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“Master, are ya not closin’ for New Years?” Osamu turns to the voice, one of his regulars waving him down with a nearly empty beer glass.
Osamu chuckles and starts filling him up another glass before he even has to ask. “Nah, this is the best time fer me to be open, Natsuki-san, so I can get all yer holiday money off guys like ya.”
“This cheeky youngster,” his regulars all laugh. A group of older men, some widowed, some eternal bachelors, would meet at Osamu’s diner every Saturday without fail since the first year Osamu opened his place. And every year they ask him the same thing. If Osamu was working a corporate job, he’d expect to get the holidays off to spend time with his family. Maybe go somewhere if he was feeling extra extravagant. But running his own business meant not being open equaled not being paid. Which meant working holidays. He also really likes his group of regulars, so he was happy to stay open. Osamu’s place was unique—he specialized in making onigiri, fresh and warm and filled to bursting with toppings. But a customer could ask for any dish and he’d be able to make it for them. It was almost magical in that way.
“Should shut down fer Hatsumode at least, won’t ya? It’s important to go to the first shrine visit of the year, don’t cha know?” Another one of his regulars says.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Osamu says, “but if yer all plannin’ on stayin’ then I couldn’t go anywhere.”
“We’ll watch the shop fer ya!” Natsuki says, causing everyone to burst into laughter.
“Trust ya around his kitchen? We’d be callin’ the fire department immediately!”
“Yeah, Miya-kun would never let us back here again!”
“And then where else would we go ta drink!”
The chorus of laughter fills the little space and Osamu laughs along as he wipes down the counter. The men sat over at the low table of the tatami mat, his current last group of customers so far.
“It’s getting close to midnight, you’d better head out if ya wanna get in line for the bell striking,” Osamu says. The men all mumble some form of agreement, fishing in their wallets to settle up their tab. As they head out the door, Natsuki slips Osamu a little envelope. “A new years gift, Miya-kun; close up fer a few hours and get yerself to the temple and a fortune fer the new year. Get yerself a partner, take some time fer yourself once in a while.” Osamu can’t even protest, as Natsuki pushes it into his hand and hobbles out the door with the rest of his group.
Osamu stares at their retreating backs and has a vision of how he might be in the future. He wonders, would he connect with his old Inarizaki friends at some restaurant somewhere? Maybe an industry buddy every Saturday night, offering something that could more or less be called wisdom? He shakes his head and goes to close the door behind them. He’s debating whether or not to close early—surely everyone who might be out has either gone home or has plans to stay in and watch the new years special on television—when the door pulls open again.
“Ah, sorry, just about ta clos—Rin?”
Suna Rintarou walks through the door, three months after the last time he was here.
It isn’t that Osamu hasn’t seen Rin in three months, he’s gone to a few games if they line up with his days off, but Rin hasn’t been here in a long time. Here, home. Home, where his coffee mug with the souvenir mascot of Hakone is turned upside down in the cabinet so it doesn’t collect dust and Osamu can glance at it as a reminder of their last vacation together. Here, at Onigiri Miya, just a few steps away from the bathhouse they had to use when the water pipe burst in the apartment and they couldn’t shower for a week.
Home, where Suna Rintarou always belonged and hasn’t returned. Until now.
“Can I sit?” Suna asks, voice a little shaky. Osamu doesn’t know whether it was from the cold weather or the lateness of the hour. But he gestures to the stools in front of him. There’s silence between them as Suna settles into his seat. It’s like neither of them know how to break it, letting it linger in the space between them.
Then Osamu finally does, in the only way he knows how. “Can I make ya somethin’ to eat?”
“Whatever you have left is fine,” Suna begins, but Osamu fixes him with a look.
“You know that ain’t how this works,” Osamu says. The side of Suna’s mouth quirks up in a half smile before giving Osamu his order.
“Oden then.” Osamu gets to work, scoring daikon and blanching the fish cakes while his broth base is simmering. A hand-me-down recipe from Osamu’s first restaurant job, where the head chef told him her most vital secret—always have dashi stock cooking, adding flavours to it whenever it feels lacking to create a wholly unique style. Osamu uses it for everything, and in no time at all, he produces a clay pot to sit on the table between them. And the best part about this particular request is the two bowls Osamu puts out for them to share the meal.
That part, at least, hasn’t changed.
It’s Suna’s turn to break the silence so he asks Osamu about the restaurant and his regulars. “Natsuki-san still coming in every Saturday?”
“He was in earlier actually, him and the rest of the gang. They were grabbin’ a bite before headin’ to the shrine for midnight. He asked me about ya a few weeks ago,” Osamu replies, reaching into the pot for a fish cake. “Asked if you were comin’ back any time soon.”
Suna mumbles “ so nosey ” under his breath before speaking up. “What did you tell him?”
Osamu shrugs. “I told ‘im I didn’t know; you were away for work, since it was your first year on EJP starting line so you were still getting used to things. He said he missed havin’ ya around.”
Suna wants to take back that last remark—Osamu’s regulars cared a lot about him, it was natural that they were interested in his life. “Did he stop trying to set you up with his granddaughter then?” he asks, a slight bitterness in his voice.
“Well, once I told him that I wasn’t lookin’ to fill a gap in my relationship because it was already preoccupied, he kinda figured it out.”
“Are you angry with me?”
“No.”
Suna looks at Osamu in genuine surprise. “Why not? I would be angry with me if I were you.”
“I ain’t you,” Osamu says, “that’s the difference. Rin, ya went off to chase yer dreams and the result of all that hard work was a starting spot on EJP. I can’t be angry with ya for wantin’ that for yourself.” He takes another bite of oden. He added a bit of cream to it earlier today and it’s settled in nicely amongst all the spices. “Not like I don’t understand how that feels.”
Osamu doesn’t have to gesture around the space to emphasize his point, but Suna takes in all the details anyway. It’s filled top to bottom, every corner a reminder of how far he’s come and the people that helped him along the way.
“I was scared,” Suna admits.
“I know that.”
“Really scared.”
“Rin, I know that,” Osamu puts down his chopsticks and ducks his head to look Suna right in the eyes. No chance for him to shy away now. “Why do ya think I didn’t demand ya come home every weekend? Why do ya think I didn’t call ya every second ya weren’t at practice?”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because I was scared too. And because I missed ya, more than you could even know. Believe me, I know how crazy a professional volleyball schedule is; Tsumu is here in the city and even I don’t see him as often as his Instagram would lead ya to believe.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier then to just figure things out separately for good?” Suna stutters on that last word and corrects himself. “I mean, for now.”
Osamu doesn’t answer Suna, instead pushing the oden pot slightly closer to Suna across the counter. Suna still hasn’t taken a bite, spending the last few minutes nervously rolling his spoon in his hands. The insistent look in Osamu’s eyes causes Suna to sigh, scooping a piece of daikon from the pot and tipping it into his mouth. Flavour blooms on his tongue and the warmth from the soup spreads throughout his whole body. Suna covers his mouth and looks down, slightly embarrassed to show just how much he misses the comforting taste of Osamu’s cooking.
It tastes like home, one that has a tacky coffee mug hiding somewhere in the cabinet.
“Is that what ya want?” Osamu finally asks.
There’s a question on Suna’s tongue and he’s afraid to ask it.
“Or is there another reason why ya came here tonight?”
Suna gulps and his voice is soft. “I want to come home,” he whispers. “Am I still allowed to?”
Osamu hasn’t been on the other side of the counter much, but he nearly vaults over the wood to crash into Suna, throwing his whole weight of reconciliation onto him and clutching him tightly within his arms. Suna shakes, stopping a small sob from escaping and buries his head into the soft cotton of Osamu’s tee shirt. The towel around his neck smells like miso and ginger and it overwhelms Suna’s senses until all he can feel around him is Osamu’s presence.
“What makes ya think ya wouldn’t be allowed?” Osamu murmurs in Suna’s ear.
“It’s been three months since I’ve been home, and with the way we left things,” Suna trails off—he doesn’t need to remember that particular conversation. “And Coach is changing routine in the new year. He said that Friday will be more of a personal training day—we can come into the gym if we want, or we can train in another way.”
Osamu pulls away to keep them face to face again. “That seems positive.”
Suna nods. “It means that I could get a late train on Thursday nights and be here in two hours,” he says. Shizuoka isn’t far from Osaka and Suna lives in the provided dorms, barely a place for just his volleyball necessities. The rest of his things were just left of Osamu’s, where he never did anything to move them or even call Suna down to collect them.
Somewhere deep down in his heart, he trusted that Suna would always come home. And not just his heart, but his stomach too and his stomach is always right.
Osamu’s watch buzzes, signaling midnight and the coming of the new year. He imagines Natsuki and his friends have headed to one of the larger temples, but Osamu and Suna can hear the bell clanging from the smaller one at the corner street. He heads back behind the counter to turn off his machines, since there won’t be anyone else coming in for the night. Looking around, he notices Suna doesn’t have a travel bag anywhere. “Did ya not bring anything with ya?”
Suna jerks his thumb over his shoulder. Left it outside by the door; I didn’t want to embarrass myself if you were going to yell at me to go home or something.”
Osamu chuckles. “And where would ya have gone?”
“I still have that spare key to Atsumu’s place. Would’ve broken in just for the fun of it.”
“I’m tempted just to let you do that anyway. Wanna leave it upstairs and go for hatsumode ?” Suna moves off the stool but Osamu stops him quickly, grabbing his hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Suna smiles back, a sense of relief in his face, and goes to put his stuff safely upstairs. Osamu packs away the oden in a thermos to combat the chilliness of the midnight air while they inevitably have to stand in line, and waits for Suna outside. The shrine is lit up in orange and white lights, everyone around them wishing happiness for the new year and offering coins and prayers one by one. Osamu laces his fingers with Suna’s freezing ones and keeps them linked the whole time. They buy omamori for ‘great victory’ and ‘business success’ and omikuji to predict the luck for their next year; Suna gets misfortune and promptly ties it to the wire; Osamu laughs and says that his ‘great blessing’ will cover them both.
New Years is a time to celebrate new beginnings, but Osamu likes the comfort of familiar arms wrapped around him and tacky souvenir mugs in the kitchen cabinets. But when he looks at Suna, he knows that he’ll take on any new adventure with him.