That day, the twins' normally quiet shared room was abruptly interrupted by the sound of a simultaneous notification coming from both Atsumu and Osamu's phones.

They exchanged a brief, confused glance before turning their attention to their respective phone screens, both reading the exact same notification that had popped up.

"You posted a new photo."

Osamu, always the more observant of the two, raised an eyebrow and didn’t hesitate to lean closer to his twin’s phone. The screen was glowing with the same image he was staring at on his own device. And something about it sparked a subtle but unmistakable feeling in his chest—jealousy.

“Why are you looking at her picture?” Osamu asked sharply, his voice holding a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

Atsumu frowned, shifting his gaze to his twin. “Because I like her. I think she’s cute,” he replied casually, as if the confession were no big deal. But to Osamu, this was everything.

“Well, I like her too, and I think she’s cute too,” Osamu shot back, his tone laced with irritation and barely contained frustration.

Suddenly, the air between them thickened with tension. The twins locked eyes, both silently challenging the other. They were two sides of the same coin, and now that coin had landed on the issue of the one thing they both wanted: your affection. Neither was willing to back down, and in that moment, they both realized that there was no room for compromise.

From that day on, things between them grew... uncomfortable. Atsumu and Osamu found themselves engaged in a subtle yet growing competition for your attention. It was a quiet war, fought in the small moments—every text, every glance, every shared space becoming an opportunity to edge the other out.

Atsumu, ever the outgoing one, took a more direct approach. He began talking to her more frequently, inviting her to join him at volleyball practices after school or taking her on short walks around the neighborhood. He even started walking her home, finding every excuse to spend more time in her company, hoping to earn her favor.

Osamu, on the other hand, decided to take a more thoughtful and reserved approach. He started preparing small meals for you, leaving them in her locker along with sweet notes to brighten her day. He made a habit of complimenting her in the hallways, letting every word drip with sincere admiration. It wasn’t flashy, but he hoped it would win her heart with its subtlety.

But after nearly two months of this back-and-forth, neither of them had made any significant progress. You remained as kind and sweet as the first day, responding to both of them with the same gentle courtesy and warm smile. To Atsumu and Osamu, however, that polite indifference had begun to feel like rejection, and it only fueled their growing rivalry.

Things started to get worse, and their constant competition spilled over into their once-harmonious relationship. They argued more, sniping at each other over every little thing, and tensions in their shared room were at an all-time high.

"I like her, and she likes me," Atsumu declared one afternoon, slamming his school bag onto the bedroom floor. He spun around to face Osamu, who had followed him into the room, still simmering from their latest argument. “Stop messing with her. You’re just gonna get hurt if you keep this up.”

"She likes ME, end of story," Osamu retorted, taking a threatening step toward Atsumu. His expression was cold, his eyes dark with the kind of rage that only comes when you feel like you're about to lose something you truly care about. "I suggest you step aside because she’s going to be my girlfriend."

"Oh, really?" Atsumu scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Let’s see if she likes you after I’m done with you." Without warning, he threw a punch, his right fist landing squarely on Osamu’s chin.

Osamu didn’t hesitate. In an instant, he retaliated with equal force, and soon the two of them were locked in a violent struggle. Words were thrown like punches, insults flying in every direction as they collided with anything in their path—furniture, walls, their own bodies—all of it seemed to only add fuel to the fire.

It wasn’t until their parents barged in, shouting at them to stop, that the fight finally came to an abrupt end. But as the two of them stood panting, bruised and battered, they both realized that something had to give. This couldn’t go on. Not like this.

-----

The very next day, Atsumu and Osamu showed up at your doorstep. Their faces were covered in bandages, their cheeks swollen with bruises—a physical testament to the fight they had just endured. But the visible marks weren’t even the most alarming thing about their appearance.

As soon as you opened the door, you were met with no pleasantries or words of apology. Atsumu spoke first, his voice cutting through the awkward silence that lingered.

"Do you like us? Do you have feelings for us?" he asked, his words coming out in a rush.

Before you could even process his question, Osamu chimed in, his tone equally demanding. "We can’t keep doing this. You need to decide. It’s either him," he gestured toward Atsumu, "or it’s me."

The weight of their words hit you like a ton of bricks. You were standing there, stunned, not knowing how to respond. What kind of dramatic mess had they gotten themselves into?

Too much drama, indeed.