it’s a wonder that atsumu shares identical genes with osamu, and it’s a wonder that he’s gotten as far as he has—alive.he shouldn’t have survived this long with his inability to do simple tasks.
“what have you done to my kitchen—”
“baby, don’t worry,” he quickly insists. “looks worse than it is,” he offers you a reassuring smile, but he cringes slightly when you glare at him.
“miya atsumu,” you say harshly, and he deflates, pouting as you cross your arms and tap your foot. he looks like a toddler being scolded, and maybe if you weren’t so annoyed, you’d giggle at the sight. all six foot three of his stature screams dejected, and all of yours is done with his nonsense.
“baby, don’t yell at me,” he mumbles. “hurts ma feelin’s.”
“oh, i’ll hurt your feelings,” you raise a brow, “i gave you one job. one job, atsumu! i said, ‘tsumu, i’m coming home late today. pick up dinner from samu, i don’t feel like cooking.’ and what did you do? you turned my kitchen into a war zone and—”
“technically it’s our kitchen,” he interrupts, pouting deeper. he shrivels back when you take a step towards him menacingly. “we share it,” he adds.
atsumu is incredibly brave to be testing your patience, especially now that you have to clean an utterly atrocious kitchen because of his failed cooking attempt. and you wonder how one brother could be so gifted at a basic life skill, while the other manages to light up everything he touches, but you suppose atsumu’s a special kind of his own. but you’re certainly not thrilled by it at the moment.
“we won’t be sharing very soon if you keep it up,” you scowl. “why can’t you ever do things how i tell you? you always have to go and do the opposite and make my life a thousand times harder and—”
“wanted ta surprise ya,” he says quietly, staring down at his feet. shattered glass is swept into a neat pile before him, and he grabs the dustpan to broom the shards onto it. “jus’ thought it’d be nice.”
and just as quickly as your anger comes, it fades, and your features soften as you stare at your boyfriend. he’s always been a little dim, and he drives you to the edge of sanity and back, but he’s got a heart of gold—and you don’t think you could ever stay mad at him. not when his lips curl into a sad pout like that.
sighing, you take the broom from his hands and dust the broken glass yourself, avoiding his eyes as he watches you.
“tsumu, you’re a horrible cook,” you roll your eyes.
“wanted ta try,” he mumbles.
“theworst cook i’ve met,” you continue.
“don’t need ta rub it in,” he grumbles.
“maybe start with microwaveable meals. just so we can make sure you actually know how to use one,” you raise a brow, and he scowls, huffing as he crosses his arms.
“i know how ta use a microwave like a professional. reheated samu’s meals all the time before i met ya.”
“good thing we have samu, then. or you’d be dead before we could’ve met,” you snort, and atsumu glares at you with jutted lips, and you reach over to pinch his cheek with a chuckle. maybe a small part of you is touched that he attempted to surprise you, but he doesn’t have to know that. not yet, anyway.
“then maybe ya should jus’ go date samu then, if he’s so cool and helpful and—”
“but you’ve got thousands of instagram followers,” you pout. “he’s not nearly as famous—”
“always knew ya were after ma fame,” he points accusingly at you, and you giggle, letting him pull you into his chest as he flicks your forehead gently. you wrap your arms around his neck, and he attacks your cheeks with kisses, making you laugh louder as he moves on to your jaw.
“only at first,” you tease, “now i’m after your riches.” atsumu narrows his eyes at you, but the amusement in his irises makes your expression soften. maybe he’s not as gifted in the kitchen, but he certainly knows his way around your heart.
“gonna dump ya in front of all ma fans after ma next game,” he bites back. “can’t wait for it ta be all over the headlines.” and you both giggle, leaning in and sharing a soft kiss as the burnt pan in the sink and the messy counter and the broken glass is all forgotten.
it’s a wonder that atsumu’s made it this far, but you suppose he’s a little miracle that way—and you’re glad he’s your little miracle.
“what if i move onto samu then?”
“are ya trying ta break ma heart?” he whines, digging his head into your neck, and you chuckle, threading your fingers through his strands and kissing his temple.
you’ll certainly go back to cursing his name when you inevitably clean your horrendously messed up kitchen, but for now, you grasp atsumu a little tighter—and you smile to yourself when he squeezes you a little tighter too.
for my baby ris @cyuus i will kill anyone who makes you sad >:(
