Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Miya Atsumu is a name that’s bitter on his tongue. 

Rintarou always thinks back to a time when five syllables felt like sweet fruit, tantalizing and calming to him. He thinks about pale golden hair, faded from the shampoo that Rintarou would lather into the familiar strands that he so often combed through, basking in the way that contentment would etch itself onto the features of what Rintarou thinks is the most beautiful face he’s ever seen. 

Miya Atsumu. 

Miya Atsumu. 

Atsumu, Atsumu, Atsumu, Atsumu—

(Suna, are you coming to the locker room or not?)

He wishes he could answer with or not , but he doesn’t. Instead, he tells Komori be right there as he takes one last look at the sight of Atsumu across the court, pale hands perched on his hips as he smiles at an interviewer. Rintarou already knows what she’s saying—some variation of Your serves seemed extra sharp today! or How’s it feel to get a win over the EJP Raijin? He knows what Atsumu’s answering too—he knows a lot of things about Miya Atsumu.

Or, he used to know a lot of things about Miya Atsumu.

If Rintarou could have things the way he wants, he’d stand glued to this spot, eyes set on the figure across the court. He’d stay and memorize all of the ways Atsumu has changed—and all of the ways he hasn’t.

He’d have it that way.

But he is still Suna Rintarou, and when brown eyes finally meet his gaze, he finally breaks the dedicated attention he’s been giving to Atsumu. 

He is still Suna Rintarou, and Miya Atsumu is still Miya Atsumu. So, Rintarou takes in the intensity of Atsumu’s stare in the nanosecond of eye contact he allows himself to have.

And once that time is up, Rintarou will turn around and not look back. He’ll feel the heat of Atsumu’s eyes on his retreating back, and he’ll clench his right fist, trying to will away the ghost of a hand—soft and well-kept, setter hands— that used to fit perfectly against his own.

SAVE THE DATE

-

You’re invited to the wedding of:

MIYA OSAMU & AKAASHI KEIJI

Rintarou looks down at his phone, smiling faintly at the pdf that Osamu just sent him—a two page wedding invitation that’s decorated with blue, floral frames and gold lettering. 

He remembers receiving a text, along with a few photos, from Osamu a few weeks prior about what Akaashi might like to receive as an engagement ring. Rintarou had helped him sort through the options that he was already considering, ultimately deciding on the one that Osamu seemed to already heavily favorite from the beginning. It was a simple silver band with a rectangle cut diamond set at the center. 

Now, as he looks down at the beautifully crafted invitation that’s likely Akaashi’s work, the corners of his lips pull upwards in a gentle smile. 

He swipes out of the pdf, pressing on the telephone icon beside Osamu’s contact. The line only rings twice before the sound of Osamu’s voice appears on the other end. “Hey, Sunarin, what’s up?”

Rintarou fights the urge to roll his eyes at the question—why else would he be calling, especially after having received a wedding invitation from the person in question?

“Congratulating you, obviously,” Rintarou says into the phone. Then, with a twitch of his lips, he continues, “And sending Akaashi my condolences.” 

Osamu’s voice sounds just a little farther away when Rintarou hears, “Hey, don’t agree with him.” He must be with Akaashi then, if Rintarou’s assumption is correct. After a short pause, Osamu confirms that thought, grumbling, “Keiji told me ta say thank you.”

“Anytime, Akaashi,” Rintarou answers. He doesn’t know if Akaashi hears him, but he knows that Osamu will relay the message either way. 

“Wait, put him on FaceTime,” comes Akaashi’s voice again. He’s probably on speaker then. That, or Akaashi’s sitting insanely close to Osamu, but the distance of Akaashi’s voice makes Rintarou think that scenario is less likely. 

After a moment, Osamu’s voice returns on the other end, “Kay, gonna put ya on FaceTime, Rin. Keiji wants ta see yer face, I guess.”

Rintarou doesn’t have the chance to respond to that before the FaceTime request replaces the call they were previously on, his face filling the screen instead. He presses on the green button, propping his phone up on his water bottle in front of him. 

He’d been eating dinner prior to receiving the invitation, so the camera shows his face and the bowl of reheated food in front of him. On Osamu’s end, the phone is tilted at an angle that shows half of Osamu’s face and Akaashi’s figure sitting beside him. Though, the place that Osamu has his phone propped on makes their proportions different than they would be in real life, with Akaashi looking smaller as his whole upper body is captured on camera. In front of him is a stack of papers that he’s skimming through. 

Osamu, on the other hand, looks perfectly content with doing nothing aside from sitting next to Akaashi—probably as an act of support. Or maybe he’s just there to remind Akaashi of his presence, acting as a distraction from Akaashi’s work. Either one of those is equally plausible.

“What are ya eatin’?” Osamu asks when he notices the spoon that Rintarou places in his mouth. 

“Of course you would ask that,” Rintarou says with a snort after he fully chews the food in his mouth. Osamu’s love for food is only rivaled by his love for Akaashi, and even then, the competition is still pretty close. He looks down at the bowl and answers, “Some leftover fried rice and eggs.”

Osamu gives an approving hum. 

Rintarou holds onto the empty spoon, making a slight motion with it as he looks into the camera. “So, how’d you do it?”

The question seems to reach Akaashi’s ears too, because his head perks up from where it was previously huddled over the paperwork, glancing over at Osamu.

Uncharacteristically, Osamu looks sheepish, rubbing a hand behind his neck as he shoots both Akaashi and Rintarou a nervous smile. 

“Ah, well that’s—”

Akaashi interrupts him, sending a glare that holds no malice in Osamu’s direction. “He almost killed me,”

“I did not!”

“He put the ring in the filling of an onigiri and just warned me not to eat too fast,” Akaashi says to the camera, hands still splayed on the papers in front of him. “The whole ring was in my mouth already before I felt the metal.”

Rintarou’s eyebrows pull upwards as he lets his lips curve into an amused smile, briefly wondering how Osamu must’ve come up with that idea. Then again, Osamu does still have that unique “Miya charm”—as Atsumu and Osamu’s mother once called it—even when he’s generally seen as the more logical twin.

That thought borders on a reminder of bleached hair and brown eyes, but Rintarou chooses to ignore it—especially if weddings and marriage are the topic of conversation. Rintarou knows himself well enough to know that thinking about him right now would be harmful for his overall well-being.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time, alright?” Osamu explains, pulling Rintarou from his thoughts. Rintarou just barely returns his eyes to the screen before Osamu is continuing, “Tsumu agreed, though that probably meant it was a bad idea.”

Rintarou freezes at the mention of Atsumu’s name, his spoon of rice perched just above the bowl. He flicks his eyes up to the phone to see if either of them notice, but Osamu’s still talking to Akaashi. 

“But, like, it was supposed to be romantic ‘n all that. Since we first bonded over onigiri.”

“Yeah,” Akaashi replies, his voice a tone softer. “It was sweet.”

“I’m glad ya think so.”

A feeling of jealousy creeps up on him at the gentle way that Osamu and Akaashi speak to each other. Memories of his own voice in that same tone flicker through his head—adding onto the bittersweet feeling he’s felt this whole conversation. 

Sweet because he’s happy that Osamu and Akaashi found each other. Bitter because he had this once—this domesticity that he tries hard not to miss.

“Did you FaceTime me just to be all lovey-dovey in my face?” Rintarou asks, not unkindly. He decides to put his spoon down for now, just in case. 

“Ah that’s right,” Osamu starts, moving his body so that he’s facing Rintarou again. “I was gonna ask since yer in the off-season now, but do ya wanna lend a hand with the wedding plannin’?”

Wedding planning isn’t something that Rintarou’s ever done, but he’s not necessarily opposed to doing so. Even if it’s a sore topic, the act of it does sound entertaining, albeit a little exhausting. However, there’s one detail that puts a wrench in the plan.

“I don’t have a place to stay in Osaka, Osamu.”

Rintarou’s not sure if that fact just slipped Osamu’s mind, but his location in Shizuoka City has been a constant for almost seven years now. He finds it hard to believe that Osamu would forget something like that. 

Osamu flashes him a boyish grin. “That’s why I’m offerin’ up my apartment in exchange for yer help.”

“Is that really a financially wise decision?”

Sure, Onigiri Miya has slowly been building into a franchise with over eight locations in Japan, but even that doesn’t seem like enough wealth to be offering up an apartment for practically nothing. Osamu might argue that “helping with wedding planning” is a fair exchange, but Rintarou highly doubts that those two have equal value. 

After all, Rintarou can only do so much to plan a wedding. Osamu and Akaashi would still need to be there for every step—making decisions and finalizing details.

“Probably not,” Osamu says with a shrug. “But Keiji ‘n I aren’t really keen on hirin’ a wedding planner, and my lease on the place ends a few weeks after the wedding,” he explains. Then he adds, “Plus, it’ll be nice ta have ya around before the wedding.”

“So you’re basically asking me to plan your wedding?”

“Course not. Keiji ‘n I will help.”

Rintarou considers it again for a moment, but there’s a thought gnawing at the back of his mind. 

“And what about Atsumu?”

Rintarou knows that there’s no answer that will be satisfactory for him. If Atsumu will be there almost every step of the way in planning the wedding, Rintarou will be pulled into a proximity with Atsumu that he hasn’t had in years. He’s not sure that he’ll be able to stomach the thought of being pulled back in by the magnetic force that is Miya Atsumu—a dangerous force that serves as a reminder of the hold Atsumu still has on his heart. 

On the other hand, if Atsumu doesn’t help, then disappointment will build in chest—a betrayal of his own resolve. That’s a truth that he’ll try to deny, but he knows that he can’t fight his heart on that. Spending that much time in Osaka without Atsumu makes his stomach feel heavy.

He doesn’t think that he could ever separate Atsumu and Osaka—both being intertwined with what Rintarou considers home.

There’s also the problem of this being a wedding . A wedding and Atsumu in the picture? That’s a clear path to emotional destruction. 

“Well, I was avoidin’ bringing him up, but yeah,” Osamu answers with a hand behind his neck. “He’ll be helpin’ a bit too.”

Rintarou doesn’t know what’s worse: Osamu believing that Rintarou and Atsumu could exist in the same space again, or thinking that enough time has passed for the request to be reasonable. He almost feels sick at the implication of the second option, as if time would be enough for Rintarou to be erased from Atsumu’s heart enough that he could be around Rintarou like that.

Because that would mean that the feeling he gets when he thinks of Atsumu isn’t mutual. It would mean that Atsumu’s already moved on—that he’s made peace with their ending and has healed enough to only see Rintarou as a past lover and not a love that will stay in his heart forever like a thorn.

He’s well aware that indifference is the opposite of love, especially for someone as expressive and emotionally-driven as Atsumu. 

“Then you know what my answer is, Osamu.”

It’s what’s best , Rintarou thinks. He’s trying to convince himself that saying no isn’t just another example of his own cowardice, because he knows that it’s him that wouldn’t be able to handle it. 

He’s still running, and he doesn’t quite know how to stop. 

“Yeah. It was worth a shot,” Osamu says, disappointment coloring his tone. 

It’s what’s best. 

It’s what will hurt him the least. 

It’s what will keep the memory of an Atsumu that loves him alive in his thoughts. 

It’s an exercise of ignorance being bliss. 

He thinks all these things, but he doesn’t speak them aloud. Instead he tells Osamu, “I’ll see you and Akaashi at the wedding then.”

Thankfully, Osamu doesn’t press the matter any further. “‘Course. Give me a call if ya change yer mind.”

“I won’t, but sure,” Rintarou says, hoping that his voice sounds like his usual tone of curated indifference instead of badly masked sadness. 

He hopes that he can stick to his words. He hopes that he doesn’t betray himself. 

After all, he made his choice when he left. Only someone selfish would come running back to someone that they ran away from. 

When the call ends and his phone screen turns black, Rintarou stares at the dimmed reflection of himself on the phone. Reflected back at him is his own selfishness. 

A week goes by, and Rintarou slowly forgets about Osamu’s offer. Well, not necessarily forget , but it doesn’t plague his mind, which is an upgrade from how he felt for the following two days after their call.

His decision is rational anyway. The lease for his apartment in Shizuoka City continues for another half a year, and while he has a considerable salary from his contract, he can’t justify the loss he would take from staying in Osaka for a few months—especially when he’s aware that accepting would be for a selfish reason. That selfish reason being named Miya Atsumu only further strengthens his resolve to decline. 

With a sigh, Rintarou shakes his head and tries to focus on walking. He’s passing by a street of unoccupied apartments for rent in one of the neighborhoods in downtown, sparing them a glance before he continues to walk. He glances down at the directions on his phone before he flicks his gaze back up to the street ahead, looking for the restaurant that Komori texted him earlier. 

Currently, he’s heading over for a short lunch with Komori and some of their mutual friends at a ramen restaurant that Washio swears is the best in the city. Komori and Washio are the two guys on the team that Rintarou actually considers friends and not just coworkers, so it’s not a rare thing for them to schedule meet-ups like this. Besides, Washio isn’t one to haphazardly make statements about any particular restaurant being the ‘best’, so Rintarou figures that it likely won’t disappoint. It’s been a while since he’s had ramen anyway. 

He only has to walk another block before he spots the sign that peeks out of the building, swinging slightly in the wind. When he eventually reaches the entrance and catches sight of familiar faces already seated at a table, Rintarou realizes that he’s the last to arrive. He only feels a little bad, mostly because he knows that Washio in particular is diligent with showing up on time. Komori usually shows up on time too, but he doesn’t particularly take it as seriously as Washio does. 

“Suna! Took you long enough!” Komori says after Rintarou speaks to the staff at the front of the restaurant, telling her that his party has already been seated. When she gives a polite nod and steps to the side for Rintarou to come in, he makes his way to take the empty seat next to Kaori Suzumeda, a Fukurodani alumni and old friend of Washio’s that moved to Shizuoka City a year ago. The two of them became fast friends, mostly because of their shared sense of humor. He’s probably closer to her than Washio is, but he doubts that Washio minds. 

Picking up his pace, he reaches the table they’re sitting at, noting that the place doesn’t look too busy at the moment. However, Rintarou looked up the restaurant earlier and read enough reviews to know that this restaurant gets incredibly packed in the late afternoon and for dinner. He supposes that’s the reason why Washio chose this time to meet. 

“At least he’s only five minutes late,” Suzumeda supplies as Rintarou pulls out the chair and sits down. “Remember when he was late by 30 minutes that one time?”

“In my defense, I was helping my neighbor with her groceries,” Rintarou says. “What kind of person would I be if I didn’t help a woman in her eighties when she had like four full bags?”

“That’s true,” Komori responds with a nod. Then, he directs an expectant face in Rintarou’s direction as Rintarou situates himself in the seat. “Do you know what you wanna order?”

Rintarou shoots him a deadpan look. “I just got here. Like 30 seconds ago.” He barely had enough time to fix his posture from the arrangement of the table, not even registering the menu in front of him until then. 

Washio’s girlfriend, Hikari laughs, tilting her head to the side. “I think Toya-kun might be a bit hungry.” Beside her, Washio lets out a hearty chuckle but doesn’t make an additional remark. 

Komori pulls a face. “I just came from the gym, okay? A guy’s gotta eat.” 

That pulls another laugh from Hikari, and Rintarou decides to give Komori some mercy, so he begins to skim the menu. It’s a single-paged menu, one side for the food and the other side for the assortment of alcohol the restaurant carries. There aren’t many options in terms of food compared to the collection of alcohol, but Rintarou finds that restaurants like these often end up having the best food—something about the dishes being more of a refined craft. Ultimately, he decides on a regular tonkotsu with extra bamboo shoots, and relays that to the server that comes to take their orders.

After jotting down their orders on a small notepad, the server flashes them a polite smile and collects their menus, assuring them that their food will be out soon. At the server’s departure, Rintarou takes a sip of his water while Suzemeda simultaneously speaks. “Did you guys get the invitation? Akaashi’s getting married!”

Oh right. Sometimes, it slips his mind that Suzemeda and Washio went to the same high school as Akaashi too. Not that they aren’t close—Rintarou just doesn’t see them interact often enough for him to be reminded of their connection to each other. 

“Yeah, Hikari and I sent him our confirmation of attendance,” Washio says with a nod. 

“Sweet, I’m going too,” she responds, “Kaori said I could stay at her place for the week of the wedding.”

“I’m sure she did,” Komori teases, shooting her a knowing look. Based on his lack of surprise to the wedding news, Rintarou assumes that Komori got an invitation too, even though he doesn’t have as direct a connection to Osamu and Akaashi as the rest of the table does. 

“It’s not like that.”

That’s an obvious lie, denial coloring Suzumeda’s words. Rintarou has never met Kaori (probably a first name), but he feels as if he’s already met her from the amount of times that Suzumeda talks about her. 

Rintarou snorts. “You know, you’re never gonna get together if you keep denying that you like her.”

Or, more accurately, Suzumeda keeps denying any possibility that Kaori might share the same feelings. It’s obvious enough to them that Suzumeda harbors feelings for the girl without her actually confirming it.

Washio nods, looking sympathetic. “Seriously Suzumeda, it’s been like what? Ten years?”

That, on the other hand, is something that Rintarou can’t really tease her for, considering the amount of time he spent pining after Atsumu. Well—technically he did do something about it, but still. Does it count even though it ended eventually?

( Of course it counts. Rintarou could never forget those four years they spent together.)

That thought process starts to sour Rintarou’s mood, so he takes a sip of his water in hopes of washing the thoughts away. 

Thankfully, Suzumeda gives him something else to focus on when she groans, “Lesbian relationships are different okay.” She purses her lips, and Rintarou thinks he can recognize the hidden sadness in the action. “She probably thinks that we’re like, queer-platonic best friends.” 

“The two of you are definitely not just queer-platonic,” Komori comments with a stare. 

“ Anyway .” Suzumeda shoots Komori a look before making a show of tilting her head in Rintarou’s direction. “You’re going to the wedding too, right Suna?”

Komori squints at her, calling out the obvious diversion. “She’s trying to change the topic.”

“Good observation, Komori,” Suzumeda replies, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. There’s no malicious intent behind her words though, so it’s not something that anyone at the table is really worried about. 

Rintarou decides to throw Suzumeda a bone, so he lets her change the direction of the conversation back to Osamu and Akaashi’s engagement. 

“Yeah,” he confirms. “Probably gonna stay at Osaka for a few weeks before. Osamu and Akaashi said they’d like it if I was around for a bit before the wedding.” 

He could handle a few weeks. It’s less likely that he might come into close contact with Atsumu if he’s only there for a few weeks versus a few months. Besides, Osamu did text him after the phone call and asked if it would be possible for him to come to Osaka earlier to get fitted for a suit.  

“Osamu also told me I was gonna be a bridesmaid or whatever it’s called,” Rintarou adds. Technically he actually said that he would be ‘ one of the men, yanno—one of the dudes that stands next ta me,’ but to the extent of Rintarou’s knowledge, that’s a bridesmaid isn’t it?

“I thought bridesmaids were for women?” Washio asks. 

“My cousin that’s studying law in the States had bridesmaids when she got married. I think her husband had groomsmen,” Hikari provides. “Not too sure if that’s the same if it’s two men. They’d both be grooms wouldn’t they? So it’d all be groomsmen?” 

Rintarou shrugs. “No idea. Western weddings throw me off.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever been to a fully western wedding. When his sister got married, her ceremony was small and traditional, and for Aran and Kita’s wedding, they opted for a mix of traditional and western. So, neither had groomsmen or bridesmaids or whatever other terminology there is. 

“Think that’s us,” Komori interjects, his eyes lighting up as he looks at something behind Rintarou. Out of curiosity, Rintarou turns slightly so he can get a look at whatever’s caught Komori’s attention and finds their server approaching with a cart that’s full of steaming bowls of ramen. 

The aroma wafts to their table as the server reaches them, carefully distributing each bowl of ramen to the correct person. Rintarou’s never been much of food person—at least, not anywhere near whatever Osamu and Akaashi have going on—but even he feels a little bit of anticipation at the rich scent that fills the air. That feeling gets stronger, as well as the punctuated emptiness of his stomach, once his own bowl is placed in front of him. 

For the first time since he arrived, the table descends into quiet as everybody focuses on their food. Rintarou takes a sip of the warm soup, and he’s pleasantly surprised with the quality. The broth isn’t too oily, which happens too often with tonkotsu. It tastes more robust too, with different layers of flavors. 

Washio was right—this is some of the best-tasting ramen that Rintarou’s had. 

As Rintarou slurps up a noodle, Hikari breaks the silence, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Do any of you know of any vacation rental apartments?” she asks. “My sister’s spending a few months here for work and asked me to help her find somewhere to stay.” Then, with a sheepish smile, she continues, “She said she absolutely doesn’t want to crash with Tatsuki and I.”

Rintarou, who was previously blowing on his warm soup, pauses. Like an act of betrayal, his mind immediately returns to his thoughts from earlier—his thoughts about accepting Osamu’s offer. It’s almost as if a voice in his head is taunting him, making it clear that despite trying to convince himself otherwise, the notion of staying in Osaka for a majority of his offseason has been weighing heavily on his mind. 

“I wouldn’t want to live with my sister and her boyfriend either, even for just a few days,” Suzumeda remarks with an amused smile, which is a stark contrast to Rintarou’s passive expression. “I don’t know any places though. At least, not for cheap.”

“Yeah, same here,” Komori adds. “My neighborhood has a few openings, but it’s a pretty expensive area.”

The same goes for Rintarou’s neighborhood. It’s a relatively expensive area to live in, but his yearly salary covers it, much like Komori’s. But still, if he’s able to give the space for at least half the price of his rent, then it makes Osamu’s offer all the more plausible. 

Well, it’s always been plausible, because despite his reasoning, he could afford to be away from his apartment for that long. That was just the excuse he used for himself so that he could pretend that Atsumu isn’t the real reason. 

Rintarou is quiet for a moment, split between speaking up and digging himself an early grave, or staying quiet and saving himself from what is most definitely a horrible decision. 

In the end, his heart wins out over his head. 

“I might,” he eventually says. 

Hikari perks up. “Really? Where?”

“Osamu offered me a place to stay if I wanted to spend the summer in Osaka,” Rintarou starts, “If I go, your sister can stay at my place. I can let her live there for a lower price if the rent is too high.”

Does he really want to stay in Osaka enough to be willing to do that?

Deep down, he knows the answer: yes, he does. 

He is interested in offering his assistance to Osamu and Akaashi, not just because they’re two of his closest friends, but also because it seems like something that he’d enjoy. But, a part of him—a part that he refuses to hear at the moment—wants to be back in Osaka, back to a place that Atsumu’s in. 

“Letting her live at your place is more than enough,” Hikari insists. 

Washio nods along to her words. “It saves her the fees of a vacation home. And the search as well.”

Rintarou can’t take it back now, because he thinks it’d be a shitty thing to do. Sure, giving Hikari that option is grace on his part, but he’s not enough of an asshole to take it back. He made a split-second decision, and he’ll just have to stick to it. 

The realization sets in then, that Rintarou has signed himself away to a summer in Osaka—a summer where he’ll definitely run into Atsumu more than once. He tries to lock away the thought of Atsumu for now, just so he can pretend that he’s only making this decision for Osamu and Akaashi’s sake. 

Liar. 

He continues to ignore that nagging voice. 

They spend the rest of lunch discussing the deal, and Hikari gives him her sister’s number so that they can coordinate the details. When they part to go their separate directions, Hikari and Washio promise to visit before Hikari’s sister is in town, just in case Rintarou needs any help with the switch. 

Rintarou doubts that he’ll need the help—he’s always been a light and efficient packer, especially when he used to frequent Osaka to visit Atsumu. When that thought crosses his mind, he fights a frown and begins his walk back to his apartment. 

As he walks, he pulls out his phone, and presses the call button on Osamu’s contact. 

“ Sunarin? What’s up?”

Rintarou takes a breath.

“Is that offer still available?”

The Osaka air that hits him when he steps off of the train feels like it prickles on his skin. 

Sure, he’s been here a couple of times whenever the EJP Raijin play against the MSBY Black Jackals, but at least he could repeat the mantra of: volleyball, volleyball, just play volleyball to distract him from the fact the Atsumu stands just on the opposite side of the net. They always end up catching gazes, but they never speak. Maybe it’s better that way. 

He worked out the details with Hikari’s sister within a week, and he left her with his spare key after packing his things and clearing his apartment of anything that he didn’t want her seeing. Not that there’s really anything he wants to hide, but there’s a few awkward conversations that he would rather avoid. He stowed away his really valuable items too, not because he didn’t trust Hikari and Washio’s judgement of her sister, but it’s just something that most people do when someone else is staying at their place without being there—like a real vacation rental home. 

Osamu greets him on the platform, and they talk as they make their way to Osamu’s apartment. Osamu tells him about the shop and that he might open up a branch closer to where Rintarou lives. He talks about Akaashi too, with a big goofy smile on his face that almost makes Rintarou envious of how happy he is. They don’t mention Atsumu. 

Some people might find it odd that Osamu is still close with his brother’s ex after a bad breakup, but it’s something the three of them talked about a few weeks after Atsumu and Rintarou started dating. Atsumu and Rintarou agreed that they wouldn’t ever make Osamu pick sides during arguments, and if they did break up, they would try not to drag Osamu into it. 

(“But that’ll never happen of course. Rin ‘n I are forever aren’t we?”)

Atsumu wasn’t naive in saying it—he just believed in them like he believed in everything else that he loved: wholeheartedly and with determination. Rintarou thinks that’s the most genuine thing about Atsumu, the strong will he carries with him wherever he goes, with whoever he’s with.

Still, Osamu’s entitled to his own opinions too, and the angry calls and messages that blew up Rintarou’s phone following the breakup are a testament to Osamu’s anger at Rintarou for breaking his twin brother’s heart. It was two months after that Osamu sent an ominous “Answer yer phone” that led to an awkward talk where Rintarou tried not to choke up when Osamu told him that Atsumu was the one that encouraged Osamu to repair their friendship. 

( “If ya ever come back ta him, make sure ya have yer shit together Sunarin. I’m givin’ ya chance because Tsumu thinks I should, and that’s rare fer him.” )

Rintarou’s resolve almost broke then—just a few moments away from dialing Atsumu’s number and trying to mend what he broke. He was so close to doing so, until an ill-timed phone call from his father completely changed his mind. It’s better this way , Rintarou had told himself then. It’s the only mantra that has stopped him from showing up unannounced at Atsumu’s door and begging for forgiveness, because he still doesn’t have his shit together, and he can’t put Atsumu’s heart on the line like that again. 

Besides, he found out one night, with alcohol coursing through his veins, that Atsumu had blocked him. Rintarou took that as a sign to continue to stay away.

Agreeing to this arrangement breaks that sentiment, but Rintarou is trying to convince himself that his desperate need to see Atsumu isn’t the reason for this decision. Because if that’s the reason, then it’s one of the most selfish decisions he’s ever made, second only to when he decided to leave Atsumu. 

Head vs. Heart. 

Head vs. Heart.

Head vs. Heart.

By the time they reach Osamu’s apartment, Rintarou has quieted down, but Osamu doesn’t comment on it. Besides, it’s not completely out of the ordinary, considering Rintarou’s personality. 

Osamu shows him around the place—shows him the bedroom and the connecting bathroom, teaches him how to turn the shower on, reminds him of where everything is in the kitchen. He pretends not to notice when Rintarou’s eyes linger for a moment too long on the childhood photo he has of him and Atsumu up on the wall. 

Eventually, Rintarou removes his coat and drapes it over the couch while Osamu rummages through his refrigerator. 

“Sorry ta leave ya here so soon, but I hafta get back to the shop. Do ya need anythin’ before I go?” Osamu says after he grabs an onigiri that he made for Rintarou that morning and hands it to him. 

“No, I’ll be fine. Thanks though.” He’ll be glad for the silence anyway, because it’ll give him time to process how he’ll navigate the next few months. This city used to bring him a sense of comfort, and in a way it still does, despite it all. But he knows one thing for sure—whether he likes it or not, he’ll eventually cross paths with Atsumu again, without a raucous crowd and the adrenaline of competition between them. 

Once Osamu leaves, a heavy silence falls upon the apartment, as if reality is hitting Rintarou for the first time. The reality of being here—being in Osaka for a reason he refuses to admit. He’s always been avoidant, and that stretches even to his own thoughts.

Get it together. You chose this.

Absentmindedly, Rintarou pads around the apartment, taking in the space. He never really spent that much time here, his sporadic visits to Osaka always almost being completely taken up by Atsumu. It’s a nice place, with a balcony overlooking the street below the complex. The brown leather couch is worn, but Rintarou thinks that it fits the place. 

Before he thinks to stop himself, he finds himself standing in front of the wall where Osamu has various photos framed. There aren’t many photos, but they’re all meaningful in their own ways. On the left is a photo of Osamu and Akaashi smiling in front of a holiday display that Rintarou recognizes—he had been the one to take it. Beneath it is the childhood photo of Osamu and Atsumu that Rintarou took note of earlier. They’re both dressed up in matching pajamas—likely something Miya-san forced them into—and they’re looking at the camera, wearing smiles that are all teeth. It's a cute picture, and despite the heaviness that plagues him, Rintarou smiles. 

The third photo is one of Osamu, Atsumu, and Rintarou on their graduation day. Kita and Aran stand next to them too, since they came out to congratulate them on completing “an important stage in their life” as Kita had phrased it. 

Atsumu’s arms are slung over both Osamu’s and Rintarou’s shoulders, sporting a smile that Rintarou can never forget. Both of his eyes are closed, and his smile is genuine, his lips curved naturally across his face. It’s one of Rintarou’s favorite photos, and he keeps the same one tucked away in his bedside table—a precious memory that still brings him a sense of warmth, even with all that’s happened.

It’s bittersweet to look at, and eventually Rintarou pulls his gaze from the wall once the feeling starts to turn more bitter than sweet.

He tries to find something else to do, but as time dwindles by, Rintarou ultimately decides to begin unpacking. He drags his luggage into Osamu’s room, and puts his travel bag to the side as he unzips the luggage. He’s not usually this diligent in unpacking—often letting his suitcase go untouched until he needs something. It keeps him busy though, and that’s enough of a reason to begin sorting through his things. 

It might’ve made Kita proud if he ever saw Rintarou unpack his bags this early on, but the haphazard way he throws his shirts on the comforter cancels that task out. He’ll have to put them away on hangers anyway, so Rintarou doesn’t see a reason for being neat with where he puts the shirts. 

Work smarter and not harder—or however that saying goes. 

Time passes, and the apartment is filled with just the rustling of clothes and the occasional complaint of “ Why do I have so much stuff?” that Rintarou would mumble underneath his breath. He’s in the motion of grabbing a hanger from Osamu’s closet when he hears the rustle of the doorknob. 

Rintarou doubts that Osamu forgot to lock the door, and the lack of aggression in the twisting of the knob reassures him that it isn’t some thief. From what Rintarou can tell, not much time has passed since Osamu left, so it’s likely that Osamu was just coming back for something he forgot. 

He walks in the direction of the main room, only getting past the bedroom door before the lock finally clicks. When the door swings open, Rintarou feels his heart drop to his stomach. 

“Rin?”

In the time it takes for Atsumu to recognize his figure in the doorway, the door shuts closed behind him. The air in the room suddenly feels confining—all-consuming in a way that Rintarou nearly forgets how to breathe. 

Wide eyes meet his own, and for a moment, Rintarou feels frozen to the spot. Atsumu’s eyes are still the same familiar shade of brown, blinking at him as his lips part. Against his better judgement, Rintarou allows himself to revel in the lack of anger in Atsumu’s eyes—the first glimpse he’s seen since the night they broke up. Even in the moments in which their eyes would meet across the net, Atsumu’s eyes always carried a sense of grieving in them that Rintarou knows all too well.

If he was imagining that, Rintarou would rather not find out. 

Eventually, surprise morphs into hurt—a bitter hue that paints the warmth of Atsumu’s brown irises into something darker. That look is familiar too, even if that familiarity isn’t necessarily comforting. 

“Why the fuck are ya here?”

The anger laced in his words feels like hot coal against Rintarou’s skin, and he involuntarily flinches at the sharpness of Atsumu's voice. 

Despite the years, he doesn’t look all that different from his Atsumu the Atsumu he knew. His hair is longer now, and he’s slightly more built, but he still feels all too familiar. He still looks like the boy Rintarou first fell in love with, the man that broke his heart, and the man whose heart he broke. He wonders what Atsumu sees when he looks at him. 

Words feel like they’re lodged in his throat, a tightness constricting him in a way that makes it hard to speak. There’s so much he could say—variations of I missed you or I don’t know either . 

Instead, he steels himself with the practiced insouciance that he’s perfected over the years. He knows that Atsumu doesn’t deserve that—he deserves Rintarou’s truth, but he can’t bring it in himself to let down his guards at this moment. “Osamu asked me for help with wedding preparations. He offered to let me stay here,” he says in a tone that feels unfamiliar on his tongue. 

Vaguely, he wonders if Osamu even told Atsumu that he would be in town for a few months. From Atsumu’s reaction, it doesn’t seem so. 

“That’s…What the hell? Why would ya agree to that?” Anger still marks his tone, and Rintarou has to swallow before answering. 

If he’s honest with himself, there’s one blaring reason that trumps over all the others. That reason would be the feelings he still harbors for the man in front of him—a broken resolve of staying away for Atsumu’s own good. 

Head vs. Heart. 

He chose heart. 

Still, he can’t tell Atsumu that, not when the way they left it was something akin to forcefully breaking apart a beloved childhood toy. “I don’t know,” is what he settles on. 

The glare Atsumu fixes on him feels like it could physically burn him. “Really, Suna ? Ya don’t know?” If Atsumu means for the change of ‘Rin’ to ‘Suna’ to hurt him, Rintarou miserably thinks that he definitely has lazer-point accuracy. 

Rintarou sorts through the sea of emotions overtaking him, not knowing which one rises over the rest. Surprise, hurt, sadness, regret—it all meshes together in a weight on his heart.

He feels almost overloaded by the amount of emotions crashing into him all at once, and before he can stop himself, he’s speaking. It’s almost as if he’s functioning on autopilot, because the words he says don’t convey what he feels at all. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

He looks away from Atsumu as he says it, not knowing if he can handle the intensity of Atsumu’s stare.

Atsumu scoffs. “Is it really so easy for ya ta come back here like nothin’ happened?”

Another emotion joins the mix then—a slight fire that feels like anger. Rintarou doesn’t think that he’s necessarily angry at Atsumu, but perhaps frustration is a better way to put it.

In a way, Atsumu’s words open up old wounds. Memories of feeling unseen by the man standing in front of him flood Rintarou’s thoughts, and he feels teleported back to two years ago—when he was drowning in the insecurity of not being able to be what Atsumu wanted him to be.

“I never said it was easy for me, Atsumu,” Rintarou snaps. “If you knew anything about me you would know that.”

He thought the anger he once felt towards Atsumu had fizzled away with time, but seeing him here now, hearing him now—it feels like a fresh burn. It’s a reminder of the problems they left unsolved, or rather, the problems that Rintarou decided were too much to overcome.

Over the years, he’s grown accustomed to thinking of their relationship with regret and self-blame instead of anger. Regret is easier to handle, because it means that their breakup was entirely his doing. It means that Rintarou wasn’t the one that was abandoned, as horrible as it is to think that.

Atsumu lets out a humorless laugh, “Yer unbelievable. Ya couldn’t have just stayed in Shizuoka so I’d only have ta see ya at the weddin’?” 

That feeling of anger strikes him again, because his pride always rivaled his insecurity, and it’s not fair that he never truly made it clear to Atsumu how much he hurt Rintarou too. It’s not fair that Rintarou has to shoulder all the blame, because Atsumu just never understood.

Nevermind the fact that Rintarou left before he even gave Atsumu the chance to understand.

But that means that it was a two-way street, that Atsumu didn’t make a move to try and drag Rintarou back either. Somehow, that hurts more.

So instead, he continues to be a hypocrite.

“Why is it so hard for you to see me?” Rintarou asks, recalling the memory again, rewinding it over and over in a broken cassette tape of what their love was. He knows he’s being unfair, but he can’t help it. 

Their last argument is a wound that Rintarou never managed to patch up, too overcome with the sheer amount of emotions he felt from that night. Back then, bitterness fought against sadness, and it’s uncanny how similar this interaction feels.

That’s the thing with insecurity—it has two sides. Self-sacrifice from when he no longer felt that he could give Atsumu what he deserved, and resentment from the way that Atsumu wasn’t entirely innocent in pushing that feeling of insecurity into Rintarou’s heart.

“Why—yer askin’ me why ?” Atsumu stares at him in disbelief. “Ya left me. Ya left me, and yer gonna ask why it’s hard ta look at ya?”

Rintarou turns quiet at that. Perhaps that’s the exact reason why he asked such an obvious question.

He realizes then that some part of him craved the verbal confirmation that he still holds a place in Atsumu’s thoughts too. Selfish—that’s what he is. That reassurance is a balm to the insecurity he never worked through, and just like before, he hurts Atsumu in the process.

“And now ya wanna turn quiet.” Atsumu scoffs, his lips twisting into a displeased line. “Still the same then, aren’t ya?”

The anger in his veins begins to dissipate, as if Rintarou has been brought back to reality, doused in freezing, cold water. 

“What can I even say to make this any better?” he asks, because it’s true. There’s no words he can say here—that he’s ready to say here—that’ll appease whatever emotions are going through Atsumu’s body. 

He’s still not ready for that conversation, not yet. 

Maybe sometime at a later date, a later time, he’ll be ready to put his emotions on the line again for the purpose of chasing after what he so badly desires. But, as he feels the weight of his feet planted to the floor and the tenseness in his chest, he knows that he’s not ready, because he doesn’t know what he feels—what he wants out of this. 

One would think that with all the time he’s had to imagine this moment, he would know what he wants. But, that’s the thing about being Suna Rintarou: his apathy is just a veil for all the things he’s never been able to understand about his own self. 

“Don’t make me decide how yer supposed ta feel,” Atsumu spits out. “Isn’t that what ya just said? That I don’t know anythin’ about ya, right?”

“That’s not—” Rintarou pauses, because technically, that was what he said. Still, he doesn’t know what he’s meant to say here. The hopeful part of him thinks that perhaps Atsumu might want a confession out of him—a heartfelt iteration of something along the lines of I came back because I miss you, and I want you back. 

He can’t say that yet through, because, well—

Head vs. heart.

He’s presented with two options then: stick to his facade of only being here to be of help to Akaashi and Osamu, or tell Atsumu that he truthfully wants him back, even when every bone in his body is warning him against it. 

In this moment, head wins over heart. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to say.”

Atsumu takes a breath, the weight of it feeling as heavy as the pain striking Rintarou’s chest. “That’s—” He looks away and purses his lips. “Nevermind. Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

Rintarou bites hard into his cheek, so hard that he might draw blood. “I guess not.” He previously thought that the memories haunting him were the most painful part, but it’s nothing compared to hearing those words from Atsumu’s mouth—how it really doesn’t matter anymore, because they don’t have a place in each other’s lives in the way they used to. 

“Whatever,” Atsumu says with a tick to his jaw. “‘M leavin’.” 

Atsumu turns on his heel, and in just a few short moments, the door is closing behind his retreating back. There was no hesitation in his anger-filled steps, and Rintarou wasn’t expecting anything less. 

After all, he’s Miya Atsumu, and Miya Atsumu has enough pride to fill the span of over two lifetimes. No matter how this conversation could’ve gone, Atsumu wouldn’t dare let Rintarou win by allowing him to get a final word in. 

It’s that thought that does him in, and before he can stop himself, Rintarou is walking back into Osamu’s room, setting the unused hanger down next to the messy spread of shirts still laying on top of the sheets. He stands there for a moment, looking down at the carpet and willing the numbness to dissipate. 

Their first conversation in years, and it went just as well as anyone would’ve expected from them—as well as Rintarou would’ve expected. In no world would they meet again after all their shared history and walk out unscathed by the other. It just simply wasn’t possible. 

In a twisted way, Rintarou prefers this, because anger isn’t an absence of love. 

With that thought, Rintarou sinks down and sits on the floor, leaning his back against the mattress. He takes another look at the photograph up on Osamu’s wall, allowing his lips to twist into a frown. His gaze traces over the arm Atsumu has around his shoulders and the curve of Atsumu’s smile, portrayed perfectly by the shot. 

When he tries to connect that same smile to the Miya Atsumu that was in this apartment less than 15 minutes ago, he rips his eyes from the photo. It only churns his stomach to see how different he looks now when he’s around Rintarou—how different their lives are 10 years into the future. 

Out of a small bout of self-destructiveness, he opens the text log he has with Atsumu, staring at all the messages that went unsent.

21/05/13 at 11:34PM

atsumu?

(Not delivered)

oh

(Not delivered)

i should’ve guessed that u had me blocked

(Not delivered)

21/07/19 at 2:04AM

hi, ik im still blocked

(Not delivered)

but i miss u

(Not delivered)

and ur stupidly loud voice

(Not delivered)

i loved hearing u talk

(Not delivered)

21/10/05 at 12:00AM

happy birthday

(Not delivered)

i hope osamu wipes frosting on u

(Not delivered)

i’m sorry that it won’t be me doing it

(Not delivered)

i hope ur doing well

(Not delivered)

22/01/01 at 12:01AM

happy new year

(Not delivered)

i drank a bottle of that one wine u rly like

(Not delivered)

still tastes like shit btw

(Not delivered)

pls don’t kiss someone else at midnight

(Not delivered)

22/10/05 at 12:00AM

happy birthday again

(Not delivered)

there was an annoying guy at

 the convenience store today

(Not delivered)

i think u would’ve laughed at 

what i wanted to say about him

(Not delivered)

23/02/20 at 12:09AM

happy anniversary

(Not delivered)

i couldn’t say it last year

(Not delivered)

god i love u

(Not delivered)

His eyes roam over each text, wondering if he’d ever be able to say any of them out loud. Then, he wonders if he even deserves to—after leaving like that and coming back like this. The red message of “not delivered” stares back at him, and maybe that’s an answer. 

A thought sneaks into the back of his head, questioning if Atsumu would still be in his life if he never mustered up the courage to kiss Atsumu on a balcony all those years ago. Would they still be best friends, exchanging texts and making fun of each other on social media? 

Rintarou asks himself a different question then: would he trade the irreplaceable moments of love between the two of them, if it meant being able to still be in Atsumu’s life? Would he still choose to become Atsumu’s lover, or stay as just a friend, if only to save them from the eventual heartbreak?

“It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” his mother once told him—a quote from some figure that Rintarou never bothered to look up. 

Rintarou puts his phone down, tipping his head back and staring up at the white ceiling. He wonders when he became so eloquent in his thoughts. 

Then, as the fatigue of the day finally catches up to him, his eyes flutter closed, and he wonders nothing at all. Instead, he just remembers the curve of an 18-year-old’s Atsumu’s lips and lets that image lull him to sleep.

“Did Tsumu come here earlier?” Osamu asks with wary eyes. 

Rintarou doesn’t look up from the bowl of udon in front of him, mumbling his answer. “Yeah.” White noodles swim in golden liquid, beef cooked to perfection. Rintarou just stares at it, feeling no appetite at all, despite how tantalizing the meal looks in his eyes.

He knows that he looks a little worse for wear, the dark circles under his eyes taking on a darker shade of purple despite the nap he took earlier in the day. The luggage he meant to unpack still lays discarded on the bedroom floor since Rintarou couldn’t find the motivation to do anything about it when he groggily woke up some time that evening, the sun already setting and with a crick in his neck. He also knows that Osamu noticed, considering the look he gave Rintarou when he first entered the apartment. 

Still, he hasn’t commented on his state, instead busying himself with making a quick dinner for the two of them. When Rintarou inquired about Akaashi’s whereabouts, Osamu told him that he initially planned to join them, but something came up at work. It’s a shame, but Rintarou figures that he has months to spend in Akaashi’s presence, so one night of absence won’t hurt. Besides, Akaashi’s uncanny way to see right through him might not be what he needs this evening. 

Osamu sighs, brows furrowing. “Sorry. I was gonna tell him tonight, but I didn’t know he’d come here before I got the chance,” he explains, guilt laced between his words.

Rintarou doesn’t necessarily blame Osamu. Should he have consulted Atsumu before inviting his ex-boyfriend to help with wedding preparations? Sure. But Osamu is his own person, both simultaneously being Atsumu's twin brother and Rintarou’s friend. Rintarou knows that Osamu has tried his best to separate the idea of Atsumu and Rintarou to just—Atsumu, and Rintarou. 

Rintarou has been glad for it. When his friendship with Osamu began to repair itself, Rintarou had been afraid that in keeping Osamu’s friendship, he might forever be tied to Atsumu—the reminder of him. But Osamu’s been considerate by not bringing up his twin brother very often when he speaks to Rintarou, and he figures that’s a show of kindness in its own right. 

Despite that, the memories of the afternoon still plague him, and all he can muster in response is a stiff “It’s fine” that doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest.

A quiet shuffling comes from the kitchen, and suddenly Osamu’s in front of him, placing a small, white cup filled with honey-colored liquid on the table. Rintarou doesn’t have to look up to know that Osamu’s roaming gaze is twinged with concern. “Are ya alright?”

That’s a loaded question, Rintarou thinks. Have I ever really been okay? No, not really. Has he been okay since the breakup? Also no.

Does seeing Atsumu hurt him in ways that Rintarou didn’t think was possible?

Yeah, to say the least—dramatics aside.

Those thoughts go unspoken as Rintarou fishes out a piece of beef that he promptly places back into the soup. “I mean, it’s been two years,” Rintarou says, attempting to evade the question. 

“That doesn’t mean anythin’ if ya still love him, Rin,” Osamu tells him as he takes the seat across from him. Rintarou feels the ache in his chest again—or rather, it intensifies. 

It’s not fair that everybody else can see the love he feels for Atsumu—everyone but the one person that matters most. The frustration builds again, because he just can’t understand why the person who once understood him the best couldn’t understand how much Rintarou felt for him. 

Even now, the anger he feels from that reminder brings out a side of him that he didn’t want Atsumu to see again. It’s like Atsumu’s death grip on his heart causes his emotions to go haywire.

Finally, Rintarou decides to put down his chopsticks, accepting that he likely won’t be eating the udon tonight. “Do you think I’m making a mistake? In coming back here?” he asks Osamu. It’s been unspoken since the moment Osamu made the offer to him—that this isn’t just about helping with the wedding.

Osamu turns quiet for a moment, and each passing second builds a heavy feeling in Rintarou’s chest.

“That’s entirely up to ya. I knew when I asked ya that Tsumu would play a part in yer decision,” he eventually says. “I don’t know if ya have yer shit together or not, but, just—don’t break him again in the process.”

Those words are an allusion to the warning Osamu gave him the first time he called after the breakup, but there’s less of a bite to them now. Still, that doesn’t make the threat of Osamu’s wrath any weaker.

Rintarou frowns. “Do I still matter enough to him that I have that power?”

Sure, the reaction Atsumu had from seeing him was straight out of some second romance movie, but he’s well aware that their story is likely far from being that. Besides, Atsumu is Atsumu, and he feels everything wholeheartedly. A reaction like that isn’t necessarily a confirmation of love. 

Osamu meets his eyes across the table, his gaze holding a seriousness that wasn’t there before. “Do ya want an actual answer ta that?” 

“I don’t know.”

“Find out,” Osamu says immediately after the words leave his lips. Rintarou blinks up at him, surprised. Especially after that initial phone call two years ago, Rintarou never thought he’d hear Osamu pushing him towards Atsumu again. “If even a part of ya thinks yer ready ta try again with Tsumu, then find out.”

There it is again—the weighted tone laced between his voice. It’s a tone that Rintarou hasn’t heard in nearly two years. 

A frown grows on Rintarou’s face. “I thought you told me not to hurt him again.”

It’s inevitable at this point. Like any interaction between exes that ended on bad terms, it never comes without a little hurt. Their interaction from this afternoon is a testament to that. 

“I know.” Osamu sighs. “But I also want ta see him happy again.”

Rintarou’s heart skips a beat. Atsumu’s been unhappy? 

He never wanted to consider that possibility—never allowed himself to even think that Atsumu might be more unhappy now than he was in their relationship. If it’s true that Atsumu hasn’t been as happy as Rintarou hoped, that would mean that his decision to leave would’ve been for nothing. That would mean that breaking Atsumu’s heart wasn’t worth it. 

Still, his treacherous heart jumps at that possibility. The possibility that he was making Atsumu happy, it’s a notion that Rintarou desperately hoped for, despite it all. Even so, it’s selfish of him to think that, because it would mean that Rintarou’s hope comes at the expense of Atsumu’s pain. 

He doesn’t know what’s worse: the possibility that Atsumu is happier now, just like Rintarou meant it to be, or the possibility that Atsumu’s been struggling all this time, all because Rintarou took his own feelings and put them above Atsumu’s. 

“Does that mean—”

“Find out,” Osamu repeats again, the words pressing even harder into Rintarou’s chest. “But for the love ‘a god, don’t make me regret letting ya stay here.”

He knows that’s a warning that Osamu means entirely. Even if Rintarou did eventually become one of his closest friends once more, he would never choose Rintarou over Atsumu when it really matters. Rintarou wouldn’t want it to be any other way. 

“Is that why you offered your place?” The pieces are starting to come together now. Osamu must’ve had an ulterior motive too. 

Osamu shrugs, the seriousness now gone from his voice. “Partially.” He takes a sip from his own cup. “I also did mean it when I said Keiji n’ I would appreciate the help in planning.”

“I’ll help make your wedding as perfect as I can,” Rintarou says genuinely. He’s not entirely selfish enough to let this entire thing with Atsumu ruin Osamu’s wedding. He owes Akaashi and Osamu better than that, especially for everything they’ve done for him. 

Akaashi for giving Rintarou emotional support in ways that not even Atsumu could give at times, and Osamu for giving him a second chance despite what he did to Atsumu. 

“I sure hope so,” Osamu says with a grin. 

“And about Atsumu,” Rintarou starts, “I do regret it—leaving,” he finally admits. It lifts a weight off of his shoulders to be able to say it out loud after years of telling himself that it was for the best, even though it hurt him to do so. “I just don’t know how to start. It’s not entirely easy, especially with the way I ended things. I don’t even think I deserve to try to get him back.”

“I know.” 

Rintarou doesn’t know if Osamu’s telling him that he knows that Rintarou never truly moved on from Atsumu or if he knows that Rintarou doesn’t deserve Atsumu’s forgiveness, at least, for the things he said during their breakup. He figures that it’s probably both. Osamu’s always been blunt like that, because he’s still a Miya at the end of the day. 

“Knowin’ the two of ya, it’ll probably take a while. Just don’t do anythin’ that’ll really hurt him.” Osamu’s expression shifts just the slightest bit. “I don’t know if I could forgive ya a second time.”

“Okay,” Rintarou says, his voice a little quieter. “Honestly, I don’t think I could forgive myself either if I did.”

He doesn’t want to make empty promises. He knows that he’ll likely hurt Atsumu somewhere along the way, but Rintarou wants to do everything in his power to not fuck it all up this time. Even if they don’t end up working out, he hopes that whatever ending they have hurts Atsumu a lot less than their previous goodbye. 

“If it helps at all, Keiji ‘n I are rootin’ fer the two of ya.”

The faith that Osamu has in him seems almost misplaced, considering that Rintarou was never good at dealing with his feelings. Atsumu’s not entirely blameless in all this, but Rintarou chooses to shoulder the weight of most of the blame, since he’s the one who left. Selfish and selfless at the same time—what a piece of work he is.

Still, Osamu continues on. “It was actually Keiji’s plan—this whole thing ta help the two of ya get back together,” he reveals with a small, reassuring smile. “He can be a real devil sometimes, yanno?” 

“I know.” For the first time in this conversation, a small smile plays on his lips. “I think that’s why we became so close in the first place.”

“Also why I decided ta marry him. He keeps me on my toes.” Rintarou thinks that it’s nice to see Osamu like this, joyfully in love with someone that can match him. It really is fitting, that onigiri is what landed him the love of his life. “Anyway, I’m gonna be sleepin’ at Keiji’s place while yer here, so feel free ta make yerself at home,” Osamu says as he moves to get up from the table.

“Thanks,” Rintarou replies. He shifts so that he can look over at where Osamu stands in the kitchen. “Are you sure you don’t want me to pay you or anything? I’m basically freeloading at this point.”

Osamu snorts. “Since when have ya ever had a problem with freeloadin’? Ya used to tell Tsumu in high school that ya would only do things fer him if he bought ya food.”

“Part of that was me trying to get his attention.” High school seems both far away and so close at the same time. Despite that, his school years are mostly made up of fond memories, especially from the innocence of it all. Back then, he was just a teenage boy that just so happened to develop a massive crush on the most annoying guy on their team. 

In hindsight, that was probably the reason—the annoying and rambunctious way that Atsumu held himself—that made Rintarou like him so much. 

“Trust me, everyone knew that,” Osamu teases as he washes his cup. “Except fer maybe Tsumu himself.”

That’s also true, considering that Atsumu only started to pick up on Rintarou’s feelings once they got to their 20s. 

Eventually, Osamu finishes up with cleaning up the kitchen, and Rintarou pours his bowl of udon into a container so that he can eat it for breakfast the next morning. Osamu leaves him with a promise to bring Akaashi around the next day, to which Rintarou genuinely smiles at. He’s missed Akaashi, even if he would deny it if Akaashi ever asked him to his face. 

Later that night, he takes a look at his unpacked luggage and decides that’s a problem for tomorrow. Instead, he digs out the old, worn out t-shirt he stuffed into the depths of his suitcase and throws the shirts he took out earlier back into the bag. It was Atsumu’s, one of his more oversized shirts that Rintarou always liked to borrow. Atsumu never minded when he unintentionally kept his clothing. When they broke up indefinitely, Rintarou never had the courage to give Atsumu his stuff back. Atsumu never asked for them back. 

He tries to clear his mind with a cold shower, allowing the low temperature to wash away the exhaustion of the day. As he lathers his body with soap, he stares down at the silver necklace that hangs loose around his neck. It’s the singular piece of jewelry he’s never taken off, outside of official matches, since pieces of jewelry were strictly banned. The sight of it used to fill him with a painful longing, and it still does. For now though, he feels a little bit of hope as he thumbs the metal, and that’s a step up from the way his stomach usually churns when he feels it against his skin.

For their second anniversary, he and Atsumu had decided to purchase matching necklaces, the only thing setting each other’s apart being the other’s initials engraved on the back of the small rectangular pendant that sits against his chest. He could never muster up the will to ever take it off, despite the fact that it’s a poignant reminder of Atsumu. He hopes he never has to see the day that he might find that Atsumu no longer wears his. 

Slowly, he goes through the motions of getting ready for bed, pulling the old, worn-out shirt over his head. The scent of Atsumu has long since faded away, but Rintarou still feels a hint of comfort in it all the same. As he tucks himself in the warmth of freshly laundered sheets, he pulls out his phone and opens up the group chat he has with his mother and sister. He sends a text about being in Osaka for a few months, knowing that they’ll likely want him to come visit while he’s here. 

It’s late, so he knows that he won’t get a text back, considering that his mother has a habit of going to sleep early and his sister usually goes to sleep earlier than he does since she has classes the next day. 

Rintarou knows himself well enough that the thoughts won’t just go away, so he just curls into himself and holds onto the bottom of Atsumu’s (his) shirt with a closed fist. He tries to fight it with the small spark of hope he felt earlier, but it’s not enough to overshadow the heaviness of his heart. That’ll probably be his biggest battle—the feelings of insecurity and hope fighting against the other. 

With a sigh, he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to will sleep to come, his thoughts plagued with the sight of Atsumu in the doorway, eyes both hurt and angry.

When Rintarou wakes up the next morning, he’s greeted by a light pounding in his head. With a groan, he taps his phone, checking the time. 

9:17AM. Six unread messages. 

He slept for just a little longer than he meant to, but it’s not out of the ordinary for him to oversleep during the off-season anyway. He’ll just have to start his routine workout a little later in the day, and that’s not too big of a deal when the EJP Raijin’s athletic trainer isn’t there to scold him. 

From: Osamu (1 unread message)

Comin’ by with Keiji fer dinner later. Is Omurice ok? Keiji’s pesterin’ me ta make some 

From: Haha (1 unread message in Suna Household)

Visit your poor old mother when you can. I’ll make your favorite curry.

From: Ririko (2 unread message2 in Suna Household)

akihiko and i will come too!! 

haha… stop acting like i don’t drop by every other day T.T

From: Washio-san (2 unread messages)

Hikari’s sister is arriving tomorrow.

Will text you if anything comes up. Thanks again for offering your place. 👍.

Rintarou types out responses to each message before dropping his phone back to his side. As he stares up at the ceiling, he tries to mentally plan out his day, already feeling the boredom setting in. He usually spends most of his offseason lounging around and binging shows when he has nothing to do, but he figures that he should try to establish a routine here that doesn’t involve depressing afternoons laying on the couch—especially with the emotional load he’ll have to tackle while he’s here. 

After he reheats the udon from last night and organizes some of his luggage, Rintarou decides to go out in an attempt to get his mind off things. Though maybe it’s not really an attempt at all, because he finds himself strolling through the cherry-blossom-lined trees of Kema Sakuranomiya Park instead—a park that he used to frequent with Atsumu during the spring. Rintarou always dragged Atsumu with him since the cherry blossoms were always at their peak around this time of the year, and Rintarou has always had a soft spot for nature. 

He finds that the pink-lined dirt road brings him some semblance of comfort. Shizuoka might have beautiful scenery, but something about the gentle breeze and muted conversations of those around him seems to make this park more beautiful than anything Shizuoka seems to offer. 

For a moment, Rintarou feels like he’s half at home in this landscape. He figures that it’s the most at-home he’ll feel, considering that the other half would only feel complete with Atsumu chattering about a topic and holding steadily onto his hand as they walk. 

It’s amusing how fast his brain reverted back to constant thoughts of Atsumu, Atsumu, Atsumu, after just one interaction. Before this, he was doing a good job at keeping him from his thoughts, having devised an efficient routine to keep his mind off of Atsumu whenever his life got a little too peaceful. It’s probably inevitable though, considering that he basically signed away his well-kept sanity the moment he called Osamu and accepted the offer. 

“Suna?”

His thought process is broken when he hears the call of his name, and Rintarou looks up to see a familiar face in front of him, clad in jogging gear. “Gin?”

Despite coming to Osaka often when he was still with Atsumu, Rintarou never saw Ginjima, even though they were good friends in high school. After they graduated, they just naturally drifted from the distance, much like most people do. That, and the fact that he moved away from the Hyōgo prefecture relatively soon after graduating, choosing to attend a university in Tokyo before he eventually joined the V.League. 

He only kept in touch with the twins because of Atsumu’s incessant texting and the fact that being in the V.League kept them relatively close despite the distance. Similar lifestyles and all that. Then, when he started dating Atsumu, that presence never really left, and here he is now. 

Ginjima's expression breaks into a boyish smile. “Hey, it’s been a while! Didja get the invitation ta Osamu’s weddin’?”

He changes directions and falls into step beside Rintarou. Rintarou nods, slowing his own pace. “Yeah, I’m actually helping him out on some of the planning.”

“Oh cool!” Then, he cocks his head to the side. “Are ya stayin’ with Atsumu while yer here?”

The sentence makes Rintarou’s stomach drop, and he has to fight the hurt from showing on his face. Most people assumed that he and Atsumu were no longer dating from the way that they wiped all traces of the other from social media, but Rintarou can’t necessarily blame Ginjima for not knowing. It’s not like Rintarou really kept up with the love lives of his high school classmates, save for maybe Aran, given that they saw each other at least three times every year. 

“Oh, we actually broke up,” he says. “Two years ago.”

His words come out awkward, but it’s not like he can really control it at this point. Besides, he was a little blindsided by the question, since most of the people he still regularly talks to already know about the break-up. It’s been a while since he’s been asked about Atsumu like that.

Ginjima blinks, his features filling with guilt. “Shit. My bad, I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine, don’t sweat it,” Rintarou tells him. Still, Ginjima continues to look apologetic. 

“Still. That’s kinda awkward fer me to bring up.”

Rintarou musters what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “It’s okay.” He doesn’t want to talk about Atsumu, especially not after yesterday. 

Ginjima seems to take the hint, and Rintarou is glad for it. Being in Osaka already makes him more emotional than he should, and he really doesn’t want Ginjima to take pity on him. People don’t need to know the extent of how bad the break-up really was, even if it’s already obvious. 

“How have ya been? Still playin’ for the EJP Raijin right?”

The slight awkwardness is still present, but Rintarou chooses to power through it anyway. He nods. “For now, yeah.”

He doesn’t know why he answers like that, because he hasn’t made it known to anyone that he doesn’t quite enjoy playing for the EJP Raijin as much as he used to. He’s just been with the team for so long, and the time has slowly caught up to him. 

Shizuoka doesn’t feel like home anymore, and Rintarou’s thought about leaving—maybe finding a new team to play for that’ll give him a fresh start in a city that doesn’t emphasize his loneliness. He’s good enough that his agency will be willing to entertain the idea of moving him somewhere else. He just hasn’t gotten around to telling them that, even though he’s thought about it for a while. He even entertained the notion of going overseas, but he’s not quite sure if that's truly something that he wants.

“Are ya plannin’ on playin’ fer somewhere else?” Ginjima asks. 

“I’ve been thinking about it. We’ll see,” he says. He doesn’t really want to think too hard about it right now. “What have you been up to?”

“‘M a gym instructor for one of the gyms a few blocks from here. Gettin’ a run in before I hafta meet one ‘a my clients.” 

  Ah , he does vaguely remember that. They had a conversation about it during the reception of Aran and Kita’s wedding a few years back, but Rintarou didn’t fully register it. He already had a few drinks at that point, and he never claimed to be the best listener. 

If Ginjima is offended by his lapse in memory, he doesn’t show it. 

“This park is real pretty around this time of year,” Ginjima continues. “Nice views help with motivation. At least, that’s what I tell my clients.”

Rintarou hums in agreement. “I get that. A lot of the cardio I do back in Shizuoka City is usually at the team gym though.” He looks around the park again, and he thinks that maybe he’ll try jogging out in nature again now that he doesn’t have access to the team gym. 

Even though he wasn’t very fond of doing warm-up laps back in high school, being a professional player kinda changed that. Sure, he still doesn’t thoroughly enjoy it, but keeping up with his physique is essential in games, and he does like to win. Slacking off isn’t really an option in the V.League when you’re surrounded by dedicated athletes that spend most of their time training. 

Ginjima lets out a laugh. “I guess that’s somethin’ that’s changed about ya. Glad ta see that though.”

“Kinda hard to avoid it when your athletic trainer is as strict as ours,” Rintarou responds with a shrug.

The two of them continue to walk for a few minutes, keeping up easy conversation. Ginjima carries most of it, and Rintarou lets him. It was always like this in high school too, with Ginjima taking most of the lead and Rintarou making occasional comments. They didn’t have many one-on-one conversations, but adulthood changes people. At least it’s not an awkward conversation. Rintarou isn’t sure if he would be in the mood to navigate that. 

Eventually, Ginjima’s smartwatch goes off with a notification—or more so, an alarm. Ginjima looks down at the screen, silencing the alarm before looking back up. “Ah I should get goin’. Gotta meet my next client soon,” he says, looking apologetic.

Rintarou stops walking, giving Ginjima a nod to signal that it’s no big deal. 

“I’ll see ya at the weddin’ then?” he asks. “Or text me if ya ever wanna meet up fer coffee or anythin’. My number’s still the same.”

“Yeah, sure. It was nice seeing you,” Rintarou says with a nod. He doesn’t know if he’ll take Ginjima up on the offer, but he catalogues it anyway. It might be nice to go out with a familiar friend.

“See ya!” Ginjima sends him a wide smile as he starts to head the opposite direction, and Rintarou smiles back. Though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, the smile doesn’t feel artificial.

Rintarou continues to walk around the park for a few more minutes until he notices the time. He should head back soon, since he still has the rest of his luggage to unpack. With a sigh, he stuffs his hands into his pockets and begins to make his way back to the entrance of the park that he came from. 

He’s almost at the edge of the park before a rumble in his stomach stops him. It hasn’t been long since he ate breakfast, but maybe it’s time for a snack. Maybe a drink too while he’s at it. 

With that in mind, Rintarou makes his way to the 7/11 across the street, already having the path memorized. He used to frequent this location whenever he visited Osaka, often stopping by it for snacks to eat on the short train ride back to Atsumu’s apartment. He could go for some juice, and maybe a pack of chips to keep him satiated on the walk back to Osamu’s. 

The familiarity of the store brings him some semblance of comfort, still looking the same as it’s always looked. Absentmindedly, he makes his way to the refrigerated drinks section, seeking out an aloe drink to wash away his misery. 

The world seems intent on fucking up his day though, because a familiar figure stands in front of the drinks aisle. Although it could just be some guy that sports dark, curly hair, his staggering height is what gives him away. He’s only a few centimeters taller than Rintarou, but he undoubtedly knows that it’s Sakusa. 

It’s not that he necessarily hates Sakusa. In fact, he can genuinely say that he highly respects him, and Sakusa has said that he shares the same sentiment. He has no qualms with Sakusa, until it comes to Atsumu. 

Atsumu loves to rile people up, and it can sometimes come off the wrong way to people that don’t know him. It didn’t bother Suna before—that was, until an article came out speculating a secret relationship between Atsumu and Sakusa, one that made Suna retreat into himself and pull away from Atsumu until Osamu called and told him that Atsumu had been crying on his couch for thirty minutes straight.

(“Did you and your boyfriend breakup, Rintarou? Or is he cheating on you?” His father had asked over breakfast on one of the weekends that Rintarou visited his mother and father—when his parents were still together.

“What?” Rintarou had paled, his jaw clenching as his father showed him the article title.

‘Miya Atsumu and Sakusa Kiyoomi: Teammates or more? Speculations arise after Post-game Interview’)

He pushes that memory away. 

“Suna,” Sakusa says, now facing him with a bottle of plum juice in his hand. 

“Sakusa,” Rintarou greets back, trying his best not to sound cold. On a normal day, he wouldn’t have too much of a problem addressing him genuinely, but after the past few days, seeing him just feels like another stab to the chest. 

As if the universe hasn’t already struck so many knives into him, the next thing that happens makes Rintarou feel like he’s physically been punched in the gut. 

Atsumu rounds the corner of an aisle, looking down at a pack of gummies as he makes his way to the refrigerated section. “Oi, Omi-kun are ya fi—”

The sentence dies on his lips when he looks up and immediately meets Rintarou’s gaze. 

He’s in a pair of gray sweatpants, the waistband hanging loosely on his hips. The sweater he sports is Atsumu’s own— thank god —and the way his hair is lightly tousled elicits memories of Atsumu’s slow blinks when he would wake by Rintarou’s side. 

Surprise mingles with something far, far worse than the hurt his expression took on the day before, and Rintarou feels the air leave his lungs. It’s guilt. Atsumu’s looking at him with guilt . 

Guilt. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

His throat feels like it’s closed up, and as he stares into Atsumu’s guilt-ridden eyes, he knows that he needs to get away from here. He doesn’t know where, but just, anywhere that’s not here . Atsumu’s mouth parts, and he’s blinking as if he doesn’t know whether Rintarou is actually standing in front of him or not. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then opens it again. Rintarou has no idea what words will come from Atsumu’s lips, but Rintarou can’t listen to him right now. 

He can’t , but for some reason, his feet stay planted at the spot. It’s as if his body is fighting against the mess in his head, keeping him frozen here when he so badly wants to run.

“Rin?” 

There it is again, the slip of tongue—the use of his first name despite it all. 

“I—” Rintarou tries to say something, but he watches as Atsumu’s eyes flick to Sakusa’s for one brief second. 

Sakusa’s steeled eyes, Atsumu’s shocked expression. The guilt . Oh god, the fucking guilt. 

Rintarou feels sick. He feels all of the words he said to Osamu yesterday suddenly lose all of their confidence. Get Atsumu back? Try to fix whatever they broke?

What a joke. What a joke , when Rintarou can’t even formulate words here. 

He’s reminded then, of how easy it is to make your mind up about something until something happens to make him remember why it was that he cowardly left Atsumu in the first place. It’s the insecurity—the insecurity that still renders him useless in the face of everything. 

He shouldn’t be letting his thoughts run rampant here. He shouldn’t make assumptions off five seconds of an interaction. And yet—

“Wait,” Atsumu says, his voice tight as he reaches out a hand. Before he can make contact, Atsumu pauses and his hand stops short of grabbing onto Rintarou’s wrist. With a twitch of his fingers, his arm drops unceremoniously against his side. “What—What’re ya doin’ here?”

The contrast to that question compared to the way Atsumu asked something similar the day before, it makes Rintarou’s stomach lurch. Maybe, in a different circumstance, Rintarou would feel hopeful for the change, but there’s something about this whole situation that somehow makes the change in tone worse. 

The rampant emotions he feels whenever he’s in the presence of Atsumu comes rushing back, and before he can stop himself, he finds himself answering. “Buying a bottle of juice. What else would I be doing here?”

There’s a bite in his words that he doesn’t want, but he can’t help it. The look on Atsumu’s face—the reminder that it wasn’t all Rintarou’s fault. The reminder that this is a two-way street. If Atsumu isn’t ready to see him again, is Rintarou ready to do the same thing? He’s backtracking again, and he remembers what Osamu told him last night. 

Find out . 

If this is what finding out means, does he really want to know? Is he ready to do this again?

Do you think I’m making a mistake? In coming back here?

Vaguely, Rintarou registers Sakusa moving away, leaving the two of them in the middle of the cold aisle, still stuck to their spots, still standing just far enough to emphasize the distance between them. 

“I see,” Atsumu eventually says. 

Find out. Find out. 

Rintarou asks Atsumu the same question, unsure of what he’s doing or what he’s trying to achieve. “What are you doing here?”

“Gummies,” Atsumu mumbles, slightly waving the plastic packet between them. “What else?”

Atsumu’s answer doesn’t hold the bite that Rintarou’s did, and it’s so different from the venom of every word that came out of Atsumu’s lips the day before that Rintarou starts to think more clearly. 

Head vs. heart. 

Find out. 

“I think Sakusa’s waiting for you,” Rintarou says instead, flicking his gaze in some random direction. He’s not even sure where Sakusa went, nor does he know if he’s actually waiting for Atsumu. But, out of everything, it’s the best excuse Rintarou can find. 

It doesn’t come out hurt, or angry. Rather, he hears the mask in his voice—the practiced nonchalance that slips out whenever he feels the need to put his walls up. 

Put them down. Find out. 

“It’s not what it looks like,” Atsumu responds, and Rintarou can suddenly feel eyes on him. 

He lifts his gaze, allowing his eyes to catch the pair that Atsumu already has on him. For a moment, he thinks he can read through Atsumu’s clipped words—through the things he leaves unspoken. But there’s something else, almost as if Atsumu’s searching, hoping, begging for—

For something. 

“What do you want me to say here?” It’s the most upfront question Rintarou can ask without starting an emotional war in the middle of the refrigerated aisle of a convenience store. It’s a question with an underlying meaning—that there’s something here, something real, and he’s letting Atsumu set the path of the conversation. 

“Anything,” he says, his voice low. “As long as it’s what yer actually feeling.” 

There it is again, the searching. Rintarou thinks that he understands what Atsumu’s trying to tell him. 

Find out. Ask. Show ya care. 

Rintarou opens his mouth to speak.

And then—

Atsumu’s phone rings. 

Both their eyes fly to the phone Atsumu’s holding in his other hand. The soft chime of Atsumu’s ringtone plays in the space between them as they both catch sight of the caller ID. It’s Osamu calling. 

“Fuck,” Atsumu curses. “Fuckin’ Samu.”

Rintarou stays quiet for a moment, battling with himself. Ultimately, he lets the both of them down, because he says, “Answer him.”

Atsumu’s lips curl into a frown, hurt flashing through his brown irises. They both know what Rintarou’s doing. He’s deflecting, trying to run away from the conversation—keeping his walls up. 

When Atsumu picks up the call, his hands grip the phone too tight, and there’s a hardness in the angle of his jaw. He’s frustrated. 

Rintarou wishes he could give Atsumu what he wants—or rather, what he thinks Atsumu wants. Fighting against that wish, Rintarou knows that this is all he can do right now, because he promised Osamu that he would do what he could to not hurt Atsumu. With the way his stomach is churning and the way his ears are ringing with the voice of his own insecurities, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from accusing Atsumu of something that he might have no right to accuse him of. 

Through the hurt in Atsumu’s eyes, the look of guilt is still seared into the back of Rintarou’s mind. 

So, when Atsumu picks up the call, Rintarou locks eyes with him once more. He allows the moment to linger for a few seconds before he rips his gaze away. Then, he lets his feet take control and he’s walking away before he can see the guilt and hurt in Atsumu’s eyes again. 

Head vs. heart. 

What does it even matter, if neither of those choices lead to him choosing Atsumu?