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Osamu stands in line at the bookstore on campus, shifting from foot to foot, impatiently waiting for his turn. It feels like he’s been waiting here forever, stuck in the same spot since he joined the queue.
He sighs, the sound coming from deep in his gut, and checks his phone for the time. 4:34 PM. He sighs again. Maybe these textbooks aren’t that important?
He’s internally debating the pros and cons of just leaving the textbook and dropping his class altogether when the sound of the door opening pulls him from his thoughts. His eyes are drawn to the noise, his breath catching in his throat at the sight that greets him.
There is a man. A beautiful man. Probably the most beautiful man alive. Osamu’s not even sure if he can classify this stranger as a man, his beauty not of this realm. The light spilling into the building from the open door behind him frames him in a way that makes him appear ethereal. For the first time in his life, Osamu seriously wonders if he is about to die.
He doesn’t dare move, not wanting to attract the attention of such a heavenly being; doesn’t breathe, suddenly aware of the fact that he isn’t worthy to be breathing the same air as something (someone?) so enchanting.
Then, as if sensing his unrelenting stare, those eyes snap over to him, and Osamu nearly faints.
The eyes of an angel, he muses.
He can’t tear his gaze away. He doesn’t want to. Not when this could possibly be the first and last time he sees someone so alluring. If Osamu were to die right now, he’d die happy.
In an instant, those same eyes are directly in front of him, sparkling like the sea when the sun’s rays hit its waves just right. He hears the most beautiful sound coming from somewhere around him. It reverbates deep within his soul and Osamu thinks, This is it. Just like in the stories he used to read as a kid, a siren is calling out for him, and Osamu becomes yet another sailor entranced by the luxurious sound. It’s as if he's floating, barely tethered to the Earth, while simultaneously remaining rooted to his spot in line, unable to move a muscle.
Once again, he hears the siren sing its beautiful tune, and he begins to say his prayers, resigning himself to his fate. If this is the angel coming to collect him from Earth, he wants to make sure he’ll see him again in the afterlife, even if it means swallowing his pride and admitting his wrongdoings.
“Hello? Anybody home?” the charmer calls, clearly amused by Osamu’s plight.
Osamu blinks and, all too late, realizes that he is still in the bookstore. He was never being lured to his death by a siren. Rather, there is a man standing before him, a gorgeous man, but a man all the same. Neither a deity nor an angel, though he may as well be one.
“Yer the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen,” Osamu stupidly breathes out, still dazed, slightly embarrassed, but fully captivated by those unflinching blue eyes staring back at him.
Unflinching. That is until the owner of those beautiful orbs averts their gaze. Osamu can’t find it in himself to be disappointed. Not when the most beautiful blush appears on the apples of the man’s cheeks, staining his once pale skin a deep rosy shade as if he just ran a marathon.
Osamu understands. His heart is beating wildly in his chest right now. He’s face to face with the most beautiful person in the world and he’s just voiced those exact thoughts straight to his face. It’s a miracle he’s still standing.
“Thanks,” the man mumbles under his breath, clearly flustered. “You’re handsome as well.”
There is no way this is happening. Osamu has to be dreaming. He clearly isn’t dying. The only other logical explanation for this exchange is that it’s been created by his subconscious. Why else would the person who he has dubbed the most beautiful man in the world think he’s handsome?
“I’m Osamu,” he says.
“I know,” the man replies, and Osamu…oh god. Osamu has stopped working. He opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water. He knows? What the hell does that mean? Osamu has just laid eyes on an angel, and said angel already knows who he is? Maybe he needs to revisit the idea that he is dying.
“Practically everybody on campus knows who you are Myaa-sam,” he teases, taking Osamu’s dumbfounded expression for what it is. Osamu’s heart skips a beat at the way the nickname rolls off the man’s tongue. He thinks he might be falling in love.
His mind must be working overtime to adjust to these new feelings, because his brain-to-mouth filter has stopped working, and the next thing out of his mouth is, “I think I might be fallin’ in love.” Osamu is two seconds away from being embarrassed, a blush already fighting its way to the surface, when the most amazing thing happens.
Most beautiful man in the world’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second and a small smile graces his features before he retorts, “At least buy me dinner first,” with a playful eye roll, and Osamu’s almost-mortification washes away.
He breaks out into a stupid grin and hastily agrees as if his life depends on it. Maybe it does; Osamu still isn’t completely convinced that this man isn’t an angel who is supposed to be guiding him to the afterlife.
“Let me get yer number? And yer name?” Osamu begs, eager to put a name to his face.
“Of course.” He smiles. Smiles. Osamu’s legs turn to jelly. He is so thankful for the shelves lined up next to him so he can inconspicuously lean his weight on them. He pulls out his phone, hands it to the man, and watches, enraptured at the way deft, slender fingers fly across the screen, inputting his phone number and characters that can only be his name.
When the most beautiful man in the world gives him his phone back, Osamu takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know why, but he feels like knowing this man’s name will change his life forever.
He looks down at the screen and smiles at the new contact in his phone. Moreso, the name attached.
Akaashi Keiji.
The most beautiful man in the world, the most beautiful voice Osamu has ever heard, and now, the most beautiful name in the history of all names. Osamu still doesn’t believe this is real life. Once again, he’s revisiting the idea that he’s dreaming — or dying. Or maybe he’s dreaming he’s dying? Dying while dreaming? Either way, he can’t handle this right now.
“Yer makin’ it harder for me not to fall in love with ya before dinner,” he huffs out a breathy chuckle.
Akaashi laughs, a light, airy sound, and Osamu never wants to stop hearing it. That laugh could save lives. Maybe end them too, considering Osamu’s current predicament. “I’ll text you,” he says, eyes never leaving Osamu’s, smile never fading.
“I’ll respond,” Osamu replies with a matching grin.
He watches as Akaashi turns around and leaves the bookstore and doesn’t dare look away until his figure disappears around the corner.
Osamu returns his gaze back to his phone where Akaashi’s contact sits, and he can't help the smile that breaks out. He is so unbelievably happy. He cannot believe that he now has the name, number, and a date with the most beautiful man on Earth.
—
Osamu is the happiest man in the world. The luckiest guy there is, and it’s all thanks to Keiji.
They’ve been going out for a month now, and Osamu can safely say he is in love. It’s fast, he knows, but the heart wants what it wants, and his wants Akaashi Keiji and Akaashi Keiji alone. He had a feeling when he met him for the first time in that bookstore, but now he’s sure.
Every day, Osamu finds something new to love about Keiji.
He loves the way he lights up whenever he talks about his passions, the way he talks with his hands to explain something, and sometimes doodles to further enunciate his point. Loves the way he seems to melt in his seat after he takes his first bite of warm, homemade onigiri, made by Osamu himself. How he gets literal tears in his eyes while trying to describe just how good it tastes, as if he’ll never be able to again. As if Osamu wouldn’t give up his whole life just to make Akaashi onigiri. If that’s what he wanted, Osamu is helpless to do anything but oblige. All he has to do is ask. He loves the way Keiji kisses him, passionately and wholeheartedly, as if he’s trying to steal all of Osamu’s air.
Osamu loves how he would let Keiji steal all of his air without a second thought.
Osamu loves Keiji. He hopes Keiji loves him too.
They’re lying on the couch in Akaashi’s apartment, not really watching what’s on the TV, simply existing with one another. These are Osamu’s favorite moments — when they’re content to bask in one another’s presence, zoning out and knowing the other will be there whenever they’re ready to come back to reality.
Akaashi is snuggled up against Osamu with his head on his chest, eyes closed, while Osamu’s hand lazily cards through his curls. He loves Akaashi’s curls. Loves the way they coil around his fingers, soft to the touch. They smell sweet, like citrus.
“Hey, ‘Ji?” Osamu softly inquires, breaking the quiet atmosphere of the living room.
Akaashi makes a noise of acknowledgement.
“Can I tell ya somethin’?”
“Yeah, what is it?” Akaashi shifts in his place on top of Osamu, fixing himself to sit up, but Osamu keeps him where he is.
“I hope ya don’t think I’m crazy,” he laughs nervously.
“I already think you’re crazy. What is it, ‘Samu?” Osamu can hear the nervousness and concern in Keiji’s voice, and he hopes that what he’s about to say next eases it a little.
“Alright well, I just… I was just thinkin’—” Osamu cuts himself off with a groan, frustrated with himself. They’ve been dating for an entire month and Osamu has had no trouble telling Keiji how beautiful he is everyday. He’s had no trouble showing how much he loves the blue-eyed man, but putting it into words is something entirely different.
Osamu takes a breath, breathing in the scent of Keiji’s shampoo to ground himself. “Ya just make me happy. Real happy. Yer the best thing that’s happened to me Keiji, and I —” he cuts himself off, not willing to say what he wants to, lest he scare Keiji off. Like he said, it’s only been a month. “I like ya. A lot. Like, a crazy amount. I just wanna make sure ya know how much ya mean to me.”
Akaashi is quiet for a moment and Osamu uses the opportunity to calm his racing heart. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he hears a sniffle and there’s a damp spot forming on his shirt where Akaashi’s head lay.
“Keiji baby, what's the matter?” Osamu asks, sitting up, taking Akaashi with him. He’s trying not to panic, but all he can think about is how he messed up the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
“It’s nothing — I,” Akaashi begins to cry, and Osamu feels his heart break. Every tremble, every tear, every sniffle, manages to break his heart even more than the last.
“Shhh baby, it’s okay, I’m here,” he soothes. “Take yer time, I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
It takes five minutes for Akaashi’s sobs to subside, and another ten for him to finally feel ready to talk. Osamu holds him throughout it all, keeping his voice low and gentle as he whispers sweet nothings into Akaashi’s ear. He lifts himself off of Osamu’s chest and grimaces at the mess he’s made.
“Sorry,” he rasps, throat hoarse.
Osamu merely shakes his head. “Ya have no reason to be sorry ‘Ji. If anythin’ I should be the one apologizin’, I —” he begins, but Akaashi cuts him off with a firm shake of the head.
“No, no, ‘Samu, you have nothing to apologize for either,” he says.
Osamu hums and nods. He studies Akaashi for a bit then asks, “Ya wanna talk about it?”
Akaashi considers this for a moment before shaking his head. “Not yet,” he whispers. “Sorry.”
“Hey, it’s okay. All on yer own time yeah?”
Akaashi nods, and Osamu smiles that soft smile he reserves just for him. He opens his arms, a silent invitation for Keiji to join him if he so pleases, who wastes no time pressing his face into a dry portion of Osamu’s chest. Osamu’s hand finds its way back to those beautiful black curls, tenderly running his fingers through them. Once their heartbeats and breaths sync, Osamu breaks the silence once more.
“Remember when we first met?”
Akaashi closes his eyes, reminiscing. “How could I forget? You were staring at me like you couldn’t believe I was there.”
Osamu smiles. He doesn’t want to tell Akaashi what was really going on in his head. He’d be teased relentlessly, and he doesn’t want to go through that. Not with Akaashi and his sharp tongue. Instead he acquiesces, “That’s ‘cause ya looked like an angel. My angel baby,” and punctuates this with a tender kiss to the crown of Keiji’s head, feeling smug when he sees the blush forming on his face.
Akaashi burrows deeper into Osamu’s chest and he’d miss what was said next if not for their proximity to each other.
“I like you a lot too, ‘Samu.”
—
Things between Keiji and Osamu have been going well. They’ve just celebrated their two month anniversary, and it’s absurd just how much Osamu loves him.
There are no words that can properly encapsulate the way Keiji makes him feel. Words are not enough. His heart, a chalice overflowing with love, beats for Akaashi Keiji. His mind is overrun with thoughts of Akaashi Keiji. Every gesture, made with Akaashi in mind. Every word, spoken for him.
There is no doubt in his mind. Osamu Miya is irrevocably, unconditionally in love with Akaashi Keiji.
He thinks Akaashi loves him back.
He thinks he sees Akaashi’s love for him in the way his eyes soften when they look at each other; thinks he hears it in the way Keiji says his name, as if savoring the word.
He believes he feels it the most, not when he holds Keiji, but when Keiji holds him. When he can hear the steady thrum of his heart, beating in his chest. When Keiji buries his nose in Osamu’s faded, gray locks, leaving the lightest of kisses on the crown of his head. Feels it when he lists his favorite things about Osamu, punctuating each point with another kiss and a smile, as if committing the image of Osamu to memory.
Osamu burns with affection and love and every other word meant to describe what Keiji does to him, and even then, will never be enough to truly express the utter devotion alight within him.
Keiji is acting funny. Not funny in a way that would make Osamu laugh that full-bellied laugh, eyes resembling crescents and dimples on display; funny in a way that has him furrowing his brows and approaching the man as if he were a spooked animal.
Weird. His behavior is weird. It’s the only way Osamu can describe it, as advanced as his vocabulary is. It’s been two, almost three months of being together, and Osamu thinks he’s gotten to know Keiji pretty well. He knows he’s tired by the way he takes three seconds to respond when asked a question. He can tell when Keiji gets frustrated, senses it in the way his voice becomes tight and his fingers flex and contract repeatedly. He’s able to recognize the differences in his silences with one look at Keiji’s face.
This behavior, however, is not something Osamu knows. He does not understand the pained expression that contorts the usually relaxed face of the man he loves. Can’t connect the silence that befalls them in the middle of the afternoon with the distant expression Keiji wears. Fails to decipher the reason for the emotion swimming in those prussian blue eyes when he’s under the impression Osamu isn’t looking back — Osamu is always looking back — his gaze filled with something a little too melancholic for Osamu’s liking.
“Keiji baby,” he coos, carding a gentle hand through his hair.
Akaashi blinks through the daze he was just in and looks up blearily at Osamu. Osamu moves his hand from Keiji’s hair, cupping his face, reverently stroking his cheek with his thumb.
“Hey there,” Osamu whispers, and Keiji’s lips slowly tilt upward into a tired version of one of those soft smiles Osamu has quickly grown to love.
“Hi,” he whispers back.
“I made ya some tea. It’s lavender and honey, yer favorite.” He presents the beverage to Akaashi, and he tentatively but gratefully pries the mug from Osamu’s hands. Osamu sits beside his boyfriend on the couch, continuing to speak in hushed tones, telling Akaashi about his day and the things he saw while on campus, watching closely as Akaashi comes back to himself.
“Baby,” he murmurs. “What’s goin’ on?”
Akaashi looks at Osamu for a moment. A moment where it feels like time stretches on and Osamu can only look back. His gaze wanders all over Akaashi’s body. He notes the way the now empty mug of tea trembles in his hold, notes the paler than usual complexion, until his gaze returns to his eyes. Those beautiful blue eyes that once looked so full of life, full of adoration, were now dull and empty, devoid of everything Osamu came to love.
It doesn’t change though, how much he loves him. It doesn’t matter what emotions, or lack thereof, are being displayed in Keiji’s eyes. Osamu will do anything to make his siren sing his song again, to make his star shine again.
But Akaashi stays silent, and Osamu aches.
“It’s alright,” he relents with a sigh. “I’ll be here when yer ready. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
Osamu isn’t going to force Akaashi to do or say something he doesn’t want to. He’d never do that to someone so pure. But a small part of him does wish for Akaashi to come to him. Wishes he'd open up, be vulnerable, even if it’s just a little, and give Osamu a glimpse of what he sees, what he thinks, what he feels.
Osamu wants to be able to help Keiji, support him through whatever is hurting him, and guide him towards that light at the end of the tunnel.
In the meantime, he intertwines their fingers, soft, pale skin meeting rough, tanned callouses.
“‘Ji,” Osamu calls delicately.
“Hm?”
“Can I say it?”
Akaashi seems to think about it for all of two seconds before resolutely shaking his head. Osamu ignores the way his heart drops at the display.
“But, ya know. Right?”
Keiji nods, a faint “I know” echoing in the space around them.
Osamu is content with it being like this. He can acknowledge that Keiji isn’t ready to hear those three words, and he is more than happy to show him, tell him in different ways. Akaashi will get the message. He always does.
—
According to science, it takes about four months for a person to fall in love.
Osamu disagrees.
Osamu wouldn’t say he believes in love at first sight, but he knew he loved Keiji four minutes after meeting him, so maybe he needs to reexamine his beliefs.
But whether it's four months like the professionals say, or four minutes like Osamu says, it doesn’t change anything. Because for four months, Osamu has been loving Keiji with his whole heart, unabashedly, and he thinks, maybe knows, that Keiji has been doing the same.
It’s been four months of waking up to goodmorning texts, meeting each other at their favorite cafes for breakfast, and walking each other to class. Four months of lunch dates, of walks along one of the many nature trails around their campus, of lounging on the couch with each other.
Four months of stealing kisses and sneaking glances at one another, of soft laughter and secret smiles. Four months of dragging their feet by the door, neither wanting to let go of the other. Four months of Osamu’s ‘Just one more kiss’ and Keiji’s ‘Alright, last one’ before granting his wish.
Four months of watching Keiji’s retreating backside until he disappears around the corner, of Osamu finishing his night routine warm and happy, filled with love. Four months of relaxing underneath the covers with a smile on his face as he falls asleep to a ‘Goodnight, moon’ text from Keiji.
Ever since they got together, Osamu has been transported to seventh heaven, his happiest time, and it’s all thanks to Keiji.
There is something seriously wrong with Osamu. He doesn’t know what, doesn’t even know why, but he’s sure of it.
There has been a constant, growing pressure in his chest, as if he is diving deeper and deeper into the sea, and he doesn’t know where it is coming from. He feels an inexplicable urge to take action, like he needs to do something.
His skin buzzes uncomfortably, his fingertips are prickly, and he can’t seem to stop pacing back and forth. When he does manage to stop pacing and finally sit down, his leg bounces uncontrollably. Osamu’s heart is going 100 miles per hour and he, not for the first time (or the second), seriously wonders if he is about to die.
He tries taking a breath. In for four seconds, hold for seven, out for eight. Doing it once doesn’t do anything to ease the palpitations, so he tries again. And again. And again. By the sixth cycle, he’s had enough. He stands abruptly, hoping, praying, begging that a quiet walk around the neighborhood will help quell his unwarranted anxiety.
Grabbing a jacket, his phone, wallet, and keys, he heads for the door, but before he can reach it, his phone rings. Glancing at the name, he feels all of his anxieties melt away, and he forgoes going on a walk altogether.
“Hi baby,” he breathes immediately after answering.
Silence.
He checks to see if the call failed to connect. “Keiji?”
“Hi,” Keiji finally answers.
“Hey you,” he smiles then immediately frowns. “You feelin’ okay?”
Akaashi completely ignores him. “I want to tell you something.”
“O—”
“Two things actually,” he amends, cutting Osamu off.
“Okay, I’m all ears darlin’,” Osamu replies. He settles by the kitchen counter, sitting on one of the stools and putting his phone on speaker. He hears Keiji take a deep breath and Osamu swears he can feel the breath skimming the shell of his ear.
“Do you — what did you do today?”
Akaashi’s voice comes out soft and hesitant over the phone and Osamu feels his once dispelled anxiety slowly making its return. He’s confused, he’s concerned, but he’s not going to ask twice if he’s okay when he’s clearly not ready to talk. So instead, he tells him about his day. Fills him in on what he made himself for breakfast because it felt wrong to go into a cafe without him; narrates what he felt all day, and how his nerves dissipated when he saw Keiji’s call coming through.
(He does not tell Akaashi that the same anxiety he was able to chase away is the same anxiety he has brought back.)
“...And now I’m feelin’ better, talkin’ to ya. What about my baby hm? What’d he do today?” Osamu asks, covertly trying to change the subject so he can find at least one reason for Keiji’s odd behavior.
“I wish I could see the moon right now,” Akaashi hums. (See? Odd behavior.)
Osamu begins to answer, gearing up to respond with a confused ‘Huh?’, but Keiji cuts him off with a gasp.
“The moon,” he breathes. “My moon.” Osamu can hear the smile in his voice. “That’s what I wanted to tell you. ‘Samu, you’re my moon. Do you want to know why? Why I call you moon?”
“Can’t say I do sweetheart,” he answers with a dopey grin. “Why don’t ya tell me?”
“Your eyes.”
It’s such a simple answer, but it’s said with such conviction, that Osamu can’t help the way his eyes fill with tears and the wet chuckle he lets out.
“Holy shit ‘Ji, yer makin’ me tear up over here.”
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding apologetic in the least. He continues, “They’re gray.”
“That they are,” Osamu confirms, still smiling.
“Like the moon. And mine are blue…”
“Like the ocean,” he finishes for him.
“Yeah…like the ocean.” Akaashi goes quiet.
There are a lot of things about this conversation that Osamu can’t explain — the way Keiji’s silence has the hairs on the back of his neck standing up being one of them. It’s not because Keiji’s silences are rare — he’s a naturally quiet person, but there’s something in the way he goes quiet.
Osamu can’t explain it. Just like he can’t explain why Keiji being so romantic all of a sudden has him a little on edge.
It isn’t that Keiji isn’t romantic. If that were the case, Osamu doubts they would be working as well as they are, but he shows it differently, quietly, whereas Osamu is the one to shout it from the rooftops and make his love obvious for Keiji to feel and for all to see.
So Osamu is nervous, sue him. If you add all of the other instances of Keiji’s weirdness from the past few weeks, Osamu’s own anxiousness from not even thirty minutes ago, and now this? Maybe he’s being paranoid, but Osamu thinks something’s not right.
“Is that all ya wanted to tell me? Ya said there were two things.”
“Yeah — I mean no, I want to tell you something else,” Keiji says after a pause.
Osamu hums to show he’s listening, to give Keiji the chance to get it off his chest with no interruptions.
When it becomes clear that Akaashi doesn’t want to say anything, Osamu changes tactics. He switches over to a video call and waits patiently for the call to connect.
“Baby answer the call,” Osamu says.
“No.”
“You never turn down a video call though,” Osamu frowns; pouts, really.
“I don’t want you to see me like this,” he whispers.
Now Osamu frowns — for real this time. “Darlin’ ya know I couldn't care less about what ya look like. C’mon, answer.” He tries again, and his call is declined. Again. Osamu sighs, frustrated.
“Fine, ya don’t have to answer. Can ya just — Keiji please, just tell me what’s goin’ on. Yer freakin’ me out. I’m not doin’ anythin’ right now, can I go to yer place?”
“No,” he says again, but this time Osamu can hear the way his voice shakes, can hear the exhaustion seeping through the phone, the sadness coating his words.
“Okay,” he relents hesitantly. “Okay, no video call, no comin’ over. I need ya to talk to me though, baby. If I can’t see yer face, at least let me hear yer voice.”
“Alright,” Keiji says, finally, finally, getting ready to talk. “I was just thinking.”
“About?” Osamu prods.
“You,” he says simply. “How much I love you,” he says, not so simply.
Osamu chokes on nothing and he can feel tears collecting in his eyes again. He blinks them away in a futile effort to hide them (from whom, he has no clue), but when he speaks, his voice gives him away immediately.
“Ya love me?” he squeaks.
“Of course I do,” Keiji breathes out. “I love you so much.”
Oh wow, Osamu feels like such an idiot. His boyfriend was just nervous about telling him that he loves him. He probably didn’t want to video call because he’d lose his nerve. Keiji’s weird like that, but god, if Osamu doesn’t love him back. He loves him so much, quirks and all.
“Keiji, oh my — Keiji, I love you too. Ya know I love ya right? So much. I love you so much,” he babbles, giddy and happy and in love. It’s a dream come true. Osamu loves Keiji and Keiji loves him back. No more hoping, no more thinking, no more wondering; it’s fact, the words spoken by the man himself.
It’s an incredible feeling, to love and to be loved back. Osamu feels lighter than he has in months, which says a lot because over the past four, he’s felt like he’s been floating. He never thought he would feel this way, never thought a feeling like this even existed until he felt it.
But alas, things with Keiji, as lovely as they are, can never be too simple. Osamu is granted five minutes of elation before Keiji bursts his proverbial bubble.
“Ya know, now I can call ya ‘love’,” Osamu muses. “Can we try it? I bet—”
“‘Samu,” Keiji says.
Without missing a beat, Osamu responds, “Yes, my love?” grinning from ear to ear like an idiot.
“I miss you.”
Osamu playfully rolls his eyes. “Well I could be there with ya right now but I’m gonna respect yer wishes like the gentleman I am. Ya could always answer my FaceTime though,” he says, punctuated with another call. Keiji declines and Osamu laughs.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot,” Osamu says, trying to compose himself.
“You know I love you right?” Keiji starts. Osamu has no idea where this is going.
“Yes, in fact I believe we’ve just established that,” he says, the smile never leaving his face. “I love you too, by the way,” he adds for good measure.
“Yeah. So, you know the last four months have been the best of my life and I —”
“Keiji, are ya breakin’ up with me right now?” Osamu asks incredulously. The man just said he loves him. Why the hell is he talking like it’s the end of the world?
“No, no I’m not,” Keiji says quickly. “But I…”
Keiji sounds so nervous and Osamu doesn’t get it. What is there to be nervous about? He’s already told him he loves him, and no matter how much Osamu would like to right this second, proposing is a long ways away.
“Baby what the hell is goin’ on? Ya seriously have me freakin’ out over here. Like, you’ve got me sweatin’ right now,” he huffs out a nervous laugh.
“I—”
“Actually, you’ve been actin’ weird for a while now and I’ve been tryin’ to give you space, let you come to me on yer own time, but I just wanna know what’s goin’ through yer head. I feel like yer just bein’ cryptic, hopin’ I’ll read between the lines, but ya know I’m not good with riddles and all that, so Keiji please, I’m beggin’ ya, just be straight with me alright? No more games. Whatever it is that’s got ya so bent outta shape, I’m not gonna judge ya, or nothin’. Ya can tell me anythin’.”
Osamu hears Keiji take a deep, shaky breath, and he feels bad for going off like that for a second before he remembers that this is what he wants. He wants Keiji to come to him. He needs Keiji to understand that he’ll always be there for him no matter what, that he’s someone to rely on.
“Okay,” Keiji says, and Osamu smiles, releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “I have something to tell you.”
“Whenever yer ready ‘Ji,” Osamu replies.
Keiji is silent on the other line, but this time Osamu doesn’t feel uneasy. He just sits back and lets Keiji gather his thoughts, giving him time to make the words in his brain flow smoothly out of his mouth.
Then, after what feels like an eternity, Keiji speaks.
“What if we never see each other again?” he asks.
Osamu doesn’t know much about jokes — and he’s pretty sure he just asked Keiji to cool it with the games — but he thinks this is what they would call a set-up.
“Well we would be able to right now but someone won’t answer the FaceTime,” Osamu says lightly. “Come on, seriously, do ya want me to come to ya? I’ve got time. I can be there in 20.”
“I don’t have time, ‘Samu.” He’s setting the trap now. He’s really good at this.
“Baby, what the hell are ya talkin’ about?” Osamu asks, letting himself be lured in.
“I’m dying soon.” This is definitely the punchline.
Surely he’s supposed to laugh, say Nice try Keiji, you aren’t getting rid of me that easily and Keiji will laugh, say, Ah, you got me. All will be well in the world, and Keiji and Osamu will live happily ever after.
Because this is a joke. It’s not a funny one, far from it, but Osamu will laugh anyway, small and polite, because as perfect as Keiji is, sometimes he has a shit sense of humor. Sometimes — a lot of the time — his jokes fall flat, and the ensuing silence is funnier than the joke itself. This has to be one of those moments, Osamu is sure of it.
So he laughs his small, polite laugh, and says, “Good one baby, but yer not getting rid of me so easy,” and waits for Keiji’s response to come.
And he waits, and waits, and waits some more.
And when Keiji’s response doesn’t come, Osamu continues to wait. Maybe Keiji is trying to find a way to salvage the joke and it’s just taking him longer than it usually would.
Osamu waits for what seems like forever. When Keiji’s response still doesn’t come, he panics.
He panics because there’s no way that wasn’t supposed to be funny, no way that wasn’t supposed to be a prank. There’s no way Keiji told him this, over the phone, thinking Osamu would be okay, thinking Osamu would even understand.
“Baby yer jokin’. Tell me yer jokin’.”
“I wish I was. ‘Samu, I'm so sorry,” and Osamu can hear the way his voice breaks at the end of his sentence. He can hear the way his breath hitches once, twice, and the way Keiji breaks out into sobs shortly after.
Osamu can hear the way his own breathing quickens, can hear the blood rushing to his head, can hear the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.
He hears the hum of his air conditioner as it switches on, hears the buzzing of his refrigerator that tells him it’s powered on and keeping the contents inside of it cool, hears the sounds of people walking and talking and laughing in the streets below, going on about their lives as if Osamu’s whole world hasn’t just come crashing down around him.
He pinches himself to make sure he’s not dreaming. He feels the sting his nails make and sees the indent it leaves in his skin. It’s not enough.
His hands find their way to his hair, clutching gray strands and pulling as hard as he can, hard enough that some strands are prematurely removed from their home in his scalp. He feels the dull throb left by the tugs. It’s not enough.
Gravity brings the heel of his palm down to his thighs, violent enough to bruise the tender flesh there. He feels the immediate soreness pulsate throughout the muscle. It’s not enough.
Nothing will ever be enough. There’s nothing that can eclipse the pain that is no doubt making a permanent home in his chest. There’s nothing that can distract him from the way his lungs constrict with every breath, trying in vain to bring air in, but instead succeeding at letting all of it out.
Osamu can’t breathe. He can’t think. He can’t speak.
He blinks.
Keiji is still crying on the phone, apologizing profusely. Osamu can’t do anything. He can’t hug him, rub his hands up and down his spine while whispering sweet nothings in his ear. He can’t hold Keiji against his chest, cradle his head ever so gently, and comfort him the only way he knows how — softly pecking the top of his head and reminding him that I’m here Keiji, I’m not goin’ anywhere.
He can’t tell him to stop apologizing, because he doesn’t need to apologize, not for this.
He can feel his heart breaking with every breath Keiji shakily breathes in, trying to calm himself down on his own. Osamu can feel his heart breaking more and more with every breath he takes himself, knowing that soon, he will keep breathing and Keiji will not. He feels his heart break more and more when he realizes with startling clarity that this is probably the last time he will get to talk to Keiji, the last time he’ll be able to hear his voice.
“Keiji,” is the first thing he says after a while, and it’s a wonder his voice comes out so steady when his insides feel like they’re on fire.
He’s still reeling from the news, but he can’t bear to hear Keiji crying anymore.
“Breathe baby, in and out,” he instructs.
The crying dies down, but the apologies don’t. It’s like the only thing Keiji can do is voice his guilt, and Osamu can’t bring himself to tell him to stop because he understands why.
Keiji didn’t tell him in person, he told him over the phone. Keiji didn’t give Osamu the chance to hold him during the one moment Osamu really should.
The worst part though, is that Keiji knew. He knew his time was coming to an end. It’s the only way to explain the odd behavior from the past weeks; the spacing out, the pallidness of his face, the exhaustion creeping into his words, into his features. Keiji knew, and deep, deep down, Osamu did too.
He should have pushed harder, made Keiji tell him what was going on at the first sign that something was wrong. Why did he let Keiji go through this alone? Did Keiji think he wouldn’t stay? He would have, if he knew. He could have helped — would have helped. But now it’s too late, and Osamu can’t do anything but say his goodbyes to the man he has fallen in love with, and who has fallen in love with him, over the phone.
He laughs wetly, “Not a lot of people get the chance to say goodbye y’know? I’m kinda lucky that way…” he trails off, not feeling very lucky. If it were up to him, he would never have to say goodbye. But it’s not up to him, so he has to. It’s not up to him, so he pretends like there’s a bright side to all this, like there’s some good that can come from this.
“I’m always gettin’ lucky when it comes to you…pun intended,” he adds, and Keiji laughs, a breathy little thing, on the other line. Osamu smiles brokenly, catalogs the sound in his brain, wills himself to never forget it. “I’m so lucky I can say that I love you and you love me too,” Osamu says softly.
He hopes that with each little thing he says, the weight on Keiji’s shoulders gets lighter, hopes that Keiji’s worries and guilt fades away. He hopes that’s the case, because the more he speaks, the heavier his own chest feels, and he doesn’t think he’d be able to forgive himself if he knew Keiji…
He doesn’t want Keiji to have any regrets.
“I hope yer not over there feeling guilty,” he says. “It’s okay. It’s all gonna be okay, alright? Don’t apologize, ya have no reason to be sorry.”
Osamu hears Keiji take in a ragged breath and mutter out a weak, “Okay,” and then, “‘Samu,” said so softly and hesitantly, that if he wanted, Osamu could pretend he didn’t hear it — and that’s exactly what he wants to do, so he does.
He pretends he didn’t hear Keiji call his name for what sounded like the last time. He pretends he doesn’t know what’s coming next, because if he doesn’t, if he allows himself to keep a rational mind, stay rooted in reality, he is positive that he will break, right there in the middle of his kitchen.
“Keiji, you know I’ve been so happy recently, you make me so happy. I never thought someone like you would love someone like me, but you did; you do —”
“‘Samu,” Keiji says again, and Osamu continues to ignore him.
“— And I love you too, so much Keiji, so much. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me Keiji,” his heart beats faster and faster, breaths coming and going in short spurts.
“I have to go ‘Samu,” Keiji says, devastating Osamu.
He stands abruptly, the stool clattering to the floor in his haste. “Keiji, no. Please, don’t go please,” he begs, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He tightly clutches the countertop, knuckles turning white. “Baby please, don’t go, please.”
“I love you Osamu,” Keiji breathes out.
“I love you too Keiji,” he says, voice tight, “please don’t leave me.” Osamu feels lightheaded. He can barely see his phone’s screen in front of him, tears blurring his vision; can barely breathe, sobs he refuses to let out, stuck in his throat. The only reason he’s standing right now, at this moment, is about two seconds away from leaving him for good.
He tries in vain to keep Keiji on the line, babbling incoherently — strings of please’s and don’t go’s and I love you’s, leaving his bitten lips — as he tries his best to stave off the tears he knows will be flowing soon due to his beloved’s inevitable departure. It’s pointless, because two seconds later, Osamu’s world comes to a screeching halt. Two seconds later, it will be as if a bomb was dropped right in Osamu’s kitchen — one he saw coming from a mile away.
Three words spoken so softly that will tear him apart from the inside out, that will ruin him forever.
“Goodbye, my love,” Keiji whispers, but it’s loud enough to pierce Osamu's ears — pierce straight through his heart.
“Wait —”
Three consecutive beeps signal Keiji’s leave, effectively destroying Osamu.