*•.¸♡ 𝕄𝕖𝕝 @firefly-moon - Tumblr Blog

Apr 29, 2022

onigiri-mia-deactivated20220528

this summer, i…

↳ vi. (lost it because of you)

miya osamu x reader, 13.2k

SUMMARY: sometimes the best way to get over someone is to actually just date them. or in your hopeless case, ask them to help you practice dating.

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It’s funny.

You’ve spent so long trying to bury the words I love you down your throat, and now that you’ve said it out loud, the words refuse to stay in your mouth. Certain words have special qualities to them; I love you demands to be heard, to be felt, and it petulantly sits heavily on your tongue until you have no choice but to spit out.

And bless you, they were so heavy to carry. No wonder now that you’ve said it out loud you feel an extraordinary lightness, you might as well be a tiny piece of dust floating in the air. If you jump off that cliff now and take that leap of faith, you might not even crash into the water. Maybe you’ll fly.

You tell Suna first, because when something happens in your life, it’s always him there by your side. So you call him as you walk to class. It’s just after lunch, with the sun high up in the sky. Perfect time for good news. Suna answers within three rings, “What’s up?”

“Rin, I think I’m going to do what you said,” you say, “I’m gonna end it and tell him how I feel.”

“Oh Y/N,” Suna says, and the phone can barely translate the emotion in his voice, “I’m proud of you. I think this is the right decision.”

“Yeah…” you agree. You stop under the shade of a tree’s leafy arms and whisper, “Rin, I’m in love. I just... wanted to let you know.”

Suna breathes, “I know. I’ve known from the very start.”

You just laugh. How jubilant it is to have a friend who knows you better than yourself.

You don’t want to rush into it though. There are still matters that need to be taken care of before you can tell Osamu how you feel. The most pressing of which is the stupid practice dating contract. The original copy of which sits somewhere on Osamu’s desk. He insisted that he kept it lest you accidentally use it as scratch paper for your music composition class. It was proof of your indebtedness and Osamu’s reward for helping you practice dating.

When you tell Osamu you love him, you want a clean slate. You don't want it misconstrued as anything but what it is.

So, on another Wednesday afternoon, you ask Osamu over text if he’d like to go eat some hotpot with you, your treat. You set your phone aside, figuring Osamu won’t respond for a bit. But as soon as you put your phone down, it vibrates immediately. You laugh to yourself and pick it up to respond, but not even a second later, you get a phone call from the man himself.

“Hello?” you answer.

“Is this a serious offer?” Osamu says, “Or are you teasing me? If you know how I feel, you know that meat is no joking matter to me.”

“Samu, I know you,” you say solemnly, “I would never joke about meat with you.”

“Oh my god,” Osamu groans, “I’m gonna be thinking about this the whole day. When? Tonight? Dinner? What time are you done with everything today—”

You laugh, “Calm down, I’m not going to take the offer back and change my mind. This is me, paying you back for all the practice dating you helped me with.”

“Oh?” Osamu says, “I forgot about that.”

“Well, I didn’t!” you say, “And I’m actually done for the day. So I can meet you at your apartment whenever you want.”

Osamu snorts, “If you think I’m going to be able to concentrate on whatever I’m doing after mentioning free meat, you’re funny. Get your ass here now. Before Suna comes home. I am not sharing with him—”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh again, standing up from your chair and stepping away from your desk. You grab your coat and begin to put your shoes on, “I’m coming. Give me like ten minutes.”

“Five minutes,” Osamu tries to convince you, but you snort. “No, I’ll be there in ten minutes. I’ll see you soon,” and then hang up.

Just because you like to make Osamu sweat a little, you take your sweet time walking to their apartment. Your good mood is at an all time high, and not even the future emptiness of your wallet is enough to detract from it.

When you arrive at their apartment, you knock on their door to announce your arrival and you can literally hear Osamu running to the door. You’re greeted by a relieved Osamu, “Y/N, you’re here!”

You do a little cheer, “Yes, I’m here! Should we go? Are you ready?”

“I’m born ready,” Osamu says, and he doesn’t even let you inside. He just steps out and locks the door behind him, “Let’s go. Time is of the essence here—”

But then, the both of you hear the distinct sound of Akaashi’s laughter and seconds later, you hear footsteps round the corner into the hallway where their apartment door is on. It’s Suna, with Miwa and Akaashi.

Suna waves at the both of you, while Miwa and Akaashi walk over with excitement. Miwa tilts her head to the side, “Are you guys going out or going in?”

God, you think, why did we decide to meet at their apartment? You can already see how this is going to end. You’re both such bad liars. You don't mind if your wallet is emptied because of Osamu, but to pay for three more people? You can’t afford it.

Osamu tries to save your dinner, stuffing his hands in his oversized denim jacket to look casual, “Yeah, we’re just going out.”

It’s not a lie and it’s smart to keep it vague. Good going, Osamu. But neither of you have ever been able to hide something from Suna successfully. He just knows you too well.

Suna narrows his eyes, “Dinner?”

You feel yourself shrink behind Osamu, trying to avoid eye contact with all three of them. Suna alone can read through you, and any excuses you have about wanting to eat by yourselves will be shut down by Miwa.

Osamu shrugs, unable to give up without trying, “We haven’t decided yet. We’ll probably get something along the way?”

“Really?” Suna says, slowly, like he’s giving some time to confess before he unmasks you like Scooby-Doo villains. “We were wondering what to do about dinner, so maybe we can just tag along?”

You cringe and then accidentally make eye contact with Akaashi, who is possibly the worst person you can make eye contact with. Akaashi looks at you so innocently and smiles so nicely, “Don’t you want to eat together, Y/N?”

You have a conscience. You sigh and tug at Osamu’s sleeve, “Samu, let’s just take them with us.”

Osamu looks at you betrayed, mouth in a full pout, and whines, “But my meat!”

It only takes Suna half a second to realize, “You guys were going to get some hotpot without inviting us? Oh my god, seriously—”

“Rin, I can explain—” you try, but Suna just dramatically puts a hand up, “I understand that I’ve been replaced by this, this best friend wannabe—”

“Oh my god, calm down!” Osamu says, rolling his eyes, “Also, you did not just call me a wannabe. For your information, Y/N probably likes me better because I’m sexier—”

Suna rolls his eyes this time, “I’ve heard that a million times, but funny enough only from you—”

“Many people have said so! Y/N thinks so!” Osamu yells, running his hands through his hair in a way he thinks is attractive.

“She doesn’t count—”

You wish they would both calm down and shut up.

This goes on for a while, and then it skirts the line of too long when you feel a headache coming on. You look, pleading, at Miwa, who just looks amused at the whole thing. Miwa mouths, what do you want me to do? and you glare and gesture for her to stop this.

Miwa exhales deeply, before rolling her shoulders and getting in between Osamu and Suna and pulling both their ears.

“Ow!” “Ouch!” They both turn to Miwa with glares, but Miwa doesn’t even flinch, which is comical considering how short they make her look. “Can we go eat? Can you guys argue by yourselves later? We’re all hungry.”

You cautiously sidle up to them and say, “We can still get some hotpot and barbecue. One round of meat on me.”

It’s Akaashi who gets them all going, linking his arms with Osamu and Suna and dragging them towards the exit of their apartment complex, “Cheer up everyone. You’re all just hangry. Like what that commercial for a Snickers bar said, you guys are not you when you’re hungry—”

You link your arms with Miwa and their bad moods sizzle away as Akaashi chatters amicably all the way to the restaurant.

Miwa breathes in the cool spring air and sighs happily, “Feels like I haven’t talked to you in a while.”

“Just you wait,” you say, “Once finals season comes, you’ll be so sick of me. But I get what you mean. The five of us hang out often enough, but we haven’t really hung out by ourselves in a while.”

“We should change that,” Miwa says, “Let’s go out just the two of us. Ditch Osamu for once, okay?”

You laugh, “You’re the one with the real actual boyfriend. Which is so unfair, by the way. I was your friend first, and now, you prefer Rin over me.”

“That’s only half true,” Miwa says, “I like you both in different ways. Also, how’s the practice dating thing going? Do you feel like you’re going to do great at the real thing?”

You sigh, looking ahead at where Osamu is, still being dragged by Akaashi along with Suna. They’re up farther ahead than you guys and as long as you aren't yelling, they probably won’t hear your conversation. “It went too well, I think. But I’m planning on stopping it soon. Think it’s time for the real thing.”

Miwa gives you a side-long glance, “Finally. It’s been time for the real thing for a while now. You’re the bravest person I know.”

“That’s not true. You’re braver than me. You got together with Rin, first,” you explain.

Miwa shakes her head, “That’s not brave at all. I only said something because he was being too obvious. I would have to be blind to not know. If I was unsure, I don’t think I would have said something. But you, you’ve always leaped without checking where you were going to land.”

You hum, considering what Miwa had just said, “Maybe I am brave. I think every person in love has to be.”

“And are you?” Miwa asks, “In love, I mean?”

You sigh, “Head over heels, dude.”

And Miwa laughs, bright and twinkling, “Good for you, Y/N. Congrats. You have what all the songs on the radio can’t stop singing about. Finally, you can stop those depressing songs about unrequited love when we go to karaoke.”

“You’re the one who always puts them on!”

And just like that, by the time they’re sitting down, have ordered, and for plates of real meat to get there, the only thing sizzling is the bbq that you’re in charge of cooking.

You’re seated like this: You and Osamu on one side, and then Akaashi, Miwa, and Suna on the other side. There’s something about the smoke going up in the air, the smell of meat, the sound of glasses clinking all around them. Nothing else matters; the stress of the day melts away and what lingers is the promise of something good.

Already, everyone’s anticipating the first batch of meat to be done. Beside you, Osamu peers over the grill, chopsticks attempting to grab one for himself, “I think it’s ready.”

You block his attempt with tongs, “No, it’s not.”

Suna snickers, and Osamu sticks his tongue out at him. You’re the youngest between the three of you, but sometimes, you feel like you’re the oldest. How can two adults turn into children when they’re with each other?

You busy yourself with cutting the meat into smaller pieces, then pushing it to the side to make room for the intestines Osamu ordered too.

“Y/N,” Akaashi calls out to you, and you hum in acknowledgement, “What’s up, Keiji?”

“How do you know when the meat is done cooking?”

You look up and smile, “Well, I just follow my heart.”

Akaashi uncharacteristically lets out a small whine, and god, he shouldn’t be allowed to be this cute. You laugh, “I’m kidding, okay, look,” You use the tongs to pick up a piece that’s a moment away from looking done, “typically, you just have to wait until it looks golden and crispy on both sides. So this one, one side’s done already and this side, probably just needs another minute or two.”

Akaashi nods, “I see, I see. I never know when it’s done. Miwa just says it’s better if it’s burnt than not cooked enough.”

You laugh, turning to Osamu and putting a hand on his shoulder, “Samu says the same thing. I’m not a fan of burnt meat, so I always have to cook when we go out.”

Osamu tilts his head, so it’s resting on your hand. He chimes in too, “It’s the only time I’ve ever seen her cook.”

“I cook ramen all the time,” you roll your eyes, snatching your hand back, “As if you cook for us all the time!”

“That’s cause I’m too tired to cook for you,” Osamu says, rolling his neck slowly and sighing when he hears it crack, “In between all my classes and assignments, take-out is the most pleasing option.”

“I heard you’re really good, Osamu-san!” Akaashi exclaims excitedly. “I’m friends with some of the people in your class and a lot of them are in awe of how hard you work.”

Hard work is an understatement, you think but keep to yourself. Osamu will certainly speak for himself, anyway. Like so: Osamu scratches the back of his head, but the compliment makes him look like a pleased little cat, eyes disappearing into slits and mouth curving into a satisfied smile, “Thank you for the compliment! I work hard so I think I’m pretty good too.”

Akaashi laughs at the lack of denial, “Wow, you don’t hear that often. Usually, people deny and say they’re not that good.”

Osamu shrugs, “It’s good to be confident? Like I’m not saying that I’m the best right? There’s always room for improvement.”

“Oh?” Akaashi slyly looks at you as he asks, “Are you a scary perfectionist too?”

“No?” Osamu asks, glancing at you too, “Is Y/N still that scary in class?”

“No, I’m not,” you snort, transferring the cooked pieces of pork belly onto Akaashi’s plate, so he would shut up. “Be quiet.”

At hearing his favourite person about to be bullied, Suna zeroes in on the conversation, “She is scary. When she’s mad, she bites.”

Miwa beside him gasps, eyes comically wide, “Our cute little Y/N? It’s always the innocent looking ones who are truly hiding something.”

“Stop,” you whine, “I am literally the kindest person you know.”

Miwa shakes her head, “Kind people don’t have to say that they’re kind.”

Suna also adds, “Also, Akaashi is the kindest person I know.”

“I can’t believe you guys are bullying me when I’m slaving over the grill for you all,” you complain, although you don't falter in transferring the cooked pieces to people’s plates. You snort when everybody shuts up and starts eating. Your friend group is all the same. Nobody talks when they’re eating. You get started on a different cut of meat right away, adjusting it to sit more closely to the middle of the grill.

Osamu reaches out and rubs your shoulder, “You should eat first. It’s not going to burn if you leave it alone for like five minutes to eat.”

You look at him and then at your own plate, “Oh, I forgot to leave some for myself. It’s okay, I’ll just wait for this next batch to finish.”

You get this way sometimes; when you’re too focused on something, you forget your own surroundings and even yourself. Oh well, you can eat some side dishes in the meantime. But when you look over at your plate, you see a couple of pieces of the pork belly on your plate.

You turn to Osamu, but whatever you were going to say disappears at the sight of Osamu making a wrap for himself — on the palm of his hand sits a lettuce leaf and he’s piling rice upon meat upon sauce. You can’t help but wonder how in the world Osamu is going to fit all of that in his mouth. Sometimes, as weird as it sounds, watching Osamu eat can be so entertaining. The man could simply make two smaller wraps and eat the same amount, but that would just be too easy. You watche with morbid curiosity as he finally tucks everything inside to close the wrap. But instead of putting it in his mouth, he turns to you and says, “Say ah—”

“Samu,” you eye the wrap with horror, “No.”

“But Y/N,” Osamu pouts, pushing the wrap closer to you, “I made it for you. With love.”

You cover your mouth, “Samu, you made that for yourself. Do you want me dead?”

In front of you, Suna hurriedly makes a wrap too, before turning to Miwa, “Miwa, say ahh—”

Miwa turns red, glancing at you and Osamu, before shyly opening her mouth and eating the wrap Suna made for her. It would have been cute if it didn’t make Osamu even more determined to feed you. To make matters worse, Akaashi also hurriedly makes a wrap and cutely says, “Rin-chan, say ahh,” and shamelessly, Suna opens his mouth to eat it.

You’re being ganged up on. AGAIN.

Osamu presses the wrap against your closed mouth and says in a cutesy voice, “Baby, say ahh—”

And you have no choice but to do it, though let the record show you’re doing it out of spite. If you choke and die before you can tell Osamu you love him, then that’s on everybody on this damn table. You open your mouth and by some miracle, the wrap actually fits inside — albeit it makes you look like an extra for the Alvin and the Chipmunks live action movie.

Everyone at the table cheers, while you carefully chew through it. You feel like five years have passed by the time you manage to swallow the whole thing. Immediately, you down your cup of water, glaring at Osamu, who was happily eating his way through the meat you’d placed on his plate earlier.

“Stop watching me eat, sicko,” Osamu says, without looking at you. “This is why you’re gonna run out of food again.”

You huff turning back to your plate, “I’m not watching you eat. I was glaring at you, there’s a difference.”

Osamu rolls his eyes, “You’re so obsessed with me.” And then he stands up and checks on the meat, “I’ll do this next round, so just eat. The food tastes better when everyone is happy.”

You sniff, “I see your secret motive. Teasing me like this when you really want me to just sit down and eat. I see you, Samu. My heart is touched. I didn’t realise you could be this warm—”

Osamu pretends he doesn’t hear it, but you can see his ears are red. He can dish it out, but he can never take it. Since you’re in a good mood today, you’ll let him live for now. But it won’t stop you from looking like a pleased little cat as you eat your food.

When it’s time to order their next batch of meats to grill, Akaashi eyes the menu and asks, “Do you think we can get some shrimp?”

“I want shrimp too,” Suna’s eyes widen in excitement, but then he deflates, “But we shouldn’t. Y/N can’t eat shrimp.”

“Also, this is a meat restaurant,” Osamu pipes up, as his hand reaches for yours under the table, “it’s probably more worth it to get seafood some other time.”

Osamu smiles comfortingly atyou, and you’re touched once again at how Osamu is taking care of your feelings. You want to kiss him in front of everybody in this restaurant. You settle for intertwining your fingers under the table. You do feel a little bad though, when Akaashi pouts about the shrimp. You don't really care that much and you’ve got a lot of other things to eat, so you tell him, “It’s fine. Go ahead and order it, as long as you get me a cut of the pork shoulder.”

“Really?” Akaashi says, “It’s really okay.”

But you just nodsand can’t help but laugh when Akaashi cheers. Suna is pleased too, “I see. When Akaashi asks, it’s okay. But all the other times we’ve eaten out and I wanted shrimp, it’s a noooo—”

“Shut up,” you say, shoving a piece of pickled radish into Suna’s mouth. “I’m in a good mood today. Also, I have to be good to the person who’s partnered with me in class.”

“I don’t know about that,” Suna raises a brow, “If they’re being sneaky, I think you have to bully them and teach them a lesson—”

You gasp, “Is that so? Should I tell Samu about how you think he’s a pig for—”

Suna glares at you, shoving a chock full of rice into your mouth, “I never said anything like that, you traitorous fool—”

Osamu looks at peace, not even minding them. It’s just the way you and Suna operate, and he’s learned early on not to interfere, lest he wants both of you to gang up on him instead. In any case, they get settled once more food is brought to the table. Everything looks so vibrant and mouthwatering. It makes you feel so grateful and happy to be here with everyone, even if the original plan was to just have this with Osamu.

Eventually though, this beautiful feast does end and you’re so afraid to look at the bill. You come up to the front of the restaurant where the register is and ask for the tab. You sigh as you pull out your card, thinking about all the shifts you worked at your part time job. Capitalism sucks.

When the restaurant worker hands you the tab, you decide you’re not actually going to look at how much it is. It’s not like it’s going to change anything, so you just put your card down. But just before you hand it back to the worker, somebody grabs it out of your hands. When you turn towards the culprit, you pout, “Osamu, no. This is my treat.”

Osamu shakes his head, pulling out his wallet, “It’s your treat to me only. So, you’re only allowed to pay for the amount that you and I have eaten. I’ll pay for the rest of theirs.”

“But Samuuu,” you whine, “The point is you’re not paying for anything. And tonight was fun, so I can do it.”

“Don’t worry,” Osamu smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you towards him. “I’m sending Suna a big fat bill for it. It’s too much money for you to shoulder by yourself.”

“Okay,” you sigh with resignation, but you’re rewarded for it with a kiss on your nose. You blink up at Osamu who laughs at your expression, “You’re being very cute today. Why is that?”

“I’m always this cute,” you say, throwing a peace sign up to your face.

You get your cards back from the register and you sign it both, pocketing their respective receipts. Your three other friends are waiting for you guys outside.

Miwa perks up when she sees you walking out of the restaurant, “Did you guys want to grab dessert? Just something small to balance the savoury meal we’ve just had.”

You’re honestly way too full for it, but you want the good vibes to continue, so you nod. “Sure, I’m down,” and the rest follow suit.

This time, Miwa leads the way, with Osamu walking beside Suna. Naturally, you and Akaashi fall right into step with each other. Akaashi lightly bumps his shoulders against yours, “You look really happy today. Did something happen?”

You smile, “Everybody has been commenting on that. Is it that obvious?”

Akaashi shrugs, “You just seem less worried in general. At ease?”

“Yeah, that’s actually pretty true,” you agree, “You know how I asked you for that one thing that one time?”

“Huh?” Akaashi looks at you with confusion, “Can you be more specific?”

“That thing,” you say, puckering your mouth, “You know? Remember?”

“Oh!” Akaashi laughs, “It’s related to that?”

“Yeah, I’ve found the answer I was searching for.” you say, staring at Osamu’s back. “Finally admitted it to myself.”

Akaashi follows your stare, “Ah, I see, I see.”

“Turns out, kissing someone you love just makes the whole experience better,” you whisper, and Akaashi snorts, “I could have told you that myself.”

“Yeah, but I was in denial then,” you admit, “What about you? What are you going to do about your special first kiss?”

Akaashi flushes, his eyes shifting to where Miwa is leading the group, and you immediately understand, looping your arms with his. “Say no more, Keiji. Say no more.”

There is no one that understands more than you, the need to touch just to see if it would burn. You’ll be there for Akaashi when he figures his own stuff out. Akaashi lightly bumps his head against yours in thanks for not saying anything more, and you do him a solid by changing the topic to your project instead.

Eventually, they arrive at an ice cream shop, one that Suna, Miwa, and Akaashi clearly frequent a lot, by the way the workers greets them with familiarity. You were just going to steal some from Suna’s order but decide against it when you see what flavours he got. You figure you’ll be able to eat at least a kid’s size, so you get that with a single scoop of chocolate ice cream.

You don't regret it when you get your order and take a delicious bite off it. You let out a pleased hum, shivering in delight at the rich, decadent flavour that hits your tongue. You can’t help but do a little dance, as you walk back to their apartment.

Osamu laughs at you, “You’re really in a good mood, huh?”

You jokingly turn your nose up when you see Osamu’s ice cream of choice, “It’s what happens when you get the superior ice cream flavour.”

“I know that’s not true, because you’re not eating mint chocolate chip,” Osamu says, “But I’m happy for you. What’s the cause of this good mood, huh?”

You eye the way Osamu takes a spoonful of his mint chocolate chip ice cream into his mouth before flickering back up with a smile, “That’s a secret. I can’t tell you yet.”

“Why not?” Osamu pouts, “Is it that important?”

You go back to eating your own ice cream, “It’s the most important thing to me right now. I’ll tell you soon enough.”

“When?” Osamu whines, “I bet Suna knows already.”

You roll your eyes, “Suna knows things before I even find out about it. Also, I don’t know? Maybe, I’ll tell you… tomorrow?”

“Ugh,” Osamu says, grabbing another spoonful of ice cream, “Fine. I’ll hold you to that, but now, I’m really curious.”

You laugh, but you’re distracted by the way Osamu slowly drags the spoon clean of ice cream from his mouth, like he’s really savouring the taste. “I’m curious too.”

“Hm?” Osamu turns to you confused.

You bite your lip, gesturing to the ice cream in Osamu’s hands, “What makes that ice cream so good to you?”

Osamu rolls his eyes, taking a spoonful for you to taste and bringing it to your mouth, “Here, you should’ve just said you wanted a bite.”

You open your mouth and close it around the spoon, feeling the strong creamy mint taste hit your tongue. You look into Osamu’s eyes as he slowly pulls his spoon out of your mouth. You watch the way Osamu follows the movement of your lips, especially the way you wipe it clean of any ice cream with your tongue.

“It’s less appalling than usual,” you say. You wonder if it’s because of the ice cream or the fact the spoon had been in Osamu’s mouth before.

Osamu just eats another bite of his ice cream, keeping the spoon in his mouth, as he gives you a small distracted laugh. You wonder what he’s savouring this time, if it’s the ice cream or the fact that it’s been in your mouth.

One thing’s for sure: you’re savouring all of this, this precious in between, this slow lead up to the first confession of your life.

Today is going to be cinematically beautiful.

You should go ahead and mark it on your calendar, because today is the day you’re telling Osamu you love him.

You have a set idea of how you want it to go; you’re going to ask him to meet you at your dorm, where you’re going to set up a feast consisting of all the food Osamu likes to eat. It’s a terribly long list, but you’ve narrowed it down to his top picks which are ramen and onigiri. You’re also planning to get him some essential side dishes like rice and miso, his favourite drink, and maybe some macarons for dessert. It seems overkill, but it’s so essential to you that Osamu eats well. Because a full Osamu is a happy Osamu.

After you finish eating, you’ll bring up the practice dating contract. You want to thank him for helping you with it, but also, you’ll need to tell him that you don't need to practice dating anymore. You’re ready for the real thing and you want it with him. Because you love him.

Before you can get there though, you need to get everything set up. Plus, you still have to do your routine visit to Osamu’s library sessions where you bring him snacks. It’s something that you had started doing because of the practice dating contract, but it made him happy enough that you just kept doing it. Besides, it’s a nice excuse to see him even for a little while. Another one of your favourite past times is watching him in his element.

Anyway, you don't get too many snacks this time. It’s one of the few days where Osamu finishes up early because of his longer class schedule, and he has a large feast waiting for him anyway. You simply pick up an energy drink and a couple packs of kit kats, and then you’re on your way to see him.

You walk with your bag of snacks and a brightness that turns the whole world golden. It’s the way the light filters through the little spaces between every tree’s leafy branches, creating little pockets of brightness. It’s the shyness of these same trees, their crowns of leaves stopping just a breath away from another, creating skylit gaps in the sky. The beauty of the world turns your heart tender, as if the world is holding it in its hands and cheering it on as it takes its first flight. Spread your angel wings, little bird.

You arrive soon enough to the library and you barely have to think as you make your way to the area where all the individual rooms are located. When you get to his usual room, you’ve surprisingly arrived at a time where they’re actually having a break. Guess you won’t have to worry about interrupting today.

You knock on the door and peek through the little window to signal your arrival. Osamu doesn’t notice you at first, but one of the other third years, Iwaizumi Hajime, sees you and waves at you to come in. He’s seen you enough times to know who you’re here for, so he yells at Osamu, “Hey Samu, someone’s here for you.”

Osamu perks up, turning immediately where you’re standing. You make a cute little heart with your hands as he gets up and walks towards you. Osamu grabs you by the arm and brings you out of the room, back into an empty hallway. You don't know why he does that, but it works out well enough for you, especially with what you want to ask him.

“Hi, Samu,” you smile up at him, “I didn’t get you much today, but I hope you like it.”

Osamu takes the plastic bag from you and peers into it, “Oooh, that’s okay. You know I like whatever you bring.”

“Classic human incinerator, Miya Osamu,” you tease and Osamu jokingly glares at you, hands creeping up your waist and pressing them where you’re ticklish.

“Hey, no, I was just kidding—” you say, trying to shy away from Osamu’s hands, but find that you’re backed up against the wall and you have no choice but to be under the mercy of the tickle monster, Miya Osamu.

You giggle, as your side gets poked. He smugly says, “Take that back! Who are you calling a human incinerator?”

“No one—” you barely get out before twisting in laughter, “No one! I only know Smart King, Miya Osamu, stop it—”

You manage to grab ahold of his hand, gripping them tight between your bodies. Osamu triumphantly smiles, “This is why you respect your elders, Y/N. This is what happens—”

“Ooh, I’m so scared,” you exaggeratedly shiver in fear.

Osamu thankfully just rolls his eyes, too used to your disrespectful behaviour. “What are we doing for dinner tonight? I’ve been thinking about it since lunch when Suna told me he’s going on a date instead.”

You gasp, “We’ve been ditched again? What happened to putting your homies first? I won’t forgive him for this.”

“I know,” Osamu says, conspiratorially, “He gets a girlfriend and he barely remembers his best friends. It really shows us what kind of person he’s become. He’s changed, he’s not the old Suna we’ve known—”

You laugh and Osamu can’t help but laugh too. You figure now is a good time to ask him about tonight, “Seriously, though. For dinner, do you want to come have it at my place then? I’ll take care of the food.”

“You will?” Osamu asks, “What’s gotten into you? The wallet is being opened so much lately. Remember when all you did was leech from us?”

“I was not that bad!” you deny, rolling your eyes, “But anyway, will you come over then? Please? I need to tell you what you were asking about the other day.”

“Yeah, I’ll come over,” Osamu says with curiosity in his eyes, “Do you mean the cause of your very good mood the other day?”

You nod, “Yeah!” and he reaches up to brush the hair out of your eyes, a soft smile on his face, “Okay, I look forward to it then.”

“Okay,” you say, “I’ll see you later then?”

“Yeah,” Osamu breathes out. You make an awkward gesture with your hands, pointing to the direction of the exit, but you don't really move from your spot. Osamu doesn’t either.

“I’m gonna go then,” you say, still not moving, and Osamu just nods, “Okay, goodbye.”

You pout, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What,” Osamu says, blankly, “You want a hug goodbye?”

You roll your eyes, but you’re not going to fall into his trap, “Nah, nevermind. I’ll see you later.”

You finally make a move to leave and Osamu pulls you back as he bursts out laughing, “Ah, come on, stop being cute. I’m just teasing. Come here, baby. I’ll give you the kiss you want.”

“I’m fine,” you say, but it’s no use, he gives you a big smooch on your cheek. “You’re so gross!” you say, wiping your face. “I’m going home.”

“No, where’s my kiss?” Osamu says, puckering his mouth. “Hmm?”

You glare at him, but you know Osamu won’t let you leave without a kiss goodbye. You hate yourself for finding his antics cute. You hate how you don't hate it all. You petulantly give him a quick peck on the lips, “There!”

“Worst kiss ever!” Osamu complains, “I can’t believe I have to show you properly how it’s done. Again!”

You tried not to laugh, you really do, but it’s impossible to stay mad at him. Not when Osamu is smiling so happily at you, not when Osamu cups your cheeks, not when Osamu kisses you stupid to the point where you almost say, fuck it, i’m not waiting until tonight to tell him i love u.

But you manage to hold back as Osamu pulls away satisfied once again by the mess he’s caused. “Okay, now you can leave. I’ll see you later.”

You’re left watching him walk back into the study room with your heart in your mouth.

You dazedly walk out of the building, with your brain trying to restart, and when you’ve calmed down enough, you realise that you’ve forgotten to ask him what time you can expect him to be done with practice. You figure you can just text him for that answer, but at the same time, you’re close enough to go back and just ask.

You roll your eyes, knowing Osamu is going to make some joke about how you just can’t get enough of him. She wants me so bad, Osamu would say. He’s right, but he shouldn’t say it.

You do hurry back to their study room though, in hopes that their break hasn’t ended. To your luck, it looks like they were all still lounging around and the door was left wide open to let some air in. You’re about to knock on the door again, but pause when you hear your name being spoken by one of his friends.

“Y/N is too nice. How come she brings you food all the time?” The voice is one he can recognize, a popular student named Oikawa Tooru. “Can she bring enough snacks for the whole team next time?”

There’s laughter to be heard at that. You hear another person chime in, this time it’s a teasing voice from one you recognize as Kuroo Tetsurou. “That’s cause Y/N is his girlfriend, Tooru. Why don’t you get your own girlfriend to feed us, huh?”

You blush at the comment, stepping closer to the wall to hide yourself lest you’re seen eavesdropping. Oikawa says something, but you miss it. You do hear Osamu’s response, “Oh my god, she is not my girlfriend.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Kuroo pipes up, “I’ve seen you guys at parties and you guys are always together.”

Another person comments, “I haven’t seen you go on a date this whole semester either. Oh… are you, like, working your way up to asking her out—”

“No—” Osamu denies, but another continues, “Because I would hurry. I have a couple friends who were talking about her, wondering if she was single.”

“Shut up, it’s not like that between us. But also, which friends of yours?” you hear Osamu ask.

“Why, why, why?” Kuroo teases, “If you’re not dating and not interested, then why are you so curious?”

Osamu scoffs, “Because she’s my friend? And a younger one at that. I have a responsibility to take care of her, she’s like my little sister. Now, tell me, so I can vet them—”

“No, thanks. I’m no snitch.” The unnamed person says.

You listen to all of this, feeling like you’re sinking into a dream. You hear the words, you’re processing them, and you know the meaning of all the words separately but you’re having a hard time putting them all together. It’s like Osamu is speaking in a language you don't understand. This is a dream.

And just like in any old dream, you feel like you’re moving to the tune of an invisible maestro. You want to leave, you want to wake up, but you can’t move. The music is not done.

You hear Oikawa speak again, “So what you’re saying is you’re single? Dude, you should have told me! I’ve been telling people you were dating somebody. They’ve been asking me to set them up with you.”

You hear a bunch of jeers at that comment. You feel like they’re personally directed at you. Your heart tightens in your chest and you wonder what’s next. Osamu speaks again, “I can’t date right now though. I’m… tied up with somebody else right now and not really sure when it’s going to be done.”

“Look at him making excuses,” Oikawa laughs, “I’m giving them your number anyway. I’m sick of being a middle man. I’m telling them you’re single but waiting to mingle—”

You hear someone groan at the comment, but you barely hear whatever is said after. Your heart is pounding hard in your chest and you try to swallow the lump welling at your throat. You need to get out. You need to leave before you hear any more of this.

You hear footsteps at the other end of the hallway and the sudden possibility of being recognized by someone brings you to a panic, and finally then can your body move. You walk, almost like you’re possessed by somebody else, out of that building, with your head down. You can’t afford to be seen. You can’t.

The only thing that is running through your mind right now is that you have to get home immediately. You pray nobody talks to you, nobody touches you accidentally, and that nobody gets in your way. And thankfully, nobody did. You barely remember that walk home; your whole body was united in its effort to walk as fast as you could. But there isn’t even relief when you reach your apartment door and you don't even notice that your hands are trembling until you fish your keys out of your pocket to unlock it.

It takes you several pathetic tries and almost break down when you drop your keys to the floor. When you finally get it right, you throw yourself inside the apartment, lock the door closed and sink down to the floor.

The floor is hard and cold and when you lay your forehead against it, it feels very much real. This isn’t a dream. As your mind replays the words you weren't meant to hear, you conclude pitifully that perhaps the last few months was the dream. And now you are awake.

How could Osamu say that?

How could Osamu kiss you the way he did and moments later say that?

You can’t unhear it no matter what you do.

I have to take care of her. She’s like my little sister. Osamu had said. Even wanted to take a look at the people who were interested in you to vet them. And then, he had said he was tied up with somebody and cited that as the reason he couldn’t date.

It doesn’t make any fucking sense.

You had explicitly asked Osamu about ending it and he made it sound like he was shackled to you. All because of a crumpled up piece of paper organized by a pre-law student. He had said that he would tell you if he wanted out at any time. And he didn’t. Instead, he’d let you hold his hand, share his bed, and mark his neck all in the name of taking care of him. He is so fucking kind.

It fills you with a wicked sense of fiery rage with barely no outlet to release it to. It’s eating you up from the inside. You’ve been burning since the moment you stood frozen outside of that room.

You’re so angry you feel tears well up in your eyes and once the first tear falls, it doesn’t stop coming. The ocean of your desire has become a storm of your anguish, and all you can think about is how foolish you had been the past few days. How you were planning on telling Osamu you love him tonight. You wonder how that would have gone if you hadn’t heard Osamu’s answer prior.

In your mind, you had imagined being able to finally hold Osamu’s hand proudly in front of all your friends. How you wouldn’t have to kiss behind closed doors or away from the prying eyes of everyone else. You wouldn’t have to keep tackily adding the word ‘practice’ in front of ‘boyfriend.’

You had foolishly thought Osamu would be yours.

And that’s what actually hurts the most, isn’t it? Underneath all this rage and resentment is this percolating hurt. That’s the problem when you open your heart, you leave it vulnerable to the viciousness of the world. And it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

What do you do when the fire runs out of fodder to burn and you have to feel the entire pain from the open wound you’re bleeding from?

There’s just too much of it.

You barely hear your phone beep and you have half a mind to ignore it, when you suddenly remember how you had told Osamu to come over for dinner. You use the sleeve of your cardigan to wipe your tears and get up to sit on your knees, as you pull your phone from your pocket.

It’s a text from Osamu asking you what time he should come over.

You reply to it with a detachment you didn’t know you were capable of.

Sorry, Osamu. Something came up. Let’s do this another time.

You switch your phone off. There’s not going to be another time.

You get up and sink to your bed. You don’t even bother getting under your duvet. You just lie there, cheek pressed against your pillow, and try not to think of the last time Osamu had been here. You fail miserably and you cry again and again and again.

There is nothing beautiful about this, you think as you drown in your own resentment. (Resentment for who?) All the songs and movies that package a broken heart into something palatable are liars.

What’s beautiful about a flightless bird?

You wake up to bright sunlight shining on your face and an emptiness you don't know how to grasp. But still you grasp; it’s like getting your teeth pulled, not the before where it is all hummingbird anxiety, not the during where you’re knocked out and being pried open, but the after, when you wake up with barely any feeling in your body and all you have is the hazy knowledge that you’ve lost something

But you didn’t lose anything, not really. To lose something you must have had it first, and you’ve never had Osamu.

Distantly, you remember how you didn’t even eat anything last night. How are you not hungry? You didn’t wash up either, for you were still wearing yesterday’s clothes. You feel that maybe you should take a shower and warm up your body. You should probably get something to eat, however small. Anything to get rid of this dreadful emptiness.

So you get up, for what else are you to do. You go to your closet and try to find something to wear. Something as mindless as this should not be this difficult, but it is. You don't want to wear anything that reminds you of Osamu, don't want him close. You know that it’s impossible because Osamu lives inside your heart, but you allow yourself to pretend for a while.

You eventually find a sweatshirt that Suna had bought you once upon a time. It’s soft, you think as you bring it up to your cheek. You haven't worn it in months. You want to go back to the person you were, the one who last wore it.

You shower with water a touch too hot and think of nothing, but the way your body is turning pink all over. You get dressed, take your phone, wallet, and keys, and step out into the world. Everything looks as it was yesterday, and you feel betrayed by it. How can the world look unchanged when you feel like you’ve been chewed and spit out?

You walk to the small stall just down the street that you live on. You buy a freshly made sandwich from the man who runs it. You decide against walking back to your apartment, it feels like a graveyard in there. Instead, you walk to a nearby park. You sit on an empty bench, quietly unwrap your sandwich and take a bite. It’s good, but it doesn’t remove the taste of bitterness in your mouth. Why is that?

You finish it after a while and wonder if you should continue sitting there. You don't think you should go to any of your classes today. It would be a waste of time, since you’ll most likely absorb nothing. You don't think you have it in you to pretend that nothing’s wrong in front of so many people. You don't know how you’ll answer anybody’s questions of are you okays or what’s wrongs. Yes, you think, I’ll just lay in bed today. Sink against the sheets. Play some music and close my eyes.

So, you do. You spend hours listening to mono. on repeat. You watch the sky turn from light to dark, count the amount of airplanes you see pass by. When that has lost its appeal, you finally turn your phone on and hold your breath. You’ve been ignoring it all day.

There’s several missed calls and numerous text messages. Some are from Osamu, but there’s a bunch of ones from Suna too. One from Miwa. One from Akaashi. None show too much concern, which is good. You don't want any of them to think anything is wrong. You aren't ready for them to see your wound. You want it to fester a little bit more before you show it.

You send a general message to the group chat instead: busy!! i’ll see you guys soon.

Your response causes chaos in the chat and you’re bombarded with messages. You skim through them, and one message catches your eye. It’s Miwa asking if you’re still coming to the party tomorrow night.

You think about what would be the best for you. What would Suna want you to do? He probably wants you to cry it all out. He’d tell you to spill your heart out to him. He’d say, I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Y/N. And then, you would start crying harder and Suna would hug you to sleep until you had no tears left to cry.

But you don't want what’s good for you. You weren't given this body to eat vegetables, lightly seasoned. You weren't given a heart that only wants what’s allowed. Flightless bird who jumps when it can’t fly.

You wonder if that’s why Osamu can’t love you the way you want to be loved. You always had your eyes on beautiful, perfect things.

It doesn’t matter. You can’t change who you are.

You tell Miwa you’ll see them there.

You arrive at the party alone.

It’s in full swing as it usually is when you arrive. The music blasts loudly with some hit song that you’ve heard playing in a convenience store. It’s so loud you can feel the bass like it’s a heartbeat inside of you.

It might have been annoying in normal circumstances, but to you who’s piss drunk, it doesn’t matter. You welcome it and think deciding to go to this party is the best decision you’ve made all week. No matter that drank by yourself to pregame it. Vodka is your new best friend.

You move your body to the music, swaying lightly as you make your way to where people are dancing. Your friends are most likely not there, so you feel confident as you join the mass of bodies. Here you are no one. You’re just another body dancing to the beat.

You spend however long dancing. You don't know how long. You’re not keeping track of the time. Maybe three songs? Four songs? It doesn’t matter, you’re having a good time.

This good time is only interrupted when you suddenly feel a hand on your waist and you nearly jump out of your skin, heart caught in your throat. When you turn to see who it is, you’re so relieved you drop your head against this person’s shoulder, “Shoyo, you have to stop greeting me like this.”

“Y/N,” Hinata shakes his head, “I wouldn’t have to if you’d just greet me first. You came late again.”

You shrug, “I was busy, but that’s not important. Aren’t you glad I’m here?”

“I am,” Hinata snorts, spinning you around so you’re facing each other instead. “We need to stop seeing each other at parties, by the way. Hang out with me properly for once.”

“I will,” you pout, “Now stop nagging. It’s not a good look for you.”

Hinata loops his hands behind your neck, “Fine. By the way, you need to start telling people when you plan on arriving. I don’t know why people think I keep track of your schedule, but every time they ask me if I knew where you were—”

“Tell them to get lost,” you say, closing his eyes and getting lost in the music, “I arrive when I arrive. I’m unpredictable, unknowable—”

Hinata scoffs, “No offense, but I’m not telling Osamu-san that. He’s scary looking.”

You freeze, opening your eyes in concern, “He’s looking for me?”

“Yes…” Hinata says with a frown, “Are you avoiding him?”

You look away, “I’m not. I just don’t want to see him.”

Hinata pulls you closer and brings his mouth close to your ear, “If you’re avoiding him, then you need to do a better job at hiding. He’s busy talking to somebody right now, but he was standing by the door earlier. It looked like he was waiting for you.”

It takes all of your willpower to not look around for him. It’s a good exercise. You’ll need to be good at it in the future. You scoff, “Good luck to him. Let him try coming to me.”

Hinata looks at you worried, “Y/N, is everything okay?”

“No, Shoyo. It’s not,” you sigh, the beginning of annoyance growing within you, “I don’t want to talk about it. I came here to forget and have a good time. Are you going to join me or not?”

Hinata sighs, and you smile prettily at him. There’s a reason why he’s your favorite partner in crime. “Alright,” Hinata says, “We’ll have a good time. How much have you drank already? Do you need more shots?”

You cheer, “I’ve drank...not enough. Let’s do shots.”

And so you do shot. You do enough that your throat doesn’t even burn anymore when you knock one back. The room is spinning a little bit, but you feel so loose, so free. Hinata is giggling against your shoulder and you don't even remember why. You don't remember anything.

At some point, a song you both like starts blasting on the speakers and you can’t help it. The dance floor is calling you. You tell him to twirl you so that the room stops spinning. Hinata tells you that you need to start drinking water, because you’re not making sense anymore. He twirls you anyway.

But it’s the worst idea in the world, because he accidentally lets go of your hand and you spin out of orbit and accidentally bump into somebody else. You almost fall to the floor if not for the stranger’s kind arms.

You giggle, trying to steady yourself by holding onto their shoulders, “Oopsies, sorry, I’ve drank just a little bit too much—”

“It’s okay,” The stranger says in a voice too familiar. It has you freezing. You know this voice, would know it with your eyes closed, can pinpoint where it comes from even when it’s placed in a chorus of a thousand voices. You don't need to look up to know who it is. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

You push his hands off you, “I told you I was busy.”

“I know. That’s what you texted. Two days ago.” Osamu says, trying to hold your hands. But you refuse. You don't want to be touched, so you tuck your hands behind your back. When you turn to Hinata, you see that he’s looking at you in panic. You shake your head and give him a smile. He’s done enough.

You stubbornly look at your feet, “So? I’ve been busy.”

Osamu cups your cheek with so much familiarity it opens up a fissure of ache in your heart. “Why won’t you look at me? At least look at me, when you’re trying to lie to my face.”

You breathe, “It’s not a lie. Besides, I don’t need to report everything I do to you.”

“Y/N,” Osamu says with trouble, “Why are you acting like this? You don’t need to report to me. But you can’t just give straight radio silence for almost a full day and expect me not to worry.”

“I’m peachy. I’m feeling so fantastic. There is no need to worry,” you say, like you’re reciting lines for a commercial. With all the muster you don't have. You shrug Osamu’s hand off your face, “Anyway, I have to get going. I think I need to drink more—”

“Y/N!” Osamu yells at you with frustration, and your shoulders rise to your ears in panic. People are starting to look. Osamu notices that too, for he softens his voice when he speaks next, pleading, “Just please, look at me when you tell me you’re okay.”

You’ve never heard Osamu sound like this, with so much desperation. You think it’s funny how he wants you to look at him. You have been looking. For months, you’ve looked and look where it got you.

But fine. You know you can’t avoid him forever. You didn’t even try hard enough to do it. If you had a little more self-preservation you wouldn’t have come. You’re well aware of the hold Osamu has on you. Just the sound of his voice is enough to pull you out of the numbness you’ve been swimming in. This voice that lights you on fire. This is the voice that said, I don’t like her like that. She’s like my little sister.

You turns to look at him and fights hard not to be affected by the worry on Osamu’s face. “I’m fine,” You says, heart twisting in his chest, “Is that good enough for you?”

Osamu’s mouth trembles, as his eyes pore over your face. “Baby,” he says, like you’re something precious, like you’re breaking his heart, with all the tenderness in the world in one word. How dare he? “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

You’re shaking, from what you don't know. Anger? Resentment? Hurt? The several shots of alcohol your body probably can’t process because you barely ate today?

“Why do you call me that?” you ask instead. “You’re not my boyfriend. Don’t call me that.”

“I-I,” Osamu stutters, stunned at the question. “I’ve called you that in the past and you’ve never had a problem with it. But if that’s what you want, then fine. I’ll never call you that again.”

“Good,” you breathe out, but it doesn’t feel good at all. This feels like the beginning of a graveyard, and you’re digging graves for things you’ll never get to have again.

But it’s better this way. This thing, whatever it is, was always meant to end. It’s only right that the person who started it is also the person who ends it.

“Okay,” you nod, “If you want to talk, let’s talk. But not here.” you don't need an audience for what you’re about to do. There’s nothing noteworthy here.

You start walking through the throngs of people, not really waiting to see if Osamu follows you. You reach the house’s backyard and are relieved that there’s less people out here. There’s a secluded little spot to the side of the house and you find yourself leaning against the wall to steady yourself. If you had known you were going to confront Osamu tonight, you wouldn’t have drank so much. Or did you drink so much, knowing you were going to do it? You can’t keep track of your own decisions anymore.

You raise your head to look at Osamu, to find him looking at you already. There’s a part of you that knows you can still back out of this. That you don't have to end things this way. There are many ways to take down a house. You don’t have to burn it down. You could casually just tell him you’re done with the practice dating thing and move on.

But you’re not a good enough person to do that. Maybe if you were, you would have been loved.

“You…” Osamu starts, hesitantly, like he can’t find the right word. “you were so happy the last time I saw you. And you were going to tell me what it was.”

You clench your fist at your side and let out a derisive laugh, “I don’t think it’s a cause for happiness anymore. You’d hate to hear it.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Osamu says, earnestly. “If it made you that happy once, then it’s something I’d like to hear about.”

“Trust me,” you smile sardonically, “You won’t.”

“No. Trust me,” Osamu says.

“Can I? Should I?”

Osamu looks at you with such troubled eyes, as if it pains him to hear you ask that., “You can. Y/N, of course you can. You know, I’m always right with you, every step of the way.” He pats his own shoulder, as if to say, you can lean on me, and smiles though it looks frailer than you’ve ever seen it. “I’m your Samu.”

You tilt your head to the side, “Then why didn’t you tell me you’ve been purposefully not dating because of me? Am I that pitiful to you? Did I look like I needed that much help to you?”

“Huh?” Osamu says, utterly confused.

“Do you remember when I said I don’t want to feel like I’m using you? That I’d hate to become a burden to you? And that if you wanted to date you’d let me know?”

“But that hasn’t changed—”

“Don’t lie to me,” you rub your face with your hands, “You wanted me to talk to you. You wanted me to look you in the eye and be honest. Don’t I deserve the same from you?”

Osamu stands his ground though, “But there really isn’t anybody I want to date. What did you hear that makes you think otherwise?”

“The other day when I brought you food… I overheard you say that you couldn’t be set up with somebody right now, because you were tied up with someone to date. That someone is me, right?”

Osamu looks at you like he still can’t understand what the problem is, “Yeah, but you’re making it sound like you’re forcing me to do this. It’s literally fine, because I want to do this—”

“Osamu,” you say, feeling incredulous, “Do you hear yourself? You’re literally preventing yourself from dating because of me. Because of some contract that a pre-law student drew up on a crumpled piece of paper. Why?”

Osamu looks at you in disbelief, “Because you asked for my help? What do I care about some random person who wants to date me? You’re more important to me, so yeah, Y/N. I’m going to prioritize you. Is it so bad that I want to take care of you?”

“I’m not a child,” you spit, “You don’t have to bend over backwards to take care of me.”

“I’m not saying you are. Wanting to take care of you doesn’t mean I don’t think you can take care of yourself. You’re my best friend. You are so, so dear to me. You know that. I’d bend over backwards for you because I want to. Why is that so bad? Suna can do it for you, but I can’t?”

You scoff, “Rin’s different.”

“Yeah,” Osamu says with disdain, “He’s always different.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you bristle.

“Nothing,” Osamu shakes his head, “It’s just that sometimes I wonder why you asked me of all people to practice dating with. You’re clearly more comfortable with him. Maybe that’s what this is. I’m sorry I’m not Suna, let me get him for you—”

You cannot believe what you’re hearing right now, “What the fuck are you going on about?”

“You clearly want nothing to do with me right now,” Osamu says, pitifully. “Maybe you want somebody else to comfort you—”

“I swear to god, Miya Osamu, you are not going to make this about you.” you grab him by his arms, “This is between you and me. Don’t you dare drag somebody else into it.”

Osamu bites his lip, looks at you with wide eyes, and you continue, “You asked me if it’s so bad to want to take care of me. It’s how you’re taking care of me that’s the problem. Let me ask you this: do you think it counts as taking care of me when you kiss me?”

“Y/N… that was practice,” Osamu says, sounding infuriatingly patient, like he’s explaining it to a child.

“The first time sure. Maybe even the second time. Maybe when I asked you to teach me how to give a hickey. But what about all the other times?”

You look at his mouth as you wait for an answer, but you don't think it will come, “What about all the times I slept over? How many times do I need to practice cuddling? Until when should we have kept sleeping with each other? Because at a certain point, I’m not learning how to be a good girlfriend anymore. I’m just practicing how to be yours.”

“Is that the problem then? You… you’re tired of practice dating?” Osamu asks unsurely.

“No, god,” you pull away, wishing you had something to hit, “Samu, what I want is the real thing.”

Osamu’s brows furrow together in confusion, “Then why didn’t you just say so? Why drag me through the mud? Did you want me to end the practice dating myself?”

“You are so fucking—” you nearly scream in frustration, “No, you’re not understanding what I’m saying. I want the real thing with—”

“Go for it then,” Osamu says, exasperated although he’s doing his best to sound kind. “You’d be a good girlfriend and there’s clearly not a shortage of people who want to date you.”

You’ll regret it later, how you say the words like it’s a knife to weild. But what can you do when Osamu just doesn’t understand? He isn’t normally this obtuse, and it hits you that maybe he doesn’t understand because he can’t fathom a world where you’re in love with him. In Osamu’s world, you’re so clearly boxed in under the label friend that he can kiss you so boldly, hold you so tightly, and care for you this greatly without even thinking it’d mean something more.

The realisation is incredibly devastating that it leaves you grasping for anything that isn’t this overwhelming pain in your chest and use it to anchor yourself. It’s this need to hurt him back, this petty vengeance in the grand scheme of things; it’s the frightened response of the soft animal that’s wounded inside you. You lock on to the kindness on Osamu’s face and immediately hate it. No one should look that kind when they’re breaking your heart. Look mean for small mercies at least.

How do you hurt someone that loves you, but doesn’t love you the way you want them to? How do you hurt someone good and kind?

You can lie and say, i’m okay, i’m fine, but you’re tired of the lying and the secrets. In fairy tales, the magic fades when the clock strikes 12. Here, in the corner of some shitty frat boy’s yard, you just become honest. The truth is the sharpest knife you can yield.

“I can’t,” you say, letting the ache colour your words, and look at him the way an archer aims at a target, “because I’m in love with you.”

It feels so good, watching the emotion ripple through Osamu’s face as he digests your admission. But it only feels good for a moment, especially when he just looks so troubled, like his whole world has tipped on its axis and every memory you’ve had through this practice dating game is being seen in a newer light. Yes, you think, look at how you’ve hurt me.

This is the last thing you’ll let Osamu have and it’s probably the only thing you should have given him. But you aren’t done.

“It had to be you,” you turn soft, fighting hard to keep everything in (the embarrassment, the pain, and most of all the shame) bottled in. But pain, just like the rain, refuses to be held back. “I’m hurt by the way you treat me because you love me so well, but not the way I want to be loved. You are looking at me, but not seeing me. Just once,” your voice breaks, “I thought I should like to feel how it’d be like to have you.”

“And you were so good,” you smile, watery, “I’d started believing it was real. But it’s clearly not—”

You watch as Osamu struggles with what you’ve just said, and it finally hits you that you’ve finally said it out loud. I love you and Osamu can’t say anything, out of what? Horror? Disgust? You can’t take it. Every second of silence is another second that your heart spends trying to jump out of your mouth.

“Let’s not practice anymore. Let’s end this, before I regret you even more.” you press your hand against your chest, right where it hurts, and try to breathe, “I’m going to go home.”

When you try to walk away though, you almost stumble and Osamu goes to you immediately. But you push him away, “Please don’t.”

“Y/N, you can barely walk,” It’s the first thing Osamu says after all of that, and he’s still trying to be your friend, pleading with you and trying to grab ahold of your hands.

You scoff. You won’t let him. You can barely hold your tears at bay, and there’s absolutely no way you won’t break down at Osamu being kind to you right now. And crying in front of Osamu is the last thing you want — you’ve given Osamu your feelings, you’ve made a fool of yourself, but you won’t give him your tears.

If this is what Miwa calls being brave, you don't want it. You want to be a coward. You want to keep your heart whole and locked away. What is the point of receiving all this tenderness when all it does is crack you open?

You sway on your feet and Osamu carefully follows the sway of your body, making sure you don’t topple over. You hate it, you can’t stand it. You can’t breathe under all the pity you know is in Osamu’s gaze. “Samu, please, leave me alone,” you plead, trying to move out of the border that Osamu’s body has made.

“I just want to make sure you get home safe,” Osamu explains, trying to persuade you to stay, but you shake your head. Over Osamu’s shoulder, you see the figure of Akaashi Keiji and nearly sigh in relief.

You push against Osamu’s shoulder and thank your body for being able to move fast despite the alcohol’s influence. You’re fast enough to move past Osamu and straight into Akaashi, who barely holds in a yelp of surprise. “Y/N?”

“Keiji, where is Rin?” you ask, desperately. You see Akaashi look past you, from where Osamu must be standing, before looking back at you.

“Rin is with Miwa, and I don’t know if you want to get in between that…” Akaashi trails off, “What’s wrong? We’ve been trying to reach you for the past two days.”

“Please help me get out of here. Don’t let Samu near me,” you plead, clinging to him like a lifeline, “I told him. I ruined everything, Keiji. I ruined everything, please get me out of here—”

“We can text Rin and Miwa later,” Akaashi brushes a hand against your hair and you nearly cry at his touch. Nothing has felt this safe. “Do you want to come home with me for now?”

You nod but not before looking back to where Osamu was. It’s once again a mistake. He looks beautiful, even in the wreckage of it all. He shouldn’t be allowed to look like that. It’s not fair. It’s not right.

The cold air outside hits you with much needed soberness. The inside of the house was suffocating for a multitude of reasons, and for the first time that night, you felt like you could finally breathe.

Gulps of air, moments of peace - away from Osamu’s orbit.

Akaashi guides you inside a stopped car. It must be an Uber he had ordered while you were trying to anchor yourself to the ground. Your body sags against the plush seat of the car and Akaashi quietly reaches over to put your seatbelt on for you.

This small kindness is enough to break you and before you know it, the tears you had held in for so long just won’t stop falling. “Oh no,” Akaashi whispers, using the sleeve of his jacket to wipe your tears, “Y/N.”

“I’m so stupid,” you sob, “Why did I have to fall for him? It could have been anybody else in the world. Why him? Why?”

“You can’t call yourself stupid for things that are out of your control,” Akaashi holds your hand and squeezes tight.

Your chest feels tight, feeling a physical ache, and you try to massage your chest to ease the pain but it’s persistent. Your first heartbreak and you learn the word isn’t some metaphor. “What’s worse is that I’ve ruined our friendship. I was so ugly to him. I told him I love you and then I told him I regretted him. This is why I’m unlovable, and now, he won’t even want to be my friend—”

But Akaashi is firm, comforting and utterly sincere, “You are not unlovable. If you love him, then he’ll surely forgive you. Do you know how I know that? It’s because you love him that I know he’s kind and good. A pure heart like yours can only love good things.”

Sometimes, when pain is too raw, too fresh, one can mistake it as grief, even when the wound isn’t bone deep. It shouldn’t hurt this much but it does, so much so that the ride home is a blur. Your mind swims and swims in a river of all the future possibilities - where do you go from here? What do you do with all this pain? and you’re tethered only by the seat belt and Akaashi’s hand clasping yours so tight.

You arrive at Akaashi’s apartment, the one he shares with Miwa, and when you look back on this memory years from now, you’ll always be thankful for the way Akaashi holds you through it, up the stairs, and through his apartment. How gently he talks to you and sits you down on the couch, how he pours you a glass of water and murmurs, my mom used to make me drink water when I cried, said you couldn’t do both, and just being there.

By then the alcohol’s hold had lifted and with it came drowsiness like a gift. Akaashi lends you some blankets and his lap as a pillow for your head. You snuggle to him and pat your own hair, “Could you just run your hand through my hair?”

Akaashi complies immediately and it soothes you — you close your eyes and pray for a dreamless sleep.

You don't realise it then either, but Akaashi had even contacted Suna and Miwa. They come back to the apartment together, with worried questions and you hear Akaashi try to shush them, trying to keep you asleep, but it’s no use. The moment you open your eyes, the first thing you see is Suna and his sad eyes and sad mouth.

You don't know how, but you find it in yourself to joke, finger peeking out of the blanket to poke Suna’s cheek, “Why do you look more sad than me? Who broke your heart?”

Suna's mouth trembles, “You’re breaking my heart.”

“Well, stop it. Heartbreak doesn’t look good on you,” you focus on the tiny mole on his cheek, “I’m pretty good at that, breaking hearts.”

Suna grabs your hand and clasps it between his, presses it close to his chest, “Are you okay? I knew there wasn’t something right when you hadn’t answered your phone for hours.”

“I’m not okay. Not at all.” you shake your head, “But it’s nothing I didn’t see coming. I deserve it. I was stupid, reckless, and shameless—”

“No,” Miwa, who you had barely noticed and who had taken a seat on the couch’s arm, right next to Akaashi, denies with such vehemence, “I don’t know what happened in full detail, but I know that it’s not deserved. Sometimes, I wonder if you eat the sun for breakfast, because you shine so bright.”

“Miwa,” you say, eyes beginning to water again, and then Suna just adds to it, “You have a child’s heart and you love so bravely. I adore that about you.”

Akaashi joins in too, “You’re quiet when you’re being kind to me, which is the best type of good. Because then underneath all the teasing, I know you do it because you genuinely care.”

“This is so unfair,” is what you end up saying, as the tears pour like the rain, even when what you mean to say is thank you, “Why can’t you be nice to me like this all the time?”

It makes them all laugh and it hurts to laugh like this in the same way that it’s good to laugh like this. Akaashi suggests you all sleep together on the floor and Miwa takes all of their blankets and pillows and you find himself eventually sandwiched between Akaashi and Suna, with Miwa on Akaashi’s other side. You have your hand on Suna’s chest, while he pats it absentmindedly in the way a mother would to a baby.

You’ve run out of tears for now and you ache at how tenderly you’re being held by everyone like this. And then your mind turns to Osamu, because the last time you were held tenderly like this was with him and because the heart is a hard-headed fool.

You hope your friends are right, that there is something to salvage of you, that not all is lost. In the morning, you’ll sort through the debris. But for tonight, in the arms of your friends, you’ll try to sleep knowing there’s love here too.

And maybe it’s not the love you crave, but it’s enough.

a/n: if you saw the first upload... no you didn't !!! alas i'm still sorry

#now that I can reblog it #ugh it hurts me </3 #i cried sm #it wasn’t even funny #like ugh ✋🏻#crying again..

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