Warning: Strong language, implications of domestic abuse
July — September, 2008
It was hard. Atsumu thought he would be able to take it in stride like he did with most things, but this was different. This wasn't like the kids back in Yako Junior High, who whispered behind his back every opportunity they got just because they were losers who couldn't score. The people behind the screens were like shadows in the dark, their identities completely indiscernible. They criticized every action he performed, found fault with every word that passed through his lips.
But still. He set a volleyball to himself in his bed. Shō had moved them to a different location, a boarding house of sorts. It wasn't as fancy as the hotel, but it was okay.
"I'm home!"
At least ma's happy. Tch.
The volleyball landed in his hands and didn't go back up. Atsumu pushed himself up and out of bed, padding to the kitchen where his mother had just returned from a lunch with the director and some other staff members and parents. She was glowing.
His fingers itched—he wanted to slap the smile off her face. "Where's 'Samu?" Some of the kids had been invited, too—Osamu had been one of them. Hanae probably would've been there, too, if she hadn't gotten eliminated a week or so ago. It had been so out of the blue—as if she had wanted to be kicked from the show.
"The director took them out for ice-cream," explained Akari, not looking at him as she drew out a big packet of MSG from her grocery bag.
"Seriously?"
Akari finally gazed at him, her features softening. "Atsumu... Do you hate me?"
"What?" Atsumu flinched back. "I... 'Course not, ma." Truthfully, though, he wasn't sure. On one hand, she was his mother—the very woman who had brought him into this world. But... There were too many 'buts' about it. I dunno if I hate ya. But I know I don't love ya, either.
The woman sagged, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She didn't respond, just started unpacking the groceries again.
Atsumu didn't help her.
"You know," Akari said eventually, tossing the bag into a basket on the floor. "You don't have to read those comments, Atsumu. They're just words and nonsense."
"Duh."
She cocked a brow, not very impressed with his attitude. "Well, I'm glad you understand." She tapped her finger on the table, where she had placed two nondescript boxes. "But don't make me regret this."
"Hm?" Atsumu's gaze drifted to the boxes, eyes widening when he realized. "Are those...?"
"Yep." Akari opened one of them, revealing a shiny black phone. "This is for you. Your first phone, Atsumu."
"Whoa...!" The dark clouds receded for the meantime, Atsumu gingerly taking the box from her and admiring the new gadget. It was a flip phone—not one of those fancy new smartphones, but still stylish. Still, it didn't feel right exactly. There was a weight that came with the gift, that filled his mouth with sand. It felt like a reward. But one for keeping his head down and his mouth shut. Was this supposed to somehow help compensate for the wringer he was being put through? "Thanks, ma."
"I thought if was time for you to finally have one," Akari stated. "You're in middle school, after all, even if your academics have been on pause for a while..." She shook her head. "It's not much. You'll be able to catch up."
"Uh huh." Atsumu picked up the box that was meant to be Osamu's, too, setting his own aside. Upon opening the lid, he found that his brother's phone was a different color—a pearly silver as opposed to Atsumu's midnight black.
"Here, add my contacts, and I'll buy a SIM card later..."
Osamu came back in the late afternoon.
It was easier to sneak out of bed now that he and Osamu had separate beds. Atsumu took full advantage of this, going to where the laptop was being charged and taking a seat on the carpet. He hastily keyed in the password, opened up the internet browser, and typed in his own name in the search bar.
Everything had escalated. Had been escalating for a long time, like a marching band from hell stalking closer and closer to him.
The amount of hate forums had multiplied by a large number, and there were now videos on Spacebook and YooTube where people—dumb teenagers, mostly—laughed hysterically as they held his picture over a fire. There were a few compilations depicting his poor behavior, too, all of them with an alarmingly high number of views. It had gone international as well—Atsumu had seen a few Chinese and Korean comments, though he didn't bother translating them. The Japanese ones were already enough.
It was not uncommon to see Osamu's name caught up in the mix of things, too. Shō's plan had worked—by casting Osamu in a favorable light and Atsumu in an unfavorable one, the views and ratings had gone up astronomically. Osamu gathered a lot of fans as a result, while Atsumu...
He let out a breath as he tilted his head back, the crown of his head bumping gently against the wall. I guess some things never change.
HOW TO TELL THE MIYA TWINS APART! GOOD VS. EVIL!
Miya Atsumu needs to be held in a mental ward, and here's why
Top 10 Bratty Moments by Miya Atsumu
Every time Osamu was done with his twin
Miya Osamu Fan Cafe!
THE PSYCHOLOGY OF MIYA ATSUMU: WHY SPOILING YOUR KIDS IS A BAD IDEA IN THE LONG RUN!
Yeah, yeah. Talk all you want.
It's not like it matters to me.
Like ma said, they're just words.
Atsumu rubbed his eyes.
It doesn't hurt.
It doesn't.
"I can't do this anymore."
The words came tumbling out one day. He didn't mean to say it. He was sure he could take more. But they came out anyway as he walked through the door, and Atsumu tossed his bag onto the floor, almost hitting Osamu with it.
"'Tsumu?" Osamu blinked, watching him storm off to their room.
"Leave him," Akari advised, but Osamu ignored her.
Atsumu heard his footsteps before he lifted up his head from the pillow. With a low groan, he found himself staring into Osamu's grey eyes. "Whaddya want...?"
"You look like hell," Osamu deadpanned.
"Yeah, well..."
"You've been gettin' up early again, haven't ya?" accused Osamu. "'Tsumu, you dumbass! Didn't I tell ya to just ignore 'em?"
With a sudden burst of energy, Atsumu sat up with a loud grunt. "It ain't easy, okay?!" The mattress wobbled; Atsumu bobbed up and down momentarily. "The things they say...! I can't stop readin' 'em, okay?!"
"Why not?!"
"I don't know!"
"Atsumu! Osamu!" Akari came around the corner. "What is going on?"
"'Tsumu's been readin' the comments again."
Atsumu saw red. "'Samu, you snitchin' bastard!" He tackled his twin onto the floor, but Akari pulled him off before he could do anything.
"Atsumu!"
Osamu got up, looking stricken. "Dammit, 'Tsumu...!"
"Both of you, that's enough," Akari reprimanded, scowling. "I'm going to settle this nonsense once and for all. We're going to read all of this together and laugh at it. Because that's just what they are—laughable."
Atsumu didn't know what else he'd been expecting from the woman, but it certainly wasn't this. He hadn't even expected her to address this at all. So, against his better judgement, they all sat down in front of the laptop, both boys sitting on either side of Akari. As they scrolled through the hate, Atsumu's ears grew redder and redder, and Osamu's cheeks lost more and more color.
"Honestly," Akari clicked her tongue, "Were these written by children? I can't believe how obsessed you are over them, Atsumu."
Somehow, this was more humiliating.
Atsumu clenched his fists. "I—"
"Shut up."
Akari frowned, then turned to Osamu. They both did. "Osamu?"
"I said shut up, ma." Osamu stood, his chair screeching as he trembled.
"Osamu—!"
Without warning, Osamu grabbed the laptop and threw it across the room. It smashed into pieces against the wall, and whatever Atsumu had been about to say completely fizzled out of his brain. "Those arrogant, stupid, stupid pigs!" He scrambled around the table to stomp on the remaining pieces. "I'll kill 'em! I'll fuckin' kill all of 'em—!"
"Osamu, stop! That's enough!"
"How can ya stand this?!"
Osamu was talking to him, realized Atsumu. His brother's chest was heaving up and down, his hair tangled and unruly. Swallowing a lump in his throat, Atsumu merely replied, "'Cause I'm doin' it for you, jerk."
"If I knew it would get this this bad, I wouldn't have letcha...!" Osamu sagged like a rag-doll, his energy sapped.
"Atsumu..."
He glanced at his mother. "Yeah, ma?"
"I'll talk to Shō," Akari promised. "About you leaving. I'm sure it won't be a problem."
Atsumu remembered the last time she had made such a vow.
But he grinned anyway, with childish glee that never reached his eyes.
There was a beat.
"I'll clean this up," said Osamu.
"Stop. Please."
Atsumu, his eyes ringed with dark circles like a raccoon's, was kneeling down at the depository of the vending machine when he first heard the alarm in her voice. His hair was a mess—he hadn't washed it in days. But it didn't matter anyway—maybe it was evil of him, but he was ditching the show. Akari was already talking to the director in his office about it.
The voice had come from around the corner. Curious, Atsumu collected his drink—a lemon soda—and peeked around the wall to see Chen and Miwa, both of their faces twisted in an unpleasant expression. There was something oily about the scene, and Atsumu grimaced, waiting to see what would happen next.
"I'm not interested," Miwa told him firmly, even though she was backed up against the wall. "Leave me alone, Chen."
"Just one night," Chen insisted, and Atsumu felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up.
Are you frickin' shittin' me right now? He glared at Chen's side profile, clenching his hand around his drink can. That slimy bastard!
"I have a boyfriend."
"No. You don't."
Miwa froze. Then she bared her teeth at him. "And what the hell would you know?! Have you been stalking me or something?!"
"I don't need to stalk anyone when you've made it so blatant, you slut! You think nobody knows? You think that nobody knows that you've been sneaking around the damn set with—"
It was probably high time for Atsumu to find an adult to diffuse the situation, but one had already presented herself before him. Atsumu observed, intrigued, as Takagi rushed past him and shoved Chen away from the stylist.
"What do you think you're doing?!" Takagi hissed, pointing a finger at him as she pulled Miwa aside. Atsumu could see her face clearly now—she looked positively terrified; her face was ghostly white and there was sweat visibly beading at her forehead. "This is highly unprofessional!"
"Oh, please," Chen drawled, putting his hands into his pockets in a perfect picture of nonchalance. "As if you can say anything about professionalism, Assistant."
"I don't know what you're talking about—"
"Stop acting dumb, the both of you. I'm not fucking blind." Atsumu actually took a step back when he sauntered forward to stand over Takagi's slight form. She was even shorter than Miwa, and Chen towered over her by two heads. "Stop making me out to be the bad guy here. If I'm disgusting, then you two are even worse."
Takagi was trembling. "How dare you."
"What? Am I wrong?" Chen tilted his head in devilish innocence. "It's not right, you know. At least you have the decency to sneak around. No one wants to see two women going at it in broad daylight."
"It's not like that!" Miwa protested, more distressed than Atsumu had ever seen her. Strands of her hair were flying all over the place, and she struggled to flatten them as she passed her hand through her hair. "I... I promise you."
"You don't have to lie. He already knows."
"Who does?"
"Who do you think? Shō knows. Soon, everyone will, too."
Miwa held Takagi up when the brown-haired woman almost fell to her knees in shock. "You... You're a monster."
Chen threw back his head and laughed, the sound sending chills down Atsumu's spine. "Don't be name-calling now. You're not exactly in a position to be lashing out, Kageyama-san. Consider this a warning. Shō knows everything. That you're lesbians, and that you plan to smear his name because of that Atsumu kid."
"It's not right!" Miwa shouted. "He's only a child! You know what, I don't care if people know about me. Liking men and women... Who gives a shit, honestly? Right, Chiasa?" When Takagi didn't answer, she deflated. "Chiasa?"
"... They'll kill me..."
Atsumu couldn't bear to listen anymore. He turned away from the situation and slumped against the wall, next to the vending machines. Just what the hell was going on? Was this about him? His name had been mentioned toward the end, but... Likin' men and women? Are Kageyama-san and Takagi-san gay? Atsumu cracked his soft drink open and took a sip, hoping that it would help. It didn't. Not really. Is that really a big deal...? Another gulp. Ugh, dammit...
The voices died down. They would probably be emerging from the hallway soon, and they'd see him. Atsumu got up and went somewhere else—it didn't matter where, as long as they were none the wiser of his eavesdropping. He arrived in front of the closed door that led to Director Shō's office. Then he pushed the door open, and all eyes were on him. Shō was seated at his desk, and his mother sitting opposite him. To his surprise, though, there was another person—a pale girl in her late teens sitting next to the director. She was wearing a light blue summer dress, her hands folded in her lap.
"Ah, Atsumu-kun," Shō broke the silence first, "You have good timing. Why don't you take a seat?"
Atsumu grunted, pulling up a chair next to his mother. Their arms didn't touch.
Perhaps he had been glancing at the teenager too often or too blatantly, because Shō said, "She is... a friend of mine."
"Hello," the girl greeted, dipping her head slightly. "My name is Hirakawa Noriko."
Atsumu mirrored the gesture. "Uh. Hey." Deciding to forget about her presence for now, he focused his attention on Shō. "Whaddya want? I'm quittin' the show no matter what."
"Yes, and I understand that." Shō pulled out a sheet of paper from one of his drawers and placed it on the table. Atsumu leaned forward warily.
"What is this?"
"For your silence," Shō explained with the tone of an elementary school teacher. He pushed it toward them. "To put it bluntly, I can't have you running your mouth about things, no matter how fantastical they sound. Should you sign this now, I'll offer your brother, Osamu-kun, the opportunity of a lifetime to work with me."
Atsumu stared at the innocent piece of paper, full of words and clauses and laws that he didn't understand. Then his gaze shifted to the blank space at the bottom where he was supposed to sign his name. There was a space for the signature of a guardian, too—Akari had already scribbled the kanji of her name on the line.
His silence for the success of his brother.
What about me? The question was on the very tip of his tongue. What do I get outta this?
But they were all looking at him. Expecting him to make the right choice. The smart choice.
"Well?" prompted Shō.
"Atsumu," Akari said tentatively, reaching out to touch his shoulder.
Atsumu's throat bobbed. He picked up the pen. It was heavy in his hand.
"Stop," Hirakawa suddenly said, drawing their attention away from him. "Stop pressuring him. He's twelve, isn't he? You can't just dump a decision like that on him. At least give him time." She turned her pitiful gaze to the director. "Please?"
Shō sighed. "You're right, dear. I'll give you until the end of the competition to decide. Talk it over with your brother and your mother."
They were sent out after that. Akari closed the door behind them; all Atsumu could look at, though, was the contract and not his mother. "Ma," Atsumu said abruptly, still not looking at her. "I... I need ta be alone right now."
"Of course. I'll wait in the car. Your brother will be coming off the set soon, anyway."
Once again, Atsumu's legs worked on autopilot. He had pretty much committed the entire layout of the building to memory. It wasn't hard—the studio wasn't awfully big; clearly, the majority of the KidProdigy budget had gone to other places. He walked past the vending machines, past the door that said 'Do Not Enter Filming in Progress' and to the back rooms, where the contestants normally waited to be brought out.
Then his ears pricked when his name floated through the corridors.
"—Atsumu doesn't deserve this. I'm begging you, Chiasa."
That's Kageyama-san's voice.
Quickly, Atsumu pressed himself against the wall next to the ajar door. His half-finished soda can, which he had wrapped the contract around, was warm in his hands by now.
"I'm sorry," Takagi's voice came next, sounding thick and muffled. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm... We shouldn't see each other anymore."
"W-what?"
"Miwa, they'll kill me if they find out. My family... They'll never accept me. This can't continue! Please, I'm begging you, Miwa. This never happened, okay? We were never in love. There was no relationship. And there was no devil's editing."
"... You said you wanted to help him."
"That was before they found out about us! Do you know what Shō and even Chen could do to me?! They'll ruin me. I'll die. Even if I'm not beaten to death, I'll be shunned forever. I know I'm selfish and a coward, but...I'm not strong enough." She sobbed. "I'd rather him than me. Oh god, I'd rather him than me."
"Then... What now?"
"I think... I need to let you go."
Her voice was frosty. "You already have. I won't tell anyone, anyway, so you have nothing to worry about."
"I know, but... I'm sorry. Miw—Kageyama-san. You're fired."
Atsumu threw his soda into the bin just before the kids started streaming out of the studio. He leaned against the wall, shoulders hunched, as he watched them go by, all chattering excitedly. There were fewer of them than before—they had already reached the pointy end of the competition. Some of them glanced at him when they walked past, but most ignored his slumped form.
At some point, he took the contract out of his jacket pocket and unfolded it, holding it up in front of his face so he wouldn't have to see them.
From his peripheral, he saw a blob of reddish-brown. Upon closer inspection, he found that it was none other than Misumi Megumi, still in the competition despite her weak-willed personality.
Guess she must've been an alright cook after all.
Before he could tell her to go away, she bowed to him, blurting out, "I'm sorry!"
He narrowed his eyes at her bent figure. "What for?"
"Just..." Megumi faltered. "Everything."
"Save it. I don't need yer pity."
Megumi shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Ah... Okay... I'm sorry for disturbing you. I'll just go."
"Wait."
She turned around, bewildered. "Yeah?"
"Have you seen 'Samu?"
"Oh, he and a few kids stayed behind. They were the top four for today, and the judges wanted to talk to them."
Atsumu sent her on her way after that. It wasn't difficult. There was no reason for her to stick around, and they both knew it. They weren't friends. They didn't even like each other. The only thing that they had in common was that they were both unfortunate in their own way.
The flow of children ended not long after she left. Atsumu faced the left, still waiting for the stragglers to come out as well.
"Hey, if it isn't Atsumu-san!"
He whipped his head around so fast he almost bashed his temple against the wall. "Wha—?! Oikawa?!"
Oikawa and a friend Atsumu vaguely recognized were approaching him, the former wearing a blue t-shirt while the later had a black singlet with a beetle skull on it. Pretty badass, but Atsumu still didn't know his name so it didn't really matter. "What's with that reaction, huh?" Oikawa teased, a lilting smile on his face.
"Anyone sane would have that sort of reaction to you," his friend sniped.
Atsumu decided right then that he was okay.
"How mean, Iwa-chan!" Oikawa was affronted. "You didn't have to come with me, you know."
"You need to be babysat at all times."
Oikawa harrumphed. "Whatever, Iwa-chan. Anyway," he turned back to Atsumu, "I just came to see this place one last time." He had been eliminated last week. "Hey, Atsumu-san? Is everything good on your end? I haven't gotten any texts from you."
"No phone, remember?" grumbled Atsumu, pretending that his mother had never gifted him or Osamu their first phones. "And like I'd ever text ya..."
From the puzzled tilt of his lip, 'Iwa-chan' probably had no idea what was going on. So Oikawa hadn't blabbed about anything, it seemed. Good. The contract was scrunched in his hand. I don't need ta to be blamed for another thing I didn't do...
"See you around then?" Oikawa said, a little more tenderly than usual.
"See ya never," Atsumu replied.
They left soon after, and he was alone again, but not for long. Osamu and the other top four kids were finally let out by the staff, and talking among themselves as they approached the lobby. As soon as Osamu spotted Atsumu there waiting, he said goodbye and ditched the other kids.
"Hey," Osamu greeted, a little breathlessly. "I thought you were quittin'. Why're ya here?"
Atsumu glanced around before saying, "No reason." Osamu didn't need to know about the contract yet. "Race ya to the car?"
Osamu frowned. "Hey, wait—"
But Atsumu had already dashed off.
"'Tsumu, ya damn loser, get back here!"
Lying to his brother had never really been a problem for him. Atsumu did it all the time—a habitual liar, Osamu liked to call him. He borrowed Osamu's stuff without giving it back, wore his clothes without his permission, and always pretended that it wasn't him who ate the last pudding cup.
Atsumu laughed as Osamu's footsteps, accompanied by some expletives, started up behind him. Ah... Sorry, 'Samu.
January, 2009
Filming ended sometime in early January. Osamu didn't win, but he was damn close. It snowed this winter, and Atsumu was adjusting his scarf when they stepped out of the airport. One of their mother's friends were picking them up. Akari was pushing a trolley with all of their luggage—old and new alike—and the twins followed close behind. Frost crunched beneath the soles of their shoes as they crossed the road to the car park.
"She's doing rounds," said Akari when the make and model of her friend's car was nowhere to be seen. "To avoid parking fees."
"Huh," said Osamu.
Atsumu tucked that life hack away for the future.
Their driver came through eventually, though, and they all got in. The air conditioner was blasting hot air out at full power, and Atsumu all but melted in his chair. All his muscles, previously stiff from the cold, loosened up until he was little more than a languid feline on a warm summer's day.
Akari and her friend made conversation, most of the contents pertaining to Osamu, during the drive, while the boys stared out the window. Osamu—who had also been gifted an MP3 player alongside his phone—had his earbuds in.
There was... distance.
But, finally, Osamu took out one earbud and offered it to Atsumu.
Wordlessly, Atsumu accepted it.
"It's good," he murmured.
Osamu gazed at him wearily. Atsumu didn't do quiet and defeated. It just wasn't him. He swallowed a lump in his throat, speaking up a little louder, "You're such an idiot, 'Tsumu."
A little of the fire he had come to associate with his bull-headed twin returned. "What was that?"
"You're an idiot," Osamu repeated, more firmly this time. Then, to Atsumu's horror, his brother's bottom lip began to tremble, tears appearing in the corners of his eyes. "'T-Tsumu, you...!"
"O-Oi," Atsumu punched him lightly in the shoulder, grinning weakly, "What's gotten into ya? What are ya—some baby?"
Through his tears, Osamu glared at him. "Shuddup!" Roughly, he wiped the tears away from his eyes. "You think I like cryin' in front of ya?"
"Boys?" Akari peered around the headrest. "Is everything okay back there?"
"We're fine, ma," Atsumu answered just as Osamu blew his nose into a tissue with the same aggression as he did when he spiked at a ball. 'Samu's cryin'? 'Cause of me?
Osamu cast him a look that he couldn't entirely discern but didn't say anything. And just like that, Atsumu fell into his own world, which spun with the same rhythm as the music flowing in their heads.
Home... He wasn't sure if he wanted to run far from it or collapse on the front porch of his house. The months had been hell, no matter how much it embarrassed him to admit. Some familiarity would do him good. But with that familiarity came...
"When you get home..." Akari spoke so softly that Atsumu almost didn't hear her. "Stay in your room. Your door doesn't have a lock, but maybe you can put a chair against the knob. Don't open the door until I knock three times."
Atsumu's heart dropped to his stomach and Osamu sat up almost violently, his brow twitching.
"Ma," Osamu said, and Atsumu could practically feel the fear leaking from him. It was as suffocating as the nights he had spent curled up against the wall in their lodgings and going through every single hate comment or forum he could find. "Ma, what are—?"
"I'm divorcing your father."
A hushed silence descended upon them. The only thing that Atsumu could hear was Osamu's shallow breathing and the rumble of the car as it cruised down the highway. If he looked outside, it was an endless landscape of snow and twisting branches reaching for the smoke-colored skies. The MP3 player—which he had taken from Osamu at some point during the drive to change the song—felt like lead in his hands, slick with perspiration.
Atsumu wiped his palms on his jeans, trying to find something to say. This was one of the things he'd been waiting his entire life for. The day they would finally be free of Miya Hozumi. "Are," he gulped, "Are you gonna be okay? Ma? Ma!"
Akari had zoned out. She snapped back into reality, though her eyes were faraway in the rear-view mirror. "Oh. Yes, I'm sorry, Atsumu, I... I'm sure I'll be fine. It'll be like any other time. He won't... Kill me or anything drastic."
"Do ya know that, though?" Akari's friend piped up, sounding deeply troubled. "That Hozumi's always been a good fer nothin' bad ol' apple. Rotten to the core, I tell ya."
"She's right, ma," Osamu agreed shakily.
Akari sighed. "Do not do this with me right now. I can handle your father. I've been dealing with him for over a decade already, so let it rest."
"Right," Atsumu ground out, remembering the contract that he had handed in to Shō before they left Miyagi.
Soon, none of them would have to put up with Hozumi any longer.
Akari waited a few days before dropping the news. Atsumu knew this much because the household was at relative peace in the days that followed their return. Their father was rarely at home, anyway; between his fruitless job searching, he spent his time and money at bars and pachinko. But peace, Atsumu had come to find, was very rarely an enduring thing.
"It's happenin'," Osamu burst into the room as soon as Atsumu heard the tell-tale noise of glass shattering against the wall, "Holy shit, it's happenin'." He seemed a combination of excited and terrified, and Atsumu honestly couldn't blame him—not when he felt like his heart was going to jump out of his throat and splatter against the back of his teeth, bared in a nervous smile.
It was just after dinner; the clock read seven-thirty exactly. Osamu placed a heavy box of their old toys against the door.
They climbed under the covers and curled up like foxes in the bottom bunk—Atsumu's bunk.
"D'ya think she'll be okay?" whispered Atsumu. He could feel Osamu's arm pressing against his.
"Sure," Osamu muttered, not sounding confident at all.
"Sure," repeated Atsumu.
The voices rose. More yelling and smashing.
"Why did you lie to me?"
Atsumu startled. "What?"
"You lie all the time," continued Osamu, not looking at him. "About small stuff. My clothes. My pencils. My puddin'. But... Why didn't you tell me about the contract?"
Atsumu lowered his gaze, spacing out at the floor. What was he even supposed to say? Sorry? But I'm not sorry. "So ma told ya, huh?" He sounded so small. So pathetic. Maybe his own weakness should have disgusted him, but he was too tired for it.
"Not just that," Osamu growled. "She got an email last night. From the director. It's my contract—and she's already signed it."
"Oh." That made sense. He had already signed his own contract for his silence a week ago. That now begged the question—did Osamu know about Atsumu's contract or was he only referring to his own?
"'Tsumu. I know everythin'."
Ah. "Well, that makes things easier."
Osamu's elbow jabbed his cheek. "What's that supposed ta mean?"
"Nothin'," Atsumu said. "But we won, right? I stuck my neck out, but it was worth it."
Akari's shriek echoed throughout the house. "I AM DONE! I AM ABSOLUTELY DONE WITH YOU, YOU WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT!"
Hozumi's bellow came next. "FINE, YA FUCKIN' CUNT! I'LL SIGN THOSE PAPERS! THEN YOU CAN'T EVER SAY THAT I AIN'T NEVER MADE YA HAPPY!"
Osamu turned on his MP3 player and offered an earbud to Atsumu, who took it. Music blared through their ears. "So ma didn't tell ya."
Atsumu raised a brow. "Tell me what?"
"In the contract... The one for me..." Osamu stared at the wall; Atsumu followed his line of vision to see the volleyball poster they had bought together after years of collecting spare change off of sidewalks and playgrounds. It was worn and basic—the silhouette of one of Brazil's top volleyball players spiking a ball with such force that it supposedly left a trailing blaze of fire. At the top, it read in bold: ¡LENDAS NUNCA MORREM!
'Legends never die'. "Stop wafflin' and tell me already, 'Samu."
Finally, Osamu managed to look at him. "They're gonna separate us. Ma's gonna take me to Shō, but... He's not lettin' ya come with us."
Really, he should have seen it coming the moment Shō offered to buy his silence. The more isolated Atsumu was, the more powerless. Atsumu exhaled sharply, letting the bombshell sink in. It wasn't the end of the world. Osamu would have a happy life, at least, even if he wasn't there to see it—
"But they need my signature. So I'm not gonna sign the contract."
"What?!" Atsumu nearly hit his head against the bottom of Osamu's bunk. "Why?!"
"Whaddya mean why?" retorted Osamu. "I told ya, I ain't lettin' 'em separate us!"
"But ya can't just...!" Throw away everythin' ya worked for. Was Osamu, perhaps, dense? This was the chance of a lifetime—the opportunity Osamu needed to grab with both hands and feet and never let go of if he wanted to escape their father. From the sound of it, Akari had already shoved the divorce papers in Hozumi's face, too, which was even more reason for Osamu to sign.
Miya Atsumu, at his core, was a selfish boy. He never helped his mother with housework, back-talked her all the time, and freely spoke of how awful his father was to the kids at school. He copied Osamu's homework, cheated off the girl in front of him during math exams, and sneaked laxatives in the English teacher's coffee so that he would forget to assign them homework in his rush to the bathroom. He wore Osamu's clothes, ate Osamu's snacks, and used Osamu's stationary—all without his permission.
Miya Atsumu was a selfish boy, when it came down to things, he loved fiercely—especially his other half. There was little he wouldn't do for Osamu.
Even if it meant parting ways with him.
"Who cares?"
Osamu stared at him, astonished. "'Tsumu?"
"Who the fuck cares?" Atsumu forced a yawn, one that came out terribly natural. "It doesn't matter if we're together or not. It's not like anythin' will be different."
Osamu scrunched up his nose. "You're lyin'."
"I'm not. Stop actin' like you know anythin' about me." Every word cut a new hole in his heart—for there was no one else except Osamu who knew everything about him. He let out a low chuckle. "In the end, yer just like ma."
The front door slammed. Hozumi had stormed out.
In the adjacent room, Akari began to weep.
"'Tsumu, what the hell are you talkin' about?"
Atsumu turned down the music. "I'm talkin' about you, dammit!" Anger surfaced easier than he had anticipated, and he had to wonder—briefly—just how much of it was real and how much of it wasn't. "You... You've always been the golden child! You think I'm fuckin' blind or somethin'?! Ma treats ya like a god, and I'm just the disappointment!"
The color seeped out of Osamu's cheeks. "'Tsumu—"
"No!" Atsumu kicked the covers off and flipped out of bed, staggering a little before standing up. "I'm done. It pisses me off when you think yer so much better than me! If I got that contract, I would've signed it the moment it came outta the printer!"
"You're missin' the point!" Osamu yelled, standing up as well and grabbing Atsumu by the collar of his sweater. "You think this is 'cause I think I'm better than ya?! Newsflash, ya braindead idiot, I'm doin' this because of you!"
"Why?!" Atsumu grabbed his twin's wrist but didn't bother to wrench it away. "You're the one that's missin' the point! Don't you get it, 'Samu?" He chuckled lowly—it was harsh and cruel. "I told ya, didn't I? If everythin' was reversed... I would've signed it fresh off the printer."
He could see the moment the words hit him. It was eerie, almost, watching what was his own face slacken in disbelief and utter hurt. Atsumu knew he was destined for hell, but Osamu was fated to bother the gods in heaven.
Osamu let go of his shirt.
"Do you geddit now?" Atsumu said, softly. Condescendingly. "'Samu. Osamu. I don't need you. In fact," he took a deep breath, "When you're gone... that's when I'll finally get ta be happy for once in my fuckin' life."
For a while, there was just silence as they simmered. Atsumu kept his gaze fixed on the floor, his heart pounding. Then, when he looked up, he saw a fist flying toward his face. It was too late for him to dodge—although he wasn't sure that he would've wanted to, anyway. Osamu sent him flying onto the floor. He didn't even have time to catch his breath, with Osamu yanking him by the shirt collar again.
"Fuck you!" spat Osamu. "You don't need me?! Huh?! Who's gonna get ya ass outta bed in the morning?! Who's gonna make ya breakfast, and letcha copy off his homework last minute because you're a total dumbass?!"
"I'll live!"
"Like hell! I'm yer brother—"
"Shut up!" Atsumu hissed. "You're not my brother."
Osamu headbutted him, and Atsumu howled. "Are you freakin' delusional?! You don't mean that!"
"How many times do I have to say it?!" screamed Atsumu, hoping to hell and back that Osamu didn't see the moisture in his eyes.
"Say what?! Say fuckin' what, 'Tsumu?!"
"I'll only be happy when you're dead!"
Osamu's grip loosened. Then he got to his feet, took three steps backward, and waited for Atsumu to get up. He did, taking his time and begging whatever fates were out there that he would not break.
"Atsumu."
He looked up.
Tears fell from his brother's eyes, glinting under the flickering ceiling light, but Osamu made no move to wipe them away. "You're just like dad."
It was sunnier than he was used to when he woke up, especially for winter. His eye was throbbing from where Osamu had hit him last night, and he made a mental note to put some ice on it later. Atsumu got out of bed, craning his neck up to try and glimpse Osamu. "'Samu?" he called dully. "You signin' or what?"
No answer.
Frowning, Atsumu climbed the ladder.
The bed was neatly made.
Seeing this, he climbed back down, noticing for the first time that most of Osamu's things had disappeared. Not all of them. Not most of them, even, but some things were simply not present anymore.
"They're not here."
Atsumu jumped, whipping around to see his father at the doorway. He didn't see him often—the hours that they were at home didn't overlap a lot. In fact, he was surprised his father was even home—he had thought Hozumi would be passed out in a bar somewhere in town.
Hozumi looked around the room without much emotion. "They left earlier this morning. The both of 'em."
Ah.
Osamu was gone.
I guess that means...
"Make breakfast for me," ordered Hozumi. "I'm starvin'." His father disappeared down the hall.
He glanced up at the poster that overlooked their—his—room.
¡LENDAS NUNCA MORREM!
I won.
So Atsumu did the only thing he could do in his victory—he laughed. He laughed, and laughed, until he was no longer sure why on earth the tears were flowing so fast and easy.
A/N: Ahahahaha look's like we're going 4 parts now sorry guys lol rlly would've liked to keep it at 3 but hrrrngh