Work Text:
Suna can’t remember when Osamu gave him the key to his apartment.
He can’t remember a lot of the finer details of the progression of their little arrangement—or whatever the fuck this is. There are many things he recalls, clear as day: the flush to Osamu’s face as he looks down at Suna from above, the lilt in his voice as his tongue curls around Suna’s name before it becomes a broken rasp of Rin, the hands that wander and trace every line to his stomach, creating a map only Osamu can decipher.
Suna remembers the first time. And the second time. All of the other instances in which they’ve met up bleed together like spots of paint after that, but each one holds some importance. Otherwise, Suna wouldn’t keep coming back.
Maybe he can’t remember how this key came to be in his possession, fitting into his pocket alongside his phone and his wallet, two of his most important belongings. But he knows it’s well-used and worn. The metal is rusting along the edges, and it’s warm in Suna’s palm.
It fits into the knob of Osamu’s door like all the other times, twisting until the definitive click, and then the door cracks open.
Suna rolls his suitcase inside and leaves it near the entrance. He’s not sure where Osamu wants him to leave his things. It’s not like the first time Suna ended up here, when Osamu’s apartment was vacant and bare. Spiderwebs had collected in the corners of each room, dozens of cardboard boxes had flooded his vision, and the only piece of furniture that had made it clear someone lived there was the one futon in the middle of the living room.
Now, it’s cozy and vibrant, bursting in cool colors, and the evidence of Osamu’s life lives in every inch of the space. While the kitchen is nothing compared to the one in Onigiri Miya, it suits Osamu’s needs and has seen years of Osamu’s attempts at cooking and baking something new. Each drawer and cabinet is filled to the brim, and recipe books are strewn across the counters. The kitchen opens up into the living room, situated with one couch and a small television.
Dozens of photographs line the walls, and Suna recognizes himself in many of them. There’s a few from graduation, a few from their time as members of Inarizaki’s volleyball team, a few from the opening of Onigiri Miya, a few with the Black Jackals. There’s even a few where it’s Osamu and Suna alone, and Suna’s eyes always linger on those the most.
The rest of the apartment is split into two rooms: one bathroom and one bedroom. It’s not the most spacious living situation, but it favors Osamu fine. For someone like Osamu, who spends most of his time behind the counter of his business, a place that is private and small works to ease out the tension after a long hard day at work.
Speaking of—Osamu is meant to be home in another hour or so.
Suna kicks off his shoes and puts on a pair of slippers. Although Osamu has never said it out loud, Suna knows this particular pair belongs to him. They’re simple, yet worn. No one uses them other than Suna. If Suna really thinks about it, there are plenty of places in this apartment where Osamu has cleared a space for him.
But thinking about it too hard makes his chest seize up with panic, so he chooses not to.
Instead, Suna ambles over to the couch. The ache of sitting through a long journey through public transportation is setting in, and his limbs crave nothing more than to sprawl out until Osamu returns home. His EJP Raijin tracksuit is more than comfortable, and Suna throws himself down onto the cushions, sinking in until the pain between his shoulder blades fades.
Until Osamu returns home, there’s not much for him to do but wait. He fishes his phone out of his pocket and scrolls through social media. He passes a lot of tweets about this weekend’s break in the V. League, but his fingers slide through those posts swiftly. He doesn’t need to rehash what he already knows. It’s why he’s made it all the way out to Hyogo in the first place. For the first time in a long while, Suna isn’t playing a weekend match or practicing for hours on end. It’s a break that he’s needed, and there’s no one better to help him work it out than Osamu.
There are a few Instagram posts from his teammates—as well as a selfie from Atsumu that he leaves vomit emojis under—but nothing too interesting to capture his attention. It’s enough to pass the time, though.
When another set of keys turns the lock on the front door an hour after Suna’s arrival, his ears prick up with interest. His eyes flit between his phone screen and the door as Osamu hustles inside, still dressed in his work uniform. The logo against his black T-shirt is even brighter than usual, and Osamu tears his hat off his head in a fluid motion, running a hand through his dark hair.
Suna wonders if he’ll ever work up the courage to admit to Osamu that he’s always liked him with dark hair best.
“Finally,” Suna says, his gaze dropping back down to his phone. “You’re back.”
Osamu jolts at the sound of his voice. It is almost comical how his eyes widen as they flicker between the suitcase at the front door and Suna, lounged over the couch like it belongs to him.
“Holy shit,” Osamu says, his voice breathless. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I could tell. Long day at work?”
“No more than usual.” Osamu pushes Suna’s suitcase further against the wall to ensure no one will trip on it when coming in. He tosses his cap onto the kitchen counter before wandering over to Suna, a brilliant grin on his face. “I’m glad you’re here. How are you?”
“Tired,” Suna says as Osamu braces his forearms around Suna’s frame, boxing him in. Still, Suna keeps his eyes firmly on his phone. “Exhausted. You kept me waiting a while. I’m not sure I’m in the mood to do anything anymore.”
If it were anyone else, the level tone to Suna’s voice might have convinced them that he was being serious. But this isn’t anyone. It’s Osamu, who has known all of the cadences of Suna’s speech patterns for years. He knows Suna well enough to recognize that he’s teasing him for the fun of it.
“Oh, yeah?” Osamu straightens a little. Suna feels the weight of Osamu’s stare, even if he’s not looking at him. “Is that right?”
“Yeah,” Suna says. “It’s a shame. I came all this way, and you’re not even going to get some.”
“Mmhmm,” Osamu hums. He fixes the collar of Suna’s track jacket. “Here I thought I could convince you to stay active on yer weekend off.”
“Not a chance.”
“Mm.”
Before Suna can anticipate it, Osamu lets himself fall on top of Suna, his elbows pressing against Suna’s stomach. The sudden weight is enough to make Suna grunt and drop his phone, falling between the cushions of the couch. Meanwhile, Osamu’s arms wind around Suna’s waist, pulling him close, and finally—finally—Suna lifts his head to look Osamu in the eye.
Osamu has a mischievous gleam about him, not unlike the one permanently fixed on Suna’s face. It’s the sign of someone long accustomed to Suna’s ridiculous range of taunts and jabs. His chin rests against Suna’s chest, his eyes wide and searching. Suna can’t help it. A choked noise leaves his throat.
“Ah,” Osamu says. “Glad I could finally getcha to look at me.”
“Mmhmm,” Suna hums, because he doesn’t trust himself to make any coherent sounds.
“How long are you here for?”
“The whole weekend. Until Sunday.” Suna hasn’t bought a train ticket back yet, but that’s an issue for tomorrow. Right now, his mind is empty, lost to anything that isn’t pertaining to the person in front of him.
“That’s a lot of time,” Osamu murmurs. “You’re gonna leech off me until then? How are you gonna repay me?”
“I’m not going to repay you.”
“Are you sure?”
Suna knows he’s lost this one when Osamu brings his mouth to meet his, pressing Suna further into the couch.
The first time it happened couldn’t even be called an accident. Not really.
It had been about two years after graduation. Suna had signed a contract with EJP Raijin to become their newest middle blocker, but the lineup was stacked with every player imaginable. There were a few he recognized—like Komori Motoya from Itachiyama and Washio Tatsuki from Fukurodani. But Suna had a long way to go before he could knock anyone off their pedestal to make it as a starter.
The strenuous training regime was hard to adjust to, far more demanding than anything he had done back in high school. He regretted all the moments when he had considered slacking off. Considering what he had to do now, he wished he had savored the lighter work-outs. He couldn’t remember what it was like to come home without his limbs straining with exhaustion and a permanent knot set in his back.
There were other aspects about being a professional athlete that no one told you about: the restrictive diet plans, the surge of public attention, and the devastating mental toll it took. There were too many sleepless nights those first few years; there were too many images of him looking tired and exhausted in the press; there were too many breakdowns on his bedroom floor; there were too many phone calls home, wondering if he should give up and pursue something else.
It was all too much, and after two years, Suna didn’t have much progress to show for it. He was the first middle blocker to be put in as a substitute, but he had yet to confirm his position as a starter. Komori and Washio had both done so already, leaving him as the last in their generation to snag a spot—if he could ever manage to do so.
It sent a pang through him whenever he saw headlines or videos online of Aran and Atsumu’s success. He felt lackluster in comparison, and after another strangled phone call home to his sister, she demanded that he loosen up.
That was how he found himself accepting one of Kita’s many invitations for their former team to meet up. He had carved out the time to do so before—when he had just graduated. But as the months passed, Suna became enveloped in the rhythm of his career, and he declined more often than not. To Kita’s credit, he still extended the invitation each and every time.
This time, the location was somewhere new.
Suna managed to keep up with Osamu as much as he could. He’d say that Osamu was the person he called the most after his family, so he was aware that Osamu had made some progress in his desire to start his own food business. He had signed a rental agreement to purchase a building on one of their busiest streets, and he was in the process of purchasing appliances and furniture to fill the empty space.
Onigiri Miya became more than a fantasy. It was real, and this step brought Osamu closer to the life he’d imagined for himself.
Still, Suna hadn’t expected to wind up inside it before its official opening date.
The evening was relaxing overall, and as time went on and Suna caught up with the rest of his former teammates, he found himself loosening up. The knot in his back seemed to unravel, and even if he could only respond in half-hearted replies, it was better than nothing. It was better than being stuck inside his own head at his apartment back home.
Everyone started leaving at their own pace, and by the time the night had settled and the street lamps had lit up, Kita, Osamu, and Suna were the only ones left.
Suna stood a little ways apart outside on the sidewalk with Kita as Osamu went about locking up. Suna could hear his muffled grumblings as he fumbled with the lock, banging the door a few times loud enough that it struck through the silence.
“It’s good to see you, Suna,” Kita murmured.
Suna looked sideways to find Kita watching him. It had always been unsettling for Kita’s gaze to be fixed upon him back in high school, and that unease hadn’t lessened with time. There would always be something about Kita that sent a shock through Suna whenever he captured Kita’s attention. Time had been kind to him. His skin had the look of someone who spent time beneath the sun, and his arms held a little more muscle to them. Though his expressions and mannerisms remained, somehow Kita had become more intimidating with age.
“It’s been a while, huh?” Suna mumbled. He dragged his foot along the pavement. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine. It happens. We’re all a lot busier now.”
“Yeah,” Suna said. There was another bang behind them, followed by an even louder complaint from Osamu, and Suna resisted the urge to snicker.
It was quiet tonight, the street lamps the only evidence of life beyond Onigiri Miya. Every so often, a stray car would rumble past, their tires running along the streets, and there was the occasional cry of a bird in the distance. It was comforting. He had forgotten what Hyogo looked like after dark. He had forgotten what Hyogo meant to him.
“Suna.”
Suna glanced over at Kita again. Kita’s stare hadn’t wavered once, and his eyes narrowed—ever so slightly.
“Yes, Kita-san?”
Kita blinked. “I’m worried about you.”
This blunt comment on Suna’s well-being was enough to make his hands twitch, even as hidden as they were in the pockets of his sweatshirt. It was the most outward concern anyone had shown him these past few years. There might have been probing questions about his career, but none of them related to his health. Physical, mental, or otherwise.
Suna should have known. Kita missed nothing. Even if Kita had a tendency of masking his worry with logical remarks, he should have known that of all people Kita Shinsuke would figure out something was wrong. It was jarring to hear someone confront him about his slow deterioration. He had coasted on under the impression that it was unnoticeable to anyone but him.
But no. Kita had noticed.
The silence that fell between them grew longer the more Suna kept quiet. He gnawed on his lower lip, buying himself time, before mumbling, “I’m fine, Kita-san.”
Kita’s response was instantaneous. “No, you’re not.”
Osamu chose this moment to interrupt, and relief washed over Suna like a breath of fresh air as he turned away from Kita’s inquiring eyes. He stumbled over to them, swinging his keys around his thumb, looking supremely pleased with himself. “Got it,” he said, holding up his keychain as evidence. “We’re all good to go.”
Kita inclined his head towards them. “Then I’ll be off. I’ll see you both around. Thank you for hostin’ tonight, Osamu.”
“‘Course, Kita-san.” Osamu dropped his keys into the pocket of his jeans. “It’s no problem at all.”
“Suna.” Kita whirled on him one last time, and every nerve in his body jumped to attention. “Take care of yourself, will you?”
Suna didn’t have a response ready, but Kita took his silence as acceptance. He nodded again in their direction before starting down the street to where he parked his car, and the two of them watched him leave. Although Kita’s parting note had been laden with care, it became more of a warning in Suna’s mind. Take care of yourself—or else.
“You alright, Suna?”
“Yes,” Suna answered without looking over at Osamu.
“You seemed a bit off tonight. Anythin’ buggin’ you?” Osamu wandered back over to the storefront of Onigiri Miya and leaned back against the glass. Though the store lacked any kind of window display or notable sign to decorate the outside, there was potential in it. Suna could imagine it now. “Anythin’ I can do?”
Suna ambled over, dragging his feet along the pavement. Every step he took scratched along the surface. “It’s a bit of everything,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.”
Osamu watched him as he mimicked Osamu’s movements and braced his shoulders back against the glass. “You look tired,” Osamu remarked. “Yer eyes have bags under them. You’re quieter than usual, too. What am I meant to do when you’re not constantly makin’ fun of me, Suna?”
Suna let loose a shaky breath. He had hoped his half-hearted replies had gone unnoticed. Perhaps the signs were more evident than he had thought at first glance. “I thought you’d prefer it this way,” Suna said.
Osamu considered that with a hum. “Not really,” he said after a few seconds. “I don’t know what to do with you when you’re all silent like this.” A pause. “How’s EJP?”
“We won last weekend.”
“I meant how has it been for you?”
That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it?
Suna couldn’t deny his love for the team. He had chosen it out of high school for a reason. There hadn’t been a moment where he’d regretted signing his contract. If anything, his position made him want to work harder to become a more permanent fixture. But there was no denying that the strenuous practice schedule and tedious match-ups were getting to him. He found his first gray hair the other day.
“I love EJP,” Suna said honestly. Osamu waited, sensing there was more behind it. “I just—” Suna sighed then, and when he continued speaking, his voice was much smaller. “I’m just tired.”
Osamu nodded gravely at that. He let Suna’s words hover in the air for a few seconds. With only the street lamps to illuminate his features, it was hard to pick out his expression. Suna relied on what he knew of Osamu. Osamu: reliable, trustworthy, steady. Osamu, who would understand the most.
“I get that,” Osamu said, the words leaving him in a rush. He looked back over his shoulder through the glass into an empty property waiting to be filled. “I know I’m gettin’ somewhere now, but it’s still hard. Buyin’ appliances and all that. All the expenses fuckin’ suck. Then it’s about signin’ agreements for shipments and hirin’ staff.”
It wasn’t anything Suna hadn’t heard before through long telephone conversations or hasty text messages. But it was different hearing Osamu say it out loud. He spoke like a tightly coiled spring, stuck on the verge of breaking. Worst of all, Suna recognized it because that was how he himself spoke most days.
“I know,” Suna said. “That sucks.”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’ll get there.” It was a feeble attempt at encouragement, but Suna would never forgive himself if he didn’t make the effort. Osamu heard enough from others that he had taken the wrong path, that he should have stuck with volleyball like Atsumu and made a name for himself. He didn’t need to be dragged down further. He needed to be lifted up. “You will.”
“Yeah,” Osamu rasped. “Maybe.” He turned his head toward Suna. “You will too, Suna. It’s only a matter of time. Washio-san’s good, but that other startin’ blocker is gettin’ old. You’ll replace him in no time.”
“Mm,” Suna hummed, even as the spark of hope was lit. “Maybe.”
They lapsed into a silence, reveling in the synchronization of their easy breathing as they looked out onto the street. The cool air cleared his mind, easing away all of the nagging thoughts he’d held onto, and Osamu’s presence beside him coaxed him into a semblance of familiarity. This was easy. Being with Osamu had always been easy.
“Where are you headed now?” Osamu asked, breaking the stillness. “Yer family all moved back to Aichi, didn’t they?”
“Yeah. I’ve got a hotel.”
Osamu whipped his head toward Suna again. “What? What didn’t you say somethin’? You coulda stayed with me.”
Suna knew that. He knew that—if he had asked—any of his former teammates would have been happy to put up with him for a weekend. It was precisely the reason why he hadn’t. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
“You’re never a bother, Suna.” Osamu shifted so that his side was pressed against the glass. His body faced Suna’s completely. “You’re tired, aren’tcha? Stay with me tonight.”
“Careful, Osamu.” Suna let his head lean back against the wall. “That sounded an awful lot like an invitation.”
When Osamu didn’t answer right away, his chest tightened. He had meant it to be a light-hearted remark, but maybe Osamu had forgotten how he sounded when he teased. There was a possibility that he had just made Osamu uncomfortable—which had not been his intention. Suna opened his mouth to amend what he had said—
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
Suna faced Osamu so quickly that he hurt his neck. As he raised a hand to massage the crick, his eyes sought Osamu’s in the dark. All he found was a serious question in Osamu’s gaze. Was it possible that Osamu had missed the double meaning to the word ‘invitation’—or had he understood it completely?
“I’m super tired,” Suna said, beginning a verbal checklist for all the reasons why they shouldn’t. “I’m going to be a lazy shit. You’re going to wind up doing all of the work.” There. There was no chance of Osamu missing the insinuation in that.
Still, to his surprise, Osamu responded with equal enthusiasm. “My apartment is fuckin’ empty,” he said, nodding along. “All I’ve got is a futon, so it’s gonna be uncomfortable as fuck.”
Even more reason not to. “It might be awkward,” Suna said, as serious as ever. “I mean, what if you’re bad at it?”
Osamu squawked in indignation. He peeled himself off the wall, and his face came mere centimeters away from Suna’s before stopping. At this distance, there was no mistaking the impish gleam to his eyes. The only problem was that Suna was sure his own eyes reflected it right back at Osamu.
“I’m great at sex, Suna,” Osamu insisted, and it was almost comical how offended he was that Suna would suggest otherwise. “You’d be the luckiest bastard in the world.”
“Would I now?”
“You wouldn’t even know what hit you.”
Suna gave a slow nod. It was like the two had tried talking themselves out of it, only to create a more convoluted mess instead. That knot of frustration in his back had returned, and Suna could sense himself slipping. Even the act of keeping himself on his feet felt more impossible as the minutes went on. Whatever he decided, he wanted to be able to unwind. It was only a matter of choosing a hotel bed or Osamu’s.
“We shouldn’t,” Osamu said.
“We really shouldn’t.”
“But—we are?”
“Not if you don’t want to.” Suna rubbed at the small of his back. “Do you want to?”
“Do you want to?”
“Okay. I hate this game.” Suna bent himself backwards until he heard his back crack. The relief it brought him was instantaneous. “I need a straight answer, Osamu.”
Osamu tilted his head. “I want to,” Osamu said, the most honest response he could give. “I’m so tense all the time—and it’s fuckin’ exhaustin’—”
“I know,” Suna said because it was the truth. He straightened, dropping his arms. “I need—”
“I know.” Osamu took one of Suna’s hands in his, and Suna marveled at the warmth of Osamu’s palm against his. He became so delighted by the weight of it that all he could do was follow along as Osamu led him around the back of the building, over to where a back staircase led up to the apartment above Onigiri Miya, the additional space Osamu had rented out in addition to the restaurant downstairs. It was the easiest decision he’d ever made—following Osamu up to his apartment. “I know.”
It takes a year after the first time for Atsumu to confront him about it. It’s an unexpected surprise when it does happen, but part of Suna has been expecting it for the last couple of months. When he stumbles upon Atsumu waiting at the counter of Onigiri Miya, banging his fist and demanding that Osamu bring him more food, Suna is tempted to turn on his heel and head back upstairs. He’s sure that whatever leftovers Osamu has in his fridge will suffice until Atsumu leaves.
Unfortunately, luck is not on Suna’s side. Atsumu spots him entering through the back entrance, and he ceases his banging long enough to pat the seat right beside him. “Hey, Sunarin,” he calls. “Fancy seein’ you here.”
Suna is completely caught. All he can do is stalk over to the seat and sit down, bracing his forearms against the counter. Osamu is a faint blur on the other side, hustling about as he takes orders and fulfills them all in the same breath. He spares Suna a sympathetic look as he sets a plate of fresh onigiri down in front of Atsumu, but he disappears back into the kitchen before Suna can beg him to get him out of this situation.
“Hi,” Suna mutters before snatching an onigiri right off Atsumu’s plate. He ignores the outcry that follows in favor of stuffing it into his mouth.
Atsumu glares at him, even though any chance of retrieving his onigiri is now lost. He focuses his attention back on the ones that remain, and he subtly cages them in with his arms to ward off any future attacks from Suna. “I’m not surprised to see you here at all. I shoulda known you would be here.”
Suna doesn’t dignify that with a response.
“Considerin’ you and my brother can’t stop”—his voice falls into a hush—“dickin’ each other down.”
Suna chokes on a grain of rice, and a series of coughs work their way out of him. He gasps for breath as he heaves over the counter, and it takes Atsumu a ridiculously long time for him to realize that Suna isn’t exaggerating before he hands his glass of water over and urges Suna to wash it down. Several heads turn in their direction, but Suna’s sole aim is to clear his throat. He chugs the rest of Atsumu’s glass, letting the water rush downward, and it’s only once he sets it down again that his ability to breathe returns.
“You asshole,” Suna says, his voice scratchy. It feels like the rice is still caught halfway there, but he’s certain that’s impossible. He taps the glass with a finger. “Get me another. It still hurts.”
For once, Atsumu doesn’t argue. “Right.” He swings his legs around and hops off the seat, hurrying into the kitchen in search of water. He returns back with a full glass, and Suna can barely nod in acknowledgement before he starts in on the next, slower this time. “Better?”
Suna coughs in an effort to clear his throat. “A little.”
“Sorry.” It sounds like he means it. He resumes his previous position, though he watches Suna with more care this time around, like he’s expecting Suna to keel over at any second. “I didn’t think that would happen.”
“Obviously.”
“Now I feel bad.”
“No.” Suna waves him off. He’s been waiting for Atsumu to bring this up for a year. He’s not waiting for him to do it again later. It’s now or never. While he would prefer the option of the latter, he knows that’s impossible. “Say what you want to say.”
Atsumu’s lower lip pushes out. “Fine.” His hand smacks against the counter, and he starts tapping his nails against the surface. “How long do you plan on lettin’ this go on for?”
It’s not the first question Suna expects. He had thought Atsumu would demand answers first—How long has this been goin’ on? Why didn’t you tell me? “I don’t know,” Suna answers.
Atsumu isn’t pleased with his response. His eyes narrow. “Wadaya mean you don’t know?”
“It means I don’t know.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “How did you even find out, anyway? Did Osamu tell you?”
“Osamu didn’t need to tell me.” Atsumu taps his temple. “I’m smart. And the two of you are so obvious that it’s disgustin’.”
“We’re not obvious.”
“Huh? Are you gonna tell me that the extra pair of slippers by the door aren’t for you? Or that the EJP Raijin tracksuit hangin’ around in his apartment isn’t yours from yer last sex appointment? Or that Osamu didn’t buy the stash of ice pops in the freezer just for you?”
Suna perks up at that. “He has ice pops in the freezer?”
Atsumu gapes at him before sputtering, “That’s not the point!”
Atsumu’s right. Suna will never admit it out loud, but somewhere along the way, Osamu started clearing space for Suna. Suna has done the same in return, but it’s unsettling to have someone else point it out. Especially if that person is Atsumu. “An ice pop would probably make my throat feel better.”
Atsumu continues gaping in disbelief.
Suna’s shoulders slump, and he falls into his distinguished slouch as he leans over the counter. He reaches for his glass of water, sloshing the contents inside before taking another easy sip. “What do you want me to say, Atsumu?” he demands after setting the glass down. “You want a timeline?”
“No,” Atsumu says, his shoulders tensing. His jaw ticks. “I wanna know when you’re gonna stop leadin’ my brother on. It’s not fair to him.”
Suna blinks. “What are you talking about?”
Slowly, all the fight escapes from Atsumu. His shoulders fall as his features relax, and his jaw slackens. He cocks his head, studying Suna in a new light, and Suna doesn’t like the way Atsumu is looking at him, like Suna is missing a punchline.
“You don’t know,” Atsumu says. “How couldja not know?”
Before Suna can question Atsumu further, a hand comes to seize Atsumu by the collar, drawing him upwards by sheer force. Suna traces the arm upward to find Osamu snarling down at Atsumu, his lip curled and his eyes narrowed. “Stop botherin’ Suna,” Osamu orders. He drops Atsumu in the next instant, and the sudden momentum almost makes Atsumu topple out of his seat. “You prick.”
“I’m not,” Atsumu says, smoothing out the wrinkles in his collar. He looks more fazed than usual. Normally, he would have snapped something back at Osamu. He wouldn’t have let Osamu toss him around without consequences. But his eyes are clouded over, and he twists around in his seat, the conversation forgotten.
Suna doesn’t forget, though. While staring up at Osamu’s ceiling later that night, there is one thought at the forefront of his mind—I wanna know when you’re gonna stop leadin’ my brother on.
There was a moment of perfect clarity in which Suna worried that their meaningless agreement had tipped over into something meaningful. It snuck up on him without warning, the warm bubble in his stomach shifting into a feeling akin to affection. He couldn’t track when his heart had begun to tighten at the sight of Osamu.
The two of them had met up several times after the first. It wasn’t always easy. As preparations to open up Onigiri Miya kicked into gear and the season resumed from where it had paused, the distance between them became more and more like a gaping hole that neither could cross. Sometimes, weeks passed before either of them made the journey to see the other. Other times, they spent whole weekends together, reveling in the other’s proximity before they were split apart again.
Most of the time, their meetings were short and brief, snippets of conversation carrying over rushed bouts of pleasure in which they took advantage of the minutes they had together. Those meetings made Suna all the more grateful for the longer ones.
It wasn’t like his career started demanding less from him—or that Onigiri Miya had slowed down its rate of production. Neither of them had been given more room to breathe, but the two of them now had an outlet. The stress that built up over a few weeks could unravel after an afternoon with Osamu, and the aftermath was spent in long rant sessions intermingled with ragged breathing. It was easier being so open with someone about it. Especially if that someone was Osamu.
But as Suna stared up at Osamu through his heavy gaze one evening, his heart stuttered.
The apartment was silent save for the slap of skin against skin, the strangled noises from their throats, and their heavy breathing falling in between. The lights in Osamu’s bedroom were dimmed, making it impossible to decipher the shift in Osamu’s features until he brought his face closer. The two of them were in a permanent bed this time, rather than the futon Osamu had been using until he’d started moving his belongings into his apartment, and the mattress groaned as Osamu met him for each thrust.
The tension inside Suna wound tighter and tighter until he felt himself dangling closer to some invisible precipice. His head rested back against the pillow, his hair splayed about, and his breath hitched as Osamu pushed himself closer. As Osamu leaned back, Suna caught sight of his face—and his heart stuttered.
The flush to Osamu’s profile was nothing new, but it looked different tonight. It reached down to his neck, drawing attention to the sweat along Osamu’s collarbone, and the ends of Osamu’s dark hair curled as they fell against his forehead. His eyes sought out Suna’s, and there was a second between them—with Osamu looking all flushed and disheveled and rumpled—as Osamu stared down at Suna like he was the only thing in the world worth looking at.
Suna had never been one to draw attention. Even back in high school, everyone talked about the Miya twins. Everyone talked about Aran. Maybe a few comments were saved for the aloof middle blocker, but for the most part, the focus glided past him. It was an unsettling sensation—though not unwelcome—to have Osamu’s attention entirely on him.
“Suna,” Osamu murmured, dropping his forehead against Suna’s shoulder. “Rin.”
Please keep looking at me like that, was what Suna almost said. But didn’t.
Atsumu’s words clash around in Suna’s mind the next morning. He’s found momentary distraction as Osamu sucked him off after breakfast, but the reminder comes back to haunt him when it’s all over until he can only register a ringing noise in his ear. It’s so overpowering that he doesn’t notice Osamu calling his name until Osamu steps in front of him again.
“Suna,” Osamu says. Since then, he’s redressed in his briefs with an oversized T-shirt to match. He has a wet washcloth in his right hand, and he drags it along Suna’s thighs, wiping away anything that remains of this morning. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of Suna’s left thigh, and this alone is enough to stir Suna from his reverie. “Where have you gone?”
“Huh?” Suna mumbles. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s like you’ve already left Hyogo.” Osamu cradles Suna’s right hand in his as he wipes off Suna’s fingertips. “Yer body might be here, but yer mind is elsewhere. Everythin’ all good?”
There’s no positive outcome that arises from revealing the truth behind what has Suna’s attention today. It’ll only make things awkward between them from here on out. There can’t be any validity behind Atsumu’s statement, anyway. From the beginning, the two of them have known that this has been no-strings-attached. That has been clear. Even if Suna has slipped along the way, he hasn’t ever breached any boundaries for his own sake.
If he has to suffer in silence loving Osamu, then he’ll do it. He’d rather have a piece of Osamu’s heart than none of it.
“I’m good,” Suna says. He lifts his other hand, and Osamu takes it, treating it with the same gentleness he always uses in regards to Suna.
“You sure? I’m pretty sure you zoned out while I blew you. I didn’t think I was doin’ that terrible.”
Suna can’t control the snicker that leaves him. “No,” Suna says with no small amount of amusement. “You weren’t doing terrible at all.”
“Right.” Osamu drops Suna’s hand, and Suna mourns the loss of Osamu’s touch as Osamu heads to the bathroom to return the washcloth. When he pops his head back into the bedroom, Suna hasn’t moved an inch. “What time is yer train at again?”
“It leaves in two hours,” Suna says tonelessly. With a long sigh, he stretches behind him to retrieve the T-shirt he fell asleep in. His boxers are a little further away, tossed beneath Osamu’s dresser. “I’ve got time.”
“Good,” Osamu says. “I’ve got time to make you a bento then.”
Suna pops his head through the hole in his shirt. His hair sticks out in all directions, and he runs a quick hand through it to tidy it up as best as he can without a mirror. If anyone were to see him now, there would be no secret as to what he’s gotten up to this morning. “Uh,” he says, smoothing the front down. “You don’t have to.”
Osamu’s eyebrows furrow, and for some reason, Suna gets the same feeling he did yesterday when Atsumu gave him that funny look. It’s like he’s missed the beginning of a joke and then misunderstood the punchline. “I know I don’t hafta,” Osamu says. “I want to. Anythin’ you want in particular?”
Suna mulls the question over. He’s never been a picky eater, and he trusts Osamu’s judgment enough that he doesn’t mind relinquishing control over to him. He’s the kind of person who eats whatever is put in front of him. “I’m fine with whatever.”
“Cool.” Osamu’s head disappears.
“Osamu?”
He reappears a second later, gripping the door frame with both hands as he skids into view. “Yes?”
Suna’s shoulders slump. He can’t do it. He likes this too much to give it up. He likes Osamu too much to give it up. He buries Atsumu’s words deep where they won’t nag him again before offering a gentle smile. “Can I have some onigiri to go?”
Osamu’s smile is the most brilliant thing he’s ever seen as he murmurs, “Of course, Suna.”
“When does it get good?” Osamu asked once.
Suna paused what he was doing to look up at Osamu through a narrowed gaze. Osamu was spread out across Suna’s bedsheets in his new apartment: the one he’d purchased shortly after signing his contract. His dark hair fell across his forehead in wavy tufts, and his face reddened. His knees braced apart as Suna curled two fingers inside Osamu, but the question made Suna still.
Okay. He was mildly offended. It wasn’t like he had the skills of a professional, but he was trying his best. He said so out loud. “I’m doing my best here.”
“Huh?” Osamu raised his head slightly to get a better look at Suna, and the indignation must have been written in Suna’s features, because he fell back against the pillow with a giggle. “I wasn’t talkin’ about that, though it’s amusin’ that you’re so concerned.”
Suna scowled and started to pull back.
“Oh.” Osamu’s eyelids fluttered shut. “You’re doin’ just fine, Suna. Keep goin’, please.”
“Maybe I’ll stop,” Suna said, “if you’re going to be so ungrateful.”
As Suna thrust his fingers further in, searching for the best angle to bring Osamu the most pleasure, Osamu emitted a gasp. “Yeah,” Osamu said. “There.”
Suna didn’t quicken the rhythm right away, instead drawing the most delightful sounds out of Osamu as he teased him in tantalizing motions while gripping his erection. Osamu lasted longer than he expected, finishing on the hem of Suna’s shirt, and Suna shrugged before replacing it with a clean one and throwing himself down onto the mattress beside Osamu.
“What did you mean?” Suna asked, dropping a hand onto his own stomach.
“Huh?” Osamu’s voice still sounded breathless, and it was enough to make Suna’s chest tighten. “Oh. Right. That. Uh, I was referrin’ to everythin’, really.”
“It’s great that you had an existential crisis while I was fingering you.”
Osamu turned his head to the side so that he could face Suna. Suna kept his gaze fixed on the ceiling, even though every nerve in his body itched to face Osamu, too. He held his breath, even as Osamu brought his hand up to rest on Suna’s cheek. Suna didn’t move a muscle.
“I was mainly talkin’ about the business,” Osamu explained, his fingertips resting on Suna’s cheekbone. “But it was a little of everythin’. When do we get to say that we’ve made it? When do we wake up and think that we’re satisfied with where we are?” Osamu sighed and pulled his hand back. Suna missed his warmth right away. “When do we wake up and start thinkin’ that this is it—that this is the happiest we’ll ever be?”
Suna drew in a sharp breath, and he felt the rumble of it in his chest as his palm rested against his stomach. He wanted to say that he had an answer for Osamu. The truth was that he was figuring it out as much as Osamu was. He wanted to be able to wake up one morning and have that revelation that everything had worked out as he’d planned. He wanted to be able to say that he was happy with where he was at the moment.
He could see that kind of future for himself at EJP, but it always seemed like a faraway concept, one that needed several more years of work before it came to fruition.
“I don’t know,” Suna said, because it was the truth. He released the breath he had been holding. “I hope it happens for us.”
Osamu hummed in acknowledgement. “Sometimes I think I’m almost there,” Osamu admitted. “I can imagine it. I feel close to it sometimes. I’m not sure why. We haven’t properly opened up for business, and there’s still so much to figure out, but there are moments when I’m unbearably happy—and I think, ‘Yes, this is it,’ and then it fades. It’s never permanent.” He buried his face deeper into the pillow. “How do I make it permanent, Rin?”
Suna tried not to shift at the use of his given name. Instead, he murmured, “By chasing after it, I think.”
It’s an unspoken rule around the EJP Raijin locker room that everyone knows about Suna and Osamu’s friends-with-benefits arrangement, but no one is ever to mention it. Of course, there is only one person that dares to break that rule.
Komori catches up with Suna during his water break, urging Suna to scoot aside on the bench, and Suna does so begrudgingly. Komori perches in the spot beside him, his head tilting back as he chugs his water bottle as fast as possible for the fun of it. Next to him, Suna takes slow sips, his chest heaving as he recovers from the aftermath of the various drills their coach forced them through.
“So,” Komori says once he’s drained the water bottle. “I’m assuming you had an enjoyable weekend.”
Suna says nothing.
“You know,” Komori continues, completely unprompted, “I think whatever you and Osamu have got going on is good for you.”
Suna chews the tip of his water bottle. “How so?”
“Since you started seeing him, you seem happier. Before, you were all doom and gloom. Your eye bags were so heavy, and you kept yawning during practice. You moped around all the time because you weren’t a starter yet. Look at you now!” Komori jabs a finger into Suna’s chest. “You’re eating better, you’re sleeping better, you’re smiling more. And you’re one of our starting middle blockers. I’m not saying it’s related to Osamu, but it’s a good thing.”
Suna has noticed. He didn’t think anyone around him had noticed, too. For all of his boundless energy, Komori is quite observant, picking up on details that others normally wouldn’t. He’s right in saying that it’s not all down to Osamu: the truth is that with time, he’s learned how to manage himself better. Adjusting to a whole new structure and lifestyle is never going to go smoothly, but the bumps become more manageable each time they appear. He’s learned to take them as they come.
“Mm,” Suna hums, because if he admits out loud that Osamu has some part to play in all of this, then he has to admit that he’s fallen in a bit too deep. He’s not ready to say those words out loud. “Maybe.”
Komori studies him further, his eyebrows flicking upwards. “You and Osamu have been seeing each other for a while, haven’t you?”
“A little over a year.” It’s not like Suna’s counting. He doesn’t like to remind himself that they basically have an anniversary together.
“Ah,” Komori says. “And it’s never deviated into something more? It’s just...sex?”
“Uh—” The rest of his sentence catches in his throat, and Suna falls silent. It is just sex, isn’t it? So why does his mind automatically recall all the quiet, tender moments too? Why is it that he thinks of Osamu’s carefully curated bento boxes and Osamu’s lingering touches long after they’ve finished and Osamu’s brilliant smile? It’s just sex, but Suna’s feelings run deeper below the surface. “Mm.”
“That’s—not an answer.”
Suna tosses his water bottle to his other hand, just to give himself something to do. “I mean, it is sex.”
Komori’s eyes narrow, sensing the unspoken words. “But?”
When Suna doesn’t respond, Komori takes that as permission to provide his own advice. It’s advice Suna hasn’t asked for, but he figures his situation has become so hopeless that even criticism from Komori of all people is worth listening to.
“It’s a bit weird, isn’t it?” Komori says. “I mean, you two have known each other forever. You’ve been friends for more than five years now. You’ve done”—he gestures vaguely at Suna—“whatever this is for a year. Neither of you are searching for anything else. Is it so strange to consider that neither of you want anything else?”
Suna can only speak for himself. He can’t—won’t—ever speak for Osamu. “I—”
“From what I’ve heard, Osamu has been doing better, too,” Komori continues, his hands gripping the underside of the bench. “I don’t think it’s as one-sided as you think, Suna.”
At that, Suna whips his head in Komori’s direction. His grip tightens around his water bottle, and he sets it down onto the floor with a clunk, the water inside sloshing. “What do you mean by that?”
Komori gives Suna a strange look. “Are you actually going to try and say that you’re not hopelessly pining?”
A few incoherent noises leave Suna’s mouth, more a product of his own humiliation than anything else. He knows he’s pining. But he doesn’t want everyone else to know he’s pining. He can love Osamu in secret, and that’s more than enough. “Stop. I’m not.”
“Don’t be an idiot, Suna,” Komori says, flicking Suna on the forehead. Suna scowls before rubbing at the spot to ease the nip of pain. “What’s going to happen if Osamu does find someone? What if he tells you one day he wants to call it quits?”
Even imagining it makes his chest seize up, a hard knot coming to tighten around his heart. He’s always comforted himself with the thought that he has a piece of Osamu’s heart. He can’t fathom what it would be like to lose it. The vision of Osamu with someone else makes panic flood his senses, though it’s only a momentary flash before he forces himself to calm down.
This is hypothetical. This is all hypothetical.
“Then it’s over,” Suna says, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. It sounds like a lie, even to himself. He’s not sure he can give Osamu up so easily, but the choice might not be his in the end. “That’s it.”
Komori grants Suna a long, hard look. “You’re being an idiot, Suna.”
Off in the center of the gymnasium, their coach calls out for their attention, signaling the end to their water break, and Suna braces himself for the next round of drills. They’ll be challenging as always, but he’s come to realize he wouldn’t have it any other way. Komori stands up, discarding his empty bottle onto the bench, and he stretches his long arms high into the air.
“I’m never serious,” Komori says.
“I know.” Suna gets to his feet, setting his water bottle down beside Komori’s, and he straightens out his shirt before following after Komori to where the rest of the team gathers. “I’m well aware, actually.”
“Jerk,” Komori says, shaking his head. “But if you’re ever going to take my advice, now’s the time. Say something. He won’t wait for you forever.”
Suna clenches his jaw. It hurts, but it feels deserved. “He’s not waiting for me.”
Komori sends him one last pitiful look.
The truth was that it was never about sex. It deviated past that line numerous times, but it felt so routine for them that neither of them worked up the courage to bring it up. Because the simple truth was that cuddling beneath heavy blankets and talking on the phone for hours on end and carving out space for the other meant that the boundaries had been blurred long ago.
After one draining match against the Azuma Pharmacy Green Rockets, Osamu sought out Suna afterwards. Suna spotted him long before then, manning the Onigiri Miya stand with one other employee, but he’d waved at Suna from the crowd right before the match had started.
When the final whistle blew and the victory was called in favor of EJP Raijin, his legs dragged him in the direction of the locker room. Every muscle in his body screamed for some kind of relief, and every limb felt like it was being dragged below the surface of the earth. His chest ached in the aftermath of the strenuous exercise, and sweat beads trickled down the side of his face, even as he wiped himself off with a spare towel.
Still, when Osamu had pulled him aside with a gentle grip against Suna’s elbow, Suna invited him over.
He didn’t know what possessed him to do it. Actually, he knew exactly what possessed him. That fucking smile of Osamu’s had gotten the best of him—yet again. Suna was powerless against it.
But as he returned back to his apartment, his entire body weary with exhaustion, he regretted it. Osamu had yet to arrive, but Suna was tempted to send him a quick message to retract their plans. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to see Osamu. In fact, it was the thing he wanted most. But when this kind of invitation was passed between them, it meant one thing. And Suna’s legs already felt like they could give out at any moment.
He checked his phone once to find that there were no new messages. The time indicated that he had fifteen minutes before Osamu promised to appear on his doorstep. He could make use of those fifteen minutes. He stopped by the kitchen on his way, grabbing a fresh bottle of water, and he brought it into his bedroom with him.
Setting it down on the side table along with his phone, he flicked off the lights and shed his outer layers until he was left in a thin T-shirt and his briefs. With the cool air tickling his exposed skin, he felt himself drifting off. As soon as he toppled onto his mattress, his legs curling beneath the sheets, Suna slipped away to the sweet promise of sleep.
Suna only stirred exactly fifteen minutes later, but it wasn’t because of a doorbell ring or a text message notification. It was because of the strong arms that wrapped around his waist, pulling him close to someone’s chest. Even as his vision blurred, Suna tried to sit up. “Osamu?”
“Shh,” Osamu murmured, easing Suna back into his previous position. “Go back to sleep, Suna.”
“But—” Osamu hadn’t come here for this. It wasn’t his fault that Suna had collapsed due to his own exhaustion. No matter how happy Suna was that he was here at all, guilt plagued him nonetheless. “I can at least blow you or something—”
“Shh,” Osamu repeated. The firmness to the motion was enough to make Suna drop his head back against the pillow. “Sleep.”
Suna’s eyelids fluttered shut, and he could sense himself dozing off again. When he spoke, it came out like a croak. “Osamu?”
“Yeah, Rin?”
“Are you going to stay?”
Osamu buried his face into the back of Suna’s neck. His breathing fanned out along the nape. “Do you want me to?”
If Suna had been more coherent, he might have answered differently. He might have recognized that—if there was a line—this was crossing it. But he was held captive by his own drowsiness, and his answer was a simple: “Yes.”
“Then I’ll stay,” Osamu murmured. “I’ll wait.”
The next time Suna sees Osamu is after an EJP Raijin match against the MSBY Black Jackals. EJP walks away with their heads held high, victory perched on their shoulders, and Suna runs on an invisible high as he purposely makes crude faces and motions in Atsumu’s direction. Just when he thinks it can’t get any better, Osamu seeks him out.
Suna first has plans with the rest of the team, but he makes quick work of escaping to head back to his apartment. The speed at which he conducts himself is much faster when he knows he has Osamu waiting for him back home. By the time he’s twisting his key into the lock of his apartment, the anticipation blooms inside him.
His door opens with a groan, and Suna enters his apartment, slipping off his sneakers by the front door. “Osamu?” he calls.
“In yer room!” Osamu answers.
Suna traces his steps over to his bedroom, and sure enough, Osamu lies on top of the covers, his phone clutched in his hand, his other arm resting across his stomach. He has switched out his Onigiri Miya shirt for one of Suna’s jerseys that are left lying around the apartment, and the sight of Osamu in his uniform is enough to send Suna into overdrive. The bright yellow suits him, and the reminder that Suna’s name is scrawled across his back makes his mind numb.
Osamu sets his phone aside. “Hey,” he says, sitting up and motioning for Suna to come closer.
“Hey,” Suna murmurs, his voice soft.
As Osamu pushes himself to the end of the bed, Suna rests on his lap, his long legs wrapping around Osamu as he winds his arms around Osamu’s neck. Osamu offers him a warm smile, and Suna’s heart stutters again. He really has fallen in so deep that it feels impossible to backtrack. All he can do is revel in what he has now.
“Were you waiting long?” Suna asks, brushing a hand through Osamu’s hair.
“Nope,” Osamu says. “I had to help load everythin’ onto the truck, so I haven’t been here long.” He presses a kiss to the corner of Suna’s mouth. “Missed you, though. How were the celebrations? Tsumu’s so pissed. He wouldn’t stop complainin’ aboutcha. He was all, ‘Shitty Suna and his fuckin’ blocks.’ That’s a compliment, you know.”
Suna beams. He was on point today. There are days when his vision is clearer, and today was one of them. It was a brilliant turn of events to wind up on top of the Jackals. It’s hard to compete with them, especially considering their line of superstars, but EJP Raijin have a stacked squad, too. Suna has never regretted signing with them. Every day, he’s more and more grateful that he didn’t crack under the pressure of those first few months. Every day, he feels thankful that he’s here at all—that he made it this far.
“It was fun,” Suna answers. “Everyone’s thrilled. The last game we played against the Jackals, we lost. So.”
Suna shrugs. Although he acts nonchalant about it, that match grated on him for months afterwards. He never likes losing, but he hates losing to Atsumu most of all. Atsumu never skimps on the chance to rub it in. He never forgets to boast about it. The victory today means that the tables have turned. It’s Suna’s chance to brag.
“I remember,” Osamu says. His hands come up to press against Suna’s back, holding him in place. “We don’t have to do anythin’. If you’re too tired, then we can just—”
“I’m not tired,” Suna reassures him swiftly. As long as Osamu’s keen, Suna is more than willing. He hasn’t stopped thinking of Osamu since the final whistle. He deserves this. He unzips his track jacket in one fluid motion, shrugging it off until it pools onto the floor. “Let’s do it.”
Osamu doesn’t need further reassurance than that. He helps Suna out of the T-shirt he has on beneath his jacket, and within seconds, Suna’s chest is bare. He feels more than sees Osamu’s gaze drag along his abdomen as he pushes Osamu back onto the mattress, and a trickle of satisfaction runs through him. He’s always worked hard on his core. It’s gratifying when Osamu appreciates it as much as he does.
Suna’s hands run beneath the smooth cotton of Osamu’s jersey, relishing in the gasp Osamu emits at his cold palms.
“Suna,” Osamu hisses. “For fuck’s sake, yer hands are freezin’.”
Suna cackles as he leans forward. He brings his mouth close to Osamu’s, and his chest tightens at the hitch he hears in Osamu’s breathing before their lips meet. It starts out in slow, gentle nips before Suna pries Osamu’s mouth open further, and he drags his tongue across the bottom row of Osamu’s teeth. Osamu’s nose brushes against his, and Suna keeps moving in closer until he’s pressed flush against Osamu. He can sense his own arousal building up, and as he draws back, Osamu stares up at him, all flushed and disheveled, a strange look of wonder in his eyes.
Suna can hardly breathe.
I love you so much.
“What?”
Suna blinks, and like that, something shatters.
Osamu’s features transform into confusion as he peers up at Suna, his lips parted. He swallows, and Suna traces the movement with his eyes. “What—” Osamu licks his lips. Then he tries again. “What didja just say?”
Did he say that out loud?
Suna freezes, even as every nerve in his body screams at him to run, to explain himself, to pretend nothing happened. He needs to do something, but all he can do is remain completely still. He doesn’t want to know what kind of expression he’s wearing right now. He imagines the horror he feels right now is reflected well enough.
Osamu won’t stop looking at him, and maybe that’s what Suna wanted once, but not like this. He doesn’t want Osamu looking at him like this—like he doesn’t even recognize Suna. That’s what snaps Suna out of it.
He starts to pull away, though his movements are slower than he’d like. Osamu registers this, and his arms come up to grip Suna’s. His hold isn’t tight, but it’s firm. It’s enough to keep Suna in place, hovering above as he looks down at Osamu, dread sinking into the pit of his stomach.
It takes Suna a second too long to realize that Osamu is speaking. His brain is numb, and all he can hear is white noise. But Osamu’s mouth is moving, and Suna focuses all of his attention on figuring out what Osamu is saying.
“Suna,” Osamu murmurs. “Suna. Rin. Rin. Don’t go. Wait. Please don’t go.”
“I’m—” Suna tries again. “I won’t go.”
“Okay.” Osamu releases his grip, and true to his word, Suna remains still. “Okay. Good.”
Suna nods, even though the action is mindless. He reaches down for his shirt and pulls it on over his head. He already feels vulnerable enough. If they’re having this conversation, he’d rather be dressed. Once he pops his head through the hole, he shifts to crawl out of Osamu’s lap. Osamu lets him, though he watches on with a mournful look as Suna shuffles to the other end of the bed.
Osamu pushes himself up into a sitting position, curling his legs beneath him. He brushes the front of Suna’s jersey down, even though it looks like it’s more to buy himself some time as he figures out what to say. When he tilts his head toward Suna again, his expression is flat. Suna would be lying if he said it didn’t drive a stake into his heart.
“Okay,” Osamu says, breaking the silence that spreads between them. “So. That happened.”
Suna doesn’t speak. He can’t. He doesn’t know how to react. All of the excitement he’d felt over winning has evaporated in an instant, and it’s all because of his own big mouth. He might lose Osamu—all because of one sentence.
“Suna.” Osamu nudges him with his foot. “Come back.”
“I’m right here,” Suna croaks.
“No, you’re not.” Osamu shakes his head. “Where are you goin’? I’m right here.”
“I know,” Suna says. It’s a strange admission, but it’s the truth. Suna doesn’t have many constants. It’s hard with the kind of career he has, but he’s always had Osamu. No matter what, he’s always had Osamu. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you apologizin’ for?”
Suna falters, then shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Osamu gives him a strange look, and for a second, Suna catches a glimpse of fondness hidden in his gaze. But it vanishes as quickly as it appeared, and Suna resists the urge to let out a long sigh.
“Suna.” Osamu hesitates. “Rin.”
Suna’s heart starts to beat faster.
“Are you in love with me?”
It’s a point-blank question that leaves Suna with no room to escape. He can’t work around it no matter what he tries. He can only confront it as it stands. He can’t lie. He won’t. It would break a little bit of his spirit. If he lied, Osamu took it at face value, and they returned to their relationship as it was, Suna would never feel worthy of having a piece of Osamu’s heart.
“Yes,” Suna whispers, and it’s carried out into the air between them. His eyes drift down to the sheets on his bed because it’s easier speaking his truth when he’s not looking at Osamu. “I’m in love with you.”
“Why didn’t you stay anythin’?”
Suna shrugs again, and even he’s annoyed at his lack of explanation. Osamu deserves better than his flimsy responses. So he makes the effort. “I wanted to have some of you. Even if I couldn’t have all of you.”
There’s the groan of the mattress as Osamu shuffles closer, and before Suna knows it, Osamu’s knees come into view. A pair of hands grab at his chin, tilting it up until Suna is forced to meet Osamu’s gaze. His breath catches, and his heart races even more. It’s never been this bad before, but he thinks he’s seconds away from falling apart completely.
Suna can’t read Osamu’s expression. His lips flatten, and his eyes betray nothing as his thumbs stroke soothing circles along Suna’s jaw. Suna decides he likes the feeling, even if it’s not the best revelation to come to right now.
“Say it again. Please.”
Suna’s eyebrows lift. “Huh?”
“Please. Say that you’re in love with me.”
Suna can’t ever deny Osamu anything. So he doesn’t. His breath fans Osamu’s profile as he whispers, “I’m in love with you.”
Osamu’s eyelids flutter shut, and when they peel apart again, there’s a gleam in them. He tugs Suna closer until they’re nose-to-nose, and the sudden proximity shocks Suna so much that he almost misses what Osamu says next—
“I’m in love with you, Rin.”
Every thump in his chest sounds even louder now. It’s more tangible, spreading down to the nerves on his fingertips until he’s left reeling. All Suna can do is stare, his face a centimeter away from Osamu’s. “What?” he asks.
Osamu repeats himself with the same assuredness as before, “I’m in love with you, Rin.”
“What?” Suna says. “For how long?”
“Too long,” Osamu answers. He inches back a bit, enough that Suna glimpses the beam he wears. It’s the reassurance Suna needs that this isn’t a dream. This is reality, and Miya Osamu is in love with him. He has been—for too long, apparently. “I’ve been hopin’. Waitin’.”
“You—you were waiting for me?”
“I didn’t want to pressure you,” Osamu says, brushing a strand of hair out of Suna’s eyes. “I didn’t want to make you feel obligated to return my feelings, so I kept quiet.”
This is what Atsumu meant. I wanna know when you’re gonna stop leadin’ my brother on. It’s not fair to him. But Suna didn’t know. Even now, hearing it out of Osamu’s mouth feels like the result of some strange hallucination. But he feels it down to his bones. He knows this is real.
“We’re both stupid,” Suna mutters, dropping his head. “We’re both so stupid.”
“Yeah.” Osamu’s hand lingers against Suna’s cheek. “But we can be stupid together.” He looks bashful about it. “If that’s alright.”
“How are you so okay with this?” Suna shakes his head, trying to disturb the daze he’s fallen into. “We—we’ve wasted so much time.”
“Have we?” Osamu’s hands cradle the sides of Suna’s face, forcing him to lift his head again. He raises a single eyebrow. “Or have we already been actin’ like a couple? Makin’ each other lunch, watchin’ terrible movies together, and goin’ out to eat together.”
“Okay.” Suna’s hand squeezes both of Osamu’s cheeks, forcing his lips into a pout. “That’s because it’s you.”
“No.” Osamu pries himself out of Suna’s grip. “That’s because it’s us. That’s who we are. We don’t know how to exist around each other otherwise.”
Suna digests that, and he decides Osamu might have a point. Even back in high school, he’s always been more affectionate towards Osamu than the rest of the team. While his young mind might have chalked it up to their proximity throughout the day, he knows better now. This is how they are.
“Oh,” Suna says.
“Yeah,” Osamu says. “Oh.”
“I see it now.”
Osamu sits back, braced on the flat of his hands. He looks so relaxed, so easygoing about this in a way Suna cannot compare to, but it does bring him some joy to know that Osamu feels this comfortable around him. That’s the way they are. “Rin,” Osamu says. “Fuck whatever we’ve been doin’. Let’s do it for real. Be my boyfriend.”
“Only,” Suna says, grabbing hold of Osamu’s hand, “if you get to be mine in return.”
Osamu grins, full and unrestrained, and it’s a beautiful sight. When he leans forward to kiss Suna again, all of the nerves wash away. The wait is worth it, and it’s the best victory to have all of Osamu’s heart.