Work Text:
[18:17]
Suna Rin: Osamu.
Osamu: Again?
Suna Rin: Osamu pleeeease? I will buy you two boxes of negitoro onigiri!
Osamu: What a strange thing to offer to someone who owns a restaurant
Suna Rin: How about a food processor?
[18:44]
Suna Rin: I’m at Costco rn and there’s a sale on air-fryers
Suna Rin: sent a picture
Suna Rin: What color do you want?
Osamu: I-
Osamu: Fine. We’re out of eggs can you grab some on the way back?
Suna Rin: okay :thumbsup:
-
Miya Osamu is tired.
Tired of customers who don’t bring enough loose change, those who overdo their dish by burying it under a thick layer of condiments, of his neighbor who practically yells into the receiver, loud enough to echo the entire second floor.
He is also tired of the upstairs dog which hogs his shoes causing wet to drip all the way through the canvas fabric, of his brother; who is unworthy of mention and lately, of Suna.
Suna Rintaro is terrible.
If terrible isn’t the right word made to fit, insufferable it is then. He always shoves his dirty socks under the stairs and by the foyer, does not bother to rest his chopsticks on the hashioki after eating, almost forgets to turn off the water heater after every shower, and not to mention, he leaves the wet towel on the bed. Every single time.
The worst of all? He has been keeping Osamu awake, until late at night. No, but literally. Osamu has grown native to quietude despite his brother’s dramatic ass and yet, he is now back to square one again.
Suna wasn’t noisy but his very presence under the same roof as him threw all of Osamu’s self-regulated emotional control strategies out of the window.
The way he moves around the entire house with wet hair after a shower, adding to his face with carved features and the way he offers to help Osamu with dishes, then rolls the sleeves of his sweatshirt all the way till the elbows. Almost all of Suna’s actions clumsy or not makes Osamu’s forehead throb.
It has been four days and five nights since the Fujisaki household has been ransacked. Money, a string of pearls amongst other valuable items of personal use have been stolen.
The city’s police officers have placed their bets on a rather ruthless and intimidating gang of burglars who were once upon a time, the talk of the town.
As per Intel, the burglar would first drug their victims by knocking them unconscious before helping the place to themselves. The gang’s remarkable feature of identification was leaving a potted plant of four-leaved clover, which they used to mark their target counterintuitively.
For a sudden robbery to take place in an ever-so calm neighborhood, the spirits of the residents fell into shambles and it so happened that Suna’s apartment was located two blocks away from the crime scene.
Suna owned a state-of-art apartment in Tokyo though he didn’t really live there. He was usually away from the city, engulfed in practice matches as well as official ones. Neither did he have a reason to spend a lifetime’s worth of savings on this but that did not stop him.
“For the sake of posterity”, he’d say, when the others asked Suna if he really needed that big of a place to live alone.
That place was heavy on the aesthetic also somehow, it managed to appear bleak. Those who visited him were always stunned by the minimalistic approach it had. Owning a place of their own is true, every millennial’s dream and Suna took every chance and effort to make it a reality.
-
Suna was really looking forward to the winter break. He was hoping to catch a breather and enjoy the slow-paced way of life for once.
He lied down on the couch and made a mental list of the cafés he’d visit, the things he’d buy, and the people he’d meet. The feeling of indulging in a vacation in Tokyo was something he was all too familiar with.
He had deeply ached for the warm sun and jittery chaos all the while, especially in the last three years.
The monotonous routine of waking up to find the sky as gray as his mood, jogging along the same roads every day sucked the life out of him.
On multiple occasions, he’d wished his paths would cross with somebody. He was so prone to rationalizing his emotions and yet, he reminds himself, loneliness does not spark joy. But increasingly, he is even more afraid that he will never have the chance to experience the sweet, tangible aspects of love.
Suna’s astute form of thinking channeled every ounce of his energy into sport. There was rarely a time when his mind was stray and devoid of any thoughts, he was always thinking of something.
This way of life has gotten him this far and he is in a very comfortable position to welcome intimacy. And, it doesn’t come easily either. His imagination isn’t very cinematic, he doesn’t expect the kind of love they show in movies. Like, is that even possible in real life? The whole thing feels beautifully contrived.
For a person like Suna, who barely shows little or no interest in acquainting with people, and gladly inserts a hyperbole in every other sentence, he craves intimacy that comes with co-existence. It is easily one of his favorite aspects- the shiny end of the coin in this mundane existence.
For years, he experienced the singular feeling of watching people fall in love with other people- it made his life, which knew was small anyway, feel smaller still. To try his luck and wish for companionship is to step out of his defensive boundaries. He knows that. But, will he find someone worthy of sharing his loneliness with? He doesn’t know and is afraid of what awaits.
Suna then woke up late. Having embraced the afternoon’s tardiness, he picked up his phone.
[08:05]
The neighborhood watch: Dear residents, after yesterday’s incident occurrence at the Fujisaki household, we hope you are all staying alert. We sincerely request you to be on the lookout for any suspicious activity and most importantly, do not fear as we shall try to resolve this unnaturalistic accident using the best of our efforts. Thank you.
It’s only later that Suna learns about the burglary. It is unusual and he tries to lay his mind off the incident but two hours later, when the color of the sky matches the darkness of his living room, Suna finally understands. Understands that he needs someone to share this expansive, lifeless place with another person. He almost felt like an old landlord nearing his death and has no one on the hearing end of his final epilogue.
He paces around the room for the next twenty minutes, rhetorically biting his nails with a newly instilled fear. And, the next best solution naturally comes to him- Osamu.
-
Osamu lived in an apartment which was a station away. If only he could convince him of the state of mess, he found himself in, he wouldn’t have to worry about paranoia eating his insides once and for all. Suna tried to look for a different way so that he wouldn’t have to put up a confident demeanor but he was too consumed to even come up with something, so, he decided to follow the first thing that crossed his thoughts.
Osamu did not seem too thrilled to find Suna standing on his doorstep at 11 p.m., unannounced and yet he made an exception because Suna wore a worried look on his face, not the sauntering kind.
Osamu wasn’t so heartless either and invited him in and patiently listened to all Suna had to say. His hair sticking up on the left ends and he yawned uncontrollably, nodding after every “that” as Suna animatedly stretched on the simple synopsis, that is, he was scared.
This went for a while and Osamu soaked in the ever so lively nature in the atmosphere of his room. They pretended to think detectives trying to solve the burglary case and laughed at all the possible list of clues they had come up with.
Ninety minutes and two cups of tea later, Osamu decided to return to his bed.
“You can sleep in any corner of the living room; I’ll bring you the futon,” he said.
The glow in Suna’s eyes faltered a bit and Osamu returned with a cloud patterned futon.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark too” Osamu asked, with an eyebrow raised.
“I’m not,” Suna said, unnerved, and trailed off to spread his bedding on the space by the cabinet. His long legs sticking out of the blanked by a little and he soon drifted away into a dream, comforted by the low buzzing of the air conditioner. The room was cold like Shinjuku in December but no heat escaped from his heart. The feeling in his chest only tightened as he inhaled the faint traces of citrus-scented fabric softener.
The next morning, he woke up to find a piece of yellow paper taped onto the refrigerator.
‘Leaving for work, re-heat the fried rice’
Suna sat on the table and lazily propped his chin with a hand. There was a wooden tray with miso soup and cold fried rice like Osamu said. He snuck a picture and went back to his morning duties.
He quickly finished the soup along with the bowl of rice and put down his chopsticks on the table. His gaze lifted along the walls of the room.
The first thing he observed was an abundance of photo-frames, both big and small. Monochrome and framed polaroid prints, a lot of them with pictures of just Osamu and Atsumu. Maybe he missed being home or he was just lonely.
A different type of loneliness, unlike childhood loneliness. There were a dozen other obscure objects too, a calendar with a huge logo of Onigiri Miya printed in the center, an old-timey clock, clothes stand with three black t-shirts tossed about, haphazardly, and a shelf of ledgers covered in brown paper.
Osamu’s apartment was not bad for a single man in his early twenties.
Considering the kitchen, which had a whole array of tools and appliances, most of which Suna couldn’t even name.
Suna squeezed the dish sponge, allowing the foam to drip through the gaps between his fingers like it was made of kinetic sand. After scrubbing a plate clean, he played with the water from the tap, popped the minuscule bubbles born from the soap suds, and left his hands to linger under the cool water. Afternoon sun slithered through the window, hitting his face in a slanted pose, making his eyes shine brighter by a tenfold.
Suna Rintarou, in the twenty-three years of existence, had just discovered the pure bliss of domesticity. He enacted it, like a scene from his favorite Ghibli movie, just playful gushes of wind, humming melodies while finishing chores for the day. To romanticize life is to expect very little. A warm bed and warmth from the skin of a significant other pressed close to your chest.
The sky had just begun to turn the light as the doorknob twisted. Osamu had just finished his shift for the day and collapsed on the couch.
“Long day, huh?” Suna asked, like an anticipating wife from the 80s, who had laid out the table with candles and dishes of three different cuisines. Except, there was not any food on the table so they decided to order some from the nearest pizzeria. Suna insisted and Osamu nodded.
The next morning, Suna returned to the aloofness of his own apartment. There was no breakfast on the table, no cold-brew in the freezer, and no Osamu. The sudden emotion came upon him like a hailstorm. Bit by bit, laced with stinging pain. He wanted to go back, right this instant and so he did. Again, late in the evening.
“Hey! You’re back early and here are the eggs that you asked for” Suna said, as pushed open the door with his left foot, eyes fixed on the tray of eggs in his hands.
“Thank you!” Osamu said and smiled back as he carefully took the tray from his hands. “There’s some coffee on the table, help yourself,” he said, entering the kitchen as his voice trailed into the air.
Two days had passed by and Suna had been in Osamu’s apartment for a week now.
He’d usually leave for a few hours to take a walk down the road and also thinking he’d Osamu some space.
Despite the initial shocked reaction on Osamu’s face when he first barged in, he never really asked Suna to leave either. Even if they were doing nothing, they’d sit in the living room, left to work on their own chores. There would be no laughter or chatter, but this was an intimacy of its own kind.
That evening, Suna told Osamu that he’d be leaving the same day, at night to go and visit his grandparents in Osaka.
Osamu said nothing. He unpacked a black plastic box that contained leftovers from Onigiri Miya. He handed a wrapped tuna mayo onigiri to Suna.
“Do you want to watch a movie tonight?” he asked, voice incredibly still as a ‘no’ would break him. He still knew this wasn’t going to be a good evening for his heart.
“It’s the weekend, so why not?” Suna said aloud and Osamu went back to assembling the remaining onigiri on a plate.
Osamu sat on the couch, hugging his knees and chin propped up with a pillow. Suna sat on the other end of the couch, resting the back of his head with his hands.
So, the movie began. It started off a with burst of elevation to throw some light on the protagonist who was a young boy, couldn’t be more than nineteen. There were a series of explosions most likely triggered by a heavily loaded missile.
The boy did everything the protagonist of an action movie would do, he jumped, ran above the average speed, somersaulted, got shot by the enemy, and even met a girl amidst all the chaos that surrounded him. However, the visual representation was off the charts. A lot of odd colors vibrated, occasionally hitting their eyes and severely too.
Suna seemed to be focused on the movie, he didn’t move like a muscle since Osamu pressed play in the beginning. Every now and then, Osamu peered over his shoulder. All the million colors in the movie danced in Suna’s eyes and those are the exact kind of visuals Osamu was hoping for. He barely even looked at the screen and blinked only once in a while.
The boy in the movie had his fair share of obstacles and worked all the way to the top. He even met with the evil villain to negotiate with the latter’s evil project but ended up being outcast by his own supporters. He is now in search of a turning point in the plot to unfuck the mess.
Osamu finally had his eyes on the screen for long enough to figure out the name of the protagonist, Sean.
The anti-climax ended painfully but the Sean guy managed to turn it all around in the end, because apparently, “That’s what heroes do”.
“Hey, that movie was pretty great. Very good usage of directed energy weapons” Suna sounded enthusiastic, just the way he does when he talks about volleyball.
“Yes, Neil Patrick Harris was the perfect choice for an antagonist”, Osamu added.
“Uh, Osamu?”
“Hm?”
“The one we just watched was a Chinese action film”
Fuck.
Osamu wished he had a shovel in his hand so he could dig a deep hollow and bury himself right this instant.
How did that just happen? He just gave himself away, it was beyond obvious.
To his surprise, Suna said nothing and chuckled softly. He checked the time on his phone, 19:47
Suna hung a red duffel bag over his shoulder and reached out to the coat hanger, preparing to leave.
“Thank you for everything, Osamu. I may have been imposing on you but, I had a good time! Bye.” Suna said as he struggled to tie his shoelaces.
Osamu felt like his heartstrings were being pulled. No, yanked forcefully as his soul prepared to leave his body. He felt a heavy burden in the chest.
“It was no trouble at all, see you later. Love you, bye!” he said, voice definitely not under control.
“Love you too, bye!” Suna replied as he prepared to close the door and then, the both of them froze in their tracks.
Suna was the first one to break the silence, “So, Osamu? Do you-”
“YES, I LIKE YOU TOO” Osamu yelled; voice rushed through his teeth like he’d keep this phrase stuck in his throat for too long.
“I was going to ask you if you had some spare change but, WOW,” Suna said, eyes glistening like a sunset after a storm.
“I can explain-” Osamu quickly retorted, his face flushed in bright pink.
“You better not.” Suna started, “Because, I like you too.” His usually steady walking pace was now sauntering.
Suna catches Osamu’s chin with his thumb finger and pulls him in, letting him go a full minute later. Their heartbeats were awkwardly loud, still adjusting to the steep curve of actions.
“So, are we dating now?” Osamu asked, eyes still wandering on Suna’s lips.
“Mhm, I thought we already discussed the Italian buffet on Saturday?” he replied, with a jesting tone.
“In case you’ve forgotten, you haven’t asked me out yet?”
“Well, I just did”, Suna answered, rubbing circles on his palm and eyes never leaving Osamu’s.
Osamu chuckled softly into Suna’s ear as he wrapped his arms around his neck.
He thinks for a moment, “I’m taking this as a yes!”
Osamu thinks that he’d never say otherwise. Seven days and eight sleepless nights later, he found a sanctuary within Suna.