Archive of Our Own

At 19, Rintarou was happy.

When you start dating someone in high school, your world revolves around them. It feels as though they are your sun, your moon, your stars, that they are your everything. Your life, your future.

For Suna and Osamu, it felt much the same. 

Their second year of high school, the two of them became absolutely inseparable. They were together at all times: hand in hand, bent over textbooks and cell phones and each other. They were each other’s first everything, too; first relationship, first kiss, first time.

Osamu may have told Atsumu that he hadn’t intended to keep playing volleyball, that he was done after high school. That he wanted to go to culinary school, open a restaurant, do something for himself and only for himself out from the looming darkness of his brother’s shadow. His twin had been hurt, of course, and they’d had probably the most spectacular fight they’d ever had that night, but he’d forgiven him. It was his job as his brother to support him, he’d said, and that was the end of it.

What he hadn’t considered was telling his boyfriend, who was headed down the same path. His boyfriend who, up until the night before graduation, had assumed Osamu would be coming with him.

“...what do you mean you aren’t continuing volleyball.” It was sharp, curt, blunt. Hurt. “I thought - weren’t we going to do this together? I - ‘Samu, what are we going to do?”

And that was the question, wasn’t it? What were they going to do? Sunarin had already been recruited to play for EJP Raijin. He was on his way to Nagano to play professionally, and would travel all over the world to have an incredible career in volleyball. Osamu, though, would go to culinary school in Tokyo, and then… well. He wasn’t sure yet, but he knew that it wasn’t Nagano.

Suna swallowed. Osamu watched his Adam’s Apple bob, the slight tremble of his chin.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you,” Osamu murmured, culinary school acceptance letter clenched in his fist. “But - I’m not sorry that I made the decision, even if I didn’t talk to you about it first. I - this is something that I really want. That I’m good at. My future isn’t in volleyball, but I really believe that this could be something great for me.”

Rintarou paused, staring at the letter as though it had caused him some kind of personal offense. He swallowed again, nearly choking over his own saliva, trying to come up with something - anything - that would make this all okay. 

“I would never want to stop you from following your dreams,” he started, still staring at the letter instead of in his boyfriend’s face. “You’re amazing, Osamu. You’re an incredible cook and… and you’re going to kick everyone else’s ass at culinary school.”

Suna took a long, shaking breath in. But before he could continue his thought, Osamu spoke again.

“I sense that there’s a ‘but,’” he started, a small frown on his face. A soft, gentle pout, that under any normal circumstance, Rin wouldn’t hesitate to lean over and kiss off his face. 

This wasn’t a normal circumstance.

“I shouldn’t have assumed you’d be coming with me. I - that was. That was stupid, and selfish, and I feel like a fucking moron for placing words into your mouth when we hadn’t even really talked about it. We’re… we’re gonna be living seven hours apart, ‘Samu. And with my new schedule…”

“...we won’t have time to see each other,” Osamu finished. “At all.” 

“Yeah,” Sunarin sighed, finally glancing away from the offending paper in Osamu’s hand, casting his gaze somewhere along the wall of his dorm room. “I - ‘Samu. I love you, and I don’t want this to be the end of us, just because we’re going to be apart. People make long-distance relationships work all the time, right? Maybe… maybe we could try that?”

There was a long pause, where the two of them simply stood in the quiet, the only sounds coming from the cars passing by on the nearby street and their loud breathing. “I’m not ready to let you go,” Osamu agreed, breaking the deafening silence. “Let’s try it. But… we’ve got to make it count before you leave, okay? When do you go to Nagano?”

“Next week,” Rintarou replied, a small frown on his face. “To start off-season workouts and stuff.”

“Then we spend all of our time together until next week,” Osamu replied, resolute. “You’re going to go back to Aichi, right? I’ll go with you. I won’t go to Tokyo for a couple weeks, and if we’re going to be apart… I want to make sure that we can spend all of the time together that we possibly can.”

Rin smiled gently, though his eyes were still sad. The thought of Osamu not coming with him hadn’t even occurred to him. And though he felt stupid, he knew that Osamu was going to do incredible things - with or without him there. He'd never take away the hope that Osamu had to do something all on his own, only for him, away from the label of being only a twin, one in a set.

Oh, but god, he hoped they'd do it together.

The two of them fell into bed together after that, skin hot, mouths hotter, pressing closer and closer and closer together as if that would prevent the inevitable fallout from Osamu's revelation. Osamu left dark constellations against Rintarou’s collarbone, a wordless reminder of “I’m here; I’m not going anywhere.” And, as they finished together, Osamu still inside of him, Rintarou tugged him ever so slightly closer, afraid of and unwilling to face what waited for them on the other side of the graduation stage tomorrow.

-----------

But, so life goes. A week in Aichi together was nothing compared to the lifetime apart that was staring the two of them in the face. Osamu helped Rin unpack from Inarizaki, only to re-pack everything he needed to move to Nagano. Rintarou was going a few days early, he’d said, to move in to his new apartment and get his bearings before official workouts began.

Sunarin’s parents weren’t exactly keen on Osamu being there the whole week before their son left to Nagano, claiming that they wanted to spend some “quality time” with their son before he embarked on his career. Osamu was… a little petulant about the whole thing, but he understood where they were coming from. So, as a result, their time together became even more limited: condensed into their nights together and long, drawn-out packing sessions in Rin’s childhood bedroom.

Together, the couple packed up old school photos: pictures from their times together going to nationals, the two of them going on dates, the whole Inarizaki group, their volleyball club year-mates. All of these were placed into frames and packed up with such love that Osamu’s heart hurt at the thought of them truly being separated. Rin’s clothes were placed into suitcases and duffels and shopping bags, his books and laptop and camera settled with care into boxes.

By the end of the week, it looked even more bare than when the two of them had originally come from Hyogo, all of Rintarou’s high school memories in hand. Now, those same high school memories were packed up into bags and boxes, piled high in the corner of his cramped bedroom, filling the room with a silent reminder of what was to come. 

They’d never had time to be together again - not in the way they’d wanted - and it was with aching hearts that the two of them realized that the night before graduation was going to be their last time together for… a long time. They had to make do with pressing close in Rintarou’s small bed, skin warm.

“Look, when you go,” Osamu told him that last night, lying in bed together, breath hot between them, “don’t forget me, okay? I don’t want this to be the end.”

“It won’t be,” Rintarou swore to Osamu and himself. “I don’t want this to be the end either. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Osamu pressed his lips to Rin’s, soft and sweet. “I don’t, either. And… if we do find ourselves slipping, then… this is a promise to always find each other again.”

Rintarou’s eyes were wet. “I promise. I promise that I’ll always come find you again. But I won’t have to. I’m not gonna forget you just because I’m going to Nagano. You can’t get rid of me that easily, you know?”

“Oh, I know.” Osamu sniffed, trying not to cry himself. “You’re like a parasite.”

“Wow, fuck you.”

“I wish you would.”

Rintarou couldn’t help but snort at that, pressing his face into the warm skin at the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. “If it wouldn’t wake up my parents, you know that I would. I - you’ll visit me when you can, won’t you?”

“More like when you can,” Osamu sighed. “Even though it’s culinary school, it’s still just school, you know? You’re going to have a whole career. Workouts and games and practice don’t stop just because it’s the weekend.”

They were both quiet for a moment. “Don’t discount us before we’ve even tried, ‘Samu,” Rin choked out. “You promised. We’re always going to find each other again, even when we’re still dating. It’s… it’s gonna be really hard, but if anyone can do it, it’d be us, right?”

“Right.” Osamu tugged him even closer, relishing in the feeling of Rintarou’s chilled nose against his neck, his steady breathing, the hair brushing against his collarbone that he hadn’t cut yet. 

“I know you wanted me to follow my dreams,” Rin whispered against his skin, the words heavy between them. “And you know that I want you to follow yours. I just… I didn’t think that those dreams would pull us apart like this. Maybe it… maybe it was naïve of me to think that we’d be together. I just… I assumed. I never asked. What kind of a boyfriend does that make me?”

“The best one I could ask for,” Osamu sighed against his hair. “I let you go on thinking we’d be together playing volleyball. I never talked to you about it. I guess… I just didn’t think of it, you know? Which is fucking stupid of me, I know, don’t say it. I know you want to. But… like you said. This isn’t the end. It’s not. It can’t be. I refuse.”

In the dark, they were afraid to raise their voices above a whisper, as if shouting would shatter the fragile barrier they’d built between themselves and the world. There were a lot of “if onlys” and “what might have beens” that echoed in the quiet in the room, but none that they could bring themselves to acknowledge. At least, none that hadn’t already been reluctantly pulled from their lips in this bastardization of pillow talk.

It was a reluctant couple that drifted off into sleep, knowing that the morning light would pull them apart.

-------------

It was easier, at the beginning.

The two of them texted constantly in every available minute that they had. Sunarin constantly sent Osamu pictures of everything from his food, to his teammates, to his ride to the gym. Osamu, in turn, spammed him with pictures of his classes, him in his chef’s coat, the food he made. They FaceTimed every night and were on the phone nearly constantly.

That was, of course, until the season officially started. And that was, of course, until Osamu’s classes started picking up.

They still texted constantly and would fall asleep together with each other on the phone, listening to each other breathing. But the FaceTime calls were limited to once a week, scheduling may vary, depending on how busy they were. And the idea of visiting each other became a pipe dream.

Soon, too, the calls slowed down. Osamu’s classes had him up before the sun rose over the city skyline, off to the markets to learn how to choose the best ingredients for class. He’d spend hours there, and by the time he got home, he’d be so exhausted that he’d fall asleep before Rintarou got done with practice. Gone were the nights spent with their phones by their heads, a mockery of the time they’d spent in bed together, telling each other about their days. They grabbed a few minutes on the bus, a few minutes between classes, a few minutes on break, a few minutes in the locker rooms, but… it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t enough.

Within a few months, the calls ended, simply unable to keep up with the chaotic scheduling imposed upon them by their new and contradictory schedules. Oftentimes, Rintarou’s games kept him up to all hours of the night, and with team practice being so late, he’d miss calling Osamu before he fell into bed. And, all the same, Osamu’s early morning class schedule had him up and working before Rintarou made it out of bed.

Texting became their lifeline, but the pictures stopped coming as frequently. Osamu no longer was allowed to have his phone in class, and Rintarou often left his in his locker at practice. They spoke of friends that the other didn’t know, and offered no new context. There were no pictures of practice, or of food, or of classes. Time reserved for phone calls became time devoted to spending time with new friends, or sleeping.

Within a year, the texts stopped coming altogether.

There was never an official breakup. Things just… fizzled out, as they do, like a soda going flat or the static on the radio between songs. There was no explosive ending, no argument. It was simply a fact, mutually acknowledged but never spoken of, that they were over.

On two opposite sides of the country, Rintarou and Osamu tearfully changed their relationship status on Facebook to “single.”

------------

Throughout the years after, it wasn’t as if Osamu and Rintarou never spoke to each other. They were best friends in high school before they dated, after all, and the fact that they weren’t together anymore couldn’t erase the close friendship that they’d had before. Besides, it wasn’t as if Atsumu would let them completely ignore each other.

But whenever they were together, whether in a group or just the two of them with Atsumu, it still… was different. Harder. Awkward.

For years, the two of them couldn’t be alone together. Not because they hated each other: in fact, it was quite the opposite. They’d never really broken up, after all, and those feelings that they had for each other hadn’t been erased - merely put to the side. Buried underneath time and distance and obligation, sure, but never gone.

Osamu attended several of Rintarou’s games when he came down toward Hyogo, and Rintarou was there at the grand opening of the flagship Onigiri Miya store. They sent each other happy birthday texts and Facebook messages, liked each other’s posts on Instagram, even DMed a couple of times - but it was never really the same. The quiet promise whispered in the dark while wrapped in each other was lost to time, it seemed, forgotten in age and time and the box of high school memories that Rintarou had, but now put away.

Their relationship became a relic contained in the dusty picture frames that Rintarou kept on his shelves, in the jersey Osamu displayed in his shop. It turned from blindingly hot passion to cool nonchalance, just a blip in time for the both of them. They became strangers, only holding on to a “what if” or a “what might have been.” It was reduced to the cool formality of old acquaintances, friends of friends.

But neither of them forgot. Not really. 

...they’d made a promise, after all.

-------------

At 34, Rintarou was tired. 

He’d retired from volleyball, finally, after fifteen years of playing professionally. It had been a tough decision, of course, since he probably had at least a couple more years of competitive play left in him (at least, that’s what his manager said, anyway.), but with Motoya now gone from the team, he just wasn’t as fulfilled with it anymore. He no longer had friends to joke around with, and the apartment that he'd called home seemed to be more and more disturbingly quiet the longer he stayed.

He’d made enough playing professionally to be comfortable, and with some smart investments and advice from his parents, Rintarou had made his money last. He wouldn’t need to work again for a long time, if at all, as long as he was careful. So what did a man do with time, a decent amount of money, and a distaste for his now silent apartment?

Easy. He packed up his apartment in Nagano, said goodbye to his neighbors, and made the trek back down to Hyogo, not knowing what - or who - he might find. 

Rintarou rented an apartment - a fairly nice one, if you asked him - nearby the university that was close enough to walk to Inarizaki if he wanted. Maybe the volleyball coach would need some help. That was something he could do now, right?

Besides, it was strange to be back in Hyogo after so many years, even after calling it home in high school. It had been developed so much in a seemingly short time, and there were various new bars and restaurants and shops lining the streets close to the university and the high school. 

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Rintarou shuffled along the sidewalk, simply trying to take it all in. It was a little overwhelming, seeing this small city seemingly explode overnight. (It hadn’t, of course, but time would do that to you.) However, there was one place that Rintarou was headed - one place that he knew he needed to be.

Onigiri Miya.

He stood in front of the doors, glancing up at the large sign above his head. Since Osamu had originally rented the place, he’d been able to really expand, purchasing his little corner shop and making it really his. Rintarou glanced inside to see a line of patrons at the stools, both in the trendy dress of the university students and the suits and ties of the business professionals, and smiled a little to himself.

Osamu had really made it. Just like he'd known he would.

Taking a deep breath, Rintarou pressed the door open, a little shiver going down his spine at the jingling bell. The shop was warm and inviting, with wooden earthy tones all throughout the space, smelling of rice and heated broth.

It smelled like home.

"Welcome in!" Osamu called from his spot behind the counter, not really looking up toward the door as he served another customer. "I'll be with you in just a moment!" 

"Take your time," Rintarou called back, taking a seat at one of the stools at the very edge of the long counter. He kept watching, though, as Osamu spoke with his patrons with an easy smile - strong arms and careful hands forming each onigiri with care, as if each one was the most important one he'd ever made. It was the same Osamu, he realized, just with a little more weight around his middle and more muscle across his shoulders, hair once again his natural dark brown, the slightest hint of scruff across his chin.

Osamu, Rintarou was unsurprised to find, was still as startlingly attractive at 34 as he was at 19. 

“Hey, sorry about that.” Osamu chuckled as he approached, drying his hands on a towel. His face was still cast downward, not having noticed who exactly it was that had taken the corner seat - Atsumu’s normal spot. “What can I ge - oh.” He’d glanced up, finally, catching Rin’s eye. “I - Rin?”

The corner of Suna’s lips quirked up in the barest hint of a smile. “‘Samu. Hey. I, uh. I was in town, and I thought… why not come get something to eat from the best chef I know?”

“Best chef, huh?” Osamu grinned in that lazy way of his, leaning over the counter. “Kind of sad that you never met any other decent chefs. That you gotta run all the way back to Hyogo to visit just to get good food.” 

“Uh. Move. Move back to Hyogo to get good food.”

The man behind the counter blinked, visibly surprised. “Moved? You moved back here? What - I. What about volleyball? And why wouldn’t you stay in Nagano, or go back to Aichi with your family?”

“My parents moved to Fukuoka to be closer to my sister now that she has her own little guy, so they aren’t in Aichi anymore. And… well. There’s nothing in Nagano for me anymore. I retired.”

“There is… a lot to unpack there,” Osamu mumbled, resting his hands on the prep station in front of him, leaning his weight onto his palms. “First, you retired? When did that happen?”

“Just this past season,” Rintarou explained. “Motoya retired, and. Well. I’m getting old. Thirty-four isn’t old by any stretch of the imagination, but it is for professional sports, and my body is kind of starting to fall apart. So I figured it might be best to get out while the getting is good and I don’t have a serious injury to contend with.”

“So why Hyogo? Why would you want to move back here, of all places? You could’ve gone anywhere.”

At that, Rintarou at least had the grace to blush. “There was more here for me than anywhere else.”

Osamu gave him a strange look, but accepted the answer for what it was. Besides, it’s not like Sunarin would ever give him more information about it voluntarily. It’d have to be pried from his cold, dead hands. “Well, since you’re here,” he coughed, reaching off to the side toward one of his warmers full of rice, “let me at least get you some food. On the house. As a welcome back.”

“I can pay-”

“I insist. Let me do this for you, Rin. For old times’ sake, if nothing else.”

Rintarou had nothing to say to that. He couldn’t, not really. Instead, he simply watched in silence as Osamu expertly formed several onigiri in his palms, quick and sure, deft now with years of experience. There was no other way to describe it other than it truly being an art form. 

As the plate was set in front of him, Rin’s mouth watered with the smell of the warm, fragrant rice, the salmon filling inside, the slightly acrid smell of the seaweed wrapped around it. There was a reason that the small onigiri shop had grown to be so popular so quickly, after all, and the secret was resting right in front of him. 

...and right behind the counter.

The onigiri were soft and warm, immediately filling his heart with warmth as he took a bite. Eating these felt like coming home, still , like after a long and exhausting trip or after a hard day’s work, even all these years later. It was incredible to think that this little onigiri that he’d, in a way, had a hand in helping to create, could have turned into all of this.

“Well? What did you think?” Osamu asked, watching him intently. It was as if the rest of the patrons in the shop had simply disappeared.

“Incredible,” Rintarou replied. And they were. 

Osamu’s lazy smile returned, and he straightened up, grabbing his towel to once again wipe off his hands. “Take your time eating, and if you want anything else, just let me know. But - do you want to hang out soon? To… you know. Catch up?”

That made him pause. His grip tightened slightly on the onigiri in his hands, and he absently felt the rice give way under his fingertips. “I’d love to,” Rin finally decided on, meeting Osamu’s eyes. His heart skipped a beat.

...catching up. That sounded nice.

----------------

With nothing else to do, Rintarou found himself helping to coach his old high school volleyball team. It was… an odd feeling, for sure, to have high school boys who wore the same uniforms he did so long ago stare at him as if he’d hung the moon. 

Being an assistant coach didn’t pay much, sure, but he didn’t need much. It gave him something to do, some way to spend his time, and people to talk to. It was a way to continue participating in something that he loved so dearly without actually playing professionally. Having minimal responsibilities while getting out, getting to play volleyball, and making a little extra money on the side was pretty enjoyable. It got him out of the house, at least. 

Every couple of days, Rintarou also found himself walking through the doors of Onigiri Miya. He took the same spot every time, but tried a new menu item every time he came in. Sometimes, Osamu would even surprise him with something new he’d been working on for the menu, wanting a taste tester, or just something different than having onigiri.

In his wildest dreams Rin couldn’t have imagined that slowly but surely, he was coming to cherish Osamu’s friendship again as closely as he had in high school. It might have been the fact that Osamu was really his only actual friend in this area, but it wasn’t like it was unreasonable for him to go out and make more friends. The fact of the matter was that he was here, willingly and eagerly, slotting neatly into the best friend gap he’d left at Osamu’s side when they’d parted ways nearly fifteen years ago.

“Atsumu’s coming into town this weekend,” Osamu told him one Thursday at the shop. Rintarou had stopped for a quick lunch and a chat before his boys’ practice, but ended up staying longer than he’d intended, not that he really minded. Apparently, neither did Osamu. “I mentioned to him that you were living here now and that you were coming in here really frequently. He wanted me to tell you that one: he’s pissed you didn’t tell him, and two: he’s pissed that you’re in his spot. So. Take that how you will.”

Rintarou snorted. “He’s always been such a drama queen. I’ll have lunch with him or something when he comes back, I guess. Better stop his bitching now before he starts taking it out on all of us.”

Osamu laughed. “Yeah, probably for the best. You know he’ll never let you live it down.”

He didn’t, of course. As soon as Rintarou finished lunch, he pulled out his phone to text Atsumu. If he was going to get his head chewed off for some dumb bullshit reason or another, he at least wanted it to be on his terms. So, with a few quick texts and several declined calls, he and Atsumu settled on a place to go get drinks over the weekend while he was in Hyogo.

Now, he just had to come up with every possible scenario that Atsumu may question him about, and avoid it at all costs.

----------

“Are you and ‘Samu fucking yet?”

“Jesus Christ,” Rintarou choked out, thumping on his chest to help him clear his airways from the beer he’d inhaled. “You just had to jump right to the point, didn’t you? You almost fucking killed me. And who said I was trying to fuck your brother?”

“Eh, you would’ve lived,” Atsumu replied, waving his hand in front of his face nonchalantly. At 34 himself, he had risen through the ranks to become captain of the MSBY Black Jackals, and didn’t seem like he was slowing down anytime soon. He’d probably be in the grave before he stopped playing volleyball. “And of course you’re trying to fuck my brother. That’s all you wanted in high school, and it’s all you want now. So. Are you trying to get into ‘Samu’s pants or not? And be honest. I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“You are such a bitch,” Rintarou groaned. “But yes, okay? Yes. I want to get back with Osamu. I - I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed him until I got to be together with him again.”

“Oh, disgusting,” Atsumu laughed. “I don’t remember you being so sappy, Sunarin. What the hell happened?”

“I got old.”

“...valid. Anyway. My question still stands. Have you fucked yet?”

“God, no! Oh my god. Being old definitely hasn’t made you less annoying,” Rintarou groaned. “You’re still the fucking worst. But I haven’t even talked to him outside of the restaurant yet.”

“You haven’t?! Really?! Rin, you’re off your game. Where did it go? I know you were sleeping around up in Nagano, you know. I heard the rumors.”

Jesus Christ, he didn’t remember Atsumu being this annoying. “I didn’t really do a lot of ‘sleeping around,’” he replied, rolling his eyes. “I had a girlfriend for a long time, but it didn’t work out. And that was years ago now. You should know better than anyone that rumors are just rumors, ‘Tsumu.”

Atsumu rolled his eyes in turn, almost mockingly. “You’re shitting me, right? You? In high school, you literally paid me ¥10,000 because I told you not to tell a secret, and you said that if you told you’d pay me, and then you just. Pulled money out of your ass probably and fucking put it on Instagram! You are the worst about rumors, you dick.”

Rin couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, yeah, okay, I’ll give you that. But still. Even if it was about me - especially if it was about me - you know better than to take it at face value!”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Atsumu took another absent sip of his beer. “So. Speaking of rumors and my brother-”

“Oh god, not again.”

“ Speaking of rumors and my brother, do you really want to try to get back with him?” The look on Atsumu’s face was serious, now. All traces of his teasing grin were gone, and he leveled A Look at Rintarou, who was sitting in front of him. “He never really got over you, you know. And if - well. I don’t want you to decide that you want to get back with him, and have things end again like they did before. You’re one of my best friends, but he’s my brother. He comes first.”

“I’d never make you choose between us,” Rin answered, just as seriously. “I would never expect you to. But… it.” He sighed. “It hasn’t been the same. I had that girlfriend, and I did sleep around a bit over the past, I dunno. Fifteen years. But… no one was ever able to come close to what I had with Osamu. Not a single one. I regret how things ended up going. How everything just kind of… well… fizzled out. It’s not what I wanted to happen and not what I expected to happen.

“But we were young and stupid, and it’s been over a decade since then. I had it right the first time when I fell in love with Osamu. And all of these years later, I still do. Love him, I mean. All I had to do was see him, and I felt like I was eighteen again. I… I should have never let him go.”

Atsumu seemed stunned. Either by the outpouring of love for his brother, or by the fact that it was Sunarin doing it, one couldn’t be sure. But, regardless, it took him a few moments to get his bearings again. 

“I’ve only ever wanted ‘Samu to be happy,” he finally ended up saying, drawing patterns in the condensation on his beer glass with a finger. “The shop makes him happy. Cooking makes him happy. Volleyball made him happy.” A pause, a glance up. “But you made him the happiest. You always have. So… if it’s approval you’re looking for, then you’ve got it from me. But if you break my brother’s heart again, I’ll end your life.”

Rintarou let out a breath that he didn’t know he’d been holding. “I won’t. I promise I won’t. Like I said, it was the biggest mistake of my life to ever let Osamu go like I did when we were teenagers. And I don’t intend on repeating that mistake. Not again.”

“Good,” Atsumu replied, then coughed. “Okay, so. Now that the sappy shit is over, you’ve gotta tell me more about what you’ve been up to…”

------------

As the weeks progressed, Rintarou found himself going into the shop more and more frequently: sometimes to eat, but mostly to chat. He and Osamu talked about everything: from awful customers to stupid shit the volleyball boys had done, good deals at the market to the dogs they saw. 

It hadn’t… quite gotten past the point of old friends catching up, even though every time Rintarou caught sight of the little dimple on the left side of Osamu’s mouth when he smiled, he felt his heart flutter. And it seemed as if Osamu felt the same way. 

After all, whenever he would walk through the door, Osamu would almost immediately stop whatever it was he was doing, be it serving other customers, cleaning, or counting the money in the drawers. Rintarou did come in about the same time every day, and… well. Sue him for getting excited that maybe, just maybe, Osamu was just as excited to see him, too.

Being near Osamu hurt differently in a way that Rintarou wasn’t expecting, though. He missed the casual intimacy of their teenage years, when he could simply reach out for his then-boyfriend and touch him, completely unprompted, no hesitancy needed. Their late-night conversations wrapped up in the covers and each other, telling stories of their childhoods and families. Sharing food and clothes and kisses, getting picked on by their teammates, phones full of selfies.

It had been over a decade since then, but Rintarou had never forgotten. He didn’t think he could if he tried. 

None of the relationships he’d had since then had ever been as meaningful or fulfilling. He’d had plenty of one-night stands, sure, but only one actual long-term relationship, which ended rather quickly once he told her he didn’t want to move in together, even after dating for years. Subconsciously, maybe he always knew that the empty spot in his bed and his apartment and his heart was never meant to go to anyone but the boy - man - in front of him.

It was only proven when, upon arriving to the shop one day for lunch, Rintarou found a jelly straw sitting on his stool. With a shaking hand, he picked it up, the plastic slick against his palm. It was even melon flavored - his favorite, even after all of this time. He coughed once, to clear his throat, and took a seat on the stool. 

“Osamu?”

The man looked up from behind the counter, and made his way over, wiping his hands on a towel. He glanced down at the jelly straw in Rintarou’s hand, then back up to meet his eyes. “Yeah? What is it?”

“Why did you get me this?”

This gave Osamu pause. “Do you not like those anymore? I thought they were your favorite.”

So he had remembered. It wasn’t a fluke. “They are. I just… I can’t believe you’d remember something as silly as this.”

“If it was something that you loved, Rin, then it wasn’t silly.”

Rintarou didn’t know what to say. He clenched the chuupet in a loose fist, almost afraid that if he let it go, it would’ve disappeared. 

----------------

“I had a girlfriend,” Rintarou confessed one late night in the shop as Osamu was cleaning up after closing. It was nearing midnight, and all of the patrons had long gone home. The quiet sweep of the broom against the floor stopped for a beat, then continued.

“You did?” Osamu glanced up, briefly, then back down to the floor to continue sweeping. “What was she like?”

“Nice,” he started, resting his elbow on the counter to press his cheek into his hand. “She was nice. Very pretty to look at. Had kind eyes, could cook. She loved to take my little sister shopping, and helped around the house when we’d go visit my parents.” He sighed. “We broke up when she wanted to move in with me. We’d been dating for three years, on and off, and she wanted something more serious. ...I didn’t.”

The broom stopped again. A gentle click, quiet footsteps, and Osamu was next to him. 

“So… were you just not looking for a serious relationship then? Probably wasn’t the best look to string along the girl like that.”

A wince crossed his face. “I didn’t mean to. Truly. I thought - maybe I could grow to love her as fiercely as she seemed to love me.  But it never happened. I guess… she just… wasn’t what I was looking for.” As he spoke, Osamu took a seat at the counter beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched. Rintarou could feel his body heat, could smell the rice and vinegar and warmth drifting off his clothes. He shivered. 

“What were you looking for, then?”

And what was he looking for? In theory, his ex had been the whole package. She was kind, had a great sense of humor, could cook, and was loved by all of his family. The sex hadn’t been bad, either - she was beautiful, experienced - everything a man could want. But she wasn’t - 

“You.” 

Osamu’s eyes widened, and Rintarou realized what he’d blurted out. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

“She - ‘Samu, she wasn’t you.”

The silence was deafening. The only sounds that echoed throughout the room were the cars outside, so eerily reminiscent of their last time together in high school. Rintarou’s hands were suddenly cold and clammy, and he gripped onto the material of his sweatpants over his thighs, looking for something - anything at all - to hold on to. He turned his head down to face his lap, and the thoughts and feelings he’d kept bottled up for years flooded out in a rush, now that the dam had been opened. 

“She wasn’t you. She was never you. I’ve… The biggest regret of my life was letting things end the way that they did. I should’ve never let you go. I should’ve fought harder for you. You were the best thing I’d ever had in my life, and I let it… I let it go, because it wasn’t convenient.” His hands gripped his sweatpants so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. “I was so goddamn stupid. And I’ve regretted it ever since. I’ve never loved anyone that way that I loved you.”

“Rin,” Osamu breathed, closing the space between them. With careful, gentle hands, he reached over and unclenched Rin’s hand from its death grip on his sweatpants, lacing their fingers together. “Rin, I - after we… we broke up, then, that… that was the last relationship I had. I had some one-night stands, and there… there was a ‘friends with benefits’ thing at one point.” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “But it was just… it was never enough. They weren’t you. It’s always been you.”

A choked sob worked its way up from Rintarou’s throat, eyes wet as he raised his eyes up to come face to face with the man who’d had his heart since high school. “It’s always been you for me, too.”

With his free hand, Osamu brushed the back of Rin’s neck with his fingertips. “Stay with me tonight,” he whispered, breath hot between them. “Don’t go home. Stay. Please.”

“As if I could leave,” Rintarou whispered in reply.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Osamu finally closed the distance, slotting their lips together. As he did, the knot in Rin’s chest unraveled, slightly, allowing him to breathe without feeling like he was drowning. It was this - this is what he’d been searching for. Right here in Hyogo, in this little restaurant owned by the love of his life.

Slowly, they parted, and Osamu brushed his thumb under Rin’s eye, wiping away a stray tear. “Let’s go home.”

-------------

Osamu closed up the shop faster than he ever had before in his life. He barely made sure to check that the door was locked before grabbing Rintarou’s hand and tugging him to the small hidden staircase off to the side of the building, leading to his upstairs apartment over the shop.

Fingers laced, the two of them darted up the stairs, and Rintarou nearly stumbled over his own two feet in his haste. God, this felt like their first time all over again - trying to sneak into each other’s dorm room at school and not get caught by the assistants, rushing to their rooms because they were so excited to just be with each other - down to Osamu dropping the door keys.

After a few moments of frustrated fumbling, he finally managed to get the door open, and between one breath and the next, they were all over each other. Distantly, Rintarou registered closing the door behind him and locking it, but he wouldn’t be able to tell you when or how. All he knew in that moment was Osamu, running his hands along his sides, against his hips, through his hair.

“Bed,” he murmured, reaching for the hem of Osamu’s t-shirt to tug it over his head. The garment was tossed off to the side somewhere, uncaring, as the two of them pressed their mouths together in a heated kiss.

Clothes were shed in an ungraceful, stumbling trail to the bedroom, as Suna and Osamu didn’t want to part for even a moment from each other. Not again. And it was only by a sheer miracle that as the two of them collapsed onto the bed together, naked, that they had no injuries from the harrowing journey.

But now that they’d found themselves in this position, they slowed down. Hands that had been frenetic became reverent, brushing over every new dip and divot and freckle. Rintarou had a nasty scar on his knee from a surgery he’d had during his volleyball career. Osamu had a couple stretch marks along his stomach and thighs. 

They were older. They weren’t teenagers anymore. But Rintarou thought that Osamu was as handsome now as he had been back then, and maybe even more so - because this Osamu had been through trial and tribulation and hardship and had come out on the other side with the same easy smile, strong hands, and big heart.

This was what he’d been yearning for back in the dorms of Inarizaki fifteen years ago.

Rintarou climbed on top of Osamu, straddling his hips, and threaded his fingers through his hair as they pressed their lips together again - much more slowly, this time. They took their time, running their hands over soft skin, relearning what made each other tick.

“Thank God for professional sports,” Osamu chuckled, voice gravelly, gripping onto Rin’s hips. In turn, Rintarou pressed his mouth against Osamu’s collarbone, sucking small bruises into the skin. He groaned. “Christ. Don’t know what country I saved in a past life to deserve this.”

Things were already so hot between the two of them, and it took Rin a moment to remember to breathe, especially when he saw Osamu lean over to reach into his bedside table and bring out a small bottle of lube. He squirted a little onto his hand and reached between the two of them, wrapping his large hand around both of their cocks. 

Osamu was good at everything he put his mind to, and this was no exception. Rin groaned into his shoulder as Osamu carefully began to pump his hand, swiping his thumb over the head. Together, they began to buck their hips up and into each other - a little disjointed at first, but they soon found a rhythm. Like they always had, it didn’t take long to figure out what they wanted, what they liked, how they moved. They’d always been so in sync: on the court, off the court, in bed, and this was no different.

Osamu’s breath was hot in his ear as they continued. And maybe it was the fact that they were just so overwhelmed to be with each other again, or maybe it had just been a while, but the two of them finished quickly, shuddering against each other as they came.

It was perfect.

Giddy, heart full, Rintarou slid off of Osamu’s lap and grabbed Osamu’s (clean) hand as they lay side by side on the bed, catching their breath. He ran his fingers over every dip and bump in the skin, every still-healing ick of the knife, every small, shiny patch of skin where he’d been burned. And - 

“You don’t bite your nails anymore,” Rin mentioned, still breathless. “I didn’t notice.”

Osamu could only laugh, still shuffling over on the side as he wiped his hand off on a tissue from a box next to the bed. “After all of that, that’s what you bring up? Seriously?” He snorted. “I had to stop because it wasn’t exactly sanitary for the restaurant, you know?”

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice before.”

“Well, we’ve got plenty of time to catch up on everything about each other now. And, also, plenty of time for other, uh, fun activities like this. At least, we could . If you wanted. If you felt up to picking up where we left off last time.”

Rintarou’s own fingers, calloused and crooked, gripped Osamu’s tightly.

“As if you even had to ask.”

--------------

At 36, Rintarou was happy.

After that night, it was as if everything - and yet nothing at all - had changed. 

Rin still came into Onigiri Miya almost daily, but now it was because he was late to help his partner in the kitchen, and not because he was just having lunch. The stool that he’d claimed as his now solely belonged to Atsumu, as it originally had, and remained mostly empty unless the bleach blonde man was in town. 

He still helped out with the boys at Inarizaki when he could, but helping out at the shop had become his priority. He did, however, sneak them food all the time from the kitchen. (“Sneak” was relative. Osamu knew what was happening in his own shop, and would make extras when he knew Rin was planning to take some to his boys, not that he’d ever tell Rin that.)

He’d also sold his apartment and moved in full-time with Osamu. The same bridge that he’d never been able to cross with his “perfect” girlfriend from before, he’d willingly leapt into head-first with his boyfriend in a matter of weeks.

In fact, “boyfriend” might not even cut it, if he were being honest, and the thin gold band around the ring finger on his left hand proved it. They were in Japan, and so they weren’t allowed to officially be married, but to them, it was enough. In the quiet of their bedroom late at night, they whispered promises of forever, chests pressed up against each other, just as they had when they were nineteen.

“I knew you’d always come back to me,” Osamu murmured one night, long after they should have been asleep. Rintarou’s head was tucked under his chin, and his head rose and fell with Osamu’s breathing. “You’ve never broken a promise to me before, and I knew… I knew that you wouldn’t break this one either.”

“It was fate, I guess,” Rin mumbled, nearly asleep. “We were never meant to be apart.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we weren’t.”