "Need you both inside me—now." The words came out ragged, desperate, stripped bare of hesitation.
Osamu inhaled sharply against your neck. "Can't," he murmured, teeth grazing your pulse point. "Not yet. Your body needs time." His palm slid lower beneath your sweater, calloused fingers tracing the curve of your hipbone. "But we can start somewhere."
Atsumu grinned against your thigh, already pulling his sweats down. "Coin toss?" His voice came out rougher than intended. "Heads, you taste me. Tails..." He fished a hundred-yen coin from his pocket. "I bury myself in that pretty pussy."
Before you could answer, the silver flashed through the air. It landed with a soft *clink* on the coffee table—heads gleaming under dim lamplight. Atsumu didn't hesitate, his grin sharpening as he hauled you forward, guiding you onto your knees.
Your fingers fumbled at his waistband. The cotton slid downward eagerly, the scent of his skin—salt and familiar soap—rising warm beside you.
Behind you, Osamu shifted closer, one palm bracketing your hipbone, the other guiding himself firmly against your soaked entrance. The broad head nudged teasingly—once, twice—before pushing in.
Your gasp became Atsumu’s first taste. Your tongue swept flat and hungry along his underside—that sensitive ridge where skin stretched tight—as Osamu thrust deep. The shock of fullness ripped a low groan from your throat, vibrating against Atsumu’s shaft.
Atsumu buried his fingers in your hair. Not guiding, just anchoring—letting you work at your own rhythm while Osamu filled you from behind, each thrust deep and unhurried. The contrast was staggering: Osamu’s steady rhythm rocking you forward, the slick heat of your mouth enveloping Atsumu inch by inch, his groan mingling with your muffled whimpers.
Atsumu’s hips rolled forward gently, letting you control the pace, his thumb stroking your temple whenever you pulled back for air.
"Damn," Osamu groaned behind you, his hands tightening on your hips as he sank deeper. "You take us so fuckin' perfect." His thrusts stayed steady—driving and grounding—while you hollowed your cheeks around Atsumu’s cock. Atsumu hissed through clenched teeth, his fingers trembling in your hair.
"Feel like heaven," Atsumu gasped, hips bucking shallowly as your tongue pressed flat against his base. His thumb trembled against your temple when you swallowed him deeper, throat fluttering around his tip. "Better than I ever dreamed—" His praise dissolved into a groan as you sucked hard, swirling your tongue just under his tip.
Behind you, Osamu’s rhythm grew languidly possessive, each deliberate thrust brushing that perfect spot inside you. The soft slap of skin against skin mingled with your muffled moans around Atsumu’s cock. “Fuck, yes—just like that,” Osamu growled, his breath hot against your neck.
Atsumu’s hips stuttered as you dug your nails into his thighs, hollowing your cheeks. “So damn good,” he choked out, voice shredded.
His cock swelled thickly against your tongue before his release flooded your mouth—hot, bitter-salty, filling your throat in thick pulses as you swallowed instinctively. You kept your lips sealed tight around him, feeling each tremor shoot through his thighs while his fingers twisted almost painfully in your hair.
Behind you, Osamu’s grunt was harsh against your ear as he pulled out abruptly, his hand wrapping his own shaft just in time to catch the spill—hot come splattering against his palm instead of your skin. "Fuck," Osamu rasped, his other hand still gripping your hipbone as he shuddered, breath ragged. "Almost didn't make it."
Releasing Atsumu's softening length, you lifted yourself back against Osamu's chest—still panting—and caught his wrist. Without hesitation, you took two of his glistening fingers into your mouth, laving his release off with slow, deliberate strokes of your tongue. His salt-bitter taste bloomed across your palate, mingling with the tang of Atsumu still coating your throat.
"Fuck," Osamu hissed through clenched teeth, pupils blown wide as he watched you suck his fingers clean. "That’s..." He trailed off, swallowing hard as you swirled your tongue around his knuckles, finding every drop. "hot as hell."
Atsumu chuckled, a rough, satisfied sound as he dragged his sweatpants back up his hips, his gaze lingering warm on your lips. "Hold tight," he murmured, pushing off the couch. He padded barefoot to the kitchen, returning moments later with a damp towel—the soft, faded blue one always hanging near the sink. Without a word, he tossed it to Osamu, who caught it one-handed, wiping his palm clean.
Then, Atsumu knelt before you, fingers gentle but sure as they hooked into your tangled underwear pooled around your ankles. "Lift," he commanded softly, and you obeyed, arching your hips just enough for him to slide the lace free. His knuckles brushed your inner thigh—a fleeting, electric touch—as he guided your sweatpants back up over your hips, settling the elastic snug against your waistline, his thumb tracing the waistband once before withdrawing.
Osamu shifted behind you, his palm sliding to rest low on your belly, fingers splayed possessively. "We should..." He paused, clearing his throat softly before continuing, his breath warming the shell of your ear. "Talk about... boundaries. What you're okay with. What might cross a line for you." His thumb brushed over your hipbone, tracing idle patterns against your pants. "'Cause I ain't gonna lie—seein' Tsumu lose his mind while you swallowed him down..." He swallowed hard, his voice dropping lower, rougher. "Makes me want things."
Atsumu settled back beside you on the couch, close enough that his thigh pressed warmly against yours. He caught your gaze, his eyes dark and intent despite the playful curve of his lips.
"Yeah," he murmured, reaching over to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear—a gesture that felt startlingly tender after the raw intimacy. "Been picturin' more. Like havin' both of us inside you at once." His fingertips drifted down your arm, tracing the sensitive skin of your inner wrist. "... if you'd want to try."
Heat climbed your neck. You swallowed once, twice, before finding your voice. “I’d… be fine with most anything,” you said, the words trembling but honest. “As long as it’s with you two.”
Atsumu’s grin faltered into something softer, more genuine. His eyes searched yours like he needed to be sure. “Yeah? You mean that?”
You nodded, a small smile tugging at your mouth. “I trust you both.”
He exhaled, a sound somewhere between relief and awe. “Then tell us,” he murmured. “What kind of things do you like? What makes you feel good?”
You hesitated, twisting the edge of your sweater between your fingers. “This is so weird to say out loud,” you muttered, cheeks warming. “We never talked about stuff like this when we were friends.”
Osamu leaned closer, his breath brushing the shell of your ear. “You don’t gotta hold back,” he said quietly. “Not with us.”
You drew in a steadying breath. “I like… praise. And sometimes… degradation.” The words tumbled out before you could stop them. “I like being manhandled—feeling small—but I also like taking control sometimes. I guess it depends on the moment.”
Osamu’s thumb stilled against your side, his brows knitting—not in disapproval, but thoughtful curiosity. “Praise and degradation, huh?” he echoed, tasting the words like they were something new. His gaze softened when you risked a glance at him. “Wouldn’t have guessed that about you.”
Atsumu’s quiet laugh rolled through the air, low and fond. “You keep surprising us,” he said, brushing a thumb over your knuckles. “Guess we’re gonna have to learn what gets that pretty blush out of you and what crosses the line.”
Your pulse fluttered, but not from nerves. “That’s all I want,” you said softly. “For us to keep learning each other—together.”
Osamu hummed low, the sound settling deep in your chest. “Together,” he repeated, like the word carried weight. His hand on your hip squeezed gently — a silent promise more than a gesture. “Means we talk about it. Every time. You say stop, or even just ‘wait,’ we stop. No questions.”
Atsumu nodded immediately, the teasing spark in his eyes replaced by something steady and sure. “And if you wanna try somethin’, you just say. We’ll listen.” His thumb traced the edge of your jaw, a featherlight stroke that sent warmth spiraling through you. “Ain’t nothin’ we can’t talk through.”
You exhaled slowly, tension melting beneath their steady touch. “I like that,” you murmured. “That we won't have to guess what’s too much… or what’s okay.”
“Exactly,” Osamu said, his hand brushing up your arm. “We make the rules together. You trust us, we’ll make damn sure you never regret it.”
Atsumu pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, his voice low against your skin. “You matter more than the heat of it,” he said. “More than whatever we want.”
Osamu’s thumb traced a slow circle at your waist. “What we want,” he murmured, “is you. All of you.”
The honesty of it caught in your throat. “You two are gonna ruin me,” you whispered, a shaky smile breaking through.
Atsumu’s grin was softer now. “Nah,” he said, brushing his nose against yours. “We’re just gonna make sure you know how good you deserve to be loved.”
The room stilled into quiet — three heartbeats finding the same rhythm, wrapped in warmth and the promise of something deeper.
Chapter 7: Wish You Were Here
Chapter Text
You stayed for a while longer — long enough for the quiet to turn easy again, for everything you’d shared to settle into something softer. The twins didn’t move much; Atsumu kept tracing lazy shapes against your knee, and Osamu’s arm stayed draped along the back of the couch, fingertips occasionally brushing your shoulder like he couldn’t quite let go.
Eventually, though, the hour crept up on you. The city outside had gone quiet — the kind of stillness that made the moment feel too intimate, too tempting to stretch any further.
“I should probably head home,” you murmured, though the words felt reluctant even to you.
Atsumu groaned immediately, throwing his head back. “You’re kiddin’. It’s Friday night — you’re really leavin’ now?”
Osamu’s hand gave your arm a light squeeze, quieter but just as persuasive. “He’s right. Ain’t no reason to rush off. Stay a little longer.”
You smiled, torn but resolute. “If I stay, I won’t want to leave at all.”
That got you a pair of looks — one amused, one knowing. Osamu’s eyes softened; Atsumu’s grin turned slow and teasing, though neither pushed.
“Guess we’ll let you go, then,” Osamu said finally, voice low. “Even if we don’t like it.”
When you stood, they both followed — Osamu to grab your jacket, Atsumu hovering close enough that you could feel his warmth even as you slipped into your shoes.
“You sure you don’t want a ride?” Osamu asked.
You shook your head, tugging the jacket over your shoulders. “It’s close enough. I could use the walk.”
Atsumu’s grin dimmed, replaced by something gentler. “Text us when you get in, yeah?”
You nodded. “Always.”
They watched as you stepped into the cool night air, the quiet of the street wrapping around you, the door closing softly behind.
-----
By the time you made it home, the night air had cooled the flush from your cheeks — but only barely. Your pulse still fluttered, the echo of their touches and voices tangled somewhere between your ribs. Every step felt like you were walking through a haze, caught between memory and the quiet hum of something new.
You kicked off your shoes and made it straight for your room. The moment you hit the bed, you fished your phone from your pocket and sent a quick message into the group chat:
You: Made it home safe.
The reply came before you could even set the phone down.
Atsumu: good. was kinda tempted to drive behind you just to make sure.
Osamu: she’d notice you tailin’ her, idiot.
You smiled at the screen, fingers hovering before you typed back:
You: you two worry too much.
Osamu: maybe. still don’t like lettin’ you go this late.
Atsumu: yeah… night’s quieter without you here.
That last line made your heart stutter. You stared at it for a moment before replying:
You: you’re both sweet. get some rest, okay?
Osamu’s reply came a beat later — simple, steady.
Osamu: night, sweetheart. sleep well.
Atsumu: sweet dreams. bet we’re in ‘em. 😏
You snorted, tossing your phone aside and collapsing back onto the mattress. The room was dark, quiet, but your thoughts weren’t.
You could still feel them — Osamu’s steady breath against your ear, Atsumu’s teasing grin as his thumb brushed your skin, the weight of their closeness still imprinted along your nerves. Every inhale made the air taste faintly like warmth and memory.
You pressed your hands over your face with a muffled laugh. “God, they’re gonna be the death of me,” you muttered, voice half-embarrassed, half-awed.
You lay there for a minute, the quiet hum of your room settling around you. But the warmth lingering under your skin refused to fade.
A wicked little thought sparked.
You rolled onto your side, unlocked your phone again, and opened the group chat. The last message from Atsumu’s smirking emoji blinked up at you — like a dare.
Padding to the dresser, you tugged open the bottom drawer, fingers brushing past soft cotton until they closed around cool silk and lace. The matching set—black, delicate, with straps that crisscrossed the back—was something you’d bought on impulse months ago and never worn.
Now felt right.
The fabric sighed against your skin as you pulled it on, the lace cups hugging your curves just so, the waistband snug where it dipped low. You angled the full-length mirror near your closet, catching the way lamplight gilded the lines of your throat, the swell of your hips, the shadow between your breasts where the lace dipped teasingly low.
Perfect.
You angled your phone, catching just enough — a teasing suggestion of lace beneath the sweater, the curve of your smile — nothing more, nothing less. The picture came out dangerously good.
You typed,
You: thought I’d give you something nice to dream about 😌
You hit send before you could overthink it.
The read receipts popped up immediately.
Three dots blinked. Stopped. Blinked again.
You laughed quietly into your pillow, already picturing Atsumu’s wide-eyed expression and Osamu’s hand dragging down his face in disbelief.
Atsumu: are. you. tryin’. to. kill. me.
Osamu: …you’re trouble.
Atsumu: gorgeous, dangerous trouble.
You grinned, satisfied, warmth bubbling in your chest.
You: sweet dreams, boys 😉
You set your phone down and curled beneath the blankets, heart racing for all the right reasons this time. The last thing you saw before sleep claimed you was the chat still open — Atsumu typing again, Osamu’s read receipt glowing steady.
Whatever they were about to say could wait until morning.
-----
Morning light slipped through the blinds, brushing soft gold over your pillow. You groaned quietly, stretching until your joints popped, then fumbled for your phone on the nightstand.
You blinked. “…oh, god.”
The group chat was chaos.
Atsumu: I AIN’T SLEEPIN AFTER THAT PIC 😭
Atsumu: who gave ya the right to look like THAT
Osamu: you’re ridiculous. but also… yeah. that was somethin’.
Atsumu: admit it, ya zoomed in.
Osamu: don’t project.
Atsumu: you totally did 👀
You buried your face in your pillow, muffling the laugh that slipped out. They were impossible.
Still smiling, you flipped the camera, hair a soft mess from sleep, cheek pressed to the pillow. The morning light hit just right, catching the half-lazy grin on your lips and the empty space beside you.
You typed beneath it:
You: it’s so cold waking up alone 🥺 wish you were here to warm me up
You hit send, smirking before your nerves could catch up.
The read receipts appeared instantly.
Atsumu: you’re playin’ with fire, sweetheart.
Osamu: she’s definitely tryin’ to start somethin’.
Atsumu: and it’s workin’. i’m running over rn.
Osamu: you’re not.
Atsumu: watch me.
You laughed so hard your pillow muffled it.
You: behave 😇
Osamu: no promises.
Atsumu: depends. ya plannin’ to stop me?
You shook your head, still smiling, warmth spreading all through your chest — the kind that had nothing to do with teasing and everything to do with how easy it felt with them now.
You were halfway through brushing your teeth when a frantic knock rattled the door.
You froze, toothbrush still in hand. Nobody was supposed to be stopping by this early.
After spitting and rinsing, you padded over to your phone on the counter — and that’s when you saw it. A message you’d missed while getting ready.
Osamu: he actually ran out.
Your brows lifted. No way.
Curiosity prickled as you made your way to the door, peeking through the peephole — and your breath caught.
Atsumu stood there, chest rising fast, a thin sheen of sweat glinting on his temple, hair tousled like he’d sprinted the whole way. His hand hovered over the doorframe, like he wasn’t sure if he should knock again or wait.
You opened the door slowly. “Atsumu, what—”
You didn’t get the chance to finish.
He closed the distance in a heartbeat, kicking your door closed. His hands coming up to frame your face as his lips met yours — not careful, not planned, just need. The world tilted, heartbeat-first and dizzy, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as his breath caught against yours.
When he finally drew back, his forehead rested against yours, his grin unsteady and breath still ragged.
“I told Osamu I wasn’t jokin’,” he said between breaths, voice roughened and bright. “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you.”
You blinked, still catching up, pulse racing. “Atsumu—it’s barely eight.”
He laughed — low, breathless, boyish. “Then I’m just startin’ the day right.”
Your pulse stuttered as the words sank in. You were still in your baggy sleep shirt and soft shorts, hair messy from sleep, and the realization hit all at once — he’d run here. Like this. For you.
You tried to turn, half-laughing, half-embarrassed. “You could’ve at least warned me—”
Atsumu’s grin flashed, unbothered. “I did warn ya! Told ya I was runnin’ over— you just didn’t believe me.”
You stared at him, torn between exasperation and the ridiculous fluttering in your chest. “You weren’t supposed to mean it!”
He just laughed again, the sound bright and reckless, like he’d never once regretted charging headfirst into anything that made him feel this alive.
Before you could even try to hide your face again, he stepped in close and slid his arms around your waist, drawing you gently back against him. The motion was easy, instinctive—like he’d been meaning to do it since the moment you opened the door.
“Atsumu—” you started, flustered.
His chin dipped to your shoulder, breath warm against your ear.
Then, quieter than before, stripped of all the bravado he usually wore:
“You’re beautiful no matter what you wear.”
Your breath caught.
The words weren’t teasing, weren’t flirty—they were soft, honest, almost shy in a way Atsumu rarely let anyone see.
You felt him squeeze you once, like he needed you to really hear it.
“Baggy shirt, bed hair, anythin’,” he murmured, voice warm and steady. “I’m still gonna think you’re perfect.”
You turned in his arms, slow and deliberate, until you were facing him fully. His hands settled instinctively at your waist, thumbs brushing lazy, grounding circles against your hips. He looked at you like he wasn’t sure you were real — like maybe you’d disappear if he blinked too fast.
Your arms slipped around his neck, fingers threading into the messy strands of hair he’d clearly run too many hands through on the way over. His breath hitched, just barely, when you leaned in.
Then you kissed him.
Soft, slow, nothing like the frantic heat from earlier. This one was warm — steady — a feeling that unfolded in your chest rather than crashed.
Atsumu melted into it instantly.
His hands tightened at your waist, drawing you closer like it was instinct, like his body had decided for him. He kissed you back with a low, quiet sound that was nothing but relief and want and something achingly tender.
When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, eyes half-lidded, voice a little rough around the edges.
“Ya can’t do that,” he whispered.
You blinked. “Do what?”
A crooked smile tugged at his mouth. “Kiss me like that first thing in the mornin’. I’ll never leave.”
You snorted softly. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”
That stopped him.
His eyes lifted to yours — bright, startled, hopeful — and you felt the shift in him like a physical thing.
Atsumu opened his mouth, maybe to joke, maybe to deflect, but no words came. Instead he just held you, quiet for once, searching your face like he could memorize every second of this.
Then:
“…I'm sure Osamu’s gonna kill me,” he said, voice softer than the words deserved. “But I don’t care. Not if it means I get this.”
He kissed you again—urgent, messy, tasting of morning air and something uniquely Atsumu. His hands slid from your waist to cradle your thighs, lifting you against him in one fluid motion that stole your breath. Your legs locked instinctively around his hips as he stumbled blindly into your apartment, his mouth never leaving yours, hot and demanding between ragged breaths.
“Where’s—” Another kiss, deeper, swallowing your gasp. “—your room?” The question rasped against your lips, rough with need.
He moved like certainty—muscles coiled beneath your thighs—shouldering open the first door he found. Morning light spilled through gauzy curtains, painting stripes across the familiar mess of your sheets. Then he was lowering you, not gently, but with a possessiveness that curled your toes.
Your back hit soft cotton, his body following yours instantly—knees bracketing your hips, hands pinning your wrists above your head. All breath vanished beneath his mouth claiming yours again—hot, urgent, tasting like impulse and the faint salt of his sprint. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, pulling a ragged sound from your throat.
He released your wrists, palms sliding down to grip the hem of your sleep shirt. You mirrored the motion—fingers curling beneath his damp joggers—each tug frantic, desperate. Fabric rasped as you stripped each other bare, tossing clothes carelessly aside until only skin pressed against fevered skin. His mouth trailed down your neck—nipping at your pulse, sucking a bloom of heat at your collarbone—each bite sharp enough to brand.
When he leaned back—braced on his knees above you—his gaze traced you like a map. From tangled hair fanned on your pillow, down flushed skin, lingering on each curve he’d only imagined before. His throat worked, fingers hovering near your hip like he couldn’t decide where to claim first. "God, you're..." he swallowed, voice broken. "Almost feel bad gettin' to see you like this." He shook his head, knuckles brushing your thigh. "‘Samu’s definitely gonna murder me."
A wicked impulse sparked. You stretched languidly beneath his stare—letting your knee brush his ribs—before murmuring, "Then show him what he’s missing." You lifted your phone from the nightstand, screen glowing. "Take a picture. For him."
Atsumu’s breath caught, his eyes widening as he stared down at you—half-naked, sprawled across your sheets like something out of a dream. The morning light hit your skin just right, painting warm gold across curves he’d only ever imagined touching.
He swallowed hard, fingers tightening in the bedding beside your head. “Y-ya serious?” His voice cracked, rough as gravel. “Sendin’ that… to ‘Samu?”
You tilted your chin higher, letting sunlight catch the marks he’d left blooming across your collarbone. “He sent me pictures of his breakfast yesterday.” You arched subtly, silk sheets whispering against bare skin. “This is breakfast.”
Atsumu snatched the phone like it might burn him. His thumb trembled against the screen—once, twice—before he steadied it with a shaky breath. The lens framed you: thighs parted just enough to hint at shadow, hair fanned like spilled ink, lips swollen from his kisses. For three heartbeats, silence thickened as he stared—not at the image, but at you raw and real beneath him. Then the shutter clicked, sharp as a gasp.
Atsumu’s thumb froze over the screen, his gaze locked on the image he’d just captured. The photo was perfect—golden light catching the flush on your skin, silk sheets tangled around you like secrets waiting to be unraveled. His chest rose and fell unevenly, pupils blown wide as he stared at the proof of what he’d done.
“Holy shit,” he breathed out, voice barely audible. “You’re gonna kill him.”
“Send it,” you whispered back, fingers curling against the sheets. The thrill twisted sharp in your chest—reckless, dangerous—as Atsumu’s thumb hovered over the group chat.
His gaze flickered between you and the phone like he was weighing sin against salvation. Then he tapped send. The soft chime echoed like a gunshot in the stillness. He tossed the phone aside as if it burned him, his eyes dark and desperate as they locked onto yours.
Atsumu’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your soft shorts in one fluid motion. The fabric slid down your thighs, pooling around your knees—revealing bare skin beneath. His breath hitched. "Commando, huh?" he murmured, thumb tracing the curve of your hipbone.
You arched into his touch instinctively. "You ran here before I could—" The words dissolved into a gasp as his palm slid between your thighs, fingers breaching slick heat.
His grin sharpened, predatory. "Already soaked." He curled two fingers deep, knuckles pressing against your walls. "Did you get excited sending that picture to 'Samu?"
You choked on air—yes—it was the thrill of being seen, of knowing Osamu's eyes were burning into that image right now while Atsumu's fingers drove into you. He withdrew slowly, coated to the knuckle, and licked them clean with a groan. "Fuck…"
He shoved your knees apart, settling between your thighs. No teasing preamble—just the blunt head of him pressing against your soaked entrance. One rough thrust buried him to the hilt. Your gasp shattered into a moan. Atsumu braced his weight on his forearms, caging your head, eyes locked on yours—dark, possessive, stripped raw.
"Mine," he growled against your lips, hips snapping back before slamming home again. "For now. Mine." Each word punctuated by the slap of skin, the groan of the bedframe, the dizzying stretch of him carving a place inside you that belonged only to him in this stolen moment.
Your phone buzzed violently on the nightstand—a frantic, insistent rhythm cutting through your shared gasps. The screen flashed:
**Osamu Calling**
Atsumu froze mid-thrust, hips flush against yours, buried deep. His gaze snapped to the phone, then back to you—a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his kiss-swollen lips.
"Perfect timing," he breathed against your neck, fingers tightening on your hip. Without breaking eye contact, he stretched across you, that sly grin sharpening as he hit answer and speakerphone. "Mornin', 'Samu," he purred, voice thick with exertion. "Missed us?"
He pulled out slow—agonizingly slow—leaving you achingly empty. Then pushed back in, deliberate and deep, stretching you around his girth. The drag was exquisite torture. You bit your lip hard to stifle the whimper clawing up your throat.
“Don’t,” Atsumu murmured, hot breath ghosting your ear as his hips rolled again. His thumb brushed your bitten lip. “Let him hear.” The command was velvet-wrapped steel. You gasped instead—sharp and ragged—as he angled deeper, hitting that sweet spot with bruising precision.
Silence crackled from the phone for a heartbeat. Then Osamu’s voice sliced through—low, tight, dripping with disbelief. “That picture… The hell are you two doing?” The unspoken accusation vibrated in the air: without me.
Atsumu’s grin turned feral against your throat. He rocked forward, grinding slow and deep, forcing another choked sound from you—this one unmistakable
“Just enjoying breakfast,” he answered casually, though his hips were anything but. Each stroke was calculated—shallow teasing retreats followed by deep, grinding thrusts that made the headboard creak against the wall.
Atsumu’s breath hitched as your inner muscles clenched around him—a sudden, deliberate squeeze that spoke volumes without a single word. His eyes darkened, pupils dilating as he processed what that reaction meant. The thrill of it—knowing you were getting off on Osamu listening—cracked something inside him.
Atsumu’s hand slid from your jaw to your throat—not squeezing, just resting—a possessive anchor against the dizzying rhythm.
Atsumu’s voice dropped to a possessive rasp against your neck. “Say my name when I’m inside you.” His hips slammed harder, deeper—punishing each syllable you might have spoken instead. “Not his.”
The command vibrated through you like a shockwave. Your back arched off the mattress, fingers clawing into his shoulders as he hit that perfect spot again and again. You couldn’t scream Osamu’s name while Atsumu was claiming every inch of your body—it felt sacrilegious somehow.
“Please, Atsumu—” you gasped, a wordless plea lost in the sound of his skin slapping yours.
Atsumu groaned low—half triumph, half surrender—and bent your knee to your chest. The shift deepened every thrust, his name spilling from your lips in ragged bursts as sensation blurred vision.
“You hear that, ‘Samu?” Atsumu’s voice dropped into that dangerous range—half purr, half growl—designed to shred nerves through the phone. His hips pounded harder now—faster—each impact shaking the headboard against the wall with deliberate force.
The rhythmic creaking of the bed filled the silence between breaths—yours ragged and broken, his controlled but sharp with effort. You could almost picture Osamu on the other end—fists clenched white-knuckled around his phone as he processed every sound he shouldn’t be hearing.
Osamu’s breath hitched again—this time louder, sharper. The sound was raw enough to make Atsumu’s smirk falter into something darker, more predatory.
“Sounds like someone’s enjoying the show,” Atsumu taunted into the phone, hips rolling deep as he leaned forward to capture your gasp between his teeth. “Don’t tell me you’re getting off listening to me fuck her.”
Your hips bucked involuntarily at his words—at the sheer audacity of it. Atsumu groaned low in approval as your walls tightened around him again. "That’s it," he whispered against your collarbone. "Let him hear how good you feel when I’m inside."
Atsumu’s fingers danced across your phone screen with practiced efficiency—speaker off, volume maxed. The device settled beside your head on the pillow, amplifying every sound from the other end. Your breathing hitched at what you heard: rough gasps punctuated by muffled curses—Osamu’s voice tight with restraint as he gave in to the audio torture.
“You hear that?” Atsumu murmured against your jaw, hips rolling slow and deep while his lips brushed your ear. “He’s losing his mind over there.” His thumb traced lazy circles over your clit as he spoke—each word timed perfectly with the sounds bleeding through your phone.
Your free hand clenched the sheet beside you—knuckles white—as you fought to stay quiet.
The faint sounds bleeding from your phone were unmistakable: Osamu’s breath rasping sharp and uneven, punctuated by a choked groan you’d only heard when he was buried deep inside you last night. It hit your nerves like a live wire—raw proof of his desperation.
Atsumu’s eyes locked onto yours—dark and knowing—as he registered the shift in your breathing. The way your walls tightened around him wasn’t just pleasure anymore—it was a reaction to Osamu’s raw need bleeding through the speaker.
“He’s losing it,” Atsumu murmured against your lips, hips rolling deeper with deliberate precision. “You’re so wet thinking about him touching himself while I’m inside you.”
You gasped, nails scraping his shoulders as Osamu’s choked groan echoed from the pillow beside you—sharp, urgent, unmistakably climaxing. The sound tore through you like lightning. Your spine arched instinctively towards it, walls clamping around Atsumu in a vice-like pulse that stole his breath. His hips stuttered—driven wild—as he drove deep into that frantic rhythm.
Atsumu’s fingers dug into your hips, anchoring you as his thrusts turned erratic—harder, faster—losing all control. A ragged cry tore from his throat, half your name, half sheer desperation. He pulled out abruptly—cock slick and throbbing—just as warmth spilled hot and thick across your lower belly in trembling arcs. His release painted your skin in pearlescent streaks, each pulse shuddering through him as he gasped above you—eyes squeezed shut, sweat dripping from his jaw.
Panting, he snatched the still-active phone from the pillow—voice rasping into the speaker, breathless but triumphant. "Sorry 'bout that, 'Samu," he managed, thumb stroking the smear of cum on your abdomen with possessive tenderness. "Got... carried away." A low groan echoed faintly from Osamu’s end—raw frustration masking something deeper. "Lunch’s on me," Atsumu added quickly. "Your favorite burger joint. Promise." He didn’t wait for a reply—thumb jabbing end call with jarring finality.
Chapter 8: The Safety of Being Seen
Chapter Text
Silence settled thickly—punctuated only by your shared breaths and the distant hum of city traffic beyond your window. Sunlight now climbed higher, painting harsh angles across the rumpled sheets. Atsumu’s gaze lingered on the mess cooling on your skin—a stark reminder.
"Gotta clean ya up," he muttered, voice still raspy. He rolled off the bed with a groan, movements fluid despite the exertion. "Where's your bathroom?"
"Down the hall..." You murmer, breathless. You watch as he heads out of the room, when Atsumu reappeared minutes later, carrying a warm washcloth and towel. He moved with that easy confidence you’d come to associate with him—no hesitation or awkwardness about seeing you like this.
“Lemme take care of ya,” he said softly, settling on the edge of the bed beside your hip. The washcloth was warm but not scalding—a deliberate temperature meant to soothe rather than shock.
His touch was unexpectedly tender as he wiped your stomach, eyes fixed on the task with a focus that felt heavier than intimacy. The silence stretched taut enough to snap—until he spoke without looking up.
"Heard ‘Samu’s voice... that last groan." His thumb brushed your hipbone, lingering on the bone-deep mark he’d left earlier. "You clamped down on me so hard... was it ‘cause of him?" The question hung raw in the air—a challenge wrapped in vulnerability.
You caught his wrist gently before the washcloth could retreat. "Yes," you admitted, watching his jaw tighten. "But not just him." You pulled his hand towards your chest, pressing his palm flat against your racing heartbeat. "That sound you made when I squeezed you—half moan, half growl? That broke me." Atsumu’s breath stuttered, eyes widening as you sat up, silk sheets pooling around your waist. "It was both of you."
Before he could respond, you swung your legs off the bed. The chill of hardwood floors bit into your soles—sharp, grounding. You strode toward your closet without glancing back, acutely aware of Atsumu’s gaze tracking your every movement. With deliberate efficiency, you plucked simple cotton underwear—practical black—and a soft bralette. Each piece landed on the bed beside him with soft thumps: a silent rebuke to the morning’s chaos. "Get dressed," you smiled, pulling jeans and a hoodie from their hangers. "Osamu’s waiting."
Atsumu snorted, abandoning the damp washcloth. Faded jeans slid over lean hips, zipped with sharp finality. He snatched his tee from the floor. His thumbs flew across his phone screen as he fired off a message in the group chat.
Atsumu: We’re heading out now.
He locked his phone with a flick and the door clicked shut behind you both, the hallway cool against warm skin and warmer memories.
The walk wasn’t long—just a few blocks—but Atsumu stayed close the whole way, brushing your hand every few steps like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold it yet, or if he’d explode if he did.
The rust-red awning of Osamu’s favorite burger place came into view. Atsumu exhaled, bracing himself.
The bell above the door chimed as you stepped inside. Grease, toasted buns, and the low murmur of lunchtime chatter wrapped around you. Atsumu scanned the room instinct instinctually.
“He’s in the back,” he muttered, already heading deeper into the restaurant.
Sure enough, Osamu sat in one of the corner booths, arms crossed, expression flat in that very specific I’m judging both of you but I love you anyway way he’d perfected.
You slid into the booth opposite him, Atsumu dropping down beside you with a dramatic thump.
Osamu didn’t look pissed.
He didn’t look annoyed, either.
If anything… he looked a little left out.
His arms stayed folded, thumb tapping absently against his bicep as his gaze flicked from you to Atsumu and back again. When he finally spoke, it wasn’t sharp — just quiet, almost more to himself than to either of you.
“…So this counts as his solo day, then.”
Atsumu didn’t tense.
Didn’t get defensive.
Didn’t even try to spin it.
He just barked a laugh, loud enough that a couple people in the next booth looked over.
“Yeah, okay — fair,” he admitted, throwing his hands up. “I definitely jumped the gun. I’ll take the penalty.”
Osamu blinked… then huffed a quiet, surprised laugh of his own.
“…Huh. Didn’t think you’d actually say that.”
“Please.” Atsumu nudged your knee under the table like he needed backup. “If me runnin’ like a madman across town doesn’t count as bein’ weak for her? Nothin’ will.”
Osamu’s mouth twitched, pleased in a way he didn’t bother hiding. He leaned back in the booth, arms crossing loosely.
“Good. Then we’re all on the same page.”
You watched them settle — Atsumu shameless and unbothered, Osamu wearing the faintest smirk of victory. The air between them stayed warm, easy. No jealousy. No sharp edges. Just the three of you working out your rhythm like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Atsumu bumped your shoulder as he leaned closer, fingers brushing your thigh, breath warm on your ear. "You wanna make it up to him?" His voice was barely above a whisper, laced with mischief. "Under the table. Right now."
The silverware clattered against the tiled floor beneath them—a deliberate accident that drew Osamu’s attention from his menu.
"Oops," you breathed, already sliding from the booth before he could react. The worn vinyl bench scraped softly against your jeans as you dropped low, disappearing beneath the table. Shadows swallowed you whole.
Kneeling on the cool tile, you crawled towards Osamu—heart slamming against your ribs like a trapped bird. Osamu’s breath hitched as your fingers traced the seam of his jeans—slowly, deliberately—each stroke sending a jolt through him that made his knuckles whiten against the tabletop.
Your eyes locked onto his, you placed a single finger against your lips: Shhh.
Osamu’s eyes widened fractionally, pupils dilating as he registered the warning. His jaw tightened—once—and then he gave a barely perceptible nod. The message was clear: play along.
Your fingers moved lower, tracing the hard outline straining against denim. A low, choked noise escaped Osamu’s throat—a sound instantly swallowed by the restaurant’s lunchtime chatter. You undid his belt buckle with silent precision, the rasp of leather slipping free barely audible over clattering plates. The zipper lowered inch by agonizing inch, revealing the dark cotton beneath.
Heat radiated through the fabric as you pressed your lips against him—slow, deliberate—feeling his hips jerk reflexively against the vinyl seat.
Your fingers curled into his belt loops, pulling him closer to the edge of the booth as you freed his cock fully. The sudden weight slapped your cheek—hot, thick velvet against skin—before settling heavy against your jawline. Osamu’s breath escaped in a sharp hiss, slowly, deliberately, one of his hands slid down to cradle the back of your head—fingers tangling deep in your hair—anchor and permission fused into one trembling touch.
You swallowed him whole without warning—no teasing preamble—your throat opening around him in a slick, greedy rush that punched the air from Osamu's lungs. His thighs trembled violently beneath the tabletop, fingers clenched hard in your hair—fists tight enough to sting—but he didn’t pull away.
Instead, his hips pressed forward instinctively, driving deeper into the wet heat of your mouth. The sudden depth made him gasp—sharp and ragged.
Above you, Atsumu leaned back casually against the booth, feet propped on the opposite seat as if he hadn’t just orchestrated this chaos.
Osamu’s fingers twisted deeper into your hair—not cruel, but insistent—guiding your head down with each slow, deliberate thrust. The rhythm was relentless—deep enough to choke, shallow enough to tease—each stroke timed to the frantic pulse in his cock.
A low groan vibrated in his chest, swallowed by the clatter of plates and nearby laughter as he spilled hot and sudden down your throat—a salty, bitter flood that hit your tongue thick and heavy. You swallowed greedily—once, twice—not wasting a single drop until his hips stilled, trembling against your jaw. Only then did you pull back slowly.
You snatched the fallen fork nearby, letting it clatter deliberately against the tile floor again—louder this time—as you scrambled backwards, wiping your mouth discreetly with the back of your wrist. Using the table’s edge for leverage, you slid back onto the booth bench beside Atsumu, your breathing remarkably steady despite the lingering salt on your tongue.
You smoothed your hair back into place, catching Osamu’s eyes across the table. "Got it," you murmured with a pretty smile, pretending to brush grime off your jeans. Osamu’s expression remained unreadable—except for the faint flush creeping up his neck—as he hastily fixed his pants beneath the table. His fingers trembled slightly when he reached for his water glass.
The waiter’s footsteps approached their table—timing perfect enough to feel like fate’s cruel joke.
“Ready to order?” He smiled obliviously, pad already poised. Osamu cleared his throat roughly, folding his menu with deliberate focus.
“Double bacon cheeseburger. Extra pickles.” His voice emerged deeper than usual, a trace hoarse—like gravel scraped raw.
Atsumu grinned, leaning casually against the booth back. “Same for me,” he chimed in, nodding toward Osamu. “But hold the pickles. And extra fries.” His knee nudged yours under the table—warm and possessive—while his thumb traced idle circles on your thigh. The scent of sizzling beef and toasted sesame buns thickened the air around you.
"And for the lady?" The waiter turned to you, pen hovering. You ordered a simple cheeseburger from the menu, your voice unnaturally bright against the lingering salt in your throat. The waiter gathered menus with practiced efficiency, oblivious to the tension thrumming between you.
The waiter’s footsteps faded toward the kitchen, leaving a pocket of charged silence in their booth. Osamu took a long sip of water—icy cold against his flushed throat.
Beneath the table, your sneaker found his shoe. Slowly, deliberately, you slid the toe along his ankle, then higher—up the firm line of his calf beneath worn jeans. His knee jerked instinctively against yours. You pressed closer still, the rubber sole dragging softly against rough denim until your foot rested warm against his thigh. Osamu froze mid-sip, eyes locked on yours over the rim of his glass—dark and unreadable.
"I'm sorry," you murmured, your voice barely audible over the clatter of plates nearby. "And I love you." Your foot pushed higher, pressing firm against the hard muscle of his inner thigh—right where you’d swallowed him moments ago. Osamu’s throat worked as he lowered his glass. A tremor ran through his leg beneath your touch. "We never talked..." you added softly, "...about sex on solo days. Not really. Everything so far was always the three of us."
Atsumu leaned forward abruptly, elbows planted on the tabletop. "She’s right," he admitted, surprising even himself. His gaze shifted from Osamu to you, then back. "That picture from this morning? Fuckin' beautiful. Couldn’t help it, but...I shouldn’t have answered the phone when you called... Sorry 'Sumu." A gesture of genuine apology.
Osamu’s thumb traced condensation on his glass—slow circles—before his eyes locked onto yours.
You offered him a soft look—an invitation to speak if he wanted to.
Osamu exhaled through his nose, a small huff of laughter shaking loose.
“…It was hot,” he admitted, eyes dipping for a second before rising again. “The picture. Hearing you on the phone...” His smile tugged lopsided. “Guess that’s part of why it stung. Bein’ left out of somethin’ I actually liked the sound of.”
Your foot brushed his under the table—gentle, grounding.
Osamu didn’t pull away.
Before you could reply, the plates arrived—burgers, fries, the works—breaking the tension cleanly. The server retreated, and the three of you sat in the cozy hush of the corner booth, steam rising from the food.
You poked at a fry. “Do we still want to do solo days?”
Atsumu paused mid–mid-unwrapping his burger, glancing at Osamu.
But Osamu didn’t hesitate—not this time.
“Yeah,” he said, surprising both you and his brother with the certainty in his voice. “We do. Just… working out the kinks.”
You nodded, the relief subtle but real.
Atsumu leaned back in the booth, arms stretched wide. “Okay, okay—so, working out the kinks. Makes sense.” He paused, tone dipping into something a shade quieter. “Is sex a hard no on solo days?”
Osamu went still.
Thinking.
Not avoiding—actually thinking.
He wiped his thumb absently on his napkin, gaze dropping to his plate before lifting to both of you.
“…No,” he said at last, voice steady. “Sex is fine. That’s not the problem.” He glanced at you, then at Atsumu. “The whole point of solo days was to improve us. All of us. Not to lock anything down or make rules outta fear.”
Atsumu let out a low whistle, leaning back like he’d just witnessed a miracle. “Damn,” he drawled. “Who knew you had mature adult mode in there? Proud of ya, ‘Samu. Real growth moment.”
Osamu didn’t rise to the bait—not fully.
But one eyebrow arched, unimpressed.
“Mature, huh?” he muttered. “Look," Osamu’s teasing faded, replaced with something quieter—solid as bedrock. “I want this to work. All of it. You. Her. Me.” His gaze flicked to his brother. “I know you love her.”
Osamu shifted his attention to you, and this time he didn’t look away. “And I do too.” His voice didn’t tremble, didn’t waver.
It just was.
Honest. Uncomplicated. Real.
“I’m not expectin’ things to be perfect,” he said. “We’re gonna mess up. There’s gonna be days we get confused, or jealous, or say something dumb.” His fingers drummed once on the table, firm and final. “But I’m not runnin’. And I’m not givin’ up over bumps. I’m here. And I’m gonna keep tryin’.”
Atsumu’s grin softened around the edges—uncharacteristically gentle.
“Damn, Osamu,” he murmured. “Didn’t know you’d make lunch emotional.”
Osamu rolled his eyes, but his mouth twitched upward.
“Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, finally lifting his burger. “That was my quota of feelings for the month.”
Atsumu snorted. “Liar. You’ll cry again by dessert.”
“Keep talkin’ and I’ll make you cry first.”
Their bickering was easy, familiar—but lighter now. Less like brothers sparring, more like partners settling back into the same warm orbit.
You picked up your burger, but your eyes stayed on Osamu, your foot still hooked lightly against his under the table. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t tense. If anything… he shifted a little closer, letting your ankle press against the firm line of his calf.
Atsumu noticed—of course he did—and bumped your shoulder with his.
“So,” he said, mouth half-full of fries, tone purposely casual, “we workin’ through solo day rules right now, or savin’ that for later?”
Osamu chewed, swallowed, and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“We’re already talkin’,” he said. “Might as well finish.”
You nodded, heartbeat steadying.
“Okay,” you murmured. “So… solo days still happen. Sex is allowed. We’re not doing rules out of fear.” You paused, fingers idly brushing a fry through a smear of sauce. “Then what do we need to talk out?”
Osamu’s foot nudged yours back—gentle, deliberate.
“Communication,” he said simply. “And not assumin’ the others won’t want something. Or won’t be okay with something.” His gaze dipped for a heartbeat, not ashamed—just honest. “I didn’t like bein’ left out today. But not because you did something wrong. Because we didn’t talk. Any of us.”
Atsumu winced slightly, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Yeah… that part’s on me,” he admitted. “The picture from last night...and the one from this morning with the text—yeah. I lost all sense of reason. My bad.”
Osamu snorted. “You? Lose reason? Never would’ve guessed.”
Atsumu kicked him under the table.
Your lips curled, warmth settling into your chest.
Osamu leaned forward, elbows braced on the table, fingertips still glistening with grease. His gaze held yours steady—gentle, but impossibly direct.
“I’m actually curious,” he murmured. “And don’t take offense—it wasn’t something you mentioned when you told us what you like…” His words slowed, deliberate.
“But with that picture Atsumu took of you… spread out like that in the morning light… and you keeping me on speakerphone while he fucked you… and even now—”
He gestured subtly toward the floor beneath the table. “—you didn’t hesitate when I assume Tsumu coaxed you under there. Are you an exhibitionist?” The question landed softly, without judgment—a genuine curiosity wrapped in the warmth of fries and lingering salt.
Atsumu piped in too, eyes gleaming as he stole a fry from your plate. “Yeah, like you tightened up around me when you heard him moan into the phone. Shit was hot but definitely new.” His voice dropped lower, intimate despite the chatter around them. “Felt like your body was answering for you—like you got off on knowing he was listening just as much as on what I was doing.” He traced a slow circle on your thigh beneath the table, his thumb pressing into the muscle.
Both of them watched you.
You felt your pulse skip.
“I’m… not sure that I’d call myself an exhibitionist,” you said finally, the words slow as you worked them out. “Not really. I mean—I’ve never wanted strangers staring at me or anything like that.”
Atsumu nodded like he’d expected that.
“And going under the table?” you continued, shifting slightly in your seat. “That wasn’t just impulse.” Your gaze flicked to Atsumu knowingly. “He wouldn’t have suggested it without checking the room first. I know that. I trust that.”
Atsumu straightened a little, almost preening. “Damn right.”
You exhaled, your shoulders dipping as you tried to name the feeling.
“It’s not about being seen,” you said softly. “It’s about being seen by you two. Or… almost seen. Or the idea of you watching each other with me. It feels safe because it’s you. Because I trust you both not to push me into something I’d regret.”
Osamu’s expression shifted—less curiosity, more understanding, something deep and warm settling behind his eyes.
“So not exhibitionism for the world,” he said, voice low and sure. “More like…” He searched for the right phrasing. “You get off on bein’ wanted. Watched. But only by us.”
Your breath tightened for a heartbeat.
“…Yeah,” you whispered. “I think that’s it.”
Atsumu grinned, but it wasn’t cocky this time. It was soft. Proud. A little awed. “Shit,” he murmured. “That’s even hotter.”
Osamu rolled his eyes, but there was no heat in it—only that quiet, familiar fondness he didn't bother to hide anymore. “Of course you’d say that,” he muttered.
Atsumu only nudged you with his shoulder and snatched the last fry off your plate like a man who knew he was loved enough to get away with it.
The moment settled warm around all three of you—easy, steady, without the earlier sharp edges. Conversation drifted into comfortable nonsense after that: Osamu complaining about supply prices, Atsumu insisting his meme collection was “art,” you chiming in just to watch the twins bicker over absolutely nothing.
When the check dropped, Atsumu grabbed it instantly.
“My treat, remember?" he declared, already pulling out his wallet. “Since I caused the chaos today.”
Osamu snorted. “About time you followed through on somethin’.”
“Wow,” Atsumu said, standing to go pay. “That was uncalled for. True, but uncalled for.”
You slid out of the booth with Osamu, his hand brushing yours—accidental, then not. Atsumu returned a moment later, receipt fluttering triumphantly between his fingers.
“Alright,” he said, pushing open the door with his hip. “Let’s get home. I’m emotionally spent.”
Osamu bumped his shoulder on the way out. “You’re emotionally spent because you ate your burger too fast.”
“That was a battle, ‘Samu. Respect the struggle.”
You laughed, falling into step between them as the three of you stepped into the afternoon sun—shoulders brushing, hands grazing, warmth threading through each touch.
starrylina on Chapter 1 Wed 05 Nov 2025 09:53AM UTC
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