The Weight of the Chain

The summer heat in Inarizaki stuck to Osamu’s skin like cheap syrup. He dropped his duffel bag in the genkan, kicked off his sandals. The floorboards creaked under his feet—familiar, but not comforting. Next to him, Suna stretched, already pulling out his phone.

“Your brother’s been quiet all week,” Suna said, not looking up. “Didn’t reply to any of my messages.”

“He never does,” Osamu muttered. But the worry that had been gnawing at him for days went from a dull ache to something sharper. Atsumu always replied. Even just a middle-finger emoji, even a smartass comment. Silence from Atsumu wasn’t normal. Like a bee that didn’t sting—just wrong.

They headed down the narrow hallway to the living room. The house smelled stale—unwashed dishes, something sour. Osamu’s jaw tightened. Their parents were on a week-long business trip as usual, but Atsumu should’ve been here. He always texted if he was going out.

TV was on, volume low—some reality show playing to an empty room. Atsumu was sprawled on the sofa, one leg hanging over the armrest. Just a tank top and gym shorts. And around his neck—Osamu stopped breathing for a second—a black leather dog collar with silver studs. A thin chain hung from the D-ring, pooling on the cushion beside him.

Osamu froze. Suna’s footsteps stopped behind him.

“Oi,” Osamu said, flat. “What the hell is that?”

Atsumu didn’t even flinch. He slid his phone onto his chest and turned his head slow, a lazy smirk pulling at his mouth. “What’s what? Missed me already, Samu? Vacation too long without your precious twin?”

“The collar,” Osamu said, edge creeping into his voice. “Why’re you wearin’ that?”

Atsumu’s smirk widened, but his eyes didn’t follow. Those eyes—usually sharp with mischief or irritation—looked dull. Like someone had turned down the brightness on his soul. “It’s just a look. Gotta keep things interestin’, right?” He sat up slow, the chain rattling as he shifted. “You jealous I got someone who likes me like this?”

Osamu’s stomach turned. He opened his mouth, but Suna moved past him, setting his bag down with deliberate calm. “We brought back some dango from the station. It’s in my bag if you want it.”

Atsumu blinked, like the offer short-circuited his script. Then he laughed—sharp, brittle. “Nah, ‘m good. Got plans later anyway.”

Osamu watched as Atsumu stood, the collar shifting with his movement. He walked past them into the kitchen, steps too light. Too casual. And Osamu saw it—a bruise on his collarbone. Fingertip-shaped, purple and green, half-hidden by the tank top strap. He said nothing, but his hands curled into fists.

The afternoon passed in tense, unspoken standoff. Suna left to unpack, leaving Osamu to haunt the living room. He heard the shower run, then stop. Around six, a phone buzzed from Atsumu’s room, followed by muffled laughter. Osamu pressed his ear to the door and caught fragments: “Yeah, same place as last time… No, he’s back now, so we gotta be careful… Don’t worry, I know how to keep him quiet.”

Red rage flickered behind Osamu’s eyes. He shoved the door open.

Atsumu was sitting on his bed, phone to his ear. He froze when he saw Osamu, then clicked the call off without a word. “Knock much?”

“Who was that?”

“A friend.” The word curled like a taunt.

“Since when do you have friends that need you to sneak around?”

Atsumu’s expression hardened. He stood, crossing to the mirror and adjusting the collar. “Since when do you care what I do? You were off with Suna havin’ a great time. Didn’t hear you checkin’ in on me once.”

The accusation stung because it was true. Osamu had been caught up in training camps and beach volleyball and the easy rhythm of Suna’s company. He’d assumed Atsumu was fine. Atsumu was always fine.

“I’m checkin’ now,” Osamu said, quieter.

“Great. I’m fine. Happy?” Atsumu grabbed his wallet and a jacket. “Now unless you wanna watch me leave, I’d suggest you get out of my way.”

He didn’t shove. He didn’t have to. The coldness in his voice was enough. Osamu stood aside, heart pounding, and watched his twin walk out the door.

Suna appeared at the top of the stairs, phone in hand. “He gone?”

“Yeah.”

“I found something.” Suna’s voice was low. “In the attic. You need to see it.”

The attic hatch had been left slightly ajar, a thin sliver of darkness against the ceiling. Osamu had never had a reason to go up there—just storage for old boxes and winter clothes. But Suna had been nosing around, looking for a badminton racket Atsumu had mentioned weeks ago, and found something else.

Osamu pulled the ladder down and climbed, Suna behind him. The attic was dusty and cramped, filled with mothballs and old paper. A single bare bulb hung from the rafters, casting harsh shadows. But in the far corner, where the roof met the floor, a soft pulsing light bled from behind a stack of cardboard boxes.

“What is that?” Osamu whispered.

“I don’t know. But it wasn’t here before summer.”

They moved the boxes aside. Behind them, the wall seemed to shimmer—not like a crack, but like heat haze over asphalt. A portal, roughly door-sized, glowed with pearlescent light. Inside, shapes moved. Sounds drifted out—muffled, distorted, but recognizable.

Osamu’s hand trembled as he reached out. The moment his fingers touched the light, the sounds sharpened. He heard laughter. A man’s voice, low and drunk. A woman’s giggle. And then a whimper.

Atsumu’s whimper.

Osamu’s heart stopped. He leaned forward, Suna’s hand on his shoulder, and looked through the portal.

The scene inside was the Miyas’ living room, but it wasn’t the present. The couch was in a different position. The table had a vase of flowers that had died a month ago. And on the floor, pinned beneath two figures—a man and a woman Osamu recognized as their parents’ friends, Mr. and Mrs. Takagi—was Atsumu.

He looked younger. Smaller. His wrists were held above his head by the man, his legs forced apart by the woman’s weight. His shirt was torn. Tears streamed down his face, but he wasn’t making noise. He bit his lip so hard a thin line of blood traced his chin.

“Shh, shh,” the woman cooed, her voice sickly sweet. “Your parents said we could do whatever we wanted while they’re away. Don’t be difficult. It’ll be over faster.”

Atsumu’s body went rigid. He didn’t scream. He didn’t fight. He just… shut down. His eyes stared at the ceiling, empty, as if he had left his own body behind.

Osamu couldn’t breathe. He tried to lunge forward, to smash through the light, but Suna’s grip was iron. “You can’t,” Suna hissed. “You can’t touch it. Look—the light, it’s like a barrier. We’re only seeing.”

“Let me go!” Osamu’s voice broke. “That’s my brother, Suna, that’s—”

“I know. I know.” Suna wrapped an arm around his chest, pulling him back. “But you can’t change it. It already happened.”

The scene shifted. Now Atsumu was alone, curled in the same spot on the floor, trembling. Hours had passed. The sounds of the front door opening and closing. Silence. He pulled himself up slowly, mechanically. He walked to the bathroom. The shower ran for a long time.

Then another scene: a week later. Atsumu at school, wearing long sleeves in the summer heat. His teammates clapped him on the back. He laughed. It sounded fake even through the portal. At night, he sat on his bed, staring at his phone. He typed a message to Osamu, then deleted it. He typed another, then threw the phone against the wall.

Then the collar appeared. Another scene: Atsumu in a dimly lit room, not their house. A stranger’s hands on him. He wore the collar. He laughed. He performed. He let them touch him, let them use him, and afterward he lay alone on an unfamiliar bed, face blank.

The portal showed a montage of this: Atsumu seeking out older men and women, trading intimacy for numbness. Each time, the same vacant look afterward. Each time, he came home and acted like nothing was wrong. He cleaned the house. He went to practice. He set perfect tosses. He smiled.

Osamu sank to his knees. The tears came hot and silent. Suna crouched beside him, one hand steady on his back.

“He didn’t tell anyone,” Suna said quietly. “He tried to cope alone. The hypersexuality… it’s a trauma response. It’s how he tried to regain control.”

“I wasn’t here.” Osamu’s voice was a rasp. “I was at summer camp. I was playin’ beach volleyball. I was laughin’ with you while he was… while they were…”

He slammed his fist into the floor. The wood splintered. Blood welled from his knuckles, but he didn’t feel it.

“I should’ve been here. I should’ve protected him.”

Suna didn’t say empty platitudes. He just stayed. The portal flickered and dimmed, the scenes fading until only the dusty attic remained.

They waited. Hours or minutes—time lost meaning. The front door opened downstairs. Footsteps stumbled into the house. Atsumu’s voice, slurred with alcohol or something else, singing a nonsense tune.

Osamu wiped his face. He looked at Suna. “I need to talk to him.”

“Be careful. He’ll try to push you away.”

“I know.”

Osamu descended the ladder. The house was dark except for a single lamp in the living room. Atsumu was sprawled on the couch again, the collar askew, his shirt half-unbuttoned. He looked up with glassy eyes and grinned.

“Samu! You waited up? How sweet.” He giggled. “Don’t tell me you were worried.”

Osamu stood in the doorway. His voice came out steadier than he felt. “I know, ’Tsumu.”

Atsumu’s grin faltered. “Know what? That I’m the life of the party? Yeah, already knew that.”

“I know about the Takagis. I know what they did to you last summer. I know about the collar, and the—the people you’ve been seein’.” Osamu took a step forward. “I saw it. In the attic. There’s a portal that shows the past. I saw everything.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Atsumu’s face went white. His hands started shaking. He tried to laugh again, but it came out as a sob. “That’s… that’s not real. You’re lyin’. You’re crazy.”

“I wish I was.” Osamu’s voice cracked. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. I should’ve been. I should’ve known. I should’ve—”

“Stop.” Atsumu’s voice was barely a whisper. He curled into himself, arms wrapped around his knees. The collar chain clinked. “Just stop. You don’t get to—you don’t get to come in here and act like you care now. You weren’t here. I handled it.”

“Handled it?” Osamu’s voice rose. “You call this handlin’ it? You’re hurtin’ yourself, ’Tsumu. You’re lettin’ people use you because you think you deserve it. And you don’t. You never did.”

Atsumu’s composure shattered. The tears came—ugly, wrenching sobs that tore out of him like something physical. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders heaving. “I didn’t know what else to do. I tried to forget. I tried to pretend it didn’t happen. But every time I close my eyes, I feel their hands. I can’t—I can’t sleep, Samu. I can’t breathe.”

Osamu crossed the room in two strides. He didn’t hesitate. He dropped to his knees in front of the couch and pulled his twin into his arms. Atsumu fought for a second, tense and resistant, then crumpled. He clung to Osamu’s shirt, sobbing into his shoulder.

“I’m here now,” Osamu whispered, his own tears soaking into Atsumu’s hair. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’m gonna be here every day. We’re gonna get through this together.”

Suna appeared in the doorway, phone in hand. He gave a small nod. “I’ve already looked up some numbers. Therapists who specialize in trauma. And I’ll help with anything—the house, the school, whatever.”

Atsumu pulled back, his face blotchy and swollen. He looked at Suna, then at Osamu. “You’re not… you’re not disgusted with me?”

“Never,” Osamu said fiercely. “You’re my brother. You’re the most annoyin’, stubborn, brilliant person I know. And I love you. We’re gonna fix this.”

Atsumu’s lower lip trembled. He let his head fall onto Osamu’s shoulder. The dog collar felt cold against Osamu’s neck, but he didn’t pull away. He just held on.

The moon rose over Inarizaki. In the attic, the portal flickered once, twice, then faded to nothing. Some things couldn’t be changed. But some things could start healing. One broken moment at a time.