Osamu's hanging off of Kita's every word, except now he's never going to get to find out what Kita is thanks to his idiotic, immature twin. Atsumu all but shoves him into the doorframe leading into the club room, which makes Osamu see red, hurtling in after his twin to grab him by the jacket and give him a good shake.
"Why can't you watch where you're going, you big gorilla?!" He snaps, pissed off that his moment with Kita was ruined. "Why did you hafta be born?!"
Atsumu shoves back, snarling, "Who's a gorilla - "
"Hey. Save it for practice."
The words are not a shout. Kita still stands at the door. Expression even. Yet the entire world freezes in his disapproval. Icicles go sheeting down the wall, teeth begin chattering. It is possible a penguin wanders by.
Atsumu and Osamu are both tamed by Kita's firm tone and words, immediately ceasing their fighting, the heat dying on their tongues and in their hands. Atsumu feels chastised, and turns to dig into his bag for his gym clothes. Osamu feels even worse off, frustrated that his twin not only got him yelled at by Kita, but that he ruined their moment. Now he's never going to know what Kita was about to say.
Now he'll have to work up the nerve all over again to maybe ask his upperclassman what he thinks. About his maybe pursuing something culinary.
Something Osamu's still struggling to admit to himself. Not even ready to talk to Tsumu about yet.
Fuck Tsumu.
"Sorry, Kita-san" he mutters, before similarly turning to dig his own clothes out of his gym locker.
They both deserved scolding. One started things, the other escalated. Which feels odd. Not the fighting, but the sudden switch. Osamu seemed fine only a moment ago. Nervous, maybe, but not angry. Is this just a bad day? Or the signs of something deeper?
Kita ponders. For now, all he can do is watch. Be ready for the next fallout.
Gradually the room fills with chatter, shuffling, banging. Kita finds time for everyone. Only a few words, but each one hits the target. Calming the stressed. Fueling up the exhausted. It's what he does every time. Nothing grand or special, just getting Inarizaki ready to work.
Fighting between the twins isn't that unusual, and if anyone can really push Osamu's buttons, it's Atsumu. But in this case, he's extra upset because his special moment with Kita was ruined by his idiot, single-minded twin. Who is already impossible to talk to when it comes to their future, because he takes volleyball for granted.
Kita is amazing to watch, as the team prepares for practice. He always knows the right thing to say. That's why Osamu wants to talk to him so badly, to hear his advice.
But that will have to wait until after practice. When he gets onto the court, Osamu leaves his thoughts behind and focuses on the physical sensations and his body. He has to play well to stay on the court, on this team of hungry players. And he's not going to let Atsumu outdo him.
The practice is intense. All energy channeled into play, so that's excellent. Kita leads the final stretches. Not letting anyone rush. The satisfaction of exhaustion spread through legs. Back. Thighs. Finally he releases the team. His team. It still feels strange to think that.
Of course that doesn't mean the day done. He grabs a rag and a storage cart. Scooping up the volleyballs.
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.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Re: Works for me!
"Really? I'm - "
Except it's a different Miya barreling in. Shoulder-checking his twin, hurling his backpack across the room.
"Haaaaaaa today suuuuuucked. Samu, hurry up!"
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"Why can't you watch where you're going, you big gorilla?!" He snaps, pissed off that his moment with Kita was ruined. "Why did you hafta be born?!"
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"Hey. Save it for practice."
The words are not a shout. Kita still stands at the door. Expression even. Yet the entire world freezes in his disapproval. Icicles go sheeting down the wall, teeth begin chattering. It is possible a penguin wanders by.
He will not have fighting right in front of him.
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Now he'll have to work up the nerve all over again to maybe ask his upperclassman what he thinks. About his maybe pursuing something culinary.
Something Osamu's still struggling to admit to himself. Not even ready to talk to Tsumu about yet.
Fuck Tsumu.
"Sorry, Kita-san" he mutters, before similarly turning to dig his own clothes out of his gym locker.
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Kita ponders. For now, all he can do is watch. Be ready for the next fallout.
Gradually the room fills with chatter, shuffling, banging. Kita finds time for everyone. Only a few words, but each one hits the target. Calming the stressed. Fueling up the exhausted. It's what he does every time. Nothing grand or special, just getting Inarizaki ready to work.
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Kita is amazing to watch, as the team prepares for practice. He always knows the right thing to say. That's why Osamu wants to talk to him so badly, to hear his advice.
But that will have to wait until after practice. When he gets onto the court, Osamu leaves his thoughts behind and focuses on the physical sensations and his body. He has to play well to stay on the court, on this team of hungry players. And he's not going to let Atsumu outdo him.
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Of course that doesn't mean the day done. He grabs a rag and a storage cart. Scooping up the volleyballs.
"Osamu? Do have a minute?"
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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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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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