Archive of Our Own

/////

i know you.

Even though he knows exactly where Osamu is waiting, Suna can't stop his eyes from darting around the train station in case maybe this time he decided to meet him on the platform.

It's not like Suna needs someone to hold his hand and walk him from his train to the parking lot. He's an adult. He knows how train stations work — this one in particular better than most. He's traveled through more than his fair share of them.

The longest he's ever lived in the same place was three years, back when he was in elementary school. Moving is supposed to be sad. His mom would always sit them down like someone had died, only for the reason for the big, somber family meeting to be that they were moving again. His little sister would always cry as she said goodbye to her friends from school each time they packed up and left.

Suna didn't understand why it bothered her so much. Yeah, having to put everything he owns into boxes is inconvenient and memorizing new addresses and home phone numbers takes time and being the new kid in school never gets any easier, but give it a few weeks and it all starts to feel the same. None of those houses are special. They're just places where they spend time until they don't anymore.

Missing any of them means sticking around long enough to get attached to them. In that way, the moving had been good for Suna. It kept him focused. Unburdened. Not tied down to anything.

Osaka is different. He's never lived here, so it's never been "home", but every time he's gone for too long he gets antsy. He expects the door to his bedroom to be on the left side of the hallway, when it's actually on the right. Gets startled at the way sounds seep in through his bedroom window when there isn't another body to muffle them. Sniffs fresh laundry and wonders if he forgot detergent, only to remember that Osamu just uses way too much.

Suna wonders if this is what homesickness feels like.

Well, if Suna is sick, this must certainly be the cure. The routines of visiting Osamu settle behind his chest the way a warm bowl of kasujiru does on a cold day. Transforming the ache of longing into the ease of having.

The walk from the train to the parking lot. Finding Osamu leaning against the hood of his truck, always parked two spots down from the grass median with the biggest tree. Osamu pulling him into a tight hug. Osamu trailing his hand across Suna's back to take his duffel bag off Suna's shoulder and onto his own. Osamu slamming the door a little too hard after he deposits Suna's bag in the back seat. Fiddling with the radio as Osamu drives them twenty minutes down the road to their first stop every time Suna visits.

Restaurant is a generous term for the establishment Osamu pulls into, not bothering to lock the car as they make their way inside. It's more of a roadside shack. But they make damn good katsu.

Osamu is friends with the man who owns it, because apparently all restaurateurs know each other. Suna finds this fact highly suspect since, if Osamu is anything to go off of, they all spend thirteen hours a day in their own kitchens, running their own restaurants. Where they all find time to venture out and befriend each other is beyond him. But he's been visiting Osamu in Osaka for years and has never once set foot in a restaurant where the two of them weren't greeted by name.

(The fact that they all somehow also know his name too is a fact that Suna has never probed deeper into, but is as much a part of the routine as any of it.)

Maybe it's just an Osamu thing.

The inside is time worn and instantly welcoming. Osamu walks directly to the counter, striking up a conversation with Eiji. The two of them commiserating over this new policy from a local produce supplier and that annoying regular and the corporate chain that had just bought out —

"Well, no one ever got where they wanted to be in life by complaining." The older man interrupts himself, effectively cutting off his and Osamu's bitchfest. A warm smile overtakes his face as he asks, "What can I get you boys?"

"I'll do the katsumeshi, please." Osamu responds with practiced ease. All the times they've come here, Suna's never seen him order anything else.

Both men turn to look at Suna, who is currently preoccupied with studying the menu written on the wall behind the register. It all sounds good. He's never had a bad meal here. Maybe today he'll branch out and —

"And he'll have the tonkatsu curry."

Suna's gaze snaps towards Osamu. Because, rude. He'd barely had a chance to start reading the menu before he was interrupted.

Osamu meets Suna's icy glare with an eye roll. "Don't gimme that look. Yer just as bad as me — ya get the same thing every time."

"I do not."

"Name one other thing ya've had here."

Suna opens his mouth —

"And no, bites ya steal of mine don't count."

Suna shuts his mouth. He attempts to hide his indignation behind crossed arms and a huffed out, "Whatever."

Osamu chuckles and bumps their shoulders together with an easy smile.

Suna can't stop himself from smiling back.

It doesn't take Eiji much longer to get their food ready. It's actually suspiciously fast, which makes Suna think that maybe Eiji knew he was coming this weekend and had already started making their food before they got there. Normally Suna would bristle at being called predictable. At work, predictability is the difference between an attack that gets snuffed by the opposing team's blockers and one that makes it to the other side. When it's this, he doesn't mind so much.

Eiji passes the bag to Osamu with two hands and a small bow. He tells Suna that he hopes he enjoys the rest of his visit and promises to see him the next time he's in town. Suna gives his thanks in return and holds the door for Osamu on the way out.

The drive to Osamu's is when Suna really starts to let all the stress melt off of his bones. He lulls his his head against the headrest and watches the sun settle low across the city, whatever song is on the radio softened by the static that Osamu's ancient truck graces all music with. The warm summer breeze plays with his hair as it cascades in through the rolled down windows. Here he doesn't need to think about training or interviews or who their next match is against. It's a liminal space outside of all of that, where Suna is just Suna and Osamu is just Osamu.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

The liminal space extends from the inside of Osamu's truck and up the stairs to his apartment above Onigiri Miya. Suna toes his shoes off in the genken, takes the first left in the hallway to drop his duffel bag in Osamu's room before immediately jumping in the shower.

Through the thin bathroom walls, Suna can hear Osamu putzing around the kitchen, gathering plates and utensils, even though Suna insists the food tastes just the same out of the to-go containers as it does on the plates. Half the benefit of getting take out is not having to do dishes anyways, but Osamu has made it part of their routine. The more times they've fallen into it, the more Suna finds himself looking forward to standing in front of the sink, shoulder to shoulder with Osamu. Toweling dry dishes after the other man rinses them. Letting his fingertips guide his movements around the night clad room, the only light in the kitchen coming from the glow of the streetlamps trickling in through the window. It creates new shadows around the room that turn the kitchen into something it isn't during the day. Like maybe sleep has begun too soon. Like maybe anything could happen.

Suna turns off the hot water and wipes the condensation off the mirror with the same towel he uses to dry his hair. His pajamas are well worn, the neck of the shirt overstretched with time and likely one of the twins yanking on it at some point. The pants hang low on his hips, the bottom hem frayed from years of dragging on the ground.

When he steps out of the bathroom, he finds Osamu in a similar state. Wearing an old t-shirt that Suna's pretty sure used to be his and wrapped under a blanket on the couch. Wordlessly, he beckons Suna towards him, offering him the other side of the blanket. Suna sits next to him, their thighs pressing together as he settles.

Osamu passes Suna his plate, filled to the brim with his tonkatsu curry and a few bites of Osamu's katsumeshi. He glances at Osamu's plate and finds that none of his food is on it. With a tilt of his head and a put upon sigh, Suna snatches Osamu's plate from his hands and spoons some of the curry, followed by a few pieces of the tonkatsu on it before handing it back. Osamu's lips are slightly parted and his cheeks are dusted with a pretty flush. Suna does him the kindness of pretending not to notice.

The TV is cued up to House Hunters International, the bottom third text identifying the couple shopping for a home as being traveling goat wranglers, so Suna already knows it's gonna be a good one. And by good one he means rife for making snarky comments with Osamu about how the couple is able to afford whatever multi-million dollar mansions they'll be touring.

Suna hits play on the TV and leans back against the couch. His arm knocks into Osamu's side as he takes the first bite of his food. With the taste of tonkatsu on his tongue and the low light of the TV flickering over them and Osamu warm beside him, Suna finally feels like he's home.

/////

i know what you'll like.

Any away game that's closer to Osaka than Shizuoka is really just a long weekend at Osamu's waiting to happen. Suna bids the rest of his team farewell as they all board the train bound for home with a promise that he'll be back in time for practice on Monday morning. He has his own train to catch, and even though it's headed the opposite direction as theirs, Suna still feels like he's going home.

He gets to Osamu's in time to see him wiping down the counters at Onigiri Miya through the windows at the front of the restaurant. Muscle memory almost guides him in through the front door and into the seat at the counter right next to the register where he likes to sit and pester Osamu while he's working. But alas, he does what he's supposed to and leaves Osamu be downstairs, instead letting himself into his apartment.

Suna's had the spare key for years. He'd given Osamu the spare for his place in Shizuoka first, so it just made sense. He lets himself in, drops his bag in the bedroom, and hops in the shower. The water is always just shy of scalding, but it's a balm for his muscles. Easing the exhaustion after going full sets this afternoon.

Normally, he'd just let his hair air dry, but today he takes the time to blow dry it. Then again, normally he'd be changing into pajamas right now, but instead he's putting on a button up and a belt and slacks that he'll be generous and just call a little snug.

The things he does for Osamu.

Thoroughly stifled by his attire, Suna attempts to lounge on the couch. There isn't really a comfortable position when he's conscious of trying to avoid getting everything wrinkled, so he settles for sprawling out like a starfish with his head leaning against the armrest and his legs falling off either side.

Suna scrolls mindlessly on his phone. Waiting for Osamu to finish closing the restaurant and make his way upstairs. He's not sure how much time passes before he hears the telltale sounds of footsteps on the stairs and the turning of the doorknob.

Suna glances up from his phone in greeting. Osamu must've taken the stairs too fast because his face is all flushed as he takes in the sight of Suna stretched out on the couch.

"Ya clean up nice."

"Well you said, and I quote, 'I swear to god, if you embarrass me by showing up to this reservation in fuckin jeans and a t-shirt, I am throwing nine years of friendship down the drain and hunting you down with an axe' so I figured I should dress like my life was on the line."

Suna turns his phone towards Osamu with their text thread pulled up to that message to further emphasize his point.

"Whatever," Osamu huffs, grabbing Suna by the ankle to knock his feet off the couch.

"And to think, I left my fucking jeans back in Shizuoka just to come here and be treated like this." Suna blinks lazily up at Osamu. "What a waste."

Suna can see the gears turning in Osamu's head as he tries to think of a retort, but nothing comes out. He counts this as a victory and goes back to scrolling, putting his feet back on the couch where Osamu so rudely knocked them off earlier. His phone is only marginally interesting. Suna's eyes glaze over as texts and pictures and tweets and memes and videos and group chats all start to blend into a technicolor blob.

He's much more interested in sneaking glances at Osamu in the other room. For all the shit Osamu gives Atsumu about wasting time primping, he's just as guilty of it. Suna watches as he fusses with the same piece of his bangs he's been adjusting for the past six minutes.

All the hemming and hawing doesn't make sense to Suna, especially as far as Osamu is concerned. He's always been handsome. Anyone with eyes can see that. What's the placement of one piece of hair gonna change when he's gonna look good no matter what?

Suna slinks off the couch with a heavy sigh and goes to stand in the doorway of the bathroom. "Thought you didn't want to be late."

"I'm not gonna be late."

"Uh huh."

Suna pointedly looks at the time on his phone, which reads as two minutes past the time Osamu said they absolutely needed to be out the door by, no exceptions. He knows that Osamu can see it too, the other man grimacing to himself as he weighs the merits of making them later than they already are in order to get his hair to sit just right. Well, if Osamu isn't gonna quit it on his own, then Suna'll be the one to step in and make him.

"Come on, quit messing with your hair." He wraps his fingers around Osamu's wrists and guides his hands away from his hair, then turns Osamu to face him as he soothes, "You look good."

It's not until he feels Osamu's breath across his cheeks that Suna realizes how close they're standing.

"I do?" Osamu's voice is small. Genuine. He's really asking.

Suna nods. "You always do." He's really answering.

Suddenly the air is thick with something Suna can't find the words for. He doesn't know how to handle it. Every bone in his body is telling him that he's about to die. That he's going to suffocate or go into cardiac arrest or his brain is going to turn to liquid and start melting out of his ears. That he might even do something stupider like —

"Besides, places like these are barely lit anyways, so it's not like anyone would be able to tell if you didn't."

There. That did it. This is normal. This is safe. Suna doesn't have to question this.

The indignant sputter that Osamu lets out is instantly comforting. So is the way he shoves Suna. So is the way Suna shoves him back. They've spent years doing this. Suna would be content to keep doing this forever.

With a fair bit of shoving, they manage to make it downstairs and into Osamu's truck a respectable five minutes after when Osamu said he wanted to leave. Suna rolls all the windows down as soon as they start driving. The radio static a welcome addition to the steady rhythm of guitar and drums coming from the speakers. Light pollution casts shadows across their forearms resting beside each other on the center console. A feeling akin to desire stirs in Suna's chest. He wants … something.

Suna spends the rest of the drive studying Osamu's upturned palm and wonders if he'd find whatever answer he's seeking if he traced the shadows on it with his fingertips.

It takes Suna so long to notice they're here that Osamu walks to the other side of the truck and opens the door for him.

This area of Osaka is unfamiliar to Suna. It's closer to downtown, but on the other side of the city as the train station, so he's never had a reason to spend time over here. The restaurant is unassuming from the outside, but from the second they cross the threshold Suna is reminded not to judge something by its appearance.

It's the sort of place you'd take someone on a first date if you really wanted to impress them. Everything is shades of scarlet and dark mahogany, the low lighting of the sconces creating the illusion of the colors being deeper than they truly are. The owners have clearly taken care when choosing each detail. All of the tables face a small stage, where a jazz band plays softly to a small crowd of patrons dancing slowly. It's enchanting. The way they float without second guessing their next steps, even though the people around them could move anywhere. They all work in perfect tandem. Managing to be wholly focused on the person in front of them, while still maintaining awareness of the people around them.

Suna feels himself sway in response, the music traveling all the way to him on the other side of the restaurant, beckoning him forward. He lifts his foot —

"Osamu! Good to see you."

Suna blinks heavily, refocusing his gaze on the man beside them, who has a hand resting on Osamu's shoulder. This must be the owner, already catching up with Osamu like the two of them are old friends. Because, again, all restaurateurs somehow know each other.

"And you," the man continues, turning to face him, "must be Suna."

This part always catches him off guard the first time it happens in a new place, even though it's just as much a part of the routine as the rest of it.

"Suna Rintarou. It's good to meet you."

"Ito Goichi. Likewise." He smiles like he knows something that Suna doesn't. "Gotta say, I feel like I know you already with how much Osamu talks about you. It's great to finally put a face to the name. Shame he forgot to mention how pretty you were. Oh, wait he —"

"Lay off would ya!" Osamu puts a hand over Ito's mouth before he can finish that sentence. "I came here ta eat, not ta be embarrassed."

His honestly only illuminates a small part of the truth. Suna can see nervousness in every part of him. In the way he averts his gaze. In the he way he bites down on the inside of his cheek. In the way he stands a little further away than he was when they walked in. Suna wishes he could find a way to show Osamu that he doesn't have anything to worry about.

Ito beats him to it.

"Don't worry, there'll be time for both." He doesn't wait for a response from either for them before turning and guiding him towards their table. Osamu is too in his own head to notice Ito has started moving, so Suna puts a hand on the small of Osamu's back and guides him forward.

It seems to do the trick.

Ito guides them to a small booth in the back corner of the dining room. It's almost like a private room, with a semicircular booth encompassing half of a round table. The cushions of the booth extend up to the ceiling. Suna thought it might be wood from a distance, but up close it's a rich brown leather. He can't help but run his fingers along it as he slides into the booth, sitting in the center next to Osamu to have the best view of the band on stage.

There's a small Reserved sign on their table that Ito picks up and swaps for a cocktail menu.

"I'll give you a second to look this over. First round's on the house. Feel free to flag me down in the meantime if you need anything." He leaves them with a warm smile before rushing off to check with in his team. Osamu's the same way at Onigiri Miya. Every time he has to abandon his staff for more than five minutes he starts to get antsy and is always looking for an excuse to rush back to check on them. No wonder the two of them are friends.

It makes Suna think about all the times Osamu has left work early to come pick him up from the train station. How many mornings Osamu has stayed upstairs well past the shop's opening just to make him breakfast. Every time Osamu has brushed off Suna's curiosities of if he wants to leave whatever they're doing early to go check on the restaurant with an Eh, I'm sure they're doing fine, we can stay a while longer.

He's not quite sure what it all means.

(He hopes he isn't making Osamu worse somehow. He'd never be able to live with himself if he ruined his best friend.)

"This is the one I've been lookin' forward to tryin' the most." Osamu points to something called a Thyme Traveler.

Ito only left one menu for the two of them to share, so Suna gets closer to take a better look at what's in the cocktail Osamu's talking about. He wrinkles his nose after the second ingredient.

"Gross," he sneers. "You would pick a drink that sounds like it's a garden."

"'s not my fault y'ain't got the taste buds t'appreciate anything remotely close to a vegetable. Besides, it's their take on an herb gardener. The herbs're part of it."

Suna rests his chin on Osamu's shoulder as he reads the rest of the ingredients in the drink he wanted. There's sage, rosemary, thyme, cilantro, mint — frankly, too much going on if you ask Suna. Then his eyes land on the tequila and he groans internally.

Osamu has himself convinced that he enjoys tequila. Osamu is also an idiot. The thing he actually enjoys about tequila is the sense of victory he feels after he drinks Miya "lightweight" Atsumu under the table. Suna knows this because while Atsumu is getting sloppy with a smile, Osamu is busy flagging down the bartender to ask for extra salt and limes to make the taste go away faster.

But this is just the two of them. There's no winning or losing. Osamu doesn't need to grin and bear it.

"Mmm, you won't like that one though. You'll like the Violet Hour more."

It's similar to the Thyme Traveler he wanted to try. There's elderflower and orange liquor and fresh lemon, so still a lot of natural flavors. But it's made with hibiscus infused vodka which, in addition to just sounding good, is decidedly not tequila.

Before Osamu has a chance to make heads or tails of Suna's comment, Ito returns. "So, did you have a chance to decide?"

"He'll have a Violet Hour," Suna replies the second Ito finishes speaking.

Osamu is stubborn, but Suna feels confident that if he goes for it, he can get what he wants. And what he wants most is for Osamu to actually enjoy himself tonight. Which isn't going to happen if he orders himself tequila.

For all his temper, Osamu doesn't make a habit of fighting with Suna. He lets him get away with too much. This is no exception. Osamu stares down at the menu again, but makes no motion to correct the drink that Suna picked for him.

"And he'll have the Birds of a Feather," Osamu decides after a moment.

Suna glances down to find the ingredients in that one. It didn't catch his eye when he was reading the menu. Probably since there isn't much to catch, just blood orange gin, licor 43 (whatever that is), and fresh lime. It'll probably be fine.

He can always switch to something he actually enjoys next round. If he's ordering for Osamu then it's only fair that he's a good sport and accepts the reciprocation.

Ito bugs his eyes out Osamu, fast enough that most people would've missed it (unfortunately for him, Suna isn't most people) before nodding and promising to be right back. He's clearly not meant to know that Ito already has some sort of strong opinion about him, so he files this interaction away for later. Biding his time.

It's easy to forget that anything might be wrong when Osamu starts talking. Catching him up on all the mundane stuff he's missed since his last visit. His voice is soothing. The low timbre mixes nicely with the music coming from far away. It's like everything about it was made just for him. Osamu's breath catching against Suna's ear as he leans in to make sure Suna can hear him over the music. Even though Suna is facing forward to watch the musicians, he leaves his head tilted towards Osamu's mouth. Letting him know that even if he isn't looking, Osamu is still his first priority.

"Alright, here is your Birds of a Feather," Ito slides a drink towards Suna. "And your Violet Hour," followed by sliding Osamu his. He's off not a moment later.

Osamu takes his glass and twirls the stem of his cup between his fingertips to look at it from all sides. Once he's satisfied he's seen it all, he holds up his glass in a cheers motion. Suna clinks the edge of his glass against Osamu's and they take their first sips in tandem.

It's better than Suna expected. Simple, but in a way that lets each element shine.

"Gotta say, I'm impressed," Suna concedes. "I probably wouldn't have picked this for myself, but it's good."

"I was just about to say the same thing to you."

There's the barest hint of a smile that Osamu can't fully wipe from his face. Competition is unavoidable with a Miya, but even though neither of them won, neither of them really lost either.

Suna downs the rest of this drink quicker than expected. Forgetting himself in the atmosphere and the soft leather and the comfort of Osamu beside him.

Ito brings out some appetizer the place is famous for and they both order a second drink. This time they choose for themselves, each opting for what they would have gotten if Suna hadn't interfered.

A few minutes later, after Ito comes back with their second drinks, Suna is forced to make another concession. Because the drink that Osamu picked for him is way better than the one he would've picked. Meanwhile, Osamu grimacing beside him at the tequila is enough to let him know that at least he isn't alone in having worse taste when it comes to his own interests.

"Guess you know me better than you know yourself," Suna says.

"Guess so."

Something about the way he says it sends a shiver down Suna's spine.

From then on out, Osamu takes over ordering food for both of them. He has a lot he's eager to try, so he already convinced Suna to just order a bunch of food and share it between them. Every dish that gets brought out comes with a story from Osamu about Ito's testing process for figuring out the recipe or considerations when cooking the different ingredients in it or his own attempts at making something similar.

There's tremendous solace in knowing that Osamu has people in Osaka who care just as much about food as he does and can push him to improve his craft. It makes Suna happy, hearing Osamu talk unabashedly about something he's so passionate about.

He could listen to him forever.

So, of course, that's exactly when the band decides to announce that it's their last song of the evening. Suna can't believe they've been here for that long. He glances down at his watch and sees that it's after midnight.

An upturned palm cuts off his line of sight from his watch. Suna looks up to find that the palm is attached to Osamu.

"Come on."

"What?"

Suna doesn't want to leave now. There's just one more song. Surely Osamu can wait the four minutes until then before leaving.

"Come on." Osamu extends his hand out further. "Dance with me."

Suna blinks, like, really hard.

"I've seen you staring all night," Osamu continues. "You can't wait forever. You'll miss your chance."

Suna looks at Osamu's outstretched hand. His upturned palm feels more like an answer than an offer. He looks up at Osamu, grey eyes glittering and expectant, then takes his hand. It's the first time Suna has stood since he started drinking. His stomach swoops in time with the music, but Osamu is there to steady him. He takes a step forward. Osamu guides them to the edge of the dance floor, taking the hand that wasn't holding his and wrapping it around Suna's waist. Pulling him close.

Then, to Suna's great surprise, they start dancing. Actually dancing. Not just side stepping. Osamu leads him gently in a diamond. The hand sitting low on his back pressing firmer when it's time to move and loosening when they've made it to the place Osamu is guiding them.

The candles on each of the tables burn low, the flickers of fire fighting to be seen outside of the wax pillars they've tunneled into the center of. It turns the them into little stars. A constellation of time well spent staring back at him. Making him feel like he's floating.

"Since when do you know how to dance?" Suna whispers into Osamu's ear.

"There's a lot you don't know about me."

It's not a challenge, but a confession. Suna won't stand for it.

"So tell me then."

"Hmm?"

"Tell me something I don't know about you."

Osamu hums, spinning Suna to buy himself more time. His balance leaves something to be desired right now. Suna almost loses his footing, but brings his free hand to steady himself against Osamu's chest. The thrum of his heartbeat has Suna curling his head into the crook of Osamu's shoulder to feel it better.

Suna almost accepts that his question will go unanswered when Osamu finally responds.

"I want to take you home right now."

That's not a secret. Does Osamu think that it is? There's got to be something more.

"And what'll you do with me once we're home?"

"Take you to bed."

Suna sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, the force of the cool air lifting his head to look Osmau in the eyes. To see exactly what he means by that.

It puts their faces too close together to make heads or tails of anything his expression might give away. All he can see is smooth skin and sun-kissed freckles that make their return every summer and a hint of pink.

He tries to focus harder, but it only makes his vision double, so it looks like Osamu has two dimples at the corner of his eye, instead of just the one. Suna should lean back to get a better look, but something even more primal tells him that if he gets any further away from Osamu than he is right now then he'll die. If anything he needs to be closer. Closer, closer —

A round of polite applause on all sides pulls Suna out of his reverie. The song ended a second ago. The other patrons already in the midst of clapping for them, thanking the band for their performance tonight. The voice in his head telling him that death is imminent is nowhere to be found, which is a small relief, so Suna joins them in their applause. Osamu follows suit. The voice in his head chanting closer on a continuous loop is just as loud as before. Maybe it's the late hour or the alcohol or the fact that it's Osamu, but Suna can't help himself from listening.

"Come on." He links his arm with Osamu's. "Lets go home."

They find Ito on their way out and thank him for everything before making their way to Osamu's truck.

It's so late now that they're the only ones on the road. Suna rolls the windows down and lets his arm hang out, fingers tracing patterns in the cool night air. The song on the radio is one that was popular back when they were in high school. Osamu sings it softly under his breath and Suna can't tell if it's then or now.

Either would be fine. As long as he's with Osamu.

Suna almost trips twice on his walk upstairs, but other than that they make it home unscathed. Osamu keeps both hands on Suna's sides as he attempts to take his shoes off, not willing to risk him losing his balance. The first shoe doesn't put up too much of a fight, but the second is stubborn. Suna sways again, but Osamu tightens his grip and keeps him upright. He can feel each individual finger digging into the soft skin around his waist. It's probably going to leave a bruise.

All the exhaustion from his games today and a late night is suddenly too much to ignore now that they're back. He tilts his head back at Osamu. Silently lamenting how tired he is and that his bones feel too heavy and if he has to take one more step he's gonna fall over and just sleep on the ground.

Osamu communicates just as much in the jutting of his chin and raising of his eye brows. Calling Suna lazy and a big baby when he's tired and perfectly capable of getting ready for bed himself. It's far less convincing when he's leading Suna to the bathroom and putting toothpaste on his toothbrush for him in the same breath. Suna convinces himself that, really, he's indulging Osamu with all of this. Thoughtful, attentive, doting Osamu, who is sparing with his words, but never with his actions.

Usually Suna sleeps on a futon in the living room when he visits, but true to his word, Osamu guides him into his room instead. He takes the time to make sure Suna is settled in bed before sliding in next to him. The mattress is soft and the sheets already smell of Osamu. He buries his nose in deeper to pillow and lets it lull him closer and closer to rest.

The last thing Suna remembers before falling asleep is wrapping an arm around Osamu's waist and pulling him closer.

/////

i make a point of remembering you.

They start ordering for each other whenever they get food together. It becomes a running joke, that's really a competition (because trust the two of them to turn anything into a competition), that's really just an excuse for Suna to think about his best friend more than he already does.

The rules are simple. They gain a point for each successful order and lose out on one if they order the other person something they don't like. Suna has a note on his phone keeping track of the score. He's up 27 to 26 as of his last visit to Osaka. He's confident that today will bring him to a two point lead. Which, for two people who met playing volleyball, means he's about to take the set.

They're in Shizuoka today. A rare weekend where Osamu is visiting him and not the other way around.

Osamu is an annoyingly considerate host. Which isn't a problem until Suna is trying to beat him (or, at the very least, match him) at his own game. His fridge is full for the first time in ages, stocked with anything he can remember Osamu having back in Osaka. He's pretty sure even Sakusa would eat off his floors with how thoroughly he scrubbed everything down.

Then there's the burden of being the one who decides what they do, since this is his city and he should know what's in it. Suna knows that this is Osamu and he doesn't need to plan anything too concrete, since they'll probably just end up spending most of the weekend avoiding being social to spend more time with each other. But, still, he should at least attempt to not be a total shut in.

He's completely clueless about the restaurant scene in Shizuoka, but he does his best to keep his ear to the ground. Cataloguing places he hears his teammates mention or sees in their Instagram stories or peaks in through the windows of while walking.

It'd be better if Osamu was around to keep track of those things for him. Even with his soon to be two point lead (which Osamu insists is a technicality, since it's not that Suna dislikes udon, it's just that the place they went to happened to serve a godawful one), Suna really does enjoy everywhere that Osamu takes him. He likes that the owners always know him before he gets there and that Osamu gets to show off how involved he is in his industry.

But he can do this. He wants to show Osamu that he can put care and thought into their time too. That his matters to Suna as much as it does to him. That he can meet him halfway.

That's what friends do.

So after much deliberation, and preemptively unsharing his location with Motoya, Suna guides the two of them to a casual spot near his apartment.

The slow approach of fall is becoming more pronounced by the day. The vibrant greens of spring exchanged for muted yellows and oranges. What was once the relief of a cold breeze has turned into wind that cuts through cloth, leaving them fighting off shivers despite the sun still shining down on them.

It reminds him that Osamu's birthday is in a few months. He wonders how they'll spend it this year.

"Today's gonna bring us t'a tie," Osamu taunts, holding the door open for Suna.

"Is it now?"

Osamu's smile is devilish. "Just ya wait."

"It's cute that you think so," Suna says just to watch the way Osamu short circuits. He's winning this set by any means necessary.

They walk up to the main counter one at a time in an attempt to preserve the element of surprise and to prevent any cheating. Suna lets Osamu go first, giving himself a second to check a note on his phone. When it's his turn, he's feeling even more confident than before that he's going to win. The employee takes his order and promises that the food will be right out. Osamu picks a table near the window and lets Suna have the seat that faces the dining room.

"How've ya been adjustin' ta yer coach decidin' yer not exempt from serve receive practice just cause yer a middle?"

Suna groans at the memory, launching into a detailed recounting of the meeting he nut-shelled to Osamu a few weeks ago via text as if you see on the news that the EJP gym blew up, be ready to bail me out of jail because I definitely did it. He hasn't had to attend dedicated serve receive practices since before puberty. And EJP has theirs Tuesdays and Thursdays at six in the morning.

Something familiar settles over him as he continues to bitch to Osamu about the woes of being a professional athlete. Suna loves talking with Osamu. Loves how earnestly he pays attention. Loves how he gets Osamu's full focus. Loves —

"Excuse me, I think you dropped this."

Suna turns his head to see a woman hovering near their table, knees bent as though she just picked something up off the ground. She takes the thing — a small piece of paper — and holds it out towards Osamu. There's something contrived about the way she stands.

Suna dislikes her on instinct.

"I'm pretty sure I didn't." Osamu stares at her blankly.

She leans forward to put a hand on their table, fully cutting Suna off from him. And it's not that Suna cares, because he doesn't, it's just rude. He never gets to see Osamu, and now this stranger is trying to take him away.

"Looks like it was meant for you anyways."

Oh, she really is trying to take him.

The flirting is subtle but practiced. Now that Suna is able to place her earlier deliberate posturing as what it is, he dislikes her even more. His disgust sits more like panic, high in his throat. Slicking his palms with sweat and sending his heartbeat skyrocketing without any warning or permission.

This is … Suna isn't used to this.

Osamu is still trying to make sense of why this random piece of paper is 'meant for him'. He unfolds it, reads whatever it says, then looks back at her with a pinched expression on his face.

"Why would I want yer phone number?"

Suna lets out a single huffed laugh, which earns him a sharp glare from the now tomato-faced woman. He returns it with one of his own, far more lethal now that all the panic has been excised from his system.

He forgets sometimes, since Osamu is such a pushover with him, but Osamu is actually incredibly stubborn and really doesn't do anything he doesn't want to. He's never accepted any sort of confession before, so why would he start now?

Suna swallows hard around the thought, forcing his mind to return back to his victory.

"You don't have to be so rude about it," the woman huffs, crossing her arms over her chest.

"No, what's rude is you comin' over here 'n interruptin' my time with Suna." Osamu responds as though their time together is something to be fiercely protected. As though it matters to him just as much as it does to Suna. "I ain't interested, so ya might as well be on yer way."

Osamu punctuates his point by handing her back her phone number. Not expecting such a direct rejection, the woman takes her paper back then turns on her heel and stomps off without responding.

There's a lingering discomfort in Osamu's expression until he turns back to face Suna, ease and light returning to his big grey eyes. Suna feels his breath catch, the complete focus he craves from Osamu suddenly overwhelming.

They're saved from having to talk about it by the waitress coming over with two steaming bowls, handing Osamu and Suna each the soba that they ordered. Once she turns to head back to the kitchen, the two of them swap bowls.

Which, Suna realizes, is silly the second he looks down at the "new" bowl in front of him, since it seems like they both ordered each other the mikuriya soba.

From the slightly sweet smell of the broth to the comforting warm spices of the stock, all the way down to how the green onions and carrots are arranged on top of the noodles, the bowls are damn near identical. The only difference is …

"No mushrooms?" Suna asks. "How disappointing."

Osamu rubs at the back of his neck. "Ahh, I couldn't remember if ya liked em or not, so I asked to have em on the side just to be safe. Guess they must've forgotten it."

"You should just do what I do and write it down."

Osamu's eyebrows pinch together. "Ya what?"

Suna pulls out his phone, thumbs over to the notes app, pulls up a list titled samu specifics, and hands it over to its namesake. He watches the way Osamu's face shifts as he reads through weeks of notes that Suna has complied from each time they've played this game. Flavors he goes for, habits he has, how his moods impact his cravings, anecdotes from childhood he remembers. Anything that Suna decides is noteworthy.

"Ya … keep track of all this?" His question comes out breathy, like if he speaks too loudly he might stir from sleep and realize this was all a dream.

Suna shrugs. "It's easier than trying to remember it all."

Really, it isn't a big deal.

"If ya say so," he says around the first bite of his soba.

Other people have told Osamu that he's stoic enough times that Osamu has started to believe it himself, and will even describe himself that way if asked. Suna doesn't understand it one bit. Because how does anyone look at the way his eyes get crinkly and mirth-filled around the edges or the way he chews around his smile and see anything other than pure enjoyment? Just because doesn't come spelled out at an ear-shattering decibel the same way it does with Atsumu doesn't make it any less obvious.

"How is it?" Suna prompts, drawing out each word. His eyes turning half lidded as he can taste victory within his grasp.

"'s good."

He leans closer. "How good?"

Osamu swallows. "Really good."

Suna blinks slowly, prolonging the trance Osamu has entered staring at him. His mouth hangs open. Whatever lingers in the air between them all at once more important than the food in front of him. Suna feels as though it's him being consumed instead. A burning, swirling sensation devouring him from the inside out.

"Good enough to say I win this round?"

"Yeah, Rin." His gaze dips low before returning, the momentary diversion doing nothing to quell the slight tremble in his words. "You win."

A smile settles across his face as Suna kisses him on the cheek and goes to update the score in his phone. The device is quickly forgotten as Suna becomes reabsorbed in his conversation with Osamu. There's plenty to catch him up on, and Osamu has just as much to tell him in return.

Parts of Osaka keep popping up in Shizuoka. Their routine devoting itself to the people who formed it over the city it happened in. Suna is logged into all of Osamu's streaming services (or maybe this one is Suna's, he can't remember who pays for what anymore), so he gets the next episode of their show pulled up. In all of Suna's years living here, Osamu has been over maybe five times, but he navigates the kitchen with the ease of muscle memory. Gathering up their snacks and making them tea.

When they're both too tired to keep their eyes open, Suna contemplates whether he should ask Osamu to come to bed with him, since he's made a habit of sharing Osamu's with him, but Osamu volunteers to take the couch before he gets a chance to decide. It's probably just petulant exhaustion that makes his offer disappointing.

That night, Suna spends several hours staring at his ceiling, the unwilling audience member of a mental call and response. The call is the sound of Osamu's voice calling him Rin for the first time. The response is the feeling of Osamu's cheek against his lips as he kissed him for the first time.

/////

i see you.

They don't do the ordering for each other thing when they're out with friends. Osamu says that big groups are already hard enough for waiters and he'd feel guilty adding any extra mental gymnastics to their plate and Suna isn't in the habit of denying Osamu anything. Besides, the logic in it is hard to fault. The friends they have in common are certifiably insane, so if they're all going out together, the staff will have enough on their hands.

It's rare that they have to put their game on hold, but tonight is one such occasion.

EJP had an away game against MSBY and Kita, Aran, Gin, and Akagi all made the trip to watch Suna and Atsumu play. It's always exciting when his friends are in the crowd. An extra incentive to show off. As if having Atsumu on the other side of the net isn't one already. Years of playing together means Suna knows exactly which snide remarks get under his skin the most. He was particularly lucky today. A well timed reminder about Atsumu's lack of no touch aces during the fourth set lead to him over aiming on his next serve and landing the ball out of bounds, cinching EJP the match.

Atsumu pointedly chooses to sit as far away from Suna as possible, dragging Osamu with him to subject him to his sulking.

That's fine. Suna sees Osamu all the time. It'll be good for him to catch up with Gin and Kita, who he ends up sandwiched between. He doesn't have to be attached at the hip to him.

This does nothing to stop Suna from leaning over to or reaching out for Osamu, only to be shocked when he's on the opposite end of the table instead.

He's pretty sure Osamu catches him do it at least twice. A small glimmer in his eyes as Suna meets them. Just enough to let him know that he still has his attention in and amongst the chaos that is their friend group.

They manage to successfully order drinks before Osamu excuses himself to go to the bathroom. He's been sniffly all day. Suna hopes he's feeling alright.

"Gahh, 'm starvin'!" Atsumu groans, throwing his head back. "I wanna order one a everything."

Gin nods like Atsumu has just offered the secret to eternal youth and happiness. "You're tellin' me. Just watchin' ya play has me starving."

Atsumu ruffles Gin's hair. Gin goes to shove him for messing up his, apparently, very deliberately styled hair, but a single glance from Kita is enough to shut that right down.

"Well, whatever ya want, it's my treat," Kita says. Because the man is incapable of committing a social faux pas.

"Awww Kita, ya don't gotta do all that. 'S not like we're in school anymore," Atsumu says.

"Just because we aren't in school anymore doesn't mean I suddenly stop looking out for you."

Suna can't help the way he sits up straighter under Kita's kind smile. Far more moved and far worse at hiding it is Atsumu, whose smile takes up the half of his face not currently occupied by his oversized glassy eyes. Really, it's gross. Suna wishes it wasn't as relatable as it is.

"Well, I'll go ahead 'n flag our waiter down."

"Wait, Osamu isn't back yet," Aran says, voicing the thought the second after Suna has it.

"'s fine," Atsumu reassures. "They've got nikuten, Samu was probably gonna get that anyways. I'll just get that for 'im."

Stubborn pride courses through Suna. Entirely uninvited and unwanted. No matter how much he tells himself that it's just a stupid game that he plays with Osamu, it's his stupid game. And Suna doesn't like sharing.

"Yeah, yer probably right." Akagi, the traitor, agrees, moving to help Atsumu flag the waiter down. "Lets just do that."

The feeling grows. Like an itch he can't quite scratch, turning his skin red and irritated. Suna bites the inside of his cheek.

"True." Now Kita's getting involved. "That's always been a favorite of his. It's likely what he'll order."

It's even worse because they're all wrong.

"No he won't." Suna interrupts before he can stop himself.

Everyone turns to look at him. The attention flusters him, but he refuses to show it, leaning back further into his chair.

"He's gonna pick kasujiru."

"Yeah right, Sunarin." Atsumu mocks with a big roll of his eyes. "'s like ya don't even know 'im at all. Samu loves nikuten. The two of us ate it all the time as kids, but ya can't hardly find it on a menu anywhere. Of course that's what he's gettin'."

It's true. Osamu does enjoy nikuten. But Suna woke up before he did this morning, and the only time that happens is when Osamu is sick or on the verge of it. Add in the fact that he's been sniffling all day and it's basically inevitable.

Osamu doesn't get sick often, but every time he does, the only thing he asks for is kasujiru. Says it's fresh and easy on his stomach and reminds him of his grandma. Even the way Osamu's voice sounds in his head when Suna imagines him saying the word kasujiru is stuffier than normal. Sitting low and scratchy in his throat.

Suna shrugs lazily. "Guess we'll just have to wait and see."

The waiter makes it back to their table just as Osamu is sliding back into his seat. They start with Akagi and go around the table the long way to give Osamu a second to look the menu over. When it gets to Atsumu, he pointedly orders nikuten while making intense eye contact with Osamu. Effectively making sure that no one can claim that Osamu didn't see nikuten on the menu.

The final person left to order is Osamu, who turns to the waiter and says, "I'll have the kasujiru, please."

All heads turn to Suna.

Suna takes a sip of his drink.

The air he puts on is unaffected, but on the inside he's anything but. Suna feels almost giddy with pride — satisfaction resting somewhere deeper than his bones.

Osamu thanks the waiter and turns back to the group, head tilting to once side as he tries to parse through what could have possibly happened which he had his back turned.

"Did I miss something?"

"Samu, ya traitor!" Atsumu yells. "I's sure ya were gonna pick the nikuten! Why'd ya have to go and order what Sunarin said ya'd get?"

"'s not my fault Rin knows me better than you."

Suna can feel Kita staring at him, but pointedly refuses to make eye contact with the other man.

"Besides," Osamu continues, "why would I let ya order for me when ya manage to fuck it up every time?"

Before Atsumu gets a chance to throttle him outright, the conversation shifts as Gin challenges everyone to see who can finish their drink the fastest, leaving anything before forgotten.

In those ways, it's just like high school.

Years have passed. They've all grown and changed. Now they have jobs and bills and taxes and retirement savings and creaky joints that don't work quite like they used to. But, somehow, when the seven of them gather around the same table, all the years and the distance melt away. The whole world condenses to the size of a volleyball court or the club room after practice.

They wind up shutting the place down. Stomachs full and cheeks warm from the alcohol.

Kita makes sure that everyone has a way of getting home safely, and is the deciding vote on if they're well enough to take the train or if they'll be calling themselves a taxi. Even though Atsumu ends up in the "needs a taxi" category, Osamu and Suna manage to remain in the "good enough to use public transit" category, which means they're graciously permitted to chaperone Atsumu back to Osamu's apartment after he weasels his way into crashing there since it's closer than his place.

Suna does not work hard to mask his disappointment on the walk home. Especially since Atsumu spends all of it complaining that Osamu never hangs out with him anymore because he's always with Suna. Whatever that means.

When they unlock the door to Osamu's place, Atsumu beelines to the kitchen to look for snacks. His steps suddenly look a lot less labored than they did outside, when they'd have to stop every couple hundred meters to drag Atsumu back to the path they were taking. Suna keeps this fact to himself while Osamu berates Atsumu for being a leech who always gets sticky fingers when he's drunk.

The three of them plop down on the couch and attempt to watch a movie, but Osamu starts nodding off in the first ten minutes and decides to just call it for the night and shower then head to bed. Suna half pays attention to the movie, half listens for Osamu to finish in the bathroom so he can go to sleep.

After a little while, Suna hears the opening and closing of doors behind him. As soon as the bedroom door closes with Osamu on the other side, Atsumu drops the fake drunk facade and turns on him.

"What're yer intentions with my baby brother?"

"The only baby here is you, asshole." Suna shoves him for good measure. "Why the fuck did you pretend to be drunk and make us drag your sorry ass all the way back here?"

He points an accusatory finger in Suna's face. "I'm not lettin' ya change the subject. Cause, frankly, 's disrespectful to force me 'n everyone else to watch the two a ya dance around each other for years, then not even have the decency to tell me when it finally happened."

Nothing is going the way that it should right now. Suna's body knows that Osamu's place is where he rests, where he's safe to let his guard down and relax, but Atsumu's words put him on the defensive.

"When what happened?"

"That ya got together."

Atsumu says it like he's found the last piece of a ten thousand piece jigsaw, but Suna can't make heads or tails of what the image in the puzzle is supposed to be. Because they're just friends. Always have been. Always will be. Osamu doesn't want to date him. The way they are together is just the way that they are. Suna doesn't need more than that.

"We aren't dating."

Atsumu is, unsurprisingly, not convinced.

"Bullshit yer not. How long's he been callin' ya Rin for? Because he sure as hell wasn't the last time I saw ya."

"It's not like I asked him to. I don't care what he calls me. Why do you?"

"So I can call ya Rin, too?"

Suna throws up a little in his mouth.

"That's disgusting."

"But it's not disgusting when Samu does it?"

"Yeah, because it's Osamu. He gets favorite twin privileges."

"Oh my god," Atsumu groans loudly, scrubbing his hands down his face. "Yer talkin' like yer defendin' yer husband's honor, but ya won't even admit ya like the guy!"

"Of course I like him, he's my friend."

"Yer bein' difficult on purpose ya damn bastard!"

There's an angry crease forming between Atsumu's eyebrows, his face scrunching as he takes in more air to yell at Suna. Then, it smooths. Atsumu forcibly calming himself down. His voice is much more controlled when he speaks again.

"Look. If ya wanna be an idiot and drag yer feet about it like ya do with everything else, that's yer business. But at least have the balls to tell Samu he won't be waitin' around forever for ya while ya figure yer shit out. He loves ya enough to let ya lead him on, but it'll be a cold day in hell before I let ya do that to him."

Suna is plunged into a frozen lake and dragged under by the current. His extremities run hot with a panicked, bone deep need to claw himself out of whatever airless vortex he's found himself in.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks, afraid of the answer.

"It means that for someone who claims to be his best friend, ya should probably know who he's in love with."

Why … why would he say that? It's cruel. Throwing that in Suna's face like it means nothing, when clearly it means something because Suna feels like he's gonna vomit.

Nothing makes sense anymore. His whole body is uncooperative. Dizzy and unsure.

"You're not making any sense. You're drunk and you're rambling and you're … you're — you don't know anything."

"Rin, you coming to bed?" Osamu calls from the doorway.

"Yeah."

Suna blinks.

The response was automatic, but under Atsumu's suspicious gaze the word settles heavy in his chest in a way it hasn't before.

"Shut up," he grits.

"Come on, Sunarin, yer suppose t'be the smart one."

Suna turns on his heel before he has to look at whatever shit eating grin Atsumu is wearing behind him.

"Sorry if he was botherin' ya." Osamu apologizes, his eyes barely open as he fights off sleep long enough to make sure that Suna makes it to bed. "Y'know how he gets when he's drunk."

All Suna can muster is a small, "Yeah." He doesn't feel like talking anymore.

Osamu accepts this easily and returns to bed, pulling Suna under the covers alongside him. He's asleep the second his head hits the pillow. A lazy arm strewn over Suna's stomach as he burrows deeper into his side.

There's a lump in Suna's throat that won't go away, no matter how many times he tries to swallow it down. Sleep will not come for him, so he runs his fingers gently through Osamu's hair and studies the gentle lines of his face. Under the cover of night, where no one else can see him, Suna lets himself wonder why he won't let himself have this while he's awake.

/////

i pay attention to you.

"Rin," Osamu lilts.

"Hmm?"

Suna barely looks up from the TV.

They've spent all day binging some murder mystery show Motoya hasn't been able to shut up about. It's the last week before pre-season training starts. Suna always spends this week with Osamu, soaking up as much time with him as he can before readjusting to training leaves him so tired that he can barely get out of bed on his days off.

That's all this week is. The standard Osamu Time stockpiling he does every year, like a bear eating a big meal before hibernation. There's nothing different or weird about it. Atsumu's words aren't getting to him. He hasn't thought about them every day since.

It's more that recent events have encouraged Suna to gather more information. To pay more attention. To notice things.

He still doesn't know what he's looking for, but he's confident he'll know it when he finds it.

"That's the third hajikete you've had since dinner," Osamu's voice cuts through his thoughts.

Suna glances down at the pile of wrappers and half eaten snacks littering the coffee table in front of him. His eyes lingering on the several crushed soda cans that seem to have captured Osamu's attention.

"Mhm."

"And it's past ten."

Suna glances at the clock on the wall. It reads eleven thirty seven.

"It is."

Osamu blinks at him.

Suna blinks back.

After several seconds of confused silence, Osamu's worry becoming more palpable with each passing one, Suna speaks first.

"So are we just saying things that are true or —"

"You're gonna have nightmares."

What the fuck is he talking about?

Suna turns to fully face Osamu, blinking hard enough to clear away the dryness in his eyes from staring at a screen for hours on end. His vision clears enough to register the concern written all over Osamu's face. The way he worries the corner of his mouth. How round and wide his eyes have grown as they diligently observe him.

For as much as Suna understands Osamu, sometimes he makes no sense at all.

"What're you talking about? I don't get nightmares."

"Suna."

"And even if I did, it's not like hajikete causes nightmares."

Now Osamu's back to blinking at him.

"How's it possible for someone t'be so smart, but so dense at the same time?"

Osamu thinks he's smart?

"Yer the only person on the whole planet who gets nightmares when ya have too much sugar and ya haven't ever noticed?"

His instinct is to dismiss Osamu out of hand, but his unwavering certainty convinces Suna to at least think about it for a second before following thorough on that plan.

Suna almost never dreams. When he wakes up, it's with a groggy feeling that he does his best to shake off with caffeine and that's about it. Even if he did remember what he dreamed about, he finds hearing about other people's dreams incredibly boring so never bothers to share his own on principle.

"What makes you think I get nightmares?"

Osamu almost starts talking, then closes his mouth abruptly. Almost like he's shutting himself up. He stops meeting Suna's gaze and starts chewing at the inside of his cheek.

"Never mind," he mutters unconvincingly.

"Well now you have to tell me."

"Forget it, 's embarassing."

"More than the rest of your life?"

"Yer gonna make fun'a me."

Suna holds out his pinky.

Osamu eyes it suspiciously.

"Promise?"

Suna can't help but be endeared by Osamu's attempt to figure out what the catch is here. There isn't one, obviously, but a lifetime with Atsumu will certainly make it feel like there always is. Osamu extends his hand gingerly, like he's worried about something jumping out to bite him if he moves too quickly and spooks it.

"Promise," Suna soothes. He moves his pinky closer to Osamu's but waits for him to be the one to initiate intertwining them.

Osamu's always had rough hands. The plight of a spiker. Callouses and cuts from repetitively hitting a ball as hard as you can. The trade off is the strength that comes with it. The thick forearms and the grip strength and the prominent veins.

Its only gotten more pronounced since he started Onigiri Miya. His hands and forearms are just as muscled, reinforced by the repetitive motions of chopping vegetables and forming onigiri. His skin is softer than it used to be though. Suna can't help but notice it as Osamu links their hands to accept his pinky promise.

After their promise is made, neither of them move to release their hold on the other, so Suna takes their joined hands and lays them on his knee.

Osamu blushes. Probably just because he's embarrassed about whatever words he's about to say.

"I just … well, I've been around ya forever, so I notice stuff. Usually ya sleep like the dead n' ya don't move at all. But sometimes ya'll get all twitchy n' move around a lot. Then when ya finally wake up on the twitchy days, yer all moody n' distant til ya fully wake up n' shake off whatever nightmare-funk yer still in."

The data collection part of his brain is firing off alarms and working overtime because that sounds so sweet and attentive and real. Heat pools in the center of his chest. So hot that Suna's scared he might burn alive. The attention more than he can handle. He needs to put out this fire. Snuff it before he has a chance to actually follow that line to its conclusion.

"Aww, 'Samu. You keeping me safe while I'm asleep?" He preens, turning it into a joke before it can turn into anything else.

Osamu narrows his eyes. "That sounds suspiciously like you making fun of me."

"I'm offended at the insinuation."

This is good. Suna feels like he can breathe again. The heat dissipating with each passing second. It's normal again. It's …

Wait.

Beside him, Osamu merely huffs. He's staring somberly at their joined hands. Suna watches Osamu fall into himself, sinking away like his heart stepped on quick sand and is being swallowed whole before him.

That isn't right. That's not what he wants.

Osamu would never tell him (he really lets Suna get away with too much), but Suna can see that he went too far. That he struck a nerve somehow. And since he's the one who fucked up, it's his job to make this right.

Somehow.

Well, Suna knows how. But how is scary. How is vulnerable. How is messy. How has him bargaining to take a vow of silence and never say another word again.

He really doesn't want to. But for Osamu …

"If it makes you feel better, you're not the only one."

He'll brave the heat a little longer.

Osamu stares at him, dazed. "Huh?"

"I've watched you sleep before. It's … soothing."

"Soothing?"

Osamu is looking at him again. Suna nods at him slowly, fully pinned by the intensity of his focus.

"I like knowing that you're ok."

His voice is a damn traitor. Drying up and holding on around the edges. Leaving no air left for his words by the time they left his mouth, breathless and insecure. Something in Osamu's presence shifts. Softens.

Neither of them say anything, but neither of them need to.

They turn their show back on and stay there for a little while longer. Suna doesn't remember how he got to Osamu's bed after nodding off on the couch. He does vaguely remember waking up for a second in the middle of the night. Disoriented and sweaty and scared.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of his consciousness, he can make out the sound of Osamu's voice mumbling There you are, barely awake. The feeling of Osamu pulling him closer, tucking Suna's head into the crook of his neck.

When he wakes up for real, Osamu is scrolling on his phone beside him.

"Morning, sunshine. Ya sleep alright?"

Suna makes a phlegmy grunting sound from the back of his throat. "Five more minutes."

Osamu's wry smile is the last thing he sees before falling asleep again.

Five more minutes turns out to be however long it takes for Osamu to get breakfast ready. Suna smells the bacon sizzling before he hears it, crackling as the oils pops in the skillet.

Upon opening his eyes, he pulls out his phone and starts scrolling. He has a few email from his coaches about their practice schedule for next week that makes Suna want to throw his phone against a wall. Then he sees a text from Atsumu come through with one too many eye emojis in the preview and does rear his arm back to throw his phone. It's all so stupid, but he's so frustrated and just needs to —

"Hope yer not aimin' that thing at me," Osamu says from the doorway.

Suna's neck snaps to face him, which promptly causes him to wince at the intensity of the stretch so early in the morning. Osamu is carrying a tray that he sets down next to Suna on the bed. On it, is a simple breakfast of eggs, bacon, some fruit, and toast with jam and butter that Osamu has patterned into small squares to look like a checkerboard.

"For me?"

"No, for my other house guest."

Suna snatches the handle and yanks the tray into his lap. He begins stabbing at the food on his plate.

"You're staring at me," Suna accuses without looking up. It's obvious even without seeing him that Osamu is silently waiting for him to snap. The whole thing makes him feel like he's being treated with kid gloves for some fucking reason, which only makes him want to snap more and now Suna is pissed off at himself for even wanting to be pissed off in the first place.

"Just weighin' if sayin' I told ya so is worth gettin' my head snapped off."

Suna glowers at him. Osamu, the damn charmer, smiles back.

"Shuttin' up it is," Osamu decides.

They sit in silence as Suna finishes his breakfast. Osamu's food is like magic, curing all the sloshed up feelings inside of him. Turning what seemed like it was sure to be a shit day into something good.

Maybe that's just Osamu.

Suna takes the small orange off his plate and begins to peel it. He examines both halves and hands the one with the least white stringy bits to Osamu.

"Ok," Suna acquiesces. "You can say it now."

"Say what?"

"That you told me I'd have nightmares and wake up being a bitch."

"Oh, that." Osamu knocks their shoulders together. "Yeah, I told ya so."

Suna laughs unbidden, once loudly from the center of his chest before settling into a hum.

"I can't believe ya hadn't figured it out." Osamu says absently. "I mean, it's been happenin' for years. Have ya never thought to ask why before?"

It hits Suna all at once.

Not just about the fact that he does apparently get nightmares when he has too much sugar late at night. His disgruntled mood and Osamu's certainty about the cause too damning to ignore. But about everything.

Suna just accepts that all his free time gets spent with Osamu. That Osamu is his favorite person. His emergency contact, even though he lives three hours away. The first person he wants to tell when anything happens. The only one he wants to call him Rin. That Suna kissed him without thinking. That all of his favorite memories are the ones where Osmau is right beside him. That being apart from Osamu is the reason that Suna learned what homesickness felt like.

Individually, any of those things might just be friendship. But put them all together and demand to know why …

Suna looks at Osamu's upturned palm and finally understands the question it's asking.

Why do you let me do this? Will you let me do it again?

And he will.

Suna will spend forever letting Osamu. Over and over and over again, in whatever way he wants him.

Because Suna is in love with Osamu.

/////

i take care of you.

Suna is a lot of things, but he isn't a very good liar. Other people assume he is, which he's just chalked up to his neutral expression reading as boredom to people who don't know him well.

What he's actually good at is avoiding things.

Avoiding is different than ignoring. It's more honest. Ignoring would get him off the hook entirely. It's a one and done method. No matter what the situation, a solid Nope is all it takes to get out of having to talk about it. He wishes he was better at that, but he hasn't figured out how to stop his brain from picking at an idea once he's gotten a hold of it.

Meanwhile, avoiding is a solar system of circumvention that orbits around the Thing at the center. It stays aware of all the ways the Thing could rear its head during conversation and thinks ten steps ahead to keep it from showing up in the first place. And it's only worth all this trouble because lying about the Thing not existing at all is more than his horrible poker face will let him get away with.

It's easier to fool strangers, since they don't know what all the cracks in his facade mean. But Osamu has memorized all of Suna's with the discernment of a kintsugi master. He doesn't stand a chance with him.

Suna spends the whole train ride steading himself for what's to come. He just needs to get through this weekend. To prove to himself that just because he's in love with Osamu, nothing has to change between them.

The routine makes it easier to prepare. Suna always knows exactly what's going to come next. Stopping at Eiji's restaurant. Going home. Sharing a meal. Getting ready for bed. Sleeping together.

All of it is so normal, yet Suna feels anything but.

There's static every time they touch. Sometimes it's electric. A jolt that sparks through his veins and threatens to set him on fire. Other times it's the low whirring sound from a radio or old TV, drowning out any other thoughts besides OsamuOsamuOsamuOsamuOsamu.

Suna doesn't sleep very much at all that night.

Exhaustion weighs so heavily on his limbs that Osamu has to lure him out of bed with the promise of treating him to coffee from the cafe down the street. The flutter in Suna's heart at the invitation makes him want to shove a pillow over his face and scream until he runs out of air, but coffee does sound nice. Maybe if he's more awake he'll have the brain power to keep himself from doing anything stupid.

They order for each other at the cafe, but it's nothing new, even for their game. Neither of them have changed their coffee orders since high school.

"I can't believe ya still insist on havin' yer coffee iced when it's this cold outside."

Suna sorts. "I don't see why you're complaining that I'm making it easier for you to win."

"'s no fun if it's just a gimme."

The teasing in his tone darkens his voice just a hair. His eyes go with it, turning half lidded at the prospect of working for it. Suna is caught like a bug in a spider's web. The silk of fate wrapping tighter around him, taking all his air, leaving him desperate for more —

"Order for Suna." The barista calls, setting two drinks on the counter.

Suna turns a little too abruptly, tripping over his own feet to break free of whatever trance Osamu had him under.

That was too close.

It's a small blessing, but Osamu seems none the wiser. Accepting his drink with a smile that absolutely doesn't send Suna's heart racing and calling out a thank you to the cafe employees over his shoulder. He holds the door open for Suna as they start their walk back home.

The sun has barely risen, the early morning chill sharp and unavoidable. Suna hadn't thought much of it when they left, practically sleepwalking his way towards caffeine. Now that he's actually awake, he's aware enough to recognize how fucking cold it is. The corners of his eyes water as the sharp wind cuts through him. He'll never say it out loud, but he can feel his fingers starting to go numb around his cup.

His eyes drift to Osamu's hands, wrapped around his warm cup. Steam billows off his drink as he brings it to his lips. It's like he's made for this. The cold bringing out the grey of his eyes, the milky expanse of his skin. He's handsome in every season, but especially this one.

Suna scolds himself for the thought.

He still doesn't know what to do about … everything. The only thing he's certain of is that he can't burden Osamu with feelings he can't possibly reciprocate. That's a surefire way to ruin the best thing that's ever happened to him.

"Ya look miserable. Here."

And before he has a chance to respond or question it, Osamu is taking off his jacket and wrapping it around Suna. The warmth of his body so close. The smell of his coat. The way the fabric feels as Suna rubs the lining between his fingers. It's overwhelming.

Osamu faces Suna so he can pull the jacket around him tighter, readjusting it to make sure that Suna is as covered as possible.

"What about you?"

"I always run hot. Don't act like ya don't know. We share a bed after all."

He makes it sound lighthearted, but it doesn't feel that way to Suna. It has his heart thudding and remembering and imagining all at once. If only his traitorous heart could understand that these rabbit holes it's begging to go down are just going to hurt him in the end.

It doesn't matter that Osamu offered him his jacket, because he would've done that for anyone. It doesn't matter that Suna knows what it's like to share a bed with Osamu, because it's only a habit they stumbled into on accident. It doesn't matter that —

But maybe it does.

Because Osamu is red from the high points of his cheeks all the way down to his neck. More than he should be from the cold, even without his jacket. More than that, Osamu can't keep his eyes on the path in front of them. Suna keeps catching him, stealing glances. His face only getting redder in the seconds where he knows he's been caught.

Their eyes meet, and for a second the world narrows to just the man in front of him. His lips slightly parted and his breath sitting high in his chest and his chin tilting ever so slightly to one side, almost like he might —

Osamu clears his throat. They both keep walking as though nothing happened.

He's probably just imagining it.

/////

i want to know what you think.

Osamu has too many friends.

Specifically, too many friends opening restaurants in Osaka that make Suna feel like he's getting ready for a date.

He stands in from of the mirror in the bedroom, trying to get his hair and his heart to cooperate. Both of them going completely out of control, stretching off in odd directions and requiring a heavy amount of wrangling. Osamu is somewhere in the living room getting ready. Not that he needs it. Suna caught a glimpse of him earlier, and he's unfairly gorgeous yet again.

Hence, Suna's need to get himself in check to make it through dinner.

It's getting harder to avoid doing something that might very well ruin their friendship. Osamu is good to him, but that's just because he's a good person. He's always been like this, their whole lives. Suna will never forgive himself if he does something to fuck this all up. He would never want to take advantage of Osamu's heart or confuse his actions for things they aren't.

The drive to the restaurant comes with the comforts of Osamu's truck and his radio and his steady presence. It's starting to get too chilly at night to leave the windows down when they go places.

Osamu's friend is there to greet them when they arrive and already knows who Suna is and that he's Osamu's date tonight.

Except this isn't a date, and Suna really needs to stop letting himself pretend like it is. Osamu getting flustered and punching his friend in the shoulder for calling it that only proves it further. He can't bring himself to look at Suna as they're shown to where they'll be sitting.

There's only about twenty seats in the whole place. Two long tables parallel to each other with the chef's workspace in the center. There seem to be four chefs, one in a white chef's coat and three others clad in all black.

It's surprisingly bright. Allowing everyone to see the chef's prep work for the evening. Bowls of ingredients chopped with the utmost precision. Plates and serveware lined up in rows so neat they must have been measured with a ruler. It's nothing like the way Osamu cooks, which he self describes as rustic.

The friend places them on the far side of one of the two tables. Osamu takes the seat near the stranger, but keeps himself angled towards Suna in his chair. The friend doesn't step behind the counter. Instead making his way back to the host stand after making sure the two of them are settled.

Once he's out of earshot, Suna leans over and says, "I thought you said your friend was the chef."

"Yeah, Hirooki's a friend, but he ain't the chef." Osamu juts his chin towards the woman in the white chef's coat who's currently speaking to the group next to them. "Ayaka is. Her and Hirooki have been together forever though. He handles more of the front of house stuff since he's … uhm —"

"You can just say he can't cook for shit," Ayaka says, materializing in front of them. "It's not like he'll be around to spit in your food." She winks.

"Ayaka, hey," Osamu smiles warmly. "Good to see ya. This is —"

"Suna," she interrupts before he can finish. Because, of course, this is part of their routine.

"Suna," Osamu echoes.

Suna's cheeks can't help but warm with the fondness in Osamu's tone when he says his name. It happens without any preamble, so Suna doesn't have a chance to steady himself before his face suddenly feels like it's on fire. He takes a deep breath, fighting to get it under control as quick as he can, but Ayaka is quicker. He sees her see him, but she schools her expression to neutral and doesn't comment on it. Suna hates being so transparent, but at least she seems to be in his corner.

He can only hope Osamu didn't notice too.

"Well, I won't keep you. I just came by to check if there were any allergies I needed to be aware of before we begin service."

"None here. We're in yer hands." Osamu answers for both of them.

She nods once then makes her way to the next group she has to check in with.

Looking at Osamu still feels too volatile, so Suna stares at the menu in front of him instead. It's omakase, so it's less of a menu, and more a piece of paper letting him know what he'll be having tonight. He's never heard of half the ingredients before, but Osamu has high standards, so it's bound to be good.

Hirooki comes by with a wine list for them to look over, so Suna leans in, eyes scanning the menu for what he thinks Osamu will like best. They've stopped keeping score ever since Suna declared himself the victor, but they still order for each other. It makes Suna proud that he knows Osamu well enough to make him happy with what he picks for him. That he's the only one Osamu trusts with something so precious to him as his next meal.

"So, what're we thinking?" Hirooki returns to ask a few minutes later.

"He'll have a glass of the Sancerre Blanc."

"And he'll have the Kyoeido Orange…" Osamu scrunches his mouth off to one side in concentration. Suna chastises the part of his brain that immediately labels it cute. "Ehh, actually, let's just get a bottle a the Sancerre. 's a special occasion after all."

"Is it?"

Suna can't remember any reason why today's anything special. It's not anyone's birthday or a holiday or —

"Yeah, yer in town."

Suna's heart catches in his throat. Before he can stop himself, he's looking at Osamu. Big grey eyes wide and warm. How can he say things like that so casually? How can Suna be expected to not fall for him when he does?

"You two are so cute together."

By the time they both turn their heads to Hirooki — to explain that it's actually all a big misunderstanding and they aren't like that — he's already moved on to the next group.

For Osamu, this is just another regular weekend with Suna in town. The two of them doing the things they always do. He starts guessing which course the various mise en place (his words) will be used for each dish, whispering and pointing conspiratorially like the two of them are in on some big secret.

The distraction would be more welcome if Suna could get out of his big, dumb head enough to actually be distracted by it. Instead he's fixated on the way Osamu's breath feels as it flutters across his ears and cheeks. The goosebumps it sends down his arms. The way their forearms are pressed together and neither of them make an effort to move them.

All of the electrons that form up the atoms in his skin are buzzing at a rate that can't be normal. Suna is sure he'll combust, will cease to exist entirely, if he can't stop his mind from wandering to what this all means.

The first thing his eyes go to is the two people directly across from them. Two women, clearly well aquatinted. Friends, certainly. Probably a little older than he is. They're sitting just how he and Osamu are, pointing at the workspace in front of them and whispering to each other. One of them absently twists the ring the other one wears on her thumb.

Osamu would do that to him and they aren't a couple. That's a regular, friend thing. That's all Osamu sees him as. That's all Suna is acting like they are. That's all they'll ever be to each other. It doesn't matter that Suna wants more because Osamu doesn't and that's fine. It's fine that he only gets Osamu like this.

Because even though they're just friends, there are still things they get to share with just each other. Meals and weekends and knowing looks and a bed and gossip and good news and silence.

This can all be enough. It has to be.

Each course is better than the last. Osamu watches Suna's face as he bites into each dish placed in front of him before even acknowledging his own. Giving Suna his full focus before giving it to his food.

Every time it starts to feel like too much, Suna looks directly ahead. Watches the two women do the same things Osamu is and reminds himself that this is what friendship is.

It always amazes him that it's possible to get full from so many small plates, but he's grateful to see Ayaka begin preparing dessert. His stomach can't handle much more.

Watching someone in the zone is mesmerizing, no matter what they're doing. Ayaka is clearly in her element, moving with a gracefulness and precision that Suna can only hope to replicate when he's playing. She arranges twenty identical plates in four neat rows of five and begins plating. One of the sous chefs comes behind her and wipes any errant crumbs before Ayaka starts back at the beginning and confirms every plate is up to her standards.

Then she pulls out a small velvet box from a side pocket on her apron. That can't be food, right?

His line of sight is temporarily blocked by the three sous chefs, who form a quasi-human shield around Ayaka. A moment later, she turns to face him, and for a split second the light catches on the dessert. A small prism shining as she moves.

Suna feels his mouth go dry.

Because sticking out of the top of the dessert is a fucking engagement ring. And Ayaka is setting it down in front of the two women Suna has been taking solace in all night.

The woman on the end is completely caught off guard. She looks at her partner and pulls her into a tight embrace. Nodding her head into her now fianée's shoulder as she repeats Yes over and over again, tears straining her voice.

The applause and well wishes of the other diners sounds like it's happening in another room, not right next to him.

This … this is …

How the fuck did Suna forget about lesbians? Of course they were lesbians.

Now that it's spelled out painfully obviously for him, he's even more of a delusional idiot than he thought for ever comparing him and Osamu to the two of them.

Suna can't force any words out for the rest of the meal. His mind recalibrating and reordering faster than he can keep up.

Because Suna doesn't get things like this. He's not the special one. People don't go out of their way for him. He's no one's first choice. Nothing Suna is capable of is so unique that it can only come from him, so he's just a placeholder while they wait for the real thing. For something so raw and revolutionary that Suna could never hope to compare. In his career, with his family, at school, around his friends — everyone always has someone they'd pick over him, and that's fine. That's the way it is.

These things aren't for Suna to have, but it feels like Osamu is offering them anyway.

Why does it have to feel so attainable? Why does he have to know that it would work so well if it could be real? Why is he so certain that happiness isn't as vivid, as vibrant, as real, if it isn't something shared with Osamu? Why is it usually so easy to tell what Osamu is thinking, but this feels impossible to figure out? Why did he see so much of the two of them in that couple tonight?

The whole journey home is a blur. Suna can't concretely place where he is until Osamu is wrapping the throw blanket from the couch around his shoulders. The fabric grounding and familiar as Suna rubs it between his fingers.

His turmoil can't be subtle, but Osamu doesn't prod. He's just extra gentle with Suna. Giving him space. Trusting that he knows Suna well enough to know how to keep him company until he's ready to talk about it.

And Suna is not ready. He barely knows what he's thinking on his own. He can't imagine trying to figure it out and explain it to Osamu at the same time. He just needs to wait. Needs to wait a little while longer until —

"Osamu?"

But, the thing is, his lungs are right next to his traitorous heart, which seems to be committed to pushing him off the deep end. Ready or not.

"Yeah?"

Osamu is in the kitchen. Suna isn't looking at him, but he can hear the sounds of the kettle boiling and cabinets closing.

"Are we already dating?"

The noises from the kitchen slow. Floorboards creaking as Osamu steadies himself. The silence goes on for so long that Suna almost turns around to check on him, but he knows if he does, he's liable to pretend that it's all a joke and he couldn't handle the heartache if Osamu agreed.

"Is that something you'd want?"

Osamu's voice is soft. Far away. It feels like it's happening in a memory. Like the person asking isn't Osamu himself, but the version of him that persists when sleep overtakes Suna and dreaming isn't quite so scary.

Suna considers the question.

Dating Osamu is something that he wants very much. Adding in the word already though …

It's starting to make sense that based on their actions, they might have crossed whatever line in the sand exists between friend and boyfriend a long time ago. He doesn't know when it happened, and isn't it a shame that he missed so much of it? What he's wanted for longer than he's known he needed it and it's all happening in the rear view mirror behind him. Already over and done before he even had a chance to appreciate it.

He's missed so much already, couldn't handle missing anything else.

"No."

The sound of a mug shattering on the kitchen floor jolts Suna out of his head and back to reality. He turns to see Osamu staring at the shards of glass by his feet with an expression that looks even more broken.

"Oh …"

Oh, fuck Suna is such an idiot.

"Osamu, wait, I didn't mean —"

"'s fine, Rin. 's not a big deal. I'll just …" Osamu's movement stutters. "I'm gonna go."

"This is your house."

"Please don't make this any harder than it already is."

There are tears in his eyes as Osamu looks back at him.

Suna has never hated himself more.

"Osamu!"

But he's already out the door. The slam of it behind him echoing through the apartment. Suna curses under his breath then takes off after him.

Osamu has always been faster than him. He's already at the bottom of the stairs by the time Suna makes it to the hallway. A hair's breadth away from walking out the door and heading who knows where. Suna has to get creative. Doesn't know how to stop him. How to keep him here. What to say. How to —

"Please just listen to me!"

Osamu freezes with his hand on the doorknob. He doesn't turn around, but that's ok. He's no longer actively fleeing. That's kinda all he can ask for right now. Suna holds his ground, worried that moving closer will spook Osamu and send him running again. This is likely the last chance he'll get. Suna chooses his next words carefully.

"I …"

Fuck, this is hard.

How do people do this? Just … say what they mean. Out loud. To another person. Especially when the thing they're saying and the person they're saying it to both matter so much. Suna is so used to trusting that Osamu knows exactly what he means without having to spell it out that it feels weird to have to.

Suna studies the tension in Osamu's back and wills it to go away. He takes a deep breath. Whether he means to or not, Osamu takes a deep breath too. Space returning between his shoulders and his ears. In this way, his body betrays his heart. Osamu has always been a pushover when it comes to Suna. Always willing to stay and listen, just because Suna asked.

Suna won't take this for granted.

He opens his mouth.

Nothing comes out.

He takes another breath.

He tries again.

"I don't want to already be dating because that means I missed all of our firsts. I'm not as smart as you give me credit for, you know. I miss things. The first time I kissed you, I didn't realize what I'd done until that night. I also missed the moment where it changed for me. Where I didn't want you to just be my friend. Where I realized … realized that I …"

Suna swallows around what remains unsaid, eyes dropping to the ground in front of him. He rolls the hem of his shirt between his thumb and pointer finger. "Basically, it's all still new for me. And maybe I'm an idiot for taking so long, since you've probably known how I feel the whole time. But, I've missed a lot and I don't want to miss anything else. I want you —"

Osamu is hugging him. Holding him close and wrapping his arms tightly around his middle and burrowing his face into Suna's neck. Suna's arms are around him in an instant. Threading his fingers through his dark hair. Pulling him close. Not letting him go. Relishing what it feels like to hold him while he's awake.

"Oh, thank god." Osamu's voice hiccups. "I was so scared, Rin."

He sounds like he's holding back tears. Suna adjusts them to look Osamu over and sees his big grey eyes have gone all glassy around the centers.

"I thought … fuck, I thought ya were tellin' me ya didn't love me back. Don't scare me like that." Osamu traces Suna's cheeks with his thumbs. It makes him feel precious.

"I won't," Suna vows.

Osamu's face flickers like candlelight. Overcome with something Suna can't quite place because it's changing by the second. Creating shadows that dance between —

The candlelight turns into a bonfire as Osamu surges forward and kisses him. Suna stumbles at the force of it. Raw, blistering heat that begs to consume him like kindling.

The kiss is messy. It's intense. It's about a decade overdue.

Suna can't believe how lucky he is.

Osamu pulls him closer, steady hands resting along either side of his jaw, keeping him in place. It gives Suna the freedom to let his hands wonder. Tracing the divot in his back between his shoulder blades. Squeezing the slimmest part of his waste. Drifting lower. Kneading the meat of his ass.

Osamu keens forward. Gasping into Suna's mouth. The newfound space is delicious. He traces it with his tongue. Osamu pulls at his hair. It burns, but he needs it to. He lets Osamu drag his head to once side and groans when he starts kissing down his neck. The sound comes out like a fractured version of Osamu's name, which only reinvigorates him.

"I like the way ya say my name, Rin." Osamu's breath is hot against his ear. Suna considers it an act of divine intervention that he remains upright, his knees threatening to give out from under him.

He shows his gratitude for the miracle by worshiping the divine that is Osamu. Kissing him again and again until he can't tell where one of them ends and the other beings, and Suna is thus made divine too.

Suna takes a gasping breath of air. Osamu does the same. Panting and staring at Suna open mouthed. Eyes full of wonder and reverence.

"I can't even begin to tell ya how long I've been waitin' to do that," His voice is ragged and Suna swells with pride at being the one to make him sound like that.

"So tell me then."

"Hmm?"

"Tell me how long you've wanted to do that for."

Osamu makes a groaning sound in the back of his throat. He lulls his head off to the side and tries to squirm away, but Suna holds him even tighter.

"'s just gonna make ya even more insufferable than ya already are."

Suna shrugs. "Maybe. But you love me anyways."

"Yeah," Osamu breathes, the high points of his cheeks going pink. "I do."

/////

i want to celebrate you.

One month later is the fourth of October, and Suna finds himself yet again on the train between Shizuoka and Osaka. He thinks back to every other time he's taken this route. Watching through the window as the scenery changes, picking up on the little landmarks that let him know that Osamu is near.

Now more than ever it feels like coming home.

Suna walks off the train and almost runs straight into Osamu, waiting for him on the platform. He blinks several time in quick succession.

"What're you doing in here?"

Osamu never waits for him inside. He wouldn't believe that what he's seeing was real if Osamu wasn't pressed against him, solid and warm.

"I didn't want to wait any longer." He threads their fingers together and leads Suna by the hand. Deftly navigating them around other travelers as they make their way to his truck.

Osamu untangles their fingers just as long as it takes for him to put Suna's bag in the trunk and pull him into a tight hug and sit down behind the wheel. Before the key is even in the ignition, he's pulled Suna's hand on top of the glove box and has it intertwined with his. He rubs small circles into the top of Suna's palm with his thumb as he drives. At a stop light, Suna brings their connected hands to his lips and presses a kiss into Osamu's fingertips. Osamu squeezes his hand.

Eiji is happy to see them when they walk through the front door. They order for each other without hesitation, Suna finally having come to terms with the fact that he does get the same thing every time he's here. He finds that he doesn't really care to breaking the habit.

Almost as soon as they've finished ordering, their food is ready. Eiji hands it off to Suna, not Osamu, this time. Along with another unmarked bag, which Suna thanks him profusely for.

When they're back in his truck, Osamu asks, "What was that all about?"

"You know what they say," Suna lilts, blinking lazily at Osamu. "Good things come to those who wait."

He's still getting a handle on how to flirt with Osamu on purpose. According to Osamu, Suna had apparently been flirting with him for months without realizing. All of it exists in Suna's head under the nebulous umbrella of how he is with Osamu, so it's been hard to parse through what makes him just saying things and him flirting different.

This seems to count as flirting to Osamu. His cheeks flush a pale pink and he takes a few seconds to reboot before retorting, "Fine, keep yer secrets."

Suna keeps the extra bag safely stowed on his lap for their drive home, racing up the stairs to hide in the the fridge before Osamu gets a chance to peak. Osamu isn't far behind him. He carries Suna's duffel bag over one shoulder and deposits it in their room.

"Ya gonna tell me what yer hidin' yet?"

"That's not very patient of you, Osamu."

"I'm not very patient, Rin."

"Interesting. I seem to recall you saying that you've had a crush on me since we were teenagers, but were waiting for me to figure it out before making a move on me."

"I knew tellin' ya that was a mistake."

Suna kisses him as consolation. "Somehow, I think you'll live."

Osamu pouts, so Suna kisses him again. Painting his face with kiss after kiss until he's smiling again.

They work in tandem to get dinner plated. Suna snagging them each a beer from the fridge and making sure that Osamu doesn't cheat. They're back on House Hunters International. This time the home buyers are a professional cornhole referee and a topiary artist, so another good one.

Once their meal is nothing more than clean plates, Osamu lays with his back against Suna's chest. Suna runs his fingers through Osamu's hair, feeling his partner relax under his touch. When sleep threatens to overtake them both, Suna lets Osamu shower first. After the water stops running and the bathroom is free, Suna takes longer than necessary. Biding his time and drawing out the minutes.

Osamu is an old man (he insists that it's chef hours doing this to him, but even in high school he was horrible at staying up late), so Suna knows he's liable to pass out early. Suna also knows that Osamu doesn't like to go to sleep without him when he's over.

He's really banking on that for what comes next.

Satisfied that he's wasted the appropriate amount of time, Suna wanders from the bathroom to the kitchen. He's been scheming with Eiji for two weeks to make sure this would even be possible, and the older man was able to pick it up on Suna's behalf.

Osamu has managed to take Suna to almost all of his favorite spots in Osaka over the years. The sole exception is this hole in the wall bakery on the far side of town that only makes cheesecake. Osamu says it's so good that he actually refuses to eat cheesecake made by anyone else now.

The bakery is run entirely by a retired grandma, so the hours are super inconsistent and hard to predict. The two times they've made the trip out there, the only thing waiting for them had been a hand written sign on the door that her back was bothering her again and to try again next week.

Turns out, she and Eiji used to be neighbors and she was the one who helped him apply for culinary school back when he was first starting out. This only further proves Suna's theory that all restaurateurs know each other. Specifically that all restaurateurs know Osamu, whose good will with his community Suna is able to leverage into some culinary nepotism.

Suna fishes the bag out of the fridge and opens the box inside of it for the first time. He whistles under his breath. She really out did herself with this. He rummages around in the kitchen drawers for a lighter, adding the candles Eiji gave him to the top of the cheesecake, lighting each of them in turn. Suna glances over to the clock at the wall one last time before slowly opening the door to their bedroom.

"There ya are, ya took —" Osamu stops mid-sentence as he sees Suna doing his best to shield the cake with his arm as he moves closer. "What're ya doin'?"

"It's midnight."

Osamu stares at him blankly, too tired to be satisfied with that answer.

"It's your birthday."

It takes him another few seconds to fully register what Suna is saying. The moment where it finally clicks is cradled in the half haze of almost sleep, but not quite. His guard is lowered so he lets the surprise and curiosity and wonder that would normally stay couched in composure play out unbridled across his face.

The only thought in Suna's head is I can't believe he's mine. I can't believe I get to see this. I can't believe he loves me back.

He makes space for Suna next to him on the bed, accepting the cheesecake readily into his lap.

"Go on." Suna gestures towards the cake, well aware of the wax dripping down the sides of the candles. "Make a wish."

Osamu thinks for a second. Closes his eyes. Blows out his candle.

When he opens his eyes again, Suna produces two forks. They take bites straight from the cheesecake, skipping the step of slicing it entirely.

Suna watches as Osamu brings his first bite to his lips. His mouth closes around the fork. He chews once. Twice.

Then his eyes go wide. Darting between the cheesecake and Suna. Trying to make sense of the information his taste buds are telling him and what his eyes are seeing and how Suna connects the two.

"You … but … — her back has been bothering her again. Her shop's been closed all week. And ya didn't stop — how did you —"

"Let's just say that you're very well loved."

There will be time for a full explanation tomorrow, if he's actually interested in it. But this is really the thing at the heart of it.

Osamu is easy to love.

Suna knows it. Their friends know it. Osamu's community in Osaka knows it. All he has to do is offer them all a concrete way to show it, and it's as good as done.

Osamu kisses him on the cheek. "'s true, ya love me very well."

They polish off half the cheesecake before deciding to save the rest for tomorrow. Suna puts it away in the fridge.

Nighttime suits their bedroom. The curtains sway easily as the breeze floats in the open window. A little cold, but Osamu is warm enough for the both of them. He opens his arms, making space for Suna, letting him rest his head just above his heart.

"So, you gonna tell me what you wished for, or will that jinx it?" Suna murmurs.

"It wouldn't matter either way." Osamu holds him tighter. "It already came true."