Two Years, Not a Lifetime

The airport in Osaka was all fluorescent lights and that low drone of announcements. Osamu Miya stood with his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. He stared at the departure board, but his mind was a thousand miles away.

“Ya look like yer goin’ to a funeral, not culinary school.”

Osamu turned. Atsumu stood there, arms crossed, forcing a smirk. His twin’s scent—sweet, honey-like, omega—hung thick in the air. Osamu didn’t let himself breathe too deep. That’d only make this harder.

“I ain’t gonna be gone forever,” he said flat. “Two years, not a lifetime.”

“Two years is a lifetime.” Atsumu’s voice cracked, just a little. He cleared his throat. “We’ve never been apart that long. Not even when we went to different teams.”

“We text. We call. It’s fine.”

Atsumu scoffed. “Ya say that like it’s easy. Ya know yer gonna miss me.”

Osamu allowed a small smile. “Maybe.”

The speakers crackled with a boarding announcement. Osamu’s flight. He picked up his bag.

Atsumu lunged forward, wrapped his arms around Osamu in a tight hug. Osamu stiffened for a second, then relaxed into it. He could feel Atsumu trembling, the omega’s distress barely hidden behind that bravado.

“Don’t be a stranger,” Atsumu mumbled into his shoulder.

“I won’t.”

They pulled apart. Osamu saw the glint of tears in Atsumu’s eyes, but he didn’t call him out. Instead, he ruffled his twin’s blond hair—a move from childhood.

“Take care of yerself,” Osamu said.

“Ya too.”

And then Osamu turned and walked through the gate, not looking back. If he looked back, he might not leave.

---

The first few months, they talked every week. Time difference meant Atsumu stayed up late waiting for Osamu’s break in the kitchens, or Osamu woke early to catch Atsumu after practice. They sent photos—Osamu of his knife skills, Atsumu of his latest win on the court. Their conversations were the same as always: teasing, banter, the occasional serious moment.

But then life happened.

Osamu’s course got harder. He spent long hours perfecting sauces and doughs, fell into bed exhausted. Atsumu’s season ramped up; tournaments and training camps ate his days. The calls went from weekly to biweekly, then to once a month. The texts got shorter. They never argued about it, but a quiet gap widened between them.

Osamu would sometimes scroll through his gallery, staring at Atsumu’s face in a group photo from before he left. His alpha instincts itched under his skin. He missed his brother. He missed the bond they shared like a pulled muscle he couldn’t stretch.

But he was proud of Atsumu. His omega twin was thriving, independent, strong. Osamu never wanted to be the kind of alpha who held him back.

---

It was a Tuesday evening in Lyon when the notification popped up.

Atsumu: Osamu. I gotta tell ya somethin’.

Osamu wiped his hands on his apron and picked up his phone. Alone in the quiet dorm kitchen, a half-finished batch of onigiri cooling on the counter.

Osamu: What.

Atsumu: I met someone. An alpha. He’s really nice. Real attentive. Took me to dinner and didn’t even talk about volleyball the whole time.

Osamu felt a mix—surprise, a protective pang, and something softer. Relief? Happiness? He typed carefully.

Osamu: Good for ya. What’s his name?

Atsumu: Ryo. He works in finance. Real stable. He says he wants to mate me. Provide for me.

Osamu’s jaw tightened. He didn’t know this Ryo. He didn’t know if he deserved Atsumu. But he knew his brother was smart, and he wouldn’t settle.

Osamu: Ya happy?

Atsumu: Yeah. Really happy.

Osamu: Then I’m happy for ya.

He sent the message and stared at the screen. An image of Atsumu with someone else, making a life, building a home—it felt distant, like watching a movie. But he meant what he said. He was happy.

---

A few months later, Atsumu’s engagement announcement came in a flurry of texts, a blur of emojis and exclamation points. Osamu read through them in his tiny apartment, a glass of water forgotten in his hand.

Atsumu: OSAMU I’M ENGAGED!!! He proposed at the Sky Garden in Osaka!! It was so romantic!! The ring is so pretty!! WILL YA COME TO THE WEDDING?!? Please say yes I need my twin there!!

Osamu smiled despite the ache in his chest. He wished he could. He wanted to see Atsumu’s face, to hold him, to tease him about becoming a mated omega. But the schedule for his final term was brutal. Exams, practicals, the final project. He couldn’t get the time off.

Osamu: Congrats. I’m really happy for ya. But I can’t make it. Sorry.

He watched the typing bubble appear and disappear several times.

Atsumu: Oh. Okay. I get it. School’s important. Send pics tho! And I’ll tell ya all about it!

Osamu: Send pics of the food too.

Atsumu: Ugh. Fine.

Osamu used part of his savings to buy a jewelry set from a high-end Parisian boutique. A delicate gold necklace and matching earrings, simple but elegant. He packed it carefully, wrote a card: “For my favorite twin - hope ya stay happy. - Osamu”, and shipped it off to Japan.

He tracked the package obsessively until it arrived.

Atsumu’s reaction came two days later. A voice message, his voice thick with emotion.

“Osamu… ya idiot. Ya didn’t have to. It’s so pretty. I… thank ya. I’ll wear it at the wedding. I promise.”

Osamu listened to it three times.

---

The morning of the wedding in Japan was the middle of the night in France. Osamu had set an alarm anyway. He wanted to be awake in case Atsumu sent updates.

He was making a cup of tea when his phone buzzed. Not a text, but a call. From his mother.

He answered with a frown. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

“Osamu,” his mother said, her voice trembling. “Atsumu won’t go through with it. He’s locked himself in the dressing room. He keeps saying he can’t do it without you. He’s crying. I don’t know what to do. The guests are waiting.”

Osamu’s heart clenched. He could picture it—Atsumu in his white kimono, mascara streaked, shaking. His omega twin’s deep need for family, for the one person who always anchored him.

“Put him on the phone,” Osamu said.

There was shuffling, muffled voices. Then Atsumu’s voice, raw and broken.

“Osamu? Osamu, I can’t. I can’t do this without ya here. I wanted ya to be the one to hand me off or—I don’t know—just stand next to me. I feel so empty.”

Osamu closed his eyes. He let his alpha voice soften, let the calm authority he rarely used color his tone.

“Atsumu. Listen to me.”

A sniffle. “What?”

“Ya can do this. Ya met a good alpha who loves ya. Ya built a life. Ya don’t need me standing there to know I’m proud of ya. I’m proud of ya. I’m always gonna be yer twin, no matter how far I am. So go get married. Take those photos. Enjoy yer day. And call me after. Okay?”

Silence. Then a shaky breath.

“Promise ya won’t be mad?”

“I’m not mad. I’m happy for ya. Go.”

Another long moment. “Okay. I’m goin’. I love ya, Osamu.”

“I love ya too, dumbass.”

Atsumu laughed weakly, then the line went dead.

Osamu sat there, his tea gone cold, staring at the wall until sunlight crept through his window.

---

The updates came steadily after that. Wedding photos of Atsumu beaming, the gold jewelry around his neck, his hand in Ryo's. Atsumu in a sleek black suit for the reception, his hair perfectly styled. A video of them cutting a three-tier cake. Osamu liked every post, sent a single thumbs-up emoji to each picture.

Then came the honeymoon. Atsumu in Bali, in the Maldives, his skin tan and his smile wide. Osamu felt a dull ache of happiness for him.

And then the pregnancy announcement.

Atsumu: I'M GONNA BE A DAD.

Osamu grinned at his phone. His alpha instincts stirred with warmth. An omega sibling, with a baby. His niece or nephew.

Osamu: Congrats. Take care of yerself.

Atsumu: I will! Ya better come see the baby when it’s born.

Osamu: I’ll try.

He knew he couldn’t promise. His program was almost over, but he had plans to stage at a restaurant in Paris, maybe stay longer. He wasn’t ready to go back yet. There was too much to learn.

---

The birth came seven months later. Atsumu’s labor was long, according to Ryo’s frantic texts. Osamu paced his small apartment in Paris, unable to focus on his books. His omega was in pain, and he couldn’t be there. It was a violation of every alpha instinct he had.

Finally, the message.

Atsumu (via Ryo’s phone): It’s a girl. She’s perfect. Named her Haruka.

A photo came through: Atsumu in a hospital bed, exhausted, still glowing, holding a tiny swaddled bundle to his bare chest. A lock of fine blond hair peeked out. The baby’s cheek rested against Atsumu’s skin.

Osamu saved the photo. He stared at it for a long time.

He wanted to hold her. He wanted to smell that new life, to let his alpha purr fill the room and make his omega brother feel safe. But he was three thousand miles away.

Osamu: She’s beautiful. Just like her parent. Rest well.

Atsumu: Miss ya.

Osamu: Miss ya too.

---

Two years after Osamu had left Japan, he finally booked a return flight. He’d completed his program, worked a brief stage at a Michelin-starred restaurant, and now he had a few weeks free before his next job in Tokyo. He told Atsumu he was coming home for a visit.

The reply came in all caps.

ATSUMU: FINALLY!! YA BETTER COME STRAIGHT TO MY HOUSE. I DON’T WANNA WAIT.

Osamu: Fine. I’ll be there.

The flight was long. Osamu slept fitfully, his dreams a tangle of kitchens and volleyball courts and Atsumu’s laughter. When the plane touched down at Kansai International, the humidity hit him like a wall. It smelled like home.

He took a taxi through the familiar streets of Osaka. Everything was the same, yet different. New buildings, new faces. He gave the driver Atsumu’s address—a house in a quiet neighborhood, not far from where they grew up.

The taxi pulled up to a modest two-story house with a small garden. A children’s tricycle was parked in the driveway. Osamu paid, grabbed his bag, and walked up the path.

His heart was pounding. He didn’t know why. It was just Atsumu. But it wasn’t just Atsumu. It was Atsumu with a child, a mate, a life Osamu had only seen through a screen.

He rang the bell.

Footsteps. The door swung open.

And there was Atsumu.

He looked different. Softer, somehow. His blond hair was longer, tied back loosely. He wore a simple gray sweater, and cradled in his arms, pressed to his chest, was a baby. A little girl with wispy dark hair (Ryo’s genes, not Atsumu’s), her tiny mouth latched onto Atsumu’s nipple, nursing.

Atsumu’s eyes met Osamu’s.

The omega’s face crumpled. Tears spilled down his cheeks instantly.

“Osamu,” he whispered. “Ya came.”

Osamu’s throat tightened. He dropped his bag.

“I said I would.”

Atsumu took a half-step forward, mindful of the baby, and then Osamu was wrapping his arms around him—both of them, the omega and the infant—holding them close. He breathed in the scent of milk and lavender and that familiar honey warmth. Atsumu sobbed against his shoulder, his body shaking.

“I missed ya so much,” Atsumu choked out. “I missed ya every day. I wanted ya here. For everything. The wedding. The birth. I wanted my twin.”

Osamu pressed his cheek to Atsumu’s hair. His eyes burned, but he didn’t let himself cry. He was the alpha. He had to be steady.

“I know,” he murmured. “I’m here now.”

They stayed like that for a long, aching moment. The baby made a small sound, breaking the spell. Atsumu pulled back, laughing through his tears. He adjusted his hold on Haruka, who had detached and was blinking up at the new person with wide eyes.

“This is her,” Atsumu said, voice thick. “Haruka. My little star.”

Osamu looked down at his niece. She had her father’s dark eyes, but her mouth was set in a familiar pout—that was all Atsumu. She gave a tiny yawn, and Osamu felt something crack open in his chest.

“Can I hold her?”

Atsumu’s smile trembled. “Of course.”

He carefully transferred the baby into Osamu’s arms. Osamu cradled her against his chest, her tiny warmth seeping into him. She smelled of innocence and love. She squirmed, then settled, trusting.

Osamu looked at Atsumu, who was watching him with an expression of raw joy.

“She’s perfect,” Osamu said.

“Yeah,” Atsumu breathed. “She is.”

---

Inside, the house was warm and lived-in. Toys scattered on the floor, a half-empty cup of tea on the coffee table. Osamu sat on the couch, still holding Haruka, while Atsumu busied himself making more tea.

“Ryo’s out,” Atsumu said over his shoulder. “He’ll be back tonight. He’s excited to finally meet ya.”

“Good,” Osamu said. “I gotta make sure he’s treatin’ ya right.”

Atsumu snorted. “He’s perfect. He cooks for me when I’m tired. He gets up for the night feedings. He’s a good alpha.”

“Makes sense. Ya wouldn’t settle for less.”

Atsumu brought over two cups, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. He curled his legs under him, his omega scent settling into a relaxed contentment.

“How long are ya stayin’?”

“Three weeks. Then I’ve got a job in Tokyo.”

Atsumu pouted. “Ya can’t stay longer? I just got ya back.”

Osamu shook his head. “I got a career too, Atsumu. I ain’t gonna be a houseguest forever.”

“I know. I know.” Atsumu sighed, but he was smiling. “Three weeks is more than we’ve had in two years. I’ll take it.”

Haruka stirred in Osamu’s arms. He looked down at her, adjusting his hold instinctively. She fussed, and Atsumu reached over.

“She might be hungry again,” he said. “I can take her.”

“Nah. Let me try.” Osamu stood, shifting her to his shoulder, patting her back gently. She gave a small burp, then settled again.

Atsumu watched with a soft smile. “Ya look natural holdin’ her.”

“Feels natural,” Osamu admitted. “She’s family.”

They talked into the evening. Osamu told Atsumu about France—the demanding chefs, the late-night failures, the triumphs that made it all worth it. He described the flavors he’d learned to balance, the presentation techniques, the tiny bakery he frequented for croissants. Atsumu listened, rapt, his eyes bright. He told Osamu about volleyball, about how he was thinking of retiring next year, how he wanted to be home more for Haruka. He talked about the exhausting joy of parenthood, the sleepless nights, the first time she smiled.

“I wish ya could’ve seen her first steps,” Atsumu said, his voice soft. “She took them in the living room. Ryo filmed it. I sent ya the video.”

“I saw it,” Osamu said. “Hundred times.”

They lapsed into silence, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator. Then Atsumu spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Osamu… I’m sorry we drifted. I know I got busy. I got caught up in my own life. I should have called more.”

Osamu shook his head. “It’s not yer fault. I did the same. Life happens. But we’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Atsumu’s lower lip wobbled. “I was scared ya were gonna be a stranger when ya came back. That we’d have nothin’ to talk about.”

“We got plenty,” Osamu said, glancing at the baby. “Besides, I still owe ya a proper onigiri taste test. My skills are better now.”

Atsumu laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “Ya better deliver.”

“I will.”

Later, when Ryo came home, Osamu met him properly. He was a tall, kind-faced alpha with a firm handshake and a sincere smile. He thanked Osamu for coming, for being there for Atsumu all those years. Osamu nodded, satisfied that his twin was in good hands.

That night, after Ryo and Haruka had gone to bed, Osamu sat on the porch with Atsumu, two beers in hand. The stars were out, hidden behind city glow, but a few brave ones shone through.

“Thank ya,” Atsumu said quietly. “For callin’ me on my weddin’ day. I would’ve ruined everythin’ if ya hadn’t.”

“Ya wouldn’t have ruined anythin’. But I was happy to help.”

Atsumu leaned his head on Osamu’s shoulder. An omega seeking comfort from his alpha twin. Osamu let him.

“I don’t say it enough,” Atsumu murmured. “But I love ya. Yer my anchor. No matter where I go, no matter what I do, I need ya to be there. Even if it’s just a voice on the phone.”

Osamu’s heart clenched. He turned his head, pressing a kiss to the top of Atsumu’s hair.

“I’m always gonna be there. Distance don’t change that.”

They sat in comfortable silence until the beer ran out. Then they went inside, and Osamu crashed on the guest bed, exhausted but whole.

---

The days that followed were a slow rediscovery. Osamu cooked elaborate meals for the family—onigiri with new fillings, delicate soups, a roasted chicken that had Atsumu moaning in delight. He held Haruka while Atsumu showered, sang her lullabies that he half-remembered from their mother. She grew used to his scent, his voice, reaching for him with grabby hands.

Atsumu watched it all with a quiet, grateful smile. The two years of absence faded as they fell back into their old rhythm: bickering over cooking, sharing memories, staying up too late.

On the night before Osamu left for Tokyo, Atsumu put Haruka to bed early and came to the guest room. Osamu was packing his bag.

“Don’t go,” Atsumu said, only half-joking.

“I gotta. But I’ll visit. And ya can come to Tokyo. Bring the baby.”

Atsumu sighed. “Fine. Promise me we won’t let it get so long again. Two years is too much.”

“I promise,” Osamu said. He zipped his bag and turned. “And I promise I’ll be at Haruka’s first birthday. And her second. And her graduation. All of it.”

Atsumu’s eyes glistened. He hugged Osamu tightly.

“Good. Because I’m holdin’ ya to it.”

The next morning, Osamu held his niece one last time, her small hand wrapping around his finger. She cooed, and he felt a fierce love for this tiny person, a connection that went beyond blood. She was Atsumu’s daughter. That made her his too.

“Bye, Haruka,” he whispered. “Be good to yer daddy.”

He set her in Atsumu’s arms. Atsumu was crying, but smiling.

Osamu stepped out into the morning air. The sun was bright, the world waiting. He looked back one more time.

Atsumu stood in the doorway, Haruka on his hip, the gold necklace from two years ago still around his neck. He raised a hand.

Osamu raised his in return.

Then he turned and walked away, knowing that no matter how far he went, he would always find his way back to the one person who had been with him from the start. The distance had tested them, but it hadn't broken them. It had only made them stronger.

Osamu smiled to himself.

He couldn't wait to come home again.