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When Suna woke up to hundreds of notifications on his phone, he was concerned. Not that he didn’t enjoy the occasional minor media scandal, but only when they happened on his terms. After much scolding from the EJP PR team, he’d promised to be good and lay low for a while so this couldn’t be something he’d provoked.
Upon unlocking his phone to find out what the fuck had happened, Suna discovered that the notification influx didn’t stem from any of the accounts connected to him as Suna Rintarou, professional volleyball player, no, this was an issue of Suna Rintarou, volunteer social media manager of up-and-coming business Onigiri Miya. Further investigations revealed the starting point of this newfound online fame to be the TikTok account Suna had recently created, or more precisely the video he’d posted of Osamu carefully washing and preparing rice.
Suna breathed a sigh of relief when he looked through the comments and found them to be overwhelmingly positive. Some of them praised Osamu’s skill, as they should, many more were just plain thirst, which wasn’t optimal but Suna had no room to judge. As much as he would’ve liked to scroll some more, now that he knew that neither he nor Osamu were being canceled, Suna had a full-time job to attend to. He was sure Osamu would let himself be known if there was trouble.
There were no missed calls or new messages when Suna checked his phone again a few hours later but that didn’t have to mean anything. Osamu had memorized Suna’s schedule to a tee, he wouldn’t waste his time trying to reach him during practice.
As expected, a call came as soon as Suna sat down with his lunch.
“Rin, what the fuck?” A worn-out-sounding Osamu cut right to the chase.
“Told you it was a good promo,” Suna quipped.
“Based on the comments, I don’t think they’re all that interested in my cooking.”
There might have been some truth to that, not that Suna would admit it.
“Nah, sure they mostly talk about your tits but I think they want the whole package, food included.”
At the mention of tits, Komori shot him an interested glance from across the table. Washio next to him just looked tired. Suna paid them no mind, too focused on the conversation with his boyfriend.
“How’d you even manage to read the comments?” He queried, “I thought you said TikTok was too complicated.”
“I stand by that. ’Tsumu sent me screenshots.”
Suna snorted.
“Bet he was acting like they said he was hot.”
“’Course he did,” Osamu confirmed and Suna could practically hear the fond eye-roll in his voice. He smiled to himself before remembering how exhausted Osamu had sounded at the start of the call.
“Seriously, are things okay at the shop?”
“Uh yeah, it’s a lot and we weren’t prepared for it so it’s stressful but we’re managing. Looks like I gotta get back to it though.”
Suna nodded even though Osamu couldn’t see him. He had mixed feelings about the situation, on the one hand, he was happy that the post had garnered more customers for Onigiri Miya, on the other hand, he hated the idea of Osamu overworking himself again. He hadn’t expected such an extreme outcome when they’d filmed the footage a few weeks ago.
Suna loved Tuesdays. As much as he enjoyed watching Osamu at work, getting his boyfriend all to himself on his days off during the short weeks Suna could stay in Osaka was rare and therefore precious.
By the time he made it back from his morning run, Osamu had already fallen back asleep. Years of routine ensured he always woke up early but getting up was a different story. If allowed, Osamu was entirely capable of staying in bed until noon. And Suna would let him. It was nice knowing that somewhere beneath the diligent businessman, the lazy high school student he’d fallen for was still intact, but today they had plans which required Osamu to get up.
So Suna allowed himself just a few more minutes of admiring Osamu’s peaceful sleeping face, before plucking one of the freshly bought cream cornets from its bag and, carefully, as not to spill anything, dangled it in front of Osamu’s face. Unsurprisingly yet amusingly, it worked and Osamu’s eyes blinked open.
“Gimme,” He mumbled sleepily, prompting Suna to chuckle affectionately and move the pastry out of reach.
“Good morning to you too, my love.”
Osamu smiled at him sweetly enough to fool anyone who was unaware of the intolerable morning grump he could be before breakfast.
“Good morning,” Osamu echoed before quickly pecking Suna on the lips, “Can I have it now?”
“Not very hygienic to eat in bed,” Suna noted with an eyebrow teasingly raised. Osamu just scoffed.
“Sheets are already ruined.”
“Fair enough.”
After setting down the paper bag on their bedside table, Suna stretched his spine with a yawn, acutely aware of the way Osamu’s tired eyes followed his movements.
“I’ll make us coffee,” He announced, “Don’t start eating before I’m back.”
Upon returning with the coffee, Suna ordered Osamu to move over so he could get comfortable as well. Osamu did as he was told without complaint, an act Suna knew to attribute to his boyfriend not wanting to delay breakfast rather than his own charms.
“Where’d you get these?” Osamu asked a few minutes later, but because he’d finally been allowed to stuff his mouth with food “Wherdshagetfese?” was what it sounded like.
“The new bakery near the train station,” Suna supplied, earning himself an approving nod from Osamu. He made a mental note to make a stop there tomorrow as well.
As soon as they’d both finished eating, Suna wrapped his arms around Osamu who obliged him despite his (valid) complaints of Suna being in desperate need of a shower. After what could have been ten minutes or an hour, Suna’s sense of time couldn’t be trusted around Osamu, he managed to find the strength to pull away and get up once more.
“We got stuff to do, dress nicely and do something about your hair,” He ordered with a critical glance towards Osamu’s bedhead. With a groan, Osamu buried his head under a pillow.
“Do we really have ta do this today?” Came a muffled mumble. Since Osamu couldn’t currently see him, Suna didn’t bother hiding his eye roll.
“When else are we gonna have time?”
“I wouldn’t mind if the answer was never.”
“Do we really have to do this?”
“You’re repeating yourself, ‘Samu.”
“That’s not an answer,” Osamu whined.
Used to the Miya-dramatics, Suna ignored him in favour of setting up the tripod. He knew Osamu wasn’t going to back out now that he already dressed himself and prepared his workspace. Only his hair had been left unfixed because Osamu insisted on wearing his Onigiri Miya cap.
Getting Osamu to agree to film a cooking video had taken a lot of convincing from Suna’s side but he’d been determined, both for selfish and unselfish reasons. The unselfish reason was the one he’d used to persuade Osamu: It would be good promotion for his shop. Suna was confident that an Instagram reel of Osamu, in all his handsomeness, showing off his otherworldly skills in the kitchen could attract a new customer or two for Onigiri Miya. Maybe the time had finally come for him to set up an Onigiri Miya TikTok as well.
As Suna attentively watched his boyfriend wash the rice, he realized that maybe Osamu had had a point in insisting that this step needed to be filmed. Suna was no heathen, he knew that Japanese rice needed to be washed but despite having seen Osamu do it multiple times before, it hadn’t fully registered in his brain how lengthy and intricate the process was if done properly.
When it was finally time for the rice to cook, Osamu moved on to the filling, narrating his steps as placed the tuna in a pan and prepared the sauce. Suna refrained from reminding him that the finished post would either use a voice-over or just music, rendering his current explanations obsolete. Because while they might have been useless for social media, Suna highly appreciated them. And here was the selfish reason, Suna would cut a stylishly short version of the cooking process to cater to the masses online, but the raw footage, that was for his eyes only.
Suna loved watching Osamu cook, always had, since high school. There was something special about watching the man he loved doing what he loved.
Back when they were students, Osamu had been tentative. He had spent time weighing each and every ingredient carefully and contemplated every step before doing it. In the present, Osamu was moving more confidently, no longer timid. Not because he cared any less but because years of practice had gained him steady hands and confidence in his abilities.
But what hadn’t changed was the absolute focus with which Osamu worked, and the calm contentment he radiated while preparing food. Seeing Osamu like that was one of the things Suna missed most during those hours when the loneliness gnawed away at him and pursuing volleyball in far-away Shizuoka didn’t feel like it was worth it.
Even though a recording could never compete with the real deal, Suna hoped that getting to see Osamu cook while they were apart could help tide him over these moments of sadness. Not that there hadn’t been attempts before. They video-called all the time, often while Osamu prepared food but Osamu’s attempts at showing Suna what he was doing never were all that successful. Suna didn’t blame him, filming oneself already wasn’t easy but while cooking? That was some next-level shit. So Suna had no choice but to take matters into his own hands.
“Place some tuna atop of yer rice with a little dollop of mayonnaise and then it’s time to form the onigiri,” Osamu continued his play-by-play.
This had to be Suna’s favourite part of the process. It always seemed like a small miracle how Osamu’s broad hands could form such a perfect and delicate rice ball. He felt a little bad for any beginner who might try copying this at home because Osamu made it look much easier than it was. Even with Osamu personally instructing him, Suna had never been able to make an Onigiri look quite right.
Osamu added the seaweed, explaining that it was an optional step, and once he was finished with that, just stood there, clearly unsure what he was supposed to do next until Suna ended his misery by stopping the recording and announcing that they were done.
With a huff, Osamu sat down the onigiri on the counter and took off his cap, revealing the now flattened mess of his hair. Suna felt the urge to dishevel it even more.
“Did I do okay?” Osamu asked and Suna had to smile at the silliness of the question, if anything had gone wrong with this shoot it could have only been Suna’s fault.
“That was perfect. You’re perfect,” He replied honestly.
Osamu dared to look unconvinced.
“Yer just biased.”
“Maybe,” Suna crossed the distance between them to pull Osamu into a brief kiss, “But I’m still right.”
Most of the time it was Suna who went to visit Osamu in Osaka, so on the rare occasions Osamu could make it to Shizuoka, Suna had to make it count. That didn’t mean they were on the go constantly, neither of them would have the energy for that even if they had wanted to, but Suna did make sure to show Osamu the nicest spots in the city when the opportunity arose.
He hadn’t personally been to the arcade he was taking Osamu to today yet but Komori had rambled about how great the place was for an hour straight (or at least he’d been talking about it for ten whole minutes and then again when Suna tuned him back in fifty minutes later.)
Suna was using the time they had to spend waiting in front of a red light to recount what little he remembered of Komori’s description of the place when they were approached by a young woman,
“Excuse me, so sorry to bother you but could we maybe take a picture together?”
Suna didn’t love having to deal with his fans during his time off but it came with the job and he knew better than to be rude towards the people that bought his merch. Fortunately, his aloof image meant he didn’t have to be overly friendly so he didn’t try too hard to fake a smile when he answered with a curt, “Sure.”
“Oh uhm, sorry, I didn’t mean you.”
The woman nodded her head at Osamu who shook his head apologetically.
“I’m not Miya Atsumu.”
She blinked, clearly confused which wasn’t unusual for people who mixed the twins up. Except that wasn’t what was going on at all.
“You’re the hot onigiri guy, right?” She asked before blushing and quickly correcting herself when she realized what she’d said, “I mean, you’re in that viral cooking video.”
Now it was Osamu who looked dumbfounded and Suna couldn’t blame him. Osamu had been pretty famous in high school but even then it had been as one-half as the Miya twins. People knowing him but not Atsumu wasn’t the norm or hadn’t been until now at least.
“Yes, he is,” Suna confirmed in Osamu’s stead, “Give me your phone and I’ll take a picture of the two of you together.”
Osamu shot him a look that was caught somewhere between gratitude and misery before putting on his best customer service smile. Suna struggled to maintain a straight face with how clearly uncomfortable Osamu looked as the woman profusely thanked them. As soon as she was out of earshot, he broke into laughter and after a moment where it looked like Osamu was contemplating never cooking for him again, he joined in. Suna was the first to stop when he noticed the light had finally turned green, probably for the second time with how long the whole picture ordeal took, and gestured for Osamu to see.
“Can we continue on our way Mr. Hot Onigiri Guy or did dealing with your fans exhaust you too much?” Suna teased.
“Shaddup, this is yer fault,” Osamu complained as they crossed the street, hand in hand. Suna would have almost believed he was upset if it wasn’t for the next thing that left his mouth, “Ya think someone’s gonna mistake ‘Tsumu for me now?”
Suna smiled at the mental image of Atsumu reacting to that offense, “I sure hope so.”