Archive of Our Own

Miya Hisato

Keiji has been staring at the name for a good ten minutes the computer screen might as well burn from his intense gaze.

Miya with ten strokes, a last name too familiar to him, one that he was promised to take back when he didn’t know life was anything but sweet. Hisato written in kanji that means one with a long life. It’s a beautiful name, as if born of wistfulness, and prayers that reach out for a hopeful life.

The name does ring a bell in his mind, followed by the reminiscence of a set of lazy eyes and persistence that never crumbles every time he asks Keiji to read to him, no matter how busy Keiji is. No matter how much Keiji has refused.

Next to the name there listed two books he's borrowed and not yet returned; one being something about slurping spaghetti and the other is about a park keeper and a fox's hiccups.

The boy hasn't come to the library again for about a month. As much as Keiji misses having Hisato pestering him to read him some books, Keiji wants him to come again more than anything to return the two books he's borrowed. It will be hell at the end of the month to have books unreturned by the visitors long past its due.

“Have you tried to contact the guardian?” Keiji huffs a sigh, turning his gaze at Akemi, his assistant, who nods despite her fidgeting.

Keiji takes that as a yes, and no, she can't get through. 

“Yes,” she answers, shifting from one foot to another. Keiji knows just how she feels. He was far worse anxious when he started the job. “It always went to voicemail, and when it got through, the mother said Hisato-kun is staying at his father’s now.”

Keiji sits up straight, fixing the glasses that stay low on the bridge of his nose. The words jolt him awake, heighten his senses especially when the mother and Hisato-kun is staying at his father’s now sound like two dots to be connected. As much as Keiji appears to be collected, right now he is sure just as restless as Akemi, if not more.

Then again, he feels ashamed for trying to pry on whatever happens between Hisato and his family although it stays in his mind.

“Have you tried to contact him?” Keiji asks, almost too enthusiastic. 

Akemi nods. 

Relief surges through his entire system. Keiji doesn't have to go past the awkwardness if his assumptions are proven to be true. And since Akemi is the one at the front desk, Keiji can excuse himself from the stress of seeing a potential someone from his past.

“He says he's sorry and that he'll return them soon.”

“Good.” Keiji nods. “Thank you so much, Akemi-san. If you- if you happen to be there when he returns the books, don't forget to charge him a fine.”

Akemi says yes and excuses herself from Keiji's room.

If Akemi happens to be there , Keiji laughs at himself, forehead resting on his palm.

Of course, Akemi will be there when she's the one in charge at the front desk. What is Keiji expecting? It's not like he wants to meet the man (potential, his assumptions are yet to be proven) who loved to run his mouth off about Keiji's decision making skills at picking a job.

-

Miya Hisato doesn't frequent the library as often as those fast readers quenching their thirst for knowledge or mere entertainment do, nor does he seem the type who enjoys spending his pastime in a library. Miya Hisato is just a six year old boy who, upon having had the misfortune of being dragged on a class trip to the library, has found a new way to enjoy his time between a stack of worlds piled neatly on the shelves.

Keiji's breath hitched in his throat the first time his eyes landed on the six year old, standing with his hands in his pocket among the flock of chattering students. He didn't talk much except when he moved his mouth to throw some remarks Keiji assumed to be witty because his friends proceeded to smack him softly in the head. A boy that quiet shouldn't have struck him as someone distinct, but he did. There was something in the way his deep eyes swept across the room almost disinterested, contrasting the rambunctious surrounding. Something in the way there was a slight tilt of his head when his eyes met Keiji as if asking, Do we know each other? that oddly reminded Keiji of someone.

Keiji shuddered, averting his gaze from the boy as he soon began the library tour.

There was a fair share of black haired people with lazy eyes residing in Osaka. The accusing voice in the back of Keiji’s mind must be tripping to convince him that this little boy was, in any way, related to a man Keiji once wished to live the rest of his life with.

Miya Osamu planned to have a child by the age of 28—his age a year ago. The boy was six years old, and Miya Atsumu, a big name among the volleyball players, had never been rumored to have hid the existence of his six year old child. If all went according to plan, it didn’t make any sense, Keiji thought despite fully knowing that life could be shit and anything is possible. 

The boy wouldn’t be related to any of them.

That was until the boy came a week later with a book in his hands, tip-toeing to the front desk where Keiji was doing a monthly report he asked, “Can you read this to me?”

Keiji looked up from the computer, saving the file before any unpredictable tragedy befell him and his report.

“Can you read this to me?” He repeated, putting the book on the desk as he peeped behind it.

“Uh….” Keiji looked around, pinching the tip of his nose. It wasn’t even his will to do a monthly report down in the front desk except for the fact that his computer upstairs in his room was having a technical issue and he was subbing for Akemi, his subordinate, who was having lunch.

Then as if on cue, Akemi came rushing toward the front desk. When Keiji checked on the watch, it was only a minute before recess was over. “Akaashi-san, you may have lunch now,” she said before spotting the little boy behind the desk, persistent as he was. “Oh, does this boy here need any help?”

“It’s fine, I’ll help him,” Keiji chimed in then made a gesture for the boy to come with him to a vacant desk near the windows.

Keiji couldn’t just say no to the boy who only got interested in books when Getting More People to Come to the Library had been on the list of his work plan. Especially when the boy looked so much like someone from his past Keiji had to hold back the urge to text his ex just to make sure about his own assumptions.

“Please read this to me,” he said, handing over a book about some magic pot. It wasn’t heavy on writings but seemed quite thick because of the illustrations.

“Okay, um…. what’s your name again?” Keiji looked at the boy sitting beside him.

“My name is Miya Hisato.”

Of course his last name had to be Miya.

Keiji stifled an awkward laugh, hands trembling as he opened the book.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the voice threw a triumphant fist to the air. And somewhere inside him, the logic he’d built for the past week and the walls he always had up slowly crumbled. 

Somewhere in between, Keiji kept reminding himself that Miya wasn’t too rare of a last name. Over ten thousand people shared the last name Miya, and Osaka didn’t belong to the only Miyas he knew.

“Okay, Hisato-kun, shall we begin, then?” asked Keiji, voice shaking weighed by the many possibilities. “Oh, my name is Akaashi Keiji, by the way. I work here and you can ask for my help or Akemi-san at the front desk.” Keiji gestured at Akemi.

Instead of answering, Hisato chose to pester him. With an indifferent voice he asked, “Why do you look like you’re going to cry?”

“I am not.”

“Yes, you are. I look like that when I'm going to cry.”

“Do you look at yourself in the mirror when you cry, Hisato-kun?”

“Once. Are you really going to cry? Is something making you sad?”

Keiji looked at the boy with raised eyebrows. “No, I am fine, thank you.” Just as the boy was about to open his mouth again, Keiji cut off. “Hush, now, I’m going to read this story now or not at all.”

Hisato sat up straight and no longer asked about it. If he noticed Keiji’s voice sounding so off for someone telling a story about a magical tale, he didn’t say anything.

The obedience of the boy gave Keiji another reason to believe that he was impossible to be related to any Miya he knew (he was, in fact, ignoring the resemblance between the boy and the Miyas, his ex specifically). Not to mention that Hisato got curls at the end of his hair, just like Keiji and none of the Miyas because they were born with sleek hair.

Still, the eyes that looked at Keiji with curiosity and persistence might be a reminder that Keiji was deluding himself.

Through a one hour sitting, Keiji had learned that Hisato was a delight to be around. He didn’t talk much during the reading session except for when he’d struggled to see the illustrations clearly. He said that he’d learned how to read and was able to read, but not fast enough. Though when he did ask something he was rather demanding it reminded Keiji of The Little Prince.

“You will be here tomorrow, right? Can you please read to me again tomorrow?”

Keiji widened his eyes. For someone who felt indifferent toward kids, Hisato sure made his way through the cracks of Keiji’s soft spot.

“Yes, and I don’t know,” answered Keiji. “But you can still come. You’re welcome here anytime, you know.”

Hisato frowned, eyebrows knitted so intensely it accentuated his deep eyes. “But will you read to me again?”

“That is something we’ll have to figure out later.” Keiji gave him a smile, a sincere one that appeared once in a blue moon. “You can hang out here and I’ll read to you when I have time.”

“But I want to come here if you read to me,” Hisato whined. 

It made Keiji realize how much of a trouble kids could be. Not that it was a bad thing, it was just a part of their nature, but Keiji knew he didn’t have much composure for this. Still, he tried, “I will if I have time.”

Hisato still put on his wrinkled face from the frowning, but he lifted his pinky finger which Keiji linked with his. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Later when Keiji asked why he didn’t just borrow any book he wanted and ask his parents to read it, Hisato answered with a disapproving look. “Ma never tells me bedtime stories, and dad always gets sleepy when he reads me something!”

“And you went here instead just so I can read to you?” A tint of pink spread across Hisato’s cheeks like watercolor. He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Keiji could feel his own chest swell with adoration.

“You're a good storyteller, Keiji-san! I like it when you read me something. It's not boring,” Hisato said, voice coated with something like a plea, but Keiji knew it was all sincere. 

His words were sincere and familiar and it took him back to where the Miya he had ever loved so fervently told him he'd rather have Keiji read to him instead of reading on his own. A surge of emotions came crashing to him like waves on the shore. Keiji didn't know what to name those emotions his mind, and perhaps heart, tried to process, but they weren't all nice. There was a pang of pain clawing at his heart and there was a refreshing feeling that washed over him like water on a scorching day. One thing Keiji knew, those emotions urged him to ask more about Hisato. Fortunately, he knew better than the unethical manner that was to pry on the visitor's personal life, so Keiji left it at that.

-

Of course, just like every other thing, good things have come to an end. In Keiji’s case, the good thing begins with a free-workload morning and ends in a modern day Shakespearean tragedy when Miya Hisato’s father is announced to have come, and that Hisato has requested him to deliver a message to Mr. Storyteller.

“Couldn’t you fetch the message for me, Akemi-san?” Keiji asks, although already on his feet, alert and jittery.

Keiji wouldn’t know what to do if the voice that’s been convincing him ever since he saw Miya Hisato was right—that Hisato’s father was a familiar presence in his life—but he would be even more bewildered if the father in question wasn’t him . Either way, Keiji would still want to rip his hair out. He certainly has never been waiting for this moment, has been avoiding lounging downstairs just in case Hisato’s father came unannounced and Keiji was unprepared, for whatever reason.

Still, Keiji walks back and forth, fingers picking on skin when there is absence of something to hold and distract himself from this unruly state.

“Akaashi-san?”

“Yes?” Keiji stops altogether to face Akemi’s worried look.

“I tried, but Hi-kun’s father insists on seeing you first. Said that it's Hi-kun's request,” Akemi then adds quickly, “It’s fine if you don’t want to do it, I’ll get the message and tell him you’re unavailable for the moment.”

He gives her a smile he wishes to be reassuring, even in the slightest, as he regains his composure. A small obstacle in a professional scene like this shouldn't throw him off. Keiji has faced one too many troubles at work (visitors' complaints, his boss' not so subtle insinuations, clumsy mistakes, unreliable former subordinates, you name it) and not once has he wavered.

If there is anything that Keii’s learned, is that he will pull through even the cruelest hell that tears him to pieces. Work is a never ending cycle of hell that’s been a part of his life anyways. Most days he does okay, but there are times it drives him to the edge.

Today shouldn’t be one of those days if he’s to carry on with his own responsibilities.

“It’s fine, Akemi-san. I’ll be downstairs, thank you.”

Time slows and stops by the time Keiji steps on the first floor. First, he catches the sight of a man leaning on the front desk, dressed in a simple getup that emphasizes his consistency throughout the years. The t-shirt hugs his body perfectly, outlining the muscles he’s built tending to his shop and frequenting the gym—that if he still keeps the same routine after their parting. 

The years have been kind to him, Keiji thought when he finally, finally braves himself to look at the man’s face. The lines on his face have softened as smiles slide on his lips ever so easily, his eyes light up in wonder and confusion as they scan the library’s directory book on the desk, and it does something to Keiji when it hits him that this is the father of the kid who often asks Keiji to read him stories. Miya Hisato’s father is none other than Miya Osamu.

Keiji feels his heart at his throat and tears catch on his lashes, so he blinks, wipe them, and drag his feet that feel as heavy as a jumble of sacks.

“Good afternoon,” Keiji says, the calm in his voice betrays the urge to throw his composure out of the window right here and now. Professionality has managed to shape Keiji to stay calm in the wildest storm. Even then the tip of his tongue tastes bitter. "Miya-san."

Miya Osamu looks up from the directory book. The small smile that persists on his face is now long gone, dropped along with his jaw on the floor when he spots Akaashi Keiji out of all people standing right before him. Something inside Keiji hopes he’s dropped his heart all along.

“Kei- Akaashi?”

It took them months to get used to calling each other by first names, years to leave the taste of bitterness that lingers on said names, and minutes for Osamu to spell out Keiji’s name in a way Keiji has never wanted it to roll off his tongue.

There's bitterness, the same amount it's left Keiji's own tongue mentioning Miya's name. There's disbelief, and most of all, a pained look that has Miya's face all scrunched up as if Keiji wasn't the one, never the one, he's expected to see.

Keiji doesn't blame him. After all, Miya has been the one he's been avoiding, too, to be destined to meet with Hisato connecting the two of them.

“Akaashi?” Miya repeats.

“Yes, Miya-san?” Miya grimaces at the nickname. Keiji hates that look Miya puts on as if he’s offended the latter.

“Can you not call me that?”

Keiji heaves a sigh, one that sounds like it will be the last thing anyone would hear before the last big blow.

Akemi’s not-so-subtle glances are a giveaway that the tension is becoming more and more suffocating.

“Can we take this outside?” Keiji asks, despite being alone with him is the last thing he wants at the moment.

Miya complies.

The air outside is not any better. Humidity hangs thick in the air along with the tension that won't seem to break unless one of them starts talking.

It gets even more unbearable for Keiji now that they're sitting on the bench just outside the library building, a place he frequents for lunch, and lately becomes his regular hangout place with Hisato. It's ironic, really, now that he's facing the kid's father, the exact carbon copy where Hisato's got all his features from.

“I- I didn't know ya work 'ere,” Miya begins, pinching his nose.

Intentionally or not, Miya lets on how nervous he is when his knees keep bouncing as if he has no recollection of Keiji remembering every bit of his habit and quirk. Old habits die hard, Keiji figures.

“Osaka, really?” Miya's voice comes with a laugh that's too subtle to be mortifying and too rough to be sincere.

“If you don't mind, may I have what Hisato-kun wanted to deliver to me already?”

A tinge of sharpness cuts at the end of Keiji's sentence. He knows Miya is perceptive enough about the slight change of tone with the way he huffs, as if wishing Keiji could be gentler when Miya himself had an open option to be just as sharp.

Miya fishes something out of his pocket and hands a crumpled piece of paper to Keiji, which the latter accepts and unfolds immediately.

Keiji doesn't have to have seen Hisato's penmanship to know what's on the paper is written by the boy. Some words are misspelled and missing their strokes, but they stand firm in bright colors like they are trying to catch his attention: Keiji-san, you said you like onigiri and ramen and nanohana and a lot of things! Come eat at my dad's restaurant with me. He can cook anything!

And Keiji doesn't have the heart to conceal his smile, although he knows he's doing it in Miya's presence.

“It's an invitation,” Miya states the obvious. “Big guy told me he wants t'eat with library guy who always reads to him.”

An immediate reaction almost spills out; a scrunched nose at how he doesn't find it anything but bizarre to call his own son big guy . Keiji almost finds it cute. Almost.

“I know, I am perfectly capable of reading.”

“Shouldja always be this cold?” Miya bites, catching Keiji off guard. He gets up from the bench, rubbing off his face as if a few minutes encounter with Keiji equals hours of overtime meetings. “I know yer considerin' this, but if ya thought of turnin’ down the offer because of me, then come on behalf of my son.”

Something twists inside his guts when the last two of Miya's words echo in his mind. My son.

Miya doesn't talk big, nor does he say something he doesn't mean. Thus, it led Keiji to believe what once he said when they were together, “When we're rich and mature enough,  how many kids do you want?”

Keiji answered with how silly it was. In his mind he said he wanted two. 

Now Miya ends up with a son of his own blood. A son Keiji doesn't have a share to call his, too, like Miya ever implied. Leaves Keiji behind with a surge of memories that keep coming back like monsters trying to reach out at children under their bed.

A chuckle stops Miya in his tracks, surprising Keiji in the process when he realizes he was the one who let it slip.

“You moved on pretty fast, huh?”

Miya furrows his eyebrows. “What’re ya tryna say?”

“That you moved on fast,” says Keiji, stern in his voice as he takes a step closer—close enough for Miya to hear what he plans to say next, but not that close to be at a length where he can be reached out. “You had Hisato right after we parted ways.”

This discourse is dumb. Keiji did not completely detach himself from Miya's life for him to provoke Miya into filling him in for the years he's missed out. There's no point in cutting him off if he will take any bits of Miya's life he can get at this moment. Keiji isn't here for that. He knows he can do better than this. Their relationship is strictly professional, a head librarian and a guardian of a visitor who happen to cross paths.

Still, the gear in his head doesn't stop until everything plays out according to his logic. So when he got a first glance at Hisato's library card back when the boy borrowed some books, Keiji can't help but calculate the gap between Hisato's birth, his separation with Miya, and the probable time Hisato's parents got together.

It all adds up in his head.

Miya only needed two months to get over Keiji, their four years of relationship, and everything in between.

“Me and Sato’s mom aren’t together,” Miya explains. 

Keiji tries to hide the surprise on his face until he racks his brain and finds the recollection of when Akemi was told that Hisato was staying at his father’s. 

The wind that’s blowing almost falters him altogether, pushing him to the edge bit by bit until he breaks. Keiji wants him to stop there, to not continue what he has to say for it feels like a breach of privacy. Something Keiji doesn’t need to know to keep on living. 

Between the rustling leaves, Miya’s voice sounds like still water. “That's not me moving on. I got her knocked up on a one night stand.”

Keiji doesn’t need to hear the rest to know what happens. It's telltale enough when the corners of his mouth slightly turn upwards in what Keiji assumes as melancholy, as a fraction of sorrow that doesn’t amount to regret. Just wonders of what could’ve been.

“Hisato was then born,” Miya’s voice quietens. “When I was twenty three.” 

Keiji doesn’t dare to suppose he is now rubbing his eyes, but Keiji certainly knows what Miya would’ve planned on doing when he was twenty three, when his restaurant had only flourished and when his relationship had only gone into complete wreckage. Keiji doesn’t dare to suppose it’s tears Miya is wiping. Not even when Miya has never had anything going out of his plan and only wanted kids when he is mature and stable.

“Ah,” he groans, turning away from Keiji for a few heartbeats. “I should probably go. Just…. please consider the offer, ‘Kaashi-kun.”

When Miya leaves with a sad smile, Keji’s lungs feel like they’re slowly constricting.

-

“...ready.”

Keiji caught only the last of words Miya uttered, having his brain occupied with reports and technical matters about how his new job was supposed to work. He had only been accepted in a local library a few months prior, but Keiji didn’t need longer than that to be able to tell that it was not exactly a place he wished to end up to be. It was just the only place that would accept him at the moment, and despair sure did wonders to people.

“Huh?” Keiji glanced at his boyfriend who was holding a plate of yaki onigiri in one hand and a plate of tamagoyaki in the other. A simple meal, favorite meal that should get Keiji to his feet, but instead he replied, “I’m not hungry.”

Miya heaved a deep sigh as he set the plates on the kitchen island and started eating without another word. Keiji should be glad in the least that his boyfriend wasn’t nagging him about eating. That he, at least, got a good meal himself, but deep inside he knew this was a call for disaster. The fact that Miya let himself eat alone in someone else’s presence instead of convincing Keiji to eat was the last thing he could do to indicate that he no longer cared.

Despite the uneasy feeling dwelling deep inside his chest, Keiji let it sink. He let Miya’s munching sound fill the silence, the gap that slowly stretched out between them for the past month.

Keiji assumed it was alright, so long there was no spoken dispute to bring to the table, they were alright.

“I’m so going to punch someone,” Keiji cried, looking over his email once more and realized just how much the library needed fixing.

“That’s the fourth time ya said it today,” Miya remarked. Had it not been for his empty sounding words, Keiji would’ve laughed at how Miya kept counts. “And the third time this week you’ve skipped dinner.”

“Osamu, I will eat when I’m hungry,” Keiji said in a soft voice, fully believing his boyfriend was worth every reassurance.

“Sure,” Miya replied. Keiji noticed he’d finished his meals when he heard plates clinking and water trickling. “It’s not too late to back out, ya know.”

Keiji frowned at his boyfriend’s statement. Silence hung in the air, thickened it with tension when Keiji tried to make sense of Miya’s saying. It definitely wasn’t his first time implying that he didn’t like Keiji’s new job, but it was his first time saying it that way. It felt wrong. It prickled Keiji with invalidation as if Miya was nullifying his hard work.

Keiji didn’t fight tooth and nail to get a job as a fresh graduate only to get shit on, not when he didn’t make the cut for interviews and didn’t get callbacks after every interview that ignited his hope.

“I am not backing out from my responsibilities. I have a one year contract, just in case you forgot I’ve told you before.”

“And after that you’ll quit?”

“I’ll learn how to like my job by then.”

Coming to like his job was out of the question, but Keiji was sure he could learn how to live with it. He could learn how to bear with it if it meant stable finance was granted.

“Why not quit?” Miya asked. Water stopped trickling from the tap and silence was yet born again.

“Not everyone has the luxury to start a business like you, Osamu,” Keiji huffed, rubbing his temple as if it’d work to alleviate a headache coming his way. “I’m sure your restaurant keeps you busy already, so maybe you should try to get off my back.”

“What? I’m not tellin’ ya to quit and start a business, I’m sayin’ ya deserve better than this, Keiji. This isn’t where ya wanna be and ya know that!”

Keiji pursed his lips. Each time Miya opened his mouth, going on about what he thought was right or not for Keiji as if Keiji didn’t have his own mind and thoughts to battle, it only fueled his rage. 

What was wrong with his job now? Keiji was familiar with libraries and how they worked, knowing Fukurodani is famous for its library and Keiji spent his high school days there, if not on court.

It might give him a hard time for a while, it might give him restless nights of worry of adjusting, but it paid well. It gave Keiji reassurance that he could live without clinging to his parents or to Miya. His passion and peace of mind be damned.

“Well, then tell that to every publishing company I applied to and turn me and my novel down? You telling me this whole stuff is a discredit to my hard work,” Keiji snapped, exasperation bubbled inside him. He disliked his job enough, he didn’t need Miya to run his mouth about it. All Keiji wanted was support, and Miya couldn’t seem to give him even that. “This might not be where I wanna be, but I can live like this. I’m an adult perfectly capable of working a job that doesn’t line with my passion. You do you, doing what you love, but I didn’t get stressed out for months and stayed up late finding jobs only to be shit on like this.”

“Whoa, slow down. I am not shittin’ on ya or yer job,” Miya threw his hands up defensively. “I’m happy fer ya, I really am. I just think ya should take a leap after ya get this over with. Ya said ya wanna write, and ya showed every single piece of yer writings to me and I loved every one of them. Ya have the talent, Keiji. All ya need is an opportunity and there’s not one single day I’m hopin’ it’ll come yer way.”

“It’s not that easy,” Keiji said through his gritted teeth, rubbing his eyelids as he could feel his anger turning into tears. 

He had enough workload to deal with and arguing with Miya was the last thing he wanted. And if there was anything Keiji genuinely hated in his life, it was getting told off. He had always been regarded for his wits, his sensibility, and being told off, like this especially, made him feel like he’d made a very wrong decision in his life.

Silence settled between them. When Keiji thought it was the end of their dispute, another argument was invited when Miya silently said, “That’s the problem with ya.”

Keiji furrowed an eyebrow, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Yer always afraid to take the leap.”

“What do you mean?”

Miya contemplated for a moment. “Ya heard me, Keiji. If it wasn’t for yer fear, ya would’ve gone pro. Ya would’ve thrived with Bokkun instead of strugglin’ with findin’ jobs and all.”

Keiji had never been stabbed, but by the way his gut was twisting after every word that sounded like daggers coming out of Miya’s mouth, he decided it was the closest he could experience to getting stabbed.

Miya had a moment to contemplate, to think it through before serving his words right in front of Keiji, knowing it was his most fragile spot when Keiji could only say it in whispers, in the dim light of their bedroom, between sleep and soberness; that Keiji didn’t go pro because he was scared he couldn’t keep up with Bokuto. He was terrified. Yet there was always a tiny part of him that wished he’d gone pro. That wished he’d defied all fears believing he could and would keep up with his high school partner.

And now Miya was using his power of this knowledge to cut him open and tantalize him within every suffocating second that passed.

“Wow,” Keiji said, voice barely above a whisper. Tears stung his eyes at the sight of Miya’s impassive state after saying the words he himself knew to have cut deep.

When they started dating, Miya's Inarizaki teammates had always warned Keiji about how sharp Miya Osamu could be. That between him and Atsumu, he was the meaner twin. Keiji, too, had acknowledged this fact. It was pretty noticeable for someone who didn't open their mouth so often that Miya Osamu only said something so blatant sometimes it was painful, although there was a restriction to whom he said those words (which was mostly to his twin, and sometimes his friends when they were being stupid).

Now Keiji got the taste of Miya's recipe for being the meaner twin. He didn't like it one bit. It was only funny in unceremonious scenes and not directed at him.

“That's cruel," Keiji sniffed. Worry flashed across Miya's face for a split second, provoking Keiji to drop his act, but Keiji was just as stubborn and he didn't back out from any fight. Even perhaps including the one risking the love of his life for the sake of his ego. Keiji didn't know better, really. “Your nagging behavior's gotten this bad. It's beyond repair.”

“I'm not naggin'. Ya clearly neglect yer own wellbein' upon the stress this job put ya under. How am I supposed to ignore it? I love ya Keiji, I want what's beat fer ya.”

“Then stop running your mouth off! You keep going about how I deserve the best, but you can't even give me that. The least you could do is be there for me. Don't decide things for me, Osamu, please. This is getting so tiring.”

Keiji's voice came off desperate. The whisper in his words was what caused Miya's eyebrows to raise in resignation, arms unfolding as if to welcome Keiji there. Except Keiji didn't, and Miya didn't stretch his arms out for Keiji to fit in there.

“I'm sorry,” Miya said quietly. “I didn't know ya feel that way.”

Keiji could've nodded and resigned into Miya's waiting arms and talked some sense into him. He could've saved what was left of what was theirs, but the pent up frustration of having Miya's sentiment toward his job for the past month was only fueled. Set ablaze.

Against his better judgment, Keiji said, “Sure you didn't. You were too busy judging my life decisions.” And added, in a wet voice that had formed a sob (out of guilt or his remaining ache, Keiji didn't know), “If you weren't so judgmental, you wouldn't be second to your brother in everything.”

“What?”

Hurt painted all over Miya's face. Keiji had pulled the same card, bringing up Miya's weakest point. The secret they shared in the dark because it was too frail for the light to touch.

“All I'm saying is,” Keiji began, having shut his laptop completely, he couldn't hear the nonsense he himself was spitting. “If you were nicer, people would've liked you better.” Miya scrunched his face as if someone had wrung his heart, Keiji most likely. “People would've stopped comparing you to him.” Stop. Please stop. “Maybe you're also here because you're second to someone else I can't have.”

Through his tears, Keiji could see pain shot through Miya’s eyes, his jaw clenched shut it seemed to prevent whatever noise he was holding back. Keiji had pulled the same card, bringing up Miya’s weakest point, the thought that had always ruined him inside. The secret they shared in the dark because it was too frail for the light to touch.

Keiji had all the time in the world with the minute stretching out. He could’ve given his words some thought before laying them out in the open, but of course his ego chose to pull the final blow, adding insult to injury. “Like Bokuto-san.”

Fuck, he thought. A completely innocent person was dragged into this mess because his pride didn't want to lose on some petty argument. It was worse because Miya once thought the guy was his rival when Keiji didn't even harbor any romantic feeling towards the man.

“Yer lyin'.” Miya's sob finally broke out, and it stabbed him right where it hurt most. Even more hurt than it was before. The poison took a slow effect spreading through his body. Keiji had to look away to stop himself from breaking down and save Miya. “Tell me ya didn't mean it.”

The room was silent except for Miya's sobs against his own palms. Each time the mournful sound slipped out of his mouth, another wound cut open in Keiji's heart.

“I'm going to bed,” Keiji murmured, right when the corner of his eyes sensed Miya walking towards him.

Keiji went to their shared bedroom, ignoring the muffled, broken sobs from outside where Miya was sleeping and the one coming from his constricting lungs that no longer had space for his breath.

Miya was gone come morning, but there was breakfast on the kitchen island. Without a note. Without more effort to make it more than just representable. Without any indication that this was from Osamu for his Keiji. It was a plain breakfast.

Miya didn't come home for a week straight after that, God knows where he was staying, and when he finally did return on the weekend, he did to collect his stuff. There was no screaming or crying, but there was an ache of their awfully lack of urgency to pick up what was left and fix it.

“Ya changed,” Miya remarked. There was silence he put in the open for Keiji to reach and break. “Four years wasted just like that, huh?”

Maybe, would have worked. We can change for the better, Keiji should have said. I don't want you to leave, I'm sorry my ego got the best of me . That was how he should've broken it, how he should've put a stop to the constant stinging inside his chest, the pain stretching out before them.

Instead Keiji let it grow.

“That makes the two of us.”

Say something, Keiji wanted to say. Osamu, stay, when Miya slung a duffle bag over his shoulder. Let us fight for it and try again .

“Wonder why we even tried from the start.”

Miya snorted.

There was a definite goodbye, followed by a faint sniff. Keiji wasn't sure if it was Miya's or his.

Had Miya tried harder, or had Keiji been less prideful, it would've gone a bit like a movie; Keiji calling his name and stopping him halfway before running into his arms where Miya accepted him once more.

But it didn't. It went as bitter as reality could get.

The damage was beyond repair, and so they cut each other off their lives completely. If Miya had heard that Keiji still cried himself to sleep for facing the hardest year of his life, he didn't let on.

He shouldn't. 

-

Hisato no longer whined when Keiji was too busy to indulge him in his reading session. 

The boy didn’t go down without any attempt, obviously, pleading Akemi to get Keiji to no avail. Only after an overwhelming amount of rejection from Akemi then Hisato would be found lounging alone in the children’s area with some books he’d picked up from the shelves.

It had become a habit of his to check up on Hisato when there was a little left of his workload, usually after some late lunch. Keiji had promised to read to him, after all. Their meetings had formed two certain patterns: Keiji who would join Hisato in the reading space of the children's area, or Hisato who would join Keiji during lunch outside in the small space next to the library building, lined with benches and trees and drinking water faucets. A space Keiji wouldn’t consider as a garden, but quite functioned to be one.

That day Keiji found the two of them fell on the second pattern; sitting on one of the benches. The wind tickling the tips of Hisato’s dark hair made his curls sway in little dances, reminding Keiji of how his curls probably looked like out in nature.

“You’re reading me this one after you finish lunch,” Hisato’s voice came off as a request as he showed Keiji a book about a sleepover between friends. “Please.”

Keiji squinted his eyes at the title, and after a moment of chewing and gulping his food, he answered, “Sure, Hisato-kun. What books have you read while I wasn’t able to keep you company?”

“This one! This one!” Hisato bounced happily as he showed Keiji a book he’d finished reading. A full grin pushed his cheeks all the way to the edge, his little feet dangling off the bench for they were a few inches away from touching the ground.

Keiji couldn’t hide the smile that bloomed on his lips. He took the book from Hisato’s grip and figured out the title about some octopus owning a restaurant.

“This seems fun. What’s it about?”

“It’s about an octopus who owns a restaurant!” He exclaimed. “Everyone who visits his restaurant likes different things! It reminds me of my dad!”

The giggle that closed his sentence tickled Keiji’s heart to adore. At his enthusiasm, Keiji teased. “Why? Does your dad look like an octopus?”

Hisato scrunched his face, a smile still painted all over it. “No! It’s because my dad owns a restaurant, too!”

Oh .

Hisato’s remark managed to provoke the voice in the back of his mind yet again. Every crumb of information given his way sounded too familiar that, when the voice in the back of his mind tried to connect them all—Miya, restaurant, deep eyes—a lump rose up his throat it made him pack his lunch box with leftovers in it.

“Eh, are you done eating, Keiji-san?” Hisato tilted his head. “Is the food not good?”

“No, no, I’m just full.” Keiji gave him a reassuring smile. “Shall we get to it now, then?”

“Are you sure?” The boy asked again, this time his eyebrow furrow in worry and peculiarity, like he had just found out someone who did not finish his meal existed. “My dad always told me to finish my food.”

Keiji laughed at that, a small part in his brain kept trying to push him into assuming the worst at the clues that pointed toward a person too familiar.

He had been told that way too many times, too, back in college when he was swamped with assignments and no time to eat.

“Your dad is right,” he said, the lump remained there as he dictated his words. “I think I packed too much lunch that I feel full before I even finish it. This is a bad example, Hisato-kun. Always finish your meals, yeah?”

“Okay,” Hisato complied, snatching the previous book from Keiji’s hand and began reading. “It says that the octopus likes to cook for his guests. If the octopus wants to cook for you, what kind of food do you want, Keiji-san?”

Keiji blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. “Uh, any good food, I guess.”

“No,” Hisato cried hopelessly, and Keiji was almost afraid he had upset him in a way. “The whale likes pasta, the shrimp likes french fries, my dad likes onigiri, I like curry rice! What do you like, Keiji-san?”

“When you put it that way,” Keiji begins. “I like nanohana with mustard dressing best. But I also like onigiri and good ramen.”

“That is the correct answer!”

Hisato beamed, the way one had just found a newfound glee, and Keiji couldn’t help the urge to return his smile.

Keiji was bewitched. Each time Hisato showed a delightful expression, the growing fondness inside him only engulfed him slowly and whole. His hand stretched out, trembling in a way it wasn’t palpable, and when the tips of his fingers finally touched the fuzzy surface of Hisato’s dark hair, a wave of warmth came to him like a gentle sunshower washing his worry off him.

“Keiji-san, I like you! You’re so cool!” Hisato giggled, giving in to the affection Keiji was showering him with through the ruffle of his hair.

Keiji felt a bomb set off inside his chest. He was seconds away from exploding and the last thing he could do with his adoration was to smile, and smile, and smile until his mouth felt like it was on the verge of breaking. Until the voice in the back of his mind was silenced and whether Hisato was related to a Miya he knew or not did not matter anymore.

All that mattered was that Hisato found his company pleasing, and Keiji could read him a thousand bedtime tales if he asked.

-

Keiji squints his eyes, trying to absorb the information that the restaurant is reserved just for the three of them when the sign on the door is flipped to CLOSE . No restaurant around Osaka closes at seven in the evening, and as far as Keiji remembers from years ago, Onigiri Miya's initial closing time is at 10 p.m.

Unless something urgent comes up or the dinner is something Miya should consider extraordinary, Keiji gets why it closes that early.

His brain doesn't make space for questions, though. Not when he is welcomed by the flavorful smell of food that reminds him of the mix of everything his mom used to cook for him, and Hisato's happy jump when Keiji gets through the door.

“Welcome Keiji-san!” Hisato runs across the room, closing the gap between them before tugging on Keiji's jeans and dragging him towards the stool. “Dad's done with cooking!”

Keiji blinks. He thought he'd come early enough to help with some preparations (he ran home earlier after work, quickly showered and put on a hell lot of perfume), but Hisato was right. A feast is laid in front of him on the counter. Various—most of them are Keiji's favorites—food is served in big portions with vivid presentations that Keiji finds mouthwatering.

If there is one stance that hasn’t changed towards Miya; it’s his sentiment towards his cooking.

“Oh,” Keiji mutters, eyes grazing the feast in awe. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help.”

“I helped dad!” Hisato announces. There is enthusiasm in the still tone of his voice. “Did you bring some books, Keiji-san?”

Keiji pats the boy on his shoulder, following to sit beside him on the stool.

“‘S’fine, yer our guest, anyway. Shouldn’t make ya help around,” Miya replies, catching Keiji off guard at how composed he sounds.

Keiji mutters a thank you before getting back at Hisato’s question. “I didn’t. The books all belong to the library, so I can’t take any books home as I please.”

Hisato nods in cognizance, regret looming over his face. “That’s why dad got in trouble because I didn’t return the books as I promised?”

“You didn’t, Hisato-kun.”

“Hey, big guy, ya didn’t get me in trouble,” Miya chimes in. “Ya just forgot to return it on time cause ya went to granny’s over the weekend. Everyone does that.”

Keiji agrees, giving Hisato’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

When he finds Miya’s eyes across the counter, there is a look Keiji knows so well to call fondness; a look Keiji received when he reached another milestone in life, a look Miya gave in the stillness of the moment, absorbed in the comfort they shared together, when Keiji wasn’t looking.

A brazen smile slides on Miya’s face when Keiji quickly averts his gaze, fully knowing his heart is at stake. Any second longer his eyes train on Miya, Keiji is sure his heart will start to race at full speed.

Yet, Keiji thought he was immune to whatever stunt Miya is pulling when his presence alone is enough to distract him from his own thoughts and drown him in memories. Miya’s habit of serving people with their favorite dishes seems like a distant familiarity that Keiji can’t quite reach.

“Please enjoy the food,” Miya humbly requests. 

Their hands quietly ghost over each other’s when Miya hands him a plate of nanohana, followed by a bowl of miso soup. There’s a burning feeling on his face, reaching out to his hand that Keiji soon retracts it from their almost contact.

When does Keiji not enjoy the food that Miya cooks?

“Keiji-san,” Hisato calls. There’s a tug at the cuff of his shirt that matches the gentle tug at his heart. “What do you wanna eat first?”

“Yer gonna eat what Akaashi-san eats first?” Miya asks, comfortably settling beside Hisato as if the presence of his past has not once made him waver.

“He’s our guest, dad,” Hisato explains. “We have to respect the guest by serving them what they wanna eat first.”

Proud looks good on Miya’s face, mixed with affection for his son. He then turns to Keiji, signaling him to decide what they’re going to have first for dinner. 

The smell of ramen broth permeates strongly through the air. It sure is tempting, but since he can’t spot the bowls of ramen on the table, Keiji guesses it's a made-to-order kind of thing. And having Miya get up to get it ready seems like a hassle now that he's already comfortable in his seat. Keiji decides, out of consideration and nostalgia, that he should stick with Onigiri Miya’s brand.

“The onigiri seems mouthwatering,” says Keiji.

Hisato cheers. Miya offers him a knowing smile as they say their thanks and begin to eat.

The first bite of onigiri almost has Keiji in tears. The filling melts inside his mouth and it tastes too much like home. It’s warm. It’s welcoming. Keiji feels like coming home after a long period of homesickness he doesn’t know he’s experienced.

Keiji almost sniffs, catching the attention of the other two who immediately pay close attention to him as if he has something to complain about the food.

“Ya alright?” Miya asks.

Hisato looks at him with wide eyes, but there is an implicit question that his father has just vocalized. So, Keiji nods.

If someone, the voice in the back of his mind specifically, told him that Hisato is indeed Miya Osamu’s son a week ago, Keiji would’ve straight up denied that. But now that he’s sitting right next to them, Keiji notices the uncanny resemblance Hisato has with Miya other than their mere appearance.

With the way their cheeks puff with food and mind fully immersed in the flavor of dishes they devour, Keiji can tell that Hisato shares the same love for food as his father. There is gratitude in their silence, appreciation in every bite, and eating is no longer merely eating. It’s an act of intimacy, grand and sacred in all its glory.

Keiji is well accustomed to this atmosphere. Four years of relationship spent mostly on meals without any conversation allowed before the palate is satisfied with the taste of the food they devour.

Hisato is the exact copy-carbon of his father, and Keiji couldn’t think of a better son Miya would have.

“Isn’t the food yummy, Keiji-san?” Asks Hisato halfway through their meal. 

There is a hint of pride in his tone, sounding the same the way Miya looked a few moments ago. It’s another thing they have in semblance, Keiji guesses.

“Absolutely,” Keiji says. Miya trains his eyes on him, and Keiji knows he’s expecting more of his words. More from someone who hasn’t had his food in years. God, Keiji feels like crying more than he likes to admit. With an abashed voice, he adds, “Still tastes the same…. it’s great.”

Keiji doesn't know what kind of reaction he's expecting; but throughout their encounter, Keiji always feels like he's being torn apart, going crisis after crisis, building walls after walls, yet Miya always has his act together. Keiji should give him credit for it, really, despite Miya's composure looking like a mockery to him.

“Thank you,” Miya replies, completely calm.

Keiji almost sighs and Miya catches that slight disappointment. Miya almost asks why had Hisato not butted in to save the day, “What filling is your favorite?”

“Oh,” Keiji murmurs, ire dispersed completely. “Umeboshi is my favorite, but I also like tuna mayo. What about you, Hisato-kun?”

“Oh! I like tuna mayo the most, too!” Hisato says with a wide grin.

The rest of dinner goes perfectly fine. Keiji is grateful there is no space that allows him to build a conversation with Miya when Hisato is filling him in about his school life and days he hasn’t visited the library. 

Despite his cold exterior, Hisato is easy to talk to. He doesn’t need a lot of push especially now that the topic has gone from how he forgot to return the books to the library because he was too ecstatic to visit his grandparents to how he is staying with Miya because his mother is getting busy. There is a hint of sadness in the way Hisato talks, and Keiji doesn’t miss the way Miya’s face dejects when Hisato is getting more forward.

“Ma is going away soon,” Hisato wraps up, making Keiji flinch at the sudden influx of information.

The boy raves about his day a few more minutes before his babbling reduces into non-committal noises. He leans closer to Keiji until his head finds Keiji’s arm in comfort. Soon enough Hisato’s breath becomes stable, his small body remains still in Keiji’s awkward arm. The boy has fallen asleep not long after stomaching a small portion of ramen.

“Is he asleep?” Miya asks when the chatter dies down.

Keiji looks up stiffly, afraid that the slightest movement will cause Hisato to stir in his sleep. “Yes, uh, will he be comfortable like this?”

Miya answers by getting up, his hands reach out over Hisato’s body to support his weight before carrying his son on his shoulder. It all seems done in a swift motion, like a muscle memory that Miya’s body remembers because it happens way too many times.

“I’ve got a bed next to the storage room upstairs, please wait a bit.”

Keiji takes that as a cue for him to start cleaning up now that they all have finished dinner. He tries to ignore the knot in his stomach at how this, too, seems like a muscle memory he thought he's forgotten; cleaning up after Miya making him food. Although it has nothing to do with their habit and more of a basic decency after Miya invited him to dinner.

“Hey, what're ya doin'?” Miya's voice jolts through him, pulling him out of his reverie as the clinking of plates register in his mind.

“Washing dishes,” Keiji answers coldly.

Keiji's tensing body betrays his voice when Miya slides beside him and starts rinsing the dishes. The walls he built aren't high enough. Every friction has him inhale sharply at the warmth Miya body brings him whenever their shoulders touch and their arms brush.

“Ya didn't have to do it,” Miya says. 

Keiji almost replies instantly about how it will be insensitive of him to not help around the host's place; and how Miya clearly didn't need to close the restaurant early just because he's coming, but then Miya beats him to it, saying in a quiet voice, “Thanks fer comin', Sato looked really happy with ya around.”

“My pleasure,” Keiji says, glancing at him to find a smile ghosting on his lips. There's a childish part of him that wants to wreck it, wants to see him falter, wants to see if their parting ruined him as much as it did Keiji. Despite himself, he continues, “Hisato-kun is a nice kid. He's…. the spitting image of you.”

“Yeah?” If Keiji doesn't know better, he'll think Miya is teasing him right now. “I'm guessing it was easy to tell when ya first met him.”

A light shiver runs down his spine. Miya guesses it correctly, but he doesn't need to know that. Keiji doesn't want to feed his ego by making him think that the first time Keiji thought of when he saw Hisato was him.

Keiji shrugs. “Couldn't tell right away by his curls and better manner.”

“Ouch.” Miya places his hand over his chest. The laughter bubbles inside him finally breaks out and Keiji has to bite a smile. “Still blows my mind how Sato found ya and became close to ya, though.” 

It still blows my mind too, Keiji thinks. 

“When did you move to Osaka?”

“Two years ago.”

Keiji wants to ask the same. When did he settle in Osaka? Did he stay longer in Tokyo after they broke up? Or did he go straight to his hometown, leaving the Tokyo business to someone else? Where did you exactly meet Hisato's mother?  

But he has no right to pry.

Miya nods, rinsing the last plate as Keiji dries his hand. He probably needs to grab some beer on the way home. 

“Thanks fer comin',” Miya says again. 

Keiji rolls his eyes. “You've said it twice now.”

“Yeah, well, I'm really grateful, seriously.” Miya pinches his nose, and Keiji slowly sees the way his guard lowers, poking his heart to beat faster. “Ya want some drink?”

In his mind, Keiji calculates the possible outcome this drinking session has in store for them, and each one of them isn't a good idea. Being with Miya alone is a terrible idea. He didn't foresee this since he knew there would be Hisato around.

Keiji looks up at Miya's hopeful eyes, already grabbing some beers from the fridge. The countenance on his face resembles Hisato's when he first asked Keiji to read him stories. Keiji can't imagine how he's seeing it worn on an adult who's trying to get him to drink.

“We probably shouldn't, Miya-san.”

“Come on,” Miya cries, deft hands opening the can and slides the other one over the counter to Keiji. “Drop the honorifics, will ya? There're three Miyas now, how're ya gonna keep calling me by my last name?”

Keiji glares at him in both disbelief and challenge, which Miya accepts because he still holds his gaze until Keiji tears it apart.

“I call Hisato-kun by his given name,” Keiji says, accepting the beer. He wonders if Miya was the one who gave Hisato that name. “I'm no longer acquainted with your brother.” Keiji opens the can, taking the first sip like it's water. “That leaves me with you. I can call you Miya and not confuse you with other Miyas in your family.”

Miya props his chin with his palm, and Keiji has only realized he's been staring at him ever since he drifted his gaze away moments ago. A smile plastered on his face, and Keiji knows better than to indulge him, but he stays. He stays not knowing what he's expecting. He stays despite his head telling him to run, run, run, don't make the same mistake.

But he can't. He's glued to his seat beside Miya, drinking his appearance—soft smile playing his lips, grey eyes as still as the moonlight emitting light on all his gaze, body built over the years with muscles and hard work—as if it fills himself in for the years he was an absentee in his life. And Keiji feels his heart sting, but he's lucky to have a beer in his hand.

They say people talk about something they avoid over beer. If this is going to turn into another argument, Keiji has nothing to lose.

“Cold,” Miya comments, a smirk now plays over his lips as he takes another drink. “Tsumu will be hurt hearin' this. He thought he was yer best friend.”

“As if,” Keiji remarks playfully. Their knees touch, but Keiji is too dizzy to care when they're on their third cans of beer.

“Do ya still write?” Miya begins and he almost looks alarmed when Keiji throws daggers in his direction. He raises his hands quickly. “No, no, forget it. No policing over yer life, I apologize.”

“Whatever, doesn't matter. It's not like we- we're still in each other's life anymore.” Keiji shakes his head, chugging the rest of his drink down. He's certain he'll get a throbbing headache by the morning.

“Yeah,” Miya agrees, and although Keiji's the one who suggests that idea, he doesn't want to hear it coming from Miya's mouth. “Yeah, you're right.”

Another sting tugs inside his chest. Every time they're together, there's a new cut deep slashing his heart. Keiji doesn't know which is worse: falling easily into conversation with Miya, or having his wound open again like it's fresh.

Words are no longer convenient for the rest of the night. It's spent in silence, which Keiji supposes to find unsettling, but it turns out to be easy.

Being alone with Miya should pass as a conundrum. Instead, Keiji finds the company of the man who left him in ruins to be comfortable. Despite the pieces of years they've missed out on each other, the easiness that comes with his presence, past the scars and memories, makes Keiji think he's going to fall down the same, endless rabbit hole.

-

“What?!”

Keiji had to close his ears when a squeal ripped through the air, a moment after Keiji had finished his final draft of his so-called mystery fiction.

The look of disbelief Miya displayed was exactly what Keiji was hoping for. It was what he lived off from people who had read or heard his stories. He did enjoy the grief and devastation people showed—he read it in the comment section on his blog, saw the blood run from Miya’s face, and some of his closest friends’ desperate sigh—whenever he put a mind blowing twist in his story.

Contrary to Miya’s gaping mouth, Keiji formed a triumphant smile on his face.

“You gotta be kidding me? There’s no way the detective died and no one found out about it?” Miya demanded. He was close to tearing his hair out.

“It was pretty obvious!” Keiji reasoned, reaching for Miya’s distressed face. “I kept hinting that he missed some clues to figure out his coworker is the actual villain.”

Miya shook his head, still unaccepting of the ending Keiji chose to write, but he didn’t refuse the hands that cradled his face in a warm embrace. Miya leaned in, kissing the palm of Keiji’s hand before his gaze rested on Keiji’s face, tender as it could ever get. Right then, he was probably considering whether to sulk at him for betraying his trust, or to shower him with kisses because that was how wonderful Keiji was.

“Yer fuckin’ amazin’,” Miya whispered, resigning to the gentleness his heart chose for Keiji, like he always did.

A pair of hands snaked around Keiji’s waist as he searched Keiji’s eyes for any sign of playful mockery that was usually to come, but what he found was Keiji's blue eyes thawing at his words instead. 

“I love ya,” Miya said quietly, but his words were still stern and soft at the same time. Keiji felt warmth rush to his entire body that he could melt at Miya’s words. He could melt into Miya’s embrace and never be his own person again. “I love ya so much.”

“Mhm,” Keiji hummed, cheeks burning at Miya’s resilient gaze, but he didn’t back out. He let himself drown in the sight of Miya breathing in slow motion, eyes landing on Keiji’s lips. “I love you too.”

“I wanna spend the rest of my life with ya, Keiji.” At Miya’s confession, Keiji was at a loss for words, but his softened face made it all up. “Let’s have some kids for real in the future. One boy and one girl like you always want, right?”

Keiji let out a shaky laugh as Miya wiped the tears pooling in his eyes. “Where did this come from now?”

Miya closed the distance between them, granting the feelings he had harbored condensed in a fervor kiss. He wasn’t as good as Keiji with words, but he believed this way could convey the larger than life love he couldn’t put into a string of pretty sentences to convey Keiji that this was love. That he loved him, sincerely, vehemently. And he meant every word he said.

-

On his way home that Saturday, Miya goes out of his way to give him a ride to his place, which Keiji accepts after a series of quarrel consisting of Miya insisting it’s a payback after looking after Hisato for the whole day and Keiji resisting that it’s not big of a deal. He’d rather go through the inconvenient influx of people in the subway instead of having Miya drive him home. Really, it’s not the first time Miya does this, and every time, he always gets Keiji to talk as if they’re friends. They’re not. And Keiji doesn’t want to fall back to the old habit of having Miya around and thinks it’s comfortable.

Eventually, Keiji finds himself in the front passenger seat of Miya’s car, fiddling with his own fingers as his thoughts clouding him in endless layers. Hisato is in the backseat already sleeping, and Keiji doesn’t know how to handle renewed silence without the boy’s babbling. It doesn’t help pulling him out from the deja vu that hits him like a huge meteor does earth.

The corner of his eyes tails on Miya driving beside him, his calm demeanor contrasts Keiji’s brewing storm in his mind, tracing back as far as to where Miya had driven him around for the first time in his dad’s car when Keiji first visited Hyogo. Miya was only twenty back then, boyish smile and chubby cheeks still framing his face while he teased Keiji endlessly because the latter was red at the sight of him driving. A hand on his knee, on Keiji’s seat while parking, holding Keiji’s when they passed an empty street.

Keiji used to think that Miya did it for the sake of looking cool, but nine years later now, streetlights falling on Miya and refining the sharp lines of his face, he may have realized that Miya doesn’t do things to look cool. Never tries hard to look cool. He just has the charm to pull Keiji to the same spot over and over again. And Keiji doesn’t have the power to resist him.

“Somethin’ on yer mind?” 

Keiji’s fingers stop altogether, hand reaching to fix his perfectly sat glasses on the bridge of his nose. Perceptive as always, Keiji thinks.

“Nothing you should worry about.”

Miya hums. Keiji knows that he’s letting the silence grow on purpose. It’s an indication, a request, an appeal for him to keep talking because Miya knows for a fact that a lot clouds his mind. Whether it’s worrying for him or not is up to Miya’s interpretation (and Miya will always worry for him).

The weight of a lie burdens Keiji’s heart. Saying it’s nothing for Miya to worry about is clearly a lie when, other than trying to get rid of thoughts about Miya, the recollection of Hisato’s fleeting forlorn on his face is what’s making him restless.

“You will still play with me, right, Keiji-san?” Hisato asked earlier when they were playing catch. Keiji knitted his eyebrows. “Ma is really going away, so I will be with dad all the time and dad is always busy.”

Keiji had no idea what this going away was about, and didn’t dare to ask despite Hisato having brought it up twice now. It was something to be established within Hisato, his mother, and Miya. It wasn’t Keiji’s right to intrude, but if the aftermath was to take a toll on the kid, he wouldn’t mind doing everything in his power to make him feel better.

“I’ll make time for you, Hisato-kun.”

Hisato beamed, and for the rest of the day he didn’t let go of Keiji’s hand when he treated him to all kinds of sweets.

“Make sure Hisato-kun brushes his teeth later. I gave him way too many sweets,” Keiji notes eventually, trying to rake his brain to find a way to bring this up. “Let Hisato-kun know he’s welcome to the library anytime.”

“Oh?” Miya turns to Keiji for a split second, his eyebrows raised in bewilderment. “But why? I mean, Sato's gonna keep comin' to the library anyway.”

Words are stuck on the tip of his tongue. Keiji wonders if it's alright to tell him that Hisato looked rather lonely earlier, or will it be the cause of unending worry for his father?

Being with Miya, as easy as it is, also feels like getting to know someone new and tiptoeing around boundaries because he doesn't want to be offensive.

“Akaashi,” Miya enunciates. “Did he do something wrong today? Did he trouble ya?”

“No, no, it's totally nothing like that!”

“Then, what is it? If there's something concernin' about my son, I would rather ya tell me.”

Keiji tries to form a coherent sentence word by word, and Miya with his understanding is allowing the silence to grow for Keiji to think. He doesn't prod. He knows not to prod.

This level of perception should terrify him, should convince him enough to catalogue this gesture as a weapon to use against him, like Miya did before. Instead, it calms Keiji, and God, is that much more dangerous.

“Well, I'm sorry if I'm crossing the line, but I just think that Hisato-kun looked - how do i put it - crestfallen?” Keiji rambles, the two of them glance at Hisato in the backseat who is deep in his slumber. “He- he was bringing up his mother, and that he's going to be lonely because she’s leaving and you're busy. Hence I said he can come to the library anytime.”

Miya chuckles, distress etches in his voice, and for a second Keiji thinks he shouldn’t have said anything. “Yeah. Sato lives with me but he manages a good relationship with his mom, too. Spends a ton of time with her, so it makes sense that he’s sad 'bout her movin' abroad when I'm always busy in the shops.”

Keiji’s mind registers the words in slow motion, like watching the credits roll after a movie, but it makes sense in the end. It does make sense although there’s a bizarre feeling in his gut about Miya mentioning Hisato’s mother.

It shouldn’t stir him like that. Keiji doesn’t even know the mother, but something about his cluelessness builds a dozen different versions of her inside his head. How she met Miya in the first place, and if their relationship is purely co-parenting or if it's borderline affectionate, and how she spends her time with Hisato, and why she isn’t taking Hisato with her although Keiji is most grateful for that.

His fingers find their way picking on the dead skin around his nails. He doesn’t need to know any of those information to maintain a good bond with Hisato.

For a moment, the hum of the machine and Hisato’s steady breathing are what fill the car until Keiji’s voice breaks the air with a little, “Oh.” He clears his throat to add, “I mean, I’m pretty sure Hisato-kun doesn’t mind, but he’ll love spending some time with you.”

“I’ll take note of that,” Miya says wistfully. “I really should take a break and spend more time with him.”

The silence floats back in the air. It’s inevitable with Miya, comfortable or not, and Keiji’s got his message across, so the need to intrude is no longer. At least, Miya knows how his son is feeling and is willing to fix it for his sake.

Keiji shifts in his seat, rubbing his eyelids out of fatigue that’s only creeping up to him now. Keiji spends half day in the library on Saturdays, and this particular Saturday he took Hisato to the park upon his own request. The muscles of his back feel much more tense than when he was at the park, and maybe this is what old age does to people.

“D’ya wanna come have lunch with us tomorrow?” Miya says out of nowhere, making Keiji drop his hand and squint at the former.

Since when do they become friends who casually hang out?

Their relationship is limited to professional scope, at least that’s what Keiji thinks, and they should keep it that way. Any meeting that doesn’t involve Hisato or his wish should not happen in any way. Miya cannot be the one to initiate it.

“No, thanks,” Keiji murmurs, the courtesy in him feels bad for turning down a kind offer. “I don’t think we’re close enough to do that.”

Miya snorts funnily, eyeing Keiji with an amused look. The dim light of the night only makes him more villainous.  “Really, now? We had dinner together and we- we have a past.”

“That doesn’t count,” Keiji says curtly.

The sharp inhale of Keiji’s breath emphasizes that the topic is off limits. None of them dared to touch it until Miya did right now.

The look Miya is sporting now is a careful, calculating one. It’s weird to see that on him when Keiji has always been the one to do the careful approach, but he guesses there has been different perspectives between them, and Miya only gets it now.

“Can we be friends, then?”

Keiji feels like he’s just swallowed a bitter pill, like he’s watched a brain-wrecking movie that has only dawned on him days later, like going back to his apartment after a long weekend at home only to feel homesick later.

Six years have passed with the two of them being completely out of the loop in each other's life. Keiji has never heard anything about Miya once he moved out—shutting him out in any way he could, because if that's what Miya wanted by leaving, Keiji could play along—neither did Miya hear about him, most likely.

Their breakup is as cruel as it could get and it's nothing to be fixed after more than half a decade.

After all, the shit they put each other through is something Miya has left him with, something that scars him and something Miya will always remind him of. Keiji doesn't want to walk the same road twice. Not when he knows where this will end. Not with Hisato here where he can easily be inflicted by the ugly and painful thing the adults can embrace.

“I don't think we should, Miya-san. We can still be civil to each other without being friends.”

Miya swallows, the crease on his forehead matches the confusion running across his eyes. “Why? Is it so wrong for us to be friends?”

The tone in his voice remains indifferent. Keiji was used to Miya talking in a sweet, loving tone to him, that despite knowing how unaffected he can be, it settles a void in him.

There's no way someone in their right mind would say it out loud after leaving each other behind with a deep scar to tend to. Deep scar that still feels fresh even until today.

“We've been nonexistent to each other until a few months ago and you suddenly wanna be with me,” Keiji mutters, bitterness fills his voice as Miya traces his every word with carefulness. “Six years. Six years since you've left and now you suddenly wanna have something to do with me?”

“Akaashi, I don’t think-”

“No, Osamu! You can't just show up with a son after six years and want something from me!”

“Akaashi, lemme-”

“Do you think this is a joke? Do you think we both have healed to build a new friendship when we were practically strangers who have hurt each other?”

“Keiji.”

Keiji's angry rambles subside into a sob, the flame inside his chest is tangible. It’s burning him down to ashes. 

He feels his cheeks hot with tears and Miya has pulled over to the side road. One turn and a few blocks again, there is a building which Keiji resides in. He can get out and walk away, but he’s too busy crying to even notice Miya’s hand on his knee, sending an ecstasy of nostalgia, sending comfort.

Keiji wishes he flinched or pulled away from Miya’s touch, but he doesn’t. He bears it well. The touch feels like a gentle sunshine a few moments before the sun sets; the time Keiji gets off work and longs to be home.

“No. Please, no,” Keiji murmurs, his face rests on the heel of his hands, and Miya retracts his hand from Keiji's knee.

“Do ya hate me that much?”

Keiji almost immediately looks up, face with tears he quickly wipes away when his mind makes out the agony in his voice. Still he only dares to fix his gaze on Miya after a little while, with only so much courage.

Hate? Yeah. Keiji is fairly certain there are a hundred things that make him hate Miya, from the moment he left, to the unbearable little habits that build up to be an obnoxious amount of bad emotions. For the most part, Keiji hates that he faced the hardest year in his life, adapting with work and whatnot was a hassle, and Miya wasn’t there to welcome him each day he came home.

It felt like the very foundation of his life had crumbled, and so the rest of him fell down like dominos.

“And if I do?”

Miya’s jaw clenches for a fleeting second. His face winced in pain the way it did that night he left.

Keiji bites the inside of his cheeks. What a hypocrite he is, he thinks, to not desire making the same mistake, but keeps doing it in different ways. Stop it.

“I’m sorry.” The apology comes as a hushed sound in an empty neighborhood. Hisato stirs only for a moment. He’s unbothered in his subconsciousness. “I- I can’t even put it to words how much I’ve hurt ya.” An abashed smile paints across his face the same time pain follows. “I get that I don’t deserve yer forgiveness. But, damn, thought I’d at least ask.”

“You don’t look like someone who’d be bothered with our being friends or not judging by the way you behave,” Keiji states. “You said that you hurt me, but didn’t I hurt you, too? Why do you take it like my words didn't even scratch you?”

“Keiji,” Miya begins, and Keiji, now in his right mind, fully sober, has no objection to Miya calling him by his given name while his eyes pierce him in the gentlest way. “I hafta let the painful things go to keep goin’. Can’t stick with them when I have another life to look after fer the rest of my life, so, I’m doin’ it fer him. And it may not seem like it, Hisato may not even see it, but ever since he was born, he became the center of my world. I’ll do everything if it means he’ll get to live a comfortable life. It’s always fer him or else I would’ve gone mad, Keiji.” 

Keiji bites the inside of his cheeks. Excluding Hisato in Miya’s consideration of his decisions makes Keiji feel selfish, and something inside him wants to scream that Hisato must surely feel his love when all he talks about is his dad, but Keiji can’t just accept Miya’s sudden request. He’s not even sure he can handle having Miya in his life for one more time. 

“And you think us being friends will help Hisato-kun achieve that comfortable life?”

“He likes ya,” Miya states. Keiji feels his heart swell with warmth, with mindless hope that he can contribute to Hisato’s happiness and life when he can’t even look at his father’s face without hurting. “Can’t stop runnin’ his mouth about this glasses guy who reads to him everyday, and knowin’ it’s ya gives me a huge relief, because I don’t let people easily come and go in his life, but I know ya.” Miya pauses, his fingers drum on the steering wheel. “And I thought if I wanna start over with ya, I’d at least ask the favor of being your friend again.”

“Starting over won’t do any of us good. Not you, not me, not Hisato-kun, clearly.”

“Can ya just give us another chance?”

“We don’t deserve another chance.”

The sigh ghosting over Miya’s lips tells how taken aback he is. Keiji can see that Miya is holding it together much better than their last blow, and if it’s wrecking him as much as it does Keiji, the latter is starting to think if his response is valid at all.

Then again, nothing good can come out of two bruised people tending to each other in hopes for a different ending.

“Rereading the same book won’t change the ending, Osamu,” Keiji mumbles. He recognizes the longing in Miya’s eyes when he sees Keiji’s deep shade of blue eyes pool with tears. A small part of him wishes to launch himself in Miya’s arms. “And I don’t wanna read the same book if I can guess the ending.”

“It doesn’t have to end the same way.”

“It will.”

“Why’re ya always scared of taking the leap?”

The words are logged as a set of weapons in his mind. Keiji hates those words after Miya told him that in their last fight that led to their fallout. But then when he tries to open his mouth, nothing comes out. No words to fight back. Not a single sob. Not a mournful cry. All Keiji manages to do is gape.

And perhaps the question has opened the part in him he’s never dared to look at.

Keiji has the tendency to stick with his responsibility, thinking no one else could do it better than him. He tends to secure the same spot even if it means going against what he really wants, discarding the big dreams and desires he once had because Keiji believes it’s all he can do. He believes he’s not meant for big things, so he stays.

And Keiji hates failing more than anything. It’s only natural he avoids any possibility of failing even before crossing the start line.

So, yeah, Miya is right. For the first time, Keiji doesn’t spite what he’s said.

Keiji wants too much that he can’t see himself fail to obtain what he wants.

“Take the leap with me, Keiji,” Miya says quietly.

If it were any other day in any other circumstances, Keiji is certain he would have said yes. But his heart is heavy with guilt as it is with want. It’s not only full of indignation he feels towards Miya, but also the resentment he feels for himself; for wanting so much, for wanting Miya after all these years upon knowing they were mean to each other.

“I know we’ve done ugly things to each other, but let’s fix it,” he adds. His hand subtly reaches out to pat Keiji to no avail. “Or, we can throw the past away and start anew, see it yerself how this one’s gonna end. We can have a different book with the same characters, right?”

In the backseat, Hisato stirs once more. The adults glance over to find his eyes flutter open, and delight fills him when he spots Keiji in the passenger seat despite the sleep not completely washed away from him.

Keiji smiles at the boy, quickly wiping the tears away from his cheeks before Hisato drifts back to sleep, probably thinking it’s one of his dreams.

He then looks at Miya and sees a man, mature and healed and kinder and longs for him, a man he admittedly still wants to hold at the end of a bad day, any day.

He is everything Keiji is not.

While Miya grows and flourishes with his business, Keiji is stuck with his first job—thinking it’s what suits him the most—and a heart that he assumes needs a tending.

The light on Miya’s face dims. It defines his features and kills the hope in his eyes altogether. They wither, the corners of his mouth dragged down in a frown when Keiji shakes his head—

“I’m sorry, Osamu, I don’t think I can do this. Thank you for the ride.”

—and runs out of the car, taking a shortcut so Miya can’t follow while ignoring the soft calls of Keiji, Keiji, Keiji .

Keiji can’t bear to hear his voice filled with longing and sorrow.

After seeing Miya lower his guards and guide him as far as his door, and even let him in, Keiji thinks that he can’t risk a second goodbye with him. It will mean a goodbye with Hisato, too, and Keiji can’t stomach that thought.

The years without Keiji have shaped him so tender yet strong. He’s been fine without him, the light in his eyes are still warm without meaning to blind.

Keiji looked at Miya and saw a man so familiar he almost felt distant. 

His hands can only stretch so long he is certain he will never reach him. Will never take Miya’s hand and lead a life they both dreamed of when they were twenty two and stupid, twenty two with so much dreams. Dreams which Keiji still holds onto now he’s introduced to the existence of Hisato, and the longing of the man from his past he’d once loved more than life itself.

Keiji wants so much, so much that he can only run in circles without any courage to go past that. Let him be stuck then, dreams and desires be damned. His fear is way too great it prompted him to run from the alternate ending he’s always wished for. Let him run in circles and go home with tears streaming down his cheeks, with a heart too heavy that he doesn’t know any way to handle it besides running away.

By the time he sleeps, tears still stain his pillows, the thought of losing two Miyas that root in his heart haunts him like cryptids in old forests.

When Monday comes, he won’t know how to face Hisato, or if he will face him at all.