Eggshells and Sunlight

Osamu’s lungs were on fire in that good way as he rounded the corner onto their street, the morning air still cool on his skin. Sunday mornings were sacred—no practice, no part-time shifts at the restaurant, no teammates barking at him. Just the steady slap of his feet on pavement and the pale gray light leaking through the clouds. He slowed to a walk when he reached the Miya house, stretching his arms overhead, rolling his shoulders. The place was dead quiet. Curtains drawn. Only a distant bird testing out the day.

He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and let himself in through the side door, kicking off his running shoes without thinking. The hallway was dim, smelled like last night’s dinner still hanging around. He padded toward the stairs, already planning a cold glass of water after he checked on Atsumu. Not that he needed to check on him. They were both twenty-four, living under the same roof by choice, not because they had to. But old habits don’t just die—they dig in.

At the top of the stairs, Osamu’s eyes drifted to Atsumu’s door. Closed, like always. He knocked three times—that quick pattern they’d worked out in high school so they’d know it was each other. Nothing. Knocked again, louder. Still nothing.

He sighed and pushed the door open, stepping inside with that careful humility of someone who respects boundaries but also knows his twin too well to expect privacy at this hour.

The room was a disaster. Shocker. Clothes draped over the desk chair, a half-empty glass of water on the nightstand, phone charger tangled on the floor like a dead snake. And on the bed, sprawled like a starfish with one leg dangling off, was Atsumu.

Osamu’s eyes swept over him automatically—messy bleached hair, slack jaw, soft breathing. Then his gaze snagged on something else and immediately snapped away. Atsumu was wearing just a simple black bra and a pair of shorts, his chest bare, the thin straps cutting across his shoulders. Heat shot to Osamu’s ears. He fixed his stare on the window, on the pale morning light, on anything else.

He cleared his throat. Loudly. “Oi, Atsumu. Wake up.”

A grumble. A shift. A muffled curse.

“Five more minutes,” Atsumu groaned, voice rough.

“No. I’m goin’ to the store in a bit. Need anything?”

Atsumu rolled over, blinking groggily. His eyes found Osamu standing there like a statue, staring at the wall. He snorted, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “What, ya scared of seein’ my abs or somethin’?”

“Shut up and answer the question,” Osamu said flatly, still not looking.

Atsumu stretched—long, exaggerated, making his shirtless torso arch off the mattress. Osamu kept his eyes locked on the peeling paint near the ceiling.

“Yeah, actually,” Atsumu said, his voice dropping. The playfulness faded, replaced by something quieter. “There is somethin’.”

Osamu glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Atsumu had pulled the blanket up to his chin, fingers gripping the edge tight. That got his attention more than anything—Atsumu didn’t hide. He was loud, cocky, always pushing. But right now he looked small. Fragile.

“What?” Osamu asked, softening his tone.

Atsumu’s gaze darted away. He chewed his lip—a rare tell. Osamu waited.

“Can ya… can ya pick up a pregnancy test from the convenience store?”

The words hung in the air like smoke. Osamu’s brain stalled, rewound, processed. His ears burned hotter, spreading to his cheeks. A pregnancy test. For Atsumu. His twin brother, who was born male but had always been something else—something Osamu had learned to understand without words. Atsumu had never officially come out to him. No dramatic confession. No tearful explanation. Just small things over the years: the way he’d ask Osamu to call him “brother” instead of “sister” during their childhood games, the way he’d glare at anyone who used feminine pronouns, the way he’d finally, in high school, started binding and cutting his hair. And Osamu had just adapted, because that’s what you do for the person who shared your first breath.

But this—a pregnancy test—meant Atsumu had been with someone. Had done things that could lead to this. And Osamu’s immediate reaction wasn’t disgust or confusion. It was a sharp, protective anger aimed at whoever had touched his brother without his knowledge.

He forced himself to breathe. “Yeah. I can get that.”

Atsumu’s eyes went wide, like he’d expected a different answer. “Really?”

“Did I stutter?”

“No, it’s just…” Atsumu pulled the blanket higher, voice muffled. “Thanks.”

Osamu nodded, already turning toward the door. He paused with his hand on the frame. “Anything else? Like, chocolate or somethin’?”

Atsumu let out a shaky laugh. “Nah. Just the test.”

“Okay. I’ll be back in twenty.”

Osamu jogged back down the stairs, mind racing. He grabbed his wallet from the counter and slipped on a pair of sandals, ignoring the way his hands trembled slightly as he tied the laces. The convenience store was about fifteen minutes on foot, but he’d run there and back in ten if he pushed it.

The streets were still quiet—a few early risers walking dogs or heading to the bakery. Osamu’s footsteps echoed in the stillness, but his thoughts were louder.

Who had done this? Had to be recent—Atsumu hadn’t mentioned dating anyone. Then again, they didn’t share everything. They had their own lives, their own circles. But the idea of someone taking advantage of Atsumu, or hurting him, made Osamu’s jaw clench. He didn’t care if it was a one-night stand or a serious relationship—whoever it was, they better treat Atsumu right, or Osamu would have words. Or fists.

He entered the convenience store with a bell that jingled overhead. The cashier was a bored-looking teenager scrolling through his phone. Osamu walked straight to the health aisle, scanning the shelves. He spotted the pregnancy tests—cheap ones in bright boxes, slightly more expensive ones with digital displays. He grabbed the highest-quality one, the kind that gave a clear result in a font that couldn’t be misread. If Atsumu was going to face this, he deserved the best.

He paid in silence, ignoring the cashier’s cursory glance. The bag was small, lightweight, but it felt heavy in his hand as he jogged back.

The house was still quiet when he returned. He climbed the stairs two at a time, knocked twice on Atsumu’s door, and opened it without waiting for an answer. Atsumu was sitting up now, still wrapped in the blanket, hair a wild mess. He looked up as Osamu entered, eyes red-rimmed.

Osamu didn’t comment. He crossed the room and held out the bag. “Here.”

Atsumu took it, his fingers brushing Osamu’s. They were cold. “Thanks.”

“You want me to wait outside?”

Atsumu hesitated, then shook his head. “Can you… stay? Just on the other side of the door?”

“Yeah. Call me when you’re done.”

Osamu stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him, leaning against the wall. He heard the rustle of the bag, the click of the bathroom door opening and closing. Then silence.

He counted his breaths. In, out. In, out. The minutes stretched like rubber bands. He thought about calling their mother, then dismissed it. This was between him and Atsumu. Whatever happened next, they’d handle it together.

The bathroom door opened. Osamu straightened, heart pounding. Atsumu emerged, the test clutched in his hand, face pale. He met Osamu’s eyes and his lips parted, but no sound came out.

“What does it say?” Osamu asked softly.

Atsumu held out the test. Two lines. Clear as day.

Positive.

Osamu felt the world tilt, then steady itself. He took the test from Atsumu’s trembling hand and set it on the dresser. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Atsumu’s voice cracked. “That’s all ya got?”

“What do you want me to say?” Osamu asked, voice gentle. “I’m not mad. I’m not gonna yell at ya. I just wanna know what you’re gonna do.”

Atsumu sank onto the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, head bowed. “I’m gonna terminate it.”

The words were flat, rehearsed. Like he’d been saying them to himself in the mirror for days.

Osamu sat down beside him, keeping a careful distance. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Atsumu’s voice wavered. “I can’t… I can’t go through with it. It’s not—I’m not…” He took a shaky breath. “I’m a guy, Samu. I’m a guy, and I’m carryin’ a baby, and it’s just wrong. It’s all wrong.”

Osamu’s throat tightened. He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. He just reached out and placed a hand on Atsumu’s shoulder, a solid weight of comfort.

“I’ve never even thought about bein’ a parent,” Atsumu continued, his voice getting steadier. “And my body… it doesn’t feel like mine when I think about it. I mean, it barely feels like mine on a good day, but this…” He gestured vaguely at his midsection. “This would be too much. I can’t do it.”

“Then don’t,” Osamu said simply. “It’s your choice. And whatever you decide, I’ll back you up.”

Atsumu looked up, his eyes wet. “You mean that?”

“When have I ever lied to ya?”

A shaky laugh escaped Atsumu. “Never. Ya’re too honest for your own good, dumbass.”

“And you’re too dramatic for yours.” Osamu squeezed his shoulder. “But that’s why we’re twins.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. The morning light crept across the floor, painting stripes of gold on the wooden planks. Osamu’s hand stayed on Atsumu’s shoulder, grounding them both.

“Who was it?” Osamu asked finally, his voice low.

Atsumu tensed. “Does it matter?”

“To me, yeah.”

Atsumu sighed. “Just a guy I met at a bar a few weeks ago. It was nothin’. Just a one-night thing. I was pretty drunk.”

Osamu’s jaw tightened, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Did he… did he know?”

“That I’m trans? Yeah, I told him. He didn’t care. Wasn’t the first time.” Atsumu shrugged, a defensive gesture. “I’m careful. Usually. But that night…”

“You don’t have to explain,” Osamu said. “It happens. What matters is what you do now.”

Atsumu nodded slowly. “I’ve got a clinic in mind. I looked it up. They’re good with… people like me. The appointment’s in two days.”

“I’ll drive ya.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’ll drive ya,” Osamu repeated, firmer this time.

Atsumu’s lower lip trembled. He bit down on it, hard, and nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Samu.”

Osamu wrapped an arm around him, pulling him into a rough, sideways hug. Atsumu stiffened for a second, then melted into it, burying his face in Osamu’s shoulder. They stayed like that until Atsumu’s breathing evened out.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Osamu murmured. “We’ve gotten through worse.”

“Like when ya accidentally put salt in the rice instead of sugar?”

“That was your fault. Ya handed me the wrong container.”

“It looked the same!”

“It was labeled.”

“Labels are for losers.”

Osamu snorted, and Atsumu laughed—a real laugh, watery but genuine. It was a small sound, but it filled the room with something warm.

“C’mon,” Osamu said, pulling back. “I’m makin’ breakfast. And you need to eat.”

“I’m not really hungry.”

“Tough. Ya haven’t eaten since yesterday. I can tell by how pale you are. And ya need your strength for… the next few days.”

Atsumu hesitated, then nodded. “Fine. But I’m not eatin’ whatever weird onigiri concoction ya try to make.”

“I was thinkin’ toast and eggs. Simple.”

“That’s acceptable.”

Osamu stood and held out a hand. Atsumu took it, letting himself be pulled upright. He was still in just the bra and shorts, and he shivered slightly in the morning air.

“Get a shirt on, ya show-off,” Osamu said, tossing him a hoodie from the chair.

Atsumu caught it and pulled it over his head, the fabric swallowing him. “Better?”

“Marginally.”

They walked down the stairs together, their footsteps falling into an easy rhythm. The kitchen was bright, sunlight streaming through the window over the sink. Osamu pulled out a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread, while Atsumu settled onto a stool at the counter, watching him.

“Hey, Samu?”

“Mm?”

“I’m glad it’s you.”

Osamu cracked an egg with practiced precision. “Who else would it be? Mom would freak out, and Dad would pretend it wasn’t happenin’.”

“No, I mean…” Atsumu traced a pattern on the counter with his finger. “I’m glad I could tell you. That I didn’t have to go through this alone.”

Osamu paused, eggshell in hand. He set it down and turned to face his brother fully. “You’ll never have to go through anythin’ alone, Atsumu. I don’t care what it is. You tell me, and I’ll be there. Got it?”

Atsumu’s eyes glistened again, but he blinked rapidly, forcing the tears back. “Got it.”

“Good. Now shut up and let me cook.”

The eggs sizzled in the pan. Atsumu rested his chin on his hand, watching Osamu with an expression that was soft, quiet, grateful. Outside, the morning was unfolding, ordinary and bright. Inside, the Miya twins shared a silence that said everything they needed to say.

And when they sat down to eat, their shoulders brushing, the weight of the day seemed a little lighter. They had each other. That was enough.