CAROUSEL miya atsumu

four. I'LL GET ON MY KNEES FOR PHOTOMATH

          "SAMU, DO MY MATH HOMEWORK FOR ME?" Atsumu pleads with a cheshire grin stretched across his relaxed face.

           "No," his twin replies flatly. He's scanning through some random university level calculus discussion board out of sheer laziness. Getting up to go ask a hungover teacher a question just sounded so painfully awkward, Osamu would really rather not. One of the most critically acclaimed teachers throughout all of Japan just gave them their third free period in a row because he came to school practically impaired again.

The blond pouts leaning closer to tap his pen on Osamu's shoulder. "Lemme copy your homework then."

           "Do it yourself." He shakes his shoulders like a cat bristling up against something annoying.

It's not strange, or even different in the slightest for his twin to deny him things. It's Osamu's birth right after surviving the same womb as that imbecile. But still Atsumu mocks his brother for being a hard ass that's about to let him fail the class, because in all reality, no one knows shit about what they're doing.

All of his anger boils over theatrically childishly. "Fuck you."

          "Do it, we could make some good money." Osamu quips back. It means nothing to them, the childish banter as their classroom grows more and more empty with students going on temporary bathroom breaks right up until their next class is scheduled to start.

Atsumu knows that he's beating a very dead horse when Osamu denies him without hesitation. His twin had to be one of the most stubborn people he knew and that includes all the fangirls he accumulated throughout the years. "Hey, Tatsuzo, help me."

          "God, just use Photomath." Tora glances over at Atsumu's blank page of exercises as he rushes to cram in the rest of his English assignment before the class actually starts in thirty minutes.

If they hadn't been on the same volleyball team for six years on end, maybe Atsumu would've been snarky with Tora's clear panicked tone. But hell, call them Olive Garden, because it's all family when you've been seeing each other's dicks for six years. Social hierarchy be damned because Atsumu could always rely on Tatsuzo Torakichi to be a moderately good opposite hitter when his brother came to practice with a stomachache.

Coach Norimune played fair, but the Volleyball Boosters Club happened to pick the starting lineup, not Coach. Or at least, they had a very heavy influence on the team. The only reason Torakichi made it on Inarizaki's varsity team was out of history and skill. He's a good kid with an amazing track record and he gets along with most of the rest of the team. It's not fair that Torakichi's practically got no court time under his shoes when he deserves to be on first string, but it's not like there's a lot anyone can do to recorrect years of societal prejudice and injustice.

Hell, maybe with all this reform shit going around Tora could make it on the court for more than last year's grand total of three hours.

         "Hey Photomath Developers, I will fly to Croatia and lick ya dick if ya drop the software patch," Atsumu prays. Eyes closed and hands clasped together as Osamu glances at his brother and then at Tora.

Collectively, the trio wait a moment as Atsumu refreshes the App Store page looking for updates like his prayers would be answered as simply as that. He may be privileged, but not even the high rollers could make math easy (to Tora's dismay).

After three minutes of refreshing, Atsumu sighs. "Fuck." The three deflate.

And Tora curses himself for being a kinda shitty student. He slides his phone onto Atsumu's desk with his text messages between himself and Kame left open.