Two Halves, One Wound

The apartment was too quiet. That hit Osamu first—the lock clicking shut behind him, soft and final. Usually there was noise: Atsumu’s voice from the living room, the TV humming, the clatter of a spoon against a bowl. Tonight the silence sat on him like a weight. Thick. Wrong.

He kicked off his shoes, soles scuffing the hardwood. Kitchen dark. Living room empty. A single lamp glowed in the corner, throwing long shadows across the floor. Osamu frowned, shoulders tightening under his jacket. He’d left practice early, stomach churning with something he couldn’t name. Now he knew why.

A muffled sound from the bedroom. A sharp inhale. The hiss of breath through teeth.

His feet moved before his brain caught up. Down the narrow hall, past the framed photos—him and Atsumu at Nationals, grinning, arm in arm. He didn’t look. The bedroom door was ajar, light spilling through the crack. He pushed it open with one finger.

The room was dim, overhead light off, but the bathroom door stood open and the mirror caught the glow of a single bulb. Osamu saw him before Atsumu realized he was there.

Atsumu at the sink, head bent, one hand holding an ice pack to his cheek. The other braced against the counter, knuckles white. In the mirror, Osamu could see the dark bloom of a bruise just below his twin’s eye, the split in his lower lip, the way he winced when he shifted the ice.

“Atsumu.” His voice came out flat. No inflection.

Atsumu’s head snapped up. The ice pack clattered into the sink. He spun around, a smile already plastered on—too bright, too quick. “Samu! Hey, you’re home early. Didn’t hear ya come in.”

“What happened to your face?”

“Nothin’. Walked into a door.” He laughed, brittle, like glass under pressure. He reached for the ice pack again but missed, fingers brushing the edge of the sink.

Osamu’s blood went cold. He knew that laugh. That excuse. He’d heard it a hundred times when they were kids, from a different voice in a different kitchen, same hollow cheerfulness. Their mother, dabbing a cut on her lip, telling them she’d tripped. Don’t worry.

He stepped into the bathroom. Small space, the two of them too close. Atsumu’s shoulders hunched, his smile flickering.

“Don’t lie to me,” Osamu said. Quiet, but it cut like a blade. “You didn’t walk into no door.”

Atsumu’s eyes darted away. “It’s fine, Samu. Really. Looks worse than it is.”

“Your hand is shaking.”

Atsumu looked down at his hand. Trembling, a fine tremor he couldn’t stop. He curled it into a fist and shoved it in his pocket. “I’m cold.”

“It’s summer.”

Silence stretched. Air thick with unspoken things. Osamu reached out, slow—and Atsumu flinched. Just a fraction, but Osamu saw it.

The floor seemed to tilt under him.

“Who did this to you?” His own voice sounded distant, like someone else speaking.

Atsumu’s smile finally broke. He looked at the floor, bangs falling over his eyes. “Samu, please. Just leave it.”

“Who?”

The bedroom door opened.

Osamu turned. Suna stood in the doorway, silhouette framed by dim light from the hall. Still in practice clothes, hair damp, gym bag slung over one shoulder. His eyes went from Osamu to Atsumu, and his expression flickered—something unreadable, then gone.

“Samu.” Atsumu’s voice from behind him, a whisper. “Don’t.”

But it was too late. Cold had turned to fire, roaring up Osamu’s spine. He saw the bruise on his brother’s face. The trembling hands. Suna standing there, calm and quiet, like he hadn’t done a damn thing.

“You.” The word jagged. “You did this.”

Suna’s eyes narrowed. He set his bag down, slow and deliberate. “Osamu, don’t jump to conclusions.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” Osamu’s voice rose, cracking on the last word. He stepped out of the bathroom, closing the distance. “I saw his face. I saw him flinch when I reached for him. What the hell did you do to him?”

“Samu, stop.” Atsumu behind him, hand reaching for his arm. Osamu shook him off.

Suna met his gaze, steady and unblinking. “You need to calm down.”

“Calm down?” Osamu laughed, bitter and ugly. “My brother’s got a black eye and a split lip, and you want me to calm down? You son of a bitch.”

He lunged.

His hands found Suna’s collar, shoving him back against the wall. Sharp impact, a thud echoing through the room. Suna’s head hit the drywall, eyes widening for a moment before they hardened.

“Who do you think you are?” Osamu’s voice raw, face inches from Suna’s. “He trusted you. He loved you. And you—you hit him?”

“Let go of me.” Suna’s voice low, controlled, but a tremor underneath.

“Make me.” Osamu’s fist drew back, muscles coiled. He saw red—not the color of blood, but every bruise on their mother’s body, every lie she’d ever told, every time Atsumu cried as a kid and refused to say why. All blurring into this moment, this man, this monster standing in their home.

“Stop!”

Atsumu’s scream broke through. He threw himself between them, back to Suna, hands pressing against Osamu’s chest. The fist meant for Suna’s face glanced off Atsumu’s shoulder instead. Dull thud. A gasp.

Osamu froze.

World snapped back into focus. Atsumu in front of him, shaking, tears streaking down his face. Eyes wide, terrified, pleading.

“Don’t,” Atsumu whispered. “Please. Don’t.”

Osamu’s hand dropped. He stared at his own fingers, at the bruise already forming on Atsumu’s shoulder where he’d struck him. Rage drained out, leaving something cold and hollow.

“Tsumu…” His voice cracked.

Atsumu sobbed, a broken sound tearing out of his chest. He sagged against Osamu, face buried in his brother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize to me.” Osamu wrapped his arms around him, holding him up. His eyes lifted to Suna, still pressed against the wall, face pale, hands loose at his sides.

“Tell me what happened,” Osamu said. Not a demand anymore. A plea.

Atsumu took a shaky breath. He pulled back just enough to wipe his eyes, but couldn’t look at either of them. “We were arguing. About someone from his team. A girl who messaged him. I said something stupid—I said he was being shady, that I didn’t trust him.”

Suna’s jaw tightened. “That’s not how it happened.”

“Then how did it happen?” Osamu’s voice sharp, but he kept his arms around Atsumu.

“He pushed me,” Suna said. “Grabbed my wrist. I told him to let go, and he didn’t. I just…” He trailed off, eyes dropping to the floor. “I shoved him. I didn’t mean to hit his face. It was an accident.”

“An accident?” Osamu repeated. “A black eye is an accident? A split lip?”

Suna didn’t answer.

Atsumu’s shoulders shook. “He’s right. I grabbed him. I was jealous, and I wouldn’t let go. He pushed me, and I fell. My face hit the edge of the table.”

Osamu looked down at his brother. The bruise dark, ugly, blooming across his cheekbone like a stain. The cut on his lip still raw, a thin line of red. He wanted to believe it was an accident. Wanted to believe Suna hadn’t meant to hurt him.

But he remembered their mother’s face, and how she’d always said the same thing.

“I want you to leave,” Osamu said. Flat, drained.

Suna’s head snapped up. “What?”

“You heard me. Get out of this apartment. Don’t come back.”

“Osamu, it was a mistake.” Suna stepped forward, but Osamu blocked his path. “I love him. I would never—”

“You already did.” Osamu’s eyes hard. “You don’t get to say you love him after you put your hands on him. That’s not how it works.”

Suna’s gaze shifted to Atsumu, still pressed against Osamu’s chest, face hidden. “Tsumu? Please. Tell him I didn’t mean it.”

Atsumu didn’t look up. Voice muffled, barely audible. “Just go.”

The words hung in the air. Suna stood there for a long moment, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Then he turned, walked to the door, picked up his bag. Paused at the threshold, back to them.

“I’m sorry,” he said. Soft. Broken.

He left. The door clicked shut. Lock engaged with a quiet turn.

Osamu didn’t move. Stood there holding his brother, feeling the tremors running through Atsumu’s body. The apartment silent again, but not the same silence as before. Heavier. Filled with everything they hadn’t said.

“I’m sorry,” Atsumu whispered again.

“Stop saying that.” Osamu guided him to the bed, lowered him down. Sat beside him, one hand on his back, the other reaching for the ice pack that had fallen to the floor. Pressed it gently to Atsumu’s cheek.

Atsumu winced but didn’t pull away. Stared at the wall, eyes empty.

“I should’ve told you,” he said. “I was scared. Scared you’d be mad. Scared you’d hate him.”

“I do hate him.”

“I know.” Atsumu’s voice cracked. “But I don’t know how to stop loving him.”

Osamu’s throat tightened. He pulled his brother close, chin resting on top of his head. “You don’t have to figure it out tonight. Just stay here. Stay with me.”

Atsumu nodded, a small jerky motion. His hand found Osamu’s, gripping tight.

They sat there in the dim light, the ice pack slowly melting, water dripping onto the floor. Outside, the city hummed with distant traffic, oblivious to the wreckage inside this room. The wound fresh, the betrayal still bleeding. The future a blank, dark space, uncertain and terrifying.

But for now, they had each other. Two halves of a whole, scarred and broken, but still holding on.

Osamu closed his eyes. He didn’t know if he could protect his brother from everything. Didn’t know if he could fix what Suna had broken. But he knew one thing for certain.

He would never let anyone hurt Atsumu again.

Even if it meant tearing the world apart.