#hazel.writes

"ouch." he huffs out a laugh before giving your side a playful pinch. "forgot that ya get mean when you're tired, sweetheart." his hand splays out on your rib cage, fingers soothing over the site where he pinched you.

you shake your head in fond exasperation before shifting to your side to face him. "well, we both know sleep's gonna be escaping us for a bit here so why don't you get those thoughts out of your head, hmm?"

you see his lips quirk in a tired smile before he moves to rest his head on top of yours. you tangle your legs together and bring your arm over his side.

he's silent for a while and for a minute you think maybe he'll stay like that and let you get some sleep, but you should know better than that when you're dealing with the likes of miya atsumu.

"do you think taylor swift broke up with joe alwyn?"

"what?"

he repeats the question.

you have to resist the urge to rub at your forehead, already knowing that you'll be suffering from a migraine in the morning from the lack of sleep.

"tsumu," you start gently. "why are you thinking about taylor swift at 1230 at night?"

he sighs and moves his hand to to hold yours. "i'm thinking about taylor swift and her boyfriend," he corrects you. "or maybe i should say her ex-boyfriend? i don't know. i have a lot of thoughts, okay?"

you decide to humour him. "what kind of thoughts?"

"she's just so strong, you know? singin' all these songs she wrote about him. she wrote new year's day about him! lover! paper rings! oh god," he groans. "she wrote invisible string about him!"

you squeeze your boyfriend's hand in an effort to calm him.

"tsumu," your voice is soft. "what's going on?" you ask because you truly do not understand why your boyfriend is having a taylor swift-related crisis this late in the night.

"s just," he starts. "is love even real?"

you move your hand away from his and stiffen. "what?"

he groans and pulls you tight to his chest. "i love you," his voice is completely genuine. "don't ever question that." he moves a finger to your chin and gently tilts your head up before placing his lips on your forehead.

you bury your face into his chest. "you're so embarrassing."

he gathers his thoughts for a moment and then begins to explain,"it's just that i listen to those songs she wrote about him and think of you, ya know? and now her inspiration for those songs isn't even with her anymore and it just makes my heart ache because i never wanna listen to those songs and not think of you." his eyes remain on yours. "i never wanna listen to her sing the line 'one single thread of gold tied me to you' and not feel my heart flutter in my chest because that line reminds me of you - it reminds me of you and me."

he chuckles and you feel his large hands make their way underneath your shirt seeking comfort in your warmth.

"hey, tsumu," you whisper. "taylor and joe may not have made it, but you know i'm not going anywhere, right?"

You hear the sound of laughter in the background and know that he must be with the rest of the team. The laughter grows muffled and more faint. He must be moving away from the group. There’s silence for a while and then a quiet sigh.

“Hi sweetheart.”

His voice, a sound that once washed comfort over you, now prickles at your skin. But despite yourself, you close your eyes. If you shut your eyes tight enough maybe you could delude yourself into believing that he was with you, lying right by your side. But that’s wrong. This. No, you. You aren’t where he belongs.

“You looked too peaceful this morning for me to disturb,” he says with a quiet chuckle and you realize your face has contorted into a scowl as the now familiar feeling of irritation settles in your chest. You had woken up that morning, arm immediately stretching out to hold onto Kiyoomi, but all you were able to grasp were the already made sheets on his side of the bed.

“I know we have a lot to talk about when I get back.”

Sakusa Kiyoomi is a man who chooses his words carefully. Most would call him blunt, but you’d prefer to call him sincere. He does sincerity as easily as breathing. He says get back with an air of nonchalance, but you notice it; he doesn’t say come home. And to be honest, there is a part of you that’s relieved. These four walls you had moved into with him all that time ago hasn’t felt like a home for the two of you for a while now.

“I know you must be sleeping. I’ll call in the morning,” he promises and then there is silence on the line. You almost tap the button to end the call, but then you hear it.

“I love you.”

Damn him.

You shouldn’t be well acquainted with the growing feeling of resentment in your chest, but here you lie with sobs wracking your body. You love this man, there is no denying it. And he says he loves you back. You replay the voice message just to hear the last three words.

I love you.

He had sounded so genuine, so goddamn sincere.

You tap his contact on your phone. One ring and then two.

“Sweetheart?” his voice crackles over the line. The connection must not be the best wherever it is that he and the team were heading to.

“Kiyo,” you gather your breath. “I love you.”

He says your name. “Have you been crying?” And although you two aren’t connected via video, you can see the scrunch of his brow in your mind.

You laugh, and it sounds hollow even to your ears. “I love you, Kiyoomi,” you repeat. “Please tell me you love me too.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Of course,” he breathes. “I love you too.”

“Kiyoomi.” You pause.

Over the monitor, you can hear Toshi coo at your little bean and soon enough, her cries are settled.

You must have dozed off at some point, because the next time you are awoken by a slight shaking of your shoulder.

You rub the sleep from your eyes only to see Toshi kneeling by the bed with your baby swaddled to his chest. The sight fills you with an immediate warmth. How did you get so lucky?

“Love, sorry to have woken you,” he whispers as his left hand continues to rub circles on your baby’s back.

“S’alright,” you respond with a small smile. “How’s our little bean?”

His fingers go to rub just above his left eye, an action that you know signals that your husband is perplexed at a situation. Finally, he sighs. “I gave her a bit of a bottle to drink, burped her, changed her, and rocked her, but she’s still not falling asleep. Is there something that I may have overlooked?”

Your smile grows wider at his words. “She’s being a tough little bean, isn’t she?” you say.

“Yes, I do not think that there is anything else I should have done,” your husband responds in his typical statement-of-fact manner. “Maybe she just wants me to hang out with her?”

Then, he turns to your daughter. “Do you want your papa to hang out with you?” he asks. Your baby giggles and you can swear both you and Toshi’s heart have melted at the cuteness.

A wide grin threatens to split his face into two as Toshi brings his head down to plant messy kisses on your daughter’s face. Her giggles continue as you sit up to grab your phone and record this precious moment.

“Pa!” she squeals. Toshi abruptly stops.

His eyes are comically wide as his eyes dart between you and your daughter. “Did you -?” the question doesn’t even leave his lips before you’re nodding excitedly.

“Say it again, darling,” he coos at her.

“Little bean please,” you join in.

“Pa!” she shouts again with an accompanied giggle.

Even in the dim light, you can see your husband’s eyes well up with tears. Suddenly, you’re overwhelmed by emotions and a tight embrace.

“Thank you,” his voice sounds tight and you know that he’s trying to keep more tears at bay.

Taking the hand that’s not rubbing circles on your daughter’s back, you entwine your fingers together. “Thank you,” you say to him as you lean over to place a soft kiss on your daughter’s head and then on Toshi’s.

You and your husband continue to stare lovingly at your daughter as she continues to babble with intermittent exclamations for her dad thrown in-between.

Toshi’s hand squeezes yours. “You know, it wouldn’t be fair if only I was the one given our child’s first words,” he states.

You look over at him. “What are you trying to say, Toshi?”

Miya Atsumu was eight when he began to recognize the differences between himself and his twin.  Adults always preferred Samu to him, that was always a given. His aunties and uncles always said they could distinguish between the two – they just needed to look for the boy who was running around like he had ants in his pants and they immediately knew that it was Atsumu. He remembered his uncle ruffling his hair and calling him his ‘precious little troublemaker.’ Other relatives and family friends weren’t as kind and also called him a troublemaker, but he knew what they meant when they accompanied their words with a frown.

On the other hand, most people never had anything bad to say about Samu. He figured it must have something to do with how they could leave his brother alone and not come back to find the room looking like a tornado had gone through it (in his defense, he really hadn’t meant to make all that mess; he just wanted to see how long he could keep the ball up for).

He could acknowledge that he was definitely not the most well-behaved child. He didn’t like to admit it, but he could see why the adults preferred Samu to him. Samu didn’t start bawling at the drop of a hat. Samu didn’t start screaming when things didn’t go his way. Samu knew when to be quiet.

That was okay with him though. He didn’t need the adults to like him. He had Samu and their Ma. They were all he needed.

He loved his Ma and he’s sure that his Ma loved him. She did her very best but he still remembered the one time that she had snapped at him. With tears in her eyes, she had asked him why he couldn’t be more like Samu. For a boy who was only eight years old at the time, he could still recall how at that very moment, his Ma had reminded him of the Koi swimming around at the temple pond with her mouth opening and closing as if that would help push the words back into her mouth.

“But I’m Samu, Ma. And he’s Tsumu,” his twin had responded for him.

Their Ma had scooped the both of them up and wrapped them in her arms. Atsumu hadn’t even realized he was crying until his brother and Ma were wiping the tears off of his face.

“Don’t be such a crybaby,” Samu had said which he thought was rich coming from his brother who just seconds ago had been sniffling and still had the evidence of tear tracks on his face.

“I’m not!” he had protested as he weakly stuck his tongue out at his twin.

Their Ma had let out a wet laugh before giving the two of them a kiss on their foreheads. “I’m so sorry, loves. I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “I know that you’re Tsumu and that you’re Samu. I don’t ever want you to be anyone but yourselves.”

“Okay Ma!” both twins had shouted in unison before both of them laid a kiss on each of their Ma’s cheeks with the hopes that this would make their Ma smile and stop crying.

Since then, Atsumu had taken his Ma’s words to heart. He was going to live life unapologetically as Miya Atsumu. If people weren’t fans of him then that was their loss. He didn’t need them. All he needed were the two people that his then tiny arms had wrapped themselves around. 

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At the age of 10, he and Samu had just discovered their love for volleyball. That summer, the twins breathed, slept, and ate nothing but volleyball. So what if his classmates and the other kids at school looked at him like he had a screw loose in his head? He and Samu were gonna be the best brothers on the professional volleyball scene and no snot-nosed brat’s mean-spirited gossip and judgement were going to get in the way of that. If they were gonna be scrubs, then he was gonna treat them like the scrubs that they were.

So why did it bother him when Samu had sat him down and told him that he was going to be nice? Atsumu had nearly choked on his rice at the thought. 

Living with his twin, Atsumu had firsthand experience and knew that Samu was as much of a jerk as he was. In fact, he’d even say Samu was a bigger jerk. Atsumu knew how to start a fight and would often find himself inadvertently initiating squabbles with his peers due to a careless word or two. However, it was Samu who often ended fights, whether that be with his fists or even just a pointed look that was accompanied with a single raised eyebrow. 

And being nice? What was that even supposed to mean? Did Samu even know how to be nice? If being nice meant lying, even lying by omission, then he’d say his twin knew how to be nice. And on reflecting on himself, Atsumu thought that he was nice enough. He knew his spikers’ preferences and was nice enough to set it to them exactly how they wanted it.

Alright, some would say that wasn’t the exact truth, but Tsumu knew that his sets would improve their individual skills as well. Wasn’t that nice enough? He was looking out for them in the long run, after all.

═════════

At the age of 11, he and Samu had been put in different classes. When the teacher asked them to partner up, Atsumu was usually left-behind. Everyone’s last choice and oftentimes, not even a choice that anyone had taken.

This time was no different as their history teacher had asked them to partner up to do a presentation. Desks had been pushed together and conversation started flowing. However, Atsumu had found himself once again sitting alone.

“Miya?” the teacher had called and Atsumu had hesitated. Despite being in this class for a couple of months without his brother, being called by his last name was something that was still unfamiliar to him.

“Yes, ma’am?” he steeled himself for her upcoming question.

“Do you have a partner?”

Atsumu liked his teacher, really he did, but surely by now she should have realized that he did most of the assigned work by himself. Academically, Atsumu wasn’t stupid. In fact, he even preferred getting the work done by himself so he could do it on his own schedule.

“No ma’am,” he responded. The look of pity she sent his way nearly made the tips of his ears flush in embarrassment.

“Do you even have any friends?” one of his classmates had sneered just loud enough that Atsumu knew the words were meant for him to overhear.

Atsumu simply raised a single eyebrow, a trick he had learned from his twin. “’Course I do,” he answered simply.

“Oh yeah?” the boy shot back. “Osamu doesn’t count. He’s your brother.”

That afternoon, Atsumu had spent practice sending sets to his spikers that they could easily get to. After the fifth consecutive easy set, he could tell the others had sensed there was something off about him, but no one had bothered to ask. They were probably just relieved he wasn’t forcing them to jump higher to reach the ball. He really was wasting his time playing with this bunch of scrubs. 

On the way home Samu had nudged his shoulder and all his hope of sleeping off his classmate’s words faded away. “Oi, what’s been up with you today?”

Tsumu recalled shrugging in response but his brother had sped up to stand in his way.

“Can we be friends even if we’re brothers?” the question finally came out in a whisper.

Samu had given him a look as if he had lost his mind. “What kinda question is that?”

He had been about to shrug again but Samu had placed his hands on both of his shoulders. “Quit doin’ that,” his twin had reprimanded. “We’re not friends.”

At this, he had turned his head away from Samu, afraid that he was going to start crying if he looked at him.

“Yer such a crybaby,” Samu had said before tightening the grip he had on his shoulders.

Atsumu tried to hide the sniffle. “You just said we weren’t friends!”

“Oh my God,” his brother sighed in exasperation. “We’re brothers. Twins! That’s better than friends, ain’t it?”

Slowly, Atsumu turned to look at his brother who had a look of murderous intent on his face.

“Now tell me who the idiot is that planted that idea in your head?” Samu had demanded.

He had shaken his head. “I don’t know his name.”

Samu had nearly slapped his own forehead in irritation. “It’s two months into the school year, Tsum, and ya don’t know your classmates’ names?”

He had squawked indignantly at that. “I’ve got more important things to remember than that ya know!”

His brother simply rolled his eyes and let go of his shoulders. “Sure ya do.”

The next day, Atsumu had been woken up by Samu who had hit his face with a pillow and told him that he was going on ahead for some class duties. Atsumu had simply rolled over and covered his face with his blanket, a decision that he had started to regret, as he had to practically sprint to get to his morning class on time.

Thankfully, he had made it with a couple of minutes to spare and was about to set his head down on his desk when a shriek of surprise from the front of the room shocks him out of his reverie.

In walked the boy from yesterday with a split lip and what looked to be the beginning of a black eye starting to form.

At dinner that night, Atsumu pushed his pudding cup towards his twin. He had noticed the bandages around Samu’s knuckles at practice which confirmed his earlier suspicions. It really made his decision to skip his daily dose of sugar easier to stomach.

═════════

Atsumu would say that his high school years were miles better than his earlier years. Samu and him were on on a team that consistently made it to Nationals. Things were different than they were back in middle school. His teammates were actually his friends. For the first time in his life, he could definitively say that he had friends.

He had managed to rope Ginjima into a couple of schemes with Samu and although Suna instigated a fair share of fights, he knew that the tired-looking boy also cherished their friendship if the amount of Facebook poke wars that Suna initiated counted for anything. Then there was Aran, Omimi, and Kita who had also burrowed their way into his life, acting like concerned and often overworked older brothers. Inarizaki was a tight-knit family.

So when the time had come for him to leave Inarizaki and Hyogo behind and start a new life in Osaka, he could freely admit that he was scared. This would be the first time in his life without Osamu, and despite promises to check in every other day, he knew that his brother would need to start prioritizing his own goals and he couldn’t do that if he was worried about how Atsumu was going to fare in the big city by himself.

To put his brother at ease, he had told Samu that he was going to make friends – specifically, he promised to make friends outside of volleyball. Samu had laughed at this which had earned him a quick shove.

“Hey! Don’t look at me like that. I’ve been told I can be quite charming when I want to be!” he had defended himself.

In response, his stupid brother had only continued to cackle. “Good luck makin’ friends when I’ve only heard Gran call ya charming.”

“I’ll show ya!” He had pledged. “I’ll make tons of friends and introduce ya to them.”

Samu had simply grinned in response. “I can’t wait.”

It was now a month into living in Osaku, and Atsumu would say that he was getting used to living life with his teammates. Some of them were also living in the same team-provided shared apartment which had made it easier for Atsumu to befriend his teammates.

Some would say that familiarity breeds contempt, but for Atsumu, living together with his teammates kept the waves of loneliness at bay. He found himself accompanying Barnes and Inumaki on their trips into the city which also helped him familiarize himself with his new home. He worked out with his captain Meian. He also often had lunch out with Bokuto, outings which he would never disclose to his nutritionist due to the amount of spicy ramen challenges the two of them had participated in.

Osaka was slowly starting to become a second home. The konbini across the street no longer sent a pang straight to his chest with memories of pestering Samu or Suna to buy him a popsicle during the sweltering summer months in Hoygo. He also found himself sleeping past the alarm that Samu had set for years which led to him actually waking up refreshed because he had woken up to his own alarm and as a result, had gotten a couple of extra minutes of sleep. Sure, he missed his Ma and Samu’s cooking but Bokuto had shown him to enough restaurants that his dining options were only limited by how many lies he wanted to spin to his nutritionist.

However, despite this feeling of slowly becoming settled, he hadn’t found the time to fulfill his promise to his brother. All of his friends in Osaka were either on the team or worked for the team. He still hadn’t managed to make friends outside the team.

His Ma was right. Making friends as an adult was definitely trickier than making friends as kids, and even then, that was something he could never get quite right without Samu by his side. But he had promised, and Atsumu was anything but a promise breaker.

This is how he found himself seated across a table from you.  The ramen place he had frequented was surprisingly busy for 2:25 on a Tuesday afternoon. So when you had shown up, the waiter had directed you over to his table as it was the only one with an empty chair.

“I’m sorry about this,” you apologize. “I can always come back another time if you’re not okay to share a table,” you had offered.

When you look at him expectantly, he had to force himself to respond as he felt his brain short circuit at the shy smile you had offered him. “No worries,” he finally replies despite the fact there were indeed many worries. Nonetheless, he gestures for you to take the seat across from him.

With that settled, the waiter gladly takes both of your orders and leaves to cater to the other tables around you.

Atsumu doesn’t really do too well with silences and he finds himself bouncing his knee to help shake off his growing anxiety. “I don’t usually eat with strangers, but I figure if we introduce ourselves to each other then we wouldn’t really be strangers, now would we?” he babbles. “I’m Miya Atsumu, but you can just call me Atsumu.”

You grin and introduce yourself in return. “So we’re not strangers now. I’m glad because my parents always told me never to talk to strangers,” you respond and he can feel the weight on his chest lighten as he chuckles.

Before the two of you can continue to converse, the waiter returns with your food.

“Itadakimasu,” the both of you say in unison before digging in.

He must have done something wrong because you’re looking over at him with a furrowed brow and concern evident on your face.

“Hey, what’s going on?” you ask. “You haven’t taken a single bite.”

He looks down at the unused chopsticks in his hand. “Oh, it’s nothin’ really,” he replies. “It’s just that I’ve never seen someone look so excited to eat. I think I finally get what my brother was sayin’ now.”

You can feel your face start to heat up. Was that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?

He smacks his forehead at your reaction. “There I go again, ruinin’ things. I really just meant that you look cute when you’re eating. Like you’re really enjoyin’ it,” he trails off. “...And now you probably think I’m a creep, don’t ya?”

This time, your cheeks are flushing for a whole different reason. “Nah, it’s alright, Atsumu. You’re right, I am pretty excited to be eating. I’ve been wanting to try this place for so long that when I heard they were having a big special, I just had to come by. Plus, I skipped breakfast specifically for this,” you explained.  

He exaggerates wiping the sweat off his forehead and shoots you a grin before diving into his own bowl.

You can’t help but giggle at his antics. “Now you’re the one who looks absolutely famished.”

He chuckles along with you. “I’ve got a brother at home so if I didn’t eat fast then I wasn’t eatin’ at all.”

You beam at him. “Sounds like what my siblings would say about me.”

He snorts and with the ice sufficiently broken, the both of you share your meal with pleasant conversation interspersed in between.

To his shock, the conversation flows easily between the two of you. Sure, he puts his foot in his mouth sometimes, but you don’t seem to mind even a little bit as you laugh good-naturedly as he flounders to come up with an excuse. It wasn’t his fault. You made him nervous and this was the longest he’d held a conversation with someone without any ulterior motives to rile them up and throw them off their game. If anything, you were the one throwing him off of his game.

To his complete disappointment, the time with you was already coming to an end as the waiter was already coming over to hand you both your bills.

“Hey, I can take care of it,” you offer.

He shakes his head. “Ma would have my ass if she found out I let ya pay for my meal. Actually, let me get yours. A thank you for puttin’ up with me.”

Your hand reaches over to his elbow and he stills. “There was nothing to put up with, Atsumu. I really enjoyed being able to meet and spend time with you today.”

The sincerity in your voice shocks him.

He chuckles wryly. “Please, ya don’t just gotta be sayin’ that to be polite. People have told me I can be a lot.”

You frown and he thinks that he’s done it now, but the words that leave your lips shock him in the best possible way “Sure, you may be a lot more than people bargained for but that’s their problem. For me, I’d say this was the most fun I’ve had in a while.”

“Really?” he breathes. “Even if I talk too much, say things I don’t mean in the heat of the moment, and can’t cook to save my life?” He doesn’t know why he’s saying this, but he only knows he needs to lay it all out there.

You nod. “Yeah, well, I’d obviously put you in your place,” you tease. “But it’s not like I’m perfect either.”

This is it, he thinks. He’ll take the plunge. “Would you want to be friends with me?”

Your grin has him going stupid. “I’d love that.”

His fingers are already itching to dial his brother’s number to tell him the news.

“You can call me Tsumu then. That’s what my friends call me.”

Osamu is livid. Of course, he still liked the Instagram post. He is still a good brother after all, unlike that good-for-nothing asshole who happened to share the same face as him.

Ignoring your amused look, he punches in his brother’s number on his phone.

“Samu!” his brother greets jovially.

“Atsumu,” he hisses and then takes a breath in an attempt to calm himself. It doesn’t work. 

“Wanna explain to me why the ever loving fuck, ya got Obachan’s ring on your fiancée’s finger?”

Your eyebrows raise and most of the amusement you felt just moments before vanishes. You know that tone. You’ve only ever heard your boyfriend use that same tone when he was berating a creep who was making one of the cashiers at Onigiri Miya uncomfortable.

Your boyfriend is absolutely pissed.

Seconds pass and you wince as the volume from both Osamu’s phone and Osamu himself sharply increases. You know that pretty soon this exchange will devolve into a screaming match and decide to move off the couch to calm your boyfriend down.

You reach for him and wrap your arms around his back. You can feel his tense muscles relax just a smidge, but the irritated look on his face remains. Deciding to take matters into your own hands, you begin to leave light kisses along the side of his neck. “Osamu,” you mumble as you reach for the phone in his hand.

His eyes flicker to you and you can see his expression soften. However, before you can claim your victory, you hear Atsumu’s voice on the other end of the call.

“Ain’t ya happy for me, ya scrub?!”

Osamu sighs and begins to rub at his forehead in frustration. “Of course I am, ya absolute dumbass!”

“Then, what’s your goddamn problem?” his brother screams.

“I wanted to use that ring to propose to Y/N!” your boyfriend roars in response and you freeze.

His eyes nearly bulge out of their socket as the realization of what he’s just said hits him like a freight truck. You would laugh if all air hadn’t also been knocked out of you.

Atsumu continues to rage on the other end of the call, but even his loudest yells aren’t heard as you and Osamu stare at each other.

You take the phone from him and hang up on Atsumu. You clear your throat. God, when did your mouth get so dry?

“You want to propose to me?” you ask.

Osamu’s mouth opens then closes. He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck and his eyes fail to meet yours.

“If I do, what would you say?” he whispers.

You wring your hands together in an attempt to control yourself, but the grin is already there threatening to split your face.

“Why don’t you find out?” Your hand reaches up to caress his cheek and he automatically leans his head against it.

He says your name softly and places a soft kiss on the palm of your hand. His eyes find yours and you’re overwhelmed.

“I want to marry you, Y/N. Would you maybe want to marry me too?”

You launch yourself into his arms and bury your head into his shoulder.

“Maybe,” you whisper into his ear.

He almost drops you.

“Maybe?” he repeats with his eyes wide.

You place your pointer finger and thumb on your chin and pose as if you’re thinking things through. “I don’t know, Samu. I mean, you didn’t even get down on one knee. Not to mention, I don’t see a ring,” you tease.

He rolls his eyes at you good-naturedly.

“Well, maybe I don’t want to marry you anymore,” he grumbles.

You scoff and playfully hit his broad chest. He clutches his heart as if he’s been wounded. 

“Oh, now, I definitely don’t want to marry you anymore,” he states.

“Samu!” you whine.

He chuckles. “You know I’m kidding darling,” he says as he wraps you back in his arms.

You hum contentedly. “And you know that you could propose to me with a ring pop and I’d say yes, right?”

He pulls away from you and you whine, this time, at the loss of contact. He shoots you a wink as he moves to grab his coat off of the rack. You stare, wondering what had gotten into him but he just gestures for you to follow.

“Where are we headed?” you ask as he locks the apartment door.

“The konbini downstairs,” he replies casually.

This makes you abruptly stop in your steps. “What the fuck? I thought you were proposing?” you can’t help the words that fall out in your confusion.

He turns to you and lightly flicks your forehead. “I’ll still be doing that, dummy.”

While you knew from the start that agreeing to stay friends with the man would cause you nothing but heartache, you also knew that you would likely not survive the alternative which would be to cut him completely out of your life. After all, if home was a person then home would be Miya Osamu.

It’s kinda funny when you think back to how you didn’t know at all what you’d been missing out on until you started loving Osamu. But now that you know, you wonder how you can go back to being oblivious to the all-encompassing love that he can give - the love that he decided he no longer wanted to share with you. 

It was a classic case of ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’ His guilt for spending long hours at his restaurant had gnawed at his conscience and he stated that he didn’t feel it was fair for you to be in a relationship with someone who couldn’t love you the way that he felt you deserved to be loved. When he brought up the topic of a breakup, you agreed in an effort to save face. When he proposed the idea of still remaining friends, you had jumped at the chance to keep a little bit of Osamu in your life. After all, you were friends before you started dating so surely you could be friends after your romantic relationship.

The breakup wasn’t so much a collapse as it was the quiet closing of a chapter in Osamu’s life and a book in yours. 

You can admit that the first few hangouts with mutual friends were tinged with awkwardness, but that soon dissolved as the comfort you felt around Osamu never seemed to vanish. The same could be said for his comfort level around you. 

When it was the two of you alone together though, that’s when it became dangerous for your sanity. Osamu’s habit of speaking through his actions rather than his words often left you wondering if maybe you had a chance at reuniting with him. It was the way he would brush past you with a quiet ‘Excuse me, darlin’,” and a hand on your waist. It was how he always greeted you with a small smile on his face even on days when you’d come into his shop to find him slammed with orders. Or even how his good morning texts had never stopped and how he would send you pictures of stray cats with a message reading that he was thinking of you and hoping that you’ve been having a lovely day. 

How were you supposed to grieve the loss of his love when he showed you that even if he didn’t love you like that anymore, he still had some form of love for you? It was cruel and you never wanted to associate Miya Osamu with anything but positive connotations even if it’s true that he still holds your heart captive.

Tonight was one of those nights when you, despite your better judgement, ended up at Onigiri Miya after a long day of work. There were a handful of people occupying the other tables at the restaurant, but it seemed that Osamu had continued to save your usual booth for you. After all, it was here that he literally tripped over his own feet in his effort to ask you out on your first date. 

“Hey Samu,” you say after taking a sip of the coffee he had made for you. 

Across from you, the man raises a thick eyebrow and you know that it’s your cue to continue.

“Have you been adding some extra sugar to my coffee these days?”

He leans back against the booth. “I’m surprised it took ya this long to realize.”

You place the cup of coffee back down on the table and the drink sloshes around for a bit before settling back down.

You bow your head praying to keep the tears at bay.

“Hey,” his voice calls out softly and you feel his hand softly grasp yours. “Are ya doin’ alright there?”

You give an almost imperceptible shake of your head as you move your hand out from his grasp. You make the mistake of looking up to find a look of confusion and worry on his face.

Taking a breath before replying, you can’t help the question that spills from your mouth. “How long have you been adding an extra pack of sugar to my drink?”

A moment and then two passes. In a quieter voice, he responds, “Ya looked like you needed it after our split.”

You hadn’t realized that. In all fairness though everything tasted like cardboard after the breakup, so you could be forgiven for not noticing at the start. 

You shake your head once more. “Why?”

He sighs. “What do ya mean?”

You close your eyes and try to count to ten in an effort to control yourself. “Why are you acting like this?”

He blinks. “I don’t know what ya mean, darlin’. I’ve always acted like this.”

Now it’s your turn to sigh. “See, that’s the problem. You’re treating me like you’re still in love with me and I know that isn’t true.”

Your words lays suspended in the air between you. Your entire being hopes that he refutes your statement, tells you that he does love you and is still in love with you and that maybe, he’s finally realized that breaking up with you has been the greatest mistake of his life.

Instead, he just stares at you. You know that face. You’ve seen it too many times on him to not know that it’s the face he wears when his customers have tried to press their luck with him and he ends up having to masterfully but gently turn them down with a self-deprecating chuckle and a joke about how he’s married to his job and can’t treat a pretty thing like them right. 

Oh. 

You try to will yourself to stand up but your body disobeys as if it knows that you need to hear his response to start working on any form of closure.

You steel yourself for the sting of rejection, but what you get is worse than that.

“’m sorry,” he apologizes as he pushes his cap back and off his head. The hat hair that you’ve always found so unfairly attractive on him mocking you. You find it ironic that his hands are still reaching out in attempt to hold yours and comfort you from himself.

Your body obeys you this time as you gather the strength to slide out of the booth and stand up. You toss a few hundred yen onto the table for your meal and drink.

“Ya know ya never have to pay here,” he says as his eyes search your face.

You shrug. “Yeah, I know. And I’m sorry too, but I can’t keep my promise.”