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Typically, Atsumu’s mornings are slow.
Waking up, blinking the stars out of his eyes, shutting his alarm off and shoving his face into a pillow. His mind is still sleepy, and if he closes his eyes long enough he can feel himself slipping back into his dreams.
The dorm is still quiet, though not for long. Bokuto and Hinata will soon be bustling about in the kitchen, and their chatter is loud enough for him to be persuaded into consciousness. Sometimes they talk about the latest fashion trends, the Adler’s latest match, their favourite type of tea, or about their siblings.
This time, he wakes up to incoherent screaming. Which does happen at least once a month, be it because of a cockroach found in the bathroom or because of the molding cheese that was hidden in the refrigerator for a month, but he’s more agitated than usual when he hears what they’re screaming about.
“ATSUMU-SAN!”
“TSUM-TSUM IS TSUM- TSUMMIE! ”
That’s alarming.
He scrambles out of bed, falling ungracefully to the floor. The sight that greets him when he enters the living room, doesn’t really explain the situation at all.
Bokuto and Hinata are frantically speaking over each other, and Sakusa, who typically wakes up dead last, is standing over the kitchen counter, looking incredibly grouchy. They probably woke him up with their combined screeches.
Behind him, is a child, grasping at his shirt from behind, using him from a shield from Bokuto and Hinata, and when the child peeks an eye out to see the ruckus, a chorus of “TSUM- TSUMMIE!! ” come from them, and he immediately hides his face.
A child.
“You’re both scaring him, and stop screaming or so help me.” Sakusa says, looking over at them, both losing their goddamn minds.
A child.
A child that looks suspiciously like him.
What the fuck.
“Miya.” The sound startles him, and he stares at Sakusa, trying to gather all of his brain cells to respond, still trying to understand the context of this entire scenario.
“Y-yes?”
“Can you — ”
“‘Chumu?”
Three things happen all at once.
First, there’s silence that ensues. Bokuto and Hinata aren’t screaming, they’re both looking over to the child behind Sakusa, because for the past thirty minutes that they’ve been awake, the boy hadn’t spoken a single word, and he cut Sakusa off, which is ballsy.
Second, the child peeks from behind once again, still grabbing Sakusa’s shirt, big doe eyes staring at Atsumu, looking like him when he was a child, dark hair still free of dye.
Third, Sakusa stares down at the child, looks up at Atsumu, and Atsumu stares back. Everyone in the room stare at the child, stare at each other, and back at the child once again.
And then Atsumu sees something.
A mole, there’s one on his collarbone, on the left side.
Atsumu doesn’t have a mole on his left collarbone, Osamu does.
Oh my god that’s Osamu what the fuck.
“What the fuck is going on.” He says at last, and Hinata immediately reprimands him for swearing around a child.
So much for a slow morning. His brain is going into overdrive.
Once everyone has finally settled down, and Hinata’s cooked breakfast for all, they’re all sitting across the dorm. Mini-Samu sits beside him on a bar-stool, legs dangling as he grabs a fork with his fist closed all around it, and stabs into an egg.
Atsumu is still processing everything. There is a child. In the dorm. Looking exactly like him when he was five, but it can’t be him when he was five because he’s an adult now so what —
“Bokuto and Hinata found him looking through the fridge, and when they thought you had turned into a child they started screaming, chanting your name, I woke up and he hid behind me.”
“O-kay,” He says, like the context explains everything. It does not.
Who is this child. What is this child doing in the dorm. They all aren’t fit to be around kids. Okay, well, maybe Hinata could handle it, but he isn't. Why does this child look like him. Is this a ghost haunting him? Probably not, but the possibility is still there—
He’s overthinking things too much. There’s just a simple solution to this all, after all.
“What’s your name?”
The child is mid-way through a bite to an egg, and while still looking over at him, he eats his eggs, chews, and once he’s done, expecting a response, the child grabs the glass of water over the table, drinking it with both of his little hands over the glass.
Atsumu blinks.
When the glass is empty, he places it back down on the table and gives out a little sigh, and wipes his mouth with his hand.
“‘Chamu,”
“Samsam!” Bokuto says, seated over at the couch.
So the child is Osamu. That still doesn’t really make a lot of sense, it’s too early for this.
He’s barely spoken, and if this kid is Osamu, it makes sense, because even back when they were kids, Osamu had been the quieter one, but so far he’s practically said two things, and he doesn’t know how to take care of a child. Don’t they need a special chair in the car or something? What age do babies stop wearing diapers? Does he need to go to the bathroom?
He is ill-equipped to deal with this situation.
“Atsumu-san, you should call Osamu-san!” Hinata tells him, spatula in hand as he continues cooking, and he ponders about it for a moment.
“You’re right, that’s a great idea!” Atsumu says, with a start.
Osamu probably knows what to do in this situation, not because he’s smarter than him or responsible, but because if there’s anyone who can bullshit their way into taking care of a child who doesn’t end up missing a limb or two, it’s Osamu. And Kita-san. But he’s probably busy, and Atsumu has free sibling rights to annoy him.
He should be awake anyway, preparing for work or something. He’s sure Osamu can spare a few minutes of his morning helping him, it’s a pretty big deal after all.
The call rings, and mini-Samu from beside him stares at the vibrating phone as he eats, staring at it questioningly. It rings once, twice, and on the third it gets picked up.
It’s a video call, and for a moment, there’s nothing but a pitch black screen, and Atsumu sees his reflection over the dark phone screen.
“Osamu?”
It’s silent, nothing but a little bit of rustling can be heard, a little bit of mumbling, and then a piercing cry echoes from the phone.
“Dear lord—” The screen shifts up, and he sees Osamu’s face pop up on the screen, just off to the side, as if he’s trying to calm down the crying, and Atsumu can’t exactly see what’s going on because of the awkward angle.
Mini-Samu perks up from beside him, dropping his fork and trying to get to the phone, grabbing at it and almost falling off the chair. Sakusa catches him before he falls face flat onto the floor.
With a scream of his own, he says, “Chumu!!” and the wailing stops for a bit on Osamu’s side, and as quickly as the crying stops, there’s another scream:
“CHAMU!!”
“Chumu!!”
And all of a sudden the screen shifts from Osamu’s face to another, one identical to the one right beside Atsumu, face filled with tears and snot, and like that they continue screaming each other’s names into the phone, a constant back and forth.
From the corner of the screen, Osamu’s face pops up, exasperated.
“See? There’s your brother, he’s not missing,” Osamu rubs a hand behind the child’s back, and peeks over the phone to look over at Atsumu.
The child sniffles and ignores him, both of the toddlers are still just screaming their names over the phone.
“When did you get a kid?” Atsumu says jokingly, trying to break the ice.
“Ha ha. Very funny. Did you know that you’re a crybaby? Crying because you miss me?”
Atsumu ‘tsks’ in response. “Shut it, as if you’re any better,”
Well, mini-Samu is actually better. He’s not crying, that’s for one. He immediately stopped trying to hide or run away when Atsumu told him they’ll be eating soon, and he’s only lashing out right now, screaming at mini-Tsumu on the other side of the call.
Speaking of, they’re both still going on, just holding the phone, screaming.
“You know what. I don’t know. I’ll drop by because he won’t stop crying. Tsum, I’m going to end the call, alright?”
“Bring lunch!”
“No.”
“ CHAMU —”
And the call ends. Mini-Samu plops back into his seat.
Atsumu knows Osamu will bring lunch anyway. He hopes he survives, considering that yes , his brother has not turned back into a five-year old, but is dealing with a five-year version of himself.
Well, it could’ve gotten worse. It’s going to be a few hours until lunch. He hopes Osamu can handle a mini-Tsumu until then.
Back onto more pressing matters: What does a child need?
“Hinata, what does a child need?” Atsumu asks, and Hinata looks back to him from the stove.
“W-well. Why’re you asking me?” Deflection. Atsumu squints over at him.
“I’m assuming yer the only one capable of dealing with children in this household,” Atsumu leans over the counter, arms crossed.
“He doesn’t need diapers, he’s not a baby.” Sakusa says from the other side of the kitchen aisle.
“T-That’s not what I was thinkin’!” He splutters.
That was, in fact, exactly what he was thinking.
“Ooh! Samsam needs like, toys or something right?” Bokuto asks, head popping into view, bringing his dish to the sink.
“Prepare an emergency bag. Baby wipes. Extra clothes. Hand Sanitizer. Snacks.” Sakusa recites, seemingly well prepared, as if he’s done this before.
“Wahh, why do you know so much about children?” Hinata says, turning the stove off and finally moving to grab a plate of his own.
“I have a niece, I babysit them sometimes.” He says nonchalantly.
“Hmm. Well, besides the obvious, what else does a child need?” Atsumu pipes up once again, leaning his head onto his palm, thinking.
“Colouring books!” Bokuto pipes up.
“See Chumu,” mini-Samu says, and the words die on Atsumu’s mouth.
Children are very honest. Not that he isn’t, he’s just blunt with his words as well, but he says it so earnestly, Atsumu can’t help but feel a little something.
This is how he ends up bringing mini-Samu, (“It’s Samsam!” Bokuto insists.) to practice, presenting him to the national team. Because out of all the days something bizarre would occur, it has to happen during a weekday, of course.
There’s an arm wrapped around his neck, and mini-Samu is carried in his arms, face leaning into his shoulder, tired after walking for the first ten-minutes to the gym.
Normally, they would take a jog there, but because of the predicament they’re in, they had to resort to walking. There’s no way a child would keep up with them, and running with a child in his arms was not an option.
The first person that sees him is Aran-kun, who doesn’t say a word, but merely stares at the child in his arms.
“Oh? Where’d you steal the child from?” Suna slides up to him, and Atsumu scowls. Mini-Samu turns to look at him, sitting relaxed in Atsumu’s arms.
“I did not steal a child—”
“...why does he look like you,” Suna squints once he gets a closer look, and his grip tightens around Osamu.
“Atsumu-san, why didn’t you say that you had a child?” Kageyama asks, but before he can get out a proper response, to explain the situation in some form,
“IS THAT A BABY?!” Komori pops out of nowhere. And just like that, he’s surrounded by the entire team, and they’re all trying to desperately catch mini-Samu’s attention, but he quickly hides by shoving his face back to Atsumu’s neck, slumping his cheek.
Osamu doesn’t go up to them, despite their friendly demeanor, and he sticks to Atsumu when he’s placed on the floor. They all tower over him, and even when they all coo at him, Suna finally gets him to come over after bribing him with candy.
Eventually, out of obligation, they get scolded by coach Hibarida, who offers to watch Osamu off to the side while they all play, and for the first hour, he’s alright watching them all do their warm ups and a few drills. Up till now, he doesn’t talk much, tugging a shirt to only say “toilet,” or so, but he’s getting antsy.
Atsumu sees in between that Osamu’s doing just fine, sitting on Iwaizumi’s shoulders as he talks to other players, ticking off something on his clipboard, and Osamu’s grabbing onto his head so he doesn’t fall off.
It’s cute.
In between breaks, Osamu plays with Bokuto after warming up to him, and everyone on the team tries to bribe him by buying something off the closest vending machine.
“Samsam! Don’t go to him, I’ll buy you pudding!” Hoshiumi tries, squatting down to his level.
Atsumu doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that a bunch of V.league players are suddenly trying so hard to capture the attention of a child. It’s interesting, to say the least.
“You used to look so cute, what happened?” Suna asks, recording everyone's poor attempts at bribery. Osamu’s a tough cookie, he doesn't accept all, but he accepts some of their offerings.
“Shut it,”
“‘M having flashbacks,” Aran says, seated on the bench.
“We weren’t that bad!” Atsumu tries.
“Ya used to steal pencils and cause chaos when people would frame someone else for stealin', and use me as a shield when people try to approach you,”
“First of all, that was Osamu. Second, it was really funny watching people get mad over a pencil,” Aran stares at him, exasperated.
“...Anyway, Osamu should be here soon with lunch soon,”
The gym door swings open.
“Speak of the devil,” Suna drawls.
Osamu walks in, carrying a bunch of bags he knows are filled with food, and before the door closes in, a mini-Tsumu pops up from behind him.
He scans his eyes across the gym, and when he sees Osamu, sitting over Ushijima’s shoulders, he screams:
“CHAMU!!”
At the call of his name, mini-Samu almost falls over Ushijima’s shoulders, squirming out of his grasp, and looks towards mini-Tsumu.
“Chumu!!”
When he lands on the floor, mini-Tsumu tackles him onto the floor, and both of the toddlers fall into a heap of limbs, landing with an oof.
A sniffle is heard from mini-Tsumu, and within seconds he’s crying again, hugging onto mini-Samu.
“W-why’re ya cryin’?” Mini-Samu asks, he receives a wail in response, the adults are starting to panic, but then mini-Samu pats him on the back.
“S-stop crying!” and then there are tears in his eyes too.
”I couldn’t find you when I woke up, a-and then you came up to me but you were super tall, and it wasn’t you — ” mini-Samu pats him on the back, a resounding clap behind each pat on his back.
”Stop crying, I'm here now, ya big baby,”
”You’re a baby too! You’re cryin!”
”I'm crying cuz’ you’re cryin!” they quickly swat each other with their hands, both equally failing to actually hit each other.
Atsumu and Osamu watch them from the side, and Suna’s leaning on Osamu, trying not to die from how cute they’re being.
Kids really are something else, Atsumu thinks. They’re still trying to sort of kill each other though, that hasn’t changed.
“Even as a bunch of five-year-olds, both of you sure are relentless,” Suna wipes a tear from his eye, hand holding his phone, having caught the entire reunion in 4K.
Mini-Samu, hand in hand with mini-Tsumu, go up to them, or more specifically, go up to Osamu, dragging his brother, still sniffling and rubbing the tears out of his eye.
He looks up, and in a flat tone he questions him, “Why was m’brother cryin’”
Osamu, unaffected by this five-year-old’s intense gaze, doesn’t even bother to squat at him, considering their height difference, and only reaches up to his waist. “Because he missed you.”
A short answer. It’s a simple one, really. They both continue to stare at each other though, and sooner or later, mini-Samu is satisfied, “Okay,” he says, and leaves, dragging him to the other players, swinging his hand.
“...that’s the most words he’s ever spoken,” Atsumu says when he’s out of earshot.
“How fun,” Osamu replies. Dealing with a mini-him is nothing compared to dealing with a mini-Tsumu. It was an experience. He respects their mother a lot for dealing with both of them.
Lunch proceeds on as normal as could be, both of the twins sitting side-by-side, stealing each other’s food and half a food fight.
Atsumu thinks it’s funny, watching them play with each other, because technically it’s him. It’s him and Osamu, as a bunch of five-year-olds, crying because they woke up separated and couldn’t find each other. They didn’t cry out for their mom, but they were finding each other.
“Whatcha’ thinkin’ bout’” Osamu says as he munches onto an onigiri of his own, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.
“Just thinkin’ how much I want to pummel you to the ground, ya know, the usual,” Deflection, Osamu thinks, is something Atsumu is not good at, considering he’s staring right at the children on the other side of the table.
It’s weird watching them both because it’s incredibly nostalgic, and he’s reminded of countless summer days where they’d spend their afternoons shooting each other with water-guns, eating watermelon slices and naps on the veranda.
And then the unthinkable happens:
Mini-Tsumu throws an onigiri to mini-Samu’s face. Mini-Samu retaliates by throwing an onigiri of his own.
“Samsam!”
“Tsummie!”
Aran shivers from behind them, “Augh, menaces, the both of ya’...”
Atsumu and Osamu turn back to him sheepishly.
“Eheh… sorry?” Osamu offers an apology, it doesn’t heal the scars that have healed from elementary.
They spend the rest of lunch trying to break them apart, and cleaning up the mess that was made by an impromptu food fight.
Atsumu supposes his morning could’ve gotten a lot worse, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.