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The first sign of danger came precisely thirty-two minutes after their great escape.
Escape was perhaps a bold word to use when they were no farther than two miles away from the banquet hall. They'd navigated the streets of Santa Ana easily but all progress had halted the moment their rental car set wheel on Interstate 5.
Osamu and Rintarou had been vibing — palms drumming on the steering wheel, lyrics spit out purposefully off-key, and windows rolled down for maximum effect. Then, Rintarou's playlist was interrupted by the blare of Osamu's ringtone.
Jingles, chirps, and vibrations echoed throughout the car as every single app went off. Call. Text. LINE. Facebook messenger. Email.
The beat resumed its thrumming through the car speakers just in time for Rintarou's phone to blow up instead.
He was clearly contented to ignore the buzz — until his phone threatened to vibrate its way off its tenuous spot on the dashboard. In the corner of Osamu's eye, he watched Rintarou catch it mid-freefall.
"What the hell…" Rintarou mumbled as he scrolled through his notifications. "He even sent me a whisper through Battle.net."
"Just ignore him 'n' mute yer phone." Osamu groaned as he hit the brakes for the zillionth time in the past ten minutes. He despised this city. "Mine too, while yer at it."
Rintarou plucked it from the cup holder. "What's your passcode?" He tapped at the screen haphazardly with his thumb as he nibbled at the corner of a black-lacquered nail.
"I dunno why ya ask." Osamu glanced wistfully at the HOV lane moving — slowly, but any movement was better than sitting in Hell's parking lot. It was a futile dream — it'd take them at least three centuries to cross that many lanes and they'd probably miss their exit. "It's been the same since high school."
"Mm. Got it." A tiny smile cracked on Rintarou's lips as he tapped in 0125. Several presses of the volume button and the trills came to a halt — replaced by the familiar beat of music. Both phones were set back on the dashboard — face down to hide the blink of notification lights.
Rintarou leaned back comfortably with his feet on the dashboard, mouth a flat line as he hummed along to the song.
"Oiiii." Osamu warned, casting the best side eye he could muster. "Feet off the dash, babe."
Rintarou scowled, crossing his ankles and arms indignantly. "You're so mean to me. You always let me put my feet up."
"Yeah, in my car." Osamu let out a satisfied sigh as he put his foot on the gas for the first time in ages. "I don't let ya put yer feet up in Kita-san's truck."
"That's just cause Kita-san's scary."
"No, it's cause it's rude. Feet off."
Rintarou pulled his feet down and turned his entire body towards the window with a histrionic huff. Osamu gave him thirty seconds max before he got bored of faking a temper tantrum.
Finally, Osamu managed to reach a steady speed as they navigated through the traffic — the fastest they've gone since hitting the interstate.
Out of nowhere, they were cut off by a black sedan swerving into their lane. Osamu slammed on the brakes, both their bodies rocking forward. His heart pounded from the adrenaline rush.
Now wrenched back to a sudden halt, he noticed his partner staring. At his arm. Outstretched and extended in front of Rintarou's chest. Protective instinct.
"Did… did you just mom arm me?" Rintarou's brows were raised, face unreadable. Then, a grin, eyes crinkled in mirth. "You're so sexy."
Osamu groaned. "I won't hesitate to turn this car around."
Rintarou made an overdramatic show of looking out every single window before shooting Osamu an impassive stare. "Uh huh. Good luck with that."
He was — like always, to his eternal chagrin — right. Osamu had no idea where the next exit was, or how they'd manage to cross two lanes of deadlocked traffic to take said exit.
"Where are we going anyway?" Rintarou's palm found Osamu's thigh — silent comfort for his traffic-induced hypertension.
"There's a restaurant in Santa Monica, supposedly has the best seafood in SoCal." Osamu rested his hand on Rintarou's, brushing his thumb over bony knuckles. "Utsui-san told Ushiwaka, who told Bokkun, who told Tsumu, who told me to try it out while we were in town."
A half-lie. While planning for their trip to California, Osamu had contacted Bokuto specifically. He didn't know Ushijima or Iwaizumi well enough to cold call them about romantic dinner destinations. Atsumu couldn’t be trusted. Bokuto was the perfect middle man.
"I stopped listening at 'seafood'." Rintarou squeezed his thigh. "How far away is Santa Monica?"
"Uh huh. Sure ya did." Osamu stole a glance at the screen in the center console. "In a perfect world, about fifty minutes away."
"And what about this world?"
Osamu craned forward over the wheel, as if it would grant him some semblance of insight into the future and/or Southern California traffic patterns. "GPS says two hours."
Rintarou slumped deeper into his seat, belt brushing against his chin. "And then we wait for a seat cause I'm sure you didn't get a reservation. Then wait even longer for our food."
"It'll be fine." Osamu frowned at the center console and the taunting arrival time.
Rintarou leaned on his fist as he stared out the window at the buildings and cars passing by — hair whipping in the wind. The hand on Osamu's thigh remained, thumb brushing gentle circles over his suit pants.
Osamu was reminded suddenly of all those years ago. Their third year of high school — the two of them sitting on the bus together after winning nationals. Rintarou staring out the window, hand on Osamu's thigh. Both of them yearning for something they didn't realize they could have yet.
"Hey, Rin?" Osamu spoke. Rintarou glanced at him. "I love you."
A tiny smile and another thigh squeeze before his partner's gaze returned to the window. "I love you, too."
They'd managed to survive the first hour of the grueling SoCal traffic, battling their way past countless towns Osamu had no clue existed.
Rintarou had been strangely quiet for the past thirty minutes — only mouthing the words to the occasional song that came on shuffle. Osamu was especially surprised at the silence as the exits advertising Disneyland disappeared from view. At very least, he'd expected a snide remark about the horrendous flow of cars exiting the interstate just to go spend a stupid amount of money at the mediocre theme park.
"Ya okay there, darlin'?" Osamu patted Rintarou's knee twice before returning his hand to the wheel.
"Yeah." Rintarou looked tired, his blinks turning long and slow. It was getting late. In his perfect fantasy vision of this evening, Osamu had hoped to get to Santa Monica before sunset. He could watch the sun dip into the Pacific Ocean, turning Rintarou's green eyes gold. But they'd enjoyed the blaze of orange and purple from the crest of a flyover. Maybe they'll have better luck tomorrow. "Just thinking."
“Anythin’ ya wanna share with the rest of the class?”
"Yeah, actually." Rintarou rested one of his ankles on his knee, getting into his signature passionate rant pose that Osamu knew and loved. "So, like two weeks ago, I was on a wikipedia binge reading about some real fucked up shit."
"Was this that night ya were readin’ about the bodies on Mount Everest or a different night?”
"Different night." Rintarou stroked his chin, likely pondering going into another ten minute ramble about whether or not that one climber could have been saved. As if he had any mountaineering knowledge at all. "The articles talked about some shipwrecks that happened in the middle of the ocean. Like the Essex, yeah?"
“Uh huh.” Osamu had definitely never heard of this ship.
“It's just crazy, the shit they had to do to survive. Setting off from their fucked up whale boats and floating across the ocean until they were rescued." Rintarou gripped Osamu's arm rest. "Samu. If that ever happened to us…"
"What are ya even on about?" Osamu laughed.
"Look. I'm just saying. Worst case scenario we get stranded somewhere with no food and I die first, you totally have permission to eat me."
"Rintarou. Darlin', babe, sweetheart, love of my fuckin' life. I am not eatin' ya."
"'Love of my life'? That's gross." Rintarou's nose scrunched.
"What? And cannibalism ain't?"
Rintarou shrugged.
"Why are ya thinkin' about cannibalism anyway?"
"What if we're stuck in this traffic forever?" Rintarou's hand found his shoulder. "We get so damn hungry one of us dies and the other has to make a hard decision."
This man is going to kill Osamu some day. And maybe eat him afterwards.
"We're in one of the biggest cities in the world." He glanced at Rintarou to see his face twisted up, trying desperately to hold back a laugh. "There's prob'ly like eight gas stations 'n' three McDonald's at the next exit alone."
"But like, hypothetically."
"I'm not eatin' ya!"
As if by divine intervention, Osamu's stomach growled monstrously. Rintarou couldn't hold it in any longer and burst into a maniacal cackle.
His fingers migrated to Osamu's stomach, skittering along his dress shirt. Osamu had to grip the wheel and curl his toes in his shoes to steel himself from the tickles. "Yer gettin' hungry, ain'tcha big boy?"
"Usin' my own accent against me. Evil."
"You love me." Rintarou batted his eyelashes before withdrawing back to his side of the car.
“Unfortunately.”
Osamu reveled in the tiny soft smile that settled on Rintarou’s lips. He loved him so fucking much. Idiot.
“Fuck.”
Osamu perked up at that, quickly glancing at Rintarou before focusing back on the road. He felt his heart rate soar. “What’s wrong?”
He flinched as Rintarou’s hand clapped down on his shoulder as he squinted at the GPS. “You’re gonna have to take the exit here, Samu. Right two lanes.” He followed the line of Rintarou’s other arm as he pointed at the signs declaring they’d have to transfer to I-10 to get to Santa Monica.
“What?” Osamu half-yelled. On cue, Rintarou’s fingers massaged the tense muscle. “Shit. I dunno if I can get over that fast.” The three lanes to their right were deadlocked, with countless cars trying to edge their way in.
Rintarou flicked at the GPS’s screen. “Lady, you’re supposed to tell us this shit!”
“Use the right two lanes to take exit 134A for I-10 West to Santa Monica.” She chirped, unhelpfully.
Osamu's heart raced as they passed the exit, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. Yer such a fuckin' screw up, his internal Atsumu-voiced monologue shouted. All he wanted was a nice dinner with his favorite person in the world and here he is, ruining everything.
"Osamu. Samu." Rintarou's thumb brushed against his jawline. He couldn't help but lean into the touch. "Babe. You need to relax."
He hated being told to relax, it always had the adverse effect of making his blood boil. If it were Atsumu, he'd probably give into the Cain instinct right then and there. Drive into the patch of dirt and concrete next to the interstate and bash his blonde head open with a rock. Maybe he was getting a little hangry.
“Stop thinking about murdering your brother and listen to me, idiot.”
“How didja—”
"You get this little wrinkle in your nose. It's very cute. But not the point." Rintarou prodded the hard bridge of Osamu's nose before brushing his fingers through the soft hairs of his shaved nape. His voice was low and soothing. "It's stupidly romantic you went to the effort of finding this restaurant — and god, I would love some lobster — but it really doesn't matter. We missed our exit. So fucking what?"
Osamu locked his eyes on the road ahead as he continued down the interstate, trying desperately to keep his composure. Tingles ran down his spine as Rintarou's fingers carded through his hair. In the distance, the skyscrapers of Downtown LA glowed.
"Whether we're at your fancy expensive seafood restaurant or at a convenience store eating mushy sandwiches, I really don't give a shit. I'm just happy to be with you."
Osamu laughed, stealing a glance at Rintarou. His face was squished in joy, green eyes crescented. “That’s kinda gay.”
“Uh, yeah.” A short burst of dull pain hit him as Rintarou flicked his forehead. “I’d certainly fucking hope so.”
“I get it, though.” Osamu smiled, running his thumbs along the leather of the wheel. “I’m bein’ stupid.”
Rintarou tapped at the GPS, pulling up a bigger map of the Los Angeles streets. “We can get to Santa Monica still. We’ll have to do some crazy bullshit, but it’s possible. Also, there’s more traffic. Map says it’s got something to do with a ‘Dodger’?”
“How long?”
“Another hour and a half.”
Osamu’s stomach growled.
They can make it.
Do it for the lobster.
“Osamuuuuu.”
Rintarou was slumped deep, seat tilted as far back as he could. He had shed his suit jacket at some point and was using it as a makeshift pillow. They’d finally escaped the baseball traffic and found themselves balls deep in Downtown LA.
“Remember what we were talking about earlier?”
“Yeah, babe?”
“Not to alarm you, but...” Rintarou paused to yawn. Osamu couldn't help but yawn too. God damnit. “You’re starting to resemble a big juicy cheeseburger.”
“Nice.” Osamu merged into the next lane. They were moving pretty quickly, all things considered. “What kinda cheese?”
He could feel Rintarou’s eyes burning in the corner of his vision. “American. Real gooey, good pull.”
“Do I got bacon on me or no?”
“No bacon. People use bacon to escape the flavor of the patty, not accentuate it. I wanna enjoy your flavor.”
“First of all, that’s gay. Second of all, I taught ya well.” Osamu laughed, knuckles finding Rintarou’s scalp and mussing up his hair. A long groan escaped from his partner's throat. “Are ya doin’ okay?”
“Mhm. I’m just getting really hungry.”
“Do ya wanna stop?”
Rintarou waved his hand from side to side, eyes firmly shut. “No, no. I’m fine. ‘M just gonna take a nap.”
Osamu sighed, lowering the volume of the stereo. He felt that telltale ache in his own stomach and stole a glance at the sleeping figure in the passenger seat. A frown was plastered on Rintarou’s lips, not the usual contented, relaxed look he wore.
It’s settled.
He merged into the right lane, prepared to take the next exit and find something to fill their bellies no matter what.
Osamu pulled their rental into a spot, carefully parallel parking the best he could manage. He didn’t bump into either of the nearby cars, so he considered it a success. To his right, Rintarou began to stir — probably woken up by the unusual movement.
“Mmm…?” Rintarou opened his eyes, slowly. “Are we there?”
“Sure are, darlin’.” Osamu turned the car off, pulling out the keys. “C’mon, let’s get some food.”
“Ah, nice.” Rintarou smacked his lips before yawning and lifting his head. Osamu watched as he regained clarity, taking in the street around them. “This the beach? Why’s it so… dirty?”
“Yeah, we’re at the beach. Welcome to America, love.” Osamu tucked their phones into his jacket pocket before exiting the car. He circled around to open up the passenger side door.
Rintarou raised an eyebrow as Osamu extended his hand. “Wow, such a gentleman. How’d I get so lucky?”
“Don’t get used to it.” Osamu hauled him out of the car. “Damn, yer gettin’ heavy.”
“Been eating well.” Rintarou shoulder checked him, an easy smile settling on his mouth. “You treat me right.”
“Sure do.” Osamu entwined his fingers with Rintarou’s, tugging him across the street. “Ya were a twig the first time I saw ya. Now yer a proper beefcake.”
“You’re embarrassing.”
Osamu pushed open the glass door, revealing a narrow diner — splashed in chrome, white, and red. Tacky 50’s decor covered the walls and an Elvis song played from the old jukebox. “Yer five star dining experience.”
Rintarou sighed, relief clear in his voice. “God, I love you.”
They settled into a red vinyl booth, both half slumped against the wall and staring dumbly at the menu. Osamu knew what most of these words meant — food was one of the few topics he excelled at in English class — but his brain bluescreened the moment his eyes met the page.
A server dressed in a white button-up and a bright red apron approached, clutching a notepad in his hand.
"Welcome to Joel's Diner!" He chirped. "What can I get you guys?"
Osamu and Rintarou blinked at each other — a silent challenge. You speak. No, you do it. I talked to the hotel concierge! Well, I talked to the car rental. I ordered the pizza last night. Ya used an app, that doesn't count!
Rintarou scowled — accepting defeat — before flashing a polite smile to the server. "Um, two cokes. And… um… a little more time, please." He pointed at the menu.
The server nodded and retreated back behind the counter.
"So." Rintarou fiddled with a tiny bottle of Tabasco, rolling it between his fingers like a pen. "What made you finally give up?"
"Seein' yer lil sleepy frown." Osamu bumped his foot against Rintarou's shin, earning himself a tiny smile. "It was cute, but didn't feel right."
Rintarou rested his chin on his fist, green eyes soft. He opened his mouth to say something but was halted by the server returning.
"Two double cheeseburgers, two fries and a chocolate milkshake." Rintarou bowed his head slightly. It was always cute to see him be polite for once.
"Ooh, a shared milkshake? How romantic." Osamu teased in Japanese.
"'Shared'? You think I'm sharing?" Rintarou grinned monstrously.
The server glanced back and forth between them as he jotted down their order. Clear confusion marred his expression.
"Two milkshakes, please." Rintarou added.
"If you don't mind me asking, where are you guys from?" The server tucked the notepad back in his apron.
"Japan."
"Ah! Konnichiwa!" The server said, pronunciation horrible. His heart was in the right place, Osamu supposed. "What brings you to LA?"
Osamu blanched, eyes analyzing everything from the server's face to the pins in his apron to the decor in the diner. They settled on a sticker slapped to the drink cooler — a rainbow flag.
He met Rintarou's eye to see him watching him, waiting for approval. He nodded as Rintarou turned back to the server. "It is… um.. our wedding day."
The server's jaw dropped as Rintarou snorted. "Oh wow! Congratulations! Well, we're glad to have you! I'll get your order started."
"So." Osamu said, folding his hands on the table.
"So." Rintarou parroted.
"It's been like two hours since we left the reception." Osamu felt his heart thump as a mischievous grin grew on his husband's face. "Ya think it's time we check in with Tsumu?"
"Hmm." Rintarou took a long sip of his drink, pretending to ponder the taste of it like it was fine wine and not a fountain coke. "Perhaps."
"Do ya wanna do the honor or me?" He withdrew both phones from his jacket, setting them on the table.
"He's your brother." Rintarou leaned back, folding his arms over his chest.
"What about yer sister?" Osamu winced as he unlocked his phone. Two hundred and eighteen text messages. Forty-six missed calls. Most were from Atsumu, but there were a handful from his parents, Aran, and Kita-san.
"Neechan knew I would bail at some point." Rintarou stared at his own phone, scrolling through something. "All she texted me was to tell me to wear a condom. Which is entirely useless advice..."
"Maybe she meant me."
Rintarou raised an eyebrow, the rest of his expression impassive as he glanced up from the screen. "Uh huh."
Damn.
Eager to move the conversation away from their sex life, Osamu started a new text message. "What should I tell dumbshit?"
Rintarou set his phone down and leaned on his fist. "Hmm. Something simple. Something vague. Gimme." Osamu slid the phone into Rintarou's palm, resisting the urge to grin. "I got the perfect idea."
After several taps at record speed, Rintarou slid the phone back across the table.
[miyasam]: see u at brunch tomorrow dont be late 🕺🥞
miyatsu is typing…
"Yer evil, baby." Osamu laughed, bumping their knees together. "He's gonna have an aneurysm."
"He'll be fine." Rintarou's face lit up as the server returned with their dinner. The tray he carried was heaped with food — oversized milkshakes, massive baskets of fries, and a pair of mountainous burgers.
After setting down their meal, the server slid a receipt onto the table. "Bring this up to the register whenever you're finished." In the corner of his vision, Osamu noticed it was distinctly devoid of most of their order. This guy was getting tipped 75 percent, at least. "Enjoy your food. And... well!" He clapped his hands together, donning a warm smile. "Congratulations on your big day."
"That was cute." Rintarou had already hefted his burger up, tentatively comparing his jaw size to the stack of beef and cheese. "Maybe we should get married again."
"Are ya sayin' ya wanna get divorced?" Osamu grinned.
"Hmm, might be fun. We could make a big deal about it, get trending on Twitter and shit." Rintarou took a bite, practically going cross-eyed as he chewed.
"Maybe we should try bein' married first. I bet we're gonna be awesome at it." Osamu indulged in his own burger, savoring in the magical blend of gooey cheese and a well-seasoned patty.
Rintarou set the burger down, wiping a bit of grease off his chin with the back of his hand like a caveman. "Well, I think we've done a pretty great job so far."
Osamu watched his husband shove a fistful of fries into his mouth and fell in love all over again.
"Yeah. I think yer right."