Chapter Text
Osamu has no idea since when he started avoiding Suna.
It’s nothing dramatic like a fight between them, oh no – they’re good roommates. Osamu couldn’t ask for anyone better than Suna because that guy really knows how to stay in his lane. In fact, Osamu has no reason to avoid him, yet here he is, one ear pressed against his bedroom door so he could listen for the click of the front door being locked.
He’s waiting for Suna to leave for the gym before he could make his lunch. His simple lunch that only requires him to make rice and reheat the vegetable stew he’d prepared two days ago, while Suna was also out. Osamu can’t think of a day before he became so afraid of working in the kitchen when Suna was home, whether cooped in his room or lazing in the living.
The front door clicks shut with certainty. Osamu counts to ten before cracking his door open marginally, poking his head out. His nose easily detects the telltale floral scent of Suna’s staple deodorant, fresh and strong, but the air has gone still from his absence. Osamu heaves out a relieved exhale. He leaves his door wide open as he exits and heads to the kitchen.
It’s only when he’s pouring the piping hot stew over the perfect mound of rice that he realizes how weird he’s acting.
They hadn’t always lived together as two. It hadn’t just been him and Suna in the beginning. Osamu’s elder twin brother, Atsumu, was the one who’d suggested and arranged for them to live on their own after they graduated. Said it’ll teach them a thing or two about being independent and no longer reliant on their single mother, who’s already done more than enough for them.
“We can’t afford a whole apartment to ourselves, Tsumu,” Osamu had said to him, his mind already spinning from estimated expenses. “I don’t want to share a one-room place with you either.”
“I know, and neither do I want to share a room with you. You kick in your sleep.”
“And you keep moving around!”
“Shut it. Anyways, I was thinking we could rent an apartment with two bedrooms – or three, if we’re lucky – and then we could share it with other people. It’ll definitely lower the costs and we don’t have to do too much work keeping it clean.”
Osamu was already skeptical about it. He’s never had to share space with people he didn’t know. Sleepovers with Aran didn’t count since they’ve known him as kids, and although they’d gone on camping trips and city excursions for school activities, they’re only temporary. Having roommates was technically the same as living with extended family members – uncomfortable and foreign.
Despite their determination, the twins had zero knowledge and experience to house-hunt by themselves, so their mother had to lend a hand. They’re lucky that she has a large network, and by the kindness of her connections, they managed to find a decently spacious apartment at a good price.
“There are already two other people who’ve checked the place out,” Kita, the owner of the apartment, was saying as he led the twins inside. “They’ve just signed the lease to move in next week before I was told that you two were interested.”
“Oh, really? So this place is taken?” Atsumu asked, scanning the place with obvious fascination.
Kita nodded, arms crossed. Osamu furtively sidestepped so his brother would be standing between them. “Yes, but they have expressed a desire to look for more roommates,” Kita answered. “If you’re both keen on renting the remaining room, I could talk to them and let you four discuss how to split the rental.”
“I’m guessing the remaining room is the master bedroom?”
“Yes. I assume that’s logically the one you’re both looking for.”
The twins exchanged glances. It’s not, but it’s better than a whole place to themselves that they have to clean more regularly on top of an enormous price. They won’t be home most of the time, not if their college schedules and part-time jobs had anything to say.
There’s no need for an extensive discussion – they’ve got their streetsmart mother for all the complicated stuff – so they agreed to take the master bedroom. Two days later, Kita had called them out to a restaurant so they could sign the lease and discuss rentals with the other tenants.
What they didn’t expect was for the restaurant to not only be run by Kita himself, but also owned by his grandmother, whose grocery shop they used to drop by as kids and buy candies from after school.
She’s a sweet little lady with a gentle rictus, and seeing her as soon as they entered the establishment past closing time had melted their nerves. Osamu didn’t even realize how much he’s going to miss his mother’s cooking until a plate laden with onigiri was placed before them, though he didn’t dare to take any at first. He’d even forgotten how keyed up he was to cordially meet the other tenants, both of whom had apparently become friends.
“Ginjima Hitoshi, second-year mass communication student,” the first one said with a jovial grin. “You can just call me Gin. Nice to meet you!”
“Suna Rintarou, second-year film student,” the second one said with a slight incline of his head. “I’m okay with Suna or Rin.”
“Stick them together, call him Sunarin,” Gin snickered, while Suna rolled his eyes. “No, seriously. You can call him anything and he’ll never respond. I’ve tried everything.”
“We’ve only known each other for a week. Why should I respond to you at all?”
“You hurt me, bestie.”
Osamu is timid in the face of new people, but that’s why he always has Atsumu to buffer the social shock. His hand didn’t even need to search for Atsumu’s under the table because it’s instantly clasped onto and held tightly.
“Miya Atsumu, and this is my younger brother, Miya Osamu. We’re first years in graphic design,” Atsumu introduced them with his natural confidence, though his hand twined in Osamu’s shook with a slight tremor.
Osamu knew it began when Gin introduced himself and Atsumu’s mind jarred him into the reality of the situation. As eager as he was for them to live away from their mother, Atsumu’s only nineteen and never been truly away from home.
“Oh, our juniors. From the same faculty too!” Gin enthused, nearly thundering the table in his excitement. “I’ve never met young blood directly like this. It’s really just hitting me that I’m old.”
“That’s probably why you’ve never met any junior before. You talk like you’re an 18th century vampire about to slaughter them,” Suna jabbed flatly.
Thankfully, the meeting was friendlier than formal. Within a few minutes of their seniors’ banter, Atsumu’s hand stopped shaking and his smiles became more genuine. By extension, Osamu’s anxiety also abated, and he didn’t hold back from finishing a whole plate of onigiri. He’d been apprehensive about eating that much, but the smile that Kita’s grandmother had given him allayed his fears. Kita’s loosened composure was the most reassuring part of it, and Osamu swore he saw pink bloom over his brother’s cheeks whenever Kita smiled.
The other slightly less reassuring part was Suna sliding him a piece of paper and a pencil. Osamu had stared at him confusedly, not quite sure how to react.
“I’ve always thought that artists see the world differently and that they could turn something as plain as a circle into something interesting,” Suna said, picking up the pencil to draw a perfect circle (Osamu tried not to stare too hard at it, as amazed as he was). “I kind of want to test you on that.”
Osamu raised an eyebrow.
This meeting just took a strange turn, but it’s nothing stranger than what’s going on in the grand scheme of things. Atsumu had already begun to talk animatedly about the nearby volleyball club with Gin and Kita. The signed lease laid on the table before them, tidied and placed atop the brown envelop, but ignored. Kita’s grandmother had retired to the backroom, leaving the five of them in the empty restaurant.
So he figured he could indulge Suna in his assumptions, however biased and slightly offensive that may be. Osamu took the pencil and briefly glanced up at Suna, whose smile was new and had thrown him off-kilter, then drew in the circle. He’d been too tired from the day’s events and was slightly peeved by Suna’s request, so he only turned the circle into an emoji. An emoji that oddly resembled Suna.
Osamu half-expected him to be annoyed, or worse, needle him into drawing something actually artistic, but he was surprised by a laugh instead. Suna’s monolid eyes curved into crescents and his lips stretched into a wide grin, the tapered ends curling upwards like a cat’s. It was quite the sight and his mirth quite the sound, so Osamu’s glad he’s not the only one who was caught off-guard.
“Yo, your younger brother’s special, Atsumu,” Gin had said with awe in his voice. “I’ve been trying to make this guy laugh to no avail, but Osamu’s got him like this in under an hour. What did you do?”
For an answer, Suna wordlessly held up the paper before setting off again. “I asked him to draw something and he did this,” he wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes. “I think we’re going to be fine roommates. Welcome to the club.”
And they were fine roommates.
The four of them became quick friends in their first year together. Sometimes, they’ll assist each other in their assignments and projects, but that’s the extent of it for Osamu. Atsumu’s more outgoing than him, so he doesn’t distinguish any difference between being a courteous roommate and a buddy in his interactions. On the other hand, Osamu’s more rigid in his, rarely going out of his way to talk to them if he doesn’t need to.
So when both Gin and Atsumu decided to move out (at different times; Osamu would move out too if they left simultaneously) from the apartment, it became increasingly difficult for Osamu to share the space with Suna.
It was still fairly easy to pretend he’s not living with a stranger when Atsumu was still around, but that’s the problem. Atsumu’s rarely around, less so after he took up a job at Kita’s restaurant and joined a local volleyball club. Osamu had picked a freelance illustration job with a side-hustle of vlogging to contribute to their shared rental, which would’ve fared well for him if he hadn’t grown increasingly conscious of Suna’s constant presence.
Of course – Suna has the rights to be in the apartment whenever he desires, but Osamu can’t help wishing that he’d go out more often. He’d initially thought the same about Atsumu, so it’s not because Osamu is generally uneasy around people whom he’s not familiar with. He just likes privacy and treasures time to himself, which doesn’t come easily when you have roommates.
“Now you get all the space that you want,” Atsumu had told him on their last night rooming. “I’ll still send you part of my salary, so you won’t have to take up too many jobs.”
Osamu frowned indignantly, but he won’t deny the gratitude he had towards his brother. “Why would you help pay when you’re not even staying here?”
“You’re still my brother, Samu. I don’t want you to lose your mind when I’m not around, and we’re not going to be around each other like we used to, you know? We have to have each other’s back even when we’re separated, like how Ma wants us to.”
“I can pay rent just fine. I have income.”
“Only if you sleep three hours every night,” Atsumu sighed. “Seriously, Samu, just let me split my financial priorities how I want to. I’ll support you as much as I can so you can enjoy your hobbies without capitalizing them.”
Atsumu’s financial priorities did help him way more than he’d thought, and Osamu would’ve felt obligated to pay him back if his brother wasn’t so pompous about it. He stopped thinking of how to return the favor entirely once Atsumu announced that he’s dating Kita, not wanting to add fuel to fire.
Although the lease had specified for all tenants to pay equally, Suna’s portion of the rent is larger than Osamu’s. It’s unfair for him, since Osamu is backed up by Atsumu, but Suna doesn’t mind paying more, according to Atsumu.
“He’s a fitness instructor?” Osamu echoed, bewildered. He plucked his phone out of where he’d pressed it between his ear and shoulder as he’s calculating the month’s expenses. “I thought he’s studying film.”
“He is, but by chance and word-of-mouth, he got a job at a gym towards the end of last year. It’s just like how you vlog about random things when your main focus is on design.”
Osamu hummed. He’s not surprised that Atsumu would know that much about Suna, considering how he’d often chat with him and Gin when their leisure coincided. “I guess so. I just didn’t expect that of him. He doesn’t look like someone who works out,” he said, picturing Suna lifting weights or running the treadmill.
It’s not hard to, given how frequently Suna’s figure passed by him on the rare days when he prefers sitting in the living to inside his room, until Osamu stopped himself. It’s not hard to picture Suna doing anything, although it’s strange that he could do it effortlessly.
“Make that the both of us,” Atsumu agreed. “He doesn’t do much besides assisting the main fitness instructor, actually, but I’m pretty sure he’d take up the offer if it’s extended to him. He likes being in the gym, surrounded by all his muscle bros. If any weird stuff were to happen, you know who to look for, Samu.”
Osamu wagered that’s the moment he became petrified of crossing paths with Suna in their sizable apartment, which seemed to have shrunken in dimensions and become increasingly hotter. As if all the empty spaces and cool air blowing through the windows had gone into building his muscles.
Before Atsumu told him of Suna’s gym job, Osamu hadn’t thought much of his roommate leaving the apartment at the same time each day, wearing tight-fitting shirts. He could still ignore the floral-scented deodorant and mindlessly make his lunch while Suna’s making his protein shake. Osamu would offer an energy bar if he had spares, dispelling any awkwardness between them even if he had no intentions of sharing his supply. Suna would always take them and return the gesture by asking if he’d like takeout for lunch. Sometimes Osamu would say yes, but most times, he rejects.
With the knowledge of Suna being a certified gym guy, however, it’d dawned on Osamu how much more he can’t stand living with a practical stranger. Without their respective social buffers, both Osamu and Suna have lost common ground, and now one of them has gone ahead and gotten himself ripped.
As days turned into months and they gradually adjusted to the silence that fell over the apartment, Suna remains unaffected, whereas Osamu feels like he’s actually losing his mind. He’s grown hyperaware of his roommate’s presence to the point of being insecure over parts of himself that he never used to look twice at. It’s gotten so bad that he doesn’t even want to be seen outside his room in his pilled shirts and sweaters, all strategically oversized to cover up his flabby body, much less cooking whatever he could find in his scantily stocked fridge and pantry with no care for taste nor calories.
But the insecurities don’t stop there, to his dismay. They’ve run deeper below surface-level disparities.
Osamu has sustainable ways to get his own bread, literally and figuratively, and he’s satisfied with where he is in life. And yet, all of those crumble when he’s reminded of Suna, a soon-to-be-graduate who already has a fixed work routine that allows him adequate socializing. Of course, not everyone is going to live a conventional adult life. For all Osamu knows, Suna’s lifestyle is only a meager percentage of a typical one. Regardless, there’s still a gap that Osamu can’t seem to ignore unless he keeps his bedroom door shut whenever Suna’s around.
He’s just finished washing the dishes when he hears the front door unlock. Osamu’s body freezes reflexively, a self-inflicted Pavlovian response, before he wills himself to relax. There’s no mess or clutter in the kitchen and he’s well-fed for the next couple of hours; there’s nothing left for him to do outside the confines of his room, so he has no reason to panic now that Suna’s back. All he has to do is wash his hands and then he could trot straight back to his room with no detours.
He’s drying his hands on the cloth hung next to sink when something slips directly into his vision, close enough that the tip of his nose nearly brushes it. Osamu jumps back in surprise and bumps into something— someone, then reels away, slamming his hip against the countertop. He’s never been gladder that he doesn’t shriek like his mother and brother do when they’re scared because he’d never live down shouting at Suna’s face.
“Oh, crap, sorry. I thought you’re not the type to scare easily,” Suna winces, retracting his hand. “You okay? Did you hit your hip?”
Osamu did, but he’s not going to admit it. He doesn’t know what Suna would do if he said yes, as unlikely as the guy offering to assess the damage would seem, and he’s not going to stay and see. Osamu shakes his head in spite of the stinging burn over his pelvic bone. “I’m fine,” he squeaks, then tries again in his regular voice.
Suna clearly doesn’t buy the lie, but he doesn’t press further. His eyes pointedly linger on Osamu’s hip for a fleeting second before he proffers a book. “Thought you’d like this,” he says drily, like he hadn’t just snuck up on Osamu and shoved it to his face.
Osamu unintentionally eyes Suna with an air of suspicion.
Buying things for each other isn’t unordinary, since they used to take turns buying snacks in bulk to binge during exam season, but that’d ceased since Gin moved out and Atsumu spent more time outside. Besides, they never bought anything inedible for each other, so Osamu’s not irrational to be wary of Suna’s sudden thoughtful generosity.
He takes the book anyway, gingerly, before he comes off as rude. It’s slightly larger than his palm and a rich blue in color, save for the black title and minimalist white-lined design extending to the back. Doodle Dummies, the title wrote in a thin, scratchy handwritten font. Any apprehension in Osamu disappears at that, replaced by mild vexation at the insulting title.
He regards Suna with more heat than confusion. “What’s this?” Osamu holds it up.
Suna blinks. “A doodling book. For you.”
It doesn’t answer the question that Osamu’s implying, although he won’t lie and say that the answer he got doesn’t make him happy. He’s never received things like this before, even if the title had gone for his throat. “Is there a special occasion that I owe this to?”
Suna’s brow wrinkles, bemused. “What do you mean?”
“Why are you suddenly giving this to me?”
“Because I want to…?”
Where the sudden bravado to stare at Suna came from, Osamu doesn’t know. He only knows that as soon as that adrenaline levels out, he wants to be back in his room and out of Suna’s sight.
Osamu has a feeling that he’s not going to get the answer that he wants from Suna, so he says his thanks and slinks away. In his haste and latent panic, he almost slams the door behind him and barely caught it in time to avoid the bang. He carefully closes it, makes sure that it clicks shut and won’t budge, and then proceeds to curl into himself, writhing in reaction to the fire that’s begun licking over his hip.
When he lifts his shirt to check, Osamu is alarmed to find a patch of flaming red already marring his skin. He winces in his sigh. A giant bruise would surely make itself home there and terrorize him in his sleep for the next few weeks if he doesn’t do anything about it. Osamu briefly entertains the idea of going back out to recruit Suna’s help, but bats it down. It’s already humiliating to have flat-out denied; he doesn’t have the capacity to swallow his pride and ask for help.
Osamu tosses the book on the bed and then crawls onto it so he wouldn’t have to suffer on the floor. He pats blindly around the mess of unfolded blanket, searching for his phone, when there’s a knock on his door. Every pain in Osamu’s body numbs. He slowly sits up and automatically psyches himself for another encounter with the bane of his residence.
Who else would it be if not Suna outside his door? Osamu thinks he’d rather a ghost or an axe murderer, frankly. He’s a big guy and could take on most people, minus one Suna Rintarou. The guy’s put on more muscles in a month than Osamu had gained any weight in the past year, and he’s eaten a lot of junk food. He doesn’t know if the comparison is supposed to be encouraging or insulting.
Osamu inhales in lieu of swallowing the dryness in his throat when he sees Suna standing there. “Yes?” he inquires evenly.
“Actually, there’s something else that I’d like to…” Suna shakes his head. “I have a favor to ask you.”
That’s a first – Suna asking him for a favor. Osamu dampens the panic rekindling in him. “If I can help, then sure.”
“It’s nothing you have to do. I just sort of… need you.”
Osamu’s sucking in air now. He refuses to acknowledge that the heat on his face is from anything but the compressed air between them. “What do you need me for?” he asks as stably as he could.
Suna doesn’t immediately answer at first. He fishes out his phone, pulling up whatever it is he needs to support his persuasion, then flips it over so Osamu could see. It’s a movie poster of a recent release, Bull Fighting. Osamu recognizes it as the movie Atsumu had raved about to him the week before, when he’s agonizing over an hour through video call, begging Osamu to help him decide on what to wear to his first movie date with Kita.
It doesn’t hit him what kind of favor would involve a movie until Suna explains, “I got tickets to go see it with someone, but I got stood up at the last minute.”
“And…?” Osamu prompts when Suna doesn’t continue. Part of him already knows what Suna is going to ask of him, but the other part of him is in disbelief. He’s not going to build up his own hopes in spite of his shrewdness.
Suna’s avoiding his eyes as he pockets his phone. His eyes wander below Osamu’s eye level even as he answers, “I didn’t want to waste the tickets, so I thought I could ask you to watch it with me.”
Osamu had expected it, yet it still gets him when the request hangs like a tangible icicle between them. He doesn’t know why Suna would ask him instead of anyone else, especially after he got stood up. And in the second after, he realizes that of course Suna would ask him instead of anyone else. No one would willingly advertise the fact that they just got rejected in cold-blood.
In other words, Osamu is distant enough in Suna’s social radius to not tease nor ask him about it. He’s the perfect guy to dump his unused resources on so they wouldn’t have been completely wasted.
Somehow, it doesn’t peeve Osamu as much to know that he’s only chosen because Suna wants to save his own face. In fact, he feels a little special to be the first person Suna thought of. He knows he hasn’t been the nicest nor the friendliest roommate, and with the two noisiest ones out of the picture, there’s really no reason for them to engage with each other.
Osamu realizes then that if he insists on avoiding Suna after this, he’s not just ‘uneasy around unfamiliar people’, but actively being a social recluse who has no sense of appreciation.
“Okay. I’ll go,” he says at length.
Suna’s entire face literally lights up. “Really? You will?” Osamu nods and Suna’s eyes seem to shine. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, though. I don’t want you to feel bad for me.”
“I don’t.” Osamu hisses at how insensitive he sounds and holds his hands up defensively. “I mean, I’m not going just because I feel bad for you. I’m going because I don’t reject free stuff.”
Suna nods, clearly not internalizing the excuse. In place of the previously dour countenance, there’s muted thrill glinting in his eyes, and his lips, though unchangingly straight, have curled a slight bit. “I hope you don’t have any plans tonight,” he says.
Osamu’s eyes widen. “It’s tonight?”
“Yes? I told you I got stood up last minute. How ‘last minute’ do you think last minute is? Tomorrow?”
“Yes?”
Suna rolls his eyes. “Just… you don’t have any plans, right?” he asks, to which Osamu shakes his head. “Okay, good to know. I’ll… We’ll leave at six, since the location is a little far in the city. And you might want to dress in more layers. The movie is about two hours long and the hall gets really cold.”
Osamu nods attentively to not have to interrupt verbally. He’s never heard Suna speak so much with that amount of care; granted, he still sounds monotonous. It’s like he’d unlocked a new level of relationship simply by saying yes to one thing.
“Okay,” he says eventually, and it concludes the conversation. Suna leaves him to his devices and goes to eat his lunch, and Osamu returns to the safety of his bedroom to fully process what’d just transpired.
It feels like a fever dream, something he’d conjured out of his lack of a social life. Osamu has to lie down on the bed and check that he’s not lucid dreaming or anything of the sort. After several minutes of confirming that he’s indeed wide awake, his eyes land on the vibrant blue book next to him. The most obvious evidence to prove that everything had actually happened and not a figment of his imagination. That, and also the ache that’s begun to pulsate on his hip.
When he hears Suna enter the shower, he sneaks out to get ice for the bruise and mentally notes to buy a cold pack from the nearby convenience store later. Osamu trusts that Suna won’t make a big fuss over his bruised hip as much as he’d trusted Osamu to not tease him for getting stood up.
In the remaining hours before six, Osamu looks up the movie to read its synopsis and watch its trailer. He’s stupidly surprised to find out that it’s a romcom, because of course it would be a romcom. Suna wouldn’t pick a movie that’s not romantic if he’s trying to impress his date, and neither would Kita have agreed to watch the movie with Atsumu if it’s not about a sport. Osamu wouldn’t know since he’s never had to impress anyone nor retained an unwavering passion for sports.
Ten minutes shy of their designated departure, Osamu opens his door to Suna about to knock on it. They stand there, staring at each other in quiet surprise, until Osamu says that he needs to get a cold pack.
Suna’s eyes flit down to his hip and doesn’t shift for a while. “It still hurts?” he asks.
“Nothing too bad. I’m just taking preventative measures…” Osamu trails off when Suna walks away, heading into the kitchen. He hears the fridge being opened, some compartment being pushed around and something scraping against ice, and then the fridge closing. His mouth still hangs open as Suna makes his way back with a pack of something blue and a small towel.
“Let me have a look at it,” Suna instructs mildly.
Osamu reluctantly lifts his shirt and tugs his pants a little downward. His entire body burns with Suna’s eyes on his bruise, on which his fingers turn to ice when he lightly touches it. “Is it bad?” he asks to cut off the extended silence.
Suna shakes his head. “Not too bad. You’d iced it just now?” He hums approvingly at Osamu’s nod. “Good thinking. I still wish you’d told me earlier, but it’s not my place to tell you how to do things.”
Osamu averts his gaze – he doesn’t know what to say to that and he doesn’t want to see the possible disappointed look on Suna’s face. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’ll put a cold pack on it, so it won’t hurt throughout the movie. But you’ll have to hold it so it won’t slip off.”
“The entire time?”
“No, just in the car. It’ll take us about fifteen minutes to get there, twenty at most. You’re not supposed to leave it on for too long.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Osamu feels like he’s going back and forth between hot and cold as Suna helps put the cold pack on him. He has to pull his pants up higher so it’ll fit snugly against the bruise and won’t slide around excessively at every movement. Through it all, his brain is screaming at him to put a decent distance, that he lets out a heavy exhale when Suna steps back. Osamu thinks he’d rather pass out than ever be close to Suna for a third time.
The cold pack feels pleasant, even if the car ride isn’t. Suna’s a good driver and his car is in tiptop condition – the dashboard and seats are regularly dusted and the cooling system smells of coffee beans – but Osamu’s never sat in a car before. He’s never been restricted to one spot that’s so close to someone else, and now he’s stuck there next to Suna for a maximum of twenty minutes. At least there’s still escape in the apartment; only more bruises and a potential comatose await him if he tries to exit the car.
To feel less unpleasant, Osamu claims that the cold pack makes it a tad harder to sit properly and angles himself towards the window, away from Suna.
As the neighborhood whizzes into a metropolis before him, Osamu wonders about how things would turn out between them after the movie. How far would he have come with Suna if he hadn’t said no during the times he’d said no? Would they be friends if he’d said yes more often, or would that not have changed anything? Does Suna even see him as more than a roommate? Would Suna see him as something more if he’d put in more effort to interact?
Osamu banishes those overflowing thoughts before they could trickle into reality. Better to focus on the present rather than speculate endlessly, and there’s nothing more ‘present’ than watching a movie next to the very person you’re trying not to overthink about for two plus hours. Osamu doesn’t reject free stuff because they’re nice to obtain, but he thinks he could forgo this one.
The movie’s title is a misdirect if you didn’t know better, but you’d be plain dumb if you saw the poster and still went in expecting it to be anything but a romcom. Osamu likes to have a good entertainment playing in the background as he works on commissions and edits his vlogs, and Bull Fighting is… not it. He doesn’t want to think of how Kita perceived this as Atsumu’s choice for their first movie date, because Suna himself thought it was mediocre.
“Then, why did you pick this movie for your date?” Osamu asks as they exit the hall. He has to bite down on his tongue before he could follow it up with justifying that it’s probably why Suna got stood up. Watching one movie together doesn’t warrant that kind of direct attack, he’s sure.
Suna shrugs. “Someone suggested that watching a bad romcom on a first date is better,” he says. “It gives a lot more leeway to loosen the tension between two people, so anything that happens after the movie won’t feel as bad during the date. Plus, both people get to poke fun at it together. Better that than pretending to have enjoyed it to not worry the other person.”
Osamu… likes the answer. Way more than he thought he would. He’s never dwelled on how much more intricate human chemistry could be, that there are tactics to improve and intensify what’s bound to happen. If he hadn’t experienced the effectiveness of the plan, he’d call Suna manipulative, but that would mean Osamu had been manipulated. He wasn’t manipulated; he’s here out of his own volition and because it’s a free ticket.
He smiles. The movie’s campy style doesn’t feel as corny, now that Suna has made it sound better. “I would still prefer something less preppy,” he says. “I reckon my life would be happier if I never watch movies like this, but I chose violence the moment I knew it’s a free ticket.”
“It’s good to live your life on the edge.” Suna chuckles when Osamu sends him an unamused grimace. “I chose violence too, you know? We both did.”
Not even twenty minutes into the movie, they’d both begun to visibly twitch, itching to leave to avoid witnessing the absolute buffoonery of the protagonists in maneuvering first-love territory. The only reason they stayed was because they’d figured out a way to make the watch more bearable: by tugging onto each other’s sleeve every time any character does or says something stupid.
Needless to say, a lot of tugging was done.
Suna’s right – a lot of tension had been lost between them. They talk about the movie and impersonate certain scenes and dialogues, and Osamu doesn’t turn away from Suna in the car ride back. The high from watching the movie has kept his anxiety so well at bay, that he even smiles and says goodnight to Suna before they part ways.
“Oh, before I forget.” Suna holds out a hand to grab him, but drops it when Osamu turns around. “About your bruise. Until it looks better, apply the cold pack at least three times a day for fifteen to twenty minutes.” He holds up the blue pack. “You can find it in my fridge, but put it in the freezer for two hours before using it. And make sure to wrap it in a towel, don’t stick it directly onto your skin.”
Osamu is stunned by another influx of information, but nods. “Do I have to wash it too?”
“Yes, with some soap. Dry it before you put it back in the fridge. You can just put it on top of the other cold packs, in the door compartment.”
“Okay. Got it.”
Suna hovers like he has more to say. Seeing that hesitation immediately dissipates the high in Osamu, sobering him. They’re back in the apartment, back to square one, where Osamu is most insecure when it comes to Suna. No matter how much tension they’d lost together, they’re still irrevocably incompatible, two beings belonging to two different worlds.
A weight sinks into Osamu’s chest. This night only happened because Suna got stood up, not because he wanted to watch it with Osamu. It’s only a fluke; it won’t happen again.
“I had fun,” Suna cuts off his descending thoughts. He’s smiling when Osamu lifts his gaze to look at him. “It was a bad movie, but it was fun because you’re there. So… thanks for watching it with me.”
Osamu thinks he noticed a hint of flush on Suna’s cheeks, but it could’ve been the apartment’s warm lighting. Suna’s also hanging his head, reminiscent of when he’d asked Osamu to watch the movie with him, so it definitely could’ve been a trick of the eye. Osamu’s eyesight hasn’t been the best as of late and he’s contemplated getting a pair of prescription glasses soon.
“No problem. I had fun too,” he says, returning the smile even though it’s tight against his cheeks. “Thanks for inviting me.”
Suna nods and Osamu reciprocates the gesture. He’s about to make a run for his room when Suna stops him, again, to say, “Let’s watch more next time. We can have dinner afterwards, too.”
Osamu doesn’t turn. He can’t bring himself to look at Suna, as impolite as it is, his eyes fixed on his doorknob. “Okay,” he says. He can’t say anything more or else he’d stutter, and he’s had enough of Suna-related scares in a day to last him a lifetime.
“Okay. Goodnight, Osamu.”
“Goodnight, Suna.”
Out of some twisted coincidence, Osamu expresses gratitude for recently becoming myopic. He could manually choose to avoid looking directly at Suna the next time they do watch another movie (and have dinner), because there’s no way he could stand looking at the guy now, politeness be damned. Osamu will lose all of his mind at the rate he’s going if his eyes start to wander curiously.
He pulls up the calendar app on his phone and searches for the nearest and cheapest optometric shop. Osamu needs those glasses before their next… platonic date.