Practice is grueling, but it's a physical distraction that Osamu needs. He relishes in pushing his body to its limit, to get his mind off of everything else. And when it's over he's drained, and his grudge against Atsumu is long forgotten. Now he just resents his twin for being such a rough, demanding setter.
He's somewhat dazed as he's drinking water, until Kita calling his name grabs his attention. He stands up so quickly, he almost falls.
Noting the sway, Kita hands over another bottle of water. Then keeps pushing. Doling out advice as First Years run up with balls. Not just "Good Job" but individual names and observations.
"Date, your blocks are a lot better. Watch your landings. Tsunoda, quit flailing around. You just need to hit it..."
"Thanks, Captain."
"Right, sorry, thanks Captain."
Soon enough the cart is full and Kita turns to Osamu. Sharing what's been saved for him.
"About Home Econ - It's nice, hearing someone else likes those sorts of things."
Osamu accepts the bottle gratefully, with a murmured 'Thanks.' He wishes he had the energy left to help Kita clean up, though the first years are taking care of that - truly, all Osamu wants is to eat something.
He isn't expecting Kita to pick up that conversation from earlier. Though maybe he should have known better, because Kita never forgets.
"Those sorts of things?" He repeats. "You mean, like, housework stuff? Because I'll be honest, Kita-san, I don't really like cleaning."
"If you like cooking, cleaning comes with it. That's how it works."
Kita begins inspecting. Turning each ball between his hands, then dropping it in a bounce. They are all either sorted to another cart or put on the floor.
Osamu makes a little bit of a face. "I don't think that's really how it works, Kita-san," he argues gently, not trying to step on any toes. "That's the part of cooking I like the least."
But Osamu is diligent about it, so he does clean up after himself when he's in the kitchen. His ma would kick his ass otherwise, and then he wouldn't be allowed to keep experimenting.
"What are you doing?" He asks of his senpai, who seems to be sorting the volleyballs with some unknown criteria in mind.
"'Liking' isn't the important part. If you don't clean, the tools would be ruined. You couldn't cook. So you do it."
It's not that Kita likes cleaning individual things. Nor does he dislike it. The pleasure comes from knowing the job is done. A goal superseding everything else.
He picks up a volleyball. Points to a scuff across the blue and yellow leather. Dark as a bruise.
Osamu considers this. Cleaning is a necessary evil in the process, but Kita's right that the emphasis is on necessary. It just startles him, not for the first time, how much more mature Kita is than any other high schooler alive.
Which extends even to the volleyballs. How he notices when they need maintenance. Osamu's pretty sure even the coaches don't pay attention to that.
Kita sees everything, though.
"I can get the air pump," Osamu offers, slowly getting to his feet. They feel less like jelly now, which is nice. "If you need the help?"
No one else needs to worry. Kita's done it for years. Still, the offer gets a smile.
"I won't turn it down!"
By the time Osamu returns, Kita's sunk deep into cleaning. Lulled by the familiar weight of leather, the stinging smell of cleaning fluid. He turns the ball over and over. A soft cloth working away the black, until bright colors return.
Osamu heads to the equipment shed to grab the pump, and by the time he gets back Kita is already sitting in a corner and cleaning off volleyballs. The cloth in his hand is already dark with grime, and the sight of it makes Osamu frown.
"Lookin' at that makes me realize that volleyball's kinda gross," he muses, thinking of all the sweat flying around the court and how they throw their bodies down on the floor for receives. Not that he particularly minds, since he's not a neat freak, but the sudden itch to wash his hands is there. "Where're the ones that need air?"
"It is very gross," Kita agrees. "Why do you think I deep-clean the locker room once a month?"
Which is coming up. He'll need a vacuum. Better ask the janitor about that, as well as floor wax. Making mental notes, Kita looks to a pile of five or six balls. Not missing a beat even as he plans an entirely different project.
"I'd rather not think about it," Osamu decides after a beat. He takes the pump over to the pile of deflated volleyballs, and picks up the first one there. It looks fuller than it feels when he presses his palms into it, and he nods to himself and affixes the needle at the end of the nozzle into the volleyball's opening.
They work in relative silence, with Osamu grunting a bit under his breath as he pumps up the volleyballs. He can't stop thinking about the conversation he really wanted to have with Kita, the one he hoped would come up after he shared his cooking. His plan was ruined by his hapless, stupid twin, so now Osamu just needs to be brave.
"I really like cooking," he says, apropos of nothing. "Makes me feel the way volleyball does."
Kita pauses. Mid-wipe. Because that is quite a revelation.
Miya Osamu is a monster. He eats and sleeps and screams volleyball. Fights his own twin to the top, every day. Watching him play is one of the most incredible things about being on Inarizaki. About being on a court at all.
Osamu is curious how Kita will react, but he hadn't been expecting to surprise him so much. Enough to get him to stop cleaning.
He purses his lips thoughtfully, and tests the density of volleyball in his hands, to see if it's inflated enough.
"I might like it more," Osamu admits. "Volleyball's exciting, it gets me worked up and gets my blood goin'. Especially when it's with 'Tsumu, you know? But cooking's like... it makes me feel centered? Like I'm in control, I can be creative, I can figure stuff out on my own. And then I can watch other people enjoy it. Feels good."
Kita takes all that in. He knows the twins aren't a matched set. Though they synch up at a terrifying level, that's from shared passion. How hard they work together. (Even as they trip each other into fountains. Yes, Kita's seen that video. Like 500,00 other people.)
Osamu's talking about something so wildly different. Something solo. It seems the food today meant even more than Kita thought.
That deserves full attention.
"Well," Kita finally says. A smile sliding in. "I hope you felt good today."
Osamu nods slowly, a hint of a smile on his face. "I'll be honest, Kita-san, I was nervous as hell about feedin' ya. Your opinion's really important to me because you don't mince your words. If you told me it sucked I probably would've given up."
He says this, then thinks about it and backpedals.
"Nah. I would've just worked harder to make the next thing I gave you better."
Kita feels a warmth rise in his chest. That's exactly what he wants. To give someone the drive to work, instead of just quitting.
It's... nice. Hearing someone understands.
"Good," he says. Giving the ball one more wipe, before tossing it into the cart. Job done. "If you want more feedback, let me know. I'll be available."
Osamu nods, tossing the ball he refilled into the ball cart too. He grabs the next one and gets back to work.
"I'll be sure to take you up on that, Kita-san. I've been working on my onigiri fillings, and I could use another taste tester. Atsumu eats like a pig."
Kita huffs out something between a laugh and a sigh. Lets the comment pass. Rude, but maybe letting Osamu get his digs in away from his brother is a good strategy. On top of the manual labor.
Osamu finishes inflating the rest of the saggy volleyballs that afternoon with a hint of a smile on his face, and relief and confidence in the set of his shoulders. It felt huge to confess to Kita everything he'd been thinking lately, but being met with his upperclassman's support and encouragement was worth the risk.
A few weeks pass, and in that time, Osamu sometimes brings some things he's cooked for Kita's assessment. It's not too often, because he wants to be subtle so the whole team doesn't find out, which is hard with people like Atsumu and even Suna around. Most of it comes from home ec class, so the food is simple, but delicious each time.
And then one afternoon Osamu shows up to practice not with food, but with a figurative storm cloud overhead. He's noticeably late, enough that Atsumu is already in the gym warming up, and stomps right into the clubroom without a passing glance at anyone. He doesn't need to say a word for it to be obvious that something is off.
Kita can't remember when he started watching for Osamu. Looking forward to a quick conversation. Perhaps whatever's been whipped up in Home Ec, though it's not expected.
The routine has broken.
Every minute that passes, Kita's stomach knots tighter. Official practice has not started. No one's not in trouble, on paper. But no one has information. Even Atsumu only grimaces, "I dunno, Cap. He ain't answering texts."
Then, finally, Typhoon Osamu rolls in.
Handing warm-ups to Aran, Kita hurries back to the clubroom. Not wasting a second.
Osamu's holding his body tight. Extra, extra tight. At first glance, it may seem like poorly restrained anger, and Osamu's sort of counting on that, hoping it will make his teammates leave him be. If they think he's just mad, especially if he can pin it on Atsumu, then maybe no one will notice-
A voice cuts through the inner monologue Osamu's delivering while digging through his gym bag. Kita's voice, which cannot be ignored. And he isn't asking an easily evaded question, either.
"Nothing happened," Osamu says at length, teeth clenched. "'M fine. Everythin's fine. Be out for practice in a minute."
He can't change into his gym clothes until the club room empties, just in case there's a visible sign of his injury plastered across his back.
Osamu holds his breath for a moment as he considers how he's supposed to respond. It quickly becomes obvious he won't be able to shake Kita off, and with a heavy sigh, he decides he might as well stop hiding it.
He turns away from Kita and tugs his shirt off by the collar, wincing a little as it stretches out his back. When the shirt slides off, a giant bruise is uncovered in the middle right of his back, ugly mottled purple and green surrounded by red skin.
"I fell." He explains simply, barely more than a grunt.
Maybe Osamu's waiting for the chill of disappointment. Getting injured like this, with playoffs so close? It could be catastrophic for Inarizaki. The Twins will have another shot at Nationals. Others are not so lucky. Kita's not so lucky.
Instead, warmth settles on Osamu's shoulder. Kita gently pressing down.
Osamu realizes a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. Hiding the injury from his twin, not to mention the rest of the team, has been wearing him down all day.
"It's just from a fall. The internet says it's not a big deal." He mumbles, but after he looks over his shoulder at Kita, he lets the arguments fall off his tongue.
"Guess I'd better just let them see, huh?" He concedes.
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He's somewhat dazed as he's drinking water, until Kita calling his name grabs his attention. He stands up so quickly, he almost falls.
"Yes! Yeah, Kita-san, what do you need?"
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"Date, your blocks are a lot better. Watch your landings. Tsunoda, quit flailing around. You just need to hit it..."
"Thanks, Captain."
"Right, sorry, thanks Captain."
Soon enough the cart is full and Kita turns to Osamu. Sharing what's been saved for him.
"About Home Econ - It's nice, hearing someone else likes those sorts of things."
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He isn't expecting Kita to pick up that conversation from earlier. Though maybe he should have known better, because Kita never forgets.
"Those sorts of things?" He repeats. "You mean, like, housework stuff? Because I'll be honest, Kita-san, I don't really like cleaning."
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"If you like cooking, cleaning comes with it. That's how it works."
Kita begins inspecting. Turning each ball between his hands, then dropping it in a bounce. They are all either sorted to another cart or put on the floor.
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But Osamu is diligent about it, so he does clean up after himself when he's in the kitchen. His ma would kick his ass otherwise, and then he wouldn't be allowed to keep experimenting.
"What are you doing?" He asks of his senpai, who seems to be sorting the volleyballs with some unknown criteria in mind.
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It's not that Kita likes cleaning individual things. Nor does he dislike it. The pleasure comes from knowing the job is done. A goal superseding everything else.
He picks up a volleyball. Points to a scuff across the blue and yellow leather. Dark as a bruise.
"They're dirty. And this one needs air."
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Which extends even to the volleyballs. How he notices when they need maintenance. Osamu's pretty sure even the coaches don't pay attention to that.
Kita sees everything, though.
"I can get the air pump," Osamu offers, slowly getting to his feet. They feel less like jelly now, which is nice. "If you need the help?"
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"I won't turn it down!"
By the time Osamu returns, Kita's sunk deep into cleaning. Lulled by the familiar weight of leather, the stinging smell of cleaning fluid. He turns the ball over and over. A soft cloth working away the black, until bright colors return.
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"Lookin' at that makes me realize that volleyball's kinda gross," he muses, thinking of all the sweat flying around the court and how they throw their bodies down on the floor for receives. Not that he particularly minds, since he's not a neat freak, but the sudden itch to wash his hands is there. "Where're the ones that need air?"
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Which is coming up. He'll need a vacuum. Better ask the janitor about that, as well as floor wax. Making mental notes, Kita looks to a pile of five or six balls. Not missing a beat even as he plans an entirely different project.
"Those do."
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They work in relative silence, with Osamu grunting a bit under his breath as he pumps up the volleyballs. He can't stop thinking about the conversation he really wanted to have with Kita, the one he hoped would come up after he shared his cooking. His plan was ruined by his hapless, stupid twin, so now Osamu just needs to be brave.
"I really like cooking," he says, apropos of nothing. "Makes me feel the way volleyball does."
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Miya Osamu is a monster. He eats and sleeps and screams volleyball. Fights his own twin to the top, every day. Watching him play is one of the most incredible things about being on Inarizaki. About being on a court at all.
"You like it that much?"
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He purses his lips thoughtfully, and tests the density of volleyball in his hands, to see if it's inflated enough.
"I might like it more," Osamu admits. "Volleyball's exciting, it gets me worked up and gets my blood goin'. Especially when it's with 'Tsumu, you know? But cooking's like... it makes me feel centered? Like I'm in control, I can be creative, I can figure stuff out on my own. And then I can watch other people enjoy it. Feels good."
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Kita takes all that in. He knows the twins aren't a matched set. Though they synch up at a terrifying level, that's from shared passion. How hard they work together. (Even as they trip each other into fountains. Yes, Kita's seen that video. Like 500,00 other people.)
Osamu's talking about something so wildly different. Something solo. It seems the food today meant even more than Kita thought.
That deserves full attention.
"Well," Kita finally says. A smile sliding in. "I hope you felt good today."
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He says this, then thinks about it and backpedals.
"Nah. I would've just worked harder to make the next thing I gave you better."
Skip to DRAMA?
It's... nice. Hearing someone understands.
"Good," he says. Giving the ball one more wipe, before tossing it into the cart. Job done. "If you want more feedback, let me know. I'll be available."
Yessss
"I'll be sure to take you up on that, Kita-san. I've been working on my onigiri fillings, and I could use another taste tester. Atsumu eats like a pig."
Skip to where you like!
Can't be much worse.
At least Kita's sure of one thing -
"I'll look forward to it."
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A few weeks pass, and in that time, Osamu sometimes brings some things he's cooked for Kita's assessment. It's not too often, because he wants to be subtle so the whole team doesn't find out, which is hard with people like Atsumu and even Suna around. Most of it comes from home ec class, so the food is simple, but delicious each time.
And then one afternoon Osamu shows up to practice not with food, but with a figurative storm cloud overhead. He's noticeably late, enough that Atsumu is already in the gym warming up, and stomps right into the clubroom without a passing glance at anyone. He doesn't need to say a word for it to be obvious that something is off.
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The routine has broken.
Every minute that passes, Kita's stomach knots tighter. Official practice has not started. No one's not in trouble, on paper. But no one has information. Even Atsumu only grimaces, "I dunno, Cap. He ain't answering texts."
Then, finally, Typhoon Osamu rolls in.
Handing warm-ups to Aran, Kita hurries back to the clubroom. Not wasting a second.
"Osamu? What happened?"
Right to the point.
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A voice cuts through the inner monologue Osamu's delivering while digging through his gym bag. Kita's voice, which cannot be ignored. And he isn't asking an easily evaded question, either.
"Nothing happened," Osamu says at length, teeth clenched. "'M fine. Everythin's fine. Be out for practice in a minute."
He can't change into his gym clothes until the club room empties, just in case there's a visible sign of his injury plastered across his back.
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Nothing about this is "Fine."
"If nothing happened, you wouldn't be late," he responds evenly. Still waiting for an explanation.
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He turns away from Kita and tugs his shirt off by the collar, wincing a little as it stretches out his back. When the shirt slides off, a giant bruise is uncovered in the middle right of his back, ugly mottled purple and green surrounded by red skin.
"I fell." He explains simply, barely more than a grunt.
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Maybe Osamu's waiting for the chill of disappointment. Getting injured like this, with playoffs so close? It could be catastrophic for Inarizaki. The Twins will have another shot at Nationals. Others are not so lucky. Kita's not so lucky.
Instead, warmth settles on Osamu's shoulder. Kita gently pressing down.
"Please sit. I'm getting Coach and the physio."
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"It's just from a fall. The internet says it's not a big deal." He mumbles, but after he looks over his shoulder at Kita, he lets the arguments fall off his tongue.
"Guess I'd better just let them see, huh?" He concedes.
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Re-reading manga and Kita's/the Kansai dialect is a bit more distinct SO
Totally up to you how you wanna render it!
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