Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sometimes I find myself
Standing in those steps
With eyes so blank and unsure
Realizing this is not where I want to be
And not where I want to go

“Hey, Samu?” Suna mumbled out, the words scraping against his raw throat. Osamu stood awkwardly in the doorway of the toilet room, clutching an old t-shirt rag and a mug of water.

“What’s up, buddy?” Osamu said. “Need a drink?”

“Do you think…” Suna slumped his aching head against his folded forearms, feeling the warmth of the heated seat sink into his skin. A small comfort, despite the inevitability of tomorrow morning’s hangover. “If I turned the bidet on right now, would it drown me?”

“No, prob’ly not.”

“Shit.”

Ultimately, this was Osamu’s fault. Most of their adult beverage related escapades were. He’d reached the big two-oh first and proceeded to develop a taste for the cheapest liquor obtainable from the Lawson’s around the corner. Suna, on the other hand, was still nineteen — unable to purchase but unfortunately able to consume. 

Earlier that evening, they were curled up in front of the television. Backs pressed to the cushions they angled against the wall — trying to pretend it was a proper couch and not just Suna’s too small bed masquerading as one. Atsumu’s ugly mug was plastered on the screen — grinning a sharp-toothed smile and waving at the camera as he warmed up.

“Let’s start a wager.” Osamu suggested, tugging Suna’s duvet further over his knees. 

“Mm.” Suna swirled his can of apple chuhai, feeling the cool wave of fruity alcohol through the aluminum. “With what money?”

“Oh.” Osamu picked at the tab top of his own can with his fingernail, interrupting the commentator announcing the Railway Warriors starting lineup with a plucky metallic tune. “Right. What about a drinkin’ game?”

“I’m listening.” Suna said tentatively before taking a sip of his drink. He hadn’t planned on drinking too much tonight — but it was a Saturday night and the classwork he’d intended to do that afternoon was clearly not getting worked on today. 

Osamu’s eyes settled on their blanketless kotatsu and the plastic shochu bottles upon it. “How about we take shots every time a player flubs a serve?”

“Uh huh.” Suna mumbled to avoid groaning. He hadn’t planned on paying close attention to the game, either. “How exactly is that a wager?”

“We each pick a player.” Osamu tilted his head towards the screen, showing the Jackals lineup. “When the player I pick fucks up, you drink ‘n’ vice versa.”

After a brief discussion of the rules and regulations of their drinking game, a handshake, and a best-of-three game of janken to decide who will pick first, he and Osamu chose their targets.

"Bokuto Koutarou." Osamu proudly declared, raising his chuhai in a toast before knocking it back.

"Not Atsumu?" Suna raised a brow. 

"I'm allowed to cheer for 'im sometimes ya know?" Osamu laughed.

"Alright…" Suna said. "Then I'll pick Miya Atsumu."

Osamu smiled that sweet, sweet smile of his to conceal the fact that he was a snot-nosed, slimy little lying asshole no matter how hard he pretended to be the Nice Twin.

It didn't take long for his treachery to come to light. 

Atsumu was the first to serve. A beautiful jump floater service ace followed by a less than impressive one. A short rally led to the Railway Warriors scoring and Atsumu was immediately subbed out.

Apparently, it was the Jackals' veteran setter's last game before his retirement from professional volleyball. So he'd be playing the entire match except for a ceremonial sub out with Atsumu at the end of the last set. 

Naturally, someone failed to mention that.

Not naming names, of course.

"I'm gonna kill you." Suna mumbled, feeling a thickness in his throat that he prayed would stay down.

A hand met his back as Osamu leaned into the toilet room, straining to reach the flush button in the wall without stepping in. It was a small comfort — like entirely too many parts of Osamu were — but Suna wasn't about to admit it.

The tiny sink on the back of the toilet turned on as Osamu finally managed to press the button. Suna couldn't help but stare at the trickle of water — a distraction from the horror story flushing down the drain.

“In my defense…” There was a clink as Osamu set the mug of water on the floor and slid it until it bumped against Suna’s ankle. He picked it up, gulping down the contents like a fish thrown back into the sea. “I knew Tsumu was sittin’ out, but I didn’t think Bokkun would fuck up that badly.”

“They’ll never find your body.” Suna exhaled, feeling the cool water soothe his insides. “Not for a million years.”

“Cool.” Osamu said, tossing him the rag. “Can ya pose me in a weird way so future archaeologists think I’m a freak of nature?”

Suna carefully wiped off the corner of his mouth with the rag before folding it and dabbing at the sweat dripping from his forehead. He wanted to take a shower more than he wanted to be alive, which was a rare occurrence. 

“Yeah, sure.” Suna mumbled, crawling to his feet. “We can brainstorm ideas later.”

He was face to face with Osamu, staring into those big grey eyes of his. Osamu had the decency to look at least a tiny bit apologetic — brows scrunched upwards and lips pulled into a taut crooked smile. One broad shoulder leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Ya should take a shower.” Osamu reached between them, fingers brushing at Suna’s brow and pushing his bangs out of his face. His hair had grown longer since coming to university — long enough to warrant pilfering a hair tie from the kouhai team manager every practice. Maybe it was time for Osamu to trim it. He tucked the chunk of hair behind Suna’s ear, clearly unbothered by the sticky ends. “Need any help?”

“No, I’m fine.” Suna said, letting the ‘thanks, though’ go unspoken. “Night, Samu.” 

“Night, Rin.” Osamu took a step back, shutting the door behind him. 

Suna shed his clothes in the toilet room, not bothering to fold them or keep any errant stains off the floor. He’ll clean everything tomorrow. Probably. Then, stepped through the open door into the shower room — pitch black, just the way he liked it — and flicked the water on.

Exhaustion hit as he stood under the warm stream of water, the week catching up to him in an instant. Volleyball practice almost every night. Classes ranging anywhere between impossible to mind-numbingly horrifically utterly boring. A pile of schoolwork that was growing ever higher as he pretended it didn’t exist. 

He was just grateful the autumn league was finished now and they weren’t playing games all over the region on the weekends. More time to make poor decisions with his best friend and nurse hangovers instead of tired limbs.

Though, he would rather be playing than anything else.

The shower head flashed cold as the washing machine rumbled on and he had half a mind to yell at Osamu. But that could be saved for another evening when he was significantly less inebriated. Especially since Osamu was already going to have to go through the struggle of having a still-damp shirt for work tomorrow afternoon. 

Suna rinsed the last bit of conditioner from his locks — running his fingers through them to eradicate any and all lingering bubbles. As the cooler air of the rest of the apartment seeped into the shower room and goosebumped his skin, he realized he’d forgotten a towel. Creeping through the darkness like Solid Snake on a mission, Suna carefully slivered open the door to the toilet room — just enough to make sure Osamu wasn’t lurking nearby.

To his relief, the door was latched shut with their communal bathroom slippers still tucked into the corner where he left them. His shed clothing was distinctly missing and the floor gleamed like it’d been freshly cleaned. A folded up towel rested on the toilet lid next to a bundle of clothing. Fresh boxers, an oversized shirt, and Osamu’s thick flannel pants.

Bastard.

He emerged from the bathroom, stepped into the hallway and continued through the door separating their kitchen from the main room. The cushions once pressed against the wall were stacked neatly under his bed and all evidence of their drinking escapade was cleared away. Which, to his dismay, also meant his duvet and sheets. 

The washing machine. Suna sighed, resigning himself to a cold night.

“Oh? Yer finished.” Osamu said, face poking out above the ladder of their loft. 

When they’d first moved to the apartment at the start of their first year, Suna claimed the loft. He was paying the bigger portion of the rent, had aspirations of filling the little storage nook with all sorts of stuff, and found the idea of sleeping in a narrow cave appealing. That is, until he smacked his skull against the ceiling one too many times in the middle of the night and immediately forced Osamu to swap.

Luckily, Osamu slept like the dead and the life of a moleman suited him.

“Yeah.” Suna mumbled, sitting on the edge of his bare mattress.

“Oi.” Osamu threw a balled up sock at him, nailing him right in the face. “What’re ya sulkin’ ‘bout?”

“My shitty roommate.” Suna watched a smile grow on Osamu’s face. “Got me drunk and then took apart my bed.”

“Sounds like an asshole.” Osamu huffed out a laugh. “Maybe that shitty roommate of yers will take it to the laundromat in the morning ‘n’ get it properly dried?”

“Maybe.” Suna felt his own lips twitch at that. Still, it didn’t help his current problem. “And maybe he’ll also lend me that big fuzzy blanket of his.” 

“Wahhh?” Osamu’s face contorted in faux shock. “Nah, he's probably too much of a selfish asshole for that.”

"Ah."

"But maybe he'll let ya sleep in his futon?" Osamu had his head tilted against his folded up forearms, looking like a cherub in an oil painting. "If ya can make it up without bustin' yer ass and yer skull, that is."

They bought a two person futon back when they first furnished the place. The idea was that if either of them got a lady friend, they could invite her over and relentlessly sexile the other for the night. But Suna didn't care for dating — especially not with strangers — and Osamu had yet to express any interest in anybody.

These days, it was only used by two people on lazy weekends when they'd rather lounge in the dark and watch pirated movies on Osamu's shitty laptop than do anything else.

Suna carefully crawled into the loft — taking the utmost care not to bump his head — and slid under the blanket next to his best friend. It was toasty enough that the tiny space heater shoved into the corner was unplugged, a small perk of sharing a bed with Osamu. He always did run hot due to that lightning fast Miya metabolism that burned away all his calories and all his brain cells.

Osamu's hand found the knobby bone of his hip, leaving small circles against the flannel fabric covering it. If it was anyone else, Suna might've found it odd. But he knew Osamu. He knew it was easier for him to express himself with touch than with words. Osamu's other arm was curled under his head, keeping it propped up as he faced Suna.

“I’m sorry, by the way.” Osamu said, his smile barely visible in the darkness. It was always odd to hear him apologize, especially after being witness to so many unrepentant fights between him and Atsumu. “I didn’t expect it to go that far. Just wanted to see ya relax a lil.” 

“Relax? Why?”

“You’ve seemed a bit… ah… stressed out lately.” Osamu’s eyes drifted closed. The hand on his hip shifted to the small of his back, giving Osamu leverage to push himself closer until he nestled up against Suna’s chest. 

Was he really stressed? 

Osamu always was observant, but he’s been wrong before.

“Eh… I’m fine.” Suna pressed his cheek into the crown of Osamu’s head, feeling the softness of Osamu’s natural brown locks. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“No?” Osamu mumbled, breath hot through Suna’s oversized shirt. His sleep-deep voice was thick, tone unconvinced. A half-hearted argument bubbled up in his best friend’s throat but faded away — too late for a fight. “Well, alright.”

Suna slid his fingers into Osamu’s undercut, rhythmically running his nails along the freshly shorn nape until the man’s breathing grew heavy and sleep took him away. It wouldn’t be long until Suna followed suit.

Suna Rintarou was not a good student.

He did decently growing up. Elementary school was far too easy, especially if one was reasonably well-read and paid attention at least half of the time.

His nose was always buried in a different book, casting away the rest of the world in favor of wild magical worlds and tales of the strange and unusual. Aunties would coo over how cute he was and use fancy words like precocious and clever and gifted. Always hiding their disappointment behind practiced smiles when he didn't bother responding.

Every time he gained a new interest in his independent study, he scoured every resource he could to learn more about it. Library books, big heavy encyclopedias, and the internet — whenever his mom was off the phone long enough to use it, that is.

Then, they covered the same subject in school and all semblance of interest Suna had in it vanished. An endless, vicious cycle.

At the dawn of junior high, Suna's precious beloved golden child baby sister came into the world and he was tossed off to a boarding school in Tokyo for two years. There, academic boredom mixed with the bitter taste of resentment.

He was only saved from a freefall into lifelong mediocrity by his homeroom teacher dragging him to the school gym and leaving him at the mercy of whatever sports club was practicing. The volleyball team welcomed him with open arms, eager to take advantage of his first big growth spurt.

Once he returned to Nagoya for his third year of junior high and later, when he was whisked off to Inarizaki for high school, volleyball was his only motivation. He could keep his grades just high enough to stay on the team, but low enough to disappoint his parents. Win-win.

College was completely off the table in his mind. And yet, here he was in a group study room in the university library.

Though the library was his safe haven as a kid, he utterly despised being in this one. All thick research tomes and textbooks about subjects he didn't give three shits about. Uncomfortable seats that were clearly meant for someone much shorter than he was. The stifling closeness of the four walls around him.

He wasn't alone, of course. Next to him was Osamu, tapping away at a calculator and jotting down random numbers on a scrap of paper. The two girls across the table were classmates of theirs.

One was their friend, Yuki, a girl in the finance course. Osamu shoved himself into her life like an overbearing yet endearing labrador retriever with a stick he wanted her to throw. Her given name was written with the same kanji as Atsumu, which — in Miya Osamu terms — meant they were already best friends. Yuki was nice enough, pretty but not annoyingly so, and had a cute giggle. Suna always had an inkling that she'd make a good girlfriend for Osamu.

He wasn’t super familiar with the other girl despite her being in many of his classes. She was a friend of Yuki’s and he vaguely recalled her name being Chieri. Where Yuki was friendlier and chattier, Chieri was quieter and almost shy around them. A brightly colored ita bag rested in her lap, its dangling acrylic anime boy charms clattering together every time she shifted positions. Her only communication with the rest of the group consisted of whispering in Yuki’s ear and nothing more.

“Suna-kun?” Yuki said, leaning on a fist and twirling a pen between her fingers. “Are you okay?”

“Eh?” Suna blinked, focusing in on her face. Her brows were scrunched in concern. “Yeah, fine.”

Beside him, Osamu let out a soft sigh — one just loud enough for Suna to hear and not the girls. He glanced towards his best friend to see him still hard at work on his assignment. The exact same assignment Suna should be working on as well. Every time he stared down at the pages, the numbers and letters swirled into an unappetizing soup. There was nothing on this earth he hated more than math.

“Do you need any help?” Yuki asked, tapping her pen against her completed worksheets. There was a faint air of condescension in her tone, though Suna figured he was simply imagining it. She was too nice to point out how dumb he was.

“No, no.” Suna waved her off, flashing a half-hearted smile. “Just taking a break.”

“Hmm.” Yuki hummed but didn’t bother to argue further. After all, she had other work for other courses to worry about first.

As her attention returned to her English assignment, Suna felt knuckles bump against his leg. He met Osamu’s eye to see him smiling faintly, nudging his hand closer. In his friend’s palm was a tiny slip of paper ripped from his notebook. Suna unfolded it — still under the table and away from wandering eyes — to reveal a simple, four character scrawl: ドンマイ.

Don’t mind.

Suna huffed to himself, watching Osamu’s eyes crinkle. At least he wasn’t alone.

“Oh, Osamu-kun, Suna-kun, I nearly forgot!” Yuki said, setting down her water bottle after taking a sip. “My friend from the sociology department is planning a group date next weekend. She wanted me to invite some boys from the commerce department.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, offering them a cheeky smile. “And maybe Suna-kun can ask the volleyball team?”

Osamu chuckled. “Does Yucchan have her eye on somebody?”

“Well…” She giggled. “Maybe.”

"Sorry, I don't—" Suna started.

"We'll do our best." Osamu said with a nod, grey eyes flickering with annoyance at Suna. "Just tell us when 'n' where and we'll be there."

"Ah, great! Thanks Osamu." Yuki smiled. She carefully sequestered her pile of papers away into a sticker-covered folder and slid it into her backpack. "It'll be a lot of fun, I'm sure. I know a girl who really wants to meet you, Suna-kun."

"Right…" Suna mumbled. "Yeah, sounds good."

"We've gotta get going now." Yuki said, zipping up her bag.

Chieri nodded before addressing them for the first time since their earlier introduction. "We have naginata club."

"Later." The two boys echoed as the girls left, waving them off.

"Rin." Osamu folded his arms on the table, leaning heavily over his classwork. "Would it kill ya to show some tact once in a while?"

"Yeah." Suna grinned, watching Osamu huff out a patient laugh. "But c'mon, dude… you don't wanna go either."

"Maybe not, but it's whatever." Osamu said with a shrug. "Just think of it as a night out and a chance to meet new folks. We don't gotta go home with anybody or nothin'."

"Why can't you just leave me outta this and bring Atsumu?"

"Ah, well…" Osamu averted his eyes, feigning interest in his accounting worksheets. "Wouldn't be 'propriate to bring a guy that ain't single to a group date, now would it?"

"Wait, really?" There had to be some sort of glitch in the matrix because there's no way that— "Atsumu got a girlfriend before you? What the hell…"

Back in highschool, neither of the twins dated despite the legion of girls vying for their attention. Most didn't care about the differences between the two — if Atsumu rejected them, maybe Osamu wouldn't. But they each had their own dedicated fans.

Osamu was the undisputed (to everyone except for Atsumu who argued most didn't count) king of confessions. It felt like every other day Suna would find him under a tree with a girl and an apologetic look on his face. There's always been plenty of interest in him, even now. And yet, he's never said yes once.

"Uhhh… yeah." Osamu picked at his fingernail. "She… goes to university here in Osaka, too."

"Ohoho." Suna slumped back, kicking his legs up on the chair Chieri vacated. "Flirting with college girls. Who could've seen that one coming?"

"Actually… he's known her for a while. Ya remember that trainin' camp second year? She was there and they kept in touch after." Osamu spoke slowly, like he was thinking a little too hard about his words. "Didn't start datin' 'til after graduation, though."

"I didn't know they had girls at that camp." Suna frowned. He’d wanted to attend it or any of the other major youth training camps. Perhaps to prove to his parents that he was talented enough and that volleyball was more than something that looked good on a resume. But he was never invited. It was easy for him to guess why.

"Eh. I dunno." Osamu mumbled. "Whatever, it's not important."

Despite Osamu's dismissal, Suna was still curious. "Have you met her? What's she like?"

"She's okay. A lil weird." Osamu said, his shoulders slumping. He flicked a pencil towards Suna, letting it roll over the table. "The more pressin' issue is yer damn homework."

Suna set his palm on the rolling pencil, stopping it in its tracks. Beneath it was his work, not a single mark on it.

"Ya haven't done anythin' today. When didja get to be so lazy?" Out of anyone else's mouth, Suna would've considered swinging. But he knew there was concern somewhere beneath the blunt surface.

"Just don't feel like it." Suna flicked the pencil back. "I'll finish it later."

Lie. It'll be a miracle if he manages to get half of it done.

"I know I ain't the smartest knife in the drawer." Osamu pushed his bangs out of his face, eyes closed in a sigh. "But you can ask me for help, y'know?"

"I don't need—"

"Stop." A tiny scrunch formed between Osamu's eyes. "Ya can get away with that bullshit with the girls but not with me."

"Oh, fuck off Osamu." Suna exhaled with a humored huff.

Osamu laughed, warm and loud. His hand smacked Suna's back, eyes crinkling. "Really though, what's goin' on?"

Suna frowned, plucking his own pen off the table and twirling it between his fingers. "I just… this shit's hard."

"I think it's s'posed to be, yeah?" Osamu's thumb brushed a lazy circle into Suna's shoulder as he gripped it. "That way once we're out in the world workin', we can balance our businesses' books 'n' stuff."

Our businesses.

It was easy to imagine Osamu in that future. Broad shoulders leaning over a stainless steel countertop, grey eyes flicking over paperwork and spreadsheets. Analyzing which ingredients he should order this week and how many bags of Kita's rice he needs. Laughing boisterously at his employees and his customers as they fawn over him and his dumb, handsome face.

Osamu still wasn't sure what kind of food he wanted to serve at his restaurant. That was the only thread that wavered in his dream. Everything else was sturdy.

Your only future is in our company.

Suna squeezed his pen tighter, careful not to let the distress show on his face.

"I dunno, Osamu." Suna said, easing his voice into something lighthearted. "Everyone said university was easy. That getting in was the hardest part."

"Maybe ya could switch majors?" Osamu leaned his cheek on his fist. "I'd miss ya in our classes, though."

I can't.

"And lose the opportunity to send memes to my seatmate all class long? Nah." 

"Then ya better let me help ya." Osamu's face curved into an Atsumu-esque expression. "Or else yer gonna have to retake 101 and I'll be off to 102 without ya."

"You bastard." 

"I'm home!" The front door of their apartment creaked open — Suna's lanyard of keys dangling from the inside knob jingled.

"Welcome home." Suna called out from his position firmly entrenched beneath the kotatsu. He had his laptop perched before him, a mess of an English paper plastered across the screen. Writing always came easier to him than anything else, but only after a disastrous first draft. "How was work?"

"Ah, fine." Osamu nudged the hall door open with his shoulder, in his hands were two red plastic bags. "We had a big lunch rush, but it got quiet. Boss closed up early."

"Whatcha got there?" 

"Dinner." Osamu lifted one bag, a half-smile on his lips. "And somethin' special."

Entirely too many of their meals were leftovers that Osamu filched from his part-time job. He tried to cook as often as he could, but with school and work, it wasn’t always feasible. At least this way they saved a yen or two and didn’t order copious amounts of takeout.

"Let's see it."

Osamu's half-smile shifted into a megawatt grin as he slid under the kotatsu, knee bumping into Suna's. Instead of the white styrofoam boxes of his restaurant, it was familiar red striped buckets brimmed to the top with crispy fried chicken.

"What the hell, Osamu?" Suna said as Osamu pulled out a handful of side dishes, setting them on the table. Crowning the collection of takeout containers was a bottle of champagne that was most certainly not purchased from KFC.

"It's Christmas, Rin. We gotta celebrate properly." Osamu snatched one of Suna's discarded shirts off the floor and draped it over the top of the champagne. He carefully loosened the cage and twisted until the cork popped. "Cheers." He said before taking a sip straight from the bottle.

"Is there a reason why we're drinking from the bottle?" Suna said as he took it from Osamu, pressing it to his own lips. It was delicious — the fizz tickling the back of his throat. "Old Christmas tradition I missed?"

"Nah." Osamu shrugged, plucking a drumstick from a bucket. "Our wine glasses are still dirty."

"You literally wash dishes for a living." They had some friends over a week ago and neither of them seemed eager to empty the sink since then. There were far more important things to do, such as closing the door and pretending the sink wasn't full. He was getting rather sick of eating takeout, though. Maybe it was time to deal with the pile.

"What's that got to do with anythin'?" Osamu scoffed, lips curled in amusement. "I get paid at work. Ya plannin' on payin' me?"

“Hell no. They’re your dishes too.” Suna slid the remote over to Osamu’s side of the table. “Besides, he who cooks washes the dishes.”

“On what fuckin’ planet?” Osamu clicked on the television. A rerun of a Premier League soccer game was playing — evidence that they haven’t touched the damn thing since the last time the Black Jackals played. “Everyone knows the eaters do the dishes.”

Suna prodded his foot against Osamu’s knee, relishing in the sound of his laugh. “Let’s make a deal. We tag team ‘em after tomorrow.” 

“Hm.” Osamu was flipping through the channels, grey eyes reflecting a rainbow of lights. “Deal. Speakin’ of, are ya doin’ anythin’ tomorrow?”

The television settled on a western movie that Suna was pretty sure was Die Hard based entirely on Bruce Willis’ scruffy head of hair and the fact that it was Christmas Eve. Suna watched the screen — not quite sure what was going on, but he didn’t really care.

“Rin.”

“Eh?” Suna blinked, remembering Osamu asked him a question. “Nothing, I guess. Sleep in. Maybe work on my paper. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I’m off work ‘til after New Years.” The ever elegant Osamu chewed a bite of fried chicken as he spoke. “Figured we could hang out. Go do somethin’ fun.”

Something about that simple statement hit Suna like a truckload of bricks. Here they were, sitting and eating a meal together that Osamu must’ve ordered weeks ago. The waitlist for Christmas chicken was insane. And the proposition of doing something on Christmas Day — while less romantic than Christmas Eve, was still better than nothing — was sweet beyond words. Whatever plan was brewing in Osamu’s mind must’ve been a truly special Christmas.

“Holy shit.” Suna blinked as the dots connected. “Osamu, did you get dumped?”

“Huh?”

“Oh my god. You did.” Suna took a big swig of the champagne before practically shoving it into Osamu’s hands. Poor guy needed self medication. “It’s probably for the best since you definitely couldn’t marry her. I mean… Miya Mai. What a nightmare that’d be. Shame, though. She seemed nice. Would’ve been fine for the short term. But—”

“Suna Rintarou.” He closed his mouth as Osamu set the bottle down on the kotatsu with a clunk. “What the absolute hell are ya on about?”

“You…” Osamu wore his most confused expression — one strictly dedicated to Atsumu’s antics. “Well, I mean. You ordered all this food, and I’m guessing you planned a Christmas date for the two of you tomorrow.” He pointed at his roommate. “Shit, you were gonna sexile me tonight, weren’t you? Damn it.”

“Rin.” Osamu laughed, brows still knit together in bafflement. “I ain’t even datin’ Mai. I turned her down.” 

Yuki’s group date was over a month ago now. Suna and Osamu went like the good boys they pretended to be, bringing along two of Suna’s most attractive and charming teammates. Suna had escaped scotfree — the girl who was supposedly interested in him found Takezawa-kun infinitely more appealing (he could hardly blame her) — but Osamu was swept away into a conversation the whole evening.

Suna didn’t really care, of course. Osamu can live his life however he wants, but he was admittedly a little bored.

“What? Really?” Suna rested his head on his folded arms. “Didn’t you exchange LINE IDs?”

“Well, yeah. I’m not a dick.” Osamu shrugged. “She’s a nice girl. I just ain’t interested.”

Suna tapped his nails on the table, putting the pieces back together. His eyes shifted back to the food he hadn’t even properly touched yet. “Then… this was meant for me?”

“Yes.” Osamu enunciated like he was speaking to a small child. A faint flush of embarrassment bit at his roommate’s cheekbones and ears. “Yer my best friend and I like spendin’ time with ya. Ya don’t gotta overanalyze every damn thing, aho.”

“Oh.” Suna huffed out a laugh. He really was an idiot. “Well, in that case, yeah. Let’s hang out tomorrow.” 

“I was thinkin’ we could go to the German Christmas market downtown and go ice skatin’ afterwards.” Osamu leaned a cheek on a fist. “Then catch whatever winter illumination is nearby.”

Suna clasped his hands together, batting his eyelashes. “And then we can kiss under the full moon, while snowflakes flutter around us. Isn’t that right, Osamu-chan~?”

“I’m gonna kill ya.” Osamu elbowed him in the ribs, enough to make him sputter out a bit of champagne-flavored spit.

“Let’s do it.” Suna grinned.

"Oh! Rintarou-kun!"

They were the last words Suna heard before he was scooped up by the strong arms of Miya Hiyori. A massive smile graced her lips as his feet dangled off the genkan floor. She was a tall woman, just a handful of centimeters shorter than her sons.

"Ah, hello auntie." Suna said, choking the words out around her bearhug grip. "It's nice to see you."

"You've gained weight, haven't ya?" Miya-san put him down gently. She was always so worried about his well-being, a trait she clearly passed on to Osamu. Her concern was never overbearing, always loving and supportive in a way he craved. It was nice to have at least one adult who actually cared about him, since his parents certainly didn’t.

"Yeah, yeah." Suna huffed out a laugh. A stricter workout regimen, more regular meals, and a shot of hormones to the thigh every month got the job done.

"That's good, ya always were too skinny for a volleyball player." She patted his cheek twice before pulling back. "Seems like it's all muscle, too."

"Ma…" Osamu groaned. She hadn't even greeted him yet. "Leave Rin be, we just got here."

"Osamu, ya don't gotta be jealous." She winked at Suna before pinching Osamu's cheek. "I got plenty of love for all my boys."

They sat on the edge of the genkan, untying their boots and leaving them in a neat little row next to Atsumu’s pair. Then they pulled off their coats, handing them off to Osamu’s mother who hung them up in the cabinet with the rest of the family’s outdoor gear. Despite it being the dead of winter, the Miya household was always so warm. Perhaps from the sheer number of people living there. Or their torrid love affair with space heaters and cooking nabemono. Or perhaps the love inside those walls. Maybe all of the above.

Osamu whined as he put his weight on his socked foot. His gait had been marred with a slight limp ever since their Christmas ice skating misadventure. It was Suna’s fault — a fact Osamu reminded him of at every possible moment — due to him slipping, falling, and knocking Osamu over in the process. Suna was fine — Osamu’s torso shielded the brunt of his fall — but Osamu hurt his ankle. It was a bruise, at the most, nothing that warranted a doctor’s visit.

"I'm surprised to see ya here, sweetheart." Miya-san said as she leaned against the wall of the hallway, arms crossed over her chest. "It is New Years, after all."

"Ah, my parents are busy." Suna mumbled, skirting the truth as best he could. His issues with his family were better left unsaid. Not now, perhaps not ever. 

"Well, our house is yer house. Yer always welcome here." She smiled before clapping her hands. "Why don't ya help Rintarou-kun get settled, Osamu?" She shot them a look best described as calculating — stone cold grey and an inclined brow. "Give him yer bed 'n' don't ya dare let him argue."

Osamu's broad hand patted him on the shoulder as Suna pulled his duffel bag back onto his shoulder. "Well, ya heard the boss. C'mon, Rin."

As they walked through the hallway, a sense of appreciation washed over him. The Miya residence was considerably smaller than his own house back in Aichi — a place purchased by a bright-eyed pair of newlyweds not yet aware that their bundle of joy was plural. Twenty years of life and love had been worn into the home — photos of gap-toothed little boys, rogue splotches of paint on the ceiling, notches in the wall outside the kitchen with familiar kanji scrawled beside.

He never felt like this back in highschool. This was just a place he spent time in sometimes when the twins were insistent and he was bored. 

But now, this was the only home he had.

"Here we are." Osamu proclaimed, as if Suna hadn't been here before. The door opened to reveal a relatively untouched bedroom — just with bits and bobs of the old decorations and mementos missing, transplanted into their respective adult apartments. 

Atsumu was sitting on the top bunk, a little too comically large for it these days. Feet poking out beneath the bed railing, tufts of blonde hair brushing against the ceiling and knees pulled up close. Luckily both of the twins had moleman genes, so he didn't seem too bothered by it.

Suna set his duffel bag down on Osamu's bunk, sending up a waft of fresh laundry smell that reminded him of naps on the back of the bus — face pressed into the shoulder of Osamu's jacket.

"Do I really gotta sleep with him?" Atsumu said, not looking up from his phone. "He snores."

"I don't snore." Suna scratched his thumbnail against the bottom of Atsumu's foot, earning himself a high-pitched shriek. "You snore."

"For the record." He glanced back at Osamu, who watched them with a grin. "Ya both snore."

He and Atsumu were on the verge of uniting in their fight against the snoring allegations when Miya-san shouted. Her voice was a crack of thunder that always managed to make her sons jump, to Suna's neverending amusement. "Osamu! Me 'n' yer pa need a hand!"

"Ah, duty calls." Osamu huffed out a sigh. "Don't kill each other, 'kay?"

After the bedroom door clicked shut, Suna finally addressed his friend. "Atsumu."

"Sunarin."

"Whatcha doing up there?" Suna unzipped his duffel bag, fishing out a pair of sweatpants.

"Readin'."

"Damn. I didn't know you could read." He unbuttoned his jeans, sliding them and the running leggings beneath off.

Atsumu's eyes flashed up for a brief second before lowering back down to his phone. "Figured it wasn't too late to learn."

Suna finished pulling up his sweatpants, tying the strings together. "So…"

"Yes, ya can come up." Atsumu rolled his eyes.

He scaled the bunk bed’s ladder, settling beside Atsumu and leaning his head back against the wall. The entirety of the bedroom could be seen and as Suna looked out over the land like a conqueror, it hit him how much smaller it was than he remembered. It wouldn’t be long now until he too crossed over the twenty year old mark, kissing goodbye to his teenage years.

“So, how’s school goin’?” Atsumu said beside him. While sitting on this bed with Osamu always meant peaceful silence, Atsumu preferred to fill it with conversation.

“Y’know.” He had a GPA free falling so fast it was on the verge of breaking the sound barrier. The month-long break from volleyball practice made him want to rip his hair out. He'd yet to figure out where on earth his focus, motivation, and will to fucking live disappeared to. “It’s school.”

Atsumu scoffed as he swiped his thumb over the screen, flipping to the next page of whatever it was he was reading. “Glad I didn’t go. I’d be bored outta my mind.”

“Well, you did have the whole ‘going pro’ thing going for you.”

“Ya could’ve too, Sunarin.”

No, he really couldn’t have. Making it in professional sports was like trying to hit a balloon with a dart thrown from the moon. Nearly impossible for the average guy, much less one with a big fat F plastered across his legal identity. Besides, his parents would never allow it. His future was working for his father’s company.

No ifs, ands, or buts.

“Whatever.” Suna mumbled. “How’re things going with your girlfriend? Have a good Christmas with her?”

“My what now?” Atsumu looked confused, turning off his phone screen and letting it drop into his lap. “I think yer misunderstandin’ somethin’ somewhere cause I got a boyfriend.”

What.

“Wait.” Suna stared at his friend’s face, his expression pulled taut in seriousness. Far better acting than Atsumu was capable of, which meant… “You do?”

“Did I stutter?” Atsumu smiled to himself, eyes trailing off into some fantasy land. “Things are goin’ well. He’s… a bit of an odd guy, but that’s why I like ‘im. That gonna be a problem?”

“No, no. That’s… that’s great. Just unexpected.” Suna fidgeted with the comforter, not quite sure what to think about all this. “It’s not what Osamu said.”

“Lil baby Samu, always tryna protect his big brother.” Atsumu laughed. “Maybe it’s cause I ain’t out to anyone but the family ‘n’ Omi. The team don’t even know yet. But yer family, sorta.” He scrunched his nose at that, like he regretted it. But no take backs. Suna would wear his Honorary Miya badge proudly.

“So then you’re…?”

“I’m gay, yeah. Not bi.”

“And Osamu’s okay with stuff like that?”

Atsumu rolled his eyes, muttering something undecipherable under his breath. “Yeah. Ma always taught us not to give three fucks about shit like that.”

Miya Hiyori was a rare woman indeed.

“What ‘bout you, Sunarin?” Atsumu raised a brow. “Seein’ anyone?”

“No. I’m…” He often shrugged off the question, saying he was too busy for a girlfriend, a partner of any kind. It was far more complicated than that. Hard to put into words. Strong feelings were a stranger to him, nothing more than a rare flare up that faded into ash and disappeared in the wind. Perhaps he wasn’t incapable, but it was easier just to forget about it all. “Just not interested. I’d rather hang out with Osamu, y’know?”

Atsumu regarded him for a long moment in an expression he didn’t recognize. Whatever Atsumu intended to say when he opened his mouth was cut off by the door creaking open, revealing Osamu with a handful of oranges.

“Look at you two bein’ all chummy.” Osamu said with a grin. “C’mon down. Ma found the Wii while she was cleanin’.”

“Shit!” Atsumu elbowed Suna in the face as he clambered over his lap, practically jumping off the top bunk and out the door. “I gotta reassert my dominance at Wii Sports baseball. Junior High Tsumu is countin’ on me!”

“No fuckin’ way! I had top score.” Osamu threw one of the oranges down the hallway, presumably in the direction of his brother. Suna heard a distinct clunk and hoped that was the sound of it hitting Atsumu’s thick skull and not anything important. “Yer memory is shit.”

Osamu hesitated at the door, eyes shifting up to meet his own. “Ya comin’ Rin?” He rapped his knuckles on the doorframe, offering him a tiny smile. “No pressure.”

“Sure, yeah.” Suna felt something catch in his chest. “Just. Go on ahead. I’ll be there in a moment.”

As he watched the retreating form of Osamu — a scruffy undercut in need of a trim, broad shoulders beneath his sweater, fingers setting an orange on the dresser — an unavoidable thought came to Suna’s mind.

What would Osamu do if he knew Suna’s truth?

Suna Tsubaki could best be described as a swan-like woman. Slender, tall and graceful — perhaps everything Suna himself may have become had he not explored the deepest depths of the internet in junior high. Dark eyes that revealed nothing that lay within. An aggressive attitude towards protecting her home, her career, and her daughter — Suna’s younger sister — and the desire to find a mate for life.

An ideal woman, were it not for the ugliness in her heart.

“Mom?” Suna said, knocking on the door to her walk-in closet. She was within, sitting at her vanity desk — dressed in a conservative gown and padding a powder of some kind across her cheeks. “Are you almost ready?”

Tonight was the night of the yearly gala for his father’s company. An opportunity for them to ring in the new year feeling proud of their growth and declare grand plans for the future. This would be Suna’s first time in attendance — an opportunity to put on a good face and be shown off to the board members as the fresh blood joining the company after graduation. Both of his parents stressed how important this night would be to all of them. How much he needed to make a good first impression.

Of course, it sounded like a horrendously awful affair to Suna.

“Yes, yes.” His mother said, closing the pan of makeup with a well-manicured snap. “Just a few more minutes. Why don’t you sit down, darling? We never get to talk anymore.”

Suna held back his groan. Through the vanity mirror, her eyes snapped to him the moment he sat on an overstuffed pouf. They narrowed ever so slightly as they raked over his face and dipped down to his outfit before returning to her makeup application.

“So, where’s Ai-chan?” Suna asked, stealing the opportunity to grab the unwelcome conversation and steer it as best he could.

“Your sister is at your aunt’s house for the night.” His mother said, opening a pot of liquid kohl and dabbing at it with a fine tipped brush. “She goes there every time your father and I are busy. But, I suppose you wouldn’t know that, now would you?”

The last time he was home for longer than three months was his third year of junior high, after getting kicked out of boarding school for so-called ‘deviant behavior.’ Airi was three. Not exactly a good age for forging lifelong bonds with. He was home for a month between Inarizaki graduation and the day he moved in with Osamu, but his sister was away at soccer camp or figure skating camp or archery camp or something. He didn’t know.

“I suppose not.” Suna smiled, a taste of bitterness on his tongue. “I’m afraid my education must take me far away from your beloved daughter. I’m sure you don’t really mind, of course.”

“Your father and I did recommend you go to university here in Nagoya.” His mother closed her eyes, letting out an impassioned sigh a bit too artificial. “Now, how exactly is your education progressing? Are you maintaining those shining grades you had at that high school of yours or have you finally managed to cure your laziness?”

“Oh, wouldn’t you love to know, mother?” Suna’s lips curled. “I’ll be sure to send you my next transcript.”

“No need.” She tapped her nails on the wooden surface of the vanity. “I’ve seen them. They’re positively dreadful. I wonder how you justify spending your parents’ hard earned money on an education you’re squandering away?”

Hard earned money. What a joke. His parents have been spoon fed since birth, no matter how humble his mother claimed her origins were.

“Haven’t you heard? I’ll be competing in the summer Olympics in Rio this year. Gunning for the gold medal in Family Disappointment.” Suna bit his tongue, praying he wielded the killing blow. “It’s my legacy as the child of the great Matsuyama Tsubaki, who took gold in 1996 for getting knocked up by her TA.”

His mother howled out The Name That Must Not Be Spoken, whipping around to face him with impressive speed.

“I told you not to call me that.” He said calmly, crossing his legs and folding his hands over his knees. 

“Rin.” She spit out between her fangs, unable to bring herself to say his full name. How odd it was that a nickname that brought him comfort from the mouth of a Miya could be venom from his own mother. “How dare you speak to me this way?”

“Excuse me, Suna-san and…” His mother’s secretary stood at the doorway, looking more than a little sheepish for interrupting. Suna felt the weight of her eyes on him, trying to decide how to address him. “Uh… Suna-san. The limo is ready.”

“Oh, thank you, darling.” His mother crooned, all her vitriol fading into spun sugar. “Tell the driver we’ll be there in a moment.”

“Very well.”

Dark eyes shifted back to him, the anger cooled into a tempered finish — one that could still snap at any moment. “Are you really attending the gala looking like this, Rin?”

Suna had opted for a simple getup for the evening. A pair of nice slacks that may or may not actually be his. Leather shoes picked up from a discount shop in the basement of the department store. His high school blazer he’d found in his bedroom closet, untouched for nearly 2 years. He had no intentions of buying a suit just for this stupid gala. As long as he looked decent, who really cared?

“Yeah?”

His mother sighed, leaning forward to finger at the tips of his hair. “Your hair is such a mess. We really must get you to a proper hairstylist.” Her eyes settled on the double swipes of black and red across his lids, his standard look. “And this makeup… so garish.”

“It’s fine.” Suna said, as his mother prodded at his hands, frowning at his black nail polish. “It suits me.”

“If you really knew what suited you…” She shook her head. “You would be wearing a lovely dress and giving up on this silly half-girl half-boy nonsense.”

Suna ripped his hands out of her grip, pulling them close to his chest. “I’m not trying to be half-fucking-anything.”

“What did I do to deserve a daughter like you?” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Enough of this.

“Do you really…” He got to his feet, pressing a hand to his flat chest. “Do you really fucking look at me and still see a daughter?” His mother opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off, “Why do you even bother? It’s not like you wanted me in the first place.”

She called out his dead name again as he turned away, ready to grab whatever personal effects still remained in this hellhole of a house and get on the next train to Osaka. 

He refused to ever hear that name again.

“Enjoy the party.” Suna glanced back at her, wondering if this would be the last time he saw her face. “I’m afraid I can’t make it.”

What they don’t tell you about taking a machete to your already tenuous relationship with your family, is truly how fucking bad it feels.

Suna sat in the loft of their apartment, buried under both of Osamu's blankets and his own — hastily ripped from his bed-couch and dragged up the ladder. The heat was stifling, but he paid little attention to the flame under his skin. His focus ever since he returned home was dedicated solely to a now empty bottle of shochu and the random episode of Bleach playing on Osamu's shitty laptop.

The door opened after midnight, heralding a surprised sound from his roommate as he noticed the extra pair of shoes haphazardly discarded in the genkan. Suna wasn't meant to be home until early Monday morning before class, yet here he was.

Every sound from Osamu was excruciating. The flush of the toilet, the rush of the sink, the sound of the fridge opening. Like he was torturing Suna.

His phone flashed beside the laptop — his mother was calling. Again. He couldn't be bothered to reach out from his cocoon and flip it around to hide the screen. It stopped, replaced by a text message.

Your father wants to speak to you.

He had no more respect for his father than he did her. 

He's willing to give you one last chance.

He didn't want it.

We're still your family, █████.

They never were.

"Rintarou?" Osamu's voice was soft as he reached the top of the ladder. Tucked beneath his arm was Suna's water bottle and a bundle of snacks. "Hey, what's goin' on?"

Suna said nothing, letting his eyes drift back to the episode. He couldn't hear what Ichigo was saying — despite it being max volume — over the dull rush of blood in his ears.

Osamu crawled to his side, warm hands cradling his cheeks. Slow thumbs brushed at the wetness beneath his sore eyes. He'd never seen Osamu look so distressed — not even after confessing he was quitting volleyball. "It's all gonna be okay, Rin."

Strong arms scooped him and his burrito nest up like he was nothing more than a swaddled baby and not a nearly 188 cm tall nineteen year old. Osamu held him in his lap, saying nothing more as the episode continued to play. 

As more missed calls and increasingly angrier text messages flared on his phone.

Answer me. Your entire future is at stake. Make the right decision.

If Osamu noticed or read the texts, there was no indication. Nothing but the soothing brush of fingers on his skin.

The jaunty beat of the ending theme played — familiar both to his childhood and to the last few hours of letting it autoplay on its own. Osamu’s hands shifted to fiddle with his hair, twirling a shaggy lock around his knuckle. “Do ya wanna talk about it?”

Suna wanted to sleep — his cheeks and eyes burning from the dried up tears. He wanted to stay up here in this loft in Osamu’s arms for the rest of eternity. “Do I have to?” His voice was scratchy, painful.

“Nope. I’m perfectly content sittin’ here ‘til Ichigo defeats Aizen.” Osamu squeezed his elbow. “I will never make ya do somethin’ ya don’t wanna do.”

He tilted his head until he could see Osamu’s eyes — dark grey in the low light and reflecting the colors from the screen. They softened as they met Suna’s, bringing an unmistakable warmth to Osamu’s boyish features.

“It’s my mother. My parents, really.” Suna said, wrapping his arms around Osamu’s torso and burying his face in his work shirt. He still smelled of fried food and soy sauce, a bizarre comfort. “They both despise me.”

“Why?”

“It’d be easier to list why they don’t hate me. But the main one is… it’s my fault they got married.” He hesitated, formulating his words in his head before he spoke something he’d regret. “My mom was only eighteen — a first year in university with a bright future — when she realized she was pregnant. In order to save face, my grandparents forced her and my dad to marry. And the only person they hate more than me is each other.”

“That don’t mean it’s yer fault.” Osamu raked his fingers along Suna’s spine. “Ya weren’t even a person yet. Just a lil bean.”

He couldn’t help but huff out a tiny laugh. “Tell that to them. They’ve both lorded that shit over me my whole life. Saying I personally ruined their lives.” 

“The hypocrisy…” Osamu sighed. “Now ruinin’ yer life as pointless, petty payback.” 

“It’s… it’s cause of them that I came to college. They pushed me to. Saying my only future was in my father’s company.” Suna exhaled. “I don’t wanna fucking be here. I never have.”

Osamu cupped his face, a soft but sad smile on his lips. “Well, I’m glad ya at least came with me. Couldn’t’ve asked for a better roomie.”

“After tonight…” Suna leaned into Osamu’s touch, feeling a tender stroke of thumb across his cheek as he did. “I doubt I can stay. They’re gonna cut me off.”

“And what? Do ya really think I’m gonna kick ya out just cause ya can’t pay rent? I can cover it.”

“But your savings… that’s your restaurant money.” Part of the reason they roomed together in the first place was so Osamu could shove the majority of his paycheck into a savings account for his post-graduation plans.

“C’mon Rin. I’d choose you havin’ a roof over yer head over havin’ a restaurant any day of the week.” Osamu pinched at his cheek. “I’ve got yer back, okay?”

He nodded, feeling guilt bubble in his throat like bile. “Thank you.”

“What happened tonight? Ya told me it was a party.”

Suna stared at Osamu for what felt like forever, at the faint freckles that dotted across his nose, the earnest look in his sleepy eyes, the thumb resting on his cheek on the edge of his periphery. He shouldn’t share this truth. But, the twinge of alcohol in his system made him reconsider. He could trust Osamu, right?

“My mom and I got into a fight. I avoid being around her one on one if I can, because we always bicker. Saying nasty things under the guise of snide comments. But tonight was different.” He let his head fall against Osamu’s chest. “She prodded at a place she shouldn’t.”

“Ya don’t have to tell me the details. It’s alright.”

“No, I think it’s time to talk about it.” He said, yet didn’t have the strength to meet Osamu’s gaze. “She thinks it’s weird that I wear makeup sometimes — my eyeliner, my nails — that I’m not always the most masculine guy out there. Doesn’t know why I went through all the trouble of…” He fiddled with the front of his shirt. “Changing myself when I’m just gonna act like a girl anyway.”

“That’s a load of bullshit.” Osamu squeezed his shoulder. “There’s nothin’ wrong with expressin’ yerself the way ya want. No matter what, yer still a man. And a great fuckin’ one at that.”

“You don’t understand, Osamu.” Suna sighed. “I’m transgender.”

“Oh, I know.”

“What?” Alarm bells rang in his system. No. No. No. He flailed out of Osamu’s grip, rolling away to the other side of the narrow loft. His roommate looked bewildered, arms still extended. How could Osamu possibly know? “How?”

“Well, I googled it.” Osamu scratched at his jaw, a sheepish look on his face. “I thought it was weird that ya never showered with us and always wore that compression-y top under your jersey.”

“My… sports bra?”

“Oh, that’s what it was? I didn’t know.” Were… Osamu’s cheeks pink? Was he embarrassed? “I thought maybe ya were just shy but that didn’t seem like yer personality. But I didn’t really figure it out until ya got back from yer vacation.”

Just after graduating from Inarizaki, Suna took a several week long trip to Seoul to get his top surgery done. He would’ve preferred getting it done in Japan, but surgeon options were bleak and he knew his choices would be stigmatized. It was easy to play off to his parents as just a graduation trip, not a carefully planned medical venture booked months before.

Osamu ended up doing the hardest labor while they were setting up the apartment — to avoid Suna straining himself too much. He never said anything, despite Suna’s newfound interest in being shirtless just for the hell of it.

“I finally got an answer when I googled ‘guy with chest scars’ and scrolled through the results.” Osamu chuckled. “I didn’t understand it all, but eh, I was just happy to see… ya happy…”

“You don’t care, then?”

“No, why would I? Ya ain’t hurtin’ nobody.”

Oh, how Suna wished everyone felt that way. All too often, he felt like a nail that would never get hammered down perfectly flat. No matter how well he passed, society would always notice some lingering flaws.

“You’re a good guy, Osamu.” Suna said, smiling sadly.

“So are you, Rintarou.” Osamu leaned forward to rest his hand on Suna’s shoulder. “Yer mom is in the wrong here. Don’t forget that, ‘kay?”

Part of Suna still doubted his mother actually meant what she said. That her comments were nothing more than her lashing out — targeting a sore spot she knew she could press down on. But he knew Osamu wouldn’t be happy with that answer.

“I won’t.”

“C’mere.” Osamu waved him over, pulling him between his legs and letting him rest his head on his chest. He affixed one of the blankets over them and pressed play on the next episode of Bleach. “We can talk more when yer feelin’ better. But for now, we need to sleep.”

Suna nodded, letting his eyes blur as he watched the screen. His body sank into Osamu’s soft embrace, not caring about the jean fabric that brushed his skin or the way Osamu’s hands rested on his stomach, tapping and swirling gentle patterns into his hoodie. 

He had almost drifted off completely into sleep — finally giving his sore eyes respite — when he felt a gentle touch against the crown of his head and heard an incomprehensible whisper.

Goodnight, Osamu.

They don’t talk about it.

It’s not like they were avoiding the topic. But with the holidays solidly over, they were both catastrophically busy. Classes that sucked the energy out of Suna until he was nothing more than a brain dead husk. Volleyball practice that never satisfied him the same way that Inarizaki once did. Work that stole Osamu away from him and left him to face his own mortality every lonely evening. The few nights off they had at the same time were dedicated to watching Atsumu’s games, working on homework, getting wasted on konbini liquor, or conking out in the middle of reruns.

Osamu wasn't a therapist. Or someone even remotely capable of working out the nitty gritty. But he was the only one Suna could trust.

His small victory was the fact that his parents hadn't cut him off yet. It'd been radio silent since his father's last text message that weekend but they've taken no action. There were just a few more days until his twentieth birthday and if they didn’t interfere before then, he could take full control of his bank accounts — including his untouched savings. 

His birthday fell on a Monday that year. He had a Business English final in the morning that he was not at all prepared for and practice in the evening. So they decided to celebrate the Saturday before.

"Sorry." The waitress at the izakaya by their apartment said, her eyes looking at his passport for a little too long. Probably trying to figure out how on earth his photo and appearance matched the very feminine name. "We don't serve minors."

"Aw, c'mon. Look at his birthdate." Osamu said from beside Suna, putting on his most charming voice. "He's basically an adult already."

"Fine." The waitress sighed. She didn't look much older than them — probably went to the same university. "If I hear any nonsense from over here, y'all are out."

"Yes, ma'am." Osamu beamed as she handed the passport back to Suna.

"Ah, I hope we're not too late." Atsumu called as he approached their table, pulling off his wool coat and his shoes before taking a seat across from them. "Traffic was crazy."

"Right." Suna said, not sure how traffic would affect someone who took the train. His eyes shifted to the man kneeling beside him. Tall, dark haired, familiar.

"Rin, this is Tsumu's friend, Sakusa Kiyoomi." Osamu gestured. "Ya may remember him from highschool."

He did, quite vividly. It was hard to forget the best ace in their grade, especially when they faced off several times. He had fond memories of completely shutting Sakusa out for an entire set and seeing his look of utter disgust.

"Oh, the boyfriend." Suna said, grinning as Osamu blanched. "I hope you're taking good care of our dear Chumu-chan for us."

The waitress brought out their first round of beers (plus a glass of water for little Sakusa-kun who definitely couldn't swing the waitress' stance) and snacks for the table.

"So, tell me, how did this whole thing happen?" He waved his hand between Atsumu and Sakusa. 

"Well, we met durin' second year trainin' camp." Atsumu scratched at his nose. "He hallucinated a bug or somethin' in his room and ended up sleepin' in mine."

"I didn't hallucinate anything." Sakusa sniffed with disdain. "We shared LINE IDs and chatted sometimes. But we didn’t start dating until—”

“I found ‘im on a gay hookup app last year.” Atsumu said, a smug grin on his face.

Osamu’s face scrunched up, expression somewhere between utter disbelief and pre-meditated fratricide. Sakusa looked like Atsumu was a piece of old bubble gum stuck to the bottom of an expensive leather shoe. Suna was laughing so hard he felt his grip on reality start to fade.

“You’re not supposed to just tell them that…” Sakusa sighed.

“What? Sunarin asked.” Atsumu shrugged. “Anyway, we were both usin’ assumed names but recognized each other immediately.”

“Wait.” Osamu raised a finger. “When ya say ‘assumed name’ do ya mean…?”

“Yes, his name was Osamu.” Sakusa’s long fingers were spread over his face in a half-hearted facepalm. “But I knew it wasn’t you because I’m not an idiot.” 

“You’ve been hookin’ up with guys tellin’ them yer ME?”

Atsumu’s smile grew sheepish. “I mean, not lately.”

Okay, it was time to step in.

“So… moving on.” Suna said, taking a sip of his beer. “How’re things going with the Jackals?” 

“Great!” Atsumu practically slammed his hands on the table, earning them a glare from the waitress. “Ever since Umezaki-san retired, I’ve been startin’ almost every game. I think we really got a chance to kill it in the playoffs.” 

“Osamu and I don’t ever miss a game. You’ve been doing well.” Suna said, offering his old friend a smile. He could be sincere and kind. Sometimes. 

“Aw, lookatcha Sunarin.” Atsumu clasped his hands together, batting his eyelashes. “Our boy’s growin’ up. I remember when ya were a sullen lil baby… not carin’ about nothin’ but Kita-san and volleyball.”

Suna twisted his leg, enough to kick at Atsumu’s knee beneath the low table. “Your serves have been getting worse, though.”

“Shut up.” Atsumu said, taking an angry sip of beer. “Omi’s gonna join the team once he graduates college, y’know. They basic’ly gave ‘im an open invitation.”

“Mm.” Sakusa ran his fingers through his curly hair, looking not at all interested in said invitation. Somehow, Suna figured this meant he was very, very interested. “I don’t know what we’re going to do about our relationship when that time comes, since it’s not the most… appropriate thing.”

“Eh, we’ll work it out.” Atsumu patted his boyfriend on the shoulder. “We still got a few years.”

“Y’know, speakin’ of…” Osamu chimed in. “It’s great that you’ve got that opportunity, Sakusa. That it’s not too late to go pro, even though ya ain’t fresh outta highschool anymore.” Suna could feel grey eyes slide over his skin.

“Oh?” Sakusa seemed to get what Osamu was digging at. “Are you looking to get into the league, Suna-san?”

“No, no.” Suna gritted his teeth. He was going to kill Osamu for this. “That ship has sailed.”

“Well, if you change your mind, my cousin mentioned his team is scouting for a new middle blocker.” Sakusa said. “They’re planning to start trials in March. I can have Atsumu send you his info.”

A gentle hand rested on his thigh. Osamu looked at him with eyes the color of a late winter snowstorm, brows furrowed. He nodded, before mouthing, “Think about it.”

“I need some air.” Suna mumbled, crawling away from Osamu’s touch and off the tatami platform. He tucked his feet back into his boots — not caring that they were untied — and pulled his coat on. “I’ll be back in a few.”

Suna only had a few glorious moments in the cold, dark alleyway before the back door creaked open. Though he expected Osamu, it was Sakusa. The man said nothing — not even glancing his way — as he fished a pack of cigarettes out of his coat pocket and lit one. From what little he knew about the man’s personality, it seemed unbelievable.

“It’s disgusting, isn’t it?” Sakusa said, exhaling a cloud of frost and smoke. “I hate it, but it makes me feel good.”

Suna remained silent, leaning his chin against his pulled up knees.

“Atsumu doesn’t know, or at least I’ve never told him.” Sakusa eyed the stoop Suna sat on — before glancing away, clearly deeming it unworthy of his presence. To be fair, his coat did seem expensive. “I don’t want to trouble him with things like that. Make him see me as less.”

“Why do it in the first place?”

“I have anxiety.” Sakusa took another drag. “My parents don’t believe in things like therapy or medication. They think all life’s ills can be cured through self-reflection, exercise, and sunlight.”

Suna huffed out a laugh. “If only.”

“I know this makes it worse in the long run, but it’s the best I can do for now.”

“You don’t need to hide this from Atsumu. He’s a good guy, but you don’t need me to tell you that.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“Sakusa, can I ask you a question?” Sakusa nodded. “Why did you tell me this?”

The man stubbed his cigarette against the wall before flicking the nub off into the dark gloom. He met Suna’s eye, revealing nothing in the flat black of his stare. “I don’t know you very well, but it seems like you’ve got your own proverbial nicotine addiction.”

“Eh?”

“Doing something you don’t like because you think it's all you can do right now.” Sakusa said. “Why don’t you want to join the V.League?”

Suna scowled. How on earth did Atsumu manage to bag someone who wasn’t as single braincelled as he was? Something about the man’s stare felt disturbingly like Kita’s — back when their former captain bored into his soul.

“I don’t feel comfortable playing volleyball.”

“Odd. Atsumu told me you were scouted for Inarizaki. And that you’re on your university team.” Sakusa shrugged. “Whenever we played against each other, it always seemed like you were in your element.”

“Things change.”

“I doubt that.”

His knuckles went white as he clenched his fists. Sakusa had no right analyzing him like this. They’re strangers. Acquaintances at best.

“I have reasons that prevent me from going pro.”

Sakusa regarded him for a long moment. “Who cares? Do it anyway.” 

Suna blinked.

“If you love something, you shouldn’t give up on it just because it gets hard.” 

Oh.

Maybe. Maybe Sakusa was right.

He’d given up without a fight.

In every argument with his parents, he never backed down until he felt some semblance of victory. He willfully kept his grades high enough to stay on the volleyball team in highschool but low enough to piss them off. Even after being kicked out of his junior high academy and feeling the disdain of his family for his gender, he carried on proudly. But when it came to his future, he rolled over and showed his belly like a coward.

“I…” Suna hesitated, exhaling a puff of white-tinged air. “Thank you, Sakusa.”

“The offer from Motoya is still open.” Sakusa buried his hands in his pockets, slouching from the cold. “Keep it in mind.”

“I will.”

“Say, Suna.” He tilted his head in acknowledgement, waiting for what bombshell would be dropped from this man’s mouth next. “I have one more question.”

“Go for it.”

“Are you and Osamu together?” Sakusa’s brows pinched together as he watched Suna’s fly off into the stratosphere. “Oh, I guess not then.”

“What. How. Why.”

“Forget about it.” Sakusa waved it off, turning towards the door. “You should come back in soon. It’s your birthday, after all.”

Then he was gone.

“What.” Suna mumbled to no one. “The fuck.”

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Suna tapped his pencil against the paper in front of him, feeling his brain leak out more and more with each excruciating second. He wanted to curse his entire bloodline for dragging him into this world full stop. But also specifically for making his birthday week correspond with finals. Couldn't they have fucked like a month later instead?

Ew. He didn't want to think about that.

For all intents and purposes, he and Osamu were ready for this exam. They'd studied for the past two weeks — birthday escapades aside — and even got together with classmates to do a review session.

But preparedness was only in theory.

This shit was hard.

In the corner of his eye, he could see Osamu was several pages ahead — big brows furrowed and the eraser of his pencil shredded between his teeth. His margins were filled with equation after equation, some scribbled out and some highlighted in neon. At least he was doing okay.

Suna let his eyes return to his own page as the all seeing gaze of a TA shifted in their vague direction. He wasn't trying to cheat — he just couldn't help but look.

His current question was a word problem — some grand hypothetical scenario for a future he never wanted to have. Would he even need this at his father's company? No one really expected the CEO's kid to do anything. He was just going to be a glorified seat warmer.

He certainly wouldn't be inheriting the company. 

A flash of something caught his eye. Suna glanced down, seeing the phone in his bag lighting up. He didn't recognize the number. A spam call, probably. The call ended and his focus wandered back to his exam.

But then it lit back up again.

The pencil in his grip shook as his fingers trembled. Something rose in his spine — anticipation, fear, anxiety — he wasn't sure. Whatever it was, all he knew was that he needed to answer this call.

He stood up, letting the swinging lecture hall chair smack him in the legs. He dumped his pencil into his bag and hauled it over his shoulder. Then grabbed the exam, giving a final stare at the horrible thing.

"Rin?" Osamu whispered.

Ignoring the concern of his best friend, Suna jogged down the steps of the lecture hall, paused just long enough to hand the surprised professor the exam, and ran out the door in time to answer the call.

"Hello?" He said, barely able to keep his hands steady.

"Hello. Is this Suna Rintarou-san?"

"Yes, can I ask who's calling?" Suna leaned back against the wall, next to the door of the lecture hall. He let his speech fade into his Polite Young Man On The Telephone voice. 

"My name is Fujisaka Shihei. I am the team translator for Eastern Japan Paper Mills Raijin." The man on the other line said. "Is this a good time?"

Suna exhaled a silent breath as he glanced at the lecture hall. It was too late to go back now. He'd made his choice. No matter how little he'd deliberated it.

"Yes. How can I help you?"

"I'm here with our team's coach, Felix Duquesne. He received your recent inquiry and wishes to chat with you." His recent inquiry? He didn't recall— "He can speak Japanese well, but please be patient with him, Suna-san. I will be here to help if there are any misunderstandings."

"Ah, very well. Thank you, Fujisaka-san."

This had to have been Sakusa's doing. Damn him.

"Hello, Suna. It's great to speak with you." The voice on the line changed to a deeper one with an accented lilt to it. 

"Yes, it's my pleasure, Mr. Duquesne-san." He let himself slide down the wall until he was seated, stretching his legs out before him. 

"Just Felix is quite alright, son." There was the sound of papers shuffling. "We were surprised to receive your inquiry. Our records said you were scouted in high school but rejected our offer."

He blinked. What?

"This is the first I'm hearing of this." Suna said. "I apologize, Felix-san, but can I ask what the record says?"

"The coach at the time spoke to a fellow named Suna Ryosuke-san, who said you weren't seeking employment at the time."

His father.

Suna bit at the inside of his cheek, pushing down the anger building in his throat.

"My father never told me about this." He forced himself to smile, letting it seep into his voice. "What a disappointment."

"I understand. Some parents think they know best, but don't." The coach chuckled. "Well, in any case it's behind us now."

"Yes, thank you."

"Our team manager was very eager to hear from you, and after reviewing your videos from high school, I am impressed." Felix said. "As you're aware, we'll be hosting trials in March."

"Yes, sir."

"I see here you're a college student, correct?" At Suna's affirmation, Felix continued, "What is your schedule like in February?"

"Today was my last final exam of the semester."

"Very good." Felix said. "We would like you to come in for preliminary training. Housing and meals will be provided while you're visiting, we just need to know when."

"I… yes, sir." Suna said. "Please give me some time."

"Ah, of course." He heard Felix chatting with Fujisaka in English, making out only a few words over the muffled phone. "We'll send you the available dates on Monday. You just have to choose which suits you."

"Thank you, Felix-san."

"Now, son, let me be very clear with you." Suna held his breath. "We still expect you to participate in the trials in March, but it will be largely as a formality. We would like to hire you."

"Sir, I don't know what to say."

"I know this is a lot, so please take the time to think about it." Felix said, a smile clear in his voice. "There will be no pressure for you to sign any contract until after the trials."

This had to be a dream. There's no way this was happening.

Except there was one tiny detail. One that could sour it straight into a nightmare.

"Uh, sir, could I speak with Fujisaka-san?" Suna picked at the strap of his bag, feeling the anxiety rise. "It's about a complicated—"

"Give me a try, son. The Gaijin Raijin is a pro!" 

The sound of Fujisaka faintly squawking before chastising the coach in English came through the other line while Felix laughed.

"Um, well, it has to do with my medical history." 

"Ah, of course! You'll go through an exam with the team physio and will undergo a doping test to ensure everything is normal. Unless you're taking something else to bulk up, your testosterone dose won't get flagged. Am I correct in assuming you're clean?"

"Um, yes, sir." Suna sighed. "I just… is there really no problem with my situation? At all?"

"Son, listen to me carefully." Felix's tone turned serious. "You were one of the best middle blockers in your graduating class. Your ‘offense is the best defense’ style from high school was unique and effective. And all that before starting hormones. If you've gotten even slightly better over the last two years, you're still fit for this league."

"I—"

"I'm not finished yet." Suna shut his mouth. "Your situation is unique, but who cares? EJP wants to foster talent, no matter where it comes from."

"Thank you, sir. Really." His voice faltered as a sniffle got caught in his nose. How pathetic must he look to the passersby? "I feel honored."

"The team does ask that — if you decide to sign with us — your personal life remains discreet to avoid any negative media nonsense. I'm sure you understand."

Par for the course. Outside of his family and Osamu, he'd already kept his identity hidden for half a decade. Not to mention he stealthed fairly easily.

"Yes, of course." 

"But you also won't be forced to change your legal identity if you don't want to."

He let out an uneasy sigh. Not being forced to change his legal identity was a life send. As dysphoric as being legally misgendered was, it paled in comparison to the requirements to change. Top surgery was enough.

"We can discuss everything later, of course. But rest assured we intend to take good care of you, Suna." Felix let out a faint sound as Fujisaka said something. "I've got a meeting to attend soon, so I'll have to leave you here. Give us a ring on Monday, and we'll work out the details."

"Of course, thank you Mr. Duquesne-san."

"Welcome to EJP Raijin, kid."

After a brief conversation with Fujisaka about contact information and him apologizing for Felix's cheeky behavior, the line went dead. He exhaled out a sigh, feeling a strange amount of relief melt off his body. Like a boulder pushed off his chest. Or Rock Lee losing his ankle weights.

As he sat there on the ground outside the lecture hall, he couldn't help but stare at the wall across from him. A knobby bit of plaster occupied the barren wasteland of his brain — rather than any coherent thought worth thinking. Maybe it'd be nice to run his fingers over. Or bash his head into. That would certainly get his thoughts jump-started again.

Time must be passing, as other students pushed out the doors of the lecture hall one by one as they finished their exams. He counted twelve girls and six boys before a familiar scruff of dark brown hair came outside.

Oh, and he was mad.

Osamu's grey eyes were icy, staring at him down the bridge of his nose. Big hands dug under Suna's armpits, pulling him up to his feet.

"What the hell has gotten into ya, Rin?" Osamu shook his shoulders, making his head bobble. The anger faded as Osamu's eyes softened — seeing something in the dumb look on Suna's face. "What's wrong?"

"I…" Suna blinked. "EJP Raijin called me. They told me they're interested in signing me."

"You! Rin ya never… ya never told me ya were…" Osamu's concern broke into sheer unfettered joy — a massive grin brighter than any star in the sky. He was scooped up into a hug, Osamu's arms lifting him up off the ground and squishing him harder than any Miya Hiyori bearhug. Someone was laughing. Maybe it was Osamu. Maybe himself. Probably both of them.

"It's… it's complicated. I'll tell you about—" Osamu set him down, before suddenly gripping his cheeks and kissing him square on the mouth.

Suna felt his eyes go wide as Osamu’s lips brushed against his, body going stock still. Several classmates glanced their way as they exited the lecture hall — eyes quickly averting at the very public and very not-straight display of affection. He exhaled into Osamu’s mouth, letting himself sink into it and the gentle way Osamu traced his skin.

He’d never kissed someone before. It felt nice.

When Osamu pulled back, his face was beet red and eyes the size of saucers. His mouth hung open. "I'm so—"

Suna pressed his forefinger against Osamu's lips, cutting him off. He wasn't sure how he felt about what just happened, but he also wasn't going to let him apologize.

"I'm just so proud of you, Rin." Osamu wiped at his own eyes, cheeks straining from his smile. "I couldn't help it."

Suna huffed out a laugh as he reached out to grab Osamu's hand, entwining their fingers together. 

"C'mon, Osamu. Let's go home." He smiled to himself. "We can celebrate."

Home wasn't far from campus. A ten minute walk along the train tracks extended only by a wayward stop at FamilyMart and sudden, flustered realizations about their tangled fingers.

They'd immediately collapsed onto Suna's bed — setting the grocery bag of chuhai and snacks down on the kotatsu. Suna had bought them, eager to flex his brand-new legal age despite how much of a nightmare his passport was.

Osamu flicked on the television before firmly entrenching his head on Suna's shoulder. Neither of them were really watching — far too many things brewing in their brains. Final exams and nerve-wracking calls and the phantom feeling of a first kiss.

In the corner of his vision, Osamu's face shifted — big grey eyes focused on him. Osamu's hand unfurled, fingers extending as they rested on the bed between them. Suna slid his own fingers in the cracks, watching Osamu smile as they tightened the grip.

"Hey, Rin." Osamu whispered. Suna met his eyes properly. "Do ya wanna talk about this?"

His gaze flicked back and forth between Osamu's eyes as his brain turned up nothing. He didn't understand the feeling in his heart.

"I don't…" Suna blinked, realizing he was brushing Osamu off. "Rather, I'm not sure what to say."

Osamu chuckled. "I get it. No worries. Let me do the talkin'."

"Top ten things you don't want to hear a Miya say."

"Hey now. I'm the good Miya. Ya can trust me." Osamu grinned before his smile shifted into something softer. With his other hand, he brushed away a bit of Suna's hair and tucked it behind his ear — caressing his jawline. "Rintarou, I love you. I have for a long time."

Suna's heart ached in a way he didn't quite understand. "Osamu, that— then that means… liking— loving me," Suna sighed, "That doesn't make you straight. Just because I'm— doesn't mean—"

"Uhh…" Osamu huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, idiot. I'm biromantic. I like you — a man — as a man who likes men."

"Oh." He supposed deep down it made sense. Osamu was always so cavalier and accepting about everything, including his brother’s very gay relationship. Suna only assumed Osamu was straight because there was no evidence to the contrary. But he never fawned over girls the same way Gin and Kosaku did — he never seemed to fawn over anyone. Except Kita, but Kita transcended gender and sexuality. "How do you know?"

"Trust me, it took me forever." Osamu brushed his thumb along his cheekbone, running a shiver down his spine. "Needed a lil help on the way… but I realized back in high school that I wanted to take care of ya. Be there for all yer highs 'n' lows. Water ya 'til ya grow."

All the nights spent around the kotatsu sharing meals together — whether cooked by Osamu in their tiny kitchen or brought home with him. Curling up in the loft together despite a perfectly good bed downstairs, Osamu nestling close to Suna's chest. Nudging him towards a new, brighter future.

EJP never would've contacted him had Osamu not stoked the pot last weekend.

"That's what love feels like?" He knew he wanted to be around Osamu all the time, but wasn't that just friendship?

"It's different for everyone." Osamu said. "I know it's different for ya. Because I'm pretty sure ya love me, too. Just been waitin' for ya to figure that out."

"I do?"

"Well, I ain't gonna put words in yer mouth, but…"

Suna's brain flashed to the winter of third year, only two years ago now. Two boys sitting in the backyard bundled up in a mountain of clothes — too stubborn to go back inside after they stoked a fight with Atsumu. Osamu whispered to him that he got his college entrance exam results back, eyes shining with trust and pride. The small smile on his face was more beautiful than the night skies over northern Hyogo.

I'm gonna study in Osaka.

As Suna watched Osamu's heart swell, a thought crossed his mind:

I will follow you, wherever you go.

"I've never… been able to tell the difference between romance and friendship." He sighed. The two concepts were a twisted knot — two indistinguishable strands unable to be unraveled. Flares of what he thought were romantic in nature were rare, but were those actually romantic? "But I know our friendship is different from mine with Atsumu or Gin or anyone else."

"Have ya ever considered why?"

I’d rather just hang out with Osamu, y’know?

Suna came to this university to be with Osamu. To seek comfort in his company, in his familiarity in the face of a big, uncomfortable life change he never wanted to do. They've been living in this tiny apartment barely meant for one person, sharing spaces effortlessly. Gentle touches that went far beyond societal norms of friendship. Drinking games that left them laughing into the wee hours. Nights huddled beneath blankets, arms draped over torsos and legs tangled together without a care in the world. Spending all their free time together for no reason other than they wanted to.

" Oh ." Suna blinked. "Oh my god. We've been dating this whole time."

"I mean, not really but—"

"Christmas. That was a date, wasn't it?" Suna's eyes grew wide. "I could've kissed you when we fell on the ice, couldn't I? I never realized I wanted to, but…"

“I just knew ya’d freak out.” Osamu chuckled.

Suna slipped his hand free from their hold, letting his eyes slide away from Osamu's face. He pressed his hand to his chest and the thunderous beat within. Somewhere in his brain, he felt cracks form in a once impenetrable dam.

He remembered sitting in his dad's office at home like he was a business partner or an interviewee and not the man's fourteen year old son. Him staring at Suna with steely green eyes and a stone faced expression as he feebly tried to explain how he felt. His mother sobbing in an Oscar worthy performance as she pretended to care about him and not just about what this would do to their family's image.

If you wanna be a man, you better act like one.

Live up to societal expectations. Blend in instead of stand out. Become a boring salary man at his father's company. Marry a woman who wanted to be childless or adopt. Be accepted as a wayward soul who did what he must to make his parents proud.

Letting himself feel any emotional attachment to his best friend beyond just friendship was off the table.

But fuck that.

He never knew what love felt like until he came to Inarizaki. Until that group of boys folded him into their lives like he was meant to be in the recipe. Until the Miyas brought him into their home and taught him what family should mean. Until Osamu watched over him — his personal shoulder angel and shoulder demon in one package.

Suna looked back at Osamu to see his best friend's dopiest, most boyish, yet gentle smile. Patient. Sweet.

"I like you too." Suna said, before pausing. "I think."

Osamu's smile broke into a laugh, pressing his forehead against Suna's chest. He let himself melt into the touch and wrapped his arms around Osamu's back — holding him close. He never wanted to let go.

"Take yer time." Osamu whispered. "I'll wait as long as ya need."

Suna curled his hand under Osamu's chin, pushing it up so they were face to face. He might not know what everything swirling in his head and heart meant — but he knew one thing for sure.

He pressed his lips to Osamu's, relishing in the muffled sound drawn from Osamu's throat. Without the jump scare of their earlier kiss, he let himself slow down and enjoy the ride. Fingers brushed against the softening plane of Osamu's stomach before settling on his waist. The thrum of their hearts echoed in the small space between them.

Suna opened his eyes as he ran his tongue over the seam of Osamu's lips, watching the startled flinch fade into comfort as they slotted together. Osamu looked handsome like this — all feathery black lashes and a dusting of pink on his cheeks.

When they pulled back for air, Suna sighed. "We could've been doing this ages ago if I wasn't so stupid."

Osamu just leaned onto his chest, wrapping his arms around Suna's torso like a baby koala. Suna plunged his fingers into dark hair, tracing lazy circles into Osamu's scalp.

"Yer not stupid." Osamu grinned up at him. "Just coded a lil differently. 'Sides, we got all the time in the world."

Suna leaned down to kiss Osamu again, twisting their position on the bed into something more comfortable. As they shifted, the inevitable existence of gravity decided that kissing was explicitly not allowed.

Their upper torsos rolled off the too small bed, sending Osamu's forehead smacking into the top of the kotatsu.

"Wha—" Osamu mumbled before bursting into a laugh — face scrunched up. "Can't have shit 'round here, can we?"

Suna hauled them back into the bed, settling in side by side and face to face like sardines. He planted a tiny kiss to the stain of aching red on Osamu's forehead. Osamu's hand rested on the knobby bone of his hip — a mirror of all the times they've shared the loft. Somewhere behind Suna, the television still sounded. But he didn't care.

"Ya never mentioned ya put in an inquiry with Raijin."

"I didn't." Suna huffed. Osamu's big brows rose. "You can blame Sakusa for that."

A half-cheeky half-bashful smile graced Osamu's lips. "Let's be honest, this is at least seventy percent Atsumu's fault."

"What's he got to do with all this?"

"Well, I know me 'n' him had our fights 'bout quittin' volleyball 'n' goin' to college. But it's just cause he wants me to be happy." Osamu averted his eyes, a faint flush nipping at his ears. "Which means you gotta be happy, too."

"Eh? Then… he knows?"

Osamu sighed. "That bastard figured out I liked ya long before I did. He spent so long tryna shake sense into my thick skull it's a wonder I got any brain cells left." A tiny smile. "Ya ain't the only one coded a bit differently."

"We're both disasters." Suna laughed.

Osamu's hand slid from his hip to his cheek as a beautiful grin spread across his face. Eyes drifted half closed. "We are." A thumb brushed along his cheekbone. "But that's why I like ya."

Suna pressed his palm to Osamu's sternum, gently pushing him onto his back. He tugged up Osamu's shirt, letting his hands run over the warm soft skin of his abdomen. Osamu might've lost most of his definition since quitting volleyball, but Suna didn't care. The squish was his favorite part.

Sliding a knee between Osamu's legs until the man's hips twitched, Suna settled in above him. He smiled, letting one hand cup the underside of Osamu's pec and the other slide through his undercut.

"Agreed." Suna whispered, nudging his nose against Osamu's as their lips parted — meeting in the middle.

Suna peeled his practice jersey off, scrunching his nose at the sweaty fabric sticking to his abdomen. As he tossed it off towards the laundry bin in the locker room, he noticed the alert light of his phone blink.

He picked it up, tapping on the message. It was an email from his university.

"Suna, you good?" Suna glanced up to see Komori in nothing but a pair of compression shorts that left little to the imagination and his comically round brows raised.

"Yeah, yeah." Suna skimmed it, huffing out a laugh. "It says I failed my Modern Accounting class."

Washio frowned as he slipped on his outside shoes. "I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sure you'll do better next time."

He took a screenshot of the email, sending it off to Osamu via text. "Nah, there won't be a next time."

Osamu immediately sent back what had to be a billion wwws before his screen lit up from an incoming call. He quickly slipped on a fresh t-shirt from his bag before answering the phone.

"Hey, honey." He mumbled into the receiver, earning himself a few glances from the other players eager to eavesdrop on their newest victim’s love life. "Scuse me guys. Girlfriend's calling."

"'Honey'? That's precious." Osamu said as Suna stepped into the hallway.

"Shut up." Suna huffed. "I'd rather not explain to the guys why my girlfriend's name's 'Osamu' one month into knowing them."

He didn't intend to keep it a secret forever. Maybe in the future — when he was properly on the team and could clock which teammates were chill — he would introduce Osamu as more than just his roommate-best friend back in Osaka.

"I know, I know." He could hear the grin in Osamu's voice. "Just wanted to congratulate ya on a job done poorly."

"Aww, thanks. I didn't try at all." Suna said. "I can't wait 'til my parents find out."

It's easy to imagine his dad silently clenching his jaw and his mom's temples going white from rage. His text messages with Airi mostly consisted of her asking him to buy her Robux because their parents said no — despite them not really knowing each other. But he hoped he could con her into sending a picture of them.

"They're gonna have kittens." Osamu laughed. His voice grew softer, more serious as he continued, "Hey, Rintarou?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm really proud of ya."

Suna's eyes settled on the EJP Raijin logo painted on the wall of the hallway. It was a little hard to believe he was here, despite trials finishing up tomorrow. He'd be heading back to Osaka on the last train of the night and enjoy the rest of the spring vacation with Osamu.

Then, back to Shizuoka to sign his new contract.

He smiled.

"Yeah. Me, too."