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“Yo ‘Samu, pass the phone to Rin real quick will ya?”
Osamu makes a face even though he knows his bastard of a brother isn’t there to see it. “For the last time, no. The guy doesn’t need ya hookin’ ‘im up with any random guy with two legs and a functionin’ penis that swings his way, stop callin’ me for this shit.”
There’s a high, grating whine that emits through his phone speaker, and Osamu has half a mind to turn around and end the call right there, but it’s quickly followed by, “Then can ya tell ‘im to pick up my calls?”
“Tell ‘im yourself, dickhead.”
“Tell ‘im myself– the fuck d’ya think I’ve been tryin’ to–”
A finger is pressed against the red disconnect button on Osamu’s screen and it isn’t his own. He turns to the side at the sound of Atsumu’s voice cutting out, soup ladle in hand, only to be met with a half-grin-half-grimace on Rintarou’s tired face, who appears to have just gotten out of the shower.
“Can’t believe I’m starting to get haunted by some country bumpkin whore while I’m just trying to eat.”
“Country bumpkin…”
Rintarou snickers at Osamu’s mildly affronted expression and sidles up to the kitchen bench next to him to pat the junction between the back of his head and his neck. The fine hairs on his neck stand at the sensation. “I’m kidding. He’s still a whore though.”
Osamu snorts, “I’m not boutta disagree. Dinner’s ready by the way.”
“Smells good,” Rintarou leans into Osamu’s shoulder to reach into the shelf above him, retrieving a plate and two bowls. There’s water dripping from the ends of his still-wet hair. Osamu shuffles to the side a little to avoid getting wet and stares at him contemplatively, which Rintarou notices when he looks over. “What?”
“Ya know, if yer seriously want him to fuck off, ya can just say the word.”
Rintarou huffs a laugh as he passes the bowls over to Osamu so he can fill the bowls with noodle soup, “And what are you gonna say to him if I do say the word?”
“Do ya actually want me to get ‘im to stop?” Osamu knows his brother is just doing what he thinks will make his friend happy, which is why he’s been acting like Rintarou’s personal dating app and trying to push him into going on a date for months, despite Rintarou’s insistence that he didn’t need him to do so. He can tell it’s beginning to bother him, but Atsumu simply has the awareness of a wet tissue sometimes when it comes to crossing boundaries.
Rintarou simply laughs at him again and stoops to open the cutlery drawer, “Sure, only to see what bullshit you’d come up with.”
As if on cue, Osamu’s phone rings.
“‘Tsumbass bitch’,” Rintarou snickers a little at the nickname Osamu has set for his brother (as if it isn’t his twelfth time seeing it), and accepts the call without a second thought, putting Atsumu on speaker.
“‘Samu, yer fucker! Stop hangin’ up–”
“That was me, my bad,” Rintarou says, not sounding very apologetic at all.
“Rin!” Atsumu yells through the speaker, “So there’s someone I think you’d really get along with—”
“‘Tsumu, stop tryna hook ‘im up with your weird frat friends. He’s already datin’ someone,'' Osamu interrupts, setting down the two bowls a little harder than he normally would. From the corner of his eye, he sees Rintarou lower his hand from where it was pinching the bridge of his nose to give him a bewildered look.
‘Am I now?’ His expression seems to say. They stare off at each other for a minute. Atsumu is silent for that minute. Truly, a miracle.
“Oh my god,” Atsumu finally says, “Oh my god, ‘Samu if the two of yer were fuckin’, yer could’ve just told me! No wonder yer kept gettin’ pissy at me for settin’ ‘im up with people!”
Osamu sputters at the bizarre jump to conclusion, “The fuck? ‘Tsumu ya dumbass, where’d ya get–”
“Osamu,” Rintarou says, after recovering from his moment of shock. Osamu can practically see the sly mischief dripping from his smirk. ”You didn’t tell him we were together?”
Osamu opens his mouth to respond, but Atsumu is already screeching through the phone, screaming at him for being a traitor of a brother and how all of their friends needed to know about this immediately. He can only stare at his phone in horror as his twin hangs up.
Rintarou is smiling at him, far too smugly for his liking. “You know, when I said I was interested in seeing what bullshit you’d come up with, I didn’t realise Atsumu would be the one doing it instead.”
//
“If it works, it works,” is what Rintarou says to him when Osamu grumbles about the sixth person who’s asked him about his newly discovered ‘relationship’ with his roommate that day. He’s sure Rintarou is talking about Atsumu’s text that he’d sent shortly after the Unfortunate Misunderstanding™, apologising for pestering him about hookups when he was taken (and also bullying him a little for his poor standards–Osamu’s feeling a little vindictive), but he’s also certain that the only thing that was working at the moment was Atsumu’s innate ability to piss him off.
He says as much, and Rintarou only chuckles, snatching Osamu’s phone in the middle of him typing a response to his old volleyball captain, Kita. He can feel the subtle shake of his shoulders from where he’s snuggled up against his lap. “Relax, it’s not like anyone believes this dumbass anyway.”
Right.
Except for the fact that of the six people who heard Atsumu’s bullshit and decided to text Osamu, five of them had immediately sent their congratulations, and Teru had asked when the hell they’d finally got their shit together. Rintarou clearly realises the error in his statement when he skims the brief message history between Osamu and Kita.
“Huh,” he says.
Osamu sighs, “I’m beatin’ up that asshole the next time I see ‘im.”
//
Rintarou has left behind the box of onigiri that Osamu had made the night before for the two of them to take for lunch, which Osamu notices when he returns back to their apartment one late afternoon.
On Wednesdays, Rintarou’s schedule is particularly packed, leaving little time to move in between classes nevermind finding time to buy food, which is the reason why Osamu began preparing extra food in the first place, despite not having as busy of a schedule (he reasons that unlike his roommate, he doesn’t actually have that much money to spend on buying lunch anyway). He knows Rintarou will be heading to volleyball practice soon, and well, Osamu doesn’t have anything planned for the evening, so gets changed, grabs the onigiri, and heads to the gym where practice is being held on Wednesdays.
He only arrives shortly after most of the team has, which he can tell from the few stragglers arriving after him, and the nets still in the process of being set up. He spots Rintarou sitting near the entrance to the court, long legs splayed in a lazy attempt to look like he’s stretching, and jogs down towards him, feeling a little sympathetic towards the grouchy aura he’s giving off from hunger.
“Ya forgot this,” Osamu says, lightly tapping the box against the top of Rintarou’s head. He looks up at him.
“Hmm, so I did,” he says, taking the box with a hum. There’s a slight squint in his eyes that only appears when he’s pleased, so Osamu knows he’s grateful. “Now hide me so it doesn’t suddenly become food for these scavengers–”
“Yo! Whatcha got there Miya?”
Osamu huffs a laugh at the timing and looks up at the two pairs of owlish eyes directed their way and inching closer, like hyenas sniffing out a carcass. Scavengers indeed.
“Fuck off, Tendou,” Rintarou says, already on his second onigiri. Osamu’s a little concerned for his digestion.
“Hey hey! You gonna join us for practice Miya?” Bokuto shouts, pretending like he’s not eying down the box Rintarou’s holding, and doing a terrible job at it. Tendou is already making grabby hands, and is being fended off by Rintarou’s long legs kicking at him.
Osamu doesn’t even get a chance to answer when Tendou says, “Hey Miya, tell your boyfriend that sharing is caring!”
Osamu is suddenly feeling a lot less likely to do that. “I told ya, we ain’t–”
“Why?” Rintarou’s voice takes on a lilting tone, “I thought you got yourself a man already. All of a sudden you’re over here asking to share ‘Samu?”
“Well I mean…” Tendou looks Osamu up and down and shoots him a faux flirty look, earning himself a kick to the hip from Rintarou. “I’m kidding! It’s a joke!”
Rintarou has managed to get through four, maybe five onigiri at an alarming rate, so Osamu snatches the box before he can give himself a stomach ache. Rintarou looks up at him, a little betrayed.
“Yer gonna make yourself sick,” he says, and tucks the box away without offering any to Tendou or Bokuto, to their dismay.
“Actin’ like his girlfriend and you say you’re not together,” Tendou huffs.
They’re simply joking around, Osamu knows, but he can’t help but feel a little annoyed when almost everyone he knows, who has even a slight connection to his brother and has heard of Atsumu’s latest bullshit, has brought it up at every possible opportunity to tease him and Rintarou. It’s all he’s heard in the two days since the Great Unfortunate Misunderstanding™. He’s made sure to clear up that he and Rintarou are not, in fact, dating, and that it’s just a misunderstanding on Atsumu’s end, something that most had accepted (with the exception of Atsumu himself, no matter how many times he had been told so). But well, when half the people he knows are as much assholes as his brother (if not more, no matter how hard it is to believe), some teasing had to be expected.
He’s mostly feeling sorry for Rintarou, who has most likely suffered the same amount of teasing because of his idiot of a brother, though he seems to be taking it in stride. Osamu could only wish he was that level of unbothered.
Rintarou seems to notice Osamu’s slight discomfort, so he kicks Tendou again, this time on the outside of his thigh.
“Ow! Kidding!”
“Alright! Everyone get your ass over here for warmups!” The captain made his way to the centre of the court after the nets had been set up, voice booming. “Miya, you joining us today?”
“Sure,” Osamu says, and drops his bag beside the benches near the entrance. It’s the reason he wore his sportswear here in the first place—he rarely gets the chance to play these days, save for the rare occasions he’s lucky enough to have a free evening, like tonight. He’s missed playing volleyball, he really has.
Beside him, Rintarou stands, and shepherds him towards the middle of the court where the rest of the team is making their way towards, hand resting between his shoulder blades. A few of the members are looking at them curiously, or shooting teasing smirks their way as they join them.
“Hey Suna, congrats,” a vaguely familiar player says to them jokingly.
“Thanks,” Rintarou replies without batting an eye.
Osamu hears a gasp somewhere to his right, followed by a whispered, “So they’re actually together?—“
“10 laps and then drills!” Captain calls out, interrupting and directing a look at poor Goshiki, “If I hear another word about whether or not Suna’s hooked up with Miya, it’s another 5 laps. Y’all are disgusting.”
Goshiki looks a little cowed after that. Rintarou’s cool hand has made its way up to the back of Osamu’s neck, and he knows the other can feel the way his neck has heated up along with his ears. He’s not really sure whether he’s more thankful or horrified by the captain’s declaration.
The remainder of practice goes quite well, thankfully without much teasing coming their way as they get into some practice sets. Osamu is only subbed in for a few sets, and spends most of the practice on his phone, helping the managers record some rallies, and occasionally informing the average misled individual that he and Rintarou were again, not dating.
“Suna-san doesn’t seem to care about the rumour though,” Goshiki says when Osamu settles the misunderstanding, “He never really bothered to correct anyone so I wasn’t sure. Sorry, Miya-san!”
“Rin’s just glad that ‘Tsumu’s stopped botherin’ ‘im,” Osamu grumbles, “I’m the one gettin’ the short end of the stick over here.”
A person drops next to him onto the bench he’s seated on, and suddenly there’s a sweaty Rintarou leaning against his shoulder, breathing a little harder than usual from the set he just took part in. Wordlessly, Osamu kicks open his bag and passes the unfinished box of onigiri and a bottle of water to him, but he notices a slight frown tugging at the corner of his mouth. Was something bothering him?
“Thanks,” Rintarou says, accepting the box and offering an onigiri to both Osamu and Goshiki, who’s staring at them with stars in his eyes.
“Thank you Suna-san, Miya-san!” he says, and finishes the onigiri in two bites. “You make the best onigiri, Miya-san!”
Osamu huffs a laugh and ruffles Goshiki’s hair, thanking him as he’s beckoned away by another senpai for the next set. Rintarou is still pressed up against his side, and even from his side profile Osamu can see the serious look in his eyes.
“That was a good set,” Osamu comments, “Yer read on Bokuto’s cross in that second-last point was real smart.”
“Thanks,” Rintarou says again, but this time the frown at his mouth has eased, and he’s doing that squinty smile thing with his eyes that lets Osamu know that he’s being genuine. Maybe he was just bothered by messing up on a play somewhere, though he didn’t notice Rintarou making any major mistakes. Rintarou speaks again after a pause, “Team’s heading out to eat after this, you wanna come?”
“I’m broke.”
“I’ll pay for you,” Rintarou sighs.
Tendou snickers from beside them, “Simp.”
//
Almost a week after Atsumu’s Great Unfortunate Misunderstanding™, any mentions of the rumour has died down enough to the point where Osamu is beginning to get a little suspicious.
There are still a few brave souls who bring it up, but for the most part, he hasn’t heard anything about it for at least three days. Not that he’s complaining, but he knows his friends are assholes and that something like this would have normally run its course over at least a few more weeks. The vegetables he’s stir-frying begin to scorch when he becomes distracted with recounting the last time he had gotten shit for this thing.
After Rintarou dragged him along to an izakaya bar with the team after practice, anyone who had the balls to bring up the rumour spawned from Atsumu’s Great Unfortunate Misunderstanding™ during dinner had the misfortune of being stared down by Rintarou’s cold, narrow eyes. By the end of the night, nobody seemed particularly inclined towards contesting that scowl (except for Tendou, but little could be said about his sense of self-preservation), which Rintarou seemed satisfied with, but it made Osamu feel even worse about the fallout his friend had to deal with because of his brother’s misunderstanding. Which had been prompted by his own stupid excuse in trying to get Atsumu to stop harassing them. And Rintarou clearly wasn’t as unbothered by it as he had appeared.
A knock at the door brings him out of his reverie, and he calls out to Rintarou, “Can ya let the dickhead in?”
Rintarou groans from where he’s sprawled out on the couch half-asleep, his laptop almost tumbling to the floor when he tries to roll off the couch. He’s swearing softly as he trudges to the door, and then not so softly when he opens the door and barely sidesteps Atsumu’s lunge at him. “What the fuck.”
“You,” Atsumu shoves a finger in Rintarou’s face, dropping a full plastic bag haphazardly at the doorway (probably filled with that flavoured soju Atsumu’s fond of drinking—Osamu can hear the glass clinking). Rintarou’s face scrunches up at the offensive tone. “Ya ghost me fer two weeks and start datin’ my brother and ya don’t even bother to tell me! And now I can’t even bully ya ‘bout it ‘cause yer goin’ ‘round swearin’ everyone to secrecy or some shit—FUCK—”
Now it’s Rintarou’s turn to lunge at Atsumu, who’s clearly not expecting level-headed Suna ‘I’m not getting involved in your bullshit Miya’ Rintarou to actually physically attack him, and the two of them topple over, limbs flailing. Rintarou has an arm around Atsumu’s neck in a chokehold, and his other arm is occupied with stopping Atsumu from saying any words.
A true blessing, Osamu decides, though he feels like he might be having a fever dream. He and his twin are usually the ones getting into a brawl, while Rintarou likes to stay by the sidelines and occasionally film them for his own personal entertainment (and blackmail), so seeing the scene before him makes him feel a little disorientated.
“Uh,” he says, turning down the heat and turning around to lean over the kitchen bench. The two are still struggling but he sees Rintarou’s head tilt towards him inquisitively. “Dinner’s almost done.”
“Sure,” Rintarou finally lets go of Atsumu’s head, who rolls away from his captor but is unable to escape the final kick Rintarou aims at his shin.
“Fuck!” he spits out, and turns around to look back at Rintarou as both of them stand. He starts towards Rintarou, who flinches, preparing to sidestep him again, but Atsumu is simply pulling him into a tight hug. “Nice seein’ yer again, Rin. Sorry ‘bout bein’ pushy with hookin’ yer up with someone. Congrats on gettin’ with ‘Samu.”
It sounds like it’s physically paining him to be polite and considerate for once in his life, the words coming out stiff. Rintarou clearly finds it hilarious, while Osamu is beginning to wonder if the two of them had somehow managed to switch bodies with someone.
“I am a taken man now,” Rintarou smirks, “It would be nice if you stopped harassing me about my dating life.”
“Oh my god,” Osamu says to himself, turning to the stove again so he can hide the grimace that takes over his face. He can pick out the subtle sarcasm in his tone, but his dumbass brother definitely wouldn't. From the corner of his eye, he sees Atsumu pick up the plastic bag at the entrance and bring it to the kitchen bench, and he knows he’s next.
“So,” Atsumu says ominously, “My traitor of a brother.”
“‘Tsumu.”
“Ya didn’t tell me ‘bout yer and Rin either.”
“We ain’t—“ Osamu starts, but remembers that it would be the twentieth time telling his brother that he had misunderstood, so he goes along with it for once. At least this way, Rintarou can keep having some respite from the trashy dating app in the form of his dumbass brother. He sighs, “Forgot to tell ya.”
“Ya finally admit it!” Atsumu crows, and throws himself onto one of the bar stools opposite from Osamu, who is taking the stirfry off the heat and placing it on a wooden board on the benchtop. His brother is taking out the soju, and surprisingly, a pricier bottle of sake. It almost looks like he’s giving them a gift—oh no. Atsumu is looking a little too self-satisfied. “But ‘cause I’m such a great and forgivin’ soul, I got ya this to celebrate yer gettin’ it on. No need to thank me.”
“Wasn’t plannin’ to,” Osamu says, unimpressed.
Rintarou is next to him, busy with retrieving bowls and cutlery for the three of them, and breathes a laugh at Atsumu’s presumptuousness, “We’ll take it as compensation for the inconvenience, thanks.”
“Inconvenience,” Atsumu scoffs, “Like ya haven’t been shuttin’ down anyone who’s bringin’ it up. Kenji and Noya’s been pesterin’ me ‘bout how yer got yer dirt on ‘em—and what’s with the whole ‘don’t say a word about this to ‘Samu or—’”
“Atsumu,” Rintarou deadpans, practically slamming Atsumu’s bowl of rice on the benchtop. “So did you forget about that video from Oikawa’s 21st that I’m sure Sakusa-san would be thrilled to see on—”
“Fuckin’ hell,” Atsumu is flushed, and he hasn't even had a drop of alcohol, so now Osamu is extremely curious as to what’s got his brother so embarassed. “Alright, got it. Yer so defensive for what.”
Rintarou’s shoulders are tense when Osamu, who had decided it was in his best interest to stay out of the crossfire, shoots him a confused look. Rintarou doesn’t meet his eyes, instead passing him a bowl of rice and walking around the kitchen bench to join Atsumu on a barstool.
“How’s your team preparing for the Intercollegiate Championship?” Rintarou asks stiffly, in an obvious attempt to change the topic.
Atsumu readily takes the bait, “Hah! ‘S if I’d tell the enemy team anythin’!”
//
Rintarou and Atsumu take charge of the conversation for most of the night, taking the time to properly catch up, since the former had ‘sudden plans’ the previous week that happened to coincide with Atsumu’s regular weekly visit to their apartment. They all know it was an excuse to avoid Atsumu and his latest find for Rintarou to go on a date with.
Osamu himself has been a little too distracted to properly take part in their conversation, though he does get into a few scuffles with Atsumu (who is sitting between him and Rintarou) whenever he tries to start something. He’s more preoccupied with putting together the pieces from his earlier musings.
Osamu knows this:
One, nobody has tried to bring up Atsumu’s Great Unfortunate Misunderstanding™ since maybe Thursday (save for a few brave souls).
Two, his friends are assholes, which means Atsumu’s Great Unfortunate Misunderstanding™ would have absolutely been used against him far more, under normal circumstances.
Three, from what he’s gleaned from his brother’s comment, Rintarou has been pulling out his arsenal of blackmail material in order to stop their friends from giving them shit about Atsumu’s Great Unfortunate Misunderstanding™.
So. Rintarou doesn’t like people talking about it. Rintarou can take care of himself, and has done a fantastic job at making people stop talking about it. Osamu isn’t at all surprised (and is even a little relieved) by what Atsumu slipped, but it leads him to number four:
Rintarou doesn’t want him to know about it.
Osamu doesn’t understand why. Maybe he just really hates the idea of people thinking they’re together? Does Rintarou think he’ll be offended? But that doesn’t make sense either—Rintarou apparently didn’t bother correcting anyone regarding the misunderstanding for the first couple of days, from what he’d heard from Goshiki.
A scuffle beside him brings his attention back to the other two. Rintarou is standing and has Atsumu in a chokehold again, trying to stuff a wad of tissues in his mouth while the other is spitting out curses.
“Fine! I ain’t sayin’ anythin’!” Atsumu flails in Rintarou’s hold and almost falls off his chair. He’s only saved by his iron grip on the barstool’s flimsy armrest and Rintarou holding him up by an arm around his neck. Again, Osamu feels like he might be having a fever dream. Rintarou doesn’t give up on trying to gag his brother, who’s screeching. “Stop that!”
“Help me clean up,” Rintarou says suddenly, when he notices that their struggle has caught Osamu’s attention. He lets go of Atsumu in favour of stacking their empty bowls and taking them to the sink, while Atsumu actually does fall off his chair this time, too tipsy to catch himself properly.
Osamu stays seated, entertained with watching Atsumu struggle to right himself. He and Rintarou have fallen into a simple unspoken agreement in the kitchen: he cooks, and Rintarou cleans up after them, so he’s usually sitting at the bench scrolling through his phone to the sound of running water and the occasional clink of ceramic in the background until Rintarou is finished.
“Fuck,” Atsumu says, finally off the floor. He’s squinting at a notification on his screen. “Gotta head off, s’pposed to have a meetin’ for an assignment tomorrow mornin’.”
“Catchin’ a cab?”
“Yeah.”
Atsumu leaves behind the sake and an unopened bottle of soju, and leaves after slinging his arms around Rintarou for an uncomfortable looking side hug and punching Osamu hard in the shoulder. What a bastard.
“Rin,” Osamu says, when Atsumu is out the door. Rintarou jolts, and the bowl he’s washing slips out of his grasp and clanks loudly against the sink. “Ah, sorry.”
“What is it?” He hasn’t turned around to look at him. His arms are moving stiffly as he picks up the bowl he dropped and finishes rinsing it.
“About what ‘Tsumu was sayin’,” Osamu starts. Pauses. There’s a soft clink as Rintarou sets the final bowl on the drying rack. “Yer goin’ ‘round threatenin’ our friends to shut up?”
The tips of Rintarou’s ears are looking a little red. “Atsumu, you whore,” Osamu hears him hiss under his breath. He watches him walk around to join him on his side of the kitchen bench, though he still won’t meet his eyes.
“So…” Osamu peers at him inquisitively. Rintarou sighs, and half-sits-half-leans against the benchtop where Atsumu had been eating.
“I thought it made you uncomfortable,” he admits, “It looked like it was bothering you, and you said you felt like you were getting the short end of the stick.”
It takes a moment for Osamu to recall his throwaway comment to Goshiki. “Oh.”
“So,” Rintarou pauses, and rests his elbows against the kitchen benchtop. His fingers are twitching, nervous. “Kinda felt selfish of me to make you deal with that when it was my fault.”
“I’m not blamin’ ya for my brother’s idiocy,” Osamu says. He feels a little warm at the consideration. “Thought yer were doin’ it all ‘cause ya didn’t like the teasin’ or somethin’. I just don’t understand why ya didn’t want me to know.”
Rintarou coughs, glances away. “I thought it’d make it more obvious than it already was.”
“Make what more obvious?”
His eyes snap to Osamu in disbelief. “Osamu. I never took up ‘Tsumu on any of those dates he’s tried to set me up on. I asked you to move out with me. I buy you dinner all the time. We cuddle like. Five times a week.”
Osamu feels a little light-headed. “That counts as cuddlin’?”
“I don’t know why I did, but I thought if that didn’t make it obvious, then the whole ‘bullying everyone into shutting up about Atsumu’s misunderstanding just because it made you uncomfortable’ thing would. And you seemed like you weren’t happy with the rumour, so I wasn’t sure…” Rintarou clears his throat, hands now clenched to stop his nervous twitching. “Wasn’t sure how you would take my feelings.”
“Yer feelin’s.”
Rintarou doesn’t say anything.
“I…wouldn’t mind.”
Rintarou raises an eyebrow in disbelief. He thinks it’s more because of his ridiculous response than the fact that Osamu may potentially return the sentiment. “You wouldn’t mind.”
Osamu flushes, “I meant—I wasn’t upset about what the rumours were implyin’, just—I didn’t realise ya liked me that way, and…”
God, he’s doing a terrible job at getting across what he wants to say. Rintarou is staring directly at him now, anxious and anticipating, and the pressure from his gaze is making him stumble over his words.
He likes Rintarou, he does. Rintarou is his closest friend after all, and he feels a level of comfort and warmth and rightness that he’s never felt with anyone else. He’s never let himself think of Rintarou as anything more than a friend though, so his…confession is throwing him for a loop, but really, it feels so obvious when he thinks about it.
“Osamu,” Rintarou says after a few seconds pass in silence. As if he couldn’t make Osamu any more nervous, he pushes off the benchtop with his elbows and leans into his space. Osamu can’t help but shy away, leaning back as Rintarou towers over him and grips the armrests of the barstool. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. You’re my friend first, and my feelings won’t change that. If you need time to think—”
“I…” Osamu wraps his hands around Rintarou’s wrists and leans back towards him, effectively cutting him off. “What I was tryin’ to say was I wouldn’t mind datin’.”
Rintarou’s eyes widen. Osamu doesn’t move.
“You’re okay with that?” Rintarou breathes.
“I’d like that, actually,” Osamu’s feeling fond of the way a subtle, relieved smile is spreading across Rintarou’s face. “I just—I’ve never really thought ‘bout it so I'm—”
“It’s alright,” Rintarou has freed his wrists from Osamu’s grasp, and is pulling him into a warm hug. He knows Rintarou likes to be touchy with him, but he hasn’t felt this kind of affection from him before, soft and unrestrained. He could definitely get used to it. Rintarou is murmuring in his ear, “Take all the time you need. If you change your mind, that’s okay.”
Osamu huffs a laugh and wraps his arms around Rintarou’s waist, pulling him closer. “I don’t think I will.”
They stay like that for a while.
“Fuck, I’m totally gonna owe ‘Tsumu now aren’t I?”