Volleyballs were scattered like fallen leaves across the wooden floor of the school gymnasium, the rhythmic thud of the balls echoing through the humid air, mingling with the sound of sneakers squeaking and the sharp calls of players coordinating their moves. Osamu sat back in a shadowed corner, his eyes fixed on his twin, who commanded the team with a voice that rang above the ceiling, urging their underclassmen to pull themselves together.
The weight of being captain rested heavily on Atsumu’s shoulders, but he carried it with pride, his posture straight and unyielding. There was a fire in his eyes, a determination that had always set him apart from Osamu, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of admiration, mixed with something more bittersweet.
Beside him, Suna sat with his phone in hand, the glow of the screen reflecting off his calm expression. Without looking up, he broke the silence between them. “Have you told him yet?”
Osamu’s gaze flickered to his friend, a shadow of uncertainty crossing his face. “Told him what?”
Suna’s eyes met his, a quiet understanding in his voice as he replied, “That you’re quitting volleyball.”
The words hung heavily in the air like, something about it made Osamu’s heart sank. Osamu looked back at Atsumu, who was now demonstrating a drill, his voice full of authority. How could he shatter that? How could he take away something that meant so much, something they had shared for so long?
“I haven’t,” Osamu finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’ll crush him.”
Suna sighed, a soft, knowing sound, and leaned back against the wall. “It’ll crush him whether you tell him now or later.”
Osamu knew he was right. There was no escaping the hurt that would come with the truth. Delaying it felt like a betrayal, like he was trying to hold on to something that was already slipping through his fingers. He watched Atsumu, the way he moved with such confidence, so sure of their shared future. A future that, until recently, Osamu had been so unsure of. Things had changed for him. The passion that once burned so brightly in him had dimmed, replaced by a different kind of longing, a different path that called to him. It wasn’t that he didn’t love volleyball anymore – it was that he had started to love something else more.
But how could he explain that to Atsumu? How could he make him understand that this wasn’t about leaving him behind, but about finding himself? The thought of seeing the disappointment, the hurt in his brother’s eyes, made his heart ache.
“I just … I don’t want to break it to him yet.” Osamu murmured, more to himself than to Suna. His friend’s gaze softened, and he put his phone down, giving Osamu his full attention. “He’ll get through it and so will you. But you have to be honest with him, for both of your sakes. Well, he might cry, I think. A fucking cry baby that he is.”
Osamu laughed and then nodded, though the knot in his chest tightened. He knew what he had to do, but that didn’t make it any easier. He watched Atsumu one last time, the way his golden hair caught the light, the way he laughed with their teammates, so full of life, so full of dreams. And Osamu couldn’t help but wonder, for the first time, what it would be like to stand apart, to no longer be part of the team, of the identity they had built together.
It was a terrifying thought, but it was also freeing, in a way. Because maybe, just maybe, it was time for them both to discover who they were on their own. But even so, Osamu knew that when the moment came, it would feel like the end of something precious, something he wasn’t sure he was ready to let go of. Not the volleyball, but his bond with his brother.
“Samu! After we graduate, we’re going to find an amazing team, one of the best! We’ll give everything we’ve got at the tryouts! We’ll be on the same team again! And if not, that’s okay – we can still find a place together! We’re going to be the legendary twins on the court.”
We, we, and we. Atsumu always included him in every narrative of his dream.
Atsumu’s voice was electric with excitement, his words tumbling out in a rush of enthusiasm. His face lit up with the brilliance of his dream, a smile so wide it seemed to stretch to his ears, making his eyes crinkle into crescent moons, glowing with the sheer joy of imagining the future they’d always talked about. He lay sprawled across Osamu’s side of the bunk bed, tossing a volleyball into the air, the ball spinning lightly in his hands before he caught it with the same practised ease he’d always had.
Each time the ball hit his palms with a soft thud, the sound punctuated the air, a rhythm that seemed to echo the beat of Atsumu’s dreams. The room was filled with his energy, his excitement, as if the very walls were buzzing with the possibilities he envisioned for them. There was a warmth in his voice, a certainty that they were destined for greatness, that they would carve out their place in the world of volleyball, side by side, just as they always had.
But Osamu, sitting quietly at his desk, felt a different kind of weight pressing down on him. His textbooks and papers were spread out in front of him, but his focus was elsewhere. He listened to Atsumu, each word pulling at something deep within him, a mix of nostalgia and longing, tinged with an unease he couldn’t quite shake. The dreams his brother spoke of were ones they’d shared for as long as he could remember. The idea of them taking on the world together, becoming legends on the court, had been the foundation of everything they’d worked for.
But now, as he listened to Atsumu speak, Osamu felt a hollow ache in his chest, the burden of the secret he carried becoming almost too heavy to bear. He watched Atsumu’s carefree movements, the way his brother’s face lit up with every word, every toss of the volleyball, and it struck him just how much Atsumu believed in the future they’d planned. It was a future where they were inseparable, their bond on the court unbreakable, a force to be reckoned with. It was their shared dream, their shared identity, as twins, as partners, as brothers.
And yet, Osamu knew that his heart had begun to wander down a different path. There were other things calling to him, other dreams that whispered in the quiet moments when he was alone, dreams that had nothing to do with the court, with the spotlight, with the shared glory they’d always envisioned. Dreams that had nothing to do with Atsumu.
The thought of voicing that truth, of shattering the bright vision Atsumu held so close, made Osamu’s throat tighten. He wasn’t ready to face the look that would surely cross his brother’s face when he finally admitted it, the hurt, the confusion, the betrayal. He knew how much this meant to Atsumu – how much it had always meant to both of them. And that made it all the harder to break the news, to admit that his heart was no longer fully in the game.
Osamu glanced over at Atsumu, who was lying on the bed, eyes closed, still tossing the volleyball into the air with a contented smile playing on his lips. The image of them as the “legendary twins” was one that had been etched into their minds for so long, it felt like a part of who they were, a part of their very identities.
He turned his eyes back to his homework, trying to focus on the words in front of him, but the pages blurred as his thoughts drifted back to the unspoken conversation that loomed between them. He knew it couldn’t be put off forever, that sooner or later, he would have to tell Atsumu the truth. But for now, he just listened to the rhythm of the volleyball in the air, the sound of Atsumu’s steady breathing, and held onto the moment a little longer, as if by doing so, he could delay the inevitable, keep their shared dream alive for just a while longer.
“Samu, we’re going to be the greatest!”
The National were just within their reach, so close that, quoted by Atsumu, he could almost taste their victory. Practice had become more intense, the drills relentless, day after day, leaving no room for anything but their singular focus. Atsumu, as captain, seemed to channel every ounce of his energy into the team, his voice rising above the pounding of sneakers on the gym floor, pushing them to believe that this time, they would win it all.
“Samu, this is our last National. We got this! We’re going to win!” Atsumu’s words rang happily in his ear.
It was after practice, when the sun was slowly being dethroned by the moon, the sky over Hyogo painted in hues of orange and gold, as if the day itself was reluctant to let go of its light. They both walked together with their uniforms rumpled and stained from the day’s exertions. The fabric clung to them like a second skin, the sweat now cooling in the evening breeze. They moved side by side, their footsteps in sync, roaming the road back to home.
He glanced at his brother, skimming his face, recording every emotion that appeared and stored it inside his mind. Atsumu’s enthusiasm remained unwavering, his dreams for the Nationals as vivid as ever. Yet, Osamu could sense the tension beneath his brother’s brave facade. He knew that this was not just another tournament; it was the culmination of everything they had worked for, every sacrifice made, every moment spent honing their skills and pushing their limits.
“Yeah, we’re going to win,” Osamu replied quietly, his voice a soft counterpoint to Atsumu’s fervent declarations. “We’ve worked too hard to let this slip away.”
He should tell him. He should. He should.
“Tsumu, I’m quitting volleyball after we graduate,” Osamu said quietly as they prepared for bed, his voice barely rising above a whisper. He lay in the bottom bunk, his gaze fixed on the wooden slats of the upper bed, steeling himself for the reaction that was sure to come. Anticipating for any movement, or yelling, even cries from his brother.
The room was dimly lit by a single lamp, casting long, flickering shadows across the walls. As Osamu spoke, his heart pounded, the gravity of his confession settling heavily in his chest. For a moment, the only sound was the soft rustling of the sheets above him. Atsumu remained silent, and Osamu’s anxiety grew with each passing second. Then, without warning, Atsumu’s weight shifted on the upper bunk. There was a creak of the bed frame, followed by the unmistakable sound of feet hitting the floor.
He climbed down from the upper bunk with an urgency that made the wooden ladder rattle, and he appeared in front of Osamu with his face flushed in a mix of anger and disbelief. “What are you talking about, Samu?” It was barely audible, but the disbelief in his tone was clear.
“I’m sure you heard what I’ve said.” Osamu said, looking at his brother who was looming over him.
“Are you kidding me, Samu?” Atsumu’s voice came down like a storm, filled with a harsh edge that cut through the quiet of the room. Osamu looked up to see Atsumu, his face a storm of emotions. “What do you mean, you’re quitting?” Atsumu’s voice was raised now, sharp and accusing. “You’re quitting volleyball? After everything we’ve worked for? You can’t just drop this on me now, not when the National is so close.”
“I’m still going to compete in the National,” Osamu said, struggling to meet his brother’s intense gaze. He raised from his position and leaned back on the headboard. Shoulders were slumped and his fingers slightly trembled. “I just … I need to be honest about what comes after. Volleyball isn’t where my heart is anymore, and I want to do something else after we graduate.”
Atsumu’s eyes widened, anger painted on his red-flushed face. “You’re going to quit right after the tournament? You’ve been hiding this from me, acting like everything’s fine. We’ve pushed ourselves to the limit, and now you’re telling me you’re just going to walk away?”
“Dammit! I want to do something else! Something that isn’t volleyball!” Osamu’s frustration boiled over, his hands gripping the edge of his blanket.
Atsumu’s scowl deepened, his voice rising. “What things? What are you talking about?”
Osamu clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Could you lower your voice? Fucking hell.” He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I want to be a cook. I don’t know, maybe open my own shop or something. I always feel joy when I’m cooking, dealing with food, feeding people. Something like that.”
“So, you’re telling me,” Atsumu said, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions, “that all these years, everything we’ve worked for …” He paused, struggling to find the words, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to steady himself. The intensity of his gaze seemed to pierce through the dim light of the room, searching for some semblance of understanding. “It’s just been a lie? You’re throwing it all away for … cooking?”
Osamu watched his brother, his own heart aching at the sight of Atsumu’s broken expression. The room, once filled with the joy of their shared goals, now felt like a stage set for a confrontation neither of them had anticipated. The shadows on the walls seemed to shift, mirroring the storm of emotions that roiled within them. The room felt smaller, the walls pressing in on them as if they, too, were struggling to grasp the gravity of the situation.
Atsumu’s voice was wet with held back tears, strained and weary. “I thought we were building something together,” he said, the hurt thick in every syllable. “I thought this was our future. And now you’re telling me it’s all for nothing? That you’re just going to walk away for … something else?”
“No, it’s not a lie,” Osamu said, his voice softer now, though it still carried a note of frustration. “I’ve loved playing volleyball with you, and I still do. But it’s not everything for me anymore. I’ve realized that my passion lies elsewhere. I can’t keep pretending that volleyball is all I want when it’s not.”
Atsumu shook his head, trying to process the words. “I just don’t get it. We’ve worked so hard to get to this point, to be great together. You’re going to walk away from it all? From me? From us?”
Osamu’s heart bled at the sight of his brother’s pain, the raw emotion evident in Atsumu’s slumped posture and troubled expression. “I’m not walking away from you, Tsumu,” Osamu said softly, tip-toeing around the hurt, afraid tears would start falling from Atsumu’s honey eyes. He tried to reach for Atsumu’s hands, whose shied away from him. “I’m still here for the National. I’m not abandoning you.”
“But it’s our dream!” Atsumu shouted, his voice thick with frustration. His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, knuckles white and nails digging into his palms, leaving crescent-shaped indentations in the flesh. He glared down at Osamu, his gaze blazing with a mixture of betrayal and anger. The air between them crackled with tension, as if the very walls were echoing with the force of their conflict. “Volleyball is our dream!”
Osamu’s eyes flashed with a fire of their own, burning with frustration and defiance. “You mean your dream?!” he shot back, his voice rising to match the intensity of Atsumu’s. His shoulders tensed as he struggled to control his emotions, anger roared in the way he stood. “You’ve always dictated every step we took, including me in your narrative without ever asking if it was what I truly wanted!”
Atsumu’s face flushed a deep red, his features contorting with raw rage. The veins in his neck stood out, his fists trembling at his sides. “I’ve always included you because we’ve always been in this together!” he shouted, the words coming out in a choked burst of anger. “You’ve never once said a word against it. How could you decide to quit now, without even talking to me about it?”
Their room seemed to close in on them, the walls moved and trapped them as Osamu’s voice grew sharper. There was a mix of desperation and pain in his tone, each word laced with a raw edge. “Maybe I didn’t speak up before because I didn’t want to upset you!” he said with voice cracking under the strain. “I thought, everything would be fine. But this is my life too, not just yours!”
Atsumu’s anger reached a boiling point. “Fine!” he snapped, his eyes blazing with a raw, frustrated light. “If it’s your life, then why didn’t you make your own decisions instead of letting me drag you along? You never said a word when we were practicing every day, pushing ourselves to the limit. How am I supposed to trust you’re not just going to bail on me now?” Atsumu went quiet, but his eyes still shot daggers to his twin.
Osamu’s fists balled at his sides, his expression a mosaic of anger and hurt. “For fuck’s sake! I didn’t bail on you! I’m still here for the National.” He tried to shoved Atsumu out of his bed, but the blond sit persistently at the edge of it. “You fucking dumbass, always putting words on my mouth, doing whatever the fuck you want without my permission.”
Atsumu’s eyes widened, a mix of shock and hurt seizing him. “So, what? You’re saying this is all my fault? That I’ve been the only one making decisions? Fuck you!”
“Yes!” Osamu’s voice trembled. He was frustrated and annoyed, because, why can’t Atsumu take his decision like the big brave boy facade he was always parading around? Instead, he threw fists and tantrums like a five year-old. “You’ve always been the one in control, always making the plans. I’ve been so focused on making sure you were happy that I forgot to think about what I wanted. This isn’t just your dream, Atsumu. It’s my life too, and I’ve finally realized that I need to live it for myself.”
Atsumu stood abruptly and climbed back to the upper bunk, with his figure rigid, the weight of his resignation heavy on his shoulders. The room fell into a deep, painful silence, only broken by the soft rustling of sheets and the distant, muted hum of the city outside. Below, Osamu remained seated on the edge of the lower bunk, his own tears silently streaming down his face. He bit his lips until he tasted steel on it, his vision blurred, and sobs who was once hang heavy on his tongue escaped as he heard Atsumu’s own cries. Their breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps. Their hearts bled in a way kissing it better wouldn’t work.
The city outside continued its relentless pace, unaware to the heartbreak contained within these four walls. In that heavy silence, both brothers cried, their tears a silent testament to the deep rift that had formed between them, yet still, their hearts beat with a shared rhythm of loss and longing. The future seemed uncertain and fraught with challenges, both for their shared dreams and their individual paths.
Osamu lay in the bottom bunk, staring at Atsumu’s bed above him, the pain of the conversation settling over him. The night stretched out before them, filled with the echoes of their confrontation and the quiet ache of understanding that things would never be quite the same again. That night, Osamu fell asleep with tears on his cheeks and pillow, as Atsumu’s cries lulled him into a deep slumber.
They didn’t speak for nearly a week. Atsumu gave Osamu the cold shoulder, his lips sealed in stubborn silence. The frigid wall between them finally shattered on one evening when Atsumu collapsed onto the floor of their bedroom, his head buried between his knees. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the soft sobs that escaped him as he mourned their defeat in the National.
Seeing his brother’s anguish, Osamu moved swiftly to his side, pulling Atsumu into a tight embrace. The warmth of his hug was a stark contrast to the coldness that had come between them. “You didn’t fail as captain,” Osamu whispered, his voice tender and soothing against the crown of Atsumu’s head, where his hair smelt like lavender, sun, sweat, home. “You did great, we did great.”
