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It’s quiet tonight.
They sit at the worn dining table that Osamu owns, the surface littered with scratches, the self-made nicks and grooves in the wood a gentle reminder of how well-used the table is. There are a few curling pieces of wood peeling at the edges but Osamu doesn’t have the heart to part with his table. It’s just as loved as most of his dishes, most of the furniture in the apartment, considerably just as much as the person sitting across from him.
“Keiji.”
A quiet hum is the response.
He’s too busy eating, Osamu thinks, bristling a little in pride.
He stares, amused eyes trailing slowly over the slopes of soft cheeks, the tip of a nose, the flash of pretty blue-grey as the beautiful man in front of him enjoys the dinner Osamu lovingly prepared.
Somewhere along the way, his mouth goes dry as he observes the way Keiji eats, who sighs in contentment as he chews and savors each piece of tonkatsu and every morsel of rice.
It only makes his newfound decision more important.
“Keiji.” He tries again, receiving a better response this time as Keiji stops mid-chew to flick those alluring eyes up to look at Osamu. His heart does a small flip in his chest as they hold gazes. He feels seen — too seen — but barrels past the feeling with a nervous smile and a soft huff.
He reaches across the table, fingers wrapping around a slim wrist, relishing the warmth it provides. Keiji doesn’t waste time exchanging his wrist for lithe fingers, their hands intertwining in familiarity. Osamu gently runs his thumb over Keiji’s knuckles, finding comfort to finally ask the question plaguing him these past few days.
“Move in with me?”
Keiji stills, eyes widening a fraction as he stares at Osamu. He holds his breath, watches for the minuscule movements as Keiji processes. An eyebrow twitches. A nose scrunches. Pink lips draw up into a frown, and confusion settles over Keiji’s expression as he leans forward, utensils forgotten at the edge of his plate.
His expression has Osamu sweating in his seat and he resorts to scratching the skin behind his ear just to break eye contact. Instant regret washes over him, a thick blanket of weight on his shoulders, and he realizes popping this question in the middle of dinner wasn’t the best of ideas.
“Ah— I mean— If ya want to. Ya don’t have to answer right now. Take all the time ya need, y’know? Shit. Actually, uh. Just, um, forgot I said anything.” He stumbles to find the right words, face feeling abnormally hot as he attempts to save the previously calm atmosphere.
Keiji’s expression hasn’t changed. If anything, it’s darkened in intensity, and Osamu feels the itching need to cower under the heavy gaze. He reaches for his drink instead, desperately taking large gulps to relieve his dry throat and distract himself from the growing dread etching itself within his chest.
An absolutely terrible idea, asking your boyfriend to move in with you. 10/10 would not recommend. Keiji obviously wasn’t ready and didn’t know how to respond to the question. He put him on the spot, without a care for the repercussions. He’ll have to kick Atsumu’s ass next time he sees him, for planting such an idea in his willing head in the first place.
After an agonizing eternity of waiting, Keiji finally reacts by slumping back in his seat, expression smoothing out in a small, secretive smile as if he has something to hide.
Osamu’s heart leaps into his throat, and he clutches onto his glass of water with the strength of a man who’s about to receive devastating news. Keiji’s opening his mouth, eyebrows scrunched together in that cute way whenever he’s carefully choosing his words. He takes another long sip from his drink, bracing himself for impact.
“I thought I already had?” Keiji speaks softly and Osamu chokes on water.
It takes several minutes of hacking, Keiji rubbing soothing circles into his back, and a towel to clean up the mess he makes. It’s embarrassing, but Keiji doesn’t seem to mind, retrieving a towel that Osamu doesn’t remember purchasing and placing a new mug in front of him, little owls decorating the ceramic surface.
“Whaddya mean, ya already had?” He wheezes, lungs still recovering. Keiji looks at him, arms crossed and one brow arched in a quizzical manner as he leans against the table.
“Exactly what it sounds like.” He provides earnestly, much to Osamu’s dismay. Head reeling, he turns away to survey the room they’re in. Everything looks the same, as far as he can tell. The only difference is the little fragrance plug that’s sitting in an outlet to his right. He remembers the day Keiji plugged it in, commenting on how the constant smell of food needed to meet its match.
The towel he’s using suddenly feels heavy in his hands, the blue color contrasting with his linen collection of greys and beiges. Osamu stares unseeingly at the towel before standing abruptly, much to his and Keiji’s surprise. He’s walking briskly through his own home before he realizes what he’s doing.
He’s looking for something, but it’s unclear what this something is.
The trip around the apartment provides some clarity. Mental notes are taken during his quick journey.
The two toothbrushes sitting in the newly purchased toothbrush holder. The two bottles of shampoo in the shower caddy. The colorful mixture of towels in the bathroom closet. The neat array of clothes a size smaller than usual hanging in his closet. The extra books on the coffee table and inside his bookshelf. Keiji’s laptop and charger cords. The extra pairs of shoes in the corner of the bedroom. The backpacks and messenger bags that hang on a series of hooks behind the closet door. The excessive amount of mugs in his kitchen cabinets. The small succulent sitting on the living room’s window sill.
He comes to a standstill in the dining room. It smells like clean linen, cotton freshness. He blinks. Stares at a space beyond the visible eye. Forgets how to breathe for a moment. The missing pieces slowly fall into place.
Holy shit. Keiji had moved in after all. And Osamu had been absolutely blind to these changes, even as he’d unconsciously made room in his apartment and heart for this man.
“Osamu?” He turns and finds Keiji standing behind him, anxiously pulling at his fingers. Worry creases across his face, shoulders tense as he awaits a verdict. The air around him is uneasy, and Osamu’s body aches for causing this distress.
“Hey.” He murmurs, forcing a smile that he hopes is inviting. “C’mere.” Keiji hesitates before stepping closer, clasping and unclasping his hands, quietly popping his knuckles to distract himself. It’s a habit that Osamu’s been trying to wean him off of, knowing his hands are important and the gentle wear and tear would not be good for his job or body.
He inhales deeply, exhales slowly. Calms his beating heart while studying Keiji in this light, soft and inviting. Warm to the touch. Ever present, ever loving. He takes cold hands in his own, gives them a squeeze. Presses a sweet kiss to the knuckles before tugging Keiji closer. Arms wrap around him instinctively, and they stand in the middle of the dining room in silence.
“‘M sorry. I didn’t realize.” Keiji pulls away enough to smooth out the folds of Osamu’s shirt as he listens, fixing the collar out of instinct.
“I know. It just gradually happened.” He replies, smiling small as those welcoming hands trail up to cup Osamu’s face. “It was just a toothbrush at first. And a mug. Then some clothes. Spending the night with you was always so easy. All of my belongings were already so accessible and now… Well, here we are.”
Osamu hums, eyes closing to the cooling sensation of Keiji’s fingers. How familiar it is against his skin. He thinks he could stay here forever. “So is that a yes, Ji?” It earns him a snort, and he opens his eyes to catch Keiji hiding a laugh.
“Yes. I’ll officially move in with you.” He smiles, a giddy feeling taking over, and proceeds to plant a rather sloppy kiss against Keiji’s soft cheek, who laughs in return and tries to swat him away. “Even if most of my things were already here.”
“Oi, now yer just ruining it.” He whines, holding his lover close as he peppers quick kisses all over Keiji’s face, grinning wildly as Keiji fucking giggles and flails around in his grasp.
And suddenly, he’s a man on a mission, scooping Keiji up and into his arms while making a break for the bedroom. Poor Keiji doesn’t have much time to react but he’s still laughing blissfully, still pressing into Osamu as he carries him away from the dining room.
“Wait, ‘Samu, the food!” He half protests, looking over Osamu’s shoulder at the abandoned dishes and leftovers, sitting forgotten on the well-used, well-loved table.
“It can wait.” He replies, holding Keiji impossibly close as he all but runs to his bedroom. No. Their bedroom. In their apartment. With their towels, and dishes, and clothes, and toothbrushes, and shampoos, and love.
Osamu’s heart swells, beats against his ribcage in time to his footsteps as they enter the room and fall onto their bed in a heap of limbs. Keiji continues to giggle as they rearrange themselves, clinging to each other while Osamu gingerly takes off Keiji’s glasses and sets them on a lone nightstand. He’ll have to buy a matching one for the other side of the bed. For Keiji’s side.
“Move in with me?” It’s whispered much later into Keiji’s wispy, curled hair. It’s soft there, Osamu’s cheek squished upon the crown of his head. Keiji’s face is pressed against his neck, soft breath tickling the fine hairs. Osamu can feel the curve of Keiji’s smile on his skin.
Their fingers interlace, an anchor in the sea of noise and everyday life. Keiji gives Osamu’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Yes. A thousand times, yes.”
In the dining room, the dishes have long been forgotten.
Two drastically different cups sit together, a tall glass from Osamu’s apartment and an owl mug from Keiji’s.