Stuck with Me

The off-season air in Inarizaki felt thick enough to chew on, thunder grumbling somewhere in the distance. The Miya twins' apartment smelled like stale takoyaki and whatever cheap cologne Atsumu had practically bathed in before practice. No games that night, no training—just the two of them flopped on opposite ends of the worn-out sofa, a cooking show flickering on the TV that neither of them was actually watching.

Osamu's thumb hovered over his phone. Miyako had texted him a sweet message about their next date, and he wanted to reply with something more than a thumbs-up emoji. But every word he typed felt clumsy, like his fingers didn't know how to spell sincerity.

Across from him, Atsumu had his legs draped over the armrest, scrolling through his own phone with that smug little grin. Probably texting some girl—or guy—from the neighboring prefecture. Osamu watched him for a long minute, then cleared his throat.

"Hey."

"Mm?" Atsumu didn't look up.

"I gotta ask ya somethin'."

That got his attention. He flicked his gaze up, eyebrows raised. "You sound weird, Samu. Did ya finally get food poisoning from that convenience store onigiri?"

"Shut up." Osamu shifted, sitting up straighter. The question had been nagging him for weeks, ever since Miyako started getting more serious. They'd held hands, kissed, cuddled. But she'd started making comments about moving slower, being ready, and Osamu wanted to be prepared. He didn't want to mess it up.

He took a breath. "Atsumu… have you ever—y'know. Done it."

Atsumu's phone lowered. His expression flickered—surprise, then amusement, then something unreadable. "Done what? Beat ya in a footrace again?"

"Sex, dumbass."

The word hung in the air. Atsumu's grin widened, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh. That." He set his phone down completely and folded his arms, leaning back. "Yeah, 'course I have. More than a few times."

Osamu's ears burned. He hadn't expected such a casual confirmation. "How many?"

"What, are ya takin' a survey?" Atsumu snorted, but his voice softened. "I don't keep count, Samu. But enough to know what I'm doin'. Mostly hookups. Nothin' serious." He paused, lowering his gaze. "Most of 'em didn't even bother with aftercare. Just rolled over and went to sleep."

The bitterness in his twin's tone was faint but unmistakable. Osamu's stomach twisted. "That's… shitty."

"Yeah, well." Atsumu shrugged, but the movement was tighter than usual. "Water under the bridge. Why're ya askin' anyway? Got a girl?"

Osamu nodded slowly. "Miyako. We've been seein' each other for a few months. She's… she's special. I wanna do this right." He rubbed the back of his neck. "And since you've been on both sides, I figured… maybe you could give me some advice."

Atsumu's head lifted. For a moment, the flippant mask cracked, revealing a flicker of genuine surprise. Then he chuckled, but it was soft, not mocking. "Both sides. Yeah, I guess I got that goin' for me." He stretched his arms above his head, cracking his shoulders. "Alright. Sit up and listen. I'm only sayin' this once."

Osamu scooted forward, elbows on his knees. Atsumu's tone shifted from playful to serious.

"First thing: communication. Ya gotta talk to her. Ask what she likes. If she says slower, go slower. Faster, whatever. But don't just assume. Guys do that all the time and it's lame." He ticked off fingers. "Foreplay. Don't skip it. Most girls need more than just—y'know—stickin' it in. Use your hands. Find where she likes to be touched. Neck, ears, that spot behind her knee."

Osamu blinked. "Behind the knee?"

"Ya think I'm jokin'? Some people go crazy for it." Atsumu's eyes glinted with mischief, but he kept going. "And when ya get to the chest part—be gentle. I mean really gentle. Lots of guys grab like they're pawin' at a volleyball. That ain't it. Cup your hands softly. Treat 'em like they're precious, not like you're tryin' to crush 'em."

Osamu nodded, mentally scribbling notes. He felt a little awkward, but Atsumu was being surprisingly… helpful.

"And after." Atsumu's voice dropped. "Aftercare is the most important. Bring her water. A snack. Wrap her in a blanket. Tell her she's beautiful. Don't just roll over and fall asleep. That makes her feel used." He looked away, jaw tight. "I know what that feels like. Don't do it to her."

The weight of those words settled over Osamu like a heavy blanket. He wanted to ask more, but something in Atsumu's posture said don't push. So he just nodded. "Got it. Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah." Atsumu waved a hand, the flippancy returning. "Now can we watch somethin' with actual explosions? This cookin' show is makin' me hungry."

They switched channels to an action movie. Osamu tried to focus on the explosions, but his mind kept circling back to Atsumu's words. Most of 'em didn't bother with aftercare.

An hour later, the movie ended. Atsumu yawned and announced he was showering. Osamu stayed on the couch, scrolling through his phone, when he heard the water turn off. A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened and footsteps padded down the hall.

"Samu! Where'd ya put the—oh, never mind, found it."

Osamu didn't think. He just got up to grab a drink from the kitchen, his path taking him right past the bathroom. The door was ajar, steam still curling out. He pushed it open without knocking—old habit from years of living together.

And froze.

Atsumu stood there, facing the mirror, a white towel wrapped around his waist. His back was to the door, but in the reflection, Osamu saw it: full, round breasts, cupped in a lacy red bra that was clearly not meant to be hidden. The straps cut across Atsumu's shoulders, the fabric hugging curves that Osamu had last seen when they were both scrawny ten-year-olds. Those had been small, barely there. Now they were… not small.

Atsumu glanced up in the mirror, caught Osamu's stunned expression, and didn't even flinch. "Knock next time, dumbass."

Osamu's face went scarlet. "S-sorry! I didn't mean—I wasn't—I didn't know you had—"

"Had what? Boobs?" Atsumu turned around, utterly unashamed. He adjusted the bra strap with casual efficiency. "Yeah, I got 'em. What'd ya think I wore under my jersey all season? They're a D-cup. Pain in the ass to run in, but they look good."

Osamu couldn't form a coherent sentence. His eyes kept darting away, then back. "I… I didn't know they were that big."

"They grew when I started hittin' puberty proper. Used to hide 'em with binders, but they're too big now." Atsumu walked past him into the hallway, still in just the towel and bra. "Helped that I got on hormones a couple years ago. Made everything more… balanced."

Osamu followed, his brain short-circuiting. "Ya never told me."

"What was I supposed to do, send ya a monthly update?" Atsumu snorted, grabbing a pair of shorts from his room and pulling them on under the towel. He dropped the towel onto his bed, still in the bra, then turned to face his twin. "Look, it's no big deal. Ya seen me in a towel before. Just didn't have the bra then."

"But… but I've never seen ya like this since we were kids." Osamu leaned against the doorframe, his voice quieter. "You just… always hid."

Atsumu's expression softened briefly. "Yeah. Had to. It was easier." Then he cracked a grin. "But since ya saw 'em anyway, wanna know how to hold a pair of boobs properly? Since ya got a girlfriend now?"

Osamu's face turned another shade of red. "Atsumu!"

"I'm serious! I'm the perfect model." Atsumu cupped his own chest with exaggerated care, palms flat, fingers spread. "See? Light pressure. Thumbs gentle. Don't squeeze like a stress ball. Treat 'em like you're holdin' a baby bird."

Osamu covered his face with both hands. "I can't believe this is my life."

Atsumu laughed—a real, bright laugh that filled the small apartment. He grabbed an old hoodie and pulled it over his head, covering the bra. "Alright, alright. Lesson over. But seriously, Samu. That part's important. Girls hate it when guys grab like they're claimin' territory."

Osamu dropped his hands, meeting his twin's eyes. "I'll remember. Promise."

They stood there in the dim hallway for a moment. The joke had passed, but an undercurrent of something heavier lingered. Atsumu's smile faded slightly.

"And Samu," he said, voice low. "Wear a condom. Every time. Don't be an idiot."

"I wasn't plannin' to be."

"I'm serious." Atsumu's eyes were fixed on the floor. "I had two pregnancies terminated. First when I was twelve. Second at fourteen."

The words were so flat, so matter-of-fact, that Osamu's brain took a full second to register. Then the floor dropped out from under him.

"You what?"

Atsumu shrugged, but his shoulders were tight. "First one was with a senior. He said he'd pull out. Didn't. My body wasn't even fully developed yet—I didn't know what to do. My parents helped me get it taken care of. Second time was with some guy from another school. Same story. Said he'd take care of it. Didn't." He let out a shaky breath. "After that, I got on birth control. I don't trust anyone anymore."

Osamu's hands were shaking. He stepped forward, close enough to put a hand on Atsumu's shoulder. "Why didn't ya ever tell me?"

"Because it's embarrassing, Samu. And I didn't want ya to look at me different." Atsumu's voice cracked, just a little. "I already feel like a freak half the time. Didn't need my twin thinkin' I was a mess, too."

"I don't think you're a mess." Osamu's voice was rough. "I think ya got dealt a shitty hand and ya played it better than most." He squeezed his brother's shoulder. "I'm sorry that happened to ya. Ya didn't deserve it."

Atsumu looked up, eyes bright with unshed tears that he blinked away immediately. "Yeah, well. It's in the past. Just—promise me you'll be better than those guys. For your girl. For anyone you're with. Use protection. Be gentle. Don't make 'em feel like they're just a hole to fill."

Osamu's throat tightened. "I promise. I'll be the kind of partner that makes ya proud."

Atsumu let out a wet laugh. "I'm already proud, idiot. You're the good twin. Everyone says so."

"They don't."

"They do. You make good onigiri. I make bad decisions." Atsumu grinned, and the tension broke.

Osamu laughed—a relieved, shaky sound. "Your legs are better though. I'll give ya that."

"Damn right they are." Atsumu struck a pose, sticking out a leg. "Look at these calves. Built for jumpin', not for runnin'. Ya got the endurance, I got the flash."

"And the 'slutty reputation'," Osamu added dryly.

Atsumu gasped in mock offense. "Excuse me? I have a colorful romantic history, thank ya very much."

"Same thing."

They bickered for a few minutes, falling back into their usual rhythm. But underneath the jokes, something had shifted. The air was lighter, cleaner.

Later, they ended up in the kitchen, making onigiri. Atsumu shaped the rice balls with practiced ease, while Osamu chopped the fillings—tuna mayo for Atsumu, umeboshi for himself. They worked in comfortable silence, the only sounds the sizzle of seasoning and the occasional laugh when Atsumu threw a grain of rice at Osamu.

"Hey, Samu," Atsumu said, not looking up. "Thanks for listenin'. I mean it."

Osamu paused, knife mid-air. "Thanks for tellin' me. I won't ever treat anyone like that."

"Good." Atsumu smiled—a real one, soft and genuine. "And if ya ever need more tips, I'm here. I got a lot of experience in bad ideas, so I know exactly what not to do."

"I'll keep that in mind." Osamu wrapped the last onigiri in plastic wrap. "Also, I'm gettin' Miyako flowers on our next date. And aftercare snacks."

"Pocky sticks," Atsumu said immediately. "And maybe some of those little orange slices. Easy to eat without makin' a mess."

Osamu rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "You've thought about this."

"I've thought about a lot of things." Atsumu bit into his onigiri, chewing thoughtfully. "Mostly about how nice it'd be if someone did that for me, just once."

The statement hung in the air. Osamu set down his own onigiri and faced his twin fully. "Someone will. I know it. You just gotta let 'em in."

Atsumu's eyes flickered. "Maybe. We'll see."

They finished the onigiri and moved to the living room, flopping back onto the sofa. The TV was off. The only light came from the streetlamp outside, casting long shadows across the floor.

"This was weird," Osamu said eventually.

"So weird," Atsumu agreed.

"But good weird."

"Yeah." Atsumu nudged his shoulder. "We should do this more. Talk, I mean. About stuff that matters."

Osamu nodded. "I'd like that."

And for the first time in years, they sat together in comfortable silence, side by side, not needing to fill the space with words.

Outside, the rain began to fall—soft at first, then heavier. The sound pattered against the window, a steady drumbeat that matched the rhythm of their breathing. Atsumu leaned his head on Osamu's shoulder, and Osamu let him.

No jokes. No teasing. Just two brothers, learning to understand each other a little better.

When the rain finally let up, Atsumu stirred. "Hey. Thanks for not freakin' out about the bra thing."

"I freaked out plenty," Osamu said dryly. "On the inside."

"But ya didn't run away. That counts for somethin'."

Osamu looked down at his twin, at the way the streetlight caught the edge of his jaw, the slight vulnerability in his relaxed posture. For all Atsumu's bravado, he was just a kid—a kid who had been through hell and come out fighting.

"I'm not goin' anywhere," Osamu said quietly. "You're stuck with me."

"Lucky me."

They laughed, soft and low, and the sound wrapped around them like a blanket.

In the kitchen, on the counter, sat two plates of leftover onigiri, waiting for breakfast. Osamu made a mental note to buy flowers tomorrow. And Pocky sticks.

And maybe, if he found the courage, he'd ask Atsumu if he wanted to come along on the double date with Miyako and her friend. Because everyone deserved to feel cared for—especially his twin.

Especially Atsumu.

The storm passed, leaving behind the clean smell of rain and the quiet promise of new understanding. And for the Miya twins, that was more than enough.