Chapter Text
All the locals are a little peeved that their favorite restaurant is suddenly closed today without a clear reason, but there’s no fighting with the fiery owner of Miya Onigiri. Unless you have a death wish, that is.
And only two people do.
Inside the store, two eccentric men sit side by side at the bar, bothering the owner in question. Miya Osamu, meanwhile, contemplates kicking them both out. The only salvation is that Tendou Satori and Oikawa Toru bother each other as much— if not more— than they bother him. A small comfort.
Then the bell above the door chimes violently, calling the attention of all three men. The incessant chiming continues for longer than usual as Japan’s Men’s Olympic Volleyball Team stream into the restaurant.
Toru is the first to move. “Iwa-chan!” He shouts excitedly, shooting out of his seat. He throws himself at the man leading the pack, athletic trainer Iwaizumi Hajime. The men engulf each other up in a hug, which is almost comical when one is a professionally trained athlete and the other professionally trains athletes.
Satori beams as he watches them, try as he might to pretend he doesn’t approve of his friend’s boyfriend. But his eyes are not seeking them, rather the next man through the door, who ignores the antics of everyone else in the room in favor of a sweeping scan of the room. Ushijima Wakatoshi’s eyes settle on bright red hair and a chaotic smile. He moves before Satori can, crossing the restaurant in large strides and sweeping Satori up into a tight embrace, kissing him without hesitation.
“Still can’t believe we get to see Ushijima all whipped and in love sometimes,” Miya Atsumu laughs as he follows behind a dark haired man who is focused on watching Osamu come around the bar.
Suna Rintarou shoulders Atsumu out of the way when the bleached-blond twin tries to step forward, making it to Osamu first and tackling him into a hug, kissing him on the cheek.
“Completely unbelievable,” Atsumu mutters at the pair of them, “thrown aside like an extra so they can canoodle. Second best to my own brother.”
“Don’t be mean to Atsumu,” Satori teases, still wrapped up in his lover’s arms but addressing Osamu.
“Yeah, I gotta side with ‘Sumu,” Bokuto Koutaro adds as he enters, for once steering the conversation back on track instead of derailing it. “Seeing lovey-dovey Ushijima is weird. Why don’t you love us this much?”
Satori bursts out laughing at the expression Wakatoshi dawns, despite the fact that none of the man’s teammates can actually see it. “And you,” he continues, sticking a playful finger in Wakatoshi’s face, “Be nicer to your teammates.”
”I’m very nice,” Wakatoshi argues calmly.
Bokuto exchanges a look with Hinata Shouyou, who says, “Yeah, as nice as Kageyama.” The ginger-haired man jabs a thumb at the tall, blank-faced man standing next to him. Kageyama Tobio immediately retaliates by grabbing Hinata, sparking a faux-brawl.
“We’ve been running ourselves ragged for weeks,” Sakusa Kiyomi wrinkles his nose in disgust under his face mask. “Where do you morons find the energy?” He glances around the various reunions in the bar, “and I expected better from Iwaizumi.”
In defence of the team’s athletic trainer, it is mostly Toru who is hanging off of him as the man tries to move forward a bit. Recognizing it, Satori in turn pries himself apologetically away from Wakatoshi, who responds with no resistance but a wounded frown that has no place on the face of a massive, intimidating athlete. Satori rises from his barstool fully to step around Wakatoshi and approach Hajime. Seeing this, Toru reluctantly relinquishes the man, who tackles Satori into a bear hug.
“About damn time you showed up,” Hajime growls, pulling away to smack Satori’s shoulder. “It’s been months.”
”That’s what I said,” Osamu sighs, having been wrestling with his brother over some perceived slight, but now free as Atsumu settles for fighting with Suna instead. Hajime releases Satori to tug Osamu forward, wrapping him in a headlock and messing with his hair.
“You don’t get off easy, you’re in the same damn country and you drop off the map so often.”
“I have a business to run!” Osamu pleads, struggling to pull away.
Morisuke Yaku watches the interactions from a bit further back with those who weren’t as intimately close to the three men waiting for them. “I don’t know,” he chuckles, “I think soft, down bad Ushijima, Iwaizumi, and Suna are adorable.” The immediate response is two middle fingers from the latter men. Ushijima just shrugs, not nearly as put off by the endearment.
“For those of you unaware,” Hajime sighs, turning to address the other men like he finally remembers that they are there. “Introductions. Obviously you know Oikawa Toru, my partner. Most of you also know or know of Atsumu’s brother and Suna’s boyfriend, Miya Osamu. This,” he gestures to the one still unnamed man, who would be much more likely to be a stranger to people here, “is Ushijima’s boyfriend, Tendou Satori. He studied culinary arts in France, so he does not live in Japan right now.”
Wakatoshi nods along with the introduction, but pauses and then corrects, “Fiancé.”
“‘Toshi…,” Satori sighs.
Dead silence. Then the room erupts. People that Satori only recognizes because they’re on his partner’s team are shouting; someone has another player by the shoulders, shaking them back and forth.
“Excuse me?!” Hajime demands, voice raised above the chaos. There’s a funny combination of abject rage and complete shock on his face as he seems to be genuinely yelling out of pure surprise.
Osamu just screams as his boyfriend tries to restrain him a little, “Tendou Satori, you secret-keeping bastard!”
“No way,” Toru exclaims with wide eyes. “No way Ushiwaka is getting married. Before me?”
Atsumu bursts out laughing as his twin continues to curse, needing to step forward after a moment to bodily restrain Osamu. The ongoing screeching gives Hajime a moment to find his tongue and plenty of time to boil over, “You’re getting married? What?! Since fucking when? Satori, you are the worst person I have ever been friends with! This is unbelievable!”
“Get out!” Osamu howls, “Get out of my restaurant!”
Satori turns to him, “I’ll take my chocolates with me.”
Toru gasps dramatically, “Okay, okay, Iwa-chan stop!” He grabs his partner by the arm to try and dissuade him. However, he isn’t the only one who reacts.
“I told you that you needn’t make anything,” Wakatoshi reminds his partner, unaffected by the insanity around him.
Satori shrugs back, “And you shouldn’t have assumed I would go along with that.”
“Alright!” Morisuke’s voice rises above the drama, the man having seemingly run out of patience for the antics of his teammates. “Ushijima’s getting fucking married, and his partner apparently went out of the way to bring us something. All of you shut the fuck up.”
“You don’t know him,” Hajime shoots back, glaring daggers at Satori, but he doesn’t get the chance to reignite the argument.
“Wait, did you say chocolates?” Hinata pipes up, like he just processed it.
“I make chocolate professionally,” Satori smiles. “Of course I brought some when my husband-to-be and various friends of mine have finally gotten to the olympics.” The room explodes once more, but this time with the infinite gratitude of over-eager athletes.
Osamu, however, narrows his eyes, “God, please don’t tell me you’re just going to be doing this ‘husband-to-be’ shit.”
Satori turns up his nose, “Try and stop me.” He doesn’t continue with the argument though, because most of the men present, almost all of whom are in some way recognizable to Satori, have become violently excited at the prospect of free sweets. Satori is very excited to unveil his masterpiece.
So he stands, pressing another kiss to Wakatoshi’s cheek, “I’ll only be a moment—”
”No!” Osamu snaps. “This is a fucking Olympic team. They’re eating a proper meal before they break every rule of their diet because you decided to show off.” Satori snickers behind his hand at the aggressive way Osamu expresses care for the athletes, so he puts up his hands in surrender.
No one is particularly upset by the prospect of food one way or the other, so Satori is still content to help Osamu bring out, just, a feast. There’s so much more food than Satori has ever seen in his life.
The players shove a bunch of tables haphazardly together while trays start being shuffled out of the kitchen, most of them sitting around chatting happily. Satori and Osamu are met with overwhelming gratitude and celebration every time they emerge from the kitchen, despite needing to make many trips. It sets his senses to overdrive, but once he’s done providing trays of lovingly prepared dishes, Satori allows himself to be snuck up on by the man not sitting and eating.
Wakatoshi wraps his arms around Satori’s waist from behind, pressing his lips against the nape of Satori’s neck. The quiet has painstakingly built up an overwhelming catalogue of cute, romantic, or incredibly hot behaviors, incredibly purposefully. When they were younger, Wakatoshi didn’t always know how to behave while in a relationship, and like so many things, he took it as a challenge. It didn’t help that he can read Satori like he’s a shitty magazine. “You should eat,” Satori scolds half-heartedly.
“I’ll eat with you.” Wakatoshi does start herding him toward the open seats at the table, where Satori can also sit next to Hajime and near Osamu. ”I missed you,” Wakatoshi murmurs under the raucous noise of the large meal.
“Clingy,” Satori teases, knowing damn well he’s a complete and utter hypocrite. He hangs off of Wakatoshi every time he gets to visit, and they’re in near-constant text and phone call contact despite the difficulties getting timeframes to line up. But there’s something special in its own right about their stilted text conversations, split up by hours depending on when it’s daytime for either person and when they have free time. They have regular conversations about Wakatoshi’s teammates and Satori’s work over days of slowly updating messages like it’s normal. They make it work, because neither of them care if it’s a little odd so long as they have one another.
“Okay, okay,” Osamu, one of the only people not so preoccupied with stuffing his face that he can’t even speak, demands Satori’s attention after being patient for all of a moment. “Start talking. Explain, when did this happen.”
Satori holds up his hand, showing off a simple silver band. “You mean this?” He asks innocently.
”Yes,” Osamu snaps, “obviously. Also, fuck you.”
Satori smiles, but he can’t even put much menacing energy into it when his mind is just drawn to that moment just past. “A couple of days ago,” he explains.
Hajime pulls himself away from a plate of protein, “You got in a couple of days ago… oh my god.” His face changes as he processes what it must mean, and then his expression becomes a twisted combination of approval and exaggerated disgust when he looks at Wakatoshi. Hajime and Wakatoshi have a checkered past; they weren’t on the best terms when he and Satori first became friends and it took a while to come to a sort of peace. At the end of the day, though, Hajime has a lot of insight into Satori and Wakatoshi’s relationship, and he’s always approved of it.
Really, Hajime is overjoyed. No one deserves this more than Satori, and his relationship has been holding strong and fast for eight years. The long distance has done nothing to slow them down, and everyone knew it was only a matter of time once Satori moved back to Japan. But the thought hadn’t really occurred to Hajime that Wakatoshi might propose so suddenly. He should have guessed, though; Wakatoshi will probably file the paperwork the day that Satori moves back home.
Hajime and Toru have rings of their own. Promise rings, because Toru has made a more permanent home in Argentina, but they needed that idea of forever. They, unlike Wakatoshi and Satori, don’t have a plan. But they know they will choose one another. Hajime hasn’t brought it up yet, but he’s actually been toying with the idea of moving across the world when they want to settle down. The choice of which team to work with holds a lot more emotional significance when you’re an actual player; Hajime loves his team, but he could work with another team too. For now, their lives are on different paths, but Hajime knows that they’ll come together again. They both trust that completely.
“You proposed to him the night he touched down, huh?” Hajime groans, rolling his eyes just to make a point.
Osamu narrows his eyes, “It’s actually kind of romantic.”
Satori grins, “It was so sweet.” He smacks Wakatoshi’s arm repeatedly, “tell them, tell them!”
”I wasn’t actually planning it,” Wakatoshi sighs fondly, giving in to Satori immediately. The two men listening both recoil at the cheesy sentiment. “I was planning to ask some time this trip, but I didn’t have any specific plan—”
”And then you saw him and that very day you just couldn’t hold back— eugh,” Osamu mimes throwing up. “Unbelievable.”
”I also expected better of Ushijima,” Sakusa pipes up, the only athlete who is eating at a healthy, normal pace. The judgment in his voice doesn’t phase anyone in the least. Only Atsumu even bothers to react to the comment.
”Hey! C’mon on, Omi,” The blond complains around a mouthful of pork. “It’s super romantic!”
Sakusa wrinkles his nose, “It’s pathetic. And you’re disgusting, don’t speak with your mouth full.”
Bokuto at least takes the time to swallow, “Pathetic?! It’s adorable! To just be utterly lovestruck? I— you’re unbelievable, Sakusa. This is the best news ever.”
Sakusa openly glares this time, “You got word that you made the national Olympic team less than a month ago.”
”You’re such a buzzkill,” Atsumu complains. “Why do you hate their love?”
”Yeah, Sakusa, why do you hate their love,” Morisuke repeats with a different, knowing inflection. Sakusa flips him off.
Satori watches all of this back and forth with amusement. Even if any of this felt the least bit like a genuine expression of disapproval, which is not possible, Satori has been riding the high of the proposal for the past two days. He plans to ride that high until he gets married, which will replace it with something even better. His arm is laced with the man beside him, occasionally exchanging a glance with Wakatoshi as their friends pretend to be disapproving or annoyed. ”It was very romantic,” he affirms quietly, earning a smile from his fiancé.
”I rather agree that it was pathetic,” Wakatoshi counters. “You were just in my kitchen, complaining about my pantry, and I have never wanted anything more in my entire life than you, sitting in the same room as me, complaining about my groceries.”
”Exactly,” Satori laughs, not embarrassed despite being well aware he’s turning red, “Sweet.”
”Oh, you two are disgusting,” Osamu groans again. His charade might be a bit cliche, but he doesn’t have any other option. Satori must be punished for keeping this a fucking secret. Sure, it only happened two days ago and he was probably waiting to see them in person, but even then. The show must go on.
”The disgusting thing is how obviously excited you are,” Suna leans in and mutters. Osamu kicks his ankle with next to no force, just to remind his boyfriend whose restaurant he’s in.
This is obviously an exciting development. It was inevitable, of course, that much was clear to anyone who ever witnessed Ushijima’s behavior when he looks at Satori. Because of their own friend groups, mostly that of their former teammates and high school friends, the relationship between Ushijima and Satori has led to Osamu and Hajime actually getting involved with former Shiratorizawa players. Mainly, of course, Osamu and Hayato get on like a house on fire, and Hajime and Semi Eita drive each other mad. But the two of them can’t not get every update on Satori’s life that is shared with one but not the other.
Suna is endlessly amused by it, the intricacies, or in his words ‘insanity’, of Osamu’s dynamic with Hajime and Satori. Osamu thinks it’s just because his boyfriend loves other people’s gossip. So he thinks this is ‘cute’ or that Osamu is being ‘dramatic’. He’s not.
This is an event a lifetime in the making, and Satori’s marriage is likely going to mark his return to Japan. And then he is going to be around all the time, completely and insufferably in love, bragging constantly about being the first to get married— any number of terrible things.
“You’re grinning like a fucking lunatic,” Suna tacks on, shoving a piece of chicken into Osamu’s face. Osamu takes it and sneers at his partner as he does, chewing on the food grumpily.
“Aww,” Atsumu starts from a few seats down, immediately setting off alarm bells in Osamu’s head. “C’mon, he’s just stressed ‘cus now there’s pressure for popping the question—”
”Don’t you even start,” Osamu barks, cutting him off. “We are not going down that fucking road—”
”You’re so flustered,” Atsumu coos, and Osamu is out of his seat. Then he’s dragging his brother out of his seat. Laughter erupts from some of Atsumu’s teammates as Osamu smacks him.
How dare this stupid fucker?! Osamu has built his fucking restaurant up from nothing. He’s got a nice, spacious apartment above and a lot of loyal customers, and a quickly growing business. He’s gaining recognition for his skill, and Suna’s on the rise in his division. They’re actually building fucking lives for themselves.
And Osamu wakes up next to Suna on the days where he doesn’t have to listen to Suna complain about how early he has to get up (it’s not like he loves waking up at stupid hours, but his lover needs calories to get through practice!). He gets to pack lunch and prepare dinners for Suna, to put Suna’s matches on the television above the counter and brag to his regulars. They’re building a life for themselves together. Osamu doesn’t fucking believe it sometimes, he knows it’s unreal. He knows that it isn’t insane to really be thinking about their long term future together, that they actually have a long term future together.
So his stupid fucking brother better shut his fucking mouth!
”Come on, Osamu,” Satori laughs gleefully. “Don’t whoop your brother’s ass right after he gets out of practice. Let the poor man rest.”
Osamu does release his brother, easily, and snipes, “It’s my job to keep this dumb fucker’s ego in check. It’s a terrible gig, but someone’s gotta do it.” Satori snorts, shaking his head at the aggressiveness. The brothers are as close as ever, despite everything. The distance probably even did them some good; though that doesn’t mean they don’t fight like cats and dogs.
Satori leans over to his partner, “Besides, it’s not like we all don’t know Oikawa is tripping over himself to chain Hajime to him.”
”You’re the one who has to be nice,” Wakatoshi scolds lightly, not even objecting to Satori’s point. At Satori’s smug face, he adds, “It’s not like I don’t know the feeling.” Satori bites his lip to avoid the embarrassment of showing all of his bashfulness. Wakatoshi has the distinct power to fluster him, and it is a power he uses for evil.
Most of the athletes easily ignore the warring twins; they may not see Osamu often, but they are used to Atsumu and various other chaotic members of the team. Instead, Morisuke turns back to Satori, seemingly interested in his career path. “So, how long have you been in France, now?”
Satori pauses, considering, “All of college, a year of this internship so far, but there were others… damn, going on seven years. Eight? It gets blurry, I’ve been out of the country for a while. A lot of you ended up traveling around quite a bit, no?”
”Oh, sure,” Morisuke nods, “I was in Russia for a bit, Hinata was in Brazil. I suppose it feels different for us, shuffling from team to team. You’ve got a whole career going on, a whole life. Are you planning on staying there for a while longer?”
”Internship goes on for another year, after that I’ll reevaluate.” Satori smiles at Wakatoshi for a moment, “Ideally, I want to come home. I’ll see what I can get.”
”He’s underselling it,” Osamu pipes up, shoving Atsumu away long enough to speak. “He was one of the best in his class. Even if he doesn’t open his own place, he’ll easily find a permanent position wherever he wants. He’s just being humble.”
”Says the dude a year younger than me with his own restaurant,” Satori fires back.
“I’m sorry, hold up, go back.” Bokuto leans over the table glancing between Wakatoshi and Satori. “This,” he waves a finger between them, “Happened before you left, right? Y’all have been together for eight years?”
”I know,” Oikawa groans, making a gagging sound. “Fucking proper high school sweethearts, these bastards. It’s disgusting.”
”You started dating before us,” Satori points out. He knows, he was fucking there.
”But we were dramatic and messy, like normal people.” Oikawa glares at Wakatoshi, “You two are just gross and perfect. I hate you.” Hajime rolls his eyes to Satori, who only laughs. Even after all this time, Oikawa’s way of complimenting people hasn’t improved a bit.
“We,” Satori emphasizes, “are better than mister and mister romcom over there.” He waves his hand at Osamu and Suna.
Morisuke blinks, “Wait, what do you mean?”
”Wait—” Suna starts, but it’s already too late.
”Oh my god, you don’t know? They had a dramatic confession at a train station, fighting and pining, a dramatic make up and get together at like six in the morning,” Satori lists off every hilariously dramatic event he can remember from high school. “It was so movie-esque that I’m still a bit amazed it ended up working out.”
”This coming from you?” Osamu demands. ”You almost had a depressive episode after confessing!”
”For like a day,” Satori waves him off, “A miscommunication. We were all pretty dramatic. I’m just saying, you guys were checking off Hollywood tropes.”
”Oh, this is amazing,” Morisuke mutters. “Calm, cool, utterly disinterested Rintarou?” Satori nods happily, dodging the piece of bok choy that Suna chucks at his face.
Despite the speed with which the large group of athletic men inhale the food, they sit around catching up for a while. There’s so much chaotic energy here, it isn’t like conversation can easily die. Satori isn’t as familiar with people like Bokuto Kotarou and Hinata Shouyou, but he finds himself quite quickly endeared to him. He realizes that both the boys who were just underdog first years when Satori met them are quite interested in Wakatoshi. Kageyama especially actually seems quite similar to Satori’s fiance, and it leads to a sort of admiration. Hinata just views Wakatoshi the same way he views Bokuto, despite how different the men are: they’re huge and insanely physically powerful, and it’s fucking awesome. Satori is quite familiar with that awe.
Eventually, Satori takes advantage of Bokuto engaging in a heated argument with Sakusa, because that draws in Atsumu and therefore Osamu and Suna as well as Hinata, to slip away. He only gives Wakatoshi a sharp, challenging look, because there’s no real way to distract him from Satori’s actions.
He sneaks back into the kitchen and carefully pulls out his masterpiece. It’s a delicate process to move it out of the refrigerator onto the cart, but menial tasks like this are half the training. Never mentioned in any curriculum, sure, but passed on by every mentor you ever have in this line of work. But he manages it with practiced ease, and returns to prop the kitchen door open. “Satori, what’s up?” Osamu calls when he sees the action. Gleefully excited, Satori doesn’t bother to respond.
Instead, he just starts guiding out the cart topped with his beautiful work of art. “Oh, holy fucking shit!” Bokuto yells, pointlessly loud. If Satori were facing the group, he’d probably see multiple people flinch, but it doesn’t matter. With only a moment’s delay, everyone else realizes what he was reacting to. Satori wheels the cart to the table.
“What the hell is that?” Oikawa demands, somewhere between awestruck and disgusted.
“A not perfect, but close, recreation of the official twenty-twenty Olympic Men’s Volleyball Team volleyball, about a meter in diameter,” Satori explains to the stunned-silent group.
Wakatoshi is the only one immune to Satori’s power of insanity, “Satori, I wish you didn’t make yourself work so hard on your vacation.”
“Shut the hell up,” Hoshiumi Korai shrieks, jumping from his seat to get a closer look.
”Oh my god,” Hinata shouts, “You made that? Is that even possible? How does that work?”
”Shut up, moron,” Kageyama barks, “Obviously he knows more about this than us, he went to college for chocolate making or whatever!” Hinata yelps as Kageyama hits him, darting out of his own seat to get away.
”This is insane, Tendou,” Atsumu grins, a bit disbelieving. “What the actual fuck? You’re insane.”
“This is… very impressive,” Sakusa admits distractedly. “The detail is unbelievable.”
”It was terrifying to watch,” Osamu pipes up. “I didn’t really know what he was doing, and huge, curved, detailed pieces of chocolate appeared in his hands. Like witchcraft shit.”
Morisuke stands from his seat. “Ushijima,” he says seriously, “you’ve been hiding an angel from us and I’ll never forgive you. Tendou, I can’t believe you settled, but we’re incredibly grateful. This is an— insane thing to gift to us.”
”Consider it a preemptive congratulations,” Satori grins back. “Now you guys have to win, or you’re all assholes.”
”They’re already all assholes,” Morisuke waves him off. “But we’ll do our best.”
“One question,” Hajime snorts. “How the hell do we eat it?”
”Oh, I’ll get on that,” Satori shrugs. But before he can even leave, Atsumu yelps.
”Hold on, hold on, we’ve gotta get our fucking pictures and shit before we decide to devour it.” The blonde man frantically drags him over. “There’s going to be pictures of this get together online for marketing’s sake but I demand that Osamu and you get your spotlight. This is fucking awesome, come here, we’re taking a picture. Ushiwaka?”
Wakatoshi, of course, never misses an opportunity to be close to or show off his partner. He’s been watching his teammates' reactions with a proud, satisfied grin. They might not be able to see that, but Satori can.
Satori doesn’t usually like taking pictures too much, but Atsumu’s point about posting credit to his creation sparks insane excitement in him. This creation was made only to appreciate and encourage his lover and his friends, and all their teammates, and give them a boost when facing the most exciting matches of their lives. But those are the best kinds, and this sugary sculpture came out as some of Satori’s best work. He takes pride in his craft, and the idea of getting to show off what he made for the team is exhilarating.
It’s equally as exhilarating to watch the explosion of horror as Satori takes a large serving spoon and shatters the top of the hollow chocolate volleyball. When they recover from their abject grief— and several people assure him that he’d rather never eat it if they could preserve the masterpiece— there’s a whole new round of gratitude and excitement as they actually get to taste the dessert. About ten minutes in, Hajime does try to control his athletes from going back for seconds or eating too much sugar, but he gives up soon after. Satori throws him an obviously fake apologetic smile.
~~~
At some point, when most of the people present are half drunk and way too full of food, Satori manages to find himself alone at the side of the room with Osamu and Hajime. He’s been socializing with Wakatoshi’s team quite a bit— he can't help that he actually really likes these people— but now it’s time for a private-ish reunion.
“This is fucking amazing,” Hajime notes, as Osamu takes the third seat at the table. “This restaurant, this fucking place you’ve built for yourself. It’s hard to believe.”
”I’ve just got a head start on you,” Osamu shrugs. He gives their friend a knowing look, “You can start building once you get to Argentina.”
Hajime bristles, “I didn’t say anything to anyone.” It’s so cute that he thinks, after all this time, they can’t tell embarrassment from rage on his prickly persona.
”We can see it in your eyes,” Satori snorts. “It’s obvious. Just get a house with a guest room, I always wanted a vacation home. Argentina seems really lovely.”
Hajime punches his arm, “Fuck you, you’re not coming near my house.”
”Then you’re not coming to my wedding,” Satori huffs, sticking his nose in the air.
“I’ll crash it if you try and keep me out,” Hajime snaps back forcefully.
”Yeah, he needs to catch the bouquet,” Osamu points out. “Prickly bitch won’t be able to propose without plausible deniability.”
”And what’ll you be doing?” Hajime argues. He looks pointedly at a slightly tipsy Suna, then back to Osamu, unimpressed.
Osamu looks at him like he grew a second head, “Supervising the catering.”
”You’ll be a guest,” Satori laughs, “You’re not doing the catering.”
Osamu brandishes a butter knife, “Have someone else cater your wedding. I dare you.”
”You don’t even do catering,” Satori tries, as if he doesn’t know it's a losing battle.
”I,” Osamu repeats, “dare you.” Hajime barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “I suppose I won’t be able to do Hajime’s, destination wedding and all that.” The man in question promptly turns beet red, turning to start attacking Osamu. Satori cackles, dodging to avoid getting caught in the crossfire of their playful attacks.
Once they calm down, they fall into a peaceful silence as they watch the drunken antics of the athletes now absorbed in karaoke and drinking games. “I can’t believe we’re here,” Satori murmurs into the silence. Osamu looks at him, and he almost can’t believe he doesn’t get it. “You have your restaurant, Hajime’s the youngest member of the Olympic team’s staff. I’m working at a world famous patisserie.” He glances over to Wakatoshi, being completely bullied by Atsumu and Bokuto, then holds up his hand, staring at the simple ring on his finger. “I’ve been promised ‘forever’. When I was a kid, I never thought I’d get here.”
Hajime grins, pulling him in to ruffle his hair with far too much force, even though Satori doesn’t have ruffle-able hair right now. It’s so obvious he just wants to be mean and evil. But still, he says, “You would’ve gotten here either way. He loves you.”
”You still saved my ass,” Satori points out. “But that’s another thing. The three of us are friends. Who would’ve thought?”
Osamu smiles softly, trying not to look as genuinely emotional as he clearly is. “It definitely changed the course of things. ‘Fateful day’ and all that nonsense.”
”Oh, you two are so gonna cry at my wedding,” Satori sings gleefully.
Hajime shoves him so hard he almost falls out of his seat, “You’re going to cry at your wedding. I’m only going to be there to see it.”
”Sure,” Osamu croons, making an exaggerated, tearful expression.
“Okay, okay,” Hajime shakes his head. “C’mon, quick, before we dissolve into bickering again.” He darts away for a moment and grabs a trio of shots from a group of people way too drunk to even notice, and hands them out when he returns.
Satori raises his cup, smile far more genuine than he cares to admit. “Alright, to my wedding and Osamu’s restaurant and Hajime’s impending move.”
”To us,” Osamu agrees quietly, and they all throw back the shot.