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“So? What’s it feel like, turning seventeen?”
Osamu turns bleary eyes to his left. Striking green stares right back.
“Seventeen?” He mutters, sleep-addled mind desperately trying to catch up.
“Seventeen,” Rintarou confirms, small smile mushed against his pillow.
The fog in his mind isn’t letting up. Rintarou fishes for his phone and turns the screen to Osamu’s face, blinding him in the process. Osamu startles and blinks wearily at the culprit.
“Asshole,” Osamu whispers as Rintarou bites back a laugh.
“Happy birthday, Osamu,” Rintarou whispers back.
The screen reads 00:02 AM, October 5th. “Oh yeah. Happy birthday.”
Small tremors shake Rintarou’s body again, but he makes a valiant attempt not to let any noise out lest he wake the rest of their teammates. God knows they’ll be miserable at breakfast tomorrow morning; training camp is taking it out of them and they’re already going to have to deal with the twins being insufferable as always on their birthday.
Osamu makes a half-hearted swipe at Rintarou, who catches his hand before it smacks him square in the face.
Neither of them pulls away. Osamu isn’t sure who twines their hands together, and later, he’ll blame their shared fatigue and the late hour for it. But for now, Rintarou’s breathing evens out, his hand is warm under the blanket and Osamu falls right back into Morpheus’ embrace.
***
It’s twenty-one minutes past midnight when Rintarou finally makes his way to Osamu—when both of them have made it out of Atsumu’s particularly intense roughhousing and effusive speeches.
“Eighteen, huh? You’re getting old.”
Osamu hides his smile behind his glass. “Just ya wait. Three more months and your joints will start hurtin’, too.”
Rintarou laughs unrestrained, throwing his head back and closing his eyes. He makes for such a pretty picture against the backdrop of the Miya living room, surrounded by all of their closest friends. Osamu almost wants to take a picture. Put it in his wallet, to be seen by his eyes only, whenever he so desires.
This isn’t some cheesy romance film though. Rintarou is nothing more, nothing less than Osamu’s strictly platonic best friend and this might just be the last time the twins are holding a joint birthday party in their family home.
Maybe for the best. Atsumu is already at their side, vociferating to them he wants to play his first volleyball match as an adult, and the moment shatters. Osamu contemplates fratricide.
It’s unfortunate Rintarou is as much of a volleyball head as Atsumu is. He’s already pulling Osamu towards the sliding doors, a warm hand curled around his forearm.
For now, staring at Rintarou across the net, eyebrows pinched together in concentration, flush high on his cheeks and throwing taunting jabs back and forth is enough.
***
“Happy birthday, Osamu.”
Rintarou’s hair looks wet and sticks out in odd places through the screen. Osamu has half a mind to tell him to dry it before he sleeps, but it’s not like Rintarou’s ever listened much to his nagging.
Besides, he looks cute like that, lying down on his bed, engulfed in his blanket with his head barely poking out of it. Osamu wants to keep him there as long as he can; wants to imagine Rintarou is right there next to him and not three hours away in a foreign city.
“Thanks, Rin. How was practise?”
“Same old. Tiring,” Rintarou says, stifling back a yawn. “How was your day?”
This is their new normal now. Every couple of days, either of them calls and they catch up. It never fails to make his heart ache to see Rintarou bundled up under his covers, already done with dinner and out of a shower, ready for bed with sleepy eyes, when Osamu is barely done closing up for the day at his apprenticeship.
Their dreams took them to different places in life; to schedules who don't match up anymore and a distance that seems to grow everyday.
“Good. Chef was nice to me today. Made him scarier.”
Rintarou laughs on the other end of the line. Osamu’s breath hitches.
“Any plans for your nineteenth?”
Osamu hums. “‘Tsumu’s at a bar with some teammates and Aran. Goin’ there after a shower.”
“Oh yeah. He begged me to come. I have a practise match tomorrow, though. Sorry.” Rintarou stifles back another yawn. Osamu smiles down at him.
“‘S fine. We’re all busy, he’ll understand.” Rintarou grimaces, seemingly not convinced. “Okay, Atsumu might pretend he doesn’t understand. But we know.”
A lazy smile spreads on Rintarou’s face. Affection blooms in Osamu’s chest, a warmth unfurling down to his guts. Osamu wishes he could reach through the screen, run unhurried fingers through messy locks and trail feather-light kisses on his forehead, the tip of his nose, his high cheekbones, and finally when he’s feeling bold, leave a sweet peck on Rintarou’s smile.
Alas. Three hundred and thirty kilometres and two very different dreams stand in between them.
“Go to sleep,” Osamu says when Rintarou fails to hold back yet another yawn. His tone is a bit too fond, but if he notices, Rintarou says nothing of it. “I have the day off tomorrow. I’ll watch yer match.”
The grin Rintarou shoots him is blinding. “I’ll crush them in your honour. Have fun tonight, “Samu.”
“Sleep tight, Rin.”
Osamu’s thumb hovers over the end call button a couple more seconds. Rintarou stares back at him, expression unreadable.
“I miss you guys,” Rintarou whispers like a confession. Then he frowns and adds, “Don’t tell Atsumu I said that.”
Osamu smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Miss ya too.” He hangs up before either of them can say anything else.
***
Maybe it's the pulsating bass that emboldens them. Maybe it’s the strobing lights making them a little dizzy. Maybe it’s the concerning amount of alcohol in their system, the heated stares Rintarou has been shooting Osamu’s way all night, the syrupy tone Rintarou uses when he asks Osamu if he wants to dance.
Whatever it was, the result is the same. Rintarou is flushed, his gaze heady, his body warm against Osamu, and there’s no use resisting the suffocating hold he has on Osamu.
They share a kiss, then some more, in the middle of a crowded dancefloor on the night of Osamu’s twentieth birthday.
A messy handjob in an insalubrious bathroom stall doesn’t quite satiate their hunger. Rintarou’s possessive hand on Osamu’s thigh on the cab home sits a little too high for propriety and a little too low for the simmering heat in his stomach. The trail of kisses, nips and licks he leaves on Osamu’s exposed skin are searing when Osamu fumbles with opening the door to his flat.
The sheets are too cold when Osamu wakes up alone in his bed the morning.
***
[Text message from: Sunarin at 11:54 PM, 5/10/2016]
happy birthday
21 wow
[Erased draft messages to: Sunarin]
Why did you never answer
What the hell Rin. One whole year of nothing
I miss you
[Text message sent to: Sunarin at 01:11 AM, 6/10/2016]
Hey. Can we talk?
Osamu’s phone buzzes mere seconds later, and he picks up on the first ring.
***
“Good morning sleepyhead.”
There’s a hand combing through his hair when Osamu comes to, easing him out of sleep. He grumbles and rolls over, encircling Rintarou’s waist in a loose hold.
Rintarou hums, hand laying lightly on Osamu’s cheek, and he bends down slightly to leave a kiss on Osamu’s forehead.
“Made you breakfast. Join me when you’re awake?”
Osamu hugs him tighter and buries his head on Rintarou’s lap, refusal loud clear in his actions. Rintarou laughs at him and pats him on the cheek in a chastising manner, but makes no move to push him off.
“Who knew you’d be so clingy.”
“Ya ditched me once. I won’t let ya forget,” Osamu murmurs against his skin.
Osamu cracks an eye open and catches Rintarou rolling his eyes, a small smile on his face.
They’ve talked enough about the birthday hookup debacle to know neither will take issue with the other joking around about it.
Now that the fog has fully lifted, Osamu is able to take a good look at his boyfriend. He’s wearing nothing but boxers—Osamu’s pretty sure they’re his—and a collection of hickeys littered along his neck and thighs.
“Wow. Can we skip breakfast and jump straight to dessert instead?”
Rintarou cocks an eyebrow at him. His feigned disinterest only spurs Osamu on. “Sure. Since you asked so nicely.”
Rintarou straddles Osamu in one swift motion, mouth hot as he licks at the shell of Osamu’s ear. “Happy birthday, Osamu.”
Twenty-two has never felt this good.