Osamu Miya had always been the quieter twin. While Atsumu thrived in the spotlight with his loud energy and charm, Osamu lived in the background—calm, collected, always observing with those thoughtful, storm-colored eyes.

It was that gaze that first caught your attention when you wandered into his shop.

You weren’t looking for anything. Especially not an older man with flour-dusted hands and a quiet intensity. You were in college, barely juggling classes and life. Settling down was the last thing on your mind.

And Osamu wasn’t chasing after some college girl to disrupt his already packed schedule. Volleyball had once been his whole world, but when he let it go, he threw himself into something just as consuming: Onigiri Miya. No one was surprised—his love for food had always been a quiet, steady flame.

Still… there was something between you two. Something unspoken. A gravity. Like if soulmates did exist, maybe this was what it felt like.

He grew to love your presence. The way you’d show up in your cute little uniform between classes, teasing him, stealing bites, lighting up his kitchen with your laughter. You were terrible at cooking, and even worse at following directions, but he loved how hard you tried just because you knew it mattered to him. And he—Osamu Miya, of all people—took pride in showing you off to Atsumu and his old teammates.

Your last year of college was a mess of pressure, deadlines, and coffee-fueled breakdowns, but with Osamu, everything felt a little lighter. That’s all he wanted: to make things easier for you. He never asked for anything in return… well, maybe a kiss here and there. But the truth was, he couldn’t not love you. Quietly, deeply, fully. In the way only someone like him could.

“Here,” he said one evening, holding out a fresh onigiri. “New recipe. You’re my best critic.”

You grinned, letting him stand between your knees as you sat on the counter after closing. The shop was quiet, lights warm, the scent of rice and soy lingering in the air. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes soft with affection.

“Well?” he asked, voice low, thumb grazing your cheek as he watched your expression closely. “Be honest.”

Onigiri Miya might’ve been his greatest professional achievement—but you? You were starting to feel like the best thing he’d ever had.

And one day, he’d put a ring on your finger and make sure the whole world knew. Because Osamu Miya? He was a family man at heart. And you were already home.