For the first time, kita is running late. osamu tries to stay unaffected, but he keeps glancing towards the door. a regular customer jokes about something and it takes Osamu a beat before he laughs.

The sun is low in the sky by the times Kita makes it to the shop. The truck windows are down and music is playing a bit too loudly. You're half asleep in the passenger seat, mouthing along to the words, as kita brings in the supply.

"I was worried about you."

"Ah, sorry." Kita smiles in a way the means he's very much unapologetic. the tips of his ears at pink, cheeks flushed. "We got distracted."

Osamu can't bring himself to actually be mad. He puts his hands on his hips and sighs, trying to bit back a grin, before making kita's order: one umeboshi, two 'surprises'.

"This girl's a bad influence on you, Shinsuke."

Overdue. Overdue. Overdue. They all bore into you with their bright, red letters. Each letter urges payment, warns of dire consequence, all topped with the same name: Kita Shinsuke.

It takes three reads through for the information to feel real. Credit cards, doctor's bills, the fucking house- all of it spread across the tiny, oak desk in Kita's office, tucked away where he didn't want you to see.

The door creaks open and you whip around, no longer afraid of being caught.

"Shinsuke."

Kita takes a breath, so deep and sudden that his shoulders bounce up, but he lets it go slowly. His expression returns to its usual placid self, if not a bit more crinkled at the eyes. In two steps, he's to you, swiping away the evidence of his wrongdoing.

"I told you not to look through that, darlin'." His voice is soft, uplifted, like your lives aren't on the brink of collapse. "You don't gotta worry about that."

"Worry? Worry? This is--" Your own breath is much, much shakier. "Shinsuke, this is-- this is bad."

He tucks the envelopes back to where you found them and you can't help but notice a quiver in his hands. Shinsuke, your Shinsuke, unflappable, stable Shinsuke, is shaking.

"It just wasn't a good season." His smile never falters. "Things will be better after the next harvest."

"We're going to lose the house-"

"Darlin'." He holds his hands up, palms to you. "It's okay."

It's not. Your mind is already racing; it's your fault, of course. When your physical and mental health declined, Shinsuke had offered to be the sole provider. When you accepted, you hadn't thought it would be putting such a strain on him, but, looking back... the medical bills, the medications: none of it is cheap.

"My surgery alone was-"

He cuts you off. "Don't."

But you're already halfway out the door.

"I'm canceling my doctor's appointments-" Your cellphone is on the kitchen table and you're at the top of the stairs. "We can't afford this-"

Kita stops you with a hand around your wrist. He doesn't tug, but he holds, stopping you from descending. A wave of nausea hit you as your brain finally begins to process the numbers.

"No."

You take a breath. Then, another. Neither center you.

"This isn't a discussion, Shinsuke."

"You're right. There's no discussion." His face is set, deeply serious. His eyes are wide, terracotta against his ever graying hair, so young and so old all at once. "You are going to your appointments and getting what you need. We'll pay for it."

Every emotion inside of you feels carbonated- stimulated, rising, and no where to go. "We can't fucking afford it."

Kita blinks at the curse, flinching at the shock. After a pause, he opens his mouth to speak, only for a warbled sound to come out. The tremble of his lower lip shocks you, as does the wet threatening to spill over his waterline. Instinctively, you reach for him, and he does the same, holding you at arms distance.

"I don't care." His voice is barely whole. "I'd rather lose the house."

"You don't mean that." You grip on to his shirt and it wrinkles in your hands. It's tattered at the edge, hand sewn as a temporary fix. "Your grandfather's house."

Kita sniffles. He tries to smile, but it falls flat immediately after.

"I'm so sorry that I failed you as a husband." He says, more stern than you ever thought possible, while being so brittle. "But I'd sell the clothes off my back before I did anything to sacrifice your health."

The anger inside you hasn't died, but you're able to tuck it away and hold on to the love you feel.

"Don't say that," you say. "If I was healthy-"

kita draws you a bath whenever you're sad. he sits at the edge and lightly chats with you as you bathe, sometimes dipping his fingers into the water.

"i've been taking a lot of baths lately." you say one day, tone flat.

"mm," he hums. "they're good for you."

you sink low, until your knees pop out from the water. "Wallowing is good for me now?"

"Resting is." He pats the water lightly, watching the ripples disperse away from him. "Getting better is."

The water's cooled, the sun is low. The radiator clunks to life and the room smells faintly of burnt-- a problem Shinsuke promised he'd fix, once the next paycheck came in. The was three paychecks ago, but he still nods, like he knows what you're thinking.

"Friday." he whispers. "I'll call the guy on friday."

He emptied the account last month when the car broke down, then again this month at the pharmacy for you. Still, you sit in lukewarm water, mood unchanged.

"And what if I never get better?" you ask. "What if we're always broke and miserable?"

He smiles, lips closed, and turns the faucet. It takes only a couple of second before it warms up, steaming from the nozzle.

say you start dating him while you’re in college. and it’s silly. just an a on an exam you’ve been studying days for. not even a midterm or final. just a regular old exam. but you’re proud of it and osamu has been giving you snacks to keep your brain fueled so you have to tell him when you get the news.

some people say hi as you walk through osamu’s restaurant but no one stops to chit chat. you’re able to pull him to the side and when you show him the exam, your timid smile widens as osamu pulls you into this large bear hug.

and then suddenly you’re surrounded.

“did ya pass?”

“pass?! ya got an a, for sure, didn’t ya?”

someone’s buying a round of shots even if osamu doesn’t sell alcohol. sake is poured though you don’t even know how it’s entered the building. people are telling you how they knew you could do it, how if you’re dating osamu, you’re already one smart cookie.

and you’re family.

(previous) | (next)

You’re sick. Something small, most likely the flu, but you’re caught in a state of panic over it.

At the beginning of the month, you both had to miss school due to evacuations for the La Tuna fire, apparently the largest fire in the area for half a century. While your school had understood, you had set up meetings months ago that will determine the trajectory of your studies and your life after graduation. Meetings that were impossible to get and are appearing to be impossible to reschedule.

And now, you’re on your way to missing your third day of school this week. Iwaizumi understands the panic, understands the pressure you’re putting on yourself. Even if he didn’t, he doubts that he’d be doing anything else right now.

Your tears are staining his shirt while he holds you to him, keeping you close while he hums the melody of one of your favorite songs. It’s hot in this bed—between you and your fever and the blankets, he’s sure he’s melting. But it’s working and he’ll turn into a puddle before leaving you alone to deal with this.

Soon enough, your sobs turn into little sniffles and your grip in his shirt loosens. He continues to rub soothing circles on your back, continues to hum various songs until it dies down completely. It’s when you don’t complain about him humming Ifukube’s Godzilla theme that he realizes you’re asleep.

He’s gentle in laying you down, intentionally grabbing your phone and placing it on silent before noticing three missed calls from your parents. Just as he attempts to turn Do-Not-Disturb on his phone too, he receives an email from your mother.

As much as he wants to read it and address whatever concern they may have, as much as he wants to prove that he’s worthy of being your long-term partner, he knows that you need rest above all else right now. Whatever this is, whatever they need, it can wait, at least until after you wake up and your fever breaks.

kita's eyes—warm like the afternoon sun around you—are fixed to a distant point on the horizon of his family's property. there's a content smile on his face, one that looks like it belongs there as much as he belongs on this engawa and this land he works so diligently to maintain. he's not immune to the effects of the sun, and there's the faintest sheen of perspiration at his temple, and a bit of colour in his skin—even in spite of the hat he always wears out in the field, the one presently resting against his back as it hangs from the cord around his neck.

he seems so calm here, like this. so at peace. so himself.

"you're very handsome, kita-san."

you say it without thinking, but it's not untrue. in fact, they may be the most honest words that have ever spilled across the threshold of your lips. these kinds of things are still new between the two of you, but even in spite of that, you don't regret your compliment in the slightest. you meant it. every word.

kita's lips part, but he doesn't look at you. a blush, redder than any sunkiss that might dust across his skin, appears high on his cheeks. you watch curiously as his eyes crinkle at the corners in a smile—wider than the one you'd been admiring earlier, and a little more incredulous—and he huffs out a bashful laugh, though he tries to hide it in the brim of his cup as he takes a sip of tea.

you watch as he swallows, like he's buying himself a bit of time; the slow dip of his adam's apple, the unmistakable pink that's now slithered all the way down his throat. then, he peeks over at you from the corner of his eye, like he's too shy to face you properly. it's charmingly boyish and tooth-achingly sweet.

he doesn’t announce himself when he walks into a room, but his presence seeps into your periphery, flooding your senses. he’s that guy who gives you a small smile and nods his head hello, disappearing with his friends or ducking into some corner of the room.

when you bump into him, his hand settles itself respectfully onto your mid-back, your arm, anything to steady to you. his cheeks turn a deep peach and he mumbles out an ‘oops’ with a small apology, letting go of you quickly. you have a feeling he only touched you because the situation called for it (respectfully).

he doesn’t smell of heavy musk or dark wood like all the other men you’ve met do, but he smells good. crisp. clean. an understated confidence. his outfit matches the same principle—a simple polo, fitted perfectly, with loose pants. put-together but never a try-hard.

this tweet was the inspo btw:

Nah, he’d win

he chokes on the lyrics so familiar to him, a home that always will be and never was.

then the argentinian anthem plays and a sense of gentleness brings his heart back to his chest. back to home.