Better Than Eggs

The early Sunday sun slipped through the thin curtains at the Miya house, painting pale stripes across the messy living room. It smelled like leftover curry and laundry detergent—clean, but a little stale. Outside, the neighborhood was still half-asleep. A bird chirped somewhere. A delivery truck hummed in the distance.

Osamu Miya jogged up the last hill, breathing steady, his shoes slapping the pavement. He’d been up since six. His twin brother, Atsumu, was probably still buried under his blankets, drooling into his pillow, dreaming of perfect sets. Osamu smirked. Some things never changed.

He slowed at the gate, wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. The house was quiet. He unlocked the door, kicked off his shoes, padded through the genkan. Snoring drifted from Atsumu’s room. Osamu peeled off his damp shirt, tossed it toward the laundry basket—missed, didn’t care—and decided that waking his brother up would be the highlight of his morning.

He stomped down the hall, heavy-footed, and threw open the door. “Oi, sleepyhead. It’s past nine. Whole world’s already awake except you.”

Atsumu stirred under the covers, a muffled groan escaping. “Mmph… go ‘way, ‘Samu.”

“Not a chance. Get up. We gotta go grocery shopping before noon or I’ll forget the eggs again.” Osamu yanked the curtains open. Sunlight flooded the room.

Atsumu flung an arm over his face, hissing like a vampire caught in the dawn. “I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah. You love me.” Osamu crossed his arms, expecting Atsumu to sit up, throw a pillow, or launch into a dramatic tirade about his beauty sleep. Instead, his brother just stayed there, half-hidden under the duvet, one eye peeking out from behind his forearm.

Something was off.

Atsumu wasn’t moving. Usually he’d be complaining at full volume, demanding breakfast, threatening to spike a ball at Osamu’s head. But this morning he just lay there, face flushed in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.

“You sick or somethin’?” Osamu frowned.

“No.” The word came out clipped. Defensive.

“Then get up. I’m not buyin’ your stupid energy drinks if you’re gonna laze around all day.”

Atsumu let out a breath, and Osamu saw his jaw tighten. His twin was chewing on his bottom lip—that nervous habit from when they were kids. Osamu knew that look. It meant Atsumu wanted something but didn’t know how to ask.

“What is it?” Osamu softened his tone, just a little.

Atsumu’s eye darted away. He sat up slowly, blanket falling around his waist. Shirtless, wearing only loose pajama shorts. His hair was a mess, sticking up everywhere. Still avoiding Osamu’s gaze.

“‘Samu…” He paused, cleared his throat. “Can… can ya do me a favor?”

“Depends. I’m not drivin’ ya to practice today. I got my own stuff.”

“No, it’s not that.” Atsumu swallowed. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. “I need ya to buy somethin’ for me. At the store.”

Osamu raised an eyebrow. “You got legs. Why can’t ya buy it yourself?”

“Because…” Atsumu’s face turned a shade redder. He looked like he was about to explode from embarrassment. “Because I just can’t, okay? And the store’s closer to your run route anyway.”

“What is it? If it’s more of those weird protein bars, I’m tellin’ ya right now, they taste like cardboard.”

“It’s not a protein bar.” Atsumu’s voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “It’s… lube.”

The word hung there, thick and awkward.

Osamu blinked. He wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “Say that again?”

“Lube.” Atsumu’s face was now the color of a tomato. “I need ya to buy me some lube.”

The silence was loud. Osamu’s mind went blank for a second, then spun through a dozen possibilities. Lube. Why would Atsumu need lube? The obvious answer hit him like a serve to the face, and he felt his own cheeks warm.

“You… uh…” Osamu scratched the back of his neck, suddenly very interested in the pattern on the floor. “You got a girlfriend or somethin’ I don’t know about?”

“No! It’s not—it’s not like that.” Atsumu’s voice cracked. He pulled his knees up, wrapped his arms around them like a shield. “Just… can ya buy it or not? I’ll pay ya back.”

Osamu studied him. Atsumu looked mortified, fragile in a way he rarely let himself appear. They’d shared everything growing up—clothes, secrets, even a bed during a typhoon blackout. But this was new territory. Osamu had always assumed his brother was too wrapped up in volleyball to care about that kind of stuff. Apparently, he’d been wrong.

“Fine,” Osamu said, surprising himself. “I’ll get it for ya. But you’re tellin’ me what it’s for. And don’t give me that ‘none of your business’ crap. We’re twins. I’m already involved.”

Atsumu buried his face in his knees. “Just… just get it, okay? Don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Osamu sighed. “Fine. What kind?”

“I dunno. Just… regular? The one that doesn’t sting?”

“Doesn’t sting?” Osamu’s brain short-circuited again. He didn’t want to think about why Atsumu knew that distinction. “Alright. I’ll be back in twenty. You better be outta bed when I get back, or I’m drinkin’ your orange juice.”

He left the room before Atsumu could retort, his heart pounding a little faster than his morning run had achieved. He grabbed a clean shirt from his room, pulled it on, and headed out, sneakers already laced.

The morning air felt different now, charged with a quiet weirdness. Osamu walked toward the convenience store at the corner, a small place that stocked everything from rice to razors. His brain kept looping back to the request. Lube. His brother wanted lube. He tried to picture Atsumu with someone else, and the image didn’t fit. Atsumu was loud, brash, obsessed with volleyball. He didn’t date; he didn’t even look at girls like that, as far as Osamu knew. He’d just assumed his brother was saving all his energy for the court.

But maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe Atsumu was keeping secrets. The thought stung a little—not jealousy, but a strange sense of distance. They were supposed to be close. They were twins. Atsumu had never mentioned anyone.

Osamu pushed open the glass door, the little bell jingling overhead. The air conditioning hit him, cool and artificial. He grabbed a basket and walked down the aisles, buying the eggs and milk they actually needed, trying to ignore the growing tension in his shoulders.

The personal care aisle was tucked in the back, between shampoo and pain relievers. He rounded the corner and stopped. The selection was overwhelming. Dozens of boxes and bottles lined the shelves, all with different colors, words, and promises. “Ultra-sensitive.” “Warming.” “Tingle.” “Flavored.” He hadn’t realized there were so many options. Felt like a kid in a candy store he wasn’t supposed to be in.

Osamu reached for a small bottle of standard lubricant, the plain-looking one, but then he paused. He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to calm down. This is for Atsumu. Atsumu, who got embarrassed about asking for help. Atsumu, who was probably alone in his room right now, feeling stupid and awkward. Osamu had to get this right.

He pulled out his phone and did a quick search, squinting at the screen. “Best lube for beginners.” The results made his ears burn, but he forced himself to read. Water-based. No glycerin. Hypoallergenic. Something about pH balance. He scrolled past the sponsored links and noticed a product that popped up in several forums: a brand that advertised itself as gentle, designed for sensitive skin, marketed “for women.” Not that it mattered. If it was gentle enough for that, it’d probably be fine for whatever Atsumu was doing.

Osamu grabbed the bottle from the shelf. It was modest, unassuming, a soft pink label with white flowers. He felt a wave of secondhand embarrassment as he placed it in his basket, covering it with a carton of eggs. He paid quickly, avoiding eye contact with the cashier, and practically jogged home.

The house was still quiet when he returned. He set the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and pulled out the bottle, holding it like it might explode. He took a breath and walked to Atsumu’s room, knocking softly.

“Yeah?” Atsumu’s voice was wary.

Osamu cracked the door open. Atsumu was sitting up now, wearing a hoodie, his knees still pulled to his chest. He looked smaller than usual.

“Got it,” Osamu said, holding out the bottle.

Atsumu’s eyes widened, but he didn’t move to take it. His gaze flickered between the bottle and Osamu’s face, searching for judgment. Osamu kept his expression neutral, maybe even a little gentle.

“It’s the good kind,” Osamu added, stepping into the room. “Water-based. Doesn’t have any of that weird stuff. I read the label.”

Atsumu took the bottle, his fingers brushing against Osamu’s. He stared at it for a long moment, then whispered, “Thanks, ‘Samu.”

“Don’t mention it.” Osamu sat down on the edge of the bed, leaving a respectful distance. “You okay?”

Atsumu let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Just felt stupid askin’.”

“You’re not stupid. It’s just lube. People use it for… stuff.” Osamu felt his face heat again, but he pressed on. “You don’t gotta tell me why. But if you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

Atsumu looked up at him, and something in his eyes softened. The embarrassment was still there, but under it, there was relief. “It’s nothin’ weird. I just… you know. Sometimes, alone, it’s better if it doesn’t hurt.”

Osamu nodded slowly. He thought back to his own teenage years, to the clumsy, awkward experiments in the dark. He remembered the sting, the chafing, the confusion. He remembered the shame of not knowing what was normal. He’d figured it out eventually, but it had taken time. And he’d had no one to ask.

“I get it,” Osamu said quietly. “I used to—well, I didn’t have any once, and I hurt myself pretty bad. Rubbed myself raw. It was a mess.”

Atsumu’s eyes went wide. “You? You went through that?”

“Everyone does, one way or another. It’s normal.” Osamu shrugged. “I got some from a pharmacy later. The lady there recommended a kind like this. Said it was good for sensitive skin. So I thought… this’d be good for you too.”

Atsumu stared at the bottle in his hands. “You remembered that?”

“Course I did. I’m your twin. I know when you’re embarrassed, and I know you need the good stuff.” Osamu reached over and ruffled Atsumu’s hair, messing it up even more. “Now, get dressed. We still need to buy those eggs.”

Atsumu cracked a smile, small but genuine. “Thanks, ‘Samu. Really.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Osamu stood up, heading for the door. He paused with his hand on the frame. “Hey.”

“What?”

“You know… it’s fine. Whatever you do. It’s normal. And you don’t gotta hide it from me.”

Atsumu looked down at the bottle again, then back up at his brother. His smile grew. “I know. Thanks.”

Osamu left the room, feeling a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the morning sun. He went to the kitchen and started putting away the groceries, hands steady. When Atsumu shuffled out ten minutes later, dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, his hair still a disaster, Osamu just handed him a glass of orange juice.

“Drink,” he said. “We got a long list.”

Atsumu took the glass, and for a moment, they just stood there, two brothers in a quiet kitchen, sharing a wordless understanding. The awkwardness had passed, replaced by something stronger: the knowledge that no matter what, they had each other’s backs.

Later, as they walked to the grocery store, Atsumu bumped his shoulder against Osamu’s. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

“Nope. I’m gonna bring it up at your wedding.”

“I will end you.”

“You could try.” Osamu grinned. “But you’d need better lube.”

Atsumu groaned, shoving him, but he was laughing. And Osamu knew that was all that mattered.