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Over the course of Rintarou’s relationship with Osamu he’s learned countless things. Contrary to popular belief — due to his apathetic expression and sharp grins — Rintarou is fairly perceptive. He experiences Osamu every day.
Some things he learned, like the way Osamu drinks his tea or how he habitually pops his elbows and wrists after waking up, were little pieces made up the bigger puzzle of Miya Osamu. Each small moment, some anyone could spot if they paid enough attention, some so minor and hidden that only Rintarou knew about, meant everything to Rintarou.
He revelled in finding out Osamu’s favorite movies, that he had a birthmark on his left hip, the way his face looked thrown back on a pillow and mouth agape in a soundless cry. Everything.
Rintarou also learned things that seemed insignificant, but filled in blank spaces with warmth and honey.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀1. He looks content when he thinks nobody can see him.
Rintarou first took note of this in their third year of high school. Tension was running a little hot between the twins ever since Osamu decided his path would not end in volleyball. Osamu, while usually indifferent and a bit sleepy-eyed, had been frowning more. Both of the twins were a bit volatile and every one knew it.
It was an accident when Rintarou discovered this. He stumbled upon Osamu early in the morning due to class duties. Rintarou was sure Osamu didn’t have class duties as well but he was sitting at his desk by the window with a bento in front of him. Rintarou hadn’t quite stepped in yet. Instead he spotted the relaxed features in Osamu; the natural upturn to his lips, the absence of a nose scrunched up in irritation, hands light as he took a bite of food and chewed.
Content was the word Rintarou would use. Every time.
He found himself a bit more privy to it once they actually moved in together, post Tokyo branch expansion.
Rintarou would spot Osamu cooking in the kitchen or fresh from a shower or doing something as trivial as changing the sheets on the bed. Every single time, unaware of the gaze Rintarou had fixed on him, Osamu’s face was a vision of freedom. An oasis.
If there ever was a happy place Rintarou was told to imagine, Osamu’s face when he thought nobody was looking would be it.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀2. Despite being sturdy and meticulous, his hands are not the steadiest.
The one thing Rintarou never gets bored of learning and relearning is Osamu’s hands.
Back when they were still just teammates — friends who do things that most friends wouldn’t do — Rintarou fell in love with Osamu’s hands. He had mapped them out from the second they had their first high five after a successful double block throughout every single time Rintarou asked Osamu to tape his fingers. Only trusting Osamu to do it right outside of Shinsuke.
He was too scared to ask Shinsuke during the brief period he had a crush on him.
Then he started noticing things about Osamu and decided he valued his hands. Rintarou only wanted Osamu to wrap the most important part of his body in medical tape. He had done it enough by that point that he knew how Rintarou liked it best.
Osamu was deliberate in every move, every turn of Rintarou’s hand, every tear of tape. Even with all that, Rintarou felt more than saw the slight shake in Osamu’s hand when he lifted one of Rintarou’s. The almost-missed tremor before he served.
There was no reason, just that Osamu never had unwavering, still hands. While cooking his hands were the calmest Rintarou had ever seen. Body weight halfway on Osamu’s back, Rintarou watched with a keen eye. He paid no attention to the ingredients Osamu was measuring or how hot the stove was. He only saw that while chopping, stirring, tasting, Osamu’s hands barely shook.
It gave Rintarou some weird sensation of ease.
There are times when Osamu’s hands contain jitters more often than usual. Rintarou always thinks back to when Osamu tried to do the eyeliner on one of Rintarou’s eyes and the mess he had made. The hours before a phone call about the future of Onigiri Miya. Right after he and Rintarou had their first fight. Every time Rintarou wanted to hold his hands, envelop them in his.
Steady enough for the both of them.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀3. No matter what, Osamu can somehow make anything about food.
It’s like some sort of special hidden talent. Rintarou wouldn’t exactly call it that — he’d say it was basically part of Osamu’s DNA. It was, however, actually impressive how often Osamu thought about food or talked about food or tried to use every last minute of free time making food.
There was never any exception.
“Miya Osamu, you better not be doing what I think you’re doing,” Rintarou shouts, stepping out of the bathroom and pointing an accusatory brush in the direction of the kitchen.
Osamu’s head snaps up and he turns around with a bewildered expression. He’s holding an incriminating spatula with sauce painting the top of it. Rintarou watches it drip into Osamu’s hand and squints in dissatisfaction.
“You’re incorrigible!” Rintarou grounds out. If his eyes weren’t coated in intricate makeup he would’ve rubbed at them irritatingly.
“S’not what it looks like?” It comes out more as a question than a statement. Rintarou watches the slow bob of Osamu’s Adam’s apple while he swallows.
Rintarou crosses his arms and takes a few strides towards the kitchen, eyebrow arched. “Really? Because it looks like you’re trying to make something when we’re about to leave for dinner in less than an hour.”
Osamu sets down the spatula and frowns while he turns off the burner. “In my defense, it tasted really good,” he almost pouts.
With an abrupt snort, Rintarou wraps his arms around Osamu’s chest from behind and plants a kiss on the spot below his ear. “I’m sure it did,” Rintarou placates, reaching for Osamu’s wrist to bring a slightly sauce-soaked hand to his lips. Rintarou notices there doesn’t seem to be that consistent shake and grins a bit while licking a stripe across Osamu’s knuckles, eliciting a soft chuckle.
“You’re right,” Rintarou hums, kissing Osamu’s cheek and stepping back while Osamu moves to wash his hands. “Doesn’t change the fact that we are going out to eat.”
Osamu glances over his shoulder with a sheepish grin, wiping his hands on a towel and pouting. Rintarou wants to kiss it off, instead he stands his ground with a challenging expression. “Fine, I’ll stop.”
With a nearly feral grin, Rintarou declares himself the winner. Osamu, on the other hand, grabs Rintarou’s waist and tugs him closer until their noses are touching. Rintarou’s breath hitches like it’s the first time they’ve ever been this close. Osamu knocks their foreheads together lightly, tightening his grip on Rintarou’s waist, while Rintarou finds his arms snaking around Osamu’s neck.
“Hi,” Osamu nearly whispers, a chuckle dying on his lips.
Within a synced breath, Rintarou presses forward for a smooth kiss. He tips his head just enough, in a way he’s learned fits their mouths together best. His eyes just make out the relaxing of Osamu’s brow bone before they flutter shut and his tongue dips into Osamu’s mouth. Rintarou’s hands lazily slips into the hair at the back of Osamu’s head, dragging through long, soft strands before running over the cropped undercut. Osamu presses Rintarou’s back against the counter. Rintarou leans back while Osamu pushes his tongue past Rintarou’s, easily dragging along the roof of Rintarou’s mouth. Osamu pulls back after a nip to Rintarou’s bottom lip and Rintarou grins at the spit slick look of Osamu’s mouth.
“Hey,” Rintarou finally responds, breathless and fond.
“Did I tell ya how gorgeous you look yet?”
“Hm,” Rintarou looks up in mock thought, “nope. Please go on.”
Osamu rolls his eyes and in one quick motion tugs Rintarou and dips him dramatically. There’s a playful grin on his lips as he quickly provides a soft, closed mouth peck.
“Wanna make me gorgeous too?”
Rintarou’s mouth parts lightly in surprise as he straightens up, cocking his head. “You remembered that stupid comment I made?” It was just before the announcement of their engagement when Rintarou had said he wanted to do Osamu’s eyeliner. It was so offhand and so long ago even Rintarou had almost forgotten.
“Wanna know a secret?” Osamu asks with a suggestive lilt, easily sliding his hand into Rintarou’s and pulling him towards the bathroom. Rintarou swears there’s a skip in his step. “I’ve been lookin’ forward t’ this since ya said it.”
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀4. He still has his childlike excitement.
The smile on Rintarou’s face spreads up into his eyes and he can’t get rid of it. He shakes his head and takes up his position sitting on the counter, legs open where Osamu fits perfectly. The exact opposite from when Osamu tried to do Rintarou’s eyeliner.
Osamu’s energy is intoxicating and it feels almost like he’s buzzing in place, hands resting on Rintarou’s thighs.
“We’re going to outshine Kita-san and it’s his dinner.” Rintarou sharply inhales as he rummages through his makeup bag. “I should feel bad.”
“Well technically we’re outshining ’Tsumu, so that should make you feel better.”
Rintarou fixes Osamu with a look and Osamu looks up through his lashes like a kicked puppy and frowns. Damn him. “He’s proposing to your brother and Sakusa. Don’t be rude, ‘Samu.”
With a soft, ‘ah ha,’ Rintarou showcases the felt tip marker liner. Silver instead of black. He twirls it over his knuckles then holds it in his grip properly and tips up Osamu’s head with light fingers on his chin.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀5. He always has and always will be beautiful, handsome, gorgeous, perfect.
It’s no surprise Rintarou thinks his husband is utterly amazing in every sense. He’s been tripping over himself because of Osamu since third year. With every passing moment he finds himself thinking about how dearly he loves Osamu. Mapping out his face with callouses on the pads of his fingers and soft kisses in the late nights has Rintarou more familiar with Osamu’s features than his own.
Rintarou pulls Osamu’s dark fringe away from his forehead, dropping a gentle kiss to the exposed skin. The quiet hum shoots warmth through Rintarou’s entire body.
“Close your eyes.”
The second Osamu’s eyes droops from halfway open to completely closed, Rintarou drinks in the image. Even when he first met the twins he could always tell them apart. Osamu’s face always felt softer, rounder in places Atsumu was sharp. As Osamu got older, parts of his face filled out, but he still remained less rugged, more delicate. His cheeks curved into apples, his chin a perfect fit for the divot of Rintarou’s palm, his nose the most gentle swoop and point.
Then there were his eyes. Rintarou found himself floating in Osamu’s irises on more than one occasion. Basking in the warmth sent his way despite the cool color. In the mornings, with limbs tangled together and hands intertwined between their chests, Rintarou was given the privilege of spending those quiet moments just gazing. It never got boring.
Rintarou took a slow breath, turned Osamu’s head just so, then brought his hand down until felt met skin.
Despite never having explored Osamu’s eyes with the extension of a brush, Rintarou moved through the strokes like a seasoned professional. His wrist curved with all the care in the world as a vibrant line of silver made itself known along Osamu’s lash line. Then, confidently, Rintarou flicked it out into a wing, just long enough to be noticeable. While filling in the emptiness, the rest of the world seemed to melt away, leaving Rintarou and Osamu in a space where only they resided. Quiet, comfortable, and warm. Rintarou’s breath coasted over Osamu’s skin in a cooling mint undoubtedly traced back to the gum Rintarou chews.
Rintarou shifted to the other eye without a beat of hesitation. His fingers applied just enough pressure for the ink to become visible on skin, pressing down a little further for the color to become stark in comparison to Osamu’s skin tone.
“Havin’ fun, Rin?” Osamu questioned with a gentle squeeze to Rintarou’s thigh.
“Am I that obvious?”
“I can practically feel yer smile and you’ve been kickin’ yer feet this whole time.”
His legs stop swishing at that and when they settle he finally realizes he has, in fact, been kicking them. He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth and laughs under his breath, hanging his head with a shake of his shoulders. Osamu peeks his eye open and affectionately bumps his head against Rintarou’s shoulder.
“It’s cute,” Osamu adds.
“You’re so gross,” Rintarou groans, pushing him up slightly. His smile never falters.
Osamu closes his eyes once more. Rintarou has to take a steadying breath to calm down, then moves at ease to finish the other eye.
Line. Flick. Connect. Fill. Clean.
Rintarou takes a moment to admire the finished look, tongue dragging along canines. He hesitates capping the eyeliner for a moment. With a light cock to his head, Rintarou adjusts his grip on the marker and brings his free thumb to tug lightly at the inside of Osamu’s eyebrow.
“Gettin’ fancy?” Osamu questions, sliding his hands up to rest on Rintarou’s hips.
“Shut up, I just wanna try somethin’,” Rintarou shoots back, but his voice holds no real bite. “Tilt your head up.”
Osamu complies and Rintarou swipes his tongue across his bottom lip. His hand doesn’t waver and he almost holds his breath while he applies a delicate line just under half of Osamu’s brow bone, above his inner crease. He deliberates for a moment then nods and repeats on the other side with the same amount of care. Rintarou caps the eyeliner and drops it in his makeup bag, carefully looks at both eyes, blows lightly to assure the ink dries, then leans forward and places a kiss to the bridge of Osamu’s nose.
“All done, extra gorgeous.”
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀6. He never fails to make Rintarou feel good.
There’s a small inhale. Osamu raises a hand to run through his hair, fixing the fringe along his forehead. He leans forward, turning his head every which way to see every angle, light catching spots of the silver color. He flushes a bit, cheeks cascading into a rouge that’s anything but artificial. He blinks a few times, really taking it in, then leans back with a grin so bright and so beautiful. A smile only a chosen few get to see. Rintarou’s smile pulls up through his eyes.
“Miya Rintarou,” Osamu breathes, tugging him off the counter.
“Miya Osamu?” Rintarou questions, feeling the tips of his ears beginning to heat up.
“How did I ever get s’lucky?”
Rintarou blanches and lightly punches at Osamu’s chest. “You’re a huge sap.”
Osamu flashes his teeth, eyes pulling up into silver half moons. “Never said I wasn’t, sugar.”
“How did I ever end up marrying you?” Rintarou fake gags, lifting a finger to poke into his open mouth.
“Yer tellin’ me,” Osamu quips in return, grabbing Rintarou’s hand and twining their fingers. He lifts them and places a kiss to their rings, much more special than their original engagement rings.
Still silver wedding bands, but with a ring of ruby red stones set inside the middle. Rintarou had chosen the color. Osamu had seen the choice, wrapped Rintarou up in his arms, kissed both his cheeks, and nodded in delight.
“One thing I know f’sure,” Osamu hums, letting go of Rintarou’s hand to hold his face instead, cupping his cheeks with both hands. “I’m way better off than Kita-san.”
Rintarou huffs, blowing a small strand of hair from the center of his face. He’s never done well with such direct forms of affection. Osamu never spares him, hell bent on getting him used to the sweet talking. Rintarou averts his gaze for a moment and Osamu takes the opportunity to surge forward and plant a quick kiss to Rintarou’s lips.
“Every time,” Rintarou grumbles, narrowing his eyes, “you always get me every time.”
“What can I say? ‘M a professional, babe.”
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀7. He is the only person Rintarou could see himself with.
Marriage never really changed their relationship much. In fact, if they had never made it official at all Rintarou wouldn’t have minded. It wasn’t like it necessarily mattered, but the sentiment meant the world to Osamu. Rintarou was happy to make him happy. He’d do anything for Osamu if he’d ask.
He looks at Osamu then, really looks at him. He’s staring right into his eyes and even then, with his scrutinizing expression and his focused eyes, Osamu looks content. It gives Rintarou pause, never having seen this sort of relaxation up close when he’s not sleeping. It takes Rintarou’s sharp edges and softens them down to blunt tips to accompany Osamu’s gentle lines. His eyes almost swallow Rintarou whole and he feels a fleeting thought cross his mind about how truly in love he is.
Rintarou’s hands go up to his face and he places his palms on top of Osamu’s hands. Steady.
“We’re gonna be late,” Rintarou mutters, closing his eyes.
Osamu leans forward, leaving featherlight kisses to the planes of Rintarou’s cheeks, down his nose, to the corners of his mouth. “M’not hungry when I got you here with me,” Osamu smirks, and Rintarou open his eyes to give him a look of incredulity. “M’jokin’, m’jokin’.”
Rintarou squeezes Osamu’s hand with his own, leaning into his touch with a hint of a smile pulling on the corners of his lips. Osamu kisses his forehead, soft and gentle like he is taking the highest care of Rintarou. He slips away then, turning on his heel and practically skipping towards the door.
“My brother’s finally gonna get married!” Osamu shouts loud enough to fill the entire apartment. “I think s’bout time he caught up.”
Serenity washes over Rintarou like a blade dragging through cloth. Smooth and quick. He drifts along down the hallway to meet Osamu in the genkan, smile hidden in his eyes and plastered across his heart.
To have and to hold and everything in between.