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The bell by the sliding door rings and Osamu automatically lifts his head to greet the customer, only to have himself rendered speechless. His heart makes a high leap at the sight of the man by the door vigorously wiping his face of rainwater.
An Akaashi Keiji drenched in rain should not have Osamu’s chest feeling like it’s been squeezed a hundred times over, but it does. It takes him another half-second to get his feet moving, grabbing a clean hand towel from the nearby rack and striding over to Keiji. Thankfully, the entrance to Onigiri Miya is partially hidden by a wall so dining customers don’t have to see them.
Still, Keiji pouts as Osamu wipes the towel over his face. “Keiji,” Osamu says, laughing. Keiji’s pout deepens. “Didn’t ya bring yer umbrella?”
“I know, I know, I’m 26 and an adult…” Keiji trails off as Osamu wipes off stray droplets on his neck, holding in a breath and Osamu knows it’s because he’s ticklish. Keiji continues, “I was rushing really bad this morning and didn’t expect the rain at all. I mean, you saw the sun this morning, right?”
While Keiji laments his demise, getting tongue-tied often as he gets passionate, Osamu is taking his bag from his shoulder and helping him shrug off of his coat, listening intently with fondness pooling in his chest, the same spot that had felt squeezed upon Keiji’s arrival.
He’ll never get used to feeling for Keiji like this.
“...anyway,” Keiji begins, slowing down. Osamu takes his hand and leads him behind the counter towards a small hallway and into Osamu’s office. It’s a cramped room, really, and has just enough space for Keiji’s figure in addition to Osamu’s. Osamu crouches down to rummage through a plastic bag on the floor. “Why is the owner of Onigiri Miya dragging old me into some small, dark backroom?” Keiji teases. He even gasps for effect. “Scandalous, Myaa-sam…”
Osamu rolls his eyes at him, smiling as he finally pulls out a spare Onigiri Miya shirt from the bag. Osamu admits the place is really a mess, but he rarely spends time here. But, well, maybe Keiji could change that…
“I know that look,” comes Keiji’s voice, breaking Osamu from his trance. Keiji is smirking at him, leaning against the single table in the room, which makes Osamu feel a little faint. Keiji could kill a man with a smile, honestly.
“What look?” Osamu implores innocently as he hands Keiji the shirt.
Keiji takes it from him, the knowing look still etched on his face. He takes a step forward towards Osamu. He raises his cold hand to Osamu’s neck. “You’re burning here, Osamu. Like a human heater.” Keiji takes another step towards Osamu. “And I’m feeling really cold.”
Then Keiji, barely dry, suddenly squeezes Osamu into a tight hug, making Osamu stumble just a bit backwards. “Shit, Keiji, you really are cold!” Osamu laughs, grabbing onto Keiji’s shoulders to steady the two of them.
Keiji pouts cutely at him before stepping back. “I won’t change clothes until I get my kiss.”
“Yer in a mood today,” Osamu says, grinning as he leans forward to capture Keiji’s lips in a kiss.
It starts out chaste enough, but Keiji’s hands begin to wander, positioning themselves on Osamu’s back, poised to untie the knot on his apron. Osamu stops him before he goes further.
“We can go home early,” Osamu suggests breathlessly, face still impossibly close to Keiji’s.
Keiji only smiles at him. “That would be a waste of sales, Osamu.” He brushes Osamu’s hair backwards with his hand. “We don’t have to take off your apron.”
Keiji takes off his shirt and moves to put on the Onigiri Miya shirt when Osamu grabs him by the small of his back and kisses him deeply.
Keiji may be cold to the touch, but Osamu’s feeling the warmest he’s ever been.
He pulls away first, burying his head in the crook of Keiji’s shoulder, a habit he’s developed in the last four weeks with Keiji. (He keeps count.)
Osamu mutters into Keiji’s skin, “We don’t have to take off the apron.”
Osamu feels Keiji grin from where he’s holding him. “Is that so…” is all Keiji says before his hands begin to slip into the sides of his apron and further down to Osamu’s zipper.
They don’t come out of the room for the next fifteen minutes.
⋙
The rest of the night passes in a blur and the rain quiets down into a drizzle. Osamu, now energized, busies himself with cooking and occasionally serving customers whenever his two other employees are preoccupied.
On the very few lulls during the dinner rush, Osamu allows himself a quiet moment of contemplation, eyes trained on Keiji, who’s sitting at his table across the room from him. He’s at the corner of the room, before the turn that leads towards the restrooms. He has his laptop out and a half-eaten onigiri on a plate beside him. That’s how Osamu knows it’s a tough night, if Keiji is willingly ignoring a sizable portion of one of his favorite meals.
Osamu lets his eyes linger a little longer, drinking in Keiji’s form, now close enough for him to hold where he had once been miles away. Osamu tries not to think of Keiji returning to Tokyo.
As if feeling Osamu’s eyes on him, Keiji looks up at him and smiles. His eyes are tired, but his grin is bright, like seeing Osamu was the last spark he needed. Osamu wishes he could keep him here forever.
⋙
Osamu twists the key into the padlock of Onigiri Miya as his employees bid him farewell for the night. Keiji is standing by the sidewalk, waiting.
When he stands up, Osamu huddles over to Keiji as a cool wind passes through them, shivering. He swings an arm around Keiji’s shoulder—partly for warmth and partly just to get close to Keiji—as they begin their walk back to Osamu’s apartment.
“Thanks fer waiting fer me, Keiji,” Osamu says.
“We’ve been doing this for weeks, Osamu, you really don’t have to thank me,” Keiji responds, reaching over for a small pinch to Osamu’s cheek.
Osamu shrugs. “I always appreciate it. Because, you know, ya could be restin’ in yer super cool hotel room,” he says. “Instead, you spend it waitin’ out my last four hours at work.”
“No,” Keiji objects, and Osamu’s brain nearly mistakes his intent until he continues, “I come home to you instead.”
Osamu all but beams at this, turning his head slightly to see Keiji’s calm expression. Trust Keiji to say the most heart-wrenching line without even trying. “Is that how we’re choosin’ to look at it?” Osamu teases.
Keiji laughs. “People who love you will view things a bit differently than you. You think I’m wasting my time waiting for you. But, to me, it’s a comfort to just be in the same space as you.”
Osamu hums, feeling lightheaded as he takes in Keiji’s words. He wants to say, then stay with me here, in Hyogo. He wants to say, then don’t leave. He wants to say, I love you so much but I can’t lie that thinking of you going back to Tokyo is making me go crazy.
“You really are a writer,” he says instead and Keiji laughs again.
Soon enough, they arrive at Osamu’s apartment after stumbling over each other as they make their way up the complex’s stairs because Osamu refused to remove his arm from Keiji’s shoulder. Keiji laughs all the way through and Osamu thinks he’ll never get tired of making Keiji laugh.
Keiji takes off his shoes and immediately heads for the bathroom as Osamu waits, lying prone on the spare futon in the dimmed light of their bedroom. It’s their bedroom now, the walls churning to make space for Keiji. The corners became Keiji-shaped ages ago.
Osamu listens to the shower in the other room, wonders what Keiji might be thinking. Keiji has another month left in Hyogo for his training and then he returns to Tokyo, where he lives. Where he probably belongs. Osamu wonders if Keiji might be thinking of that, if Keiji is thinking about how to break to Osamu that he’s leaving—going home—and that it may be some time before they see each other again. Maybe Keiji will start with Osamu-san. The thought of it alone—reverting back to honorifics like they didn’t just spend the last almost two months memorizing every indent on each other’s skin—makes Osamu’s heart shatter in its ribcage.
Despite his best efforts, Osamu imagines a life with Keiji here in Hyogo. He imagines nights just like this, walking home together from Onigiri Miya. Walking back to his apartment and Keiji immediately making a beeline for the shower, every night without fail. Maybe on Osamu’s day-offs, Keiji can come home to a nice warm meal waiting for him on the kitchen table. Maybe they can watch that movie they always meant to, but falling asleep halfway, not expecting their exhaustion. They have a long list of movies to watch. Surely, they won’t be able to go through it in a month? No, Keiji has to stay, at least until they get to Serendipity (2001).
Osamu shakes his head, burrowing into the futon. No, he can’t do that. Keiji has a home, a whole life, back in Tokyo. It would be selfish to ask him to stay where he was only likely visiting. A visitor in Osamu’s life who upturns every furniture in the house looking for his glasses, even as they perch perfectly over his nose. But Osamu gets on his knees to look for it, anyway.
Keiji comes out of the bathroom in his sleep clothes and spots Osamu on the futon, smiling as he does. Osamu notices he always smiles when he sees him, which feels incredible. It’s as if just the sight of Osamu, even sweaty as he is from a hard day’s work, is enough to bring that beautiful smile to Keiji’s face.
Osamu sits up and raises his arms lazily, prompting for Keiji to pull him up. But to his surprise, Keiji crawls onto his lap instead, forcing Osamu to lean his hands backwards to support Keiji’s weight.
“What are you doing, ’m all sweaty,” Osamu says in a rush because Keiji’s scent, made stronger by his shower, invades all his senses and he’s starting to feel dizzy.
Keiji wraps his arms around Osamu’s middle and squeezes lightly. “It’s alright, just a bit,” he says, leaning his head on Osamu’s chest.
Osamu rests his hand on Keiji’s head and slides it down to his neck, massaging lightly. “Tired?”
“A bit,” Keiji replies. “I’m mostly just happy, though. I was in the shower and, you know, it’s a damn small shower, but I looked at my stuff on the counter and I just- it just felt real.” Osamu hears him sniffle into his shirt. “What we have is the realest thing to me, Osamu. I’m just grateful.”
Osamu thinks it’s probably too early to think of Keiji leaving, when Keiji is willing to stick with him like this, sweat and grime and dirt and all. He thinks that maybe he shouldn’t get ahead of himself, that there will be a time and place to talk about their future. That maybe they can still make it work even if Keiji goes back.
Because Keiji is in his arms right now. Keiji sits on his lap and hugs him with all the force of his love. Keiji’s hands are playing with his hair and his eyes are fluttering shut, like Osamu’s chest is a resting place made only for him.
Osamu knows, without a doubt, that Keiji loves him, that he loves him now and will undoubtedly still love him even when they’re 360 miles from each other.
“You have me,” Osamu whispers, soothing, and he can feel Keiji relax further into him.
There will be a time and place to talk about their future. Maybe tomorrow or another four weeks from now. Maybe when Keiji is on the platform waiting for his train. But today and all their days forward, Osamu will be busy loving Keiji.