Chapter Text
Osamu stares at his alarm clock and groans.
‘1:43am,’ it says in a painfully obnoxious shade of red that burns in his eyes.
It’s almost 2am and his neighbour just won’t stop blaring the same godawful Taylor Swift song over and over again.
Osamu grabs the pillow from underneath his head and uses it to cover his ears. Without success. The muffled sounds of guitar strumming and Taylor Swift whining about a breakup keep ringing in his ears. When the song slowly fades out, he glances at the time again. 1:52am. His mind must be playing tricks on him, he thinks. The song cannot possibly go on for almost ten minutes. Osamu is almost tempted to look up the length of the song, when it starts anew, interrupting his train of thought.
He kicks off his blanket and tosses his pillow to the ground. Enough is enough. The irrational, sleep-deprived part of his brain takes over and he finds himself stomping out of the front door of his apartment, making his way to his neighbour’s flat.
It was bad enough that he had had to spend his teen years listening to Atsumu gush about Taylor Swift and how her music had changed his life and what an inspiration she was to him. It was bad enough that in college, his brother started dating Sakusa Kiyoomi who was equally obsessed with the singer and that Osamu was now forced to listen to her music whenever he spent time with them at their place. The pinnacle of it all was having to spend a night sitting on a tiny couch, squished between his brother and Sakusa, and having to watch a Taylor Swift documentary while they kept gasping and shedding tears and commenting on every little thing they saw.
He comes back to his senses the second he has knocked on his neighbour’s door.
Sure, the music was annoying, but he had never actually spoken to his neighbour.
(In Osamu’s defence, he had only lived in his apartment for about a month; and between work and settling into his new place, he had never really found the time to formally introduce himself to his neighbour.)
Surely, 2am on a Wednesday night wasn’t the right time for that. And complaining about his neighbour loudly playing a breakup song in the middle of the night was probably also not going to make a good first impression.
Hold up-
Osamu’s thoughts whirl around his head in lightning speed and just as the realisation of his current situation hits him, the door in front of him opens, revealing his neighbour.
Osamu stares at the man in front of him. Dishevelled black hair. Pale, tear-streaked cheeks. Beautiful eyes, a shade somewhere between midnight blue and dark green, hitting him like the cool current of a river. His eyes are stunning and it’s a shame that they are swollen and red from crying, Osamu thinks.
(Somewhere in the back of his mind he notes that that is an odd thought to have in such a situation. He also notes that he might be in trouble if he continues his line of thought.)
His neighbour’s sniffling pulls him back into reality.
“Uhm,” Osamu croaks. “I’m your neighbour.”
The man in front of him remains silent. He looks tired, exhausted even. And he seems to wait for Osamu to continue.
“The music…,” Osamu states awkwardly, suddenly incapable of putting together an entire sentence under the intense gaze of his neighbour.
“Oh. Uhm. Sorry, I’ll turn it off.”
“No, no, no, it’s fine!” Osamu tries to reassure him.
If it’s fine, why did you come over to complain about it?
They are both thinking it and Osamu is glad his neighbour doesn’t ask him about it, because he doesn’t have a good answer.
After another moment of silence, Osamu also realises that there is no reason for him to remain standing in front of his neighbour’s flat, but his feet are glued to the floor. He wants to stay. He wants to console his neighbour. He wants to tell him that whoever made him feel like this is a fool. That there are plenty of people out there who would kill to be with him. He wants to caress his cheeks and wipe his tears away. He wants to run his hands through his hair and-
His neighbour sniffles again.
“I’ll… uhm…” Osamu awkwardly points towards his own flat. “I’ll get going, then.”
His neighbour nods silently and is about to close the door when Osamu clears his throat.
“Uhm… good night?”
He catches his neighbour’s eyes through the crack of the – now almost closed – door.
“Good night.”
He tries to ignore the fluttering in his chest as he makes his way back into his flat.
++
“Are you… are you humming All Too Well? By Taylor Swift?”
Atsumu stops in his tracks and stares at him with wide eyes. The shock his voice is laced with is almost comical.
“I guess,” Osamu mutters, avoiding his brother’s eyes.
“Why?”
Atsumu sounds suspicious, which is ridiculous because Osamu isn’t hiding anything. There is absolutely nothing for him to hide. Not a single thing. Nothing at all.
(Except – maybe – for the butterflies roaming around his stomach every time he thinks about the encounter with his neighbour three days ago.)
“I don’t know,” Osamu lies. “I just heard the song the other day and now it’s stuck in my head.”
“That seems suspicious,” he hears Sakusa mumble under his breath.
“I agree!” Atsumu yells.
Osamu sighs.
“Is this what I get for inviting you two over for dinner?”
“Oh please. You dragged us to go grocery shopping with you and then very reluctantly agreed that we could have dinner at your place. That doesn’t really count as a formal invitation,” Atsumu complains.
“He’s just trying to change the topic,” Sakusa says while nudging his boyfriend to keep walking. Atsumu lets out an offended fake gasp.
“Did you meet someone?” he asks just as they enter Osamu’s apartment building.
The number of butterflies swarming around Osamu’s stomach doubles.
“I- what? Me? No! I just… and… uh… what? No?”
Atsumu whistles smugly and Osamu wants to push him in front of a moving car. He tries to come up with an excuse for his flustered behaviour, but deep down he knows it’s too late. The damage is done. Maybe it’s a twin thing, or just a sibling thing in general, but Atsumu knows. He always somehow knows. At least he has the decency not to bring it up while they are still in public.
They are about to leave the elevator when the sound of someone banging their fists against a door rings through the hallway. For a split second, Osamu holds out hope that they don’t have to witness some stranger making a scene in public, but his hopeful naiveté vanishes as soon as he notices that it’s his neighbour’s door against which someone is slamming their first.
“Akaashi, open the door! Please!”
The stranger sounds equally desperate and angry, with a hint of sadness. Osamu knows that he has no business getting involved in the situation, but his feet carry him towards the stranger, nonetheless.
“Come on, I know that you’re home,” the stranger yells again. “Please! Let’s just talk about the whole thing!”
Osamu clears his throat.
“It doesn’t seem like he is at home,” he states while staring the man in front of him down with – what he hopes – is an icy glare. The stranger scowls.
“This doesn’t concern you,” he hisses. “Get lost.”
He raises his fist, about to slam it against the door once more, but Osamu catches his arm mid-air.
“I said…,” he repeats, his voice as low and dangerous sounding as possible. “…that Akaashi is not home, so you should leave. Now.”
The man pries his arm free from Osamu’s grip and offers him another disgruntled look before he turns around and escapes towards the elevator. Osamu waits until the elevator door closes behind the man’s back. He then turns towards his neighbour’s door – Akaashi’s door, he thinks flustered – and knocks softly.
“He… uhm he’s gone,” he says nervously and starts walking to his own flat when the door suddenly opens. It’s just a crack, but it’s enough to see those beautiful eyes that have haunted him in his dreams for the past three nights.
(He tries to keep his breathing and heartbeat in check when Akaashi gives him a quick once-over and rewards him with a small, hesitant smile.)
“Thank you…uh…?”
“Miya Osamu,” he introduces himself.
“Thank you, Miya,” Akaashi repeats, still smiling shyly.
Osamu nods at him and hopes that his face isn’t as flushed as it feels. He walks back to his own apartment door and catches his brother grinning at him knowingly.
“Drop it.”
Atsumu throws his hands up in defence.
“Consider it dropped,” he says, still grinning. Even Sakusa sports a small smile.
Osamu groans and unlocks his door.
(A couple of minutes after the three of them have entered the kitchen and started preparing dinner, the muffled sound of an oh-so-familiar song comes from the adjacent flat. Osamu blushes when Atsumu spins his head around to face him. Sakusa’s eyes widen in surprise as well.
“Samu,” Atsumu takes a deep breath, stifling a laugh before he continues. “I actually don’t think I can drop this.”)
++
When Osamu tugs himself into his bed that night, he recalls what Atsumu had said to him before he and Sakusa left.
“Listen, all jokes aside, this might be good for you.”
“This?” Osamu asked, feigning confusion. Atsumu rolled his eyes.
“Your crush. And don’t you dare deny it, you like your neighbour. I saw the way you looked at him, all starry-eyed and disgusting,” Atsumu complained. “But I really think this is good for you. It’s been almost a year. It’s time to move on.”
“I have moved on,” Osamu retorted annoyed.
“Yeah, but you haven’t dated since Suna. It’s time. And I think this Akaashi guy might be good for you.”
Osamu doesn’t have a crush. And even if he did – completely hypothetically speaking, of course – have a crush on his neighbour, what was he supposed to do about that? Confess to having a crush on him after seeing him twice? Knowing he just got out of a relationship?
He turns around, trying to find a comfortable sleeping position. But no matter how much he shifts around in his bed, his thoughts don’t come to a halt.
It’s almost midnight when he hears the faint sound of music coming from Akaashi’s flat. A deep blush creeps onto his face as he recognises the song. Atsumu had played it to him in the early stages of his relationship with Sakusa, back when he was still heavily pining for him. No matter how much he had complained about his twin back then, he had secretly enjoyed listening to his brother’s ramblings about his crush. It’s a nice memory. It gives him enough comfort to calm himself down from his own whirlwind of emotions.
Before he knows it, Osamu drifts off to sleep to the soft sound of Everything Has Changed, ignoring the hushed voices in his head questioning why Akaashi is listening to this particular song.
++
Osamu rubs his eyes until he sees white dots flying through the air.
He must be dreaming. What are the odds that his neighbour happens to stumble upon Onigiri Miya the day after Osamu chases his ex-boyfriend out of their apartment building?
But when his field of vision clears, Akaashi is still standing in front of him, staring at Osamu with the same hesitant smile as the night before.
“Hello,” he greets him.
Osamu is almost too stunned to speak.
“Uhm yeah, I… uh… hi? I guess? What are you- I mean, how do you…?“
But apparently not stunned enough to shut his mouth and keep himself from rambling. Akaashi laughs nervously.
(Osamu mentally slaps himself for thinking that Akaashi’s laugh is the sweetest sound he has ever heard.)
“Well, I walk past your store every day on my way to work, and when you told me your name last night, I got curious whether you are the Miya Osamu,” Akaashi explains, suddenly avoiding Osamu’s eyes.
Osamu raises an eyebrow. A sudden wave of confidence washes over him and he finds himself grinning at Akaashi.
“The Miya Osamu?”
It comes out a tad flirtier than Osamu had planned and judging by the light blush on Akaashi’s face, he is also taken aback by the unexpected change of tone. Osamu is almost a little disappointed when the man in front of him regains his composure within mere seconds.
“Don’t pretend that you don’t know that half of the city is talking about you and your food,” Akaashi snorts.
“I can’t deny that business is going well. And not to brag, but the food is exceptionally good,” Osamu adds as an afterthought.
Akaashi lets out another small laugh and Osamu hopes he can’t tell that it makes him grip the counter in front of him a little harder.
“You truly astound me.”
“I do?” Osamu ask, both eyebrows raised this time.
“One moment you can barely greet me without tripping over your own words and the next moment you boast about how successful your business is going and how great your food tastes,” Akaashi says smiling.
(Osamu notes that this time, the smile is less hesitant and even more beautif- mental slap.)
“Whatever it takes to get you to order something and prove that I’m right.”
“Unfortunately for you, I’m not here to eat. As I said I was just curious to see if you were actually the owner,” Akaashi explains.
His smile suddenly fades, and he averts his gaze.
“And uhm, I wanted to thank you for what you did yesterday,” he adds while looking at everything around him but Osamu. “Bokuto- uhm, the guy at my door… he’s pretty stubborn. He probably would have stayed there all night if you hadn’t told him to leave. So, thank you.”
“Oh sure, no problem.”
There are a few seconds of awkward silence before Akaashi raises his voice again.
“Don’t you want to know what that was about?”
Osamu inhales sharply.
“You were listening to a breakup song all night long, opened your door crying and a couple of days later a guy stands in front of your door begging you to hear him out. There’s no need to explain anything, don’t worry. It… it happens.”
“I guess it does,” Akaashi says absentmindedly while fiddling with his hands.
Osamu clears his throat.
“You never really introduced yourself, though.”
Akaashi looks a little startled, but as soon as his eyes find Osamu’s, his face visibly relaxes.
(At least that’s what Osamu tells himself.)
“You’re right. I apologise. My name is Akaashi Keiji.”
Osamu almost tells him that he has a pretty name, but he miraculously gathers the strength to keep his mouth shut for once. At least for a few seconds.
“Pleasure to meet you, Akaashi Keiji,” he replies and cringes at the sound of his own voice. He’s being too obvious. But this is his one chance to find out more about his mysterious neighbour. “What do you do for a living?”
Akaashi shoots him a sceptical look.
“Oh, come on,” Osamu defends himself. “You know where I work. You know more about me than I know about you. It’d be only fair to even the score.”
Akaashi’s look remains sceptical, but there’s a playful glint shining in his eyes.
“You’ve met my ex-boyfriend. I think the score is pretty even.”
Osamu snorts.
“So, if I introduce you to my ex, I get to know where you work?”
Akaashi smiles at him brightly.
“I’ll get going now, Miya,” he laughs. “This was nice, though.”
“It was.”
As he watches him leave, Osamu wonders whether Akaashi’s heart is beating just as fast as his.
++
It takes two more hours for Osamu’s shift to end. The shame of messing up multiple orders because he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Akaashi had smiled at him sits deep within him, and he wonders how it had gotten to this point. A week ago, Akaashi was just a faceless stranger. And now he is the only thing on his mind.
Osamu is about to unlock the door to his flat when he hears music quietly emit from Akaahi’s apartment. He frowns when he doesn’t recognise the song. His brain immediately goes into overdrive.
He knows that Akaashi isn’t trying to communicate with him through music. He knows that they have only talked once. He knows that they can barely be called acquaintances. But before he can stop himself, he has dialled Sakusa’s phone number.
“Osamu,” his brother’s boyfriend greets him in a tired voice.
“I need your help,” he whispers, not wanting to alert his neighbour.
“What could you possibly need my help with?”
Osamu rolls his eyes.
“Please don’t ask any questions about this and don’t tell Tsumu about this under any circumstances. But I’m going to play you a Taylor Swift song and you have to help me figure out which one it is,” Osamu begs.
The other end of the line goes silent.
“Is this about the crush you have on-“
“I said no questions!” he hisses, still trying to remain as quiet as possible.
Sakusa sighs.
“Sure, play the song.”
Osamu carefully holds his phone up to Akaashi’s door, praying for it to stay closed. He counts to twenty in his head. Surely that must be enough time for Sakusa to recognise the song, he thinks. He pulls the phone back to his ear.
“So?” he asks. “Which song is it?”
“Why did you play it so quietly? And why are you whispering? Please don’t tell me you’re stalking that poor man. I always thought between Atsumu and you, you were the reasonable one.”
“No questions,” Osamu repeats through gritted teeth.
“Fine,” Sakusa gives in. “The song is called Enchanted. And you need some serious help.”
(Later that night, Osamu searches up the lyrics to the song and pretends the pace of his heartbeat doesn’t increase with every word he reads.)
++
The next day, Osamu receives an alarming string of text messages from his brother.
Atsumu 5:23pm
> hey
> practice ended early and im too tired to go all the way home so ill crash at your place and catch some zzz
Osamu 5:30pm
< wait??
< no??
< im not even home??
< im still at work
Atsumu 5:31pm
> dw about it
> maybe your neighbour will keep me company uwu
Osamu 5:31pm
< TSUMU NO
Atsumu 5:31pm
> tsumu yes
Osamu 5:32pm
< i am actually begging you dont do this to me
Osamu 5:34pm
< tsumu?
Osamu 5:35pm
< this isnt funny answer your phone
Osamu 5:37pm
< MIYA ATSUMU ANSWER YOUR PHONE RN
Atsumu 6:03pm
> hes making me tea rn
> so cordial
Osamu tells his co-workers to close the store without him.
++
It usually takes Osamu twenty-five minutes to walk home. Today it only takes him fifteen. Fuelled by the mental image of Atsumu sitting in Akaashi’s living room, telling him stories about their teen days, and exchanging embarrassing anecdotes, Osamu ignores several red lights and hurries home. He can still feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins when he lifts his hand and knocks on Akaashi’s door.
(Part of him hopes that Akaashi doesn’t immediately open the door and instead gives Osamu some time to regulate his breathing, but alas-)
“Oh hi.”
And it is in that very moment that it strikes Osamu. What if Atsumu tricked him? What if he wasn’t even there? What if this was just a big ploy to get Osamu to talk to Akaashi? It’s not something he would put past his brother.
“Hey Samu!”
Osamu releases a breath that he hadn’t even noticed he was holding as relief washes over him.
“Wow. Were you that worried that I might hurt your brother,” Akaashi laughs.
“Quite the opposite actually,” Osamu admits.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Atsumu says while casually strolling towards his brother. “Keiji and I were having a lovely talk.”
Akaashi hums in agreement and he shoots Atsumu bright smile.
“Uhm. Well, maybe… maybe I should leave you my phone number? Just, you know, in case Atsumu stops by unannounced again and you, uhm, need to give me call to come and get him.”
Akaashi’s smile widens.
“Maybe you should.”
(Atsumu wiggles his eyebrows at his brother while Akaashi is busy saving his phone number.)
“Anyway,” Atsumu announces when Osamu pulls him towards his own flat. “Thanks for keeping me company, Keiji.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Just as Osamu thinks to himself how lucky he is that the situation hadn’t turned into the painful ordeal he had imagined, he catches the way Atsumu is grinning at Akaashi. The blood in his veins freezes when he hears his twin exclaim one more sentence across the hallway.
“It was enchanting to meet you!”
Osamu slams his door shut before he can see Akaashi’s face turn red.
That night, no music comes from Akaashi’s flat.