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The first time it happens, Rintarou thinks he’s made up the whole ordeal.
One minute they’re putting the volleyball posts away in the storage room; the next, Osamu is staring at him, lips slightly parted and a flush settled high on his cheeks.
Rintarou isn’t even sure if he’s said anything in particular to warrant this kind of reaction. Did he even say anything at all?
What he’s sure of though is that Osamu is definitely not looking him straight in the eyes. Instead, his gaze seems fixed somewhere lower. Rintarou instinctively licks his lips.
“‘Samu?” He asks, the small space between them shrinking when Osamu leans in slightly.
There’s a loud bang. Osamu startles, takes a step back at the noise, then three more when he realises who the culprit behind it is.
Atsumu stands in the doorway, a furious look on his face. “What’s takin’ ya two so long?” Atsumu barks at them. “I toldja to hurry it up! There’s an Adlers–Red Falcons match in forty minutes! We can’t miss it!”
Rintarou is still frozen in place, eyes stuck on the fascinatingly dark shade of red dusting Osamu’s face. Osamu isn’t doing much better himself; he’s completely immobile, mouth opening and closing, like a fish out of water.
Atsumu has always been bossy. He’s become infinitely more so after Coach Kurosu made him captain. Bossy and oblivious and Rintarou kind of wants to curse him out.
“‘Samu, ya look weird,” Atsumu says, eyebrows raised. “Wait, were ya guys makin’ ou—”
Before Atsumu can finish his sentence, Osamu lunges at him, one fist raised and the other bunched up in Atsumu’s shirt.
The glint in his eyes is murderous, nothing like the open and curious look from earlier.
Atsumu throws his arms in the air, eyes wide and all traces of mockery gone. “Wait, wait, wait, ‘Samu, I haven’t said anything!”
Quite satisfyingly so, Osamu’s fist connects with the side of Atsumu’s face.
Rintarou, thoughts jumbled and limbs jittery, almost forgets to fish his phone out of his pocket to record the fight. Almost.
There’s a second time Rintarou thinks it might’ve happened. Or maybe his brain is playing tricks on him again.
It’s early in the summer, the June heat not too stifling yet to deter them from eating lunch on the school rooftop.
For the past month or so, Osamu has brought an extra bento for Rintarou. He says it’s because he needs external opinions on his food, since he wants to work as a chef. He says Atsumu just scarfs down his food and barely offers him words of critique or praise, if any at all. (Rintarou knows that to be untrue, because he’s heard Atsumu gush about Osamu’s cooking at length. He’s just not going to bring it up because he’s grown tired of store-bought lunch and Osamu’s bentos are always delicious.)
“This is good,” Rintarou says through a mouthful of shogayaki.
“Just good?” Osamu asks, frowning. He’s been picking at his food since earlier—an extremely unusual occurrence. Rintarou wonders if it’s because Atsumu went too hard on him at practise today or if it’s something else entirely.
“It’s really, really good,” Rintarou corrects, studying the contents of his meal. “The ginger’s not too overbearing. The pork isn’t dry at all and I like how the slices aren’t too thick. Perfect size. Sauce’s not too sweet.”
Osamu doesn’t reply. Is he waiting for more? Rintarou’s no professional food critic. Maybe he should elaborate on the sauce.
“The sauce, uh—” Rintarou trails off as he glances back to Osamu.
Osamu’s eyes are wide like saucers and it almost looks like they're glinting under the sun. The high flush Rintarou had gotten a glimpse of a few weeks ago is back, and he’s not quite meeting Rintarou’s gaze.
“Really?” Osamu gives him a sidelong glance, quickly averting his eyes again when Rintarou offers him a small smile. The tips of his ears are red, almost alarmingly so. Osamu is cute, Rintarou thinks faintly, watching as he squirms and fidgets under his gaze.
Oh. Osamu is cute, Rintarou realises, with his droopy grey eyes, his small indolent smiles, his choppy silver hair Rintarou helps dye every month he knows to be soft and (more or less) healthy falling into his eyes…
Rintarou clears his throat, tearing his gaze away as he tries to smother any further thought of silky soft locks and citrusy shampoo. “Seriously. I wouldn’t lie to you.”
“Rin,” Osamu whispers, leaning into his space when he rests his hand on Rintarou’s knee.
Rintarou flinches at the sudden contact, turning his eyes back on Osamu.
Osamu, who looks at him as if in a daze, lips slightly parted and pupils blown wide. Rintarou’s breath hitches when Osamu slowly inches closer, closer, and closer—
“Sunarin!” Atsumu roars from behind them. “Give me yer phone! The replay of the Red Bunnies match from yesterday is up and it won’t load on mine!”
Osamu tumbles backwards, startled. Rintarou lunges to catch Osamu’s lunchbox perched precariously on his knees before it splats onto the floor.
There’s a moment of stillness. Osamu refuses to look at Rintarou, eyes fixed on the horizon behind him. Then, he gets up, dusts off his uniform, and starts kicking at his brother mercilessly.
Atsumu squeals in confusion, barely even attempting to fight back. Rintarou forgets about recording a Miya twins brawl for the first time in his life.
There is something weird going on with Miya Osamu.
Rintarou's not quite sure what to make out of it yet. But there's a third time he thinks Osamu might've wanted to kiss him, maybe.
It’s another regularly scheduled sleepover at the Miya family home. It feels a little emptier now that Aran has moved to Osaka to play for the Tachibana Red Falcons, his loud snorts, lame jokes and occasional horrified screams dearly missed.
Atsumu insisted on a horror movie, even though he’s the easiest to spook out of them all.
Rintarou certainly didn’t object. Osamu is the second biggest scaredy cat in this room and Rintarou sort of likes the way he’ll gradually cling onto him more and more as the suspense drags on, how he buries his head in the crook of Rintarou’s neck as the music crescendos, and how he inevitably looks up right when the jumpscare happens just to latch onto Rintarou tighter with a muffled yell.
“Scoot over.”
“I’m already on the edge here, ‘Samu.”
Osamu levels Rintarou with a flat look, popcorn bowl in one hand and jelly sticks in the other.
It’s getting increasingly harder to fit them both in their designated armchair since Rintarou shot up in height last summer and Osamu has been bulking up. The loveseat is clearly not designed with two high school athletes with a height of over one hundred and eighty-five centimetres in mind, but it’s better than being crushed in between Atsumu, Ginjima and Kosaku.
“Move yer arm, then.”
Rintarou obliges, propping his arm over the back of the armchair. Osamu wastes no time tucking himself against his side.
Rintarou draws in a breath.
Osamu’s always been a tactile person. Rintarou, not so much. He’d learnt to welcome (and reciprocate) Osamu’s touches throughout the years of their friendship, but it still sometimes throws him off.
“Ya done?” Osamu rolls his eyes at his brother’s words. “Can I finally start the movie?”
“Ya could’ve started without me, ya know,” Osamu retorts, ripping open the chuupet package and handing it to Rintarou. Atsumu grumbles about something or other and presses play.
Rintarou wordlessly accepts the jelly, nodding in gratitude as the loud music of the opening scene booms through the living room.
The movie the twins picked is, predictably, boring and predictable. Ginjima starts dozing off about fifteen minutes in and Kosaku is scrolling on his phone, only looking up every couple minutes when Atsumu clutches his arm or screams in terror.
Osamu, for his part, does well until the paranormal elements get introduced. Why Osamu isn’t fazed by serial killers but cowers in front of ghosts is mind boggling to Rintarou.
One of Osamu’s hands is clutching Rintarou’s forearm nervously, the other shovelling popcorn into his mouth at inhuman speed. Rintarou wants to ask for another chuupet, but whatever is going on with Osamu is much more delightful.
Rintarou blows hot air against Osamu’s ear and Osamu jumps.
“Fuck, Rin, don’t do that,” Osamu whines, fingers digging painfully in Rintarou’s forearm. “I almost spilled the popcorn.”
“It’s the daughter’s doll that’s doing all the killing,” Rintarou whispers so the others won’t get spoiled.
“Oh yeah?” Osamu’s brows draw together, understanding smoothing his features as his hold over Rintarou loosens. “How couldja tell?”
“Watch out for her eyes. She’s getting possessed.”
Osamu nods, sinking back into the couch. Rintarou readjusts himself so his arm over the back of the couch doesn’t fall asleep.
“That’s cliché. I think it’s the mother. She’s holdin’ knives in every shot she’s in.”
Somehow, running hypotheses and theories always help with Osamu’s fright.
“Maybe it’s both. Mother-daughter job.”
“Now that’s just ridiculous.” Osamu looks up at him with a grin.
Rintarou’s stomach does a flip. “Could be the dog.”
“Yeah, not happenin’.”
Rintarou’s eyes trace Osamu’s kind eyes, the upwards slant of his mouth, the sharp planes of his face. He’d shed off the last of his baby fat this summer, no longer the boyish, wide-eyed kid Rintarou had met over two years ago, but a young man instead, tall, proud and confident.
Osamu is staring right back.
Rintarou’s eyes fall back on his mouth—pink, wet, inviting, likely sweet from all the popcorn he’s been ingesting.
“Rin,” Osamu murmurs.
When their gazes meet again, Osamu leans in, head tilted back, lips slightly parted and eyes dark.
Third time’s not the charm.
Rintarou gets shoved roughly to the side, taking an elbow in the gut and a knee to his groin. Rintarou instantly keels over, bumping into something blond and loud on the way.
“Ow, ‘Tsumu, what the fuck!”
“The dog, ‘Samu! It’s the dog!” Atsumu wails, arms thrown around his brother’s neck, sprawled haphazardly on both Osamu and Rintarou’s laps.
Rintarou groans in pain at both the agony below his belt and Atsumu’s shins digging into his thighs. Air is only now flowing back into his lungs after having been knocked out of him. “Atsumu, my balls,” he whines pitifully, clutching at his family jewels like it’d somehow ease the pain.
“Everything okay with you guys?”
Rintarou looks up. He hadn’t noticed Ginjima and Kosaku leaving the room to scavenge for extra snacks, and they stare back at them in mild interest.
“‘Tsumu’s just made me a eunuch, Gin.”
“Yeah? Ya would look with a shaved head.”
“I’m sorry, Sunarin! But it was the dog! Didja not see? It was scary as fuck!”
“Get. Off,” Osamu groans, kicking at his brother until he falls unceremoniously to the floor.
Rintarou slumps over on the couch as Osamu scrambles to gather the salvageable popcorn back into his bowl, kicking Atsumu a few times for good measure. “You're cleanin’ this up by the way, scrub.”
Atsumu whines some more from his spot on the floor, but goes ignored. Osamu flops back down onto the lovechair, soothingly patting one of Rintarou’s knees. “Ya alright?”
“The Suna line ends here with me,” Rintarou bemoans, sinking into Osamu’s side.
Osamu wrinkles his nose, but lets Rintarou rest his head on his lap. “You’re definitely okay if ya can joke around like this.”
“Your idiot brother has just neutered me. I’ll never be okay again.”
Osamu rolls his eyes, a smile he can’t quite fight down tugging at his lips. “Whatever ya say, Rin,” he says, carding a gentle hand through Rintarou’s hair.
Rintarou barely gets any sleep that night, tossing and turning in his futon until the early hours of the morning, wondering if Osamu, tucked into his bed on the other side of the room, is having a similarly restless night.
Astonishingly, there’s a fourth time. If Rintarou had been nervous to come to conclusions too quickly before, he’s now certain of it. Osamu has been trying to kiss him.
Rintarou’s not sure how to feel about it. He wouldn’t be opposed to a quick peck from his best friend, per se. Maybe he’s even a little bit curious.
“Are ya just gonna sit there or are ya plannin’ to actually help?”
Rintarou grins from his usual spot on the Miya kitchen countertop. “When have I ever?”
Osamu laughs and swats him on the thigh. “C'mon. There are carrots waitin’ to be diced.”
Rintarou huffs and puffs dramatically, but jumps down from his perch after a hard pinch to his thigh.
“How much do you wanna bet ‘Tsumu's gonna come back from camp with three brand new crushes?”
Atsumu is currently away on National Youth training camp again this year.
Rintarou wasn't called to attend this year either. Neither was Osamu. It stings, but as with most things, Rintarou prefers to laugh it off rather than cry and lament about it.
There's a silver lining to it, though. Rintarou gets to camp out at the Miya house all week and gets Osamu all for himself.
“Ugh, I've already lost count,” Osamu groans. “It's like they're pickin’ out ‘Tsumu's exact type every year.”
Rintarou chuckles. “What's ‘Tsumu's type even?”
“Anything that breathes and likes volleyball, I guess,” Osamu deadpans. “He's not picky.”
Rintarou laughs again. “Oh yeah? And what's your type, ‘Samu? You picky?”
Osamu's knife stills. He gives Rintarou a sidelong glance before clearing his throat.
“Huh, I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”
“Wow, so cold, ‘Samu,” Rintarou taunts as he hip checks Osamu. He gets an elbow to the ribs in return. “Ow.”
“‘S not that. I just…” Osamu trails off, pushing the knife to the side. His fingers tap against the counter in an offbeat rhythm.
Out of all the things Osamu could get nervous about, Rintarou had never expected the prospect of romance to be one. “You just?”
Osamu inhales, unsteady, exhales slowly, and straightens his shoulders, seemingly more determined than he’d been earlier. He turns to face Rintarou with earnest eyes, hesitating one last time before cupping Rintarou’s cheek with his hand.
“Rin,” Osamu murmurs, before leaning in.
It leaves Rintarou with ample time to step aside. He doesn’t. He’s sure that if he could see himself right now, he’d be sporting the same dark flush on his cheeks, the same open, wanting look in his eyes as Osamu.
Osamu is so close, Rintarou almost goes cross-eyed trying to keep his gaze on his warm grey eyes. Rintarou closes his eyes, hoping it’ll help make his head spin less. It doesn’t.
Before anything happens, a shrill sound bursts through the tiny kitchen. Osamu jumps away, startled, as Rintarou’s eyes shoot open in alarm.
There’s a couple dizzying seconds where they both scramble to snap out of whatever daze came over them and identify the source of the noise, before both their gazes fall back on Osamu’s phone vibrating on the counter.
Distantly, Rintarou registers the recording as Atsumu’s terrible karaoke rendition of Naruto Shippuden’s third season opening theme.
“Oh, sorry,” Osamu mumbles, reaching for his phone. “Um, it’s ‘Tsumu. Do ya mind?”
Rintarou shakes his head no, not trusting himself with words. His heart is still beating erratically in his chest and he has to remind himself to breathe lest he passes out on the Miya kitchen floor.
“Sorry,” Osamu repeats, sheepish. “Won’t be too long. Can ya watch the curry?”
“Uh, yeah,” Rintarou says after clearing his throat. “Yeah, sure.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Osamu offers him one last apologetic smile and steps out of the room, the tips of his ears bright red.
Rintarou turns his attention to the curry pot and the carrots he still needs to dice and gives them the stink eye. As he chops the carrots, he pictures Atsumu’s ugly mug instead.
By the fifth time, it’s already too late. Rintarou is almost glad Atsumu is there to shatter the moment.
Almost. Not really.
Osamu’s eyes meet his. This way, Rintarou says, and though he doesn’t say it out loud, Osamu hears him all the same. Osamu knows all his tells after almost three years of daily practise.
Rintarou’s read is accurate, their timing perfect; the block goes up exactly where he expected the Iwate hitter to spike, and a second later the ball slams on the opposite side of the net.
The whistle blows. Rintarou doesn’t need to check the scoreboard to know they’ve just earned their ticket to the Spring Tournament finals. Instead, Rintarou turns to look at Osamu.
His thick hair sticks to his forehead, damp with sweat. He’s breathing heavily, chest rising and falling in quick successions. His eyes are dark and they fall to Rintarou’s lips before either of them gets to say anything.
Do it, Rintarou urges in his mind, it’s now or never.
The gymnasium lights are blinding. Osamu grabs his arm, takes a step closer and whispers his name for his ears only. Rintarou can feel his warm breath over his face, wants to pull him in himself, kiss him stupid under the cheers of their teammates and their fans.
It’s over in a blink. Atsumu is already on them, shrieking in their ears that they’re going to the finals and putting them in a headlock that cuts off all of their airflow.
Rintarou doesn’t struggle in Atsumu’s hold, choosing to wait for Osamu to release himself and free him in turn. He does just that, before lifting them both clumsily and spinning them around.
Atsumu and Rintarou almost topple over in their hilarity. They’re safely brought back to solid ground before any accident occurs and they join in the collective pile of limbs and laughter from the rest of their team.
The moment passes just like that, forgotten in their elation. It’s only later, with Osamu snoring lightly in the futon next to him, that Rintarou feels regret settling at the bottom of his stomach.
Graduation day comes around too fast.
It was all a blur after the Spring Tournament. Atsumu caught the eyes of the MSBY Black Jackals scouts; Rintarou, those of the EJP Raijin.
It’s scary. Rintarou’s dream becomes something tangible under his fingertips, the first step towards a future he’s always dreamt of. He signs his first contract with EJP, his ticket to his first professional league season, with a Division 1 team, no less, the day before his last exam.
Atsumu signs on to MSBY three days earlier, and makes it his life mission to rub it in Rintarou’s face every opportunity he gets. (It’s just his way of expressing both joy and relief in entering the circuit with someone he knows.)
Ginjima is off to study sports science in Osaka; Kosaku, economics in Kobe. Riseki is made captain of the Inarizaki team and cries just a little less than Atsumu does when he hands Riseki his brand new captain jersey.
And Osamu, well…
“Are ya gonna visit me in Osaka?”
Rintarou lifts his eyes from his phone. “I’m helping you move this weekend.”
Osamu pouts. Rintarou’s heart trips over itself. “Ya hafta come by more often. Ya have six months off before the season starts.”
“I’ll be training a lot,” Rintarou says, picking stray lint off his uniform trousers. “But I’ll swing by any chance I get. Promise.”
“Ya better. I’m gonna need my best taste-tester around.”
Rintarou hides a smile behind his hand. “I’m sure you’ll find plenty of willing test subjects.”
“Yeah, but they won’t be ya,” Osamu says seriously. “What do business students even know about onigiri?”
Rintarou laughs. “Maybe they’re all studying to open onigiri shops, who knows?”
Osamu looks horrified, his hands tightening against the railing. “Don’t say that. You’ll jinx it.”
“You have nothing to worry about. Your onigiri is the best this side of Japan.” Rintarou bumps his shoulder into Osamu gently. Osamu bumps back.
“If ya say so, Rin,” Osamu whispers, and Rintarou is hit with the sudden realisation that they’re standing really close to one another.
So close Rintarou could count Osamu’s eyelashes. He doesn’t. The slate grey of his irises and the pink flush on his cheekbones are way more interesting.
“I know so,” Rintarou murmurs, heart slamming against his ribcage.
Rintarou waits with bated breath for the moment Osamu will tip his head to the side and lean in. Astumu’s probably too busy getting countless confessions of his own to interrupt this time.
Osamu watches him, mouth pulled up into a tiny smile. A gentle breeze blows through his hair, and it’d feel like a scene straight out of a shoujo manga Rintarou’s sister likes to read if Osamu didn’t look so sad.
“Let’s go back. It’s gettin’ cold.”
Osamu pushes himself off the railing, making his way to the door leading back to the school staircase without another word.
Rintarou stands in stunned silence, staring at his friend’s retreating back. A million thoughts swirl and unfurl in his head; what if he’s read this wrong all this time?Just last week Osamu turned crimson when Ginjima called them the world's densest high school sweethearts, though. Has Osamu moved on? Worse, has he simply given up?
“Ya comin’?”
Osamu’s voice pulls him out of his turmoil. Rintarou nods mechanically, joining him in a couple quick strides.
Osamu pushes the door open, stepping inside. “Let’s go find ‘Tsumu.”
By a twist of fate, Rintarou’s V.League debut falls on the same day as Atsumu’s.
In a match opposing EJP and MSBY, on the latter’s home turf. All their friends have cleared out their schedules to be able to attend. Rintarou thinks he’s never been more eager to step foot on the court.
samsamsamu:
don’t tell tsumu but i’m cheering for ejp today
rin💛:
traitor. screenshotted and forwarded
samsamsamu:
wtf snitch
mercy please
rin💛:
wouldnt wanna throw him off his game
actually nvm it’d just spur him on
u coming today?
samsamsamu:
hahahaha
scared?
like id ever miss either of your debut games
all the inarizaki alumni will be there better make them proud
rin💛:
lol
nah
a little bit
now that’s just daunting
samsamsamu:
everyone’s rooting for u and tsumu
break a leg out there
rin💛:
ok
u better cheer the loudest
for me
samsamsamu:
i will
go get em tiger
Rintarou smiles down at his phone. He knows Osamu will always cheer harder for his brother, but it’s the thought that counts.
“Stop texting your little boyfriend,” Motoya says as he whips his towel against the back of Rintarou’s legs. Rintarou sidesteps him easily. “Coach’s calling us for warmups.”
“Not my boyfriend.”
Motoya rolls his eyes dramatically. “Okay, whatever you say, loverboy.”
They fall into step easily, walking down corridor after corridor.
“He’s coming to see the game?” Motoya asks around a sly grin.
“Maybe.”
“That means he is. So exciting. Will you call him over on the court so you can kiss in front of everyone if we win? Cry in his big strong arms if we lose?”
Rintarou kicks his leg to try (and fail) to trip Motoya, who erupts into loud cackles.
“Cry in whose arms?”
Motoya jumps and shrieks in surprise. “Washio-san! Gods, you scared me!”
“Sorry,” Washio says, not sounding sorry at all. “Who are we talking about?”
“We’re not losing anyways, so it doesn’t matter who,” Rintarou cuts in over Motoya’s gleeful Rintarou’s boyfriend, of course!
“Oh, the normal Miya,” Washio hums thoughtfully.
There’s nothing normal about Miya Osamu, Rintarou wants to retort, but he’d rather they change the topic of conversation ASAP, so he lets it slide.
Motoya launches into one of his famed yabbering into the other, less normal Miya. He has experience with Atsumu, too, from their U19 days, becoming fast friends as they both come from the same streak of not normal and impossibly loud and scarily outgoing.
Maybe that’s why it was so easy for Rintarou to click with him. The familiarity of the whirlwinds that are Atsumu and Motoya, their playful jabs and their over the top theatrics.
Rintarou turns his focus to Washio and his deliberate nods and attentive quips. In a lot of ways, he reminds Rintarou of Aran: his steady reliability as a senior, his straightforward nature and his honesty to a fault, his peculiar sense of humour and his predisposition to fall head first into pranks.
He’s only known them for three months at best, but they already feel like a piece of home.
It’s a narrow EJP win.
Rintarou only gets to play the third and the beginning of the fourth set, before Coach swaps him back out for a more experienced player.
He gets it. But as he watches Atsumu play every single set, all carnivorous grins and blazing fervour under the stadium lights, his own heart burns for more.
I wanna play more. I wanna stay on the court longer.
There is still time for that though. For now, Rintarou lets himself be dragged to the joint MSBY–EJP afterparty.
Aran finds him first, clapping him on his shoulder. “Hey champion. Great work out there.”
Rintarou can’t help the fond smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks. Who let you in?” He asks just to be cheeky, knowing full well a MSBY afterparty will always include about half of the Red Falcons, and vice-versa.
Aran laughs good-naturedly. “Sure hope ya show yer EJP seniors more respect.”
“‘Course I do.” Aran smiles knowingly. “First round on me?”
“I’ll take ya up on that. Oh, ‘Samu’s here too, so make sure ya get him a drink too.”
Osamu was adopted by the team on week one of Atsumu joining. Atsumu sweet talked Osamu into bringing homemade senbei and onigiri and of course he obliged, only too keen to get an entire team of brand new taste testers.
Three months in and he’s already become a semi-permanent fixture for any gathering involving MSBY.
“I’ll get ‘Tsumu one too. You know where they are?” Rintarou asks as they walk towards the bar.
Aran tips his chin towards the left-most end of the bar. Sure enough, the twins are already making a small ruckus, seemingly absorbed into an arm wrestling match against one another.
“Leave them to their own devices for ten minutes and they’re already makin’ fools of themselves,” Aran sighs wistfully.
“Feels kinda nostalgic.”
Aran glares at him, but there’s only fondness in his voice. “Speak for yerself. Ya know they show up uninvited to my place at least two times a week?”
Rintarou laughs and gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “You really deserve that drink.”
“That I do,” Aran sighs.
They catch up some more as they wait for their drinks (Aran ends up ordering and pays with Rintarou’s card as he’s not of age yet), but right as Rintarou turns to point towards a fellow rookie, he’s met with an overeager Atsumu who wastes no time wrapping him into a crushing hug.
“Sunarin, ya bastard!” Atsumu shouts as Rintarou half-heartedly tries to push him off. “Man, ya were annoying on the other side of the net back in high school but now you’re downright disgusting.”
“Thanks. You’re not so bad either.”
They grin at each other and Atsumu lets him go, redirecting his attention to the bright pink abomination of a cocktail he likes to drink. “That for me?”
Rintarou only nods in answer, handing Aran his own IPA of choice. Aran thanks him blithely.
“Sunarin, I could kiss ya,” Atsumu drawls.
“No thank you,” Rintarou deadpans briskly.
Atsumu frowns at him. “Ya didn’t have to be so quick with it.”
Rintarou levels him with a flat look.
“Whatever. I don’t even wanna kiss ya.” Atsumu’s eyes flit towards something past Rintarou’s shoulders, and he smirks. “But I know someone who does. Aran, let’s go take revenge on those EJP scum.”
“Me? But I didn’t even lose against them,” Aran sputters as Atsumu drags him off towards a table packed full with yellow jerseys.
“Whoa, where’re they goin’?”
Rintarou doesn’t even have to turn around to know exactly who’s standing behind him. “Picking fights with innocent bystanders. Pretend you don’t know them.”
“Alright then.” Osamu leans against the counter, tipping his head to the side to get Rintarou’s attention on him. “Hi.”
Osamu fills out his shirt very nicely. Eyes up, Rintarou reminds himself, and the sight is just as nice. The grin he’s wearing is blinding and Rintarou’s heart skips a beat.
“Hey.” Rintarou pushes Osamu’s drink towards him, shooting him a small smile. “On me.”
“Oh yeah?” Osamu’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Thanks.”
Rintarou gestures at him to take a seat as he does the same, intent on verifying Atsumu’s not so cryptic message.
Something has been brewing between them for the past few months—years, maybe—but Rintarou had somehow always chalked it up to it being just some small, insignificant blips in their friendship until distance started settling in.
A three-hour train ride instead of a thirty-minute walk. Daily texts instead of daily hang outs. Schedules who don’t match up anymore instead of their shared eat, sleep, school, repeat routine.
It’s excruciating. Rintarou knows wanting Osamu and Osamu potentially wanting him back won’t suddenly fix it all, but getting to call him his certainly would help.
“Hey, I…” Rintarou swallows, toying with his straw. He eyes the beer in Osamu’s hand with envy. He’s got a good two months left before he’s of legal age, and a little liquid courage would’ve really come in clutch right now. All he has is a lousy lemonade. “I have a question.”
“Shoot,” Osamu says, eyes fixed on the arm wrestling match between Aran and an EJP hitter.
Rintarou exhales through his nose. Gathers all the courage in his body and asks, “Back in high school, did you try to, you know… Kiss me a couple of times?”
Osamu’s eyes snap back to him, wide and startled. He’s steadily growing red in the face. “Huh… Maybe. Yeah. Once or twice.”
Rintarou raises a brow, pretending his heart isn’t jackrabbiting out of his chest. He thinks if the music and Atsumu’s cheers weren’t so loud Osamu would be able to hear it. “Once or twice?”
Osamu clears his throat, takes a sip of his beer. His fingers drum against the countertop. “Maybe. I’m…” His eyes flicker from Rintarou’s face to his drink, back to his eyes and then to the condensation forming on his glass. “I’m over it though, don’t worry.”
Rintarou bites back a smile. The lilt in his voice, his ears and the nape of his neck bright red, the way his eyes flick back and forth between Rintarou and whatever else is closest to him—Osamu has never been good at lying. “Oh, really?”
Osamu glares at the bar mat like it could somehow help him out of his ordeal. “Yeah.”
“Shame, then. Maybe I wanted to kiss you back.”
Osamu swivels on his chair, almost toppling off it were it not for Rintarou’s fast reflexes and his hand steadying Osamu’s forearm.
It’s probably not the most romantic place to confess this to Osamu. Not the right moment, perhaps, but Rintarou thinks of all the things they’ve left unsaid in the past year, the spaces they could’ve easily filled with a little bit more courage, the what-ifs and maybes in between.
The right moment would’ve been to kiss Osamu in that storage room. The second best would’ve been on that rooftop. Third best at the sleepover. After the twins’ phone call, at the Spring Tournament, at graduation, or every single time Rintarou’s thought of kissing Osamu since—and that’s a whole bunch of times.
Who cares about romance, about timing, when what feels right is just in front of him, flushed to the tips of his ears, slack-jawed and eyes a little wild.
“What?” Osamu finally manages to say, utterly still. Rintarou lets go of his forearm, leaning against the bar. The counter digs uncomfortably against his ribs, but before Rintarou has a chance to move, Osamu’s hand flies to rest on his thigh, just above his knee. Rintarou freezes in turn.
“Rin, don’t just say that.” Osamu’s pupils are blown wide as he crowds Rintarou against the bartop. His hand on Rintarou’s thigh slides a little higher. “I’ll get the wrong idea.”
Rintarou isn’t sure if it’s the countertop digging into his ribs or the look on Osamu’s face taking his breath away, probably a little bit of both. He’s felt lightheaded since earlier. He’d planned to tease Osamu over his failed attempts at kissing him, push at his buttons a little, let him fall into their own brand of effortless banter to ease him into taking that leap of faith.
But this is so much better.
Rintarou hums. “I thought you didn’t wanna kiss me anymore. Got over it.”
Osamu squeezes Rintarou’s thigh once in warning. “I lied.” Osamu’s gaze flits to Rintarou’s lips. “You know I wanna kiss ya.”
The high stool Rintarou sits in gives him a couple more centimetres on Osamu than he already has. It’s dizzying to be able to look down into Osamu’s eager gaze, the upward slant of his mouth, the soft slope of his nose. He’s pressed up against Rintarou, head tipped back, waiting and wanting.
Rintarou spreads his legs open, allowing Osamu to slot himself in between. Rintarou reaches to toy with a strand of Osamu’s hair. He’s dyed it back to his natural hair and cut it shorter; it suits him well. Unfairly so. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Rin,” Osamu whines, gaze turning pleading. “C’mon. Before ‘Tsumu barges in.”
Rintarou laughs. He wants to savour the moment, to revel in being Osamu’s sole focus of attention, to bask in his warmth and his smiles.
But Atsumu is a threat with a sixth sense for these things and there’s a high chance he’s already on the prowl. Even if he seemingly nudged Rintarou into taking the dive earlier, there is always a risk.
Rintarou has an inkling he’ll get to indulge more in the future, so he leans into Osamu’s space before Atsumu gets the chance to butt in.
Rintarou presses his lips to Osamu’s a little clumsily, a little giddily—but Osamu’s right there to tip his head to the side and course-correct. He presses a few more featherlight kisses to Osamu’s lips, tasting his smile and the bitter taste of beer along the way.
Rintarou pulls back first, feeling a little shy over having his first kiss in a much too crowded bar, and somewhat self-conscious over his lack of experience. He’s fairly certain Osamu has never kissed anyone before and wouldn’t judge anyways, but it’s not like he’s had much time to pump himself up.
Osamu is beaming lopsidedly at him though, so it looks like Rintarou had nothing to worry about.
“Never thought ya’d like me back,” Osamu says, a little dazed.
Rintarou, caught off-guard, laughs incredulously. “What? I was head over heels for you, ‘Samu.”
“Seriously?” Osamu’s eyebrows knit together. “I tried to kiss ya for a whole year, Rin. Forgive me for thinkin’ I had no chance with ya.”
“Didn’t try all that hard if you kept failing,” Rintarou teases. Osamu’s hands travel up to rest on his waist and squeeze him at the jab.
“Yeah, you try to kiss yer best friend when yer own twin brother keeps walkin’ in at the wrong time. I swear, I almost contemplated fratricide at one point.”
Rintarou hums, carding a hand through Osamu’s hair. “And yet. Finally managed to do it while he’s in the same room.”
“Score,” Osamu says, grinning toothily.
Rintarou wrinkles his nose in mock disgust. Osamu laughs, curling his arms around Rintarou’s midriff.
“‘Kay. What’d ya say we move this to somewhere more private?” Rintarou raises a brow in interest. “Not like that, pervert. I don’t want to cut yer night short but… Wouldja spare me ten minutes?”
“I’ll spare you twenty. No, thirty. Fifty. Whatever you like,” Rintarou blurts, something warm and heady rushing through his veins.
Osamu smiles at him, a little smug, before tugging him off to a quieter, less crowded part of the bar.
From the corner of his eye, Rintarou sees Atsumu miming gagging gestures and flipping them off.
Rintarou doesn’t bother with returning the aggression. He has more pressing matters to attend to.
“They’re lookin’ for ya, ya know.”
The glass door slides shut behind Osamu. Rintarou’s mouth lifts at the corners.
“If they make me do another round of shots I’ll throw up,” Rintarou says, leaning to rest his head on Osamu’s shoulder when he wraps his arms around Rintarou’s waist.
“Wouldn’t want that,” Osamu chuckles, his breath fogging up the cold January night. “Not before your birthday kiss at least.”
Rintarou shifts in Osamu’s hold to face him, suddenly very interested. “That’s what you’re here for then? My birthday kiss?”
“Maybe.” Osamu offers him a sly smile, but it does little to hide the fondness in his eyes.
“C’mon, ‘Samu. Don’t make me wait.”
Osamu laughs and leans in, pressing a chaste kiss to Rintarou’s lips.
Rintarou frowns, tugging Osamu closer by his belt loop. “That’s it?”
Osamu rolls his eyes. His thumbs draw slow, deliberate patterns on Rintarou’s hipbones. “So needy.”
“You’d be too if your husband was this handsome and sexy,” Rintarou says, going for smug but sounding all too tender.
Osamu starts trailing light kisses along Rintarou’s jaw. “Took on the Miya name and immediately started makin’ everything into a competition, huh.”
“I take this marriage very seriously.”
“You better,” Osamu murmurs, brushing his lips against Rintarou’s.
A low thrill travels up Rintarou’s spine, mellow and syrupy. Osamu’s body is warm against his, his embrace gentle and familiar.
Before Rintarou gets the chance to lean in and claim his prize, the sliding door slams open loudly.
“Oi, Miyarin! Stop suckin’ my brother’s face off and come take yer shot!”
Rintarou rests his forehead against Osamu’s with an exasperated sigh. Old habits die hard.
“Who invited him?” Rintarou grumbles. Osamu laughs and tightens his hold over Rintarou’s waist.
“Ya did.”
“Hey! I can hear ya!” Atsumu cries, then recoils in horror when Rintarou starts planting loud smacks all across Osamu’s face. “Ew! Get a room, ya perverts!”
“I would, but there are too many parasites in our home.”
“The parasites are here to celebrate with ya!” Atsumu shrieks indignantly, and shrieks louder when Rintarou plants a resounding smack on Osamu’s lips.
“Stop antagonisin’ him,” Osamu says between peels of laughter as he tries to half-heartedly push Rintarou off.
“Not until he leaves us alone,” Rintarou retorts, letting up on the obnoxious kissing with one last (quieter, sweeter) kiss to the corner of Osamu’s mouth.
“Fine!” Atsumu lifts his arms in surrender. “But ya better be back in five, else I’m draggin’ ya back inside myself.”
“Ten,” Rintarou barters.
“Okay, ten, whatever,” Atsumu huffs out, clearly displeased.
“Fifteen,” Rintarou pushes. He gets an amused chuckle from Osamu and an indignant squawk from Atsumu.
“No! We agreed on ten!”
“Twenty.”
“‘Samu!”
“Ya know I’m not gonna take yer side here,” Osamu laughs, hugging Rintarou to him a little closer, a little tighter.
“But I missed ya guys,” Atsumu sniffles. “It’s hard now that ya both live in Shizuoka.”
Rintarou straightens up and feels Osamu stiffen next to him. Even though Rintarou himself—and Osamu more so—definitely miss Atsumu’s presence in their daily lives, he hadn’t thought his nagging would come from a place of longing, rather than his usual shit stirring nature.
“Okay, ten minutes, then,” Rintarou relents, still keen on his well deserved birthday kiss.
Atsumu’s mouth pulls up in a nasty smirk and Rintarou belatedly realises he’s been had. “Too easy,” he sing-songs, disappearing back into the apartment before either of them can say a thing.
“Oh wow,” Osamu says as Rintarou sits in stunned silence. “You’re losin’ yer edge.”
Rintarou flicks Osamu’s forehead without much force, a familiar warmth blooming in his chest. “Shut up and kiss me instead of making fun of me. We’ve only got ten minutes.”
“I think we’ve got longer than that,” Osamu hums, brushing his nose against Rintarou’s.
“Oh yeah? Like the rest of our lives? Sap.”
“Yer sap, though,” Osamu murmurs as Rintarou glides his hands to cup Osamu’s cheeks. Osamu draws them impossibly closer, until all Rintarou can see are Osamu’s enchanting grey eyes. “Happy birthday, Rin.”
Osamu pulls Rintarou back into a kiss, a real one this time, all warm smiles, quiet adoration, and the taste of forever on his lips.