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Osamu has the keys to Atsumu’s apartment.
It wasn't intentional; Atsumu didn't just wake up one day and decided he’d make his twin an extra copy. No, Osamu grabbed one for himself because he didn't trust his brother enough to let him live unsupervised. He checks in on him every week or so, when he has the time. Sometimes he just texts, a passive-aggressive don’t forget to eat today, jerk that always seems to do the trick. Sometimes he sends him food and, sometimes, he comes over to cook.
The thing is: he doesn't need to ring the doorbell or even tell him he’s coming. It’s not like Atsumu is trying to hide something from him, right? They’re twins, they’re best friends, they know all there is to know about each other. Really, having a spare key to your brother’s apartment isn't that much of a big deal after all.
Osamu has his brother’s schedule memorized by now. He knows Atsumu wakes up around 6AM, that he spends at least ten minutes convincing himself to get out of bed and that he takes thirty more to take a shower before he leaves for his morning jog. He usually takes about an hour to get back home, complaining about how hungry he is, and that’s where Osamu comes in the picture. He’s used to the whining and the childish giggles that follow as soon as the door clicks behind him and he notices Osamu’s shoes by the genkan. Missed me already, I see, is what Atsumu says before resting his chin over Osamu’s shoulder for half a second before he’s trotting away towards his bathroom.
I did, Osamu always wants to say, but he doesn't.
He knows his brother well enough to know Atsumu is the kind of person who would never let it go. He does miss him sometimes, on those days where everything seems to be too much, the weight over his shoulders suddenly becoming unbearably heavy, his knees giving out from under him. Osamu misses having the time to talk to him about nothing and everything all at once, misses his giggles and the way he always knows how to soothe him best. He’s used to his brother’s routine and somehow built his own around him, too.
Because sometimes all he needs is to remember the comfort of coming home to someone who already knows all of your flaws, someone who will hold you when you need it, someone who will knock some sense into you when you're doing things the wrong way. It’s familiar, having the right to barge in at any second and be welcomed by a bright smile from where he sits on the couch with a sweet oh, there you are! come, come, let’s watch this game, their setter is super skilled and I wanna learn how he does it.
So, yes. Osamu is familiar with Atsumu’s routine and he knows his way around his house as he does the back of his hand. What he isn’t familiar with is waking up on his brother’s bed with someone’s arm over his stomach, head resting against his nape as said stranger softly snores. Call him a drama queen, but Osamu actually feels his soul leaving his body for a few seconds when the man (the man!) sleepily groans and turns around as if Osamu had been interrupting his sleep. Not that important, really, Osamu thinks, when you wake up half-naked on your brother’s bed with a stranger you most definitely do not recognize in your sleepy haze.
He doesn't remember drinking last night. He doesn't remember anything other than closing up the restaurant and driving home while asking himself what he should have for dinner. He doesn't remember talking to Atsumu and most definitely does not remember bringing a guy over to his brother’s house and taking off his clothes as if it didn't mean anything. He’s dating someone, he reminds himself, he shouldn't have done this and now he feels a thousand times worse. For a second, Osamu wonders what Rin would say if he called him right now. For a second, he asks himself if he should.
Instead, he gets up.
He looks down at the pale skin and the curly mess all around Atsumu’s white sheets and he frowns. Where the fuck is my phone, is what he thinks first, and where the fuck are my clothes. The man moves in his sleep and Osamu almost yelps, his bloodstream filled with adrenaline as he runs towards the bathroom, towards anywhere that might give him an explanation or merely the time to process this entire situation. He finds himself hunched over the sink with his lungs threatening to explode, with his heart clawing its way all the way up his throat when he looks in the mirror and finds out he might be going insane because it’s not his reflection that stares back at him.
Those are not his eyes and that is most definitely not his hair. He doesn't have the golden bits floating in warm honey, he doesn't have the rays of sunshine over his head. He’s not staring at himself, Osamu realizes, but at Atsumu. He’s staring at his frown and his open mouth. He’s not just in his house, he realizes, but inside his body. He stares for what seems like hours, at the same eyebrows and jawline, at the same curve of his cupid’s bow, at the same uninterested expression. He might be going insane, he thinks, because this is the only explanation. That, or this whole thing is merely an exhaustion-fueled dream.
He finds out it’s not when his phone starts ringing from the bedroom. He finds out it’s not when the man gets up with a groan and a string of curses as he walks towards the bathroom. Panic flares up deep inside him, but Osamu finds himself unable to move. The bathroom door is locked, so he knows he won't be seen, and yet. Yet, he feels like a cornered animal because he knows he might as well be one at this point. He listens to the man’s footsteps and to his yawns, his voice weirdly familiar as he calls ‘Tsumu, love, your phone , the knocks on the door making Osamu’s heart stop for a good two seconds before he gasps and chokes out a strained hold on! as he gathers the strength to open the door, to face the faceless yet familiar stranger who had his arm looped around him, who held him as they slept, who…
He opens the door.
There are lots of things happening today and a vast majority of them are soon to be added to his List of Impossible Things He Thought He’d Never Live To See and, surprisingly enough, waking up in his twin’s body doesn’t take first place. Coming face to face with a shirtless, still sleepy, disheveled Sakusa Kiyoomi does. Hey, he whispers before leaning forward and pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth, your brother’s calling. I’m gonna make some coffee for us and you can work on breakfast after you talk to him, yeah? For a second or maybe an hour, Osamu stands there, phone buzzing on his palm, eyes unfocused, his mind a warzone. What the fuck, is the only thing he can think, because, yeah, what the fuck. Atsumu had always told him everything, that bastard, even the things Osamu never wanted to know, and yet, somehow he decided this wasn’t worth mentioning.
Somehow, he decided Sakusa Kiyoomi wasn’t worth mentioning.
Because Sakusa Kiyoomi is in Atsumu’s apartment. He slept on his bed, he hugged him as they slept. Now, Sakusa Kiyoomi is in the kitchen, humming as he brews coffee for the both of them. It’s way past the time Atsumu usually left for his morning jog, his entire routine thrown out the window, and yet, he didn’t bother to let Osamu know. How long have they been going out? How long has Sakusa Kiyoomi, the Sakusa Kiyoomi, the same guy Atsumu had always complained about, been calling him love? How long has this been going on and why the fuck didn’t he say anything? Osamu considers not picking up the phone, considers pretending he didn’t hear it, considers playing pretend throughout the day only to see what kinds of things Atsumu had been hiding from him. Twin telepathy? Utter bullshit, if Osamu has any say in that. He considers, sure.
In the end, he picks up the call.
“Why the fuck am I in your apartment and why the fuck do I look like you,” is the first thing Osamu says, hands shaking and teeth clashing against teeth, his eyes locked with his twin’s reflection in the mirror. It still doesn’t feel real, it still feels like this is a nightmare he’s about to wake up from.
But, of course, he knows better than that.
“We have the same face,” is what Atsumu replies, seemingly just as pissed, just as overwhelmed. Osamu doesn’t have it within him to feel sorry for his brother, not when he’s locked inside a bathroom while Sakusa Kiyoomi is still humming in the kitchen. “Trust me, I was very confused when I woke up with Rin sprawled out on top of me. He drools in his sleep, did ya ever notice that?”
“Yeah, well,” he spits out, “at least ya knew the person sleeping with ya. I, on the other hand, woke up with a complete stranger in yer house and had to lock myself in the bathroom. And then, would ya look at that? Sakusa Kiyoomi, the insufferable teammate, pain-in-the-ass-Omi-kun knocks on the door and calls me love. What the actual fuck, ‘Tsumu? When were ya going to tell me?”
Rintarou’s voice echoes in the background, something about tamagoyaki and pancake batter, and Atsumu laughs nervously as he says, “I was going to tell ya. The two of ya, actually, but stuff happened and we decided to keep it a secret for a little longer. Did he kiss ya? He’s a very good kisser, ain’t he?”
“No,” Osamu replies, watching as his - Atsumu’s - reflection seems to cringe at the thought. That’s pretty much it, he thinks. “Why the fuck am I here and why the fuck are ya there? What happened? How do I get my body back? How do I leave this place without having yer weird boyfriend coming up behind me calling me love? I didn’t sign up for this, ‘Tsumu, and ‘m about to have a stroke.”
Atsumu tells him he’s on speaker.
Atsumu tells him they’re looking for an explanation, Rin and I, he says. He tells him it doesn’t seem to be anything irreversible, that they might change back in a day or two, that maybe they should all gather at his house to wait for the switch to happen again. Osamu asks him where he found that information, if he can look for something to make it faster, faster, faster, because he has things to do, he has a restaurant to manage, and all Atsumu replies is that oh, no, I’ve seen this on that one TV show where the sisters switch and- while Rintarou explodes in laughter and snorts until Atsumu is laughing along with him. Osamu feels a smile creep up on him, a light giggle bursting through because what the fuck, right?
He stands there listening to his twin’s theories and to his boyfriend’s laughter for what seems like years, time melting around him like the sticky honey left at the bottom of a teacup. He stands there, staring at his - Atsumu’s - reflection in the mirror and thinking that yeah, maybe they do look alike, and not because they’re twins but because there’s a flame behind Atsumu’s eyes that mimic the fire behind his own, Osamu realizes. They’re similar in more ways than he’d ever be willing to admit, but now, as he stands there in such an unreal situation, he can’t help but recognize that. I love you, he almost wants to say. He doesn’t, though. He knows exactly how Atsumu would react, knows exactly what he would say, so he doesn’t. Osamu allows himself to hold onto that feeling for a few seconds, a few minutes, hell, who knows, for hours, and it still doesn’t feel like it’s enough.
It’s a knock on the door that brings him back to reality.
“Are you okay in there?”
He seems concerned, Osamu notices. He whispers a quick goodbye before ending the call, cutting off Atsumu’s exaggerated tell him I love him, don’t forget to- before Sakusa could hear him. He stares at his reflection in the mirror, Atsumu’s eyes staring back at him, his hands moving through bright blond hair, his eyebrows slowly being dragged down, down, down, and Osamu has to force himself to relax his muscles, has to force himself to smile. It looks pained, emotionless, as if he’s not so sure of what he’s doing and, at this point, that’s pretty much what’s going on. He allows himself the time to take one, two, three deep breaths before he turns around to stare at the door, before he reaches forward to grab the doorknob, before he closes his eyes for half a second only to open the door with the brightest smile he can manage, a perfect image of the person who shares half of his soul, the person who knows all of his secrets, who has the same face as his.
Still, Sakusa frowns, a mix of emotions Osamu can’t quite describe tugging at his features, dragging his lips down and then forcing them to blend into one another in a straight line, eyes darkening and burning with confused certainty, as if he knows something wrong, but not what is wrong. He should tell him the truth, he knows that, but how is he supposed to explain what happened if he doesn’t know what happened? He can’t just blurt out hi, I woke up in my twin’s body today, nice to see you two got the sticks out of your asses and finally started dating because, let me tell you, it was getting unbearable having to listen to him blabbering on and on about you all the damn time. Yeah, as if.
“Come,” he says, soft and sweet and in a way that makes Osamu’s stomach churn. He wonders if Atsumu felt the same when Rin spoke like that this morning or if he had just laughed it off like he usually did. “I made us some coffee. You don’t look too well.”
Tell me about it, Osamu almost says.
He doesn’t, though, allowing Sakusa to intertwine their fingers even when the urge to slap his hand away got too strong, even when a lump settled in the middle of his throat because couldn’t this be considered cheating, somehow? He allows Sakusa to lead him through the apartment and into the kitchen, allows him to pour him a cup of coffee and softly stroke his cheek with his thumb. When he gets closer and closer and closer, so dangerously close, Osamu can’t help but let out a yelp, dropping the mug onto the counter and making the coffee spill over the marble surface. Sakusa doesn’t seem to care, eyes glued to his own, travelling down to his mouth and neck, and even further down towards his hands, his legs, his feet, and ah, Osamu realizes, that was foolish of me.
“You’re not him,” he says, simply, as if it wasn’t something you’d only see on those trashy movies Atsumu liked so much, as if it wasn’t completely insane that they switched bodies for some unknown reason, as if the prospect of being stuck like this wasn’t terrifying enough. “I noticed something was wrong from the moment you left the bed.”
Osamu almost falls to his knees, the pressure on his chest standing on the verge of painful as he takes one, two, three deep breaths again and again and again, Sakusa’s eyes still glued to his face, Atsumu’s face, the tiniest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips as he reaches forward, towards him, towards the forgotten mug, towards the mess Osamu has made, and then he stops. He stands there, eyes glued to the spilled coffee, glued to the remnants of a mug, to the shards of something they couldn’t get back. Osamu almost asks him what’s wrong, almost reaches forward to stroke Sakusa’s cheeks with his thumbs, just like he’d done before, but he doesn’t. Instead, he watches as he cleans up the mess, as he walks away from him and into the bathroom. He listens to the sound of water running for one, two, three minutes, and suddenly, Sakusa is back.
“So,” he speaks up, “what happened?”
“I don’t know,” Osamu replies, eyes travelling down, down, down, until he meets his - Atsumu’s, he has to remind himself - feet, until Sakusa can’t see the embarrassing red creeping up on him, spreading across his cheeks like the wildfire eating away at the wild forests. “I thought I’d gotten drunk and did something I couldn’t remember, but that’s clearly not the case at all, so I’m just as lost as you, Sakusa-kun.”
At that, Sakusa smiles, “You can just call me Kiyoomi if you’d like,” he says, “because, well, as you must have figured out by now, I-”
“Yer dating my brother,” Osamu nods, “I’ve noticed, yeah. About time, actually, he can’t stop talking ‘bout ya. It gets pretty tiring, ya know? Although I s’pose I shouldn’t be too harsh on him since he had to listen to me, too. Well. Glad to know things worked out between the two of ya, even if I still don’t really get how or why he managed to get ya to like him, but I guess that’s just part of his charm, ain’t it?”
Osamu has a tendency to blabber when he’s nervous. He talks and talks and talks, his words trampling over each other, his sentences making no sense as he talks, or tires to talk, about Atsumu and how much of a crybaby he was, asking Sakusa if he’s still a crybaby or if he’s grown out of this. Osamu knows the answer, of course, but he wants to hear it from him, wants him to realize he’s not the only one who has Atsumu written over his heart, that Osamu was there first, that he’ll do anything for him, that he’ll always be there, even when everyone is long, long gone. In the end, he tells him, the twins always end up together, that’s the kind of pair we are. Sakusa doesn’t say anything, not for an entire minute, sixty seconds stretching endlessly into the abyss of time, melting over hours and minutes and going back to seconds before he opens his mouth to let a sigh float in the space between them.
He’s staring at Atsumu’s body, Osamu realizes, but the emotion burning behind his eyes doesn’t carry the kind of love he has for him. He’s staring at Atsumu’s body, sure, but it’s Osamu he’s seeing. Instead of passionate, caring love, all there is to show is careful, somewhat anxious adoration, something that speaks to him as if Sakusa is scared of judgement, as if he wants to be seen as the perfect match, as if he doesn’t want Osamu to dislike him when he burns so brightly for Atsumu. He could never, is what Osamu thinks, because he’s seen the way his brother glows when he talks about his spikers and he’s seen the way he seems brighter than the sun when he talks about Omi-kun, Omi-Omi, Kiyoomi, his Omi. He could never, not when Atsumu looks the happiest he’s ever been, not when he’s finally getting the love he deserves.
Osamu smiles at him, “Ya really love ‘im, don’tcha?”
“Yeah,” it comes as a whisper, a soft pink spreading across Sakusa’s cheeks and over the bridge of his nose, the sweet, sweet shade Atsumu had talked about oh, so many times before. It’s in this moment that Osamu realizes just how different it is, meeting someone who’s willing to love just as much as Atsumu is, meeting someone who’s finally seeing his brother as someone worthy of all the love there is in the world, as someone who needs it just like everybody else. “Yeah, I love him a lot. Don’t tell him that, though, it’ll get to his head and I don’t really want to deal with his teasing.”
Sakusa is smiling as he says that, Osamu notices, perhaps mimicking his own smile, or perhaps Osamu was the one who mimicked his, who knows. What matters is that, finally, he understands the reason why Atsumu looked brighter, happier, prettier. He understands why he started calling more, why his voice sounded sweeter, calmer, almost as if he’d finally gotten what he was looking for. He did, Osamu realizes, now, as he watches Sakusa grabbing him another mug and pouring him more coffee, as he hands it to him and smiles sweetly, brightly, almost a replica of Atsumu’s own smile.
He doesn’t know what it is, call it uneasiness or simply the butterflies in his stomach, but he likes it. He likes the way Sakusa, once cold and unapproachable, has somehow taken a liking to some of Atsumu’s mannerisms, the way he slips sometimes and ends up saying something in a poor attempt Kansai-ben and immediately corrects himself, proper and fancy and in the way Osamu was used to.
“Okay,” Osamu says, finally, after taking a sip of his coffee, bitterness lingering at the back of his tongue once the sweetness has faded away. “I suppose I can share him with ya, then. There’s just one thing I want ya to promise me, yeah?”
“Anything.”
“Don’t hurt him,” he says, serious, eyes glued to Sakusa’s, eyebrows finding their way down into a frown as if that would make his words more threatening. Judging by Sakusa’s expression and the way he gulps, Osamu would assume it worked. “Or I’ll beat the shit outta you, no questions asked, no second chance.”
Yeah, he lets out, choked and weird and somewhat amused, I wouldn’t dare to, is what he says, a sincere smile painting his face in a shade Osamu had never seen before. He looks like love, if Osamu knows anything about it, prideful and bright, sweet and sour all at once, and he supposes it’s only fair, when he sees his brother in the same light every single time he insists they have a video call, every time he sends him selfies and whenever he has the time to come visit. It’s only fair that they love the same, he thinks, and for a second or maybe an hour, he stands there, heart one step away from an explosion, tear ducts full enough to cause a flood.
He’s not really an emotional person, he tries not to be, but it makes something click inside him when he realizes that ah, he’s being loved, finally, he’s getting everything he’s always needed, everything we could never give him, and it’s strangely warm, strangely soothing, the way the feeling climbs up his spine and wraps itself around his throat. It doesn’t suffocate, it doesn’t burn, it’s just there. For a second, Osamu almost forgets the mess they’re in, almost believes everything is alright, the puzzle pieces fitting perfectly together, finally, as they always should have.
And then Sakusa Kiyoomi speaks up again.
“Atsumu texted me,” he says, “I’m guessing he’s using your phone? He said they’ll come over in an hour or so. Atsumu and Suna, that is. They’ll be having lunch here, apparently, because they said you should start cooking right now so that the food is ready when they arrive.”
Right, he thinks, the swapping thing.
“Text him back,” Osamu tells him, “and tell him to go to hell. We’re ordering takeout. And he’s paying, that jerk.”
Sakusa snorts before nodding softly, grabbing his phone again and letting out a sigh while he types out his reply. “I thought you said you loved him to death or something like that? Isn’t that some sort of extortion?”
Osamu shrugs, “Consider this a payback for all the times he’s eaten onigiri for free.”
It’s only when Sakusa looks up at him with a mischievous spark behind his eyes, a smirk hanging from his lips, and eyebrows arched that Osamu realizes that oh, because who would have guessed? He smiles back, suddenly forgetting all about the body swapping, all about the fact that it’s not him Sakusa is smiling at, not entirely, because it’s not him that he’s seeing, but that’s fine, he supposes, because they’ll find a way. Maybe if they hit their heads against each other’s hard enough, they’ll swap back. Maybe they won’t, but knowing them, they sure as hell will try it. Knowing Rin, Osamu knows he’ll be recording their every move. And, now, knowing Sakusa, knowing Kiyoomi, he knows he’ll be there to take care of every little accident they might have while trying to switch back.
It’s not ideal, the way this whole thing started, but at least now Osamu knows what the final puzzle piece for Atsumu’s character looks like, and it has curly hair, dark eyes and two moles on his forehead. It looks like warmth and detachment all at once, like comfortable blankets and sharp edges, like everything Atsumu is and everything he’s ever needed and, for now, it’s enough.
For now, all they need to do is to find a way to change back.
For now, it’s okay.