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It’s a relatively slow day at Onigiri Miya, and Osamu is honestly just counting down the hours until he can call it a day and close up shop. His bathroom had just been remodeled, and his new bathtub was his favorite place to be at the end of a long day. Sundays were always slower than Fridays and Saturdays, and not for the first time he was strongly considering making it his official day off and closing the store.
Inventory had been taken, the wooden floors were gleaming, matching the rest of the pristine restaurant, and he’d even gotten ahead on his paperwork for once. With nothing left to occupy himself, he finally allows himself to see why his phone had been vibrating incessantly for the past hour. He tried to ignore it for as long as possible; he already knew it was Atsumu’s dumbass blowing him up. The freeloader endlessly begging for food or attention.
When he unlocks his phone, he’s unsurprised to see several unread messages from Atsumu. More surprisingly, though, the Inarazaki group chat that usually sits half-dead unless a get-together is around the corner is moving at an unusually fast pace.
The most recent text is from Omimi, taunting Suna for finally being embarrassed after being the king of nonchalance, and from Atsumu, saying maybe there is a god. He can’t deny his intrigue as the team catching Suna doing anything remotely embarrassing is almost unheard of. Suna’s default state is unbothered unless he’s amused by successfully ragebaiting someone.
He snorts at the meme Suna sends in the chat and asks what he missed. Suna responds with “pls dont,” but it’s too late, as Gin has already sent the link.
There are no customers in the store, so with a shrug of his shoulders, he clicks the YouTube link and wonders what Suna could have possibly done for the team to rag on him this hard.
The video loads and Osamu begins to get an idea.
“Team Japan’s Sakusa Kiyoomi and Suna Rintarou: Hear Me Out Trend.”
Osamu has seen people on social media do the Hear Me Out challenge, and they are–in a word–unhinged. Out of everyone on the Japanese National Team, Suna and Sakusa were the last people he thought would participate in something like this.
It’s been uploaded to the National Team's official YouTube channel, and it already has half a million views since being uploaded a few hours ago. He knows that it’s most likely been uploaded to TikTok and Facebook as well, so someone’s grandma is definitely going to get bombarded by this disaster when scrolling through their reels. They’re an odd duo to choose from, especially considering the other… eccentric players on the national team. Of course, Suna and Sakusa are both popular in their own right, and he knows the team's fans go feral when they interact, but this seems like a trainwreck waiting to happen.
His social media, for better or worse, is mainly volleyball fans and the compilations they come up with. And food, of course. He knows that the fans really enjoy seeing the two interact, whether it be on the court or in interviews, so he understands why the PR team must be doing this, but Sakusa is painfully awkward, and Suna is one more zone out away from befriending the abyss he stares into.
White text flashes on a black background as the video begins.
“We asked fans who they wanted to see do the Hear Me Out Challenge. The overwhelming response was for middle blocker Suna Rintarou and outside hitter Sakusa Kiyoomi.
All proceeds from this video will be donated to the charity linked in our bio!
Like and subscribe to help a good cause and maybe to see your other faves participate!
Sakusa Kiyoomi nor Suna Rintarou were harmed during the making of the video (despite their constant complaining.)”
The text fades, and the camera cuts to Suna and Sakusa standing in the kitchen of their dorms at the Olympic training facility. Osamu recognizes it from the numerous FaceTime calls he’s had with both Atsumu and Suna. He knows that the blender sitting on the counter in the background behind Suna’s left shoulder is broken because he dropped it. He’s blamed it on Atsumu, and the rest of his teammates were quick to believe him. Atsumu had done nothing but complain about it for two days. To this day, the rest of the national team was still bemoaning their lack of protein shakes in the morning, even though any one of them could easily afford to buy a new one.
Suna, as usual, looks bored, if not a little stiff. He’s usually the one behind the camera documenting the chaos, not the other way around. His eyes are heavily lidded, as always, but the twitching of his fingers exposes the nerves he must be feeling. If you didn’t know him well, you might not even notice it.
Sakusa, on the other hand, looks venomous. Their social media manager must have told him not to frown, but the rage is still burning in his eyes. His usual mask is nowhere in sight, and Osamu knows him well enough now to know that he must have been threatened into this, as it was never something that he’d do of his own volition.
They stand at the island in the middle of the kitchen, a large cake with light pink icing sitting in front of them. On either side, sticks with images taped to them lie facedown on the counter.
Osamu is barely 30 seconds into the video, and he’s already snickering. The PR team chose the absolute worst people for this challenge, and he cannot begin to fathom who the pair have chosen as their ‘hear me outs’.
Suna sounds tired as he sighs heavily and says, “Hello. I’m Suna Rinatrou, and this is Sakusa Kiyoomi. We’re members of the Men’s National Volleyball Team, and today you’re going to hear us out.”
It sounds like he’s being held at gunpoint, and Osamu has no doubt in his mind that Suna had to have rehearsed that line a few times before they filmed. He snorts at the thought. Suna side-eyes Sakusa, and Osamu recognizes the wicked gleam in his eyes. “Sakusa has graciously volunteered to go first.”
Sakusa whips his head to the side, glare sour enough to curdle milk. Suna doesn’t seem to mind, though, as he smiles innocently and gestures toward the cake.
“Don’t keep the viewers waiting now, Kiyo,” Suna baits.
“Fine,” Sakusa seethes, roughly snatching up his pile of victims. He sorts through them, flinching at what he sees.
“This is a humiliation ritual.”
“This is what your sicko fans wanted.” Suna reminds him, amused.
“No, these are your sicko fans. My fans are innocent people wanting to enjoy a good game of volleyball. My fans are well-rounded individuals who would not put me through this.”
Suna looks at the camera, “Yeah okay. I’ve seen what your “well-rounded” individuals post online, but whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Sakusa tsk’s, stalling for as long as he can, then closes his eyes, as if in pain, and selects what Osamu assumes is the least humiliating option.
“My first one,” Sakua’s voice is grave as he begins to turn the stick around, “Is a bottle of Purell.”
Suna’s snorty pig laugh is unabashed as he leans forward to get a better look at the cut-out of the Purell bottle that, no doubt, some underpaid intern had to cut and painstakingly glue to the stick just to be shoved into a cake.
“No, the fuck you didn’t!” Suna snickers, like the actual gremlin he is. The editors bleeped Suna’s curse word, and Osamu’s grin widens.
“Shut up,” Sakusa bites, elbowing Suna in the ribs. “They said it could be anything!”
Suna throws his hands up, “Hey man, no shame in my game. The heart wants what it wants.”
“Would you just go so we can get this over with?” Sakusa practically pleads.
Suna picks up his stack of HMO’s and, after debating a moment, finally settles on one. His cheeks are slightly pink, and Osamu is surprised that he’s embarrassed by this game. Suna is usually so unruffled it’s odd to see.
“My first, hear me out,” Suna says, flipping the picture around, “Is the dead brother from Big Hero 6.”
Osamu shakes his head fondly. He should have seen that one coming. That was Suna’s movie of choice for like three years straight. Atsumu had caught him crying to it on more than one occasion, much to Suna’s horror.
“Put some respect on Tadashi’s name,” Sakusa’s lips quirk up just a little as he nods in approval at Suna’s choice.
Sakusa doesn’t have to be prodded this time, seemingly eager to get the game over with. “My second choice is Squidward Tentacles from SpongeBob.”
“I’m freaking dead,” Suna says, taking a step back to laugh. “What do you like about him? The fact you have the same personality or the tentacles?”
Sakusa meets Suna’s eyes, unashamed in his choice. “Yes. Also, he seems like he would keep to himself, and I would enjoy that in a partner.”
“What about that godawful clarinet playing?”
Sakusa pauses, “...I weighed my pros and cons carefully.”
Suna cackles, and it must have gone on for a while because the camera cuts and the next scene is Suna pulling out his next choice.
“I don’t know if this is technically a hear me out, because I feel like it’s more of a duh, but Li Shang from Mulan can enlist me in his army any day.”
Sakusa’s eyes widen comically, and then he’s rustling around in his pile before stabbing a picture of Mushu holding his golden gong into the cake.
Sakusa can barely be heard over the sound of cackling, both from Suna and the crew behind the camera. “I don’t wanna hear a fucking word from anyone about this. Mushu was an integral character in helping Mulan become the best version of herself. Even if he was overzealous and annoying at times.”
“I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t fucking that,” Suna wheezes, wiping a tear from his eye. “Alright, my next one is Doc Hudson from Cars.”
Sakusa sighs, “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“No!” Rin laughs, watching Sakusa dig around his pile.
“Lightning McQueen.” Sakusa stabs the cake with too much force, and the cake deflates slightly.
“Really?” Suna asks, raising an eyebrow. “Lightning? I thought you’d be more of a Doc Hudson truther, too.”
Sakusa shrugs, “I don’t know. Lightning is competent. He has a good heart under all the bravado.”
Suna gives him a long look, and Sakusa's cheeks begin to pinken. “Shut the fuck up and go. I’m gonna drown myself after this.”
“Take me with you.”
The next one that Suna chooses has him covering his face in mortification.
“Vabo-chan??” Sakusa’s jaw drops, before an ugly laugh rips itself from his throat. Osamu thinks this is the first time he’s seen Sakusa do anything other than snicker meanly.
“He would be understanding!” Rin defends. “He’d be lovely to come home to after a hard loss.”
Sakusa thinks it over for a moment before looking resigned. “Fuck, you’re right.”
Osamu watches, fascinated as character after character is placed on the cake. Sakusa’s choices are unexpected and practically unexplainable. A bottle of bleach, Nick Wilde, Ghostface, Gojo Satoru, Kowalski from The Penguins of Madagascar, Lego Batman, and Barry B. Benson.
Suna’s choices are just as chaotic, and Osamu is beginning to understand why he was embarrassed by this video. It really gave you a look at his inner psyche. Which is to say: Fuckin’ weird. So far he’d placed Po from Kung Fu Panda, Gil from Finding Nemo, Beast from Beauty and the Beast (while still in beast form), Gordon Ramsay, The Onceler, and Remy the Rat from Ratatouille.
Suna and Sakusa’s faces are red from both embarrassment and laughter, and Osamu’s face hurts from smiling at their antics. He never thought that putting these two in one of these videos would go well, but it’s been far more entertaining than he thought.
The screen fades to black and more white text flashes on the screen.
“All proceeds of this video will go directly to underfunded schools, in the hopes that sports, music, and art classes find their way to the children and teens who need them most! To help achieve that goal, we raised the stakes.
We tasked our fans with raising $50,000 to earn an extra special surprise – and they did.
Since you kept up your end of the deal, we’re keeping ours.
Sakusa and Suna have been asked to pick one last hear me out. The catch? It’s someone they're friends with in real life.
Link to donate in bio! :D”
The video cuts back to Sakusa and Suna, and any trace of laughter is now gone.
“I’m almost certain this is a violation of my contract.” Sakusa grits out.
“What if I killed myself instead?” Suna says right after.
There’s a snort from behind the camera. “You can’t say that, Suna-san.”
“I can say whatever the hell I want to. You’re about to ruin my life.”
“It’s for a good cause.” Another voice behind the camera encourages.
Sakusa snorts, “Have you ever heard the expression ‘Fuck them kids?’”
“Yeah,” Suna parrots. “Fuck them kids!”
“You cannot say that!! We’re gonna have to cut that out!”
Osamu snorts because whoever edited this video definitely did not cut that out.
“What if…” Suna hedges, “I just donate the $50,000?”
“It’s too late. You’ve committed,” the cameraman says.
“I didn’t commit to shit!” Sakusa argues.
There’s silence for a few seconds before Suna scrubs harshly at his face. “Fuck, alright. Kiyoomi, you’re going first.”
Sakusa snaps his head to look at Suna, lip curled and glare icy. “Fuck you, I went first time last time! You go first!”
The two glare at each other for a long time before Suna’s eye twitches.
“Fucking fine. I hope you find a roach in your gym shoes. A big one, too.”
“I will burn your whole house down,” Sakusa threatens, using all of his height and leaning forward menacingly.
“Make sure I’m inside of it first,” Suna sneers, then uses one hand to shove him back lightly. He turns his attention fully to the camera, and his apprehension is clear as day. He picks up the remaining photograph and studies it for a moment, before sighing deeply.
“I just want to start by saying that if any of my friends are seeing this, no, the fuck you aren’t, and nobody better send this shit to him or I will release every single unflattering photo I have of you from high school until now. This is both a threat and a warning.”
Suna fiddles with the wooden stick in his hand before he squeezes his eyes shut and stabs it ferociously into the cake.
“My final hear me out is my best friend, Samu. Most of you know him as the Onigiri man on my socials, though.”
The blood in Osamu’s veins freezes. He watches as a photograph of himself smiling and standing behind the onigiri counter stands proudly amongst the mass of other HMO victims. He recognizes the photo as one that Suna took the day Onigiri Miya opened. Osamu had been so happy to finally have something that was all his, and Suna told him he should commemorate the moment.
He wonders, horrifyingly, if Suna has somehow found out about the feelings that Osamu has tried desperately to suppress for the last ten years of their friendship. Osamu has always been soft on Suna; it’s something that Atsumu (and the rest of their wretched friends) have teased him mercilessly for. It seems like the only one unaware of Osamu’s deep-seated feelings for Suna was Suna himself.
He had considered coming clean to Suna before. Many times, actually. It never seemed right, though. He realized his feelings at the end of first year, but was too scared to say anything until their final year together. He almost confessed then, but knew that their paths would be diverging at the end of the year. Then Suna got scouted, and Osamu got busy working in kitchens all across Hyogo trying to get experience. Then Suna was in the throes of playing professionally, and Osamu was focused on getting Oni Miya off the ground. Then there was the Olympics, and expanding the franchise, and time slipping through his fingers.
Now they’re here. Both older, still chasing after dreams they made when they were young hopefuls. And yet, the feelings that Osamu swore would diminish over time never went away. He told himself that time and space would eventually allow them to fade into obscurity, but when he looks at Suna, he’s still the only one who feels like home.
While Osamu is overthinking himself into a headache, Suna is on his screen, rambling and defending his choice.
“–He’s got an annoying ass brother, never has time to hang out with me anymore because he’s too busy running his onigiri empire, and has, quite frankly, the worst sense of humor of any human I’ve ever met, but he knows me. Like if I had to choose someone to help me bury a body, he’d cuss me out and complain the whole time, but he’d be knee-deep in the dirt with me. He always lets me choose the movies we watch, and he lets me drag him to the EDM concerts I like even though he hates them, and even though he pretends to hate instant ramen, he’d definitely wake up at 3 am to have it as a midnight snack with me. Like, at this point, is it even a hear me out? Because I’d stay well fed and, honestly, have we seen the size of his–”
Sakusa raises his hand to silence Suna. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose, and looks like he's in actual physical pain. “Please just–stop. I need you to stop. I will not be explaining myself, and I don’t wanna hear a god damn thing from anyone.”
He grabs his photograph and slams it into the cake, making several of the prior photos fall over.
Osamu's jaw drops. He doesn’t know if he should laugh or cry.
Right next to his smiling face, Sakusa has just stabbed a grinning photo of his dumbass twin brother into the cake.
The camera shakes violently, and then he hears a loud wheeze and the sound of giggling from the people filming.
“No way,” Suna’s sleepy eyes are blown wide as he looks to see who Sakusa had chosen.
“Can I ask–”
“No!” Sakusa yells. “No one can ask me anything.”
Suna nods slowly, and Osamu can tell he’s doing his best not to laugh. “Well, I feel a little better now. At least I chose the nice twin.”
“Atsumu can be kind,” Sakusa says, nostrils flared. “He may seem like an idiotic jerk with an inflated ego, but he’s always the first to make sure I’m comfortable. He brings bacterial wipes wherever we go and offers me hand sanitizer when I get overwhelmed. He even keeps extra masks on hand.”
Rin side-eyes the camera as if to say, “Are you getting this?”
“Hmm. Guess we know why he’s your hear me out now, huh?”
Sakusa freezes for a moment as if realizing what he’s done, then groans loudly into his hands, “I can’t believe they are going to post this. I can’t believe this is going on the internet for Miya fucking Atsumu to see.”
Suna snorts, “I can’t believe we have the same taste in dudes.”
Osamu clicks off the video and his black lock screen shows his reflection staring back at him. He looks the same as he did five minutes ago. Same hair, same eyes, same face. But something has changed. He knew he liked Suna. He’s always liked Suna.
He just never knew if Suna liked him back.
And well.
A "hear me out” wasn’t a confession, but it was fucking close enough.
Osamu’s phone vibrates, and he shouldn’t be surprised to see “Parasitic Free-Loader” flashing across his screen.
“What do–”
“Did you see the video?!” Tsumu yells before Osamu can even greet him.
Osamu sighs, “Yeah, I saw it.”
Osamu’s known about the massive crush his brother has had on Sakusa for ages. He’d go out of his way to antagonize Sakusa when they’d see each other during tournaments, always retreating back to Inarizaki’s bench starry-eyed and cheeks red. When Sakusa joined MSBY, Atsumu had called him just to have a panic attack about the way Sakusa had “filled out.” That was an hour of his life he was never ever getting back.
“What…what do we do?” Tsumu sounds unsure, but for once in his life Osamu wasn’t.
He and Suna could definitely pretend it was just a joke. Something Suna did because he didn’t know who else to choose. It could be brushed over and forgotten, just like every other moment they’d shared that was too close. Too soft. Osamu didn’t know for sure if Suna liked him, but he knew Suna felt something for him, even if it was just physical attraction.
He was tired of not knowing. He was tired of biding his time in the hopes that one day maybe he’d get the chance to tell Suna how he felt.
His resolve solidified, and he squared his shoulders.
“You’ve liked Sakusa for a long time, Tsumu.”
“Yeah, so?” Atsumu asked. “You’ve liked Sunarin even longer.”
Osamu chuckles. “Yeah, I have. Doncha think it’s time we finally do somethin’ about it?”
“Yer serious?” Atsumu wheezes, voice bordering on hysteria.
The store is empty. Nothing is keeping him here. He rips his apron off and throws it down on the counter.
The sign on the door flips to ‘closed’ and the door locks behind him. He’s sprinting to the train station before he can talk himself out of it.
“Yeah, I am. I’ll call ya if I crash and burn, Tsumu!”
“Call me either way, Scrub!” Atsumu shouts before Osamu hangs up the phone.
He hasn’t run this fast since he was in high school. He’s running to the boy he’s been in love with since high school. It’s about time.
“Suna!” Osamu’s fist pounds on the door. “Open the door!”
Osamu’s been knocking for five minutes, and either Suna is afraid to confront him, or he’s not home. Osamu doesn’t know which option is worse.
Frustrated, Osamu opts for Plan B. He digs his keychain out of his pocket and begins looking for the spare key Suna gave him for emergencies. He’s never had to use it before, and honestly, forgot he had it until just now.
Just as he’s getting ready to shove the shiny silver key into the lock and force Suna’s emotionally constipated ass to talk to him, a voice to his left startles him badly enough that he drops his key ring on the floor.
“Breaking and entering is frowned upon, you know?”
Suna’s deadpan voice sounds no different than usual, but the crinkle of his green eyes gives away his amusement. He’s carrying grocery bags, and Osamu is relieved to know that his best friend wasn’t ignoring him.
“It ain’t breakin’ and enterin’ if I got a key,” Osamu says, bending down to retrieve his keys.
“Maybe not. I got a text from my neighbor saying a crazy man was yelling and trying to break my door down. Sound like anyone you know?”
Osamu scoffs, “Yer neighbors are dramatic. Was just trying to get you to open the door. Thought you might’ve been ignornin’ me.”
Suna motions to the doorknob, and Osamu uses his key to unlock it and let them both inside. “You should know that ignoring you isn’t really my thing. In fact, in terms of being ignored, you’re the one who forgets to respond to my text messages, remember?”
“I get busy,” Osamu mumbles, toeing off his shoes and following Suna into the kitchen.
“Yeah, yeah,” Suna waves him off, placing his bags on the counters. “Mr. Businessman always has something better to do.”
Osamu smirks, “Nah, not better. Just a lot.”
Now that Suna’s hands are free from the grocery bags, he turns to look at Osamu fully.
“So.”
Osamu swallows, “So.”
“You saw the video, then?”
“Uh, yeah,” Osamu says. “I did. I was hopin’ we could talk.”
Suna sighs, looking put out. “Look, our PR team made us choose someone we were close to. They were hoping it would help drive up the donations–and to their credit–it did. You don’t have to be weirded out. I didn’t know who to choose so I–”
“I heard what ya said in the video, Rin. I understand why ya chose me.”
Suna nods, “Well, good then. You can just ignore it and–”
“What if I don’t want to?” Osamu cuts him off. He takes a step closer and watches as Suna freezes. “To ignore it, that is. I just–”
Osamu takes a deep breath and can’t stop himself reaching for Suna’s hands. The hands that have been with him through thick and thin. He’s been obsessed with them (and the man attached to them) for too long. Suna had used these hands to send him passes and receives, they’d helped him form onigiri for his shop when he was too broke to afford actual help, they’d helped him move from Hyogo to Osaka, they’d run through his hair when he was stressed or tired, they’d poked and nudged, and comforted, and they were so strong.
He was tired of not being able to hold them when that’s all he’s wanted for a long time.
“I’ve known you longer than I haven’t, Rin. Wherever I look, you’re already there. Yer in my apartment, and in the shop, and yer in practically every photo from middle school till now. I’m tired of actin’ like I don’t want you. I’m tired of actin’ like yer not it for me.”
Suna stares at him, eyes wide. Osamu is terrified that this will be the moment that Suna rejects him and forces him to move on. He’s not even sure if he could.
Instead, Suna snorts and yanks Osamu closer, squeezing his fingers tight. “You’re so fucking stupid,” he says, before his lips slot perfectly into place with Osamu’s.
Osamu melts into it, and he only drops Suna’s hands so he can cup his face instead. They sink into each other, and Osamu knows he could spend the rest of time kissing Suna Rintarou and it still wouldn’t be enough. He doesn’t know how long they stand there, locked in each other’s embrace, but when they pull away, the frozen yogurt Suna bought at the store has melted almost completely, and a puddle of condensation has leaked off the counter and onto the floor.
“I’ve loved you since I was fifteen, you idiot,” Suna says, as he pulls away to breathe.
Osamu’s smile is wide as his heart thunders in his chest. “I’ve liked ya since we were fourteen, so ha! I win.”
“You’re stupid...and this is so cringe,” Suna gripes. “We got together because of a fucking TikTok trend.”
Osamu waggles his eyebrows, “You could say that I… heard you out?”
His shit-eating grin is knocked off his face when Suna punches him in the gut. “Eight billion people on the planet and yet I had to fall in love with you.”
Osamu rubs the tender spot on his stomach, but his smile is back. “Super embarrassin’ for you, by the way.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Suna says, leaning back in.
And Osamu does.
“I can’t believe we got boyfriends on the same day. This is super lame,” Atsumu’s whiny voice manages to permeate the air through the tinny speakers of his phone.
Osamu wants to tell him that he’s stupid, but he’s frustrated that he feels the same way. It was super lame. They were gonna have the same birthday and anniversary till the end of time.
“I’ll give ya ten bucks to lie and say you got together next week.”
“Fuck you,” Atsumu says, “Omi’s not gonna let me lie about our anniversary.”
There’s some mumbling in the background, and then Atsumu’s voice is quiet, bordering on sheepish.
“Actually, Omi said that if you give him free Umeboshi Onigiri, he’s down.”
“Done,” Osamu says immediately. He would have given his future brother-in-law free onigiri no matter what.
