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Change is hard.
Change involves someone actively trying to "fix" something or someone. Change requires hard work and sometimes, they'll look back and realize that their change, that their new self isn't all that great. Or maybe it wasn't exactly "change" that is hard.
The hard thing is changing.
Many people change and change and change, changing so many times they don't know who's the real them anymore. Many people lose themselves in trying to become someone "better". They don't know that "better" doesn't have to involve them changing into something they're not.
Change can sometimes produce amazing results. Change can sometimes change your entire life in a good way. Sometimes, change can save yourself, repair relationships, and give you a new direction in life.
But sometimes, change is horrible.
"I'll change, 'kay? So get off of my back, would ya?"
Ten-year-old Osamu rolled his eyes, stuffing his hands in his uniform pockets. “Tsumu, you’ve got to stop picking fights everywhere you go. Mom is gonna get sad again.”
“Yer such a mommy’s boy, Samu,” Atsumu mocked with a smirk.
“Better than getting scolded every day,” he shot back. Atsumu’s response was sticking his tongue out at his brother.
The two continued walking back home, comfortable silence slowly enveloping them while they waved at passing grandmas and moms with toddlers. It was often like this – just quiet, tranquility between the twins. They didn’t mind the silence; they always managed to know what the other was thinking without having to talk. One of the bonuses of being twins, they would brag.
“Hey, Tsumu,” Osamu started again suddenly, head tilted back as his eyes scanned the wispy clouds above.
His twin raised his brow ever so slightly. “What?”
“Why were you fighting with those boys?”
Atsumu immediately flushed, quickly looking to the side while burrowing further inside his jacket to hide his red cheeks from his brother. “No reason,” he mumbled.
“Ya got two black eyes, a twisted wrist, a half-broken, bloody nose, and countless bruises for no reason? Seriously? Are ya really that much of an idiot?”
“I’m not an idiot! There was a reason!” he retorted, completely contradicting his earlier statement.
Smirking, Osamu turned to look at Atsumu, who still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Yeah? And what was the reason?”
No answer.
“Did people make fun of Aran?”
Atsumu shook his head slightly.
“Did they mess with ya first?”
He shook his head again.
“Did they call Mom old?"
After a moment of waiting, Atsumu finally looked up, face as red as ever. His mumble could barely be heard, forcing Osamu to lean in to hear.
“They insulted ya, Samu.”
Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu, born in Hyogo Prefecture, on October 5th, 1995. Born to attentive parents with a doting grandmother spoiling them as they grew up, they quickly became the infamous Miya Twins.
Best duo in volleyball in their hometown, with Atsumu as a top setter in the country and Osamu tagging along lazily without a care in the world.
The only thing that told the boys apart when they were younger was the way their hair was positioned. When they grew older, the different color of dye they used helped others differentiate the two quicker, though nobody could deny the fact that they were indeed twins, as their appearance proved.
But though they looked similar, besides their highly competitive nature – especially when it came to their twin – they had very different and unique personalities.
Osamu was the calmer of the two, the one who was oftentimes forced to clean up his brother’s messes. Laidback and nice, he was the much preferred twin among his middle school classmates.
Atsumu was a perfectionist and hated it when the people around him couldn’t meet his standards. He can be nice when he wants to, but most of the time, he’s out there, calling people trash and provoking his teammates for no reason.
They were also in a bit of a love-hate relationship.
Sometimes, like all siblings, they had their squabbles. Sometimes, fists came flying and kicks were issued. Sometimes, they shouted at each other, cursing their heads off. Sometimes, they lied to each other, mocked each other, and sometimes, they even went so far to say, “I wish I didn’t have a twin.”
But all the time, they made up. Osamu would treat his brother onigiri and Atsumu would let it slide when he realized that his brother hadn’t actually treated him and that Osamu had stolen his money equivalent to the amount of onigiri he ate that day.
Only sometimes, though.
But if there was one thing that the people around them would describe the twins, it would be that the two were inseparable.
Nobody, including the twins themselves, argued on that.
Atsumu loved his brother.
There was just one thing that he “hated” about his brother, though.
When asked what it was, he would say, “Osamu thinks he’s better than me just because he scored thirty more points than me on the test and he never even cares when I beat him in volleyball! And he always purposely serves the ball into my head during practice, always calls me a liar, and always accuses me of not returning what I borrowed!”
So maybe it was more than one thing.
But if there was just one absolute thing, one thing that Atsumu wished Osamu would stop doing, it would be how his brother viewed him.
To Atsumu, it was always like Osamu was looking down on him, always telling him that he wasn’t good enough.
And that hurt.
Because if there was one person he didn’t want to hear that from, it would be from his best friend and twin brother.
He wanted to be good enough for Osamu. He so desperately wanted Osamu to praise him and tell him that he did an amazing job – not that he would ever admit it. He wanted Osamu to be proud that Atsumu was his twin. He wanted Osamu to be proud of him. But it seemed to Atsumu that he would never be good enough.
So he tried to be.
He tried for years, never telling anybody that the reason he had strove to become so good at volleyball and everything else he did was to impress Osamu. He got himself sick practicing in the rain, made himself sleep-deprived for multiple reasons, and above all, sunk deeper and deeper into depression when he realized that no matter what he did, Osamu never gave him a second glance.
The saddest thing in all this was that even though he didn’t show it, Osamu was already beyond proud of his brother.
If I became rich, would you be proud of me?
If I became famous, would you brag to all your friends that you were my brother?
If I became the best setter in the world, would I be good enough for you?
Osamu never understood his brother’s questions and he didn’t bother trying to. Atsumu never seemed like he was actually waiting for an answer.
The twins graduated high school and were separated for the first time in their life before Osamu had a chance to ask Atsumu about his questions. They went to different colleges as one pursued a volleyball career and the other a food business career.
They exchanged letters for fun all throughout their first year in college.
Yo Samu!
Volleyball is toughhhhh!!!! Ya wouldn’t know how hard it is cuz like, yer not here. But seriously dude! Cut back on the practice!!
Friday today. Finally, a kind-of break from school. Seriously, Tsumu, I promise ya wouldn't stand a day in ACTUAL college, instead of just playing around with a ball all day.
Today I thought I saw ya on campus. Turns out it was just our triplet. How ya doin’? Is Ma well? Then again I guess ya wouldn’t know since yer not home either.
I went to get my ears checked today because I made a similar mistake as ya did in one of the past letters you sent me. I thought that I heard yer voice telling me that I was trash. Turns out it was just somebody who sounded like ya. Good grief, it’s a miracle that it wasn’t ya. I wouldn’t know what I would do if I saw ya on campus; I was finally free of ya and yer troublesome antics!
Playful banter, teasing mockery, and sometimes sentimental “I guess I kind of miss you?” connected the two even though they were apart. They also talked through messages on their phone, but the letters were something they each looked forward to, as sort of a gift from the other.
Until Atsumu started to change.
It was small at first. One day, he told Osamu that he didn’t have the time to write letters and that he shouldn’t be expecting any to arrive from then on. Osamu shrugged it off, since the letters were just a fun thing the two decided to do that had no actual purpose.
The second thing started when Atsumu slowly visited home less and less, until he completely stopped.
Their mother loved her sons and after both their father’s and grandmother’s death, she became lonely. The twins moving out for college didn’t help much. They promised her, however, that they would come back as often as they could.
For the first two years, they did.
When the new year came around, Osamu used his break to take a trip home and celebrate the New Year’s with his mom and brother. Arriving home, he realized that Atsumu hadn’t come back yet so he went to give his mother company.
“My, my, Osamu! How big you’ve grown!” his mom laughed, squeezing her son into a tight embrace.
Slipping out and narrowly dodging death, Osamu sighed good-naturedly. “Mom, ya saw me during Christmas break.”
They talked and talked the day away, patiently waiting for Atsumu to burst though the door at the last moment like he usually did, grinning like the idiot he was, with bags of onigiri and food he knew his brother liked.
Atsumu never came.
Tsumu
[Friday, 12:09 AM]
Why didn’t ya come for New Year’s? We were waiting forever for ya.
ya were?
Yes, we were! Why didn’t ya come home? Did something come up?
I thought I told ya that I was too busy
Ya most definitely did not. We couldn’t do anything because we were waiting for ya.
oh sry! I prolly forgot to tell ya but the team and I had practice. whoops!
Ya really worried Mom, you know. Why didn’t ya pick up your phone? We thought something happened to ya.
I put my phone on dnd during practice. sry!! anyway I gtg practice now. ttyl!
Mom misses ya; ya should pay her a visit when ya can.
(Read 12:11 AM)
From then on, Atsumu never visited home once.
Whenever Osamu called, he either didn’t pick up or he left his brother with a “Sorry, I’m busy”. When his mother called, he ended the call after exchanging pleasantries, claiming to be late to practice or something similar.
For the rest of the few years in college, the Miya family never met up. Their mother chose to attend Osamu’s graduation after Atsumu insisted, saying that the former would appreciate it much more.
Their former teammates and friends Suna Rintaro, Ojiro Aran, and Ginjima Hitoshi planned a reunion after college graduation with the others from Inarizaki High School, though Osamu told them not to expect Atsumu to come.
He was right.
That day, with the sun shining on them, the former members of the Inarizaki High Volleyball Team laughed and talked the day away without one of the key members that brought them to Nationals every time.
“What’s up with him?” Suna asked, head tilted lazily to the side.
Osamu shrugged slightly, using a hand to shield himself from the bright afternoon sun. “I dunno. He’s been super unresponsive with messages lately and he barely picks up any of my calls. He keeps saying that he’s busy or something like that.”
“He’s aiming for the professional volleyball career, right?”
“Yeah, but even that orange-haired Shorty guy who’s going through the same course as Tsumu texts me, like, every week and we’re not friends.”
“He’s probably tired of your nagging,” Suna smirked.
Throwing his hands up, Osamu rolled his eyes. “I don’t nag! Mom’s getting sicker too and that big idiot hasn’t seen her in forever. I called him a few times telling him about her condition, but he just laughs it off and says, ‘I’m busy; talk later’.”
“Still a jerk?”
“Still a complete jerk.”
After a moment of content silence, Ginjima popped up cheerfully. “Which team is he playing for?”
He swallowed uncomfortably while the other two waited patiently for him to continue. “I... I don’t know,” he admitted at last. “He doesn’t tell me anything anymore.”
Slowly, Suna nodded. “Well, a lot of people grow apart as time goes on. Don’t worry about it.”
“I don’t want to grow apart,” Osamu whispered.
That Shrimp Guy
[Wednesday, 7:34 PM]
Miya-san, did you know that I’m on the same team as Miya-san?
The other Miya-san, I mean
Your brother!
Wait really?
What team are ya on?
MSBY Black Jackals scouted the two of us!
Exciting, right???????? : D
MSBY Black Jackals?
The professional volleyball team for Japan? Ya got scouted?
Yeah!!!
Along with Bokuto-san and Sakusa-san!!!!
Former aces for Itachiyama and Fukurodani?
Yup!!!
Did Miya-san (your brother I mean) not tell you?
Nah we don’t really talk anymore. He says he’s too busy and stuff like that
Aw that’s too bad >.<
Miya-san does practice a lot. He’s a really hard worker!!!!!!! I want to be just like him!
Oh ok. That’s good to know.
At least he’s not lying and going out with his girlfriend lol
No!!! Miya-san works the hardest out of all of us. I think he’s trying to impress someone!!
Pfft maybe
“Miya Atsumu, if ya don’t pick up right now,” Osamu muttered under his breath as he paced around, phone practically glued to his ear, “I will end ya.”
A minute, then two, then three passed before he was directed to voicemail. The Miya slammed his fist down on his thigh, grip on his phone tightening until his knuckles turned white. A passing nurse looked at him worriedly with an arched brow. Quickly assuring her that everything was all right, he sighed as he dialed another number.
“Shoyo-kun, are you there?”
“Yup! It’s me, Miya-san! Do you need something?” a cheerful and chipper Hinata Shoyo asked on the other side of the phone.
“Are ya in practice right now?”
“We are! Miya-san – your brother, I mean! – is working hard as usual!”
“Can ya give the phone to my brother?”
“Sure! Why?”
Osamu swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut. “I need to tell him something.”
“Miya-san, Miya-san!” Hinata shouted across the gym, cupping his hands to project his voice further.
Atsumu put a hand up to excuse himself from the next wing spiker in line and ran over to where Hinata and the water bottles were. “Wassup, Shoyo-kun? Isn’t yer break ‘bout finished? Game’s about to start; ya gotta do yer proper warm-ups.”
“I’m on the phone with Miya-san – your brother, I mean! He wants to talk to you.”
“Samu?”
Nodding energetically, Hinata started shoving his phone into his teammate’s hands. “He says it’s something important.”
Atsumu quickly put his hands up, blocking the little orange-haired volleyball player. “Tell him that a game’s about to start and that I’m too busy. Tell me later.”
Though he didn’t seem to like his friend’s decision, Hinata put the phone back to his ear. “Your brother says that a game is about to start and that he’s too busy and that you should tell him later.” After a second or two of listening to Osamu, he shook his head Atsumu. “Your brother insists.”
Atsumu groaned loudly, swiping away the phone from Hinata and slamming it next to his hear. “Listen, Samu, I know yer going to nag and nag and nag about me not pickin’ up or answerin’ your messages, but I’ve been working hard because of this game today, okay? I really can’t talk right now. I have a life out of-”
“Mom’s dying.”
A minute skipped by.
“She wants to see ya now. The doctors say she doesn’t have much longer. Where are ya now? If yer quick, maybe ya can-”
“What are ya talkin’ about?” Atsumu laughed, voice hollow and mocking. “You’re talking as if I’m going.”
Another minute skipped away.
“What?”
“I thought I told ya. I have a game in, like, less than ten minutes. I’ll miss my game.”
A few more minutes passed.
“Did I just hear ya correctly? Or did ya not hear me correctly? Mom’s dying, Tsumu. She wants to see ya. Ya haven’t visited since yer second year in college.”
“So?” Atsumu scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Listen, Samu, I gotta go now; game’s starting in a minute.”
“Miya Atsumu!” Osamu almost screamed. “Miya Atsumu, get here right now. If ya don’t, I’m going to go there myself and-”
“Hinata, Miya!” a man called, gesturing to the door. “It’s game time, boys!”
The professional volleyball player nodded before turning back to the phone. “Sorry, Samu. Talk to you next time!”
“Atsu-”
Atsumu ended the call and dropped the phone into the owner’s waiting hands. Brushing past his teammate, he ignored the disappointed look in Hinata’s eyes.
Osamu didn’t bother asking his brother to come to their mother’s funeral.
His parents’ friends, old teammates from Inarizaki, employees from Onigiri Miya helped him plan the solemn affair. Osamu ended up doing most of the work though, only taking a one or two meal breaks a day as he struggled to plan the funeral and run his business. Pushing aside his friends’ offers for help, he used the work to forget about both his mother and his brother.
When the door closed, when the good nights were said, when the windows were drawn, Osamu sobbed into his pillow like a kid.
Only “Tsumu” wasn’t there to teasingly comfort him.
He cried because of his mother died. He cried because he would never feel her kind embraces again. He cried because he would never taste her food again. He cried because he would never sit on the carpet, looking up with sparkling gray eyes, listening to his mother’s stories of when she was young. He cried because he lost his mother.
He also cried because it almost felt as if on that same day, Atsumu had also died.
“Nice job, Miya!”
“Congratulations!”
“You played well. Good game.”
“I don’t know much about volleyball, but even I could tell you’re an amazing player!”
Atsumu grinned brightly as he thanked the people for the compliments, walking down the hallway to the changing room feeling like a winner – which he was.
“Your sets were easy to hit,” Sakusa mumbled, voice muffled from his mask.
The setter brightened up as he took a long gulp from his water bottle, sitting down on a nearby bench. “Whoa, Omi-kun! Ya feelin’ okay? Are ya sick or somethin’?”
“Take a compliment when it’s given to you, Miya,” Captain Melan chuckled, suddenly beside him. “Anyways, don’t let the win get to your heads. The other team wasn’t on their best game – it’s not fair to you guys to say that the game had been completely won by luck, but luck was a big part. Reflect on today’s match and do better next time.”
Although that was what the captain said, it was clear that MSBY was the far superior team of the two. Their opponents’ forms had been messy, their teamwork chaotic and practically non-existent. Even if they had been playing on their best, Atsumu’s elegant sets and the wing spikers’ cautious but powerful spikes would have easily crushed their opposition.
Bokuto’s serves had been on-point and deadly, Sakusa’s spiking had been in top form, and Hinata even received a few of the stray shots. Atsumu’s sets had been particularly easy to hit during the game; they were changing throughout the match, changing form to match the spikers’ usual habits.
It had been, simply put, a perfect game.
The door burst open, interrupting Atsumu’s bragging thoughts and wiping the grin off his face when he realized that the one who had so casually and rudely trespassed into “MSBY territory” was none other than an annoyed – more than annoyed – looking Miya Osamu.
His usual smirk returned however, when he remembered the morning’s awesome game. Jumping off the bench and striding toward his brother, Atsumu opened his arms for a mocking embrace.
Which Osamu ignored.
“Ya in a mood today, Samu?” Atsumu teased, poking his brother’s lowered head.
Osamu didn’t respond. He continued staring at the floor, fists clenched by his side – not that his brother noticed.
Melan looked up from his locker with a raised brow. “Who’s that? If he’s fan, send him out.”
“Nah, Cap’n, that’s my bro Samu! Told ya about him, ‘member? My other worse half?”
The captain rolled his eyes, smiling as he turned back. “Sure, sure.”
“So what brings ya here, Samu?” Atsumu asked excitedly, rubbing his brother’s hair and messing it up. “I don’t remember telling ya that I made it to MSBY. I wanted to surprise ya, you know. I guess this game’s as good as any other to surprise ya, though! Pretty great sets I did, huh?”
Slowly, so slowly, Osamu lifted his head, dark eyes meeting Atsumu’s. His usual lazy expression was replaced with something unreadable. “Shoyo-kun told me that you were on the same team as him,” he forced out, as slowly as his earlier action. It was quite obvious it was taking all he had to keep his voice leveled. “I wanted to watch one of your games and I had today off, so here I am.”
“Nice! It’s been so long, hasn’t it?” the other continued. “I’ve felt like it’s been forever! Say, how long do ya think ‘s been?”
Osamu’s left eye twitches slightly. Too small a movement for Atsumu to notice.
But then again, Atsumu never notices.
“Like, I can’t even remember the last time we sat down together and talked! Yer busy with the business, right? Busy running yer own-”
Something in Osamu snapped.
“Me?” the younger twin whispered quietly, so quietly. “Me?”
“Samu, what’re ya-”
“I’m the busy one?” Osamu scoffed, voice rising in pitch as he continued, gray, used-to-be unreadable eyes furious now. “I’m the one who’s been ignoring all yer messages? I’m the one who doesn’t pick up any of yer calls? I’m the one who-”
Atsumu put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, which was immediately shaken off. “Chill, Samu, I just said-”
“I’m the one who left Mom to die without seeing her again for a petty match?!”
The room was completely silent.
When Sakusa opened his mouth, preparing to speak and end the dreadful silence, Melan put a hand up and shook his head, mouth pulled into a straight line. Sakusa sighed quietly and left the room as soundlessly as he could. The captain closed his locker door and followed his teammate outside.
“Tell me, Atsumu,” Osamu spit out, tone harsh despite the peculiar softness in his voice, “who was the one who was too busy for us?”
Atsumu ran a hand though his hair, sighed, and looked at his brother pleadingly. “Listen, Samu, I know I did Mom and ya wrong, ‘kay? I know I should’ve have done that, but listen, Samu, I’ve been practicing okay? I’ve been-”
“Practicing? Ya chose yer practice over Mom?”
“Samu, I know yer upset and-”
“Upset?!” Osamu interrupted again, throwing his hands up at Atsumu’s pure obliviousness. “No, Atsumu. I’m far from ‘upset’. I’m disappointed.”
And then something in Atsumu also snapped.
He grabbed his brother’s jacket collar – their old Inarizaki track jacket that somehow still fit – and slammed him against the wall, feverish and crazed eyes staring straight at Osamu. “Yer always disappointed! I’m never good enough for ya! I try and try and try and what do I get?! Nothin’! All ya ever do is say Do better, Atsumu. Ya don’t even call me Tsumu anymore!”
Osamu went back to playing the silent game.
“I’m trying, okay?! I’m trying, so would ya get off my back!” Atsumu shouted, almost – or maybe he did – screaming the last part.
The younger one’s movements were slow and leisure, almost as if every inch he moved was trying to make his brother more annoyed. “Okay,” Osamu force out at last.
“What?’
“Ya want me to get off yer back? Sure. Okay. I’ll get off yer back.” Looking up and meeting the other’s eyes, Osamu’s face once again held his signature deadpan look; uncaring and indifferent, cold even.
He pushed his brother off with his arm, straightening his collar. When he turns around, Atsumu catches a glimpse of Inarizaki’s name on the back – proud and bold, just like the two when they were back in high school.
Atsumu broke.
“Everything I did was for me to be good enough for ya!” (All I ever wanted was for ya to love me.)
Osamu stopped, hand on the doorknob.
“I’m rich now,” Atsumu cried out, clenching his chest because for no particular reason, it was really hurting. “I’m rich now, so are ya proud of me?” (Why don’t you look at me?)
Osamu turned around slowly.
“I’m famous now,” Atsumu sobbed, strangled and pathetic whimpers escaping. “I’m famous now, so aren’t ya going to brag to all yer friends that I’m yer brother?” (Why don’t you talk to me?)
Osamu stared at his brother, eyes dead.
“I’m one of the best setters in the world,” Atsumu whispered, breaking a promise he made to himself a long time ago as a stray tear slid down his cheek. “Isn’t that good enough for you?” (Why can’t I ever be good enough for you?)
And then, finally, Osamu spoke. His voice was rough and coarse, yet at the same time, gentle. “It’s not a matter of whether or not yer not good enough for me. It’s whether or not yer good enough for yerself. Ya were always tryin’ to match yerself to mystandards, always trying to impress me. But it doesn’t matter what I think if ya don’t-”
“It matters!” Atsumu shouted with clenched fists and closed eyes. “It matters because you were – are – the most important person in my life! ‘Cause even though yer younger than me, ya were the who was comfortin’ me when Dad died! When Gramps died, it was you who stayed up late to tell me stories! It was always you.”
“Why does that-”
“So of course yer opinion matters!”
Without skipping a beat, Osamu asked, “Then why did ya choose the match over Mom? I told ya to come. I told ya to have someone else fill in. Is volleyball more important to ya? Is the money more important to ya? Is the fame more important to ya? Mom needed you, Atsumu!”
“I thought that if I proved to ya that I was good in volleyball,” he started, full-on sobbing now, “I thought that if I played good that time...”
“Well ya thought wrong,” he spit out. “I don’t even know who ya are anymore. Yer so... different.”
And then he said it.
“Ya were always good enough for me – more than good enough. Ya just didn’t believe ya were good enough for yerself.”
Atsumu’s eyes widened as his head shot up. “Samu-”
Osamu opened the door, walking outside and preparing to close the door behind him before saying, “Don’t ya dare call me that. The only one who’s allowed to call me ‘Samu’ is my brother.”