The Watch and the Wait

The key turned in the lock—that familiar click—and Osamu Miya didn't bother looking up from the counter. He was folding napkins, plain white ones. He knew those footsteps anywhere. That energy too.

"Samu! Samu, I'm back!"

Atsumu burst through the door like a tiny hurricane—tanned skin, bright eyes, that grin that meant he had something to brag about. Osamu let himself smile a little. Still didn't look up.

"Welcome back. How was France?"

"France was amazin'! Ya wouldn't believe the food, Samu—they got these little pastries—"

"Ya mean croissants?"

"Don't interrupt me!" Atsumu dropped his shopping bag—heavy, landed with a thud—and threw himself onto the couch, sprawling like he owned the place. Osamu finally looked up. His brother looked well-rested. Annoyingly happy. And there was something new in his eye Osamu couldn't place.

"Did ya bring me somethin'?" Osamu dried his hands on a dish towel, walked over.

"Maybe." Atsumu sat up, looking almost shy. That was weird. Atsumu was never shy. He pulled a small velvet box out of his pocket, held it out with both hands. "Here. For ya."

Osamu raised an eyebrow but took it, flipped it open. Inside: a watch. Silver casing, deep navy face, simple but elegant. A luxury brand he recognized from a store window they'd passed years ago during a weekend trip to Tokyo. Atsumu had probably remembered. Of course he remembered.

"It's—" Osamu started, but Atsumu was already on his feet, throwing his arms around him in a tight hug.

"Ya better wear it every day, ya hear me? I spent a lotta yen on that."

Osamu hugged him back, one hand coming up to pat his brother's head like he'd done since they were kids. "Thanks, 'Tsumu. It's real nice."

Atsumu pulled back, eyes still holding that strange sparkle. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Osamu waited.

"So, uh, I gotta tell ya somethin'." Atsumu fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. Clear tell. Osamu's heart picked up a little. Bad news? Good news? With Atsumu, could be either.

"Spit it out."

"I'm pregnant."

The words hung there—fragile, shimmering. Osamu blinked. Then blinked again.

"Ya what?"

"I'm pregnant, Samu." Atsumu's voice cracked on the last word, and suddenly his eyes were wet. "I went to the doctor before the honeymoon, and I wanted to tell ya in person, and—are ya happy? Please be happy, I know it's early and stuff, but—"

Osamu didn't let him finish. He crossed the distance in two steps, wrapped his arms around his twin, lifted him clear off the ground. Atsumu let out a startled yelp that turned into a laugh. Osamu spun him around once, twice, three times in the middle of the apartment.

"Happy? I'm gonna be an uncle, 'Tsumu. 'Course I'm happy."

"Put me down, ya idiot!" Atsumu was laughing and crying at the same time. When Osamu finally set him back on his feet, he immediately pulled him into another hug, burying his face in his brother's shoulder.

"Does Kiyoko know?" Osamu asked softly.

"Yeah, she knows. She's over the moon. Her parents are gonna flip when they find out." Atsumu sniffled, wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "I just... I wanted ya to be the first person I told after her."

Osamu's chest warmed. He squeezed tighter. "I'm honored."

When they finally pulled apart, Osamu looked at his twin more carefully. Now that he knew, he could see the subtle changes—a bit of softness around the jaw, maybe tiredness in the eyes. Atsumu was an omega, always had been, and the pregnancy glow was already starting to show.

"Ya look good," Osamu said.

"Liar. I look like I haven't slept in a week. The flight was brutal."

"Ya look good for someone who hasn't slept in a week."

Atsumu snorted, but he was smiling. The evening settled into a comfortable rhythm. They ordered takeout—Atsumu's favorite, katsudon—and caught up on everything Osamu had missed while his brother was gallivanting across Europe. Atsumu talked animatedly about the Eiffel Tower, about the little bakery near their hotel, about how Kiyoko had dragged him to a hundred museums and he'd actually enjoyed them. Osamu listened, asked questions, kept refilling Atsumu's tea without being asked.

The night stretched on. Eventually the clock on the wall showed well past eleven. Atsumu yawned, stretched his arms over his head.

"Alright, I should head home. Kiyoko's probably wonderin' where I am."

"No."

Atsumu paused mid-stretch. "Huh?"

"I said no. Yer stayin' here tonight."

"Samu, it's a ten-minute drive—"

"And it's rainin'."

Atsumu looked toward the window. Sure enough, a steady drizzle had started, tapping against the glass. "It's just a little rain. I'll be fine."

"Yer not drivin' in this. And more importantly, yer not walkin' to yer car in this." Osamu crossed his arms. No room for argument. "I got a spare toothbrush. An' a guest room. Use it."

"Ya don't have a guest room. That's just yer storage closet with a futon."

"It's got a futon. That's a room."

Atsumu stared at him for a long moment, then let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Ya know, yer really annoyin' when ya get all protective."

"I'm not protective. I'm practical."

"Same thing."

But Atsumu didn't argue further. He pulled out his phone, shot a quick text to Kiyoko, and flopped back onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. "Fine. But I'm takin' the actual bed. Yer sleepin' on the futon."

"The futon's in the storage closet."

"Then I guess yer sleepin' on the floor."

Osamu rolled his eyes but was already heading to the bathroom to grab a fresh towel. "I got a better idea. Ya sleep in my bed. I'll take the couch."

"That's even worse—"

"Shut up and let yer big brother take care of ya."

Atsumu fell silent. For a moment, his expression softened into something vulnerable and grateful. "Ya know yer my favorite person, right? After Kiyoko. And maybe the baby. But yer up there."

"Gee, thanks."

They bickered through the rest of the bedtime routine, but Osamu made sure Atsumu had a glass of water on the nightstand, an extra blanket, and the bedside lamp turned to a dim setting. Atsumu grumbled but didn't complain.

Sleep came fast for both of them.

---

The next morning, Osamu woke up before his brother. The rain had stopped, leaving the air fresh and clean, light streaming through the curtains. He padded into the kitchen, started a pot of coffee, then paused. Right. Pregnant. No coffee for Atsumu. He switched to tea, then set about making a proper breakfast—rice, miso soup, grilled fish, tamagoyaki.

By the time Atsumu shuffled out of the bedroom—hair a mess, eyes barely open—the table was set.

"Made ya breakfast," Osamu said, not looking up from the pan.

"Smells good."

"Eat up. Then we're goin' out."

"Goin' out where?"

"To the park. Then maybe to that mochi place ya like. Then the bookstore. Figured ya could use a day off."

Atsumu sat down heavily, reached for the chopsticks. "Samu, I don't need ya to babysit me. I'm pregnant, not disabled."

"I know. But I wanna spend time with my favorite brother."

"Yer only brother."

"Exactly."

Atsumu laughed, and that was that.

The day was warm and unhurried. They walked to the park, where the cherry blossoms were starting to bud, and sat on a bench watching a group of kids play soccer. Atsumu complained they weren't passing the ball properly. Osamu told him to shut up and enjoy the sunshine. They argued amiably about which ramen spot had the better broth, then compromised by agreeing to visit both next week.

At the mochi shop, Atsumu ate three pieces before Osamu reminded him that lunch was in two hours. Atsumu ate a fourth out of spite. Osamu just paid for it without complaint.

The bookstore was Atsumu's favorite part. He spent a solid thirty minutes in the parenting section, picking up books about baby development, nursery decoration, and what to expect during each trimester. Osamu watched from a few feet away, arms crossed, feeling something warm and complicated settle in his chest.

His twin was going to be a parent. They were going to be uncles. That was wild.

"Oi, Samu, look at this one." Atsumu held up a book titled The Omega's Guide to Pregnancy and Birth. "Says it covers everythin' from nestin' instincts to pack integration. Think I should get it?"

"Get it. I'll buy it."

"Ya don't gotta—"

"I'm buyin' it."

Atsumu rolled his eyes but tucked the book under his arm, a small smile playing on his lips.

By the time they returned to Osamu's apartment, the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Atsumu was yawning again, but this time he didn't resist when Osamu suggested he take a nap. He curled up on the couch with a blanket, and Osamu sat in the armchair nearby, scrolling through his phone, watching his brother sleep.

---

A few months passed.

The change was gradual at first—Atsumu started wearing looser shirts, complained about his back hurting, and had a new craving for pickled plums that bordered on obsessive. Osamu stocked his pantry with them without being asked.

Then one evening, Atsumu showed up at his door without warning, looking frazzled and slightly out of breath. He was wearing a hoodie that was definitely not his—too big, hanging off his shoulders—but more importantly, it couldn't hide the unmistakable swell of his belly.

"Samu, I need a place to crash. Kiyoko's mom is visitin' and she's drivin' me up the wall."

Osamu stepped aside, let him in. "Sure. How long?"

"Just tonight. Maybe two nights. I'll figure it out."

Atsumu waddled into the living room and dropped onto the couch with a heavy sigh. Osamu took a moment to really look at him. The bump was round and prominent, straining against the fabric of the hoodie. And something else—his chest looked fuller too. Pregnancy had definitely changed his brother's figure.

"Yer lookin' good," Osamu said, meaning it.

"Ya keep sayin' that, but I feel like a whale."

"Ya look like a cute whale."

"Shut up."

Atsumu pulled the hoodie tighter around himself, and Osamu noticed the way his movements were slower, more deliberate. He was tired. Osamu went to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water and a plate of rice crackers.

"Here. Eat somethin'."

"Thanks." Atsumu took a cracker, nibbled at it. "Yer always takin' care of me, Samu."

"That's what brothers are for."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching some drama on TV that neither of them was really paying attention to. Eventually, Atsumu's eyelids started drooping, and Osamu gently nudged him.

"Go change into somethin' more comfortable. I got a hoodie in the bedroom ya can borrow. It's clean."

"Yer hoodies are always too big."

"Exactly. That's the point."

Atsumu grumbled but pushed himself up, shuffling toward the bedroom. A few minutes later, he came back wearing one of Osamu's old university hoodies—gray, faded, at least two sizes too large. It hung off his shoulders, pooled around his belly, and he looked tiny and tired and precious all at once.

"Better?" Atsumu asked, holding out his arms.

"Better."

Atsumu yawned, settled back onto the couch. But as he moved, he winced, his hand flying to his chest. "Ow."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothin', just—" Atsumu's face flushed deep red. "They're sensitive. Ya know. Because of... the..."

He gestured vaguely at his chest, and Osamu understood. The pregnancy was causing changes. Milk was probably starting to come in.

"Ya want me to get ya a cold pack or somethin'?"

"No, I'm fine." Atsumu shifted, trying to get comfortable, then let out a small gasp. "Oh no."

"What?"

"I—" Atsumu looked down, mortified. A dark, wet patch was spreading on the front of Osamu's hoodie, right over the chest. "I'm so sorry, Samu. I didn't mean to—I'll wash it, I promise—"

But Osamu just crouched in front of him, placed a gentle hand on his knee. "Hey. It's okay."

"It's not okay! I got milk all over yer hoodie!"

"It's just a hoodie. I got more."

"But it's embarrassin'—"

" 'Tsumu." Osamu's voice was calm, steady. "It's natural. Yer body's gettin' ready for the baby. Don't be embarrassed."

Atsumu's eyes were glassy, but he blinked back the tears. "Ya really don't mind?"

"I really don't. Here." Osamu stood, grabbed a clean dish towel from the kitchen, handed it to him. "Put this inside the shirt. It'll absorb it."

Atsumu took it, fumbling to tuck it in. Osamu turned away to give him privacy, busied himself with refilling the water glass. When he turned back, Atsumu had settled down, the towel hidden under the hoodie.

"Thanks, Samu."

"Don't mention it."

Atsumu let out a shaky breath. "I was scared, ya know. When I first found out. I thought... I thought maybe I wasn't gonna be a good parent. That I'd mess it up somehow. But seein' how ya react, how Kiyoko reacts—it helps."

Osamu sat down next to him on the couch, closer than usual. He didn't say anything for a long moment. Then he reached out and put his arm around his brother's shoulders.

"Yer gonna be a great parent, 'Tsumu. Ya got the biggest heart of anyone I know. And I'm gonna be right here the whole time. Uncle Samu at yer service."

Atsumu leaned into him, let out a wet laugh. "Uncle Samu. That sounds weird."

"It's got a ring to it."

"Ya better not spoil the kid rotten."

"Too late. Already plannin' on it."

Atsumu laughed again, and this time it was light, free, happy. They sat like that for a long while, twin brothers pressed together, one carrying the future inside him and the other carrying the weight of unconditional love.

Outside, the city hummed with life. Inside, the Miya twins were at peace.