Chapter Text
If there is any certainty in this world, it is that nothing is certain. Human beings only interpret things as "real" when we agree with another person, and even so, we cannot say that these two people understand reality in the same way; Therefore, nothing is true.
However, we have to be clear that reality is just a concept, one like many others, and that there are so many factors that alter our perception that we will never reach a specific end of what reality is.
Reality depends on how we give context: it’s the words that we say.
But even if it is written so clearly on a paper, the words vary their meanings depending on the intensity with which they are spoken; the pronunciation, the tone of voice, the place of origin of the person, and their own history, the gestures they make while speaking, and all this also on the part of the listener.
Thus, a joke is easily turned into a reality, and a reality becomes an offense, and an offense can be a compliment to the other person, and sometimes, a compliment is taken as a joke. The curious thing about all this is that avoiding saying words for fear of being misunderstood is also a great cause of misunderstandings, and Osamu understood that point quite well.
Miya Osamu never considered himself as a shy person, however, if you compare him with his brother Atsumu, the extroverted setter of the MSBY Black Jackals, who can talk for three people and doesn’t know how to keep his anything to himself; Osamu looks like an ice cube.
Unlike his brother, Osamu doesn't say things he deems unnecessary (most of the time), he tries to be considerate and not interrupt others when they're talking, and it's obvious that despite his fledgling business, he doesn't want to attract attention. But he's not shy, definitely not.
Well, maybe a little, what is wrong with wanting to feel comfortable in his own space? All of his life had to be shared with someone more invasive than weeds, call him crazy for wanting his own private life.
“Samu! Is it ready?!” Atsumu called from the living room. Osamu felt himself sigh, there goes his internal monologue.
“I told you to not come early if you’re going to complain all the time!” he yelled back, spreading sesame seeds over the last few onigiris he just made.
It was the second Saturday of the month of May, one of those days when Atsumu would send an emoji-encrypted text for Osamu before the sun came up and appear in the living room when the youngest were going to create new recipes for his business. Like all the second weekend ends of the month, Atsumu was putting down roots on the couch while looking for some police series for them to see and pass the time.
As soon as Osamu finished cooking, the twins would dive right into some intricate murder drama, in which they surely won’t stop complaining about the protagonist, and catch up with one another while solving the case, as if they didn’t text daily and Atsumu wasn’t the new star of the national volleyball.
That was their routine now that both lived in Osaka. At first, when Atsumu signed with MSBY Black Jackals and moved into the team’s shared residence, Osamu found himself joking alone and calling Atsumu when he wasn’t there, making more food than necessary and placing an extra plate on the table. So, when the opportunity of his shop being open in the heart of Osaka, an hour from his parents’ house and twenty minutes from the Jackals gym, Osamu saw it as a sign of fate.
Now, both of them tried to see each other whenever they could, even if their impromptu spontaneous encounters were just throwing insults in both ways. It wasn’t out of pride that they didn’t say they missed each other, it was because they both know, and before either could think of putting a name to the longing, the other appeared, whether as a text, a call or by spontaneous generation (Osamu one day found Atsumu in the pantry of a soba restaurant, without explanation), to send it away.
Osamu placed all the onigiris on a tray, and left the kitchen towards the living room, where Atsumu had already finished setting everything up so they could watch the series without interruptions. He put de tray on the coffee table that faced the couch and sat next to his brother. Moments later, the police cases were playing on the screen and the twins stuffed their mouths with food.
“Oh, this is good!” Atsumu exclaimed, and Osamu wasn’t sure if it was referred to the onigiri mid-way down his throat or the murdered story and his ethical problems. Most likely, he told himself, it was both.
The chapter ended time later, same with the onigiris, and Atsumu rushed to the kitchen to find some snacks, while Osamu put on the next chapter. Atsumu came back with a bag of chips and screamed when he notices that the chapter was playing already on the screen.
“Samu!” he yelled while jumping over the back of the couch with the grace of an alligator, thing that Osamu needed to make fun of before the older punched him and rolled back those ten seconds of introduction that Atsumu had missed. That’s the way the hours fly, watching that police series, observing how the cases were solved and the protagonist lost, chapter by chapter, his faith in humanity. With a lot of cursing, mocking, and jeering from the twins.
After the tenth chapter, Osamu decides to make dinner for both of them, trusting fully, like every weekend, that Atsumu would stay till next morning.
Atsumu followed him into the kitchen, without the slightest intention of helping him cook. He searches in the refrigerator, and from it took out two cans of beer, opened one while taking seat in one of the high benches next to the counter, and began again his chatter of team practices, and how Bokuto Koutarou was unbearable, how he was excited over the upcoming tryouts for the team and potential future members. And Osamu, that was listening, wanted to remember him that May was just starting, and the tryouts were closer to August, but preferred stay silent.
As he finished frying the rice, Osamu had to stop his brother.
“Tsumu, what time is it? I don’t remember where I left my phone”.
“Oh, right!” the older exclaimed, like remembering suddenly something. Osamu turns to see him, Atsumu searches in his pockets, taking out of one of them Osamu’s phone, “I was gonna pass it on to you earlier, but I totally forgot”. Osamu raised an eyebrow as he takes the devise, Atsumu goes on “Someone was calling”.
Osamu snorted at the belated information, and claimed as he unlocked his phone, “Tsumu, you should mention that ea-”. But he couldn’t finish when he fell on who the caller was, “Uhm…”.
It was definitely strange, he had five missed calls, all coming from the same number, he wondered why he wasn’t heard it, but then he remembered muting his phone because he wanted to focus on his cooking, far out of his reach (due to a variety of incidents caused by his addiction to Candy Crush). He felt when the uncertainty started to grow inside him, how a hundred unanswered questions were filling his mind, how the blood in his veins boiled and how he wanted to totally ignore that he had been called repeatedly.
But he can’t.
Unknown was what appeared five times in his call log.
“Samu?” Atsumu called, snapping the younger out of his reverie with a tap on the shoulder, “It was someone important?”.
Osamu looked at him, then at his phone, then to him again, unsure.
“No, is nothing important” he answered. Atsumu doesn’t seem to believe him, Osamu wouldn’t either, “It’s just…” he started, but didn't say any more words, neither a name. Instead, he looked back at his phone and opened the messages, unsure again, but still typing a question.
Unknown was anything but an unknown person.
For: Unknown
Hey
Eeeem
It’s everything ok?
Osamu held the phone in his hands and didn’t look away until the screen went dark. He then turned to look at Atsumu, who had a strange look on his face.
“It’s nothing” the younger repeated, reluctantly leaving his phone on the counter, “Shall we eat?”.
Atsumu had to accept, bringing a different topic every time Osamu shifted his gaze to the device that keep radio silence.
Unknown was how he had named a specific contact, incapable of erase it from his life.
“Did you know that EJP Raijin had an interview in a variety show?” asked Atsumu.
“Really?” Osamu’s answer was monotone, Atsumu know he was pretending to pay attention, but still continue.
“Yes, I saw it with Wan-san and Ollie-san. Didn’t remember that Sunarin liked roses” he commented absent mindedly. And that was all it took for Osamu to stop looking anxiously at his phone and look at his brother instead.
His voice came out shaky, low, and almost nasal “What…?”.
Atsumu immediately covered his own mouth with both hands, as if he had just said something forbidden. In a way, he just did.
Unknown was how Osamu had named Suna Rintarou’s contact.
The same Suna Rintarou that broke his heart.
By the time Osamu got an answer from Suna, it was very late at night. Atsumu had been confined and strapped on the couch with a bunch of blankets, instead of be lying on the relatively new futon Osamu keeps in the guest room.
He is aware that whatever Suna wants from him, he is not going to like it. He is even surprised that he dared to give him a world. As if he expected Osamu not to refuse.
Was it wrong for him to know that he would never refuse something to Suna? Someone who had broken his heart? Who he hadn’t seen in years?
He knows that the answer is a yes, but he still decides to check Suna's messages.
From: Unknown
Can i call?
We need to talk
You can, right?
It doesn’t have to be now
Osamu could do that, he could accept a call, but… Does he want to talk to Suna?
Been honest, he didn’t think there was anything they should talk about, their relationship was already screwed, it was over, it wasn’t like talking would heal all the wound those last moments together left him. What Suna even wanted to talk about? Osamu didn’t understand, he thought that both of them were fine with never seeing or knowing directly from the other for the rest of their lives.
He could live with that. Osamu had even set up a onigiri stand at one Raijin vs. Adlers match, and even if many of the players had gone to buy food there, Suna was not one of them.
Suna probably never had tried one of his onigiris.
If he wanted to talk about their time together, he could have done it so much earlier. So why now? What had changed for Suna to want a talk? He definitely didn’t want to know. He wanted to refuse Suna, but his curiosity was bigger than his self-preservation instinct. His pain wanted an out.
For: Unknown
Tomorrow im free, if you want…From: Unknown
Perfect, I had nothing to do either
I call you
…
Don’t run away, okay?
Osamu just let the message marked read, he definitely didn’t want to talk with Suna, but he couldn’t keep avoiding it. Osamu knew it was a touchy subject for himself and couldn’t live peacefully without closure. He had to let it heal, as much as he wanted to deny it.
He fell back against the comfortable mattress of his bed. He was tired, but he couldn't seem to be able to sleep with so many memories filling his head. Contrary to what he expected, it didn't take long for him to fall asleep. His muscles relaxed at the comfortable surface, perhaps a little too close to the edge of the bed, and the humid, warm spring air carried him to the dream world as soon as his eyes closed.
-------------------
It had been a game and Osamu knew it; however, he couldn’t stop thinking about how good Suna’s lips had felt against his own, how smooth his skin was, or how beautiful his eyes looked up closely. He knew Suna was handsome, didn’t need to look him twice to see there was something alluring about his plain expression, but until that moment, Osamu couldn’t pinpoint what.
Now, hours after the other had separated him from the group and stole him one or ten kisses, Osamu realized it was his eyes. And that he was terrified.
He always knew his friends were a sight to behold; he had groped his teammates while playing more times than he cared to remember, and used to flirt with his friends jokingly, but never have ever kissed another guy. He never had kissed a guy, so now he could say he had liked it much more than kissing a girl.
Was that a problem?
“Samu! I’m talking to you!” Atsumu swiped at his arm, successfully getting his attention.
“What?” he asked wearily, what was the use of twins telepathy if his brother didn’t notice when he was redefining his entire life?
Atsumu just looked at him, which annoyed Osamu more.
“What?” he asked again, turning to look at his brother. Atsumu still didn’t said anything, but he looked complicated, “Tsumu, what’s wrong?” he asked mow calmer.
Atsumu gaped his mouth a few times, trying to find the words. Almost seemed like he wanted to say something carefully, and that would have annoyed Osamu if he hadn’t already been in constant uncertainty.
“I…” the blond began, “saw you with Sunarin”. The younger felt how his blood ran cold, how his hands began to shake, but his gaze didn’t leave his twin’s because he keep talking, “What’s going on Samu?”.
And that it was, Osamu had no idea what was going on. He had no idea why Suna Rintarou, his best friend, had kissed him; He didn’t know why he’d liked so much that he did it; Didn’t know what to do with so many things rounding his head; Didn't know how to look at the boy on Monday at school and, overall, didn’t know what to do with himself.
His body couldn’t bear so many things, so he started crying.
“Samu!” Atsumu screamed, surprised with the sobs of the minor, “Sa-Samu, don’t cry, it’s not bad” but bad was something he hadn’t associated with the situation, until now, “Oh what do I do…”
Atsumu moved from his place, getting closer to the younger.
“Samu. Hey Samu” Atsumu called, “Hey, Samu, look at me. Hey, look at me” Osamu did it hardly, still sniffling, “It’s okay”.
Osamu wanted to believe him, but he couldn’t, “H-how do you know if it’s okay?” he asked sniffling, his voice cracking with hiccups and sobs. Atsumu smiled at him, as if expecting that question, and leaned closer, whispering his next words like they were secrets. Maybe they were.
“Because I kissed a guy too” Osamu widened his eyes in surprise, “It´s okay” he repeated, this time, Osamu totally believed it.
There were few times that Atsumu used the wisdom that those fifteen minutes of older brother gave him, and actually acted like one. Now they had a shared secret, a new complicity in their list.
Seeing Suna on Monday wasn´t weird at all, Osamu went with his best friend and joked like nothing, because he didn’t have to think about whether those kisses had meant something for the taller; he knew they hadn’t.
-------------------
The sun hit his face through the window, a light breeze ruffled his hair and sneak in between the sheets of his bed. Osamu woke with the unpleasant sound of a phone ringing at his side in the nightstand. He knew it wasn’t his, a happy pop song was playing, so he assumes it was Atsumu’s.
But why would Atsumu leave his phone in his room? Wait, Osamu had lashed his brother in the living room, how did he even leave his phone there?
He reached out to grab the device with his eyes closed, but his arm hit painfully against a wall that, Osamu remembers, shouldn’t be there. His eyes widen, his gaze meeting directly with a poster of Barbie: A Fashion Fairytale that he doesn’t remember have in his ceiling above his bed.
“What?” a slightly higher-pitched sound than what he remembers creeps out of his mouth, and it’s so foreign that Osamu doesn’t realize it’s his own voice, or should be.
The phone keeps ringing, but Osamu fails to pay attention to it as he scans above the room that he is in, and raises some movie plot where he is kidnaped at the hands of that fast-food chain that has been trying to compete against him since a few months.
The pop song stops, but the door is immediately strongly batter, scaring the shit out of him.
“Motoya! I swear to God if you make me break in your apartment complex when we planned meet up hours ago again, I’m going to slit each and every one of your dolls” says a voice on the other side of the door, not screaming but in a scarier tone that any scream. And Osamu believes it, but doesn’t know what is it talking about. “Motoya! Open up!”.
“Motoya isn’t here” Osamu says, because the voice creeps him out and he wants it to stop.
“You’re an idiot if you think I’m buying that”.
“Eh…”
“Open”.
Osamu has no other choice but to obey. Standing up though, something feels different, but he isn’t sure of what. He stumbles a few times before reaches what he assumes is the entrance door, and he opens it to a tall guy with curly black hair.
Is too tall for Osamu, at least 10 centimeters. A face mask covers his mouth, but Osamu feels him awfully familiar, so he just stares without doing anything else.
“Motoya, what are you doing?” he asks, his tone is no longer annoyed, but it stills gives him the chills.
Osamu is about to ask who this Motoya guy is, but the phone rings again, this time with a different song inside the room. Without saying anything to the familiar stranger, Osamu goes inside again to look for the device, he also leaves the door open in case the stranger decides to follow him inside.
Osamu assumed correctly and the phone is indeed on the nightstand, connected to the stream. He takes it and is a bit shocked to see who it is. Only numbers appear on the screen, but Osamu recognizes them.
“Is it Suna?” asks the tall guy behind him, who apparently did follow him.
“Why would be Suna?” retorts Osamu, but before the other can reply, Osamu answers, “Hello?”
“Yeah, hi. I have a lot of questions” says a cheerful voice on the other side of the call, which Osamu would find perfectly normal if it wasn’t for that being his own voice.
“What the-”
“Okey you’ll see, let me start with who are you? And second to that, why do you sleep so close to the bed side? I almost fell off”.
“I, uh, what?” Osamu asks.
“Oh, you didn’t notice? I’m pretty sure we swap bodies” is what the other replies. Osamu has to stop for a second to think about that, switch bodies? Whit a stranger?
…
Why?
However, it makes sense when he thinks about it. Osamu doubts someone could move him from his bed to a completely random place without him noticing.
“Motoya?” he asks then, that was the way the tall guy had call him after all.
“Oh! Okay, you know who am I, good. You are um…? Samu?” Osamu snorts at the nickname, but the other takes it as correct, “Okey then, so, next question, why is a professional volleyball player tied on your couch?”.
“Oh god, is he still there?” is all that he answers.
“Yeah”.
“Good, Tsumu is an asshole”.
He hears Motoya laugh, it’s a bit anticlimactic because that’s not his laugh but it’s his voice, but he thinks he can ignore the strangeness of the situation for a little longer.
“So you kidnaped Miya Atsumu just cause of that?”
“Kidnap him? He’s my brother, he got in alone”.
“Oh! Samu for Osamu! I get it now!” that makes him smile.
Then he remembers, “You said something ‘bout swapping bodies?”
“Ugh, that. Yeah, I’m pretty sure that if you go to the bathroom and sees yourself on the mirror, you can see that we’re not very alike” Motoya answers, and anticipating Osamu he continues “You walk out the room, turn right and it’s the door on the left”, to which Osamu just complies.
Before his eyes, a brown-haired guy with big round eyebrows, black eyes and cute, is not like he’s going to say that out loud. At first is not weird weird, it’s like he was looking to another person face to face, but then, then is totally weird, because this other person does exactly what Osamu does.
“This is so weird” he informs.
“I know, right? Who would have thought that a couple centimeters taller could make me so clumsy” and that’s it.
“You’re shorter!” he practically yells, it’s not so much of a difference, but the perspective change is slightly annoying.
Motoya laughs, “Back on topic, what do you want to do? Want to pretend being me and go out with my cousin? I think he should be there pretty soon”.
“Ah, I think he’s already here”.
“Oh, that was faster than what I expected”.
They both went silent for a moment.
“He’s already there?! God, it must be so weird! Kiyo surely thinks I went insane! How did you even let him in?”
“He was yelling so uglily, um…” Osamu tries to remember the exact worlds, “Something ‘bout slit dolls…?”
“Oh, he always says the same thing, he never does it” Motoya calmly retorts, “So, what do you want to do Samu? I have free today- well, without counting Kiyo-, but you um… makes onigiris?”
“Ah no, I also have nothing to do today. Is my day off” Osamu replies, thinking for a bit and adds, “You can untie Tsumu and explain him our situation, he maybe decides to watch a movie with you”.
“Ow, you want to explain to him? That’s so boring” Motoya groans, drawing out his words.
“If you want you can avoid explaining to him, but if when we resolve this I’m in some asylum, it’s gonna be your fault”, a tall silhouette hovers on the corner of his eye, Osamu turns to see the tall guy (Kiyo?) took a box and a pair of scissors, That’s curious. “I’m gonna explain to your cousin, but I think you should help me with that”.
“Got it. Call me when you need me” Motoya says before hanging up.
Osamu stays in the bathroom a bit longer, tasting Motoya’s skin consistency. Because his face is soft, but his arms and legs are more tough.
If he thinks about it, is strange that Motoya knows about him just by mentioning being Atsumu’s brother. If he remembers correctly, he has heard of some ‘Motoya’ in the volleyball word, but he’s not entirely sure.
For what he can see, they are the same age, and if his guess is correct and Motoya is a professional volleyball player like his brother, he must have come out of a great school. Who were the new players of the teams? Osamu had to keep up with that, both as a fan and as the owner of a food stand that sells on the matches.
He stared into the dark eyes that were staring back in the mirror, he felt like he must have seen this guy somewhere.
Motoya’s phone tildes with a new notification, the screen lit up with a photo of Motoya himself with another tall guy, Suna.
EJP Raijin. Number 10. Libero. Komori Motoya.
It made sense. Motoya had gone to buy of his onigiri a few times.
Osamu left the bathroom, meeting the tall guy who was looking at him disgusted.
“You’re going to explain what? You’re accent?” he asked.
Osamu sights and led the guy into the kitchen. Tough conversations were easier with food.
In the end, Osamu didn’t need to call Komori. As soon as he started cooking, Sakusa (as he later learned) asked him “Who are you?”, which saved him a lot of trouble. Now, a couple hours later, Osamu was watching a medicine drama on the sofa with Sakusa Kiyomi.
There so many weird things about the situation, but both preferred ignorance and stay sane.
At some point, Sakusa asks for his number so he can text Komori, and Osamu doesn’t refuse. And when lunch time arrives, Osamu cook for both of them again. Sometime later, Sakusa leaves.
It was totally awkward he thinks when the door closes.
With nothing to really do, Osamu calls Komori.
When the other answers, Osamu tells him that Sakusa already knows, Komori replies that they’ve been texting for a while, that Atsumu has been released and informed, but is not interested in Osamu’s experience. Their conversation then turns in whatever they’ve been doing; to Komori complaining that Osamu hasn’t have any Barbie movies; to Osamu finding the aforementioned doll collection (the box and scissors Sakusa had taken are suspiciously close); and after a while, to a competition of who can find the stupidest thing in the other’s house.
Finding a thing Osamu bought a weekend several years ago on impulse, Komori wins. It’s a pen that turns into an umbrella.
“Oh god! Where did you get this?” Komori ask laughing.
“It looked like a good idea!” Osamu tries to defend himself.
“You’re joking, right? In what world an umbrella-pencil it’s a good idea?” Osamu wants to respond, but Komori keeps talking “Wait, does it even work? I think is thicker than my fist”.
Osamu remains silent for a bit, but soon mutters that “It dried” and Komori loses it.
They then drift again, Osamu listening Komori rant about not being part of the target group of the children’s movies anymore, so he always ends up finding out the new releases after they’re off of theaters; to Osamu talking about some ridiculous cases of the police series he is so attached to; to both of them promising to watch Master Chef in Komori’s house when the week ends, forgetting completely that they’re in each other’s body, and that they should fix it.
“Speaking about food, how do you even make onigiri?”
“You don’t know how to make onigiri?” Osamu asks stunned, “No, this can’t stay like this. Look, there should be enough ingredients in the fridge. Make rice and pick your favorite filling, I’m gonna make a videocall and explain” he orders, and then ends the call and goes to pick some ingredients from the kitchen.
And perhaps Osamu is being too comfortable with the situation, because in that moment they knock the door again.
He goes to the entrance. Sees Komori’s still foreign genkan and remembers that to others eyes he is Komori, and that he does not want others to think Komori gone crazy. Three hours of calling and a strange situation allow him to see he likes him, so he makes his best effort of suppressing his accent when he opens up the door.
But again, is that forgotten pain that keeps chasing him; Suna.
Suna and his lazy look, in the excuse of pajamas that are really just a loose pants and a black T-shirt, with some stupid long cap and a pillow beneath his arm, looking stupidly good.
He wasn’t prepared for that sight, not after had been avoiding every situation where he had to stand in front of Suna. It’s been so long, the closeness it’s almost intoxicating.
He evokes the cheerful voice he heard from Komori and beams to the other, hoping it doesn’t look as fake as he feels it.
“Hi, what are you doing there? Come in” ah, he shouldn’t have said that. Is he stupid? God, Komori really make him want to pretend a little.
Suna slips into the apartment, familiar with the place as if it was his with a “Hum”.
If Osamu wasn’t being distracted cursing himself for trembling at Suna’s deep voice, he would have noticed the tenseness in his shoulders, the insecurity in his gaze or the near trip when Osamu opened the door. But Osamu was distracted, now watching as Suna immediately took the sofa in where Osamu has spent most of the day.
It’s uncomfortable, with Suna haunting the space Osamu shouldn’t but feel as familiar with as he is. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, he doesn't know if he should offer a cup of tea or whether to ask him what is he doing here. He just doesn’t know, but again, with Suna he never really knows.
But Osamu is no fool either, he knows Suna and Komori are starting players that started at the same time on the same team, he knows Suna must know Komori better than what Osamu can pretend.
So he does what seems like the most logical thing: He asks for back up.
“Hey, I was ‘bout to make a call, you don’t mind right?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for confirmation before run back to the kitchen, slamming the door shut, to call Komori again.
“Hey, I was starting to think you leave me hanging” the other jokes, continuing almost at the second, “But I thought you said you’ll teach me thru video? Did you regret sharing me the secret of onigiri?”
Ah, that. Osamu totally forgot that.
“Suna is here” is what he answers, and can feel Komori tense up on the other end, “I don’t know what to do, he seems ready to stay the night?”
“Uhm, he usually does that? But I thought he wouldn’t do it tonight. Sorry for didn’t mention it” his voice is low and uncertain, a clear difference from the cheer happiness he had before. Maybe he’s afraid it’s going to bother Osamu?
That thought leads him to reply “Mori, I honestly don’t care, I wanna know what to do now”.
“Umm. Pretend to be me?”
“Are you asking or suggesting it?” Osamu knows he’s been a bit harsh, but he actually didn’t expect to have to deal with his past and a body swap at the same time. He sighs and tries again “What do you usually to do?”
“Well, Rin usually comes to sleep when he can’t do it alone, so I just let him in and we lay on my bed”.
Osamu use to call Suna ‘Rin’ too, he also knew Suna slept badly sometimes, those nights they used to talk until one of them (if not both) felt asleep. This should be the same.
If he wouldn’t be pretending to be someone who didn’t have romantic feelings for another someone who broke his heart, he would have called it returning to a routine. He checked the time, 23:32. It wasn’t a good time to eat, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep well at Suna’s side without doing some relaxing thing first.
“Do you have the ingredients there?” he asked, he knew Komori heard his silence, but well, he stood there for a reason.
“You're really going to teach me the delicious recipe of the Onigiri Miya’s onigiris?!” Osamu had to separate the phone from his ear because Komori had screamed brightly. But he smiled.
“It’s not a big deal, it's just onigiri”.
“Haven’t you ever tasted your own food?!” Osamu blushed, it didn’t mater how much time had passed, it kept surprising him that people liked his food so much.
Osamu instructed Komori while he was also cooking, they had started a video-call so Osamu could show Komori how to correctly shape the rice.
“Mori please, how could you screw something so simple?” Osamu asked, trying to muffle his laugh as best as he could.
“I…”
“Okay look, one more time” Osamu already had a full tray with perfect shaped tuna-mayo onigiris, but he could see that on the other side of the call, Komori had literally rice balls with the filling spilling out. Some of them smashed. “You’re putting a lot of force in those”.
“Wait, wait! That’s it!” Komori yelled as Osamu poked a hole in the rice so the mixture could go inside.
He frowned, “Are you even listening me?”
Komori didn’t seem to hear him, and soon after another of the rice balls was shown on camera, but this one had no fillings spilling out, which seemed to be quite an achievement on Komori’s book.
“Oh, good” Osamu understood that it was a big thing for Komori, but when he was about to instruct the other again, Suna opened the door.
“Um, Motoya?” he called, and Osamu saw himself freezing on the other side of the call, but turn to face Suna, “Who do you talk to so much” Suna’s gaze fell on the onigiris and on the phone on the table, on Komori in Osamu’s body. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but even though Osamu had lost practice over the years, he still could tell that Suna was surprised, he could still see it happening.
“Hey Samu” Osamu’s voice was mostly unperturbed, trying to fake his calm demeanor, “It’s pretty late. Call you tomorrow?”.
Komori reflected his panic in his eyes, but answered “Yeah, I have to sleep and stuff. Bye”.
The call ended and Osamu could no longer see himself on the other side, he was on his own with his current problem. Would he needed to explain something to Suna?
Wait, now that he thinks about it, wasn’t Suna going to call him today? Had Komori answer that call?
So instead of drowning himself with worries and sorrow thinking of what had Suna said to make Komori so tense with the simple mention of the name; Osamu chose to eat.
“Want some?” he asked offering the freshly made onigiris to Suna.
Suna picked one and they ate in silence.
With the lights off, the curtains shut and they on a bed that wasn’t big enough for two adults, they went to sleep.
Or well, that was the plan. They fit perfectly on Komori’s bed, but Suna was watching him, he felt it in the dark. He had questions and wanted answers that could put his mind at peace, but Osamu knew well enough that he could not give him that to him, not soon enough and maybe never.
It was weird to have Suna cuddled in his arms, with his legs tangled together, but it was comfortable too, as if it was something he did every day. Suna didn’t seem uncomfortable in his place, and Osamu… well, he wanted to run as fast as his heart said.
“It was good” Suna murmured.
“Hmm?” Osamu cracked; not sure of what Suna meant.
“The onigiri. It was good. Didn’t expect you could cook” he clarified.
There was something in people first trying his food that make Osamu incredibly happy. The way their eyes sparkled after the first bite; the surprise the taste brought; and the complements that most times followed, sincere as that first bite. Suna never went to try his food. Never reached the stand before or after matches; never even enter his shop; so that was the first comment Osamu had received from him about his food, and it had filled him with delight.
“I actually don’t” he answered, referring not to himself, but to Komori, “Samu helped as he could”.
They went back to silence.
Suna kept looking at him, and Osamu was starting to get unnerved by the force of his gaze, even though he couldn’t actually see it in the darkness of the room.
“What are you thinking so much about?” he mumbled, the sound coming so foreign that Osamu almost doubted to be the one who asked.
Suna moved closer, pressing himself more against his body, “Aren’t you mad?” he whispered.
“Do I have a reason to be mad?” he whispered back, he kind of knew something happened between Suna and Komori, but he was no one to meddle in their affairs, even less if he didn’t even know the minimum of what had happened. He also didn’t want to talk of private things that happened between Suna and Komori in the vulnerability of the night; didn’t want to know about their closeness, their secrets, their fears, their fights. That was no longer his place, not after so much time.
The question spread across de room, disappearing into the walls until it was no longer there. As if Osamu hadn’t even asked, Suna awaited for his answer.
“Suna, it’s too late for this. Sleep” he mumbled, already feeling his eyelids getting heavy. But sleepiness did not stop him from noticing the way Suna tensed up. Osamu sighs to himself, he was lying if he said he didn’t want to know what had make the other so insecure, and he didn’t like how that feeling tinted Suna’s sight. He gently stroked his dark hair, “It’s pretty late Rin, please sleep” he said more sweetly, Suna gripped him tighter.
Within minutes, they were both fast asleep.