Suna had mentioned he was inviting Miwa over for dinner and that Miwa would be bringing a friend. You don’t mind, of course. Miwa is your friend and any friend of Miwa is automatically a friend of yours. In addition, you like it when Suna chooses to branch out of his small circle of friends and make new ones. It’s good for him.
Osamu was up for it too and was highly amused, “I like how you say you invited someone for dinner, like you’re cooking for them. But you’re actually just sharing take out and eating it at our small dining table.”
Suna had slapped him on the back and groaned, “Stop, I’m so worried how we’re all going to fit on that table. Should we eat on the floor? Ugh, I can’t make Miwa and her friend eat on the floor.”
You were confused, “Why not?”
“Yeah, why not?” Osamu was curious too. “We make Y/N eat on the floor all the time.”
“Well,” Suna had said, “That’s Y/N and this is Miwa. Some people deserve better.”
You had to beat him up to maintain your pride while Osamu laughed. But Osamu, acting like the oldest person in the room for once, had assured Suna that it was going to be fine. Miwa was a college student and wouldn’t mind.
As such, on the night of the dinner, Suna has you vacuuming the living room carpet floor as he fusses over what Spotify playlist to have playing in the background. This is probably the cleanest the apartment has been over the two years you’ve been over at their place. At Suna’s request, you also brought over some of your candles, so it smells like what a vacation in Hawaii would theoretically be. Pineapples and coconuts. This isn’t even your apartment.
Osamu manages to escape most of his requests by putting his foot down and taking full responsibility for getting the food. He arrives back at the apartment with enough time to spare for setting everything up on the floor.
You give him a tired wave from where you’re lying down on the couch, “Hey, welcome back.”
“Yo, it smells good in here,” Osamu exclaims, breathing deeply as he switches the shoes he has on with house slippers. He shrugs his jacket off next, placing it on a chair, and then dropping the plastic bags of takeout on the dining table. You weakly grunt in agreement.
Osamu laughs, going over to you and lifting your feet off the couch so he can sit down too. “What happened to you?”
“Please be quiet. Rin is driving me crazy,” you close your eyes and sigh when Osamu starts massaging your ankles. “Miwa won’t even care that much. She’s not fussy like that.”
“Forgive him, he’s just nervous. You get like that too,” Osamu says, like a mother telling her eldest to be more patient with their immature younger sibling. “Besides, think about how funny it’s going to be watching him interact with Miwa. He’s going to be so embarrassing.”
Speaking of the devil, Suna comes out of his room panicking, “Guys, they said they’re gonna be here soon. Look normal.”
Neither you or Osamu make a move to get off the couch. Suna whines, shaking Osamu’s shoulders, “Samu, go set up the food.”
“Noooo,” you whine, “He’s massaging my foot, get your own Samu.”
Suna frowns, “We have joint custody of Osamu, so you can’t call him yours, idiot.”
Osamu is saved from hearing this argument continue by knocking on their front door. He pushes Suna towards the door, “Go get that, we can all set the table together.”
Suna hurriedly rushes to the door, but before he opens it, he turns back to you, fluffing up his hair and putting a questioning thumbs up. You laugh and jokingly give him a thumbs down which is negated by the encouraging double thumbs up Osamu gives.
He finally opens the door, revealing Miwa all bundled up, clutching her own plastic bag of takeout. What makes you sit up is the guy trying to shyly hide behind Miwa. Suna lets them in, “Hey guys, I’m glad you were able to easily find the place.”
Miwa gives him a hug, “Yeah, it’s actually only five minutes away from our own place. This is Akaashi Keiji, by the way.”
Suna smiles, bright and charming, and comes over to give Akaashi a hug. Akaashi timidly returns the hug, which is kind of funny. He’s never seen anyone act overwhelmed in the presence of Suna. Suna lets him go and turns to his two friends on the couch, “And that’s Osamu, my roommate and the other person you see lying there is—”
“Oh,” Akaashi says in surprise, when he meets your eyes, “Y/N-san.”
The other three people in the room look on curiously. They have never heard your name said with so much respect before.
“Keiji, I didn’t know you were friends with Miwa,” you say, standing up.
“Friends and roommates,” Akaash says, shrinking at the attention everyone is giving him in the room.
Miwa loops their arms together, “How do you guys know each other?”
“We’re in the same music composition class,” you respond, and then you notice what’s inside the plastic bag Akaashi’s carrying, “You guys brought dessert?”
“Yeah, we got ice cream, some pastries, and fruit,” Miwa responds and then goes over to the kitchen to put the bags down. “I know you’re a picky eater, so you have to like at least one of the things we bought.”
Osamu comes over to take a peek at what they brought and gasps, “Oh my god, you guys bought mint chocolate chip ice cream?”
Suna visibly shudders and you pretend to gag. Miwa snorts, pointing at Akaashi, “It’s for him! He’s the one who likes it.”
“I like it too!” Osamu exclaims and comes over to pat him on the back, “I’ll eat it with you. Nobody else understands how good it is.”
For the first time that night, Akaashi smiles easily and the effect is immediate. The room brightens just at the appearance of it. “I’m glad you like it, Osamu-kun.”
Osamu smiles at the honorifics, “Just call me Samu.”
Suna claps his hands loudly to grab everyone’s attention. And when everybody turns to him, he smiles and points to the living room area, “Shall we start eating then?”
People begin migrating over, with Osamu grabbing the takeout to set up on the floor. As they set up, Miwa asks, “Can I put the ice cream in the freezer? And do you guys want me to clean the grapes now?”
You shake your head, “Just put the ice cream in the freezer, and we can wash the grapes later. Come here already.” When you see Akaashi awkwardly looking for where to sit, you pat the space beside you, “Just sit with me. It’ll just be like how it is in class. And then, Miwa can sit beside you.”
Just like that they all end up in a circle: You, Akaashi, Miwa, Suna, and Osamu. Inside your circle formation, Osamu had laid out their large order of sushi, sashimi, tempura, curry and yakitori. Honestly, eating with Suna and Osamu, you’re used to seeing such a large feast in front of you, but you can tell by Miwa’s wide eyes and Akaashi’s jaw dropping that they aren’t.
Miwa wonders, “Can we even finish all of this and the dessert that we brought?”
“Yeah,” you confirm, breaking your chopsticks apart and rubbing them against each other to shave off potential wooden splinters. “Don’t worry, Samu will finish everything.”
Beside you, Osamu’s already stuffing himself with curry, while Suna is eagerly filling Miwa’s plate, who is trying to tell him that she can do it herself. You hope you don’t look as desperate as that when it comes to your own crush.
The food tastes amazing, so much so that the first few moments of eating together, the only sounds that can be heard are of them eating. That is until Suna whines about how spicy the curry is, “Shit, I forgot to grab water.”
Since he’s sitting the farthest from the kitchen, you offer to get some for him, “Anybody else want anything?”
Mouth full, Osamu raises his hand and tries to chew faster, but you already know, “Sprite?”
Osamu’s eyes crinkle in happiness, nodding while sending you a flying kiss. You smirk, “Miwa? Keji? Do you guys want anything?”
“If you guys have juice, I’ll take it, but if not, I’ll stick to the water that I have.” Miwa says, trying to see what’s in the fridge.
You open the fridge, “Hmm, we only have iced tea and more sprite. Keiji, do you want either of those?”
“I would like some iced tea,” Akaashi says, politely. You grab that for him, along with two bottles of water and sprite. You throw one bottle of water to Suna, who barely catches it, and set the sprite next to Osamu. The bottle of iced tea, you hand to Akaashi who receives it with both hands. “Thank you, Y/N.”
Miwa laughs after watching the interaction, “Keiji, you don’t have to act so formal with Y/N. You guys are even in the same class, right?”
“It’s true,” you smile, finding how shy Kai gets very cute. “Just call me Y/N.”
“Okay,” Akaashi replies, and then averts his eyes and goes back to eating. You want to pinch his cheeks. You find that sentiment reflected on everybody else’s faces. How can a person so tall look like such a baby?
You open your water bottle to drink and as you drink it, Osamu makes a comment, “You’re not going to have your nightly iced tea?”
“Oh, there was only one left,” you shrug, putting the cap back on, “Remind me to buy more, by the way.”
Osamu eyes the bottle in Akaashi’s hand and nods, “I see…”
You laugh, hitting him lightly on the shoulder, “I can be sweet too, Samu.”
“I never said you couldn’t be,” Osamu says, “It’s just the first time I’ve seen it.”
Suna hums thoughtfully, “Surprisingly, when you’re being nice and sweet, you’re very quiet about it. Loud about everything else though.”
You roll your eyes, “I’m not that loud.” But Suna just rolls his eyes back.
“Is she really that loud?” Akaashi asks, tilting his head to the side. “I feel like I can’t imagine that.”
At that, Osamu, Suna, and Miwa both look at him like he’d grown another head. Osamu puts his arm around you, squeezing your shoulder, “She’s so loud that I feel like I can hear her laughter ringing in my ears hours later.”
“She gets invited to parties because she’s the best person to hype everyone up,” Suna adds on.
Miwa frowns, “What’s she like in class for you to say that?”
Akaashi gives a cautious side glance at you, before speaking: “Y/N’s really serious in class. Our classmates even say she’s kind of scary to be partnered with for projects.”
“Scary?” Osamu says in disbelief, “What’s so scary about her? She’s just a cute little kid.”
“Now, I can’t picture it,” Miwa says. “Our Y/N? The one I have to lecture at the library on why she needs to study more to pass her midterms?”
“The Y/N that will freeze up and yell at you to kill a cockroach for her? That same Y/N?”
“He gets it!” You huff, shrugging off Osamu’s arm on your shoulder. “Also, I’m not surprised they’re saying that. I think I was kind of… too strict in past group projects and our department isn’t really that big.”
Akaashi shakes his head, “It’s not just that… you’re well known in our department for your high standards, so you do come off as a bit… intimidating.”
“Well, I’m not going to deny the first part, but don’t be intimidated.” you smirk, “In fact, why don’t you be my partner for the next group project?”
Akaashi’s eyes widen and at the expectant look from you, he sighs, “Sure, let’s do it.”
You cheer, meanwhile Miwa holds Akaashi’s hand in hers, comfortingly, “Don’t worry, if she’s mean to you, just tell me. I’ll get revenge for you.”
You stick your tongue out, “Suna will protect me.” You send him two finger hearts with kisses, but Suna playfully and metaphorically slaps the hearts away.
“No, I won’t,” Suna smiles, sweetly. “I hope you get beat up. Get your practice boyfriend to protect you.”
Suna is dead to you. With big watery eyes, you turn to Osamu and carefully hold his free hand in yours. “My Samu-kun will protect me, right? My Samu who is so strongandniceandgood, unlike that guy over there.”
Osamu can barely look at you, and that just cannot do. You put yourself in Osamu’s line of vision and flutter your eyes, whining, “Samuuu.”
It only takes one glance and Osamu sighs immediately, “You’re not gonna need my help. Miwa wouldn’t beat you up. But sure.”
You turn back to Miwa and stick your tongue out, giggling. But Miwa just looks unimpressed, “What the hell is a practice boyfriend?”
The question stops your laughter immediately. How the hell are you supposed to explain your dumb idea to her?
Thankfully, Suna steps in, “It’s exactly what it sounds like.”
“How bad are you at dating that you need to practice?”
You pout, “Don’t make me say it, Miwa. You know I’ve never dated before.”
“You’ve never?” Akaashi asks, dumbfounded, “Like not even one date? Or confession?”
You feel your ears reddening at Akaashi’s questions and you cover them with your hands to avoid anybody seeing them. Suna sighs dramatically, “Oh, Akaash-san, what you need to know about Y/N is that she’s a true romantic at heart. If the confession doesn’t pass typical kdrama standards, she’ll reject it.”
You throw a balled up napkin at Suna, who yelps when it hits him. “Don’t listen to him, Keiji. Some people are just unlucky in the dating scene. It’s not me, it’s everybody else.”
Miwa is looking at you like she’s reading every thought running through your mind. What comes out of her mouth though is another question, “And Osamu is helping you practice? What kind of practice?”
Osamu who’s been silent since Miwa’s inquisition began finally contributes, “We just went on like a practice date. And you know, I gave her tips…”
“Why do I feel like I’m being tried in court,” you mutter, “Yeah, we went on a practice date. The works, holding hands and he paid for me.”
Of all the things you expected her to say, it was not this: “That’s it? What are you supposed to learn on one practice date? That’s all you’ve done?”
Beside you, Osamu starts to get defensive, “I’m just doing what Y/N asked. She said she wanted a practice date, so we went on one. Case closed.”
Miwa sighs, “If it was really practice, then Y/N should initiate it. Also, being a boyfriend or dating isn’t just one date. It’s composed of many things — like caring for each other, supporting each other, being physically affectionate, giving each other presents, and spending time with each other!”
The room takes a moment to digest Miwa’s rant, and Miwa in turn gets shy at her outburst, hiding it with a cough, “Sorry, I’ve watched too many movies…”
“It’s okay,” you tell her. You feel like your mind has just been opened. You clear your throat and pat Osamu’s hand, “Samu, I think she’s got a point. Write those things down.”
.
.
.
Miwa has never done wrong in her life and she’s not going to start now, you’re sure of it. The brightest mind of their generation. A kindred soul with a heart for romance similar to your own. It’s why when you revise the practice dating contract, Miwa sits with you, the way a lawyer would for a celebrity couple signing a prenuptial agreement.
“Okay,” Miwa says, picking up the piece of paper you call a contract. It’s a little wrinkled and it took you a hot minute to find it, because you couldn’t remember which textbook you’d slipped it in. “When you said contract, I was really impressed, but Y/N, this just says the word ‘dates’ on it.”
You pout, “Come on, Miwa, you’re the pre-law major here. If we knew how to do everything, then we wouldn’t be here asking you.”
Osamu sighs for the fifth time since you’ve sat down. You elbow him as a warning, but he doesn’t even react. Miwa sighs too, picking up a pen and adding to the contract, “So first, if you want to be a good boyfriend, you should be physically affectionate…”
.
.
.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Osamu asks, looking at you with concern.
You’re standing outside of Osamu’s apartment, both of you all bundled up as the sun sets and the evening air is more than a cold touch. You barely hear his question, too busy struggling to close your jacket.
“Ya!” Osamu yells with frustration, before sighing and zipping your jacket himself. “Why didn’t you wear a thicker jacket?
You shiver, but smile brightly at him, “But Samu, look, this way we’re matching!”
The hard look on Osamu’s face acquiesces to something much softer, “Is that so? Did you plan this?”
“Like it’s that hard to predict what you’re going to wear,” you smugly says, “I’m a slow learner but I do learn. You should wear couple looks on dates!”
Osamu flicks your nose, chuckling when it crinkles immediately under his touch. “Who says this was a date?
“I did. A convenience store date with my practice boyfriend. To practice physical affection,” you recite, trying to imitate Miwa’s tone when she’d said it.
“And you’re going to be okay with it? You know how touchy couples usually are, right? Holding hands, sitting close together, touching all the time—”
“Areyou going to be okay with it?” you raise a brow at him, “I know I’m an airhead but I do understand what I’m asking. And I know you, you’d never do anything that would make me feel uncomfortable. And despite how I act and how often I joke around with you, I’m not going to do anything you’re not okay with either.”
You can back out, you think. Just say the word, and I’ll let you go, you hold your breath.
“I know you won’t,” Osamu says softly, “And of course, I’ll be okay with it. Should we go then?”
Just like that, you exhale, tendrils of misty air escaping from his mouth. Maybe, there’s relief too. Before Osamu can start walking though, you stop him, “Wait—”
“What is it?” Osamu tilts his head to the side.
You scratch your head, feeling your cheeks heat up, but shoulder on, “Can we hold hands?”
Osamu chuckles and extends a hand, “Yes, come on. The store is going to be closed by the time we get there at this rate.”
You wordlessly take it. Warmth overtakes you — you don’t remember the last time you asked to hold someone’s hand, nor the last person (outside of Osamu) whose hand you’ve held. Maybe your mother? In any case, it’s shaking your heart. You want to lecture it; why are you beating so rapidly? It’s just a hand, you fool.
But it’s Osamu’s hand, your heart responds back. And well, you can’t say anything towards that. You like this hand.
Nevertheless, there’s so many inconvenient things about holding hands. First of all, it means you only have one free hand to use at all times. There are so many things you need two hands for, like holding a heavy basket, inspecting snacks, and even the act of pulling out one’s wallet to pay. Then there’s the hand holding itself; is it just your own nervousness or does everyone’s hands get so sweaty? You hope Osamu doesn’t mention it.
And then, when you inevitably have to let his hand go, do you have to ask him again to hold hands? Will it be as humiliating and as nerve-wracking as the first time?
(The answer? Yes. But only for the second time. The third time you ask, Osamu just laughs and says, you don’t have to ask every time.)
But despite all the reasons you’ve outlined above, you completely understand why people hold hands, why it’s worth writing a song over. Holding hands, from movies to books to songs, is such a publicized affair, but it’s the closeness, like holding a secret out in the open.
Who else knows the warmth and weight of Osamu’s hand?
It can be a fun little game too. Like when you’re sitting next to each other on the couch and Osamu lets you play with his hand underneath the blanket covering your lap, or when you go out to eat at a restaurant and you hold Osamu’s hand underneath the table.
It’s thrilling — to hold something, briefly and without anyone else knowing.
.
.
.
“Next,” Miwa hums, “Couples typically support each other, right? Maybe practice being supportive of each other, like bring each other coffee in the morning even when you yourself don’t like it—”
You smirk, “Oh, kind of like the way Rin buys a caramel macchiato every morning even though I’m pretty sure he doesn’t drink coffee?”
Osamu tries to hide a chuckle beside you and sneakily lays out his hand for a high-five. You eagerly meet it. Miwa is unimpressed.
“This isn’t about me,” Miwa rolls her eyes, writing supporting each other in neat strokes and dotting her i’s with hearts. “Do you guys have any ideas on how best to practice this?”
You look at Osamu with consideration. Osamu winks at you. This bastard thinks he’s so cute. “I’m sure we can come up with something.”
.
.
.
It takes you a couple of tries to come up with something.
“I don’t think this is going to work,” you sigh, leaning your head against Osamu’s shoulder, “I don’t get why I have to wake up so early to walk you to class. Why are you taking an exercise class as early as 9 am, huh?”
“Yoga’s a nice way to start the day,” Osamu ruffles your hair, “And this is to support me, remember?”
You lift your head and barely manage to refrain from rolling your eyes, “Do you feel supported? Do you even need support?”
Osamu pinches your cheek, and you push his hand away, annoyed, “I feel supported by this bright attitude you’re giving me. Won’t you give me a smile?”
You give him the blankest face you can muster, and Osamu stops walking, “If you’re going to be super grumpy about it, then why did you even bother getting up and going through with it?”
“Because,” you fight the urge to yawn, “I wanted to try it just once.”
Osamu sighs, “Go back to bed, Y/N.”
Walking each other to places, as a first attempt, was a failure.
Related to that, you also tried picking each other up from classes, but your schedules just didn’t work out. It cut too close to Osamu’s seminars and you had your own shift at work to get to. Osamu had then joked that maybe you could move into their apartment and start contributing to rent, but you had sulked so severely over the comment that Osamu took it back immediately.
So what if you were always around their apartment? You elevate the usual sad vibes! You make their fridge look fuller by stocking your drinks in there! You let them borrow a candle or two, so their apartment can smell better! And in exchange, you get the privilege of lounging around on their couch; if anything, you should start charging them for your presence.
For now, you will continue taking advantage of their couch space. Maybe you’ll continue to think about how to practice supporting your ‘boyfriend.’
You sigh.
You sigh again, this time louder.
You huff, and then take the biggest breath only to release it all in the loudest sigh you can muster.
And then — you finally hear Suna step out of the kitchen with an open bag of crisps, “What do you want?”
You pat the space beside him on the couch, “Sit with me, Rin. I feel like I haven’t seen you in a while.”
Suna walks over to you, munching on a chip, “What, you miss me?”
“No, I just wanted some of that,” you eye the bag, trying to reach for it but Suna keeps it away from you.
“Rinnnnn,” you whine with grabby hands; it makes Suna snort, finally sitting down beside you.
“I’ll share, but only because I know you actually really miss me,” Suna brings the bag close to you, who eagerly grabs a crisp and eats it to hide the growing smile on your face. Suna knows you too well.
You rest your head on his shoulder and sigh, “Seriously though, I feel like I’m hanging out with Samu more than you. Are you trying to give us more alone time?” you lift your head and look at him, touched, with a hand on your heart, “Rin, I’m touched. You really do love me!”
“You are so,” Suna pauses, “creative. You truly belong in the arts. But it’s not intentional! Miwa and Keiji have been inviting me to join them for late dinner slash snacks at their apartment.”
You frown, “My poor Keiji. Why are you guys making him third wheel?”
Suna sticks his tongue out at you and then sighs, “I’m the third wheel. Have you seen the way Miwa looks at him? I wish she’d look at me like that.”
You look at him and feel your heart drop. You know first hand what that feels like. To have your heart set on somebody who’s heart is with someone else. Although, you don’t exactly think this is the case. You’ve seen how Miwa looks at Akaashi, but you’ve also seen the way Miwa looks at Suna. You have a PhD in yearning and can definitely tell the difference. But an insecure heart can’t see that. You cuddle up to him, “It’s okay. They’re not dating, right? And she keeps inviting you to have dinner and snacks with her? If she was in love with Keiji, she would try to get as much alone time with him. But she doesn’t.”
“That’s… true. I won’t join the lonely hearts club yet,” Suna sighs, resting his head on top of yours.
“That’s fine. Population will stay as one then,” you smile. Suna’s heart is pure like a child and it should stay that way, you think. “Anyway, do you want to get some boba? Doesn’t a taro milk tea sound so good, right now?”
Suna hums, “It does, but I don’t want to get up. It’s too cold outside and it’s nice and warm here.”
“I am not paying for delivery. The delivery fee is going to be double the total amount we have to pay,” you reason from experience.
Suna groans, “What should we do then? I really want it now that you’ve mentioned it.”
“If only someone could pick it up for us. If only someone was so kind and so generous and loving. If only—” you grin, pulling out your phone, “I have an idea.”
Your bright idea materializes an hour later in the form of a displeased Miya Osamu, carrying two cups of boba and his duffel bag. “I can’t believe you made me pick up your damn drinks. You guys said you were sad! But instead the two of you are out here having the time of your life!”
The two of you were on your phones, giggling and cuddling on the couch. You give him your best pout, “But Samu, we were sad when we texted you! Didn’t you see the picture we sent you?”
Osamu rolls his eyes, “Which one? You sent me so many messages. The lies… the manipulation…”
You hit Suna on the shoulder, whispering look sad, dumbass, and Suna immediately schools his expression into something heartwrenching, “Samu, how could you accuse your favorite people on Earth of such bad things?”
You nod and in a cutesy voice say, “Don’t you love us? And that’s why you picked up our milk teas? Out of love?”
“You guys are lucky I’m too tired to beat you up,” Osamu huffs, dropping his duffel bag to the floor and your milk teas on the kitchen counter. “Come here at least. I draw the line at putting the straw in your mouth. I feel like a single mother of two.”
You shove Suna off of you and Suna yelps as he falls to the floor. You skip happily to your drink, fully ignoring the high pitched yell of your name by Suna. You do a little hehe as you tear the straw open from its package and stab it into your drink. Immediately, you take a sip and do a little wiggle of happiness. All is right in the world.
Suna gets his revenge a second later by flicking the back of your head and immediately hiding behind Osamu when you move to hit him back. Osamu’s just standing there, minding his business and drinking his water.
Revenge is a lost cause. You give up on it for now.
Your eyes focus on Osamu instead, how pink his cheeks are, like fresh white peaches. You want to eat him. “Was it cold outside, Samu?”
Instead of responding, Osamu presses his hand to your cheek, causing you to yelp. It’s colder than the dead.
Suna laughs at you and you hold yourself back from glaring. You choose to be a better person and ignore him. To Osamu, you say, “Samu, as a thank you for picking up our milk tea, what if I bought dinner for tonight? Is there anything you want to eat?”
Osamu pretends to think, “What about… sashimi?”
“Yes! I want that too,” Suna says, gleeful to have somebody on his side bullying you.
You huff, pouting while pulling out your phone, “If that’s what you want…” you sniff, plenty pitiful, “I guess I’ll just have ramen for tonight.”
Osamu finally laughs, stopping you from pulling up the delivery app on your phone, “I’m just kidding. I’m good with anything. I’m just hungry.”
“Samu,” Suna scolds, “You can’t just give in to her when she starts pouting. It’s a fake pout.”
“But she can’t eat sashimi anyway, and it’s not fun to eat when not everyone can eat. Pick something else,” Osamu says, kindly.
“What about Chinese? I can do jajangmyeon and tangsuyuk? Or even pho?” Suna suggests.
You nod, “I’m good with either. We can do chinese tonight and then get pho tomorrow night.”
Osamu shakes his head, “No, let’s do pho tonight with those spring rolls. You guys can do Chinese tomorrow.”
“Oh?” Suna looks curiously at him, “Are you not eating here tomorrow night?”
You hold your breath and try not to let the apprehension show on your face. Instead, you smirk and snidely ask, “Oh, why? You got a hot date tomorrow?”
“No,” Osamu raises a brow, and then a slow smile spreads on his face, “Unless you’re asking me out?”
Suna groans, grabbing Osamu by the shoulders, “Please do not flirt in front of me. I don’t care if it’s practice, please I think I’m going to puke—”
Meanwhile, you’re standing there, smirk wiped off your face and flaming red. Osamu’s just cackling, “Man, I still got it.”
This is so fucking humiliating.
You cover your face with one hand and turn away. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him! How could you let someone so embarrassing have so much power over you? You don’t know what you did in a past life to suffer like this. To yourself, you mutter, “You could have asked Keiji or even Rin, but nooooo, you had to ask Miya Osamu to be your practice boyfriend. This is your fault, Y/N—”
Osamu hugs you, still laughing, “I’m sorry I couldn’t help it, your face looked so funny. But also take notes, that’s how you flirt with someone.”
“Y/N, I beg you,” Suna says, clasping his hands in front of his chest, “Don’t take flirting tips from him. That’s how you actually get water thrown at your face.”
You ignore them both and just quietly start putting your order in. And just as quietly, you pass the phone to Osamu. You sip your boba. You chew on a pearl. You question your existence, briefly. How did you end up here really, with your pride in shambles?
Osamu hands the phone to Suna and stands beside you, elbowing you gently, “That was good, right?”
You don’t understand how a man with an ego this big constantly needs reassurance. “It was alright.”
“Just alright?” Osamu repeats, with a slight whine. “But I was so smooth and cool. You didn’t think so?”
You ignore him, opting to stare blankly at the fridge. It’s decorated in random magnets, their class schedules printed out, numerous take-out menus, and an assortment of polaroids taken by your camera. Suna and Osamu aren’t too fussed about decorations, but you think that’s just sad. It’s nicer to come back to a place that looks like home.
Osamu elbows you again, a pout in full bloom on his face. Sometimes, you wisely think, the best way to deal with Miya Osamu is by ignoring him. He seriously hates it. At the same time, Suna finishes his order and hands the phone back to you. And just with a touch of your finger on the screen, your order is in.
Osamu eventually gives up on you and moves on to Suna, snuggling up to him and asking if Suna found him cool. Suna whines and tries to push him away, but Suna is far kinder and softer than you are. He eventually gives in, nodding half-heartedly, and Osamu immediately brightens, turning to you with his chin up, as if to say, see, somebody agrees.
What a fool, you think.
A fool who cheers too loudly when their food gets delivered. A fool who eats too fast and too much and talks even when his mouth is full. A fool who’ll do kind things like pick up boba for his friends even when he’s too tired from studying.
A fool that you like. A fool that you have a lot to learn from.
You must have been zoning out for a moment that Osamu interprets your silence as you being done eating, “Hey, are you not going to finish your spring roll? If not, can I have it?”
You smile, pushing your plate towards him, “Yeah, you can have it.”
Suna shakes his head as he watches Osamu take a huge bite of the spring roll, “What are you going to do for your evening classes and study sessions, huh? Who’s unfinished food are you going to eat?”
Osamu shrugs, “I’ll figure it out. It’s not like I won’t get out to grab a quick snack.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Suna mutters, exchanging a glance with you. You know what Suna is trying to get at. Knowing Osamu, he’s too much of a perfectionist that he’ll forget about break times and just keep going and going. He’ll drink water to fill the hunger and it just won’t do. You want him to eat well.
You remember then, your earlier dilemma of supporting your practice boyfriend and how best to show it. You have an idea.
That next day, after you finish your own dinner, you get yourself dressed up in a warm sherpa lined denim jacket and bucket hat that you found lying around on the floor, so you’re ready to brave the cold night. You skip your way to the convenience store and pick up an energy drink, several onigiris, and a cup of fruit. You make sure to ask for utensils and napkins when you pay.
The library isn’t that much farther from the convenience store. It doesn’t take you a long time at all, even when you take your sweet time to enjoy the stars twinkling in the dark night sky. You’re in a bright mood when you reach the study room Osamu’s in. You can’t go in just yet since he’s in the middle of a group discussion with other people, but you don’t mind.
You stand there for a bit of time, until someone stands up, clapping their hand and calling for a short break.
You wait for Osamu to turn around, watch as he stretches out his long arms, before knocking on the door to signal your presence. This catches the attention of everyone, including Osamu, who looks surprised to see you.
“Oh, Y/N, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?” Osamu says as soon as he comes to the door.
You playfully pout, “Can’t I visit you, Samu? What if I just wanted to see you?”
Osamu laughs, throwing his head back, “I understand I have that effect on people.”
“Okay, tone it down,” you roll your eyes, before pulling up the plastic bag of snacks you bought, “I did have a reason for coming here.”
Osamu’s eyes widen, “Oh my god—”
Dramatically, you wipes a fake tear from your own cheek, “I was thinking about my Osamu-kun, not eating three portions of a meal for dinner, not having anybody who’d let him steal food from, and it made me so sick to my stomach—”
Osamu doesn’t even look mad, too happy about the food, so you drop the act, “I didn’t get much, since I figured you’d at least have dinner. But you’re burning a lot of calories for brain power, so it’ll be good to replenish it by eating! But don’t eat too much, because then you’ll get sleepy like you always do after a big meal. Miya Osamu, are you listening?”
“How could I not listen when my practice girlfriend cares so much about me?” Osamu teases, taking the plastic bag from your hands. “Wearing my jacket, buying me food. My heart almost fluttered.”
“Almost?” you’re practicing hard at training yourself to get used to his flirting. You think you’re semi-succeeding when you can sigh and faux disappointment in response, “I should try harder next time then.”
Osamu pinches your cheek lightly, “There’s always room for improvement.”
“But I still did good, right?” You ask, unable to help it.
“So good,” Osamu says, tucking a piece of loose hair behind your ear. “Should I brag about it? Everyone’s going to be sojealous—”
“Samu, no, shut up—” you try to stop him, but when Osamu means to be insufferable, he just can’t be stopped.
“Guys, my friend brought me some food! Personally delivered. I have never even seen your boyfriends or girlfriends bring you guys anything—”
Your face gets so red from the attention and Osamu’s antics, you barely feel cold on the way back home. But you think about the happy surprise on Osamu’s face and think maybe the embarrassment is worth it.
Or maybe the true fool here isn’t Osamu. It’s you.
.
.
.
.
Miwa rolls her neck, sighing when she feels it crack, “Man, you should be paying me for this.”
You make a heart with your hands, “I only have love to give you.”
“Hmm,” Miwa hums, not hearing you, and you nudge Osamu with your elbow, while maintaining the heart pose. Osamu purses his lips, a hint of annoyance, but copies your pose, even adding an air kiss to send to Miwa.
But Miwa just raises a brow at you both. You sigh, turning to Osamu, “What do you think?”
“I only have five oranges and an expired milk in the fridge,” Osamu whispers.
You furrow your brows, trying to think hard about what you could offer. Osamu snaps his fingers, and you look at him excited, “You have something?”
Osamu nods, “Rin owes me a favor, so we can volunteer him.”
You nod at that, pleased. They turn to Miwa and offer exactly that, “Whatever you want, Rintarou will provide.”
“Oh?” Miwa’s eyes turn from full moons to happy crescents, “Would he be okay with that?”
“Miwa, please,” you snort, “Rin would be honored. Anyway, what’s next?”
“Well, this is kind of similar to the last point. I kind of want to expand upon it. There’s supporting each other, right? You could do that by giving gifts or by expressing your appreciation for them in words. But I think one of the true marks of caring for your partner is just going out of your way for them. You give up your own time to do these things just to make them happy.”
.
.
.
There was one night in October, where you and Suna had been too lazy to go out on a Friday night and instead, had each opened a bottle of wine and turned on the television. You don’t even remember how you ended up on the National Geographic Channel, but before you knew it, you were both sucked in by a program for Emperor Penguins of all things.
Cute little birds, you and Suna had cooed, bodies warm from the alcohol.
The camera follows the life of a single Emperor penguin, and you watch, riveted, as the baby chick emerges from its egg, underneath the male penguin’s pouch. You watch as it gets fed it’s first meal of krill and fish, as it takes its first step out of the warmth of their parents, and then eventually, being left alone in a creche of penguins while their parents go out to hunt for food.
The documentary tugs at your heartstrings, making it feel for this penguin you’ve watched grow up right before your eyes and in the span of a couple minutes no less. It’s heartwarming to see it make friends and learn how to bear through the cold as it waits for its parents to come back. And then, the narrator started to announce that it was time for the baby penguin to go off on its own with the other baby penguins and start hunting for food for itself.
You remember Suna sitting up straighter then and asking you, “Already? But they’re just babies!”
You agreed but shushed him, so that you could see what happens. Your baby penguin was reluctant to go and needed to be pushed by its parents to join the crowd. The narrator cruelly mentions, it needed to learn or it would starve.
It’s a slow waddle for the baby penguin and its comrades to the ocean. A treacherous road too; the show had shown a small segment where the babies had been followed by a skua bird. The baby penguin almost gets picked on, but the other penguins had quickly made a barrier around it and an Adelie penguin comes to save the day and finish escorting them to the water. Through the ordeal, your heart had beat fast, and Suna must have been nervous too, with the way he was clutching tightly to the pillow. You hold your breaths as it finally reaches the blue waters, watching as your baby penguin hesitates the slightest bit, and then a video montage of its journey from birth, its trials and wins, everything it took to get there plays. There’s some orchestral strings in the background to support the scene, and it tugged hard at the heart.
Before you knew it, the penguin was a baby no more and it jumped into the ocean, off to fend for itself in search of food. You felt your eyes water, not knowing why you were so touched by the growth of a little bird. You turned to Suna to make excuses of why your eyes were so watery, but Suna was wiping his eyes too. And then, you both started crying, inexplicably so.
Maybe it was the alcohol, which had made you both a little bit loose, a little less guarded. For when you both settled on the couch to sleep that night, you said, “I’m glad I’m not a penguin.”
“Why?” Suna had asked, softly in the dark.
You shrugged a little, eyes almost closed, “I don’t think I could’ve just left home like that, so young. It was just a baby.”
Suna laughed, “But we did. Eighteen is young. We looked like babies at the beginning of university.”
“I guess,”you acquiesce. And then another question: “Do you think the baby penguin misses home?”
Suna was almost asleep but he still answered, “I think so. It looked back just before it left. That’s how you know.”
“Know what?”
“When someone is longing.”
You snorted, “That sounded really deep. Are you sure you don’t want to be a poet?” And also, you mumbled, “What does that say about us? We both got on the high speed rail to Tokyo and never looked back.”
Suna made a soft noise of disagreement, “We do. We do it all the time. When you stop in the middle of the street because you smell something like your mom’s perfume. Or when, I see a puppy that looks just like mine back home. We miss it.” Suna reached over and patted your chest, “And it aches, just slightly, right here.”
You touched the hand on his chest, patting it, “What should I do then, when it aches? What do you do?”
“We call our moms and tell them we miss them. Maybe look at the moon. When that’s not enough, I just look at you though.”
“Why look at me?”
“Why not? You’re my oldest friend. My childhood friend. If nothing else, you feel like home.”
You had been so touched when Suna said that, you prayed that Suna had fallen asleep immediately as he said that, so you could emote properly in peace. But Suna never lets you live and never lets up whether you’re embarrassed, crying, or angry. Suna had cooed at you, half-asleep, voice hoarse, and said, “Wah, that baby penguin is braver than you.”
But it’s true. You’re made of puffed air bravado. And sometimes, when you run out of it, Suna is the only person who knows you well enough to grab you aside, cheer you up, and reassure you that everything’s going to be okay. Suna is the lighthouse of your universe, your home away from home.
So it becomes a habit, that when you’re missing home, it’s Suna you turn to. And Suna will pull you tighter, be more affectionate, and let you sleep over without you even needing to ask.
These days, though, you try hard not to lean on him so much. You know Suna is secretly stressed out about his classes, that he’s been spending his time between working harder to do better and hanging out with Miwa. And you just don’t want to add on to his plate.
Homesickness is a disease that hits the hardest in the middle of a semester, so if you’re feeling a little blue, a bit more quiet, a shade more dim, everyone’s thankfully a little too busy to notice. It feels nice in a way, to carry the loneliness in a corked bottle, only to pull it open when alone. This way, it ferments like grapes, turning something sour into something dark and bitter and sweet, good enough for you to savor in a dark room lit by the moon.
Some things you shouldn’t share.
But the moon can only witness so much, and there is only so much loneliness you can carry before your own hands get too tired. With each passing day, you have less energy to pretend everything’s alright. You just want to stay in bed and count down the days till you get to go home. But there’s classes, and clubs, and work, and homework — you’re just so tired of it all.
The only thing getting you through it are your friends. Even if they don’t know what’s going on with you, just by being with them and making them laugh brightens your day. You get this thought in your head, as a joke you say brings everyone to tears with laughter, that you’re getting good at this, masking loneliness.
And just when you think that, you get the biggest surprise when Osamu asks you to stay back at the end of a get together between your newly formed dinner-on-the-floor group. You had intended to go home, passing on the invite to get dessert from Suna, Miwa and Akaashi, but Osamu had held you by the hand to stop you and asked, “Can we talk? Just us?”
You’re sitting on Osamu’s bed, and you’re wondering what the hell Osamu wants to talk about. Was it about the practice dating? Was he getting sick of it? Did he want to stop doing it? You try to act nonchalant, looking everywhere but him, who was maybe trying to brave his way through breaking your heart.
“Y/N,” Osamu says, taking your hand into his lap and interlacing your fingers, “Is there something that’s been bothering you?”
The question catches you off guard. You blink as you digest the question, before carefully asking back, “What makes you ask that?”
“It’s nothing,” Osamu sighs, looking down at your hands, “It’s just that you’ve been a bit more quiet lately and I know that could mean nothing, but I figured I’d ask.”
“I thought I’d been acting the same?” Maybe you weren’t as good of an actor as you thought yourself to be.
Osamu shrugs, “I don’t know. Maybe I thought wrong. It just felt like you didn’t have that glow you usually have.”
You don’t know why, but that makes you snort so loud, “I glow? Samu, you think I glow? Like I have a light around me? Bro… that is so romantic…”
“Fuck you,” Osamu scowls, letting go of your hand, but you’re quick to grab them back in your hold, laughing the whole time. You laugh and laugh, finding yourself falling over him, your face onto his shoulder. And then something terrible happens.
Somehow, your laughs subside into tears, like rain starting to fall on a bright sunny day. It shocks both of you, leading both of you to fumble: you away, desperately trying to shield your eyes, and Osamu closer, unsure hands hovering over your frame.
“Oh no,” Osamu says, worriedly. “Did I fuck up? God, Rin is going to kill me—”
“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you assure him, hastily wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt.
Osamu sighs with worry, “No, no, you’re not. Why are you trying to comfort me? What’s wrong? Do you want to talk about it?”
You nod, but when you try to speak, you just get all choked up. Like you’re trying to summon the feeling, but it’s stuck right in your chest. It’s this goddamn ache.
Osamu decisively hugs you then, wrapping you in his arms and warmth, patting you on the back, shushing you, “It’s okay, we can talk about it once you’re ready. I’m not Rin, but I’ll listen, okay? I’m here. I’m here.”
It takes an embarrassing amount of time for you to pull yourself together. You’re sorry, so sorry to Osamu and the spot of tears you’ve made on his right shoulder. But it’s nice to have someone to lean on. The loneliness was so heavy, yet here in Osamu’s arms, it feels light like a cloud. You sniffle, “Do you think you could close the lights and then we can talk? It’s embarrassing, I-I don’t want you to see my face.”
“What happened to I’m so pretty the gods would want to steal my face?” Osamu jokes, hoping to pull a laugh, but you only push him to the light switch. “Okay, okay. I’ll turn it off.”
The light had been so unforgiving, and when Osamu turns the lights off, you just feel like you can breathe better. Osamu comes back to bed and you reach for a hug immediately. The way you’re both seated makes the position awkward, though, and Osamu scratches the back of his head, “Do you wanna lay down instead? It would be easier to, you know…”
“Yeah, we could,” you say, feeling around in the dark. Osamu feels your distress and simply maneuvers you both, so that he’s lying on his back and you’re in his arms, head laying on your shoulders, and a blanket pulled over your bodies. Timidly, you say, “This is nice.”
“I’m glad,” Osamu sighs, and when he exhales, you feel it with your own body. Have you ever been this close? “Do you want to talk now?”
You nod, and Osamu must feel the movement with his own body too. “Yeah, I just feel like you’re going to be mad at me when you hear the reason, it’s like not a big deal at all—”
“Why would I be mad? Whatever it is must be really important to you for you to be keeping it in and then suddenly crying this much. It’s just me. You trust me, right?”
You sigh, finally letting any mask you have on drop. “I just miss home. A lot. I want to go home so badly, but I can’t. I miss my mom, my dad, my cat, and even my stupid sister. I miss how my mom smells, especially when she’s cooking. Ugh, I sound like a baby.”
“You are a baby,” Osamu says, fondly, “What else do you miss? What does Aichi have that the great city of Tokyo doesn’t?”
You pouts, “It’s not as cold for one. Winters back home are much nicer. Also, the people there are much friendlier and everybody has the same accent as me.”
“Is that so?” Osamu says, like he’s talking to a baby, words dripping like honey, “But how good can Aichi be, when it doesn’t have this one thing that Tokyo has?”
You close your eyes, “If you’re going to say Aichi doesn’t have you, I don’t want to hear it—”
“Whyyyyy,” Osamu whines, his fingers pressing to your side. A threat to tickle, if you ever saw one. “It’s true.”
“You need to come to Aichi, by the way. You need to see the great views that we have—”
Osamu sighs, “Listen, when I asked if you came here by way of a tractor, you know I was kidding, right?
“Anyway,” you ignore him, lost in his memories, “And the cherry blossoms! There was a long line of trees outside our middle school, and I felt like I was in a drama every time I walked to school. I got really interested in photography back then, and I’d take lots of photos of the streets at that time. I have soooo many photos of Rin, he wasn’t that tall then…” When you get going, you sometimes doesn’t realize how long you’ve gone on talking, and there’s just so much to say about your idyllic childhood.
But then you realize you haven’t heard Osamu speak in a while, so you stop mid-sentence, wondering if he’d fallen asleep. “Samu? Did I put you to sleep?”
“Hm? No, no, you’re okay,” Osamu replies, in a low voice. He sounded like he was close to sleep. “You can keep talking. I’m listening.”
But you feel bad continuing when it’s obvious he’s tired, “It’s okay, I don’t want to burden you with it, I usually talk to Rin about this kind of thing—”
“Seriously, it’s okay,” Osamu insists, but you’re already trying to get up. You fail though, for Osamu’s arm around your waist tightens and your face smacks against his chest.
“Samu,” you whine.
“Y/N,” Osamu says in the same tone, and you can tell he’s rolling his eyes, “Come on, you’re not a burden. Not to me.”
You know he means it as a friend, that it speaks of how Osamu likes to take care of you the way a big brother would, but your traitor of a heart flutters anyway. “Really?” you ask, just to make sure you heard it right.
“You know I adore you, right?” Osamu says, sounding rather shy. He’s getting brave and nice, all because it’s dark. You want to see his face. “Even though all you do is prank me, and bully me, and love Rin over me—”
“I get it—”
“What I’m trying to say is, you can lean on me too. I’m sure Rin’s way better at comforting you and you’ve known him for much longer, but you have me too, okay? You don’t have to keep it all in.”
You don’t know what to say, overwhelmed once again by the affection you feel for him. Instead, you just snuggle closer and say, “Okay. Thank you.”
You then feel the lightest pressure on your head, followed by hands running through your hair. Belatedly, you realise Osamu must have kissed the crown of your head, for he says, “Good, it hurts my heart to see you sad.”
Osamu doesn’t stop petting your head, and you find yourself being lulled to sleep in his arms. There’s nothing else to be said; after all, you have a heart that only needs to be held.
Osamu doesn’t think so though.
You get a random text message from him that Sunday, asking you if you’ve already eaten lunch. Snarkily, you reply: it’s 2 pm on a sunday…i’ve only been awake for ten minutes so far…
Osamu replies with two messages. One was a text with three ellipses. The second just said: well come over and eat with me.
You’re not going to say no to a free ticket for your first meal of the day (you’re not going to say no to him either, but Osamu doesn’t need to know that.)
When you arrive at Osamu’s apartment though, you’re surprised when you don’t see the usual take out boxes or even empty packages of instant ramen littered around the kitchen. Instead, there’s a lovely spread of dishes, bracketed by two bowls of rice, on the small dining table. It’s an understatement to say that it smells delicious. Your mouth is watering.
Osamu is smiling at his reaction, “Hungry?”
You’re just amazed, nodding, “Wow, Samu, where did you get all this?”
“Sit first, come on,” Osamu pushes you to take a seat, and then takes the seat opposite yours. “So yesterday, after you left, I called my mom. I asked her for some recipes of my favourite childhood meals. She facetimed me for hours, going through every recipe one by one because there was just so much.”
And there is so much: Osamu points out the dishes one by one: “There’s tonkatsu, onigiri, nikujaga, udon. Then she taught me how to make her special bowl of miso soup, because it’s something nice and warm to sip on alongside everything else.”
You don’t even know what to say. It all just looks so good? Has onigiri always looked so mouth-wateringly good? Has tonkatsu always looked so succulent? It’s a feast for the eyes.
“Why aren’t you eating yet?” Osamu asks, and you smile, sheepish, “I don’t know what to eat first.”
Osamu huffs a laugh, mumbling so cute, before placing a chunk of beef from the nikujaga on top of his rice. “There, eat that first. Your first meal of the day and you’re starting it with me and home cooked meals. Oh Y/N, you are so privileged.”
You smile at your bowl, too touched by Osamu’s gesture to be bothered by the teasing. Osamu points again at your bowl, “Hurry up! I’m trying to let you eat first and you’re making it very hard for me.”
“Okay, okay!” you say, picking up the beef with your chopsticks and finally, under Osamu’s gaze bites into it. God, the meat is just so tender, and mixed in with the sauce it’s just an explosion of flavour. Your eyes widen at the taste, nodding in approval at Osamu, who’s smile just widens at your reaction. You swallow, “Samu, this is so good. Tell your mom I love her. Home cooked food just hits differently.”
Satisfied with your reaction, Osamu finally starts eating too. The two of you are quiet eaters; there’s not much talking to be done. All you can hear is the sounds of chewing, metal chopsticks clanging against ceramic bowls and saucers, and the pleased sounds coming from both of you. You’re not one for gluttonous eating, but you stuff yourself far more than what you usually eat. It’s so rare for him to eat home cooked meals. He thinks you probably ate more than Osamu, who had wordlessly refilled your bowl with more miso or more meat.
By the time you’ve both cleared everything and left barely any for the trash, you could die happy. You could also go back to sleep, feeling like you’ll pass out from being so full. Maybe you’ll take a nap after you help Osamu clean the dishes.
You stand side by side in the sink, with Osamu washing the dishes and you rinsing them with water and letting it dry on the rack. Already, you feel sleepy again, so happy and content, “Samu, thanks for cooking and sharing the food. It probably would have lasted longer if you didn’t share it with me.”
“That’s true, but going through all that effort would have been pointless if I didn’t share the food with you.”
“Huh? What do you mean?” you turn to face him fully, but Osamu just continues scrubbing. “Didn’t you call your mom just to catch up and get some recipes for your favourite dishes?”
“You’re… not wrong, but I specifically called, because my mom’s the best cook I know. And she’d definitely help me make everything perfectly, just how I liked it.”
You still don’t understand, “What does that have to do with sharing food with me?”
Osamu purses his mouth for a second, then shuts off the faucet and turns to you. “Do I have to spell everything out for you?“
“Spell what out?”
“The other night,” Osamu begins awkwardly, eyes shifting to a point beyond your stare, “you know, when you were talking about missing home?”
“Yes…” you’re biting your tongue. You thought that was going to remain unspoken between you two. It sure had felt that way, when you woke up to Osamu’s sleeping face barely an inch away from yours. That morning had been quiet, the air was cool and accepting, and the sun brought back the light, taking away any remnants of the previous night’s vulnerabilities.
Osamu shoulders on, “And how you missed your mom’s cooking? I’m not sure if I was helpful at all that night, but I thought what if I could get something close to your mom’s cooking?” Osamu stares at you, hoping he could stop explaining by then.
But you look at him expectantly, so Osamu sighs again, “Okay, so I called my mom, whined at her to help me with my mission, and spent the morning cooking, so that I could feed you a nice home cooked meal. Because you miss home.”
Your mind hurriedly calculates the implication of all of this and nearly shuts down at the result it arrives at. You bite your lip, “Because you thought it would make me happy?”
Osamu scratches his head, sighing heavily, like he can’t believe you’re making him say it, “Did it make you happy?”
You don’t know what compels him, if it’s the inadequacy of the word thank you or what, but you lean in and gently kiss Osamu’s cheek. When you pull away, you’re met with the stunned look on Osamu’s face. You give him your best smile, your brightest, all teeth and crinkled corners at the eyes, “Very happy.”
“What was that for?” Osamu asks, but you just shrug, a smile still on your face, and turn back to the dishes waiting for you in the sink.
After realising you weren’t going to respond, Osamu can’t help but just smile back, pressing the back of his hand against your cheek, before turning back to finish the dishes.
It’s an odd way to express how you feel, but it’s like standing underneath a pool of sunlight when it’s cold and grey. You could pocket it and take it out like an umbrella on dark days. You look again at Osamu beside you, and he’s got a smile on his face too.
This is nice, you think. This is a good day.
You remember the practice dating contract suddenly (are all your thoughts an infinite loop that begin and end with Osamu?) and thinks about how this is what Miwa had wanted you to practice. Going out of one’s way to make your partner happy. You bring it up to Osamu and say, “I should be the one trying to make you happy.”
Osamu laughs, “It’s okay, some things you can’t practise until the right moment comes. We’ll just say you learned and understood by watching and receiving.”
You pout, “I guess.”
Osamu shakes his head, putting both his hands on your shoulders. There’s a playful look in his eyes that doesn’t match the serious set of his mouth, and whatever he’s about to say is bound to be troublesome. Osamu gazes deep into your eyes as he says, “As your practice boyfriend, you don’t even need to try. I’m happy because you’re happy.”
You slap his hands away, turning around to face away from him. “That was terrible!” you groan, “Stop quoting the dramas we watch together. God!”
Osamu laughs and laughs and laughs.
Memory can be a faulty little thing, you’ve heard. It misremembers, it blurs, it shapes, and it’s wearing a blindfold as it decides which details to keep. You won’t know what you’ll remember in the future, but you can
today is the day osamu confesses his feelings to you. you, through petals in shades of red, confess first.
“I think today is the day Tsumu.” Osamu says softly.
The early morning light peeks in through the windows of his apartment. He’s closed the restaurant today, taking a rare day off. He checked the weather app today too, and it’s a perfect summer day— no clouds, no rain. The temperature is just right.
Osamu never usually cares about the weather, he has other more important things to worry about than whether he’s wearing an appropriate outfit for going outside. But the weather is important today you see, and it determines what outfit he picks out, and the outfit has to be perfect; well, everything has to be perfect actually because—
“What’s going on today?”Atsumu asks through a yawn, scratching his head as he watches the tv. “It’s Halloween right? Nothing too special.”
“Well, yeah.” Osamu says, sitting down on the sofa next to him. He sets his coffee mug on the table and absent-mindedly stares at the tv. “But I was talking about something else.”
Atsumu looks confused. “What else is happening today?” His eyebrows scrunch as he racks his brain for any important event, before it dawns on him, “Oh! It’s y/n’s exhibit tonight, right?”
“Yes.” Osamu tries to say it casually, tries to hide the sun glowing inside of him. Y/N, it sings. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. “But that’s still not what I meant.”
Atsumu’s phone beeps with a notification. “Then what do you mean?”
“You know that girl I’ve liked?”
“The mystery girl you’re head over heels for?”
Osamu nods, “Yeah, I think I’m going to ask her out today.”
Atsumu paused.
Osamu contains his smile.
When Atsumu stays silent for a beat too long, Osamu asks, “Is my announcement really that shocking?”
“No,” Atsumu starts, “no, it’s just… do you really think it’s the best time to do it today? It’s Y/N’s exhibit.”
Osamu grabs his coffee mug and takes a sip. It’s still too hot, and god, he thinks he’s burned his tongue. “What about her exhibition?”
“It’s a big day for her,” Atsumu explains, “It’s all she’s talked about for the past month. Wouldn’t it be kind of insensitive if you ditch us halfway through just for your mystery girl? We’re supposed to celebrate after that too.”
Oh, that’s right. Osamu never got round to telling anyone that you were his mystery girl, that you were the one he’s head over heels for. In his defence, it’s a relatively new development in your friendship.
(but if he’s being honest, it’s been a long time coming.)
He met you a few years ago, back when he was still just a business student struggling his way through exams in college, and you were a photography student who happened to live next door to him. It took a while for your friendship to develop, Osamu not really being the type to go out and make new friends just because he lives next door to someone, but you’ve been as thick as thieves since then.
He thinks he’s loved you for a while now, but it was the quiet kind of love— the type that sneaks up on you until one day the feelings get unbearable and your heart screams for nothing but them.
He finally admitted to himself how he really felt a month ago. He had wanted to confess as soon as he found out, but the only thing that was stopping him was you. You had become sick with something recently, looking pale and constantly coughing into endless tissues. Osamu had been worried at first, tried offering to take you to the doctor but you dismissed all of his attempts.
It’s just stress, you had said, giving him a smile. I just have so much preparation to do for it, and I’ve barely been sleeping to try and get everything done.
You had this stubborn line on your forehead that Osamu yearned to smooth over with his thumb. He had wanted to help, but with his fear of overstepping your boundaries, he settled for making you dinner every other day, dropping by your house to make sure you were still taking care of yourself, saying don’t push yourself too hard.
But Osamu had seen you, just the other day. You looked exhausted, bags under your eyes, but there was colour back on your cheeks. You looked brighter, like a flower ready to bloom at the beginning of spring.
“It’ll be fine.” Osamu assures his twin. “I think she’ll be really happy, actually.”
Atsumu grunts, and he looks like he’s going to disagree but he says, “Whatever. Y/N’s a sucker for romance anyway; I doubt she’ll be mad at you for pursuing your mystery girl.”
Osamu agrees that you wouldn’t. Especially because you’re going to be in it
.
.
.
Osamu arrives at the studio alone.
He had told Atsumu to go on ahead without him, that he had to take care of something, but really he had just wanted to stop on the way and get you celebratory flowers.
It’s what he’s holding in his arms right now, a bundle of tulips, unusually bright and pink.The florist had told him that they only bloomed during spring time, like the cherry blossom trees. The only ones they had were preserved ones, made from real flowers but meant to last forever.
Osamu was disappointed when he couldn’t find any fresh ones, despite visiting three different florists; but they were your favourite flowers, so he settled for whatever he could get.
Thankfully, you’ve never been the type to be fussy over gifts so he knows you’ll appreciate it nonetheless.
He walks into the studio, looking for a sign that will point him in the right direction. He tries to remember the name of the exhibit, he knows that you had told him countless times before; but his memory is like a goldfish so he counts on something catching his eyes. Trip or tripe or—
Triptych. Decay in Triptych, written on the wall.
He follows the arrows, until he finds the right room, almost filled to the brim with people.
He stops at the front door in amazement. From what he knows, there’s only a handful of artists at this exhibit, most relatively new onto the scene. To be able to garner a crowd this big already is quite a feat he thinks. His chest blooms with pride.
He looks around the room, trying to spot a familiar face, but there’s just too many people. So he chooses to walk around instead. You and him are meant to be; he’ll find you in the end.
Osamu’s not an art student— far from it really. He’s a well-respected small business owner, only relatively new to the restaurant scene himself with Onigiri Miya. It was a hard journey through college, and even harder to try and build everything from the ground up but he always reminds himself of how you were there through it all. How you stayed up late with him often, trying out his new dishes, taking photographs to help with his promotion.
When everything seemed bleak for him, you were there to remind him that he was more than just his career, but you always believed in him. He doesn’t think he’d be where he is now without you.
It’s why he tries his best to understand the art in front of him, all the photographs hanging on the wall. If you can try and understand business models overnight just to try and comfort him, he can try and depict the art before his eyes— he owes you at least that much.
The one before him is about a town. Ghost towns, to be specific. The first picture is a simple one, empty land with trees, and animals and a river flowing through it; a picture showing the world before people. In the middle, there was a built up town, filled and lively with the hustle and bustle of locals. He could see a florist on the side of the road, a small bakery right next to it. And then the third picture, it’s the town on its last standing bones, bare and almost grinded into dust by time.
He understands this one easily, and it makes his heart ache. It reminds him of his grandma who lives in a small town, deep in the countryside where there’s only a few hundred people left. Nobody ever comes to visit, and no one ever decides to stay.
He makes a mental reminder to call his grandma tomorrow morning.
When he moves onto the next piece, he’s taken aback for a moment.
In the first picture, there is a singular white petal.
In the next one, there’s a handful of more of the white petals, all stained with a red liquid? Osamu isn’t sure.
In the third one, there’s so many petals, too many that they have fallen onto the floor. The petals are red. No, Osamu corrects himself, they were originally white. In the middle of all the red-stained petals, lays a whole flower, in perfect bloom. It’s large, and full, held up by a thorny, green stem. It’s also unnaturally red, like fresh blood on snow. But if you looked closely, you could see right by the stem— hints of white.
He realises quickly that it’s a rose.
Osamu only recognises it because it’s his favourite flower. His mother had always been fond of roses, and growing up his father had brought her home a bouquet of them every other week. They always filled his house, all different colours, red, pink, yellow— and his favourite of all, white.
This piece he doesn’t really understand.
Thankfully, there’s a neat little description at the bottom, written by the artist with vaguely familiar handwriting.
It reads: Hanahaki, love as decay.
Of course, Osamu thinks. How could he have missed it? Hanahaki happened so commonly these days, and he even knew a number of people affected by it, but it was rarely talked about. No one liked to talk about the disease that people looked upon as a curse.
He thinks about how personal it seems for the artist, and his heart feels heavy. With pity, almost. It’s not a piece he thought would belong here in this exhibit, but it’s certainly eye-catching.
He wonders who made it. He looks for the name of the artist but—
“Samu!”
You’ve found him.
.
.
.
Osamu’s arms are quickly filled with you, so happy that he thinks you might burst into confetti.
“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you since Atsumu arrived earlier.” you squeeze him tight, and when you pull back, all Osamu can look at is your flushed cheeks.
“Y/N, I—” he starts, but you spot the bouquet in his arms.
“You got me flowers?” you ask, teasing smile playing on your lips. “I think this is the first time you’ve ever given me any. Where’s Osamu and what have you done to my best friend?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Osamu says carelessly, practically shoving them at you. “Someone was giving them out on the street, so I figured you know—”
You give him a knowing smile, and god, Osamu wants so badly to just get his confession over and done with; he doesn’t know how much longer he can go with this push and pull things you two have going on.
You cradle the flower in your arms, and you look so happy that he can’t help but beam back at you. As you look at the flowers, Osamu can’t help but be reminded of the red-stained roses he just saw.
You wouldn’t. Osamu knows you well; you wouldn’t.
You’re about to say something, when someone calls your name, gesturing for you to come up to the front. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
You walk up to the front, still clutching at the flowers and clear your throat. “Hello everyone, it’s a pleasure to see you all here. I’d like to take some time to draw your attention to my work. It’s called, Hanahaki, love in decay.”
“As you all may know already, Hanahaki is a taboo subject in our society today. I know a handful of people who have gotten it, but we all suffer in silence. We all suffer in shame. But I don’t think we have to,” You say, empathy coating your words. You gesture to your work behind you, starting the first lone petal.
“The first petal you cough is only the beginning. And the very discovery of it marks the start of loneliness and shame. You hide it,” you swallow, “because at first you don’t believe it. At first you want to believe that they can love you back.”
You move on to the next one. “But then, the petals keep coming. And that’s when it hurts, it’s painful to see that something so beautiful and pure as love can signify a devastating truth. But you still cling onto hope, even as your body weakens. Even when you struggle to come up with lies believable enough so people don’t ask questions. You cling onto that hope until your petals start coming out stained with blood.”
You point at the picture, to a petal fully red, “And that’s when you ask yourself: what do you love more? What is worth more? Your life, or the person you love who doesn’t love you back? Should you get the surgery to remove the flower by its roots, or do you die waiting to be loved back?”
An unknown voice in the crowd speaks, “Is this piece telling the viewer to get the surgery? To remove the flower even if it erases all of this person’s love, just so they can live again?”
“That’s up to you to decide; it’s open to your own interpretation.”
Another voice asks, “Does this piece stem from your own personal experiences?”
You glance at Osamu so briefly he thinks he’s imagined it. There’s a small pause before you answer, and Osamu feels a vice grip on his throat. “Yes. It does.”
Osamu’s chest feels constricted. There’s an ache there, sitting right above his heart that it’s hard to do anything but process the pain.
He needs a moment. He wants to walk away for a minute, to get air, to get something rushing back into his lungs.
But he doesn’t get to, because someone else asks: “Of all the flowers, why the rose?”
“Because,” you smile, “it was the favourite flower of someone I loved.”
The ache in his chest moves, pushing its way up his throat and this time, he really can’t breathe, the passage of his throat narrowing with every second.
He gasps, loud enough that everyone in the crowd turns around to face him, your eyes finding him quickly. He can see panic in your eyes.
Osamu’s vision starts to blur, his knees weakening until he feels himself falling to the ground, hands in front of him. He sees a sea of red, you pushing through the crowd to get to him, dropping the bouquet in your haste to get to him.
He coughs and coughs and coughs until his throat feels like it’s been ripped out. Tears stream down his face as he clutches at his throat, and you grab him by the shoulders, worried eyes searching his face.
Osamu hears you calling for a paramedic, but he coughs again, harsher this time, until he feels something in his throat, caught around his tongue. He reaches up with his hand to pull it out.
There, slick with saliva, is a bright pink petal of a tulip.
hanahaki disease - a fictional disease where the victim coughs up flower petals (often a flower that symbolises the object of their affections) when they suffer from one-sided love.
even if the love is actually requited, if the other person doesn’t make it known, the disease persists. it can be cured through confession, or surgical removal, though the latter causes romantic feelings to be removed altogether.
a/n: well… she’s back ! i’ll be updating twice a week so if you’ve already read these chaps u won’t be waiting long for the end ! hope u enjoy :’) for anyone who was on my previous taglist, let me know if you’re still interested !
You were going through an existential crisis. Every college student was entitled to one, right? What do I do with my life? What’s my purpose? Will I ever find the true meaning to happiness? Has anyone actually come out of life unscathed? Has anyone actually found an answer?
You think you have. Your existential crisis came in the form of Miya Osamu.
This was the reality of your situation:
One, Miya Osamu is a third year business major, close friend, and the object of your affection for the past two years.
Second, this big fat crush you’ve been harbouring is preventing you from living life to the fullest. College is meant to be the time when you date around and experiment to learn what you want in a relationship. You can’t do that when you’ve only got eyes for one person.
Third, given the first two points, you’ve come to the conclusion that you just need to get over Miya Osamu.
The first question is: how?
When you tell Suna over a bowl of curry at lunch, he doesn’t take you seriously. “You say that like you haven’t been trying, since you saw him going on a date with someone else.”
You frown back at him. That had been the first time you’d realised that nothing was going to come out of your feelings. After seeing him in that cafe with another girl, this is the conclusion you’ve reached. To Osamu, you were just a friend so your feelings would never come to any fruition.
It’sfine,you think to yourself. You’ve had months to accept it, and now it’s time for you to move on. “I haven’t tried hard enough,” is what you say.
“And why is that?” Suna asks, looking at you seriously.
“Do you really have to be serious all the time?” You pout. “Do you really have to be a psych major right now?”
“I’mgenuinely asking you,” he responds, “because I want to know how different things will be this time around.”
“Ok, but I’m determined this time!” You smile, “I’m in my early 20s, my primeyears— don’t you think someone as pretty as me deserves to have a fun love life?”
In response, Suna starts eating again and you whine at him. “Rin, come on, won’t you help me out?”
“The best way to move on is to just tell him how you feel and let him reject you.” he says seriously. “You’re the type of person who needs a rejection, otherwise you’ll just keep hoping.”
“What hope are you talking about?” You ask. “I’ve never actually believedthat Osamu would date me. It was just a lot of wishful thinking.” You say this matter-of-factly, as if you’re talking about the weather, or like how Miya Osamu has grey hair. “I don’t need to be rejected so I don’t need to confess anything.”
Suna sighs at your words. “So what are you going to do? Use somebody as a rebound to get over him? How are you even going to do that when you compare everyone to Osamu.”
You open your mouth to deny but he beats you to it. “Don’t even— do you know how many times I’ve witnessed you rejecting someone because ‘they’re not as nice as Osamu’, or because they’re not being romantic enough? This isn’t a movie Y/N. You have to start being more realistic.”
“Then what do you want me to do?” you pout. “It’s not my fault everyone pales in comparison! It’s not like I can just date him to get it out of my system.”
The gears start to turn in your head as soon as the words leave your mouth. You’ve read enough novels, and watched enough movies to know that fake-dating someone you like can only end two ways: either you both fall in love for real, or get your heart broken. There’s a 99% possibility that Osamu would break your heart. But that one percent…
Your eyes light up and Suna groans, seeing the look on your face. “No, don’t even think about it.”
“You haven’t even heard what I was going to say!” you whine.
Suna just sighs, looking unconvinced, but lets you continue.
You straighten your back, declaring, “I’ll ask Osamu to be my practice boyfriend, so I can practice going on dates.”
“Terrible idea. Osamu would never agree to it.”
.
.
.
“Sure, I’ll do it.” Osamu says casually when you ask.
You blink. You had been prepared to grovel, shed tears and pull out a presentation on why Miya Osamu should be your practice boyfriend. You had even made sure to do it when he was in the middle of eating to make sure he was in a good mood. And here he was, not even looking up and agreeing? Something’s not right.
Safe to say, you’re suspicious. “Oh,” you scratch your head, “just like that?”
Osamu looks at you, in the middle of slurping some noodles, and doesn’t even take his time to finish chewing and swallowing before responding, mouth full and cheeks puffed up, “Well, you’re going to treat me, right?”
It hurts your pride that his gross manners still makes him unbelievably cute.
“Ah, there’s the Samu I know!” you clap your hands and smile when Osamu predictably glares at you.
“Nevermind,” Osamu says, turning away from you and taking his meal with him too. “You are clearly not grateful enough. It’s sad, because I am so kind.”
You want to laugh again, but you hide it with a cough. “Samu, please,” you whine, “I’ll treat you to food.”
Osamu turns back to you, but only partially. But you know you’ve successfully baited him already. “How much food?”
“As much as my minimum wage job can procure,” you promise, but with the intent to break it. Osamu was a garbage truck when it came to food, and you were going to be broker than broke if Osamu wasn’t given set limits.
Osamu nods, reaching out to fist bump you to conclude your agreement. You cheer and meet his fist.
And Suna thought you wouldn’t even get him to agree. It is really all too easy.
.
.
.
But then you didn’t really think that far ahead on what this practice dating would entail. You’re easily swept away by grand ideas and tend to forget the details for execution. Worry not, you’re already working on fixing this.
“You may be wondering why I’ve called you in for a meeting,” you begin, sitting primly at Osamu and Suna’s dining table. (To call it a dining table is like calling a child a man, but this is not your apartment, so you can’t judge toohard.)
“In my own apartment?” Osamu slides into the chair, so that you’re facing each other, “Do you ever stay at your own place?”
You narrow your eyes at him, “Of course, I do. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about the practice boyfriend thingy—”
Osamu leans back, smirking, “The practice boyfriend thingy?”
You pull out a piece of paper, huffing and trying hard not to regret your decision, “I just think we should probably write down some ground rules on it, especially if you’re going to do it in exchange for compensation—”
“Did Miwa coach you through this—”
“Are you going to let me finish talking?” you wait for him to finish miming the zipping of his lips, before continuing, “Also, no, I did not learn this from our favourite pre-law student. This was in To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. I figured it’s probably good to write down what we’re both comfortable with and what kind of lessons we’ll be doing?”
Osamu looks at you thoughtfully, “Well, in terms of lessons, that’s up to you, right? Like what do you want to practise?”
When you think about relationships, you think of pretty idyllic images of first dates, holding hands while walking underneath cherry blossom trees, and kissing. You’re sure Osamu would bully you if you actually said this out loud. So vaguely, you say, “Just dating in general, I guess? The thought of going on dates makes me nervous. Like what do I do? What do I wear? What’s a good place for a date?”
“These things you kind of have to experience to know?” Osamu says, slowly, leaning forward and propping his chin on the palm of his hand, “Like we should probably just go on an actual date and you can be as bad of a first date without repercussions. I think that’s the best way.”
You nod, letting the idea sink in, “That could work.”
Osamu nods, “You can pay me back easily with a meal too,” and then he grins, “so I was thinking you should take me out somewhere expensive—”
You kick his leg under the table, “Please remember I’m a college student just like you.”
Osamu doesn’t even bat an eye at your violent reaction. “Is that it?” Osamu steals the paper and pen from your grasp and writes the word dates in a comically small font on the blank page.
You scratch your head, “I don’t really have any experience, so I don’t really know what I need to know. I’ll just trust you on this. You’re the one who’s been on a thousand dates.”
You laugh when you see the unamused expression on Osamu’s face. “You make it sound like I’ve dated a lot, it’s only been a couple of times.”
“Only been a couple of times,” you mock, “Samu, I’ve seen you at parties. You’re the biggest flirt I know.”
Your own desensitisation to Osamu’s flirtatiousness is a testament to how many times you’ve seen it. You’ve long accepted defeat. Osamu leans back in his chair and smiles, “Is that why you came to me? You clearly admire my talent.”
“That is so not it,” you roll your eyes. And then because you like to get the last word, even at the cost of being vulnerable, you glance away and admit, “It’s because I trust you the most. That’s why I asked.”
You peek at his reaction and feel a weird sense of delight at the taken aback look on his face. It’s got you feeling like you’ve won something for once.
“Oh,” Osamu says softly, and then he just looks heart wrenchingly kind. “I’ll take care of you.”
Your heartbeat ricochets off to the horizon. There is perhaps no winning against Miya Osamu.
.
.
.
The first date doesn’t happen for a while, so much so that you almost forget about the whole thing. You say almost because Suna reminds you of it every once in a while, like an evil Duolingo owl. But midterms season comes at you hard, and all the practice dating business is swept under the rug.
For the sake of your grades, you put yourself under the tutelage of Miwa, dear friend and also the scariest person you know. As long as she’s watching you, you know you’ll stay focused on work.
Like now for example, it’s a Wednesday night, which typically means watching a new episode of some zombie show at Osamu and Suna’s apartment. They had found it recently and for once, Suna was interested in a drama you had suggested. You hope they’re not watching it without you tonight as you slave over your studies at the library.
You peek over at Miwa, who is studiously outlining her textbook and comparing it with the notes she had taken in class. She looks so at peace studying, that it must be why they chose her as the model for the university’s pre-law program.
Miwa must feel you looking at her, because without even looking up from her textbook, she asks, “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” you say, going back to your textbook. But the history notes you’re trying to study are looking blurrier by the second. You want to take a break already, but you’ve only been here for an hour. Still, you try to persevere.
A moment later, your phone buzzes and you’re delighted to see that it’s a text from your group chat with Suna and Osamu. You swipe to see the notification:
From Suna: Where are you? Are you really studying? >:(
You snort at Suna’s doubt and reply: you’ve caught me. i’m actually on a date with miwa <3
You get a response immediately: Miwa is too good for you. She would never!!
Followed by a message from Osamu: are you :o cheating on me already?
You shake your head at Suna’s predictability. He is so obvious with his massive crush on Miwa. You ignore Osamu’s message. The teasing is an unfortunate side effect of asking him to be your practice boyfriend.
You open your camera and point it at Miwa, “Miwa, Rin wants proof that I’m actually studying with you.”
“Is Rintarou your mom?” Miwa drily asks but poses cute nonetheless.
You smirks, immediately sending the pic to the group chat. “No, but he nags like he is,” is what you tell her. You locs your phone and pretend to look at your textbook as you wait for the notifications to come in.
You don’t have to wait long. Your phone buzzes so much that you have to switch it to silent mode due to Miwa’s judgemental look. You smile sheepishly and unlock your phone to see what Suna has to say.
Suna is crying in your messages: She is so cute :’(
Though almost immediately, he sends another message full of his suspicions: How do I know she didn’t send this to you?
Osamu decides to add on to his previous message: wow, so you’re really cheating on me :(
You roll your eyes at both of them and type furiously: Why would Miwa send me a selfie of herself studying to fool you? Also, please be quiet, Osamu-kun :)
But your response doesn’t even make a difference. Suna texts back: I think I have to go over there to check for myself.
While Osamu texts: Buy my silence. For the price of one shin ramen, I will be quiet for the five minutes it takes me to eat—
You put your phone down, refusing to read any further. Apologetic, you turn to Miwa, “Hope you don’t mind, but Rin might be stopping by.”
Miwa shakes her head but it’s more good-natured than anything. She smiles, “Fine. But tell him to bring coffee and snacks with him.”
“You want your usual coffee?” you ask, and Miwa hums affirmatively. You send one last text to the group chat, basically telling Suna to get you and Miwa snacks and food as well as your location in the library.
You assume that you’ll get nothing done once Suna comes around, so you actually seriously study in the meantime. You aren’t that bad of a student anyway; you just need to study with someone strict like Miwa, so your brain doesn’t wander endlessly. In class, you’re actually pretty studious.
Half an hour later, you see the impact of Suna’s arrival first — in front of you, Miwa brightens considerably and when you turn around, you see Suna walking like he’s the male lead of a K-drama. He must have brushed his hair, changed his clothes from the pyjamas you for sure know he was wearing to a stylish outfit, and his smile is in full force. You can’t stand him. He did not get dressed this nicely just to check if you were actually studying.
Suna barely looks at you, and instead his attention is fully on Miwa as he cradles the coffee he got for her. “Hey, Miwa-kun.”
“Rin,” Miwa greets, tone sweet enough to replace sugar in coffee, “Is that my coffee?”
Suna nods, handing it over, “Yup, one caramel macchiato.”
Miwa thanks him with starry eyes and a smile. It’s only then you notice that Suna only had one coffee with him, and you fight the urge to whack him with your textbook. You settle for glaring at him, “What about me? Where’s the coffee I asked for?”
Suna shrugs, “I don’t have it with me. I’m sorry I accidentally dropped it, but it’s okay, your mom told me you shouldn’t be allowed to drink coffee past dinner—”
Just as you’re about to retort, somebody’s hand places an iced americano in front of you. You look up wide-eyed to see Osamu cooly winking at you, “Ah, so you were actually studying.”
“Samu,” you’re surprised to see him since he didn’t say he was coming by too, “What are you doing here?”
Osamu pinches your cheek, “I wanted to make sure we were pausing our show for a good reason.”
You pout, “I’m actually studying, so you guys don’t have to check up on me.”
“Lesson #1,” Osamu sighs, “Practice boyfriends should check up and bring coffee as support.”
You flush at that, tugging at your ear that was definitely turning bright red. “Well, thank you.”
Osamu thankfully turns his attention to Miwa and Suna, while you start sipping your coffee to distract yourself from the way Osamu is pressed to your side, and how his fingers are absentmindedly playing with random strands of your hair.
You don’t know why you’re getting so affected by these things. You’ve always been touchy with Osamu, never really worrying about looking too affectionate, since you act that way with everybody. But now, it’s like the same things are felt through different lenses. Is it because Osamu is saying he’s doing things as your “practice boyfriend”? You really don’t know.
Once Suna is done flirting with Miwa and thanked her for helping his poor friend study, Osamu does a small laugh and turns to you again. “Think you’ll ace your midterms?”
You sigh at the reminder but smile up at him, “With enough motivation, I should be able to. Miwa will make sure of it.”
Osamu leans down and you think it’s to kiss your head goodbye as he always does, but instead he leans close to your ear. He whispers so that Miwa and Suna can’t hear, “If you do well, I’ll take you out on that date. That should be enough motivation, right?”
“You’re so full of yourself,” you bristle at the suggestion, but Osamu just smirks as he pulls away. Where does he get the confidence and the shamelessness to say all these things?
Nevertheless, you hope all of this satisfies your heart enough, so by the time it’s over, you can easily move on and let this stupid crush go.
The way your heart clenches tells a premonition you refuse to acknowledge though.
.
.
.
Before you know it, midterms seasons pass and you’ve actually done well enough for yourself. It’s all thanks to Miwa and her hard work. You’d crashed hard at Suna’s apartment and threw yourself at his arms, whose owner had groaned and complained that you were too heavy now to be doing stuff like this. You usually ignore his complaints, because his actions are typically the opposite of his words.
Once you’ve gotten your dose of comfort from your best friend, you happily move on, ready as ever to put that harrowing experience aside. You won’t admit it out loud, but you had taken midterms a bit more seriously this time. You’ve never been the type to put too much pressure on yourself to do well for less important classes, but there was a prize waiting for you this time if you did well.
A date, you thought with a giddiness that had you rolling around your twin sized XL dorm bed and almost falling to the floor.
You hope your grades reflect your hard work and high hopes for once.
A week later, as you’re getting coffee with Miwa, you get the notification that your grades are up.
“Oh my god,” you exclaim, surprising Miwa beside you.
“What’s wrong?” Miwa looks at you concerned.
You shove your phone at her, “God, I can’t look, you look. Tell me that I passed.”
Miwa takes your phone from your waiting hand and you can see her click through the screen. Suddenly, Miwa frowns and you immediately panics, “Oh god, what’s wrong? How bad is it—”
Miwa hands your phone back to you, “It needs your login information.”
“Miwa,god,” you could have screamed. You put your login information quickly and hand it back to her, “Open it already.”
Miwa is patient enough that she doesn’t even roll her eyes at your demands. Your heart is pounding, jaw tense, and then suddenly, Miwa looks at you with a bright smile, “Y/N! You did really well—”
You grab your phone back to look for yourself and right there on the screen shows your midterm grades for your classes, and they’re all surprisingly… decent? They’re not just passing scores either, some of them are in the 90s range. “I can’t believe this,” you wrap your arms around her in a tight hug, “Me, doing well in all my classes? Sounds fake.”
Miwa pats your head, “See? I told you that hard work never lies. We should celebrate, preferably with some ice cream.”
You laugh, “You and Rin have the same taste. But okay, today it’s my treat. Anything you want, Miwa-kun.”
Miwa does a quiet little cheer with both her hands. “I know a place,” she says, then starts leading the way.
You screenshot your scores and send it to the person that’s been on your mind all day, worried that if you don’t do that now, you’ll forget (as if you could). You mute your phone’s message notifications immediately after sending it, because you’re nervous of what Osamu will reply with. You’ll check it when you’re ready.
That time happens to come when you’ve made it back to your room and you’re happily showered and in bed. Clutching the stuffed toy you sleep with at night, you finally open your messages and see that there’s a couple messages from Osamu.
The first text says: good job!!!!!!!!!
And the second text says: should I keep my promise? :^)
You roll around in your bed to scream into a pillow. When you’ve let whatever emotion Osamu has inspired out, you calmly compose a reply: thank u and yes you should!
Osamu replies immediately: ok. be free and cute on saturday. my treat.
Your heart flutters at the text message and you hate how your brain can’t differentiate this practice date from something real. You respond: but i’m already cute all the time!!
well, Osamu’s final text message says, be even cuter. it’s a date.
You fall off the bed this time around. But if no one saw and the only evidence is that it takes you an extra five minutes to reply (your butt hurts and it’s distracting you from choosing an appropriate emoji), then did it really happen?
Your calm, cool, and collected response is:it’s a date
.
.
.
Saturday comes soon enough, but not without Suna pestering you for details. It was a mistake to decide to meet at their apartment. You’re not even early, but Osamu had seen your outfit and then stomped back into his room, yelling, “Y/N, you forgot to tell me what you were wearing!”
You look down at your clothes, a nice top, some blue jeans, boots and a leather jacket. Is it not cool enough to pass Osamu’s fashion taste? Whatever, you think, settling down on the couch next to Suna, who turns to you and says, “Can’t believe this is really happening. My baby’s first date—”
“It’s not a real date,” You say cooly, “It’s for practice, stupid.”
“Oh?” Suna raises his brow, and then pulls out his phone, “Then why were you texting Miwa for date advice?”
You purse your mouth and fight the temptation to stick your tongue out, “Why do you know that? Why is Miwa snitching on me to you?”
Suna does not fight the temptation and sticks his tongue out. “We were hanging out, and she just mentioned it. I thought you were trying to keep it a secret.”
“I thought Miwa could keep her mouth shut,” you grumble, sinking back against the couch cushions. “What’s going on with you and Miwa?”
“Nothing,” Suna shrugs, nonchalant. “We’ve just been hanging out a lot. She’s super fun and friendly,and she likes sushi.”
You roll your eyes, “Everything I’m not.”
Suna claps his hands with delight, “Oh? You said it, not me.”
“God, Samu, hurry up before I kill your roommate,” you call out, turning away from Suna’s ugly face. You joke, “You already look beautiful, please,I’m hungry…”
Suna snorts, leaning closer to whisper, “Hey, try not to sound like you’re absolutely in love.”
Thankfully, Osamu decides to grace you all with his presence, walking out in a very similar outfit to what you’re wearing. You stand up, surprised. “Oh, we’re matching?”
Osamu smiles proudly at himself, extending a hand towards you, “Cute, right? It’s not a date if we’re not wearing a couple look. This is lesson number one.”
“Well, you should have said so,” you pout, putting your hands on your hips.
“Ah, stop pouting,” Osamu whines, shaking his outstretched hand for you to take, “Come on, I’m hungry, we should eat already.”
You shyly take his hand, but Osamu intertwines your hands without hesitation and pulls you out of the door. It leaves you stuttering out a goodbye to Suna, who sends you two thumbs up while mouthing, stay strong!
Tell that to my runaway heart, Suna Rintarou . A couple look and they’re holding hands already? It’s only eleven in the morning and there’s only one word for the state you’re in: shambles. You are in shambles.
You don’t know where Osamu’s taking you, but you’re content to just follow for now. As shy as it makes you, you’re glad to be holding hands too. It’s a chilly morning, even with the sun high and shining; and holding hands is good for warmth, amongst other things you don’t have the current mental capacity to dwell on right now.
Osamu squeezes your joined hands, “Sincerely, congrats on doing well in your midterms. I remember everything gets harder beginning your second year.”
“Thanks,” you give him a dimpled grin, “But, yeah, I already miss being a first year. Now I can’t even skip classes.”
“You shouldn’t skip classes in the first place anyway,” Osamu nags at you, but you just bat your eyelashes at him, innocent, and then Osamu sighs, “Okay, fine, I’m not going to lecture you when I’ve done my share of skipping—”
You intentionally bump your shoulders against his and laugh, “Good, that’s better. You were starting to sound like Rin. No offence, but only Miwa is allowed to nag at me about school.”
“Full offence,” Osamu deadpans, “Why do you respect Miwa, who’s younger than you, but never listen to me or Suna, huh?”
“Because Miwa can crumple me with one hand,” you say easily. “She invited me to go with her to the gym once and the girl was lifting weights heavier than me. I think she invited me for a specific reason…”
Osamu throws his head back laughing, “I know Suna doesn’t work out much, but I do. And I definitely lift weights heavier than you. Why aren’t you scared then?”
You smile angelically and steel yourself for the potential backlash, “Well, Samu, I know you adore me. Why would I be scared of you?”
Immediately, Osamu reaches over with his free hand and pinches your cheek hard, “You think just because you’re cute you’re not gonna get beat up one day?”
You try to pull away, but Osamu evidently works out. Stuck in place, you stick your tongue out, “When that day comes, let me know and I’d like to see you try to catch me.”
Osamu frowns at that, letting you go and patting your cheek, “Hey, you’re not saying stuff like this to other people, right? You’re really going to get beat up one day if you are.”
This is exactly why you aren’t afraid. Osamu underneath all the smirks, all the posturing, and the daredevil attitude, is a sweet, caring person. He could have said that in the first place, but well… where’s the fun in that?
You change the subject, “Sure. Now what about food?”
“Almost there, it’s just up the street ahead.”
They come to a stop in front of a cafe, with floor to ceiling windows, wooden tables and tons of greenery. Osamu pulls open the glass door and gestures for you to go in first, and you do, with eyes flitting upon every pretty thing in the cafe. What catches your eyes is the way the light filters in from the windows and falls; what is muted becomes bright.
“Y/N,” Osamu calls you over, already looking at the menu, “What do you want to eat?”
“Woah,” you marvel at it, a simple one page menu, but there were watercolour renditions of each item they served. “Those pancakes look good, should we get that?”
“Which one? Do you want the one with fruits or with chocolate?”
You hum in thought, “Let’s go with fruit, since the strawberries look good.”
“Okay, cool,” Osamu says, then points at the drinks, “Did you have coffee already?”
“No, but I kind of want the fruity drinks instead. That strawberry lemon tea looks good too,” you murmur, scanning the menu. “Ugh, why does everything look good?”
Osamu laughs, “I think I’m going to get just an Americano.”
“Should I do that too?”
“No, you should get what you want,” Osamu gently pushes you to the counter, so you can start ordering.
You do end up ordering the strawberry lemon tea and you order for Osamu as well as your shared pancake. Just as you’re about to pull out your purse, Osamu reaches over you and tells the cashier to take his card instead.
“But—” you try to interrupt, but Osamu just winks at you and any protests you have dies down. “My treat, remember?”
When he finishes paying, you take a table in the far corner of the cafe, right by a window. You let out a pleased sigh, looking out into the street, “This is so nice, how did you find this place?”
“A friend suggested it,” Osamu says vaguely, “I’ve actually been meaning to try it for a while, but just never had the chance.”
You nod, “Thanks for paying, by the way. Even though I’m supposed to pay…”
“Don’t worry, we can go out to eat at another time, and you can definitely pay then,” Osamu says, cheekily. “Just say thank you, Samu. You’re the best, Samu.”
“You’re the best, Osamu-kun,” you say, a touch too sincere for a practice date at eleven am. Well, you’ve never hidden your affection for him that well anyway. You don’t need to when Osamu interprets it all as friendly love. Some things are better lost in translation.
Osamu glows with the praise, patting his own shoulder, “I know, wait until the food gets here, then you’ll be even more amazed.”
And you are amazed when the food gets to the table. The server approaches you with your drinks that look as dreamy as their watercolour counterparts, and the pancakes are covered in powdered sugar so fine it looks like snow. When the server sets your food on the table, you’re surprised to see actual watercolour paints, brushes and paper with the meal.
“Ta-da!” Osamu excitedly cheers, “This cafe is actually known as a place you can paint at with an order of a drink.”
You’re starry-eyed at the array of colours the cafe has provided you with. You turn to him, pouting, “Hey, why are you unfairly good at everything?”
Osamu sips his Americano and shrugs, “Some people are just perfect. What can we do?”
“Alright, alright,” you’re hungry, you’ll eat first, before Osamu eats all of it by himself.
You cut yourself a piece of the pancake, making sure to get each element of the dish on your fork, and finally eat it. You wiggle happily at the sweet taste, “This is so good. I’m happy.”
Osamu laughs, “I’m glad.”
You’re both so hungry, you finish the pancake in just a couple of minutes. You let Osamu have the last piece, “Since you paid, you can have it.”
Osamu shakes his head, “No, since it’s my treat to you, you should have it.”
You purse your lips, “I’m full. Seriously, you should eat it. I’m going to start painting.”
“You eat like a little bird,” Osamu says, amused. But he ends up finishing up the last bite of the pancake, so really, you pay him no mind. You’ve been itching to play with the watercolour paints since the beginning.
You grab a pencil to try and sketch out a scene for you to paint, but your mind comes up blank. You hum quietly in thought, “What should I draw?”
“Draw me,” Osamu suggests, striking a pose, “Paint me like one of your french boys.”
You laugh, “I’ve never actually seen that movie.”
“It’s a classic. I think even Suna has seen it,” Osamu pushes your trays of food to the side, bringing his own watercolour supplies closer to him.
“Don’t like tragic endings. What’s the point? If you’re gonna write a love story, might as well make it happy.” You watched Brokeback Mountain once. It was devastating and you’d vowed never to watch it again. “Also, sure I’ll draw and paint you, if you do the same for me. But if it’s ugly, I’m going to be real sad.”
Osamu’s jaw drops, offended, “I’ve taken an art elective once. No need to be judgy, Picasso. If mine turns out ugly, I’ll be really mad. If this was a real date, I’d be mad enough not to want a second date.”
You copy what he said in a mocking way and laugh when Osamu tries to grab you from the other side of the table. “Okay, be quiet. I need to concentrate, so I can earn this hypothetical second date.”
Osamu snorts before copying what you said in the same mocking tone. You laugh again. You get along so well.
You guys end up focusing on your drawings, promising not to reveal to each other what it looks like until you’re both finished. You realise that you’ve been too focused on painting that you’ve gone quiet for a while. “Hey, shouldn’t we be talking? Is that what people do on dates?”
“Yes and no,” Osamu answers, without looking up from his work, “You should just be having fun and getting to know the other person on a date. There’s not really a lot of rules.”
“Hmm, I am having a lot of fun not hearing your voice,” You smirk, but get a deserved kick in the leg for it. “Ow, that hurts!”
“Lesson number ten, you probably shouldn’t insult your date,” Osamu says.
“Lesson number ten, you probably shouldn’t insult your date,” You copy again in a mocking way, “Also, how are we at lesson number ten already? And how am I supposed to get to know you, when we’re already friends?”
“I’m not keeping count, I just choose whatever number pops up in my head,” Osamu says, dipping his brush in water to wash out the colour that he’s using, “Anyway, to your other question, there’s always more to know. For example, first impressions?”
“I should be asking you that,” you snort, “Pretty sure, you hated me when we first met.”
Osamu laughs out loud at that, “That’s just my face when it’s resting. Also! You were the one who hated me. Always hanging around in my apartment with Suna, and whenever I said hi, you’d just nod coldly!”
“Because!” you laugh too, “You were scary and intimidating. If only you’d cracked your lame dad jokes earlier…”
Osamu finally looks up at you, “How was I scary and intimidating? I remember I offered you oranges. I was sonice!”
“And when I peeled them, you demanded I give you some,” you say, all matter-of-fact.
“I asked nicely! I didn’t realise it was the last orange and I was hungry,” Osamu explains.
“I was under duress, what if you kicked me out if I didn’t give it back?”
“Wow,” Osamu says, “You really thought your best friend was rooming with such a scary person?”
You smile, a gesture of mock comfort, “Don’t worry, I don’t think that at all anymore.”
Osamu glares at you, before sighing. You think it’s so funny when he does that, knowing you’re the cause. Osamu goes back to finishing up his painting, “So? When did your perception of me change then?”
It is an essay worthy question.
Contrary to what Suna thinks and claims, it really wasn’t love at first sight. You don’t believe in that kind of thing anyway. You think about when it all changed for you. It’s not a lie to say that your first impression of Osamu was that he was scary and intimidating. After all, Osamu was already popular in their university. You’d heard the rumours of a Miya Osamu, who was considered the top student of his grade and was one of the best in the business department even as a second year at that time. Who wouldn’t be intimidated?
And then, you had first seen him in person when you visited Suna’s apartment for the first time. You’d been sitting on the couch with Suna, and this guy walks out, dark ripped jeans, black long-sleeved sweater, and piercing dark eyes half covered by his hair. If You had to use one word to describe him, it would be captivating.
You hadn’t been able to look away from him and even when Suna officially introduced you to each other, you had been so nervous, you could only nod at him.
“Y/N?” Osamu breaks you out of your thoughts, “Is it something to think so hard about?”
“I’m trying to remember when too,” you let your thoughts wander to the answer, as your hands busy themselves with the finishing touches on your work. You switch to the colour black, just to give the drawing emphasis by outlining.
Could it have been that very first movie night, when Suna had chosen an old horror movie that had you both screaming into Suna’s shoulders?
Was it that random night you had fallen asleep on their couch and woke up covered in blankets and your head cushioned by pillows? You’d asked Suna about it, but he’d denied it was him.
Was it any of the numerous times Osamu had complained how hungry he was and yet had never hesitated to share his food with you? Or any of the numerous times Osamu had let you borrow a jacket, or a hat, or even a pair of gloves?
You can’t remember. Maybe you just woke up and knew the inevitable: there’s some people you’re just meant to fall for.
You end up giving Osamu a bullshit answer, pretending to think hard, “I think it was when you got really scared of that movie we watched. What was it, the Grudge?”
Osamu covers his face in embarrassment, “Hey, that was scary for everybody. You slept over that night too!”
“Oh,” you squint, “Was that the night we all slept on the living room floor, because we were all scared of sleeping by ourselves that night?”
Osamu nods, smiling at the memory, “I think that was even scarier, because I didn’t know you talked in your sleep. I woke up in the middle of the night wondering who you were talking to, and then had a mini freak out when I realised nobody else was there.”
You scratch the back of your neck, “Yeah, that happens…”
Osamu doesn’t make fun of you for it and just moves on, “I’m done with my painting of you. Do you need more time?”
You shake your head, pulling up your canvas and making sure Osamu can’t see it just yet, “Nope, shall we do the grand reveal?”
“Should I go first?” Osamu asks, and then smiles when you nod your head. “Okay, then,” he says, turning his canvas over. “What do you think?”
Osamu’s painting doesn’t look like you at all. It’s a cute little bear with a little orange slice in its claws surrounded by orange peels around it.
You frown, “How is that me?”
Osamu gasps, dramatic, “What do you mean? That bear is you.”
“I don’t look like a bear,” you pout, “Why is it eating oranges?”
“Because we were talking about first impressions right? This is literally my first impression of you. Ah, you were so cute and so round. You still had your brown hair then,” Osamu sighs happily. “Okay, it’s your turn now. Show me what you got.”
You turn yours over, carefully watching Osamu’s expression as he takes in the art. You had drawn a cartoon version of the Osamu in front of you right now, white fleece jacket and grey hair and all, with a little fox sitting beside him, snow falling over them both.
“It looks warm,” Osamu says, and you think, what an odd thing to say about a snow scene. “You drew me so cutely and all the little details. And the colour! I think you’ve captured it very well.”
“I just pay attention,” you shrug, “Do you like it? It’s titled, Foxes in the snow.”
Osamu nods, utterly endeared by it, “I love it.”
You hand the canvas to Osamu and watch him continue to admire the work. There is something revealing here too. I pay attention, you had said like it was nothing. But that’s something of an admission, right? And if attention was the beginning of devotion, then what does it mean when you’ve always looked at him, right from the very start?
.
.
.
Nothing really changes much between you after that. Although it’s weird to have the experience of a date between you two. Some friends were exes once, some have even gone on dates, and inevitably, at least once in the course of history, friends must have practised dating, right?
You wonder how different it would be if you guys were actually dating.
Would you have ended the date with a promise for another one, instead of giving each other a friendly hug goodbye?
Would you have looked at each other shyly in your couple outfits, instead of watching all the other couples around you in theirs? (You were so embarrassed on everyone’s behalf; the couple’s outfit was cute on you and Osamu, but not everyone can pull it off.)
You really wouldn’t know beyond what your mind comes up with at night, when you’re alone in bed.
As for what happens next, you’ll let Osamu decide what other ‘practice dating’ things you can do. You’ll just go along with the ride.
Besides, it’s Wednesday.
And Wednesdays are reserved for Suna and Osamu and one episode of your stupid zombie show. Maybe some snacks too.
You excitedly climb up the stairs to their shared apartment. You’re wearing comfy clothes already, and you even brought a toothbrush over too, just in case, you guys end up watching something else and decide to stay over. It wouldn’t be the first time.
You get to their door and knock a sweet little beat on the door to announce your presence. At the lack of response, you knock again, and this time it’s no sweet beat but pure rage in a knock. You eventually hear someone yell, “Hold on!” but it’s cold outside and what is more important than letting you in? That’s right — nothing. So, you keep knocking.
The door opens up suddenly, and Suna looks at you so unimpressed, “I said hold on.”
“But it’s cold,” you pout, shouldering your way in. Their apartment is nice and toasty warm; you shed your jacket, placing it over the back of the couch, and go immediately to the kitchen for a drink.
“Did you eat already?” Suna asks, coming to stand with him in the kitchen, “Samu said he wanted to order some pizza and fried chicken, do you want to join in?”
“I already ate dinner, but I wouldn’t mind a couple bites. How much are you guys ordering?” you find the green tea that you stored in their cupboard for safekeeping with the excitement of a scavenger looking for gold.
Suna shrugs, “I think he said he was ordering some pepperoni, margherita and maybe a hawaiian.”
You frown, “And you’re getting fried chicken on top of that?”
“And snacks,” Suna confirms, “Samu said class was so tiring, and that he needs to cheer himself up with food.”
Osamu has always been a hard worker. You and Suna work hard on your own respective courses too, but Osamu is a little more… passionate about his. Even outside of class, he spends a majority of his time cooking up new dishes to try. Most of the time when you come over, there’s a new dish waiting for you to try. There’s talent and then there’s hard work, you think, and it fills you with awe to be able to witness both in someone you can call your friend.
This sentiment stays with you through the rest of the night, even when you’ve settled on their couch and are waist-deep in the show’s plot filled with political intrigue and, well, zombies. On the television screen, the drama’s main lead, the Crown Prince barely escapes the Crown’s army once again. The three of you are sitting side by side on the floor, with Suna and Osamu flanking each of your sides, mindlessly eating the takeout as you’re all gripped by the scenes unfolding on the screen.
It’s kind of gross, you think, watching the dead bodies pile up on screen parallel the pile of chicken bones piling up in front of you. You had claimed three slices of pizza and three chicken wings and felt full (benefits of actually having dinner), so you felt content to lean back against the couch and just watch.
“How long do you guys think you’d last in a zombie apocalypse?” You wonder out loud.
Suna snorts, “I think I would die pretty early on.”
“I think I would make it pretty far,” Osamu interjects, then points a chicken bone at Suna, “You should stick with me, you’ll live longer.”
You smile sympathetically at Suna, “Suna, I think you would die early too. You’re the self-sacrificing type, so I’ll make sure to stick with you. I know you’ll save me.”
“Wow,” Suna frowns at you, which would be more impactful if his mouth wasn’t glistening with pizza sauce. “If I become a zombie first, I’ll make sure to eat you first,” Suna pinches your cheek, aggressive enough that you yelp, “I’ll bite you right where the fat is.”
You pull away, rubbing your cheek. You glare, “You think I won’t shoot you in the head first? You won’t get even close enough to bite me.”
“Ha,” Suna scoffs, the side of his mouth quirking up into a smirk, “As if. You’d be crying over my pre-zombie infected body. And you’ll be so sad that you won’t even notice I’ve turned already and then you’ll be bitten.”
You roll your eyes and laugh mockingly, turning to Osamu, “Are you hearing this?”
But Osamu just starts laughing at you both instead, his clean hand coming up to cover his mouth. Suna reaches over with his socked foot, across your lap, to poke at Osamu, “Hey, is the hypothetical cannibalistic deaths of your favourite friends so amusing?”
“The two of you,” Osamu says, swallowing the food in his mouth, “are so damn funny.”
You bite your lips, trying to hold back a smile. It’s devastatingly easy to earn Osamu’s laughs, and you’ll do all kinds of stupid to be the cause of it. You turn to Suna, shaking your head in disappointment, “Wait till we’re both zombies and we come for him.”
Suna shakes his head too, “Look at him eating so well. That’s right, eat up! You will be so tasty when we turn into zombies and eat you.”
Osamu is unfazed by your threats, just keeps chuckling as he picks up another chicken drumstick in his hand. You turn back to the actual show playing before them, and it’s close to the end of the episode by the looks of it. You know what cliffhangers look like.
Here’s a cliffhanger: there’s a small spot of honey chilli chicken sauce right at the corner of Osamu’s mouth. Who’ll get to it faster? Osamu or you?
Even you don’t know how this ends, but what you do know is your own self-restraint. Or is it your own fear of being known? Either way, the stupid little spot mocks you and makes itself known even from the corner of your eye.
Your hands feel restless in your lap and it would be so easy to grab the napkins that came with the delivery order and make your move. This means nothing. Wiping someone’s mouth is something that could be considered a super friendly gesture. Actually, your big brain interjects, you don’t even have to wipe it yourself. You could just point it out. And at that, your mouth moves faster than whatever doubt yout mind can further conjure, “Samu, you’ve got something on your face.”
“Hmm?” Osamu turns to you, hands holding both ends of the drumstick, “I do?”
You nod and point to where it would be on your own face, “Like around right here?”
Osamu stupidly looks at his own hands, sees how dirty it is, and like he’s possessed by all the gods who are conspiring against your happiness and success, he says, “My hands are dirty. Can you get it for me?”
You could fucking sigh, but all you actually do is nod, casual and overly non-chalant, “Yeah, sure.”
You grab the napkin and watch Osamu angle his cheek towards you, while keeping his eyes on the television. You gently cup his cheek and lean close, carefully dabbing the spot away with the napkin. You make the mistake of looking at Osamu’s eyes as you do it, only for Osamu to catch you doing that.
You pull away immediately and feel your ears turn hot as you discard the napkin. “There, I got it.”
Osamu smiles, something shameless and sharp, “That was so heart fluttering, Y/N.”
“Shut up,” you cover your ears, burying yourself into Suna’s side. “You’re so annoying.”
Your response just makes him look even more pleased. So, you correct yourself. One thing has changed — Osamu’s flirting with you, and you know it’s not serious, but you still turn red every time. It’s a new discovery that Osamu will clearly not let go off any time soon. It’s dangerous.
And here’s the real cliffhanger: how long are you going to last before Osamu makes your confetti filled heart burst?
When it comes to brain size in relation to body dimensions, Chihuahuas have the largest brains of all dog breeds.
Like human babies, Chihuahua puppies are born with a soft spot on the top of the skull called a molera. It usually closes within a year, but some dogs will retain the molera throughout their life.
Chihuahuas are believed to be descendants of an ancient breed, the techichi. Toltecs in Mexico kept these pups as lap dogs as early as the 9th century CE.
“Doughnut” is the more traditional spelling, although its shortened form, “donut,” is also acceptable.
A glazed doughnut has about 240 calories, of which 120 are from fat.
The longest line of donuts ever recorded stretched 1,841 feet 10 inches in Berlin on April 27, 2014.
The largest serving of donuts weighed a whopping 1,470 pounds in Kazakhstan on November 2, 2013.
The world’s most expensive donut is made of 24k edible gold, edible diamonds, and aged chocolate balsamic vinegar. The remaining ingredients are top secret. They sell for $100 a piece.
Osamu was driving around Aichi for 2 hours and Atsumu was calling him for that long too
The two had to watch old videos of the team going to Suna’s house just to remember where he lived
Osamu thought of calling Kita but he couldn’t because he’d get scolded if the former captain finds out that you got too upset you went home and asked for a breakup
They found the address through an old mail packaging that your mom sent to Osamu
Atsumu had to go to his brother’s place for it
Mama Miya calls you “Daughter-In-Law”
Your mom saw Osamu’s car parking outside their house but she didn’t say a thing to your dad and just let you be when you snuck him in
At the reunion, Atsumu kept on hinting to Suna that the you and Osamu are dating but the brunette didn’t get it.
Kimi knows about your relationship with Osamu. She only found out after dinner so she felt guilty about it and messaged you through Instagram immediately to apologize.
Osamu was so nervous the whole dinner because he thought you were going to break up with him.
Mama Miya knows that Osamu is dating you because he keeps on staring at you during dinner in a different way. She talked to him after dinner about it.
Osamu still doesn’t know where you went after dinner.
It was Kita who convinced Osamu to pursue you and your relationship.
Kita assured Osamu that he would be the one to talk to Suna if he ever finds out unplanned.
Osamu saw the necklace idea while he was scrolling through his Pinterest feed. It was a random picture amidst the packaging ideas and kitchen interior designs.
Osamu didn’t tell Atsumu why he was meeting up with the jeweler because the blonde will get too excited and tell you about it.
this is inspired by bubble pop electric from gwen stefani ♡
implied female body parts, he calls you bunny !
◦ u and osamu were driving home from a party
◦ both of u were horny asf
◦ y’all couldn’t wait until u were him so u parked the car in a random parking space <3
“fuck bunny” osamu moaned as you were leaned over from your passenger seat to suck him off. “you’re doing so well for me” osamu said while you were rolling your tongue around his tip. you couldn’t really respond so you just moaned around his dick which made osamu whimper. you started rubbing your thighs together to get some friction, because seeing osamu so fucked out was turning you on. “mhm ‘m gonna cum soon bunny” he pushed you off and you looked at him confused “let’s climb to the back bunny” and who were you to refuse.
tonight i’m gonna give you all my love in the backseat <3
The music was booming, and the lights were dim, colorful leds changing hues every couple of seconds. You were already a bit tipsy when you were yanked into a room, making you stumble into a broad chest.
“Shhh,it’s jus’ me, doll.”
Your hands clutched at his shoulders, head lifting clumsily, “‘Tsumu?” The red leds did little to help you see— the only thing you could see was you were, in fact, in Atsumu’s room by the clothes scattered on the floor.
“Yeah, s’me.” His hands cupped your face, fingers dipping in the skin of your cheeks as he kissed you rather desperately. “Fuck.” Arms encased you, hauling you up as he moved towards the bed, before you were seated in his lap.
You ground your hips leisurely, moaning and gasping and giggling against his mouth. Your nails skimmed over his arms and shoulders, moving up and up, until they scratched over his undercut…
But his undercut was a bit grown out- fluffy- and long enough to grasp between your fingertips. Atsumu had just reshaven his undercut yesterday.
“Osamu?” you pulled back slightly, adjusted eyes now noticing how his ‘blonde hair’ was actually darker.
The grey haired twin tensed below you, eyes fluttering open to stare into your wide ones. He was expecting you to get up, to curse at him, to walk out of Atsumu’s room, slam the door, and go find the right twin, but you didn’t do any of that.
Instead, you smiled at him with eyes half lidded and continued to move your hips against his. “You feel good, ‘Samu. Touch me…please?”
Oh.Oh fuck. He did as you asked, fingers pressing against every curve of your body until they reached your dripping cunt. “Goddamnit, yer so fuckin wet…s’this all f’me?”
Your mind muddled when his fingers dipped under your panties, feeling two fingers press into you without hesitation. You whimpered and nuzzled your head against his.
“I didn’t hear an answer, baby.”
“Y-yes! For you, fuck, it’s all for you, please don’t stop!” You felt like you’d die if Osamu stopped now. They were just his fingers, but they filled you up so nicely— he was taking his time and he knew exactly where to- “A-ah!”
“Oh? Right here? Yeah?” He growled, angling his fingers so they prodded at that spongy patch every time he plunged his fingers back in. “Atsumu can’t make ya feel like this can he? Bastard’s too caught up in his own pleasure- he doesn’t deserve ya. I do.”
You clenched around his fingers at that, choking out a whine, “N-no he doesn’t…” your own fingers fisted his grey hair, tugging when you felt the coil in your belly starting to unravel.
“Yeah that’s right, cum all pretty f’me on my fuckin fingers.” Osamu almost came just from hearing the way his name fell from your lips as you rocked against his hand to ride out your high. “We’re not done jus’ yet, pretty baby.”
No, he’s not done. He’s wanted you for fucking months, even before his twin got ahold of you, and nothing is gonna stop him from having you.
Not even Atsumu himself, who was pounding against the door to his room, all because Sunarin asked ‘hey, weren’t you just draggin’ your girl into your room a few minutes ago?’
A collection of short drabbles that follow Atsumu as he navigates through this strange transition with you of being close friends since childhood to something possibly more.
A collection of short drabbles that follow Suna through the affections he knows he shouldn’t have for you, his best friend, because he’s terrified of what this may mean.
a/n: thought i’d give you all a little drabble to feed on while everything else is underworks <3 no, it’s not at all proof read </3
pairing:osamu miya x reader
“What ish ‘dis? What are you doin’?”
“Your cheeks are so soft…”
“Begentle at least,” Osamu huffed, gently tugging at your wrists to alleviate the painful hold you had on them. He sighed as your fingertips remained, slowly sliding your palms back to caress the supple skin.
Although completely enamoured by the man’s cheeks, you stared up into his watchful eyes. His wide, grey eyes absorbed the blueish hues of the sunlight upon slate. They held unspoken affections; silent mantras of love he would sing only within his mind whenever you were in his presence. Unfortunately, they drifted to a gradual close as your thumbs massaged slow, rhythmic circles into his cheeks—his gorgeous gaze hindered by exhaustion.
You could hear the dulcet hums leaking from his quirked lips, drawing your attention down towards the tiny smile he wore. The faint freckles that you ran your fingers over were now the last thing on your mind, your fascination with his cheeks quickly subsiding to make way for your newfound fascination with his lips.
You simply couldn’t help yourself. They just looked so soft… so kissable.He certainly didn’t complain when you lifted his chin with your hands, dropping your head to meet his lips in a chaste exchange. Despite being lip-locked, Osamu continued to hum his soft, silly tune, the vibrations urging a string of giggles from your part.
“I love ya’, darlin’…” He whispered, deciding it was his turn to fondle and fuss with your cheek. You smiled and pressed your forehead to his, brushing the tip of his nose with yours.
“Love you, too.” He closed his eyes once more, thinking you would move in for another kiss as per usual. Oh, how sorely mistaken he was. You shifted quickly, as though you were a soldier on a mission to be the biggest inconvenience possible. You moved your hands back up to his face and squished his cheeks, pushing both palms inwards with a snort.
“You look so stupid,” you snickered out, even more amused at his unimpressed expression. He sighed heavily, brows furrowed.
“Right, that’s it.” He huffed and you froze. “C’mere,you!”
vignettes from a simple and good life ; miya osamu
pairing:miya osamu x f!reader
synopsis:a year in review.
tag(s): fluff ; warning(s): profanity, suggestive themes, kinda bad but i tried LOL ; wc:1.3k
a/n: happy birthday to @bbytetsu ! ik i said i wouldn’t write anything but i’m a woman of my own word. also sorry this isn’t geto LOL. anyway this is kinda different from anything i’ve ever done but i hope you like it! love u
1.
he walks past you and suddenly the world’s aflame.
“um,” you stutter, turning around with wide eyes. “excuse me?”
cool grey irises hold your gaze expectantly.
he’s gorgeous.
“i–” you falter. there’s no way you can describe the feeling that made you turn around. the gravitational pull that sometimes occurs between strangers. perhaps the clever tugging of two red strings. separate melodies that converge at whim on a concord. it’s all so abstract, but that’s what you’re good at.
to your surprise, he just smiles. “same.”
2.
learning miya osamu is like learning to whistle: either you get it or you don’t.
you get it.
you get that he’s not at all the serious, stony-faced man he makes himself out as. that he’s hot-headed and petty but doesn’t want to be. that just because he’s not laughing doesn’t mean he’s not amused.
miya osamu is the dead of night and all the mischief that happens during it.
3.
seven a.m. is too early. osamu isn’t sure how he used to get up even earlier for morning practice, but then he remembers that that was when he loved volleyball. either way, it’s seven a.m. and for some god-forsaken reason, miya osamu is going on a hike.
(god-forsaken is a bit dramatic. it’s not all that bad – he’s just grumpy in the morning. actually, to think of it, it’s not bad at all…)
“one cappuccino,“ he tells the barista. and then his eyes widen. smiling, he adds, “and a matcha latte, please.”
4.
it dawns upon you in the passenger seat of his car.
“what?” he asks, feeling your eyes on him as he drives.
“… nothing.”
“tell me,” he laughs, squeezing your hand with his free one.
“later,” you promise, feeling giddy with realization.
osamu hums, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
5.
the light from his laptop illuminates osamu’s darkened bedroom, bathing both of you in a subtle blue glow. osamu looks down at your body tucked into his side and smiles. he whispers your name. “are you awake?”
there’s no reply – just the steady stream of your shallow breaths.
maybe you hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the middle of your movie night but now that you have, osamu doesn’t have the heart to wake you. it’s late, it’s still a little cold outside at night, and it’s not like you’re busy tomorrow morning…
and maybe he doesn’t want you to go. carefully, osamu shifts around to make you both comfortable, slings an arm over your waist, and closes his eyes.
you wake up to the smell of breakfast and the swingy tune of twenties jazz.
6.
how do you know it’s love?
you tell him that he feels like a soft blanket and a rollercoaster ride at the same time.
he laughs and grabs your hand, placing it on his chest right where his heart is.
“that’s how i know,” he says.
7.
when you step into his apartment, the first thing you notice is the mouthwatering scent floating out of the kitchen.
“babe?” you call out.
a muffled “kitchen!” reaches your ears.
the kitchen’s a mess of ingredients. and in the middle of the mess is your boyfriend. lo and behold, miya osamu is yet again experimenting with new recipes for onigiri miya, mixing potential fillings in a large metal bowl, wearing the “kiss the chef” apron you bought him a while back. he takes a bite of the stuff on his spoon and looks up at the ceiling in thought. not a single muscle in his face twitches, probably because he isn’t sure what to think of it.
you clear your throat. “hey, you.”
smiling, osamu spins around. “hi, angel. can you taste this and tell me whatcha think?” he spoons out some more of the mixture in the bowl, holding it out for you to try.
“sure,” you say, and you ignore the spoon, pressing your lips to osamu’s for a kiss instead. when you pull away, you lick your lips and hum. “needs more salt.”
the grin on his face is absolutely charmed. “i thought so, too.”
8.
what most people get wrong about miya osamu is that he doesn’t talk much.
he does.
(“and i told her she had the wrong place, but that woman just wouldn’t leave,” he complains, pacing around your living room with so much force that you think you might have to check on the rug once he’s gone. “held up the entire line, too. so embarrassin’. and then she said she’d leave us a one-star review, which is ridiculous because it’s not like i could make her a burrito, right? jesus. so i told her to go fu–”
“babe,” you laugh, pulling him gently towards the sofa.
osamu sits down beside you and inhales deeply. “so i tell her to go fuck herself–” he pauses when your hand runs through his jet black hair. seconds later, you feel his firm body melt against your arms.
“well, go on,” you say with a giggle. “what happened after?”)
osamu just doesn’t talk to most people.
9.
and when he isn’t talking, he’s thinking.
“i saw something funny earlier. if you were a tortured poet,” you ask on the walk home, “what would be the cringey quote people know you for?”
osamu raises his brows and looks up at the sky. “hmm,” he says, grinning. the two of you continue walking as he mulls over your question. a few minutes later, he says, “take not my silence for a lack of thought. i am always thinking. i am haunted by the magnitude of thoughts i can never put to spoken word.”
you stop in your tracks. “that was actually good,” you say in disbelief. “what the hell? ‘magnitude’? seriously?”
he shrugs and slings an arm over your shoulder. “i’ve been readin’ lately. forbes said somethin’ about good leaders readin’ books’.”
“are you actually haunted, though? ‘cause you can always tal–”
“no,” osamu laughs. “i like my thoughts. and if i really like ‘em, i just say ‘em. it’s a simple and good life.”
10.
“you’re beautiful,” he breathes, pressing kisses up your neck.
the air’s thick with tension and want and he needs to be closer – he needs every inch of your bare skin touching his and even then that wouldn’t be close enough.
but it’d be a great place to start.
“god, you’re so beautiful.”
11.
when he steps into your bedroom, you don’t even notice.
“hey,” osamu says, knocking on the door.
jumping in your seat, you whip your head around to face the intruder. “you scared me,” you sigh.
“i texted you this morning and it’s almost midnight now,” he says, frowning. “had me worried.” osamu walks to your desk and observes your work over your shoulder.
“i’m sorry,” you apologize, tilting your head back against his chest. “this is due soon and i lost track of time. i’ve been at this since midnight last night.”
osamu’s frown deepens. “what?” he spins you around in your chair and studies your face with disbelief. but seeing the bags under your eyes and frazzled hair, he suddenly completely believes you. of course you’d procrastinate for days and then work yourself to the bone.
his firm hands find your shoulders and squeeze. “take a break.”
“‘samu–”
“or at least let me give you a little massage.”
12.
“when i stopped you in the street,” you say, “what was going through your mind?”
osamu laughs, the light sound melting into the mellow atmosphere of the restaurant. “nothing. absolutely nothing.”
“how romantic.”
“for the first time in my life,” he says, grey eyes twinkling, “my head went silent.”
Your grip on the porcelain sink has your knuckles turning white. Body trembling violently as Osamu pins you against it, a large hand firmly grasping you by the chin while the other continues its rough assault on your cunt.
He growls by your ear, breath tickling your skin, “Said keep lookin’ at the mirror, sweetheart. Want ya to see how much of a slut ya are. Comin’ to m’ office in this outfit expecting to get dick.”
The wet sounds of his digits in your cunt is obscene, easily echoing off the walls to mock you even further. He grants no mercy, piercing you deep with his fingers, stretching and curling them to hit every spot in your cunt.
Your debauched reflection only makes you wetter – clothes a mess, his thick fingers disappearing in your cunt, and his dark glare focused solely on you.
You arrived earlier in Onigiri Miya (through the back entrance) with a huge coat covering the skimpies, tight black dress you’ve owned. Without even looking under the coat, Osamu knew immediately that you wanted cock – he’s the one who trained you to be his bitch after all. Oh, also the unsubtle bedroom eyes you gave him. Dragging you to the adjoining bathroom of his office, it didn’t take long for him to shed your coat and see under your dress the stark red lace lingerie you had on.
With a roughness you craved, Osamu had quickly pushed you against the sink, tugging to bunch your dress to your middle until your tits were spilling out of your bra and your panties were pulled to the side. All throughout you just mewled for him, whining little yeses at his urgent movements.
“‘Samu, please– want your cock,” you moan, rocking your ass against his crotch – the bulge of his hard cock already prominent.
“Shut up, ya slut. You’ll take what I give ya.” And take you did, as Osamu fingers you into two orgasms, hand muffling your screams of pleasures as you drench his fingers. He never stopped in between, overstimulating you until you can barely stand. “Can’t even handle this, baby? Comin’ here knowin’ I’m busy dressed like a slut. Look at how much yer soakin’ my hand..”
By the endtail of your second orgasm, you were babbling brokenly, begging for his cock. “‘Ngh! ‘Samu– p-please…cock. Want– F-fuck! Please!” With that, you reach your peak again, squirting all over his hand, your thighs sticky from your mess. Osamu bit back his groan, his cock unbearably hard in his pants. All this time he can’t help but grind against your ass, trying to control himself from losing to you.
“Samu!” you nearly scream, tears running down your cheeks as you look back at him. Your body giving small tremors as he anchors you to stand.
Osamu finally takes pity on you, shushing you gently as he pulls his fingers out, immediately moving them to his lips to taste your sweetness. Your breath hitches at the way he cleans his hand, sucking and licking between digits, moaning at your taste.
Giving light kisses to your neck, he coos at your still trembling form, “Ssh, ‘s okay. ‘M here. Was that too much, sweetheart?” With gentle movements, he sits you on the sink counter, brushing away the tears on your cheeks only to stop when you palm at his crotch.
“Sweetheart–” he starts, but your hands are already unzipping him and pulling out his still leaking cock. You spread your legs open, positioning him to your hole, only to look up at him with wide doe eyes. “Please, ‘Samu?”
“Yer gonna be the death of me,” he groans as you help sheathe him in. You both moan at the sensation, your walls still sensitive but fluttering around his cock as he rubs against your walls. Osamu takes a slow pace, not wanting to overstimulate you further, his hands caressing your skin gently in contrast to his earlier treatment.
“Mmhmm, ‘Samu,” you sigh.
“Shit– sweetheart, don’t think I’ll last long. Fuckin’ pussy just swallowin’ me in.” You breathlessly giggle at how he groans when you clench around him. You tease, “Mm? I take it you enjoyed my surprise visit?”
“Fuckin’ love it,” Osamu gasps, unable to keep his pace gentle any longer as he starts fucking into you. “Almost came in my pants when I saw yer outfit, sweetheart. Ya really shouldn’t be distractin’ me at work like this.”
“You’re the one who complained you get too stressed at wo–” your cut off into a gasp when his cock hits deep inside you. Osamu braces you against his chest, increasing his pace, bullying your poor cunt again and again until you can no longer speak.
“Ah, I said that? Maybe ya should come here more often then. Ngh, fuck, baby– where d’ya want me to cum?”
“I-inside.” You’re clutching at his broad shoulders, nails probably leaving crescents on his skin.
“Ngh– wanna go home with my cum drippin’ down yer thighs? Naughty girl. Shit– c-can’t, gonna cum–” Osamu’s hips stutters as he spills inside you, flooding your cunt with his seed. He pants, leaning against you before slowly pulling out, watching how your pussy tries to keep all his cum in.
Holding each other close, you two remain still for a moment. With shaky hands, you regain some composure, pulling your clothes back in order, wincing a bit as you feel Osamu’s cum leak and stain your panties. Clenching your thighs, you hope it doesn’t drip too much when you’re on your way home. Osamu helps you straighten your clothes as you brush his hair and fix his shirt.
Standing on wobbly knees, you peck him on the cheek, already preparing to leave only for Osamu to grab your wrist. “Where d’ya think yer goin?”
“Uh, home?”
“What?”
You speak slowly. “I’m…going home? And wait for you there to finish work?”
Osamu rolls his eyes, walking you into his office. “Sweetheart, if ya think I’mma let ya walk home like that, ya got another thing coming.” He gestures to the couch. “Rest, sleep, or whatever.”
Kissing you on the cheek, he adjusts his cap, ready to get back to work. “I got another break in two hours. Be patient an’ I’ll fill up that pretty cunt again.”
Firstly, I want to say thank you so much for 4.6k followers!!! That is absolutely INSANE and I will try to live up to the expectations this beautiful community deserves.
So of course we’re going back to our roots, giving the people what they want, where the brain rot all stArtEd
BIG TIDDY COMMITTEE MATCHUPS & THIRST HOURS WITH LU ARE A GO
If you arent caught up, there’s this, a quiz, and a WHOLE THREAD:
Synopsis: His half-brother, Oikawa Tooru, has always been poised to inherit the throne. As the illegitimate son, it has never been in Kageyama Tobio’s birthright. He is a gifted warrior, but that is all, spending his days drinking and whoring away. Until the brothers meet you.
He is battle-worn. Dried blood of a sickly brown cakes his face, his armor, the skin beneath his nails.
Lead limbs cross the path of a fallen knight, the very essence of his life force drowning him, seizing his breath.
“Rest well, my knight,” he murmurs, driving his sword in one fell swoop into the man’s chest. The knight gasps one last time, twitching. The warrior kneels on one knee and sheaths his sword.
He is just a soldier, this warrior.
But it is his sapphire eyes, solemn serenity scanning a sea of scarlet, that make it be known he is a true prince of Miyagi.
Synopsis: The gods of the sun and moon, bringers of light and dark, vie for the attention of a princess of Sparta.
He glows gold, muscles flexing and tightening to command his chariot, bathed in the warmth of the sun.
He shimmers silver, the counterpart that always follows, wrapping the earth in velvet tranquility.
It is that sliver of convergence, the onset of sunset, when they see you in fields of green, emulating a wind goddess in the way you spur your horse further.
Nocking an arrow, your shot holds true and steady to its target.
A thought flits forth in both brothers’ minds - you are a goddess among mortals.
(i drew this shit four months ago and it remains unfinished; i am by NO MEANS an artist lol self-indulgence only if someone drew the Miyas as gods I would die in bliss )
two year after breaking up with your ex osamu you have moved on with your life. you finally get a big roll in an up coming tv show after years of small insignificant rolls. when you find out that your co-star is suna rintaro, your ex’s best friend who you despise, you plan on dropping the roll. however, suna isn’t exactly how you remember and for some reason you start catching feelings.
pairings:suna x fem!reader & osamu x fem! reader
genre:angst!
tropes:actor!suna, actor!osamu, enemies to lovers, exes to lovers
warnings:18+, love triangle, cheating, toxic relationships, unrequited love, (+more to be announced)
taglist:(open)
status:starting after “traitor”
cast
SEASON ONE
episode one
y/n nervously awaits to hear news from her agent on whether she got her dream acting job or not.
[a/n] : this ‘drabble’ turned out to be more like a small fic hehe, but this is for the lovely @peacheat and i truly hope you like it babe
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It’s been a hot minute since you’ve last been to a party. Life has been kicking your butt and the days that you were free, you either wanted to get away from everyone and recharge your social battery or spend time with your dog. Some might say you’re missing out on life’s great opportunities. One of them being none-other than your boyfriend, Miya Osamu.
The persistent younger twin would try almost anything to get you out of the house and ‘have some fun’, but you beg to differ though. Clearly, you both have different perspectives of the word ‘fun’.
It’s not that you hate to go to parties. Well, only the ones where you don’t know the people attending. It makes you feel anxious and extremely uncomfortable and that’s why you rather spend your time at home doing your own thing.
However, Osamu doesn’t know this fact about you. You refuse to tell him about your anxiety, due to your own pride. Osamu can be very perceptive at times and you have no doubt that he might have speculated something, especially every time you text or call him to cancel.
Osamu thought it was more or less a phase you’re going through or because of your reserved nature. He meant to ask you why you keep declining every party invitation, but when he does you would skillfully divert the subject. Sometimes it would irk Osamu how persistent you are at avoiding the topic, but he also respects your boundaries, which is why he never blatantly drags you to a party himself.
a/n:why do i only ever have inspiration to write during exam season anw i wrote this on mobile because while doing a math paper i suddenly thought of these hope you guys enjoy this!!
atsumu says i love you like he’s barefoot on asphalt in the summer, tan skin burnt under the unyielding sun. the words leave his throat with the same pain of sunburnt skin, but it’s okay because when you say i love you too, your words are a balm, a healing salve that soothes.
osamu says i love you like it’s a gold star, the kind you used to get in elementary school when you’ve done something special — except he says it every evening, when he’s walked you to your doorstep. moonlight slips from the cave of his mouth and you lean closer, closer still to taste the night on his tongue, to swallow that little gold star he always has for you.
suna says i love you like the snap of a bear trap. when he smiles into your skin it’s a predator’s grin, the circle of his arms the noose you will always choose. you say i love you too, and it’s the knowing mouse stepping onto the trap for the promise of cheese.
kita says i love you like water dripping steadily onto the same spot of a rock for decades, centuries, millennia. he says it every morning, a pot of coffee freshly brewed just for you before he heads to the fields, a note bearing three words. it’s okay if you don’t say it back every time, kita tells you, the water doesn’t need to know that the rock is there, because it will fall anyway — it’s just gravity.
aran says i love you into the crook between your neck and your shoulder, like some whispered secret that he paints over your skin in a language only the two of you understand. the first time he said it, under the city lights and beneath the dim stars, he also says, it’s okay if you don’t say it back now — every bud takes time to blossom, every fruit needs time to ripen.
[a/n] : this ‘drabble’ turned out to be more like a small fic hehe, but this is for the lovely @peacheat and i truly hope you like it babe
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It’s been a hot minute since you’ve last been to a party. Life has been kicking your butt and the days that you were free, you either wanted to get away from everyone and recharge your social battery or spend time with your dog. Some might say you’re missing out on life’s great opportunities. One of them being none-other than your boyfriend, Miya Osamu.
The persistent younger twin would try almost anything to get you out of the house and ‘have some fun’, but you beg to differ though. Clearly, you both have different perspectives of the word ‘fun’.
It’s not that you hate to go to parties. Well, only the ones where you don’t know the people attending. It makes you feel anxious and extremely uncomfortable and that’s why you rather spend your time at home doing your own thing.
However, Osamu doesn’t know this fact about you. You refuse to tell him about your anxiety, due to your own pride. Osamu can be very perceptive at times and you have no doubt that he might have speculated something, especially every time you text or call him to cancel.
Osamu thought it was more or less a phase you’re going through or because of your reserved nature. He meant to ask you why you keep declining every party invitation, but when he does you would skillfully divert the subject. Sometimes it would irk Osamu how persistent you are at avoiding the topic, but he also respects your boundaries, which is why he never blatantly drags you to a party himself.
