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It happens on a Tuesday afternoon, unsuspecting and quiet in its unveiling as Rintarou opens the door to his apartment.
Practice was longer and more draining than usual, so it takes a moment for Rintarou to realize Osamu is cuddling his demon of a cat. Once that registers in his brain, all movement comes to a halt as he processes this information. Ah, that’s so cute, and it isn't until he snaps a picture of the adorable duo that Rintarou finally grasps how magnificently fucked with feelings he is.
“My cat likes you better than me,” he says, attempting to distract himself from noticing how adorable Osamu looks curled up on his couch with an orange knit blanket thrown over his lap.
Osamu looks up from his phone, his other hand gently caressing Harold’s fur, “It’s really not that surprising, Rin. Harold hates yer guts.”
Osamu’s correct, he supposes. Rintarou has lost count of times he’s shown up to practice with new scratches because his scab of a cat liked to make his life an absolute shitshow. So it’s true, Harold doesn’t like Rintarou. He doesn’t let Rintarou near him, let alone touch him. Yet here he is, cuddling up to Osamu like they’re the best of friends.
Rintarou tries not to take it personally, but somehow, he still feels betrayed by his feline companion. Even though Osamu comes to his apartment often enough that he could be considered Harold’s co-owner, Rintarou has known Harold far longer. Therefore, he should be receiving the menace’s love.
Furthermore, there’s still this odd feeling in Rintarou’s gut. “He really likes you, though.”
Osamu shrugs his shoulders, continuing to scroll through his phone. “I guess.”
His nonchalance at his ability to receive affection from Harold is borderline annoying, because, let’s be honest, Osamu could never actually annoy Rintarou even if he tried to.
“Welcome home,” Osamu says, “Are ya gonna stand on the genkan forever?”
“I am home,” Rintarou replies automatically, a sarcastic undertone to his voice as he removes his shoes and puts on his fluffy slippers.
The middle blocker makes his way toward the tiny kitchenette, already knowing that he probably has nothing in the fridge worth eating. It’s not like he enjoys running out of groceries and shit, but he’s a professional athlete playing for a division one team. He’s busy. The Olympics are around the corner, and he has to suffer through Atsumu being annoying during practice when he thought that got left behind at Inarizaki. He just doesn’t have time to dwell on if his fridge is empty or not.
Slumping his shoulder, Rintarou opens his fridge, only to find it full with eggs, meat, vegetables, fruits, ice cream, and three tuna mayo onigiri wrapped in the Onigiri Miya packaging.
Rintarou blinks, “The fridge isn’t empty.”
Osamu raises an eyebrow as if asking, seriously, Rin? Are ya okay? Did ‘Tsumu spike a ball at yer head today or somethin’?
Harold meows, most definitely making fun of Rintarou, seriously, human? Could you state anything more obvious?
“Yeah, you’ve been busy with practice lately, so I figured ya must be runnin’ out of food,” Osamu says, sitting straight against the arm of the couch, “I brought leftovers from the shop fer lunch too.”
Rintarou just blinks at him, another realization dawning upon him. Oh my god, oh my god. His brain feels like it’s about to explode from so many mind-shattering perception shifts in one setting.
Osamu narrows his eyes. “Are ya okay, Rin? Cause you’ve been actin’ weird ever since ya stepped inside the house.”
“Huh?” Rintarou mumbles unintelligently.
“Ya sick or something?” Osamu asks, getting up from the couch. “Cause if ya are, I’m goin’ home. I don’t wanna get sick and miss work when the Tokyo branch is still so new.”
“It’s been open for eight months now,” Rintarou replies instantly because they’ve had this conversation too many times to count on both hands.
Osamu insists that the Tokyo branch hasn’t reached its peak yet, but Rintarou would beg to differ with the number of people who willingly stand in a line that wraps around the block for Osamu’s onigiri. He closes the fridge and looks at Harold waiting for Osamu to sit back on the couch. The sight makes him jittery, but it’s not entirely unpleasant, falling more in line with the jitters he gets before an important game.
“I’m not sick, just confused.” Rintarou decides to be honest because he has no idea what he’s supposed to do with this realization and these feelings. He’s never exactly been the best at processing things.
“Okay,” Osamu says, sitting back down, Harold resituating himself on Osamu’s lap. “Are ya gonna ta tell me what yer confused about, or are we gonna play 20 questions?”
Rintarou closes his eyes and contemplates his options. There’s an 80% chance that if he says it out loud, Osamu will leave his apartment, and Harold would go back to being a shitty cat. Yet at the same time, there’s also a 20% chance that Osamu might not leave, and Harold can continue being bearable.
“When did you start spending so much time in my apartment that my cat, who attacks anything that breathes, actually willingly touches you?” Rintarou asks with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. “But even more than that, you stocked my fucking fridge.”
“Where’s this comin’ from?” Osamu laughs incredulously, but it's forced enough for Rintarou to grasp Osamu knows exactly what he’s doing and why he’s doing it. “I just pay attention.”
“You know what I mean, and you’re dodging,” Rintarou replies bluntly, eyes narrowing now.
“Okay, what the fuck would I be dodgin’ in the first place?” Osamu asks while playing with Harold’s orange fur.
“This! You and me! Our relationship!” Rintarou is stunned, absolutely stunned, at the idiocy happening between them.
“Rin, I think we’ve known each other long enough for ya ta know what I’m about ta say,” Osamu murmurs softly, Harold glancing between both of them. “Do we hafta talk about this?”
Well yeah, Rintarou thinks because he has no idea what’s happening between him and Osamu, but he is momentarily distracted by how Osamu looks extra pretty with just the right amount of light falling on his face.
“Since when have you started calling me Rin?” The middle blocker asks, deciding that he can wax poetry about Osamu’s face later and focus on the situation at hand. “Last time I checked, you called me ‘Sunarin’ like your brother, and you’re always sleeping over at my apartment. Don’t you, like, make a fortune? Also, you do my laundry more often than I do my laundry.”
“Okay, first of all, if ya paid attention to anything ever, then you’d know I’ve been calling ya ‘Rin’ since high school. Second of all, my apartment is further away from the shop, and my dumbass of a twin is mostly over at his boyfriend’s, so I sleepover at yers, and third of all, ya absolutely suck at doin’ yer laundry.” Osamu huffs, “Plus, half of the laundry at any given point is mine anyways.”
“That’s my point!” Rintarou exclaims. “How has you’re entire closest ended up in my apartment? You have three drawers, Osamu! Three!”
There’s a pause, and Osamu is looking at him the way he looks at a recipe once he’s messed it up, which is mildly annoyed, “Are ya askin’ me why we’re a couple who acts like a couple? Cause if so, then congratulations Rin, yer brand of oblivious assholery has reached its peak. I’ll even make ya a fuckin’ cake with custom-made icing that says fuck you, Rin on the top–”
“See, now I’m confused. Since when have we been a couple?” Rintarou asks.
Osamu flares his nose, glaring daggers at Rintarou, “What do ya mean since when? We’ve been datin’ since–” he pauses, Rintarou watching with satisfaction as Osamu’s face twists and his eyes read, aw fuck me– “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Rintarou agrees empathically, “Would you mind making me some instant ramen with those onigiris?”
Osamu huffs, “How could ya survive without me?”
And for some time, the only sound in the apartment is from Osamu making the ramen and Harold’s occasional meows. Rintarou sits on the dining table, which is honestly just a normal table with two chairs, watching Osamu work his way through the tiny kitchen. He looks so much at home in the kiss-the-chef apron that Rintarou bought him, and Rintarou realizes for the second time how magnificently fucked he is with feelings.
“So, let’s be clear, we’ve never actually confessed to each other, but we’ve always acted like a couple?” Rintarou asks.
Harold meows loudly from the couch as if not believing that his humans were so stupid. Whatever, Harold’s the stupid one, clearly.
Osamu looks at him exasperatedly, and Rintarou has to bite back a comment about Osamu looking absolutely wifey as he stirs the ramen while glaring at Rintarou. Goddamn it, the jitters in his heart are back. At this point, Rintarou’s going to die just from all these fucking feelings.
“Do ya expect me ta say something like, Rin, sweetie, I’ve been in love with ya since high school and I’ve come ta love ya with all the capacity in my heart?”
“I mean, yeah, I would love to have the sentiment returned since I am apparently head over heels in love with you,” Rintarou replies honestly—might as well, it’s treated him right so far—cheeks turning a crimson shade as he realizes what he just said.
“This is the most embarrassin’ conversation I’ve ever had,” Osamu says, turning back to glare at the ramen pot to turn the stove off. But his ears are red, and he’s pouting, and Rintatou is about to have a third realization about how magnificently fucked he is when Osamu murmurs, “It’s always been ya, Rin.”
And oh, oh, oh. Has Rintarou mentioned how magnificently fucked he is with feelings? Cause yeah, that. He is so so fucked. He can’t do this anymore.
“Rin?” Osamu asks as Rintarou grabs him by the hand and drags him to his bedroom. “Lunch?”
Fuck lunch, he is a man on a mission.
“It can wait, Osamu.” Rintarou declares, “Right now, these feelings are fucking me up, so I need to get them out and fuck you senselessly.”
Osamu’s sputtering is cut off as Rintarou pulls him in for a searing kiss.