Atsumu appeared at the door on the fifth of January, just as the winter chill settled deep into the bones of the old house. Osamu stood frozen in the doorway, his breath caught in his throat as he stared at his twin, eyes wide in disbelief. Atsumu stood there, looking smaller than Osamu remembered, with his suitcase in one hand and a troubled expression painted across his face. The blond seemed lost, out of place, as if he was unsure whether he still belonged there.
“Samu, will you ever let me in? It’s my home too, remember?” Atsumu’s voice was small, almost fragile, and carried the weight of countless unspoken apologies. His lips tried to form a smile, but it came out crooked, laced with sadness, like a cracked mirror reflecting a thousand emotions at once. Osamu, still dazed, slowly moved aside, creating a way for Atsumu to enter.
“Samu? Who is that?!” Their mother’s voice rang out from the kitchen, followed by her swift, eager footsteps. She gasped when she saw Atsumu, her joy thickened in the air, her laughter bubbling up from deep within as she rushed forward, wrapping Atsumu in a tight embrace. “Tsumu! My baby! Tsumu, oh my God, you came? You didn’t tell me!”
Atsumu, with his face buried in the familiar warmth of his mother’s neck, mumbled, “It was supposed to be a surprise, Ma.” His voice was muffled, thick with emotion that choked him as he spoke. “Sorry, Ma, I couldn’t come sooner. I had to finish some work before they’d let me go.”
Osamu watched them in silence, his heart pounding loudly it rang in his ears. His hands clenched at his sides, the nails digging into his palms, as if the physical pain could drown out the storm within his figure. The warmth of the room seemed to mock the coldness that had settled in his chest over these past months.
When their mother finally released Atsumu and disappeared back into the kitchen, Atsumu turned to Osamu. There was no hesitation this time. Atsumu threw himself into Osamu’s arms, his embrace desperate, like a man clinging to a lifeline. His arms wrapped around Osamu’s shoulders, and he buried his face in his neck, the weight of his presence overwhelming after such a long absence.
For a moment, Osamu’s arms hung in the air, unsure between resentment and relief. But then, slowly, he let them fall around Atsumu’s back, pulling him closer, the tension melting away as if the warmth of Atsumu’s body was melting the ice that had formed around his heart.
“Samu, I’m home.” Atsumu whispered, his voice cracking under the strain of held-back tears. Apologies hang heavy on his wobbled lips.
Osamu closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of lavender, sun, sweat, and something unmistakably Atsumu – home. He felt the sting of tears welling up behind his own closed eyelids, the familiar burn of emotion he had tried to suppress for far too long. “Yes, welcome home.” he murmured, his voice barely audible, muffled by Atsumu’s blond hair.
Atsumu’s grip tightened as if he was afraid to let go, as if by holding on he could mend all the broken pieces of their relationship. Osamu held him just as tightly, his own heart breaking and mending all at once.
“Welcome home.” Osamu repeated, the words soft but heavy with all the things he wished he could say. He held his brother, and in that embrace, in the mingling of their unshed tears and the silent understanding between them, Osamu realized that perhaps home wasn’t just a place. Perhaps home was someone who knew you better than anyone else, someone who, no matter how far you drifted, could always bring you back to where you belonged.
When the moon sat on its throne in the night sky, casting a silvery glow over the quiet room, Osamu lay on his bed, watching Atsumu as he unpacked his suitcase. The scene felt strangely familiar, as if time had turned back, and for a fleeting moment, Atsumu looked just like his high school self, returning from a week at national training camp, ready to tell Osamu all about the highs and lows of the experience, while unloading his belongings.
Osamu’s eyes followed his brother’s every movement, noting how the passage of time had subtly altered him. Atsumu’s shoulders were broader, his movements more deliberate, but the underlying energy, that boundless, childish behaviour, was still there. It was something Osamu had missed more than he’d allowed himself to admit. Atsumu’s presence filled the room in a way that made it feel smaller, but in a comforting, familiar way. The kind of comfort that came from shared memories and a bond that, despite the distance, had never truly been severed.
“Samu, stop sitting there like a dumbass and help me unpack.” Atsumu said, breaking the silence with his usual brashness.
Osamu rolled his eyes, “Why would I? That’s your stuff, not mine.” he replied, his voice teasing as he leaned back against the headboard, crossing his arms over his chest.
Atsumu let out an exaggerated huff, his cheeks puffing out like they used to when they were kids, a clear sign of his frustration. It was so typical of him, so utterly Atsumu, that Osamu felt a sudden urge to throw a pillow at his stupid, pouty face. But instead, he just watched as Atsumu continued unpacking, his movements growing more aggressive with each item he pulled out, as if he could vent his irritation through the act of organizing his things.
The way Atsumu stomped around the room, muttering under his breath, made Osamu chuckle. It was childish, it was annoying, but it was also endearing, it was so Astumu, it was like they were kids again, back in their childhood room, bickering over nothing and everything.
“Hey, Samu,” Atsumu called suddenly, his tone shifting to something more serious. He stopped unpacking, his heels turning as he approached Osamu, who was still lounging on the bed, his amusement slowly fading as he sensed the change in the air.
Osamu sat up, the wooden stairs of their bunk bed pressing into his shoulder as he leaned against them, looking up at Atsumu, who now loomed over him with an uncertain expression. “I … want to apologize,” Atsumu began, his voice wavering slightly. “For not answering your calls, or replying to your messages.” He averted his eyes, avoiding Osamu’s, as if the floor was more amusing to look at than anything else.
The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the weight of unspoken guilt and regret. Osamu’s heart clenched as he listened, the room seemed to grow quieter, the world outside fading as the moment stretched on.
Osamu tilted his head, studying his brother’s face. He could see the sincerity there, the remorse that had been eating away Atsumu from the inside. “I was afraid you’d be mad, like, really mad at me,” Atsumu continued, his voice weak and guilty thick in every syllable. “So, I didn’t pick up your calls.” Osamu could sense a pout in his voice.
Osamu scoffed, his heart aching at the thought of Atsumu avoiding him out of fear. “How is that supposed to help anything?” he asked, his tone gentle but firm.
Atsumu’s frustration bubbled to the surface again, his emotions a turbulent mix of guilt and helplessness. “I don’t know!” he nearly shouted, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I was afraid, okay? Afraid that you’d say you hate me over the phone. So, yeah, I was avoiding you. That was shitty of me.”
Osamu’s expression softened further, a quiet understanding passing between them. “Alright.” he replied briefly, unsure if he could trust his voice at that moment.
Atsumu blinked, taken aback by the absurdity of Osamu’s response. “Just that? I’m here pouring my heart out, and your response is just ‘alright’? You fucker, I hate you.” he snapped, though his anger was more at himself than at Osamu. He turned back to his suitcase at a stomped pace.
Osamu couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up, the sound warm and genuine, echoing through the room. “What do you want me to say?” he asked, his amusement clear in his voice.
“I don’t know! Anything other than that!” Atsumu’s voice cracked with frustration and Osamu’s mocking laughter just made everything worse. Osamu’s laughter died down as he said, “You don’t have to worry, Tsumu. I don’t hate you. I could never hate you.” his voice steady and reassuring.
Atsumu’s shoulders sagged with relief, his breath hitching as the tension slowly drained from his body. “Thanks, Samu.” he whispered, his voice trembling with the weight of everything left unsaid. He looked up once again at Osamu.
“I was mad, yes, but I didn’t hate you. Never.” Osamu said.
Atsumu looked at him with tears in his eyes and heart on his sleeve. “I told you, didn’t I? We’ll always be alright.” The dark haired man said, rewarded with a smile formed on his brother’s face. A genuine smile that had been absent since his return; big and stupidly bright, it lit up Atsumu’s whole face, his eyes crinkled and turned into crescent moons. Osamu threw a pillow at him, muttering “Stupid, Tsumu.” under his breath before Atsumu shouted in annoyance and tackled him to the ground.
Osamu lay on his back, staring up at the wooden slats that formed the underside of Atsumu’s bunk. A mischievous grin spread across his face as he kicked at it, just hard enough to make it rattle. The response was immediate. “Samu, I swear to God, I’m gonna fucking beat you up in the morning, when I’m no longer tired.” Atsumu’s voice was heard from above, thick with sleep and irritation.
Osamu chuckled, satisfied with the reaction. “You never win our fights.” he shot back, his tone lazy and teasing.
“Yes, because you’re someone with brute strength.” Atsumu huffed in annoyance, shifting above as if trying to find a comfortable spot again.
“That’s what the food does to me. It makes me stronger than you, when you’re just all talk, loser.” Osamu replied, stretching out his limbs. “The food just makes you turn into a fatass.” Atsumu talked back, the sound of fabric rustling indicating he was turning over in his bed.
Osamu kicked the slats again, grinning wider. The bed shook, and he could practically hear the irritation boiling over in Atsumu’s mind.
They both knew what was coming next. A pillow came flying down from above, hitting Osamu square in the face. He grabbed it and launched it back, and suddenly, it was war. Pillows and blankets were tossed back and forth, the room filled with laughter and curses, and suddenly they were both 16 again sleeping in the bunk bed.
After a few minutes of chaos, Atsumu peeked over the edge of the bunk, a sly grin on his face. “Samu, do you want to cuddle?” he teased, voice dripping with faux innocence. “You always act tough, but I know you’re secretly a cuddler.”
“What the fuck? Gross. Stop, don’t come near me!” Osamu shot back, his face grimace at the prospect of cuddling with his brother, at their big age. But Atsumu was determined, climbing down the wooden steps with his arms outstretched, as if to capture his brother in a bear hug.
“But, Samu! It’s been almost a year since I’ve seen you. Come here, big bro will give you hugs just like old times.” Atsumu teased. Osamu twisted away, tried to kick him out of his bed, but Atsumu was relentless, closing the distance between them. The bed shook with their tussling, the two of them laughing so hard they could barely breathe.
“Stop!” Osamu managed to gasp out between laughs.
“C’mon, I know you missed me.” Atsumu insisted, still pushing forward, his arms wrapping around Osamu despite his protests.
“I didn’t.” Osamu grumbled, but there was no heat in his voice. “Ma said otherwise.” Atsumu added, tightening his hold.
“Ma’s a snitch!” Osamu muttered, though he didn’t try to pull away this time. Instead, he let out a long, defeated sigh and awkwardly patted Atsumu’s back in return.
They woke up to the sight of their mom looming over them, a mischievous smile on her face as she snapped a photo with her phone. Both of them were tangled up in a ridiculous, half-cuddled sleeping position, legs and arms sprawled awkwardly across each other. Groggy and disoriented, they barely had time to process what was happening before she hurried off, laughing to herself. The photo, of course, didn’t stay hidden, later on it was proudly displayed in the living room – framed and placed where anyone who visited would see it.
