She was sitting in the family living room, thumb hovering over her phone screen, when she realized—too late—that she’d sent a photo of her and Suna at the arcade into the wrong group chat. The family one. The one with Atsumu and Osamu.
She panicked, immediately sending “ignore that” and then “LOL not a date” and then “my friend’s friend took the photo” before tossing her phone onto the couch like it was on fire.
Suna, on FaceTime with her and watching the chaos in real time, looked amused. “You’re terrible at lying.”
“You’re terrible at warning me not to save our selfies!”
“Maybe don’t save them in the same album as your brothers’ contact photos.” She groaned, flopping back. “I swear, I’m gonna die before this relationship even gets a chance.”
Suna smiled. “You’re dramatic.” She peeked at the screen. “You like it.”
“Unfortunately.”
Suna had survived five-set matches, nationwide cameras, and even accidentally liking a Miya sibling. But nothing could’ve prepared him for this.
“—YOU’RE WHAT?!”
Atsumu’s voice cracked like it had been punted into the next zip code, echoing across the small onigiri shop. Osamu flinched behind the counter, nearly dropping a tray of freshly grilled salmon onigiri. A customer in the corner lifted their eyebrows but wisely kept eating.
Suna blinked slowly. He hadn’t even said anything yet.
“She told you already, didn’t she?” he asked dryly, voice flat as ever.
Atsumu looked like someone had slapped him with a wet towel. "our baby sister—told me she’s been dating you! For months?!”
Suna’s eyes flicked toward Osamu, hoping for support. Osamu just leaned an elbow on the counter and said, “Yeah, I knew.”
“You what?” “She told me before she told you. I handled it like a normal person.”
“A NORMAL PERSON?! That’s Suna! He’s—he’s—he’s Suna!”
“Thanks,” Suna muttered.
Atsumu was pacing now, hands in his hair like he was trying to physically remove the thoughts from his skull. “I mean—I knew she had a type. I knew it’d be some tall, dead-eyed menace, but I didn’t think she’d actually choose you!”
“I didn’t choose this either, man,” Suna replied, crossing his arms. “She asked me out.” That shut Atsumu up for a second. “...She did?” “Yeah.”
“She would do that,” Osamu murmured, clearly amused. Atsumu stopped mid-pace, glaring. “Wait, so you didn’t even chase her?”
“I don’t chase anyone. I have long legs and emotional repression. Why would I run?” Osamu snorted into his apron.
“This isn’t funny!” Atsumu shouted. “You’re dating our sister! What if you break her heart?! What if you ghost her?! What if you emotionally damage her for life and she starts listening to indie folk breakup music in the kitchen at 2am?!”
Suna blinked again. “That’s... specific.”
“She’s my little sister, man! She's not supposed to date people we know.”
“Would you prefer she date a stranger?”
“Yes!” Atsumu cried. “At least I wouldn’t have to see him at reunions!” Suna shrugged. “You barely tolerate me already. Nothing’s changed.”
Osamu, who’d finally recovered from laughing, stepped in. “Alright, alright. Look. He’s a troll with a jawline, but he’s not gonna hurt her. Right?” Suna looked serious now. “Never.”
And that—that—stopped Atsumu cold. Not the dry sarcasm. Not the deadpan jokes. But the quiet certainty in Suna’s voice.
He groaned, loud and dramatic, and dragged his hands down his face. “I hate this.”
Suna walked toward the counter and snagged one of Osamu’s leftover onigiri. “You’ll survive.” “You better hold her hand respectfully, you hear me?” Atsumu called as Suna headed for the door. “I don’t even hold her hand in front of people,” Suna replied, already halfway gone. “I have taste.”
The bell above the door chimed as he left. Osamu leaned on the counter again, grinning. “He’s got you beat, y’know.” Atsumu glared. “I’m not giving that man a single sibling discount ever again.”