a/n: without further ado, here's a masterlist of all my current works! thank you so much for supporting my work — i'm grateful to have you here. ♡
𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 ➢ multi-chapter. settle in, stay a while!
after school | miya osamu
when your daughter starts kindergarten at the quirky all-girls school across town, you form an alliance with the only other solo parent in her class: hot single dad miya osamu. what ensues is a year's worth of chaos — and a love you didn't think you deserved.
in close quarters | miya atsumu
when college athlete and emotionally repressed frat boy miya atsumu moves into your apartment senior year, your only goal is to make him as comfortable as possible. what ensues is an unlikely friendship — and feelings neither of you expected.
𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐬 ➢ only have a couple minutes?
wish list | suna rintarou
➢ all you wanted was to spend the holidays convincing yourself you didn't need anyone. so when your friends-with-benefits drags you to his parents' house for christmas, you fail. spectacularly.
bokuto's babysitting business | akaashi keiji
➢ the night akaashi plans on proposing to you, he entrusts bokuto to look after your two-year-old son. what could go wrong?
ring by spring | suna rintarou
➢ after your fifth engagement party of the school year, suna grows tired of hearing you complain about your terminally single status. so he decides to ask you out — just to shut you up.
two-steppin' | miya atsumu
➢ half a year into swearing off all men, you get dolled up with your girls to go two-stepping at a local dance hall. the last person you expect to see is the guy who ghosted you two years ago.
pregnancy test | akaashi keiji
➢ you and your boyfriend are no strangers to overthinking — so when your period doesn't arrive on time, you take turns calming each other down.
halloween party | kuroo tetsurō
➢ you never considered yourself a jealous person — that is, until you realize that your cute bumble date is the life of the party.
job interview | kozume kenma
➢ editing video tutorials for a urinalysis company wasn't exactly your dream job. luckily, your former coworker has a solution involving a certain youtube sensation.
grand opening | miya osamu
➢ long-time friend and soon-to-be restaurant owner miya osamu asks you to be the event planner for the single-most important evening of his career. no pressure.
𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬 ➢ small bites. mostly under 1k words.
starface | miya atsumu
➢ when your boyfriend beats himself up over a bad acne flare-up, you come to his aid with your favorite beauty product.
chef special | miya osamu
➢ you convince osamu to let you film a thirst trap tiktok of him cooking at onigiri miya.
wicked margs | bokuto koutaro
➢ chili's viral wicked margaritas have nothing on you. your boyfriend, on the other hand? that's another story.
sexiest man alive | miya atsumu
➢ atsumu is named people's sexiest man alive, much to the confusion of everyone around him.
blemished skin | yamaguchi tadashi
➢ when the lighting in your hotel bathroom leaves you defeated over your blemished skin, your long-term boyfriend is quick to hold you amidst your insecurities.
when osamu tells his five-year-old daughter that the tooth fairy isn't real, he, you, and atsumu team up to do damage control.
part nine of the after school series, a friends-to-lovers AU featuring you, osamu, and the relationship you build solo-parenting two girls in the same kindergarten class.
Osamu was fixing Kina's hair when it happened.
"Daddy — look!" the five-year-old exclaimed from where she sat criss-cross atop the bathroom counter. She leaned forward, pulled her lip down, and wiggled her bottom left incisor with her tongue. "My tooph!"
"I see that, sweetheart," her father chuckled, running a brush through her disastrous bed-head. "It's about to fall out any day now, by the looks of it."
"I can't wait," Kina giggled. She continued to poke and prod at her tooth like Atsumu did bruises that didn't heal right away. "I'm gonna get so much money!"
"Yeah?" Osamu hummed. Half listening to her. Half concerned by the brush now stuck in her hair. "And why's that?"
"Because the tooth fairy will come visit me, silly." Kina rolled her eyes at her father's lack of wherewithal. "When Yui's tooth fell out, the tooth fairy gave her sixteen-thousand yen!"
"Yui's parents must be rich, then," Osamu snorted absentmindedly. Damn. The brush just wouldn't budge. "Sweet of 'em to pretend like the tooth fairy's actually real, though."
At that, Kina grew quiet. So quiet, she didn't even flinch when Osamu finally yanked the brush from her hair. He almost cried out in triumph — that is, until he saw his daughter's pale, horrified face.
"Why would you say that to her?!"
"I dunno!" Osamu panicked, the sound of the late bell ringing sharply overhead. It wasn't often you crossed paths with Osamu during drop-off. But the moment you heard his New Balance sneakers racing toward you in the school parking lot, you knew you were in for an interesting conversation.
"I didn't get much sleep last night, and I was too busy tryin' not to make her go bald — " Osamu ran both hands down his tired face and groaned. "Do ya think she'll even remember what I said?"
"Oh, she'll remember," you chuckled. "I still remember when my father told me Santa Claus wasn't real. I cried the entire Twelve Days of Christmas."
"How do I fix this? What do I need to do?"
"Easy. You do what every well-meaning parent has done in the history of the world," you told him, folding your arms across your business casual. "You lie."
Osamu looked like he would rather eat a spoiled fish. "Really?"
"Really! As much as I want Misa to be a sensible adult, I don't mind stretching the truth every now and again before she gets there."
"Yeah? Like for what?"
"Oh, tons of things — Santa Claus. The tooth fairy. How positively wonderful her father is."
A cocktail of shock, amusement, and retroactive anger flashed across Osamu's eyes.
"Too soon?" you laughed, scratching the back of your head with your manicure. "What I mean to say is...there's no harm in preserving the magic for Kina a little while longer. The world is already shitty as-is. But she doesn't need to know that now."
Osamu's shoulders sank as he considered your words. The fierce protectiveness behind them.
"...fine. I see yer point," he conceded. "How do ya suggest we make it up to her, then?"
"Leave that to me," you reassured him, squeezing his bicep like you did your favorite stress ball. "All I need is some cardstock, a glitter pen, and my good ribbon. None of that cheap shit. Oh! And a little jar to memorialize the tooth."
"Memorialize the tooth? We're not just gonna toss it?"
"Toss it?" You looked as if you'd been slapped. "You mean to tell me that your baby's first tooth doesn't mean anything to you?"
"...yes? No? What on earth am I gonna do with — ya know what? Nevermind." Osamu frowned, recognizing this was an argument he could not win.
Instead, he merely reached out, squeezed your shoulders twice, and said, "I appreciate ya tryin' so hard. I'll take care of the tiny jar."
"Thank you." You smiled at him sweetly, unlocking your car with two sharp beeps. "I'll text you the details later!"
"What on earth are you doing?" Kuroo asked on his way back from the copy room. He blinked back at your assortment of scrapbook paper and glitter pens — the way your posture curved over your desk like a prawn's.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" you retorted, trimming the edges of the fairy illustration you'd licensed off Adobe Stock Images. "I'm crafting."
"...as a stress response?"
You frowned. "I'm decorating a money envelope from the tooth fairy, but I don't want Misa to know it's me."
"Ah." Kuroo pulled over his desk chair and eased into it with a chuckle. "Kiddo finally losing her baby teeth?”
"...no." You busied yourself trying to find a recycling bin. "It's uh...it's Kina, actually."
At that, your co-worker raised his eyebrows.
"Osamu's kid?"
"Yeah.” You shrugged. Briefly explained to him the situation. "She was heartbroken when he told her. I'm just trying to help him out."
"You've been 'helping him out' a lot lately."
Kuroo hooked an ankle over one knee and frowned, although you couldn't take his accusation seriously with those ridiculous socks of his. (Today's pair had a flock of ducks on them. Or were they geese?)
"The bake sale. His kid's school project. A new sign for his restaurant..." When you rolled your eyes, he added, "Don't think I haven't noticed you working on it between meetings!”
"So? I get all my other work done on time!”
"Not the point." Kuroo grinned. "You like him."
"I like a lot of things. Strong coffee, cheap manicures..."
"You like cheap manicures? Romantically? Intimately?"
"Intimately?" you hissed, whipping your head around the office floor. Mercifully, most people were out to lunch. "Are you asking me to report you to HR?"
Kuroo hummed behind his warm stack of copies and leaned back in his chair. You half-wished the cylinder would snap into two.
"When did you realize?"
His question caught you off-guard. Your eyes retreated to your desk. This silly art project that had consumed your entire lunch break.
"...it was the day of Misa's violin recital. I think."
The words, far too vulnerable for your liking, lingered in the air like a bad smell. Your face turned a deep shade of red.
"Why?"
You blew a raspberry. What could you possibly say to that?
“He makes my daughter laugh,” you eventually decided on. "He's there, but he doesn't have to be. He takes every single shitty thing I've ever thought about fatherhood and just...refutes it."
You folded your arms across your chest and glowered. "There. Happy now?"
"...wow.” Kuroo pushed his bottom lip out. “I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said about a man."
You picked up your stack of scrapbook paper and smacked him with it.
"Will you let me craft in peace now?” you begged. “Save the invasive questions for happy hour. Please."
"Whatever you say, Miss Tooth Fairy," Kuroo cackled, easing himself out of his chair and flipping through his stack of papers. "Also, I believe this is yours. I saw it on the printer when I went to make copies."
You took the paper into your hands. Relaxed once you realized what it was.
"Thank you."
"No problem." He waggled his eyebrows before returning to his desk. "I'm holding you to that happy hour, by the way!"
The photo Osamu had taken of Misa at the sculpture garden was a new favorite of yours. It was by no means perfect — his thumb was in the bottom lefthand corner of the shot, and Misa had a bad habit of looking like a stiff Victorian child when photographed.
Regardless, a soft smile worked its way onto your face as you trimmed the photo to size, grabbed a thumbtack, and pinned it above your desk.
You found yourself staring at it the rest of the day.
The day after Kina lost her tooth, you stood outside Osamu's door. Misa on one hip. Pillow and blanket on the other. You'd packed your entire apartment into the overnight bag slung across your shoulders, and you briefly wondered if insurance would cover the chiropractor you now needed after hauling everything up three flights of stairs.
"Oh," you breathed at who answered the door. "I didn't realize you'd be here, too."
Atsumu's lips pulled into an offended frown.
"I know I'm not yer preferred twin, but ya don't need to sound so disappointed." He opened the door wider and hollered, "They're here!"
The smell of spices and freshly cooked rice filled your nose as you entered the apartment and kicked off your shoes. "You here to crash the girls' Tinker Bell marathon?"
"More like raid my fridge!" Osamu huffed from the kitchen. You snorted as Misa wiggled out of your grip and made a beeline for Kina's room. "Work treat ya well this week?"
Your conversation with Kuroo immediately flooded your memory. The tips of your ears turned pink as you found Osamu preparing dinner by the stove.
"Sure," you drawled as you approached. Took a peek at the potatoes, carrots, and chicken he stirred into the rich curry sauce. "Didn't get nearly as much done as I wanted to, though."
"Ya always say that," Osamu drawled. He met your gaze over his shoulder and smiled. "It's Friday. You've earned yer rest."
"I think I've earned three bowls of this delicious curry."
"That, too," he chuckled. His voice dipped beneath the roar of the exhaust hood. "Sorry about Tsumu, by the way. He heard I was makin' dinner and decided to crash."
"No, no! I don't mind. The more the merrier."
And, for a split-second, you meant it. The plan you'd pitched to Osamu was simple: have Misa over for a sleepover. Watch a couple nostalgic movies to set the tone. Swap out Kina's tooth for the money envelope you'd spent at least two hours of company time on, and voilà. Childhood magic restored.
You hadn't considered the fact that you'd basically invited yourself over. In fact, when Osamu texted you that the guest room was all set up and ready to go, you’d nearly evaporated from embarrassment.
Maybe it was better to have another adult in the room.
Across the apartment, the adult-in-question now frowned at the tooth Kina insisted on showing him. Osamu had given her a sample jam jar for her to put it in, and not a second passed without her brandishing it like a championship ring.
"Wow," Atsumu drawled, dark brows pulled into a concerned line. "That's...disgusting."
"Disgusting?" Kina squawked. She turned to your daughter for a second opinion. “Misa, do you think my tooth is disgusting?”
"I..." Your daughter's eyes locked onto yours in a blind panic.
You leaned over Osamu's kitchen counter and smiled. You can be honest.
"...maybe?"
"Maybe?!"
"It is!" Atsumu cried, gesturing to the tooth like it was a severed limb. "It's all bloody and shit!"
"Language!" Osamu ground out.
"You're just jealous the tooth fairy isn't coming to give you money," Kina told Atsumu, cradling the jar to her chest.
"And yer just lucky ya didn't swallow that damn tooth of yours in yer sleep,” her uncle retorted. He leaned in, a grin tugging on the corners of his lips. "Ya know what happens to kids who swallow their teeth in the night?"
Kina stumbled backwards a step, equal parts scared and defiant.
"What?"
"They turn into skeletaurs!" Atsumu cried. Kina's petrified shrieks rattled the apartment as he chased her around the living room, leaving a trail of discarded pillows and couch cushions in their wake.
"Alright, alright! Quit traumatizin' her," Osamu drawled after a while. He balanced a warm plate of food in one hand and yanked Atsumu back by the hood with the other. The athlete wheezed like a harmonica.
"If y'all want dinner and money from the tooth fairy," he warned — tone firm. Eyes sharp. "Then I suggest ya both clean up yer mess and sit the hell down."
They didn't need to be told twice.
Dinner proceeded just as chaotically — Kina demanding everyone apologize to her tooth. Atsumu asking your daughter one judgmental question after another ("Is this really who ya chose to be yer best friend?"). Misa stuffed her cheeks with a spoonful of curry and shrugged, as if she couldn't decide whether to be entertained or overstimulated.
"Is your family always this crazy?" she later asked Osamu during Tinker Bell and the Lost Treasure.
Atsumu and Kina were curled up on the air mattress at the foot of the couch, debating whether he'd be a tinker fairy or a fast-flying one. Meanwhile, Misa was tucked between you and Osamu on the sectional, sharing the blanket he'd warmed up in the dryer.
"Unfortunately," Osamu grumbled. He tossed a handful of movie-butter popcorn into his mouth and asked, "Why? Are they bein' too loud?"
"No!" Misa pursed her lips to one side. "I mean, yes, but...it's just mommy and me at home, so I don't mind."
Your expression crumpled beneath the faint glow of the television. Osamu reached over the back of the couch and squeezed your shoulder with his free hand.
You found yourself reaching for it a moment later. Appreciating its warmth. Quietly asking him not to move.
He didn't.
"Okay team," you stage-whispered in the kitchen later that night. You pinched open the money envelope and held it out to the twins. "Pay up."
Osamu counted eight thousand yen from his worn leather wallet and slid it into the envelope. Atsumu, after some protest ("What? She ain't my kid.”), forked over eight thousand as well. You licked the envelope closed and secured it with a ribbon, the fairyland scenery you'd decoupaged on the front sticking slightly to your fingertips as you worked.
"Will we have to do this whole song-and-dance for the rest of Kina's teeth?" Atsumu grumbled.
"Oh, hush," you said. "Don't you remember how fun it was to lose a tooth as a kid?"
"Not really. All I remember was Samu chasin' me around with floss and the world's largest Nerf gun."
"Yeah..." Osamu rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "That was pretty fun."
The sound of the girls' quiet snores filled the bedroom as you and the twins tiptoed inside — plastic toys scattered across the carpet. An orange nightlight plugged into its socket. Kina had already contorted herself into a position that couldn't have been comfortable, and Misa looked like she belonged in an ancient sarcophagus.
"Why does yer daughter sleep like a corpse?" Osamu murmured, frowning at her supine position.
"At least her foot isn't in anyone's face," you hissed, gesturing to the tiny heel pressed into Misa's cheek. "Can someone please move her?"
Atsumu slid both hands beneath his niece's sleeping frame and tried his best to roll her over. She wouldn't budge.
"I can't."
"You can."
"She's heavy."
"She's five!"
"Oh, for god's sake," Osamu grumbled, gathering his daughter into his arms and lifting her like a sack of flour. "We're fine. The girl sleeps like a goddamn log."
After you and Atsumu replaced Kina's tooth with the money envelope, Osamu practically swaddled her back into the blankets so she wouldn't move. The moment you all crept back outside and closed the door with a soft click, a collective sigh unfurled into the air.
"I never wanna do that again," Atsumu complained, handing Osamu the jar with a shudder. "The hell ya gonna do with a bloody tooth?"
"Dunno," his brother hummed, holding it up to the light. You swore a wistful shadow crossed his eyes in that moment. "Put it in a drawer somewhere?"
Atsumu shook his head before walking away. "Y'all are weird."
You exchanged soft, tired smiles with Osamu outside his daughter's bedroom door.
"Wanna watch a movie?" he suggested, tilting his head in the direction of the living room. "I'm logged in on all of Tsumu's accounts."
You blinked back at the question. "Are you sure? It's getting late."
"It's ten-thirty," Osamu huffed, gently nudging you in the ribs. "When's the last time you've watched a movie that wasn't rated PG?"
The pensive look on your face told him you couldn't remember. Osamu chuckled before padding back towards the couch in his socks.
"Come on," he teased, Atsumu already shoveling another handful of popcorn into his mouth. "The sleepover was yer idea, wasn't it?"
You'd become so fixated on preserving Kina's sense of childhood magic. But as you took in this apartment — the discarded toys on the floor, the leftover curry on the stove, the two grown men already bickering over which genre to watch — you realized her life was already full of it.
The thought made your chest flood with that same swell of emotion Kuroo had accused you of harboring just days before. But before you could fully succumb to it, you instead double-checked Kina's door, tucked your hair behind your ears, and went to go join the twins on the couch.
It would be another twenty minutes before you finally decided on a movie to watch.
when your boyfriend beats himself up over a bad acne flare-up, you come to his aid with your favorite beauty product.
His skin flares up again during his first year on the MSBY Black Jackals.
He always gets them when he's stressed. Those angry, painful red marks that decorate his cheekbones, his temples. He thinks he's grown out of them by now — even has the acne scars and textured skin to prove it — yet there they are again, waltzing back into his life like an old rival with a score to settle.
"Would ya quit bein' so dramatic?" Osamu leans against the doorframe of the bathroom as his brother scrubs his skin with a cocktail of retinoids, creams, and medicated face washes. "Ya look fine."
"Easy for you to say!" Atsumu shoots back, splashing a handful of cold water in his face. "Our social media intern offered to buy me color corrector the other day. I don't even know what that is."
"She probably just wants to make ya look good."
"She might as well have called me a scrub!" The setter rips a disposable towel from the box he panic-ordered off Instagram and yells into it like a child. "I have to pick up Y/N from the airport in three hours. Ya think that's enough time to fix my face?"
"Tsumu," Osamu drawls. He reaches out, yanks the towel from his brother’s hands, and shucks it into the trash bin. "You've been datin' the girl for two years now. If she gave a shit about yer face, you'd know."
"Sure, but..." Atsumu rakes his hair out in frustration. "...most of our relationship’s been over FaceTime. Her shitty wi-fi does my skin a favor."
"Well, how's that sayin' go? It's what's on the inside that counts?" Osamu muses, padding back into the kitchen. He's preparing some type of sandwich, judging by the smell. "I mean, I think yer personality's no better. But she must've seen somethin' in ya."
It takes every ounce of Atsumu's self-restraint not to shuck the box of towels at his brother's head.
Three hours later, you stand outside the arrivals terminal of the airport. Hair tousled from the flight. Fingers drumming against the handle of your carry-on. You'd flown in to support Atsumu for his first game of the postseason, and while you're excited to reunite with him after three months apart, there's always something...nerve-wracking about it. Almost as if you're meeting each other for the first time.
Those nerves subside, however, the moment your boyfriend's Jeep rounds the corner of the terminal.
"You're here!" you exclaim, burying your face into his sweatshirt once he climbs out of the car. "You wouldn't believe the flight I just had. This couple kept arguing beside me, and I'm pretty sure the little kid kicking the back of my seat gave me sciatica, but — wait, why are you wearing all that?"
Atsumu's arms flinch around you at the question. You blink up at his disposable mask, the large hoodie shielding his face from your view.
"I'm...cold?"
"It's the middle of May," you say flatly.
"I dunno." He averts your gaze. "Maybe Sakusa's rubbin' off on me."
"Bullshit," you seethe, squeezing him so hard that he yelps. "I know for a fact you licked the ground as a child. What's going on?"
"Alright, alright!" Atsumu concedes, practically wheezing beneath your iron grip. He taps your shoulder like a defeated UFC fighter and confesses, "If ya want me to be honest...I broke out pretty badly last night, and I don't want ya lookin' at me up close."
"Oh." Your expression softens at his words. The quiet vulnerability beneath them. "Is that all? Tsumu, you know I don't care about that kind of stuff."
"I know, but..." You spot the red hot blush creeping out from underneath his mask. "I wanna look good for ya, ya know?"
Your shoulders sink, a bemused smile tugging at your lips. You gently reach into his hoodie and brush back the hair that's fallen into his eyes.
"You always look good to me, okay?" you reassure him, voice firm. Eyes earnest. "It's impossible for you not to. But if you're looking for a quick skincare hack before your game tomorrow...I might have something that'll help you out."
"…stickers?"
"They're not just stickers, silly." You swat your boyfriend's shoulder in the bathroom. "They're pimple patches! They drain all the fluid from any surface-level breakouts, and they even come in different colors and sizes. See?"
"I dunno, babe," Atsumu murmurs as you peel a yellow star off the sheet with your tweezers and gently apply it along your jawline. "They look awfully cute on you, but...I just don't think I can pull 'em off."
"I think you can pull anything off with the right attitude," you argue, sitting him down on the chair you'd dragged over from the kitchen. "You don't even need to wear them in public if you don't want to. Just try them on overnight and see how you feel."
You push Atsumu's hair back with your fluffy headband and proceed to pamper him for the next twenty minutes — cleansing his textured skin, massaging every nook and cranny with the moisturizer you'd sweet-talked past TSA. Even as you apply a yellow star to each of his spots, your movements are soft. Kind. A far cry from the vehement scrubbing Atsumu's used to.
"There. All done." You reach down and press a quick kiss to his lips. "Wanna see?"
"...huh." Atsumu blinks back, inspecting his face from different angles in the mirror. "They don't look half-bad, actually."
"See?" You yank the zipper across the top of your toiletries bag with a smile. "Told ya they were cute."
Your boyfriend ends up liking the patches a lot more than you thought he would. He orders a couple boxes for himself, stares at his reflection longer than he normally does.
And when he pulls up to the game the next day wearing them like a badge of honor? The social media headlines go crazy.
This professional volleyball player just made acne cool again.
This rookie setter's skincare routine just dropped — and dermatologists are obsessed.
Why Miya Atsumu's starry face matters in a world obsessed with perfect skin.
He feels a little less self-conscious about his skin after that. None of which would’ve been possible if not for you — holding him gently. Loving every part of him, no matter how close.
Maybe it's time you reconsider this whole long-distance thing.
GET TF OUTTA HERE JUN!! YOU WANNA USE MY DAUGHTER? I BETTER BE A GUEST AT THE WEDDING W I T H A PLUS ONE!
I hate him even more because he at least has SOME redeeming qualities. Not a lot of redeeming qualities, not by a long shot, I understand exactly what flavor of douche bag he is. But it’s implied that he is still at least somewhat willingly involved in Misa’s life and that somehow makes him worse.
Like do you understand?
I’m loving this btw, Osamu is my husband and I can’t wait for him to rock Jun’s shit 🥰🥰
#prayingforapunch #fromeitherreaderorosamu
THIS THOUGH.
you totally hit the nail on the head, btw. y/n despises this man and would cut him off in a heartbeat — if not for the sole reason that he makes misa happy on the rare occasions he does show. and misa's happiness is everything to y/n, ya know? ❤️🩹
and boy do i got a scene in mind for osamu and jun, bahaha. we still have quite a bit of growth to get through first, but the pot is brewing!! 🍲
THANK YOU FOR READING AND ENJOYING (and waiting patiently as i work through all my replies at a snail's pace)! messages like yours truly make my day hehe, and it means the world to me that you found even a moment of your time to write it. 🥲🫶
osamu notices you're having an off day and wants nothing more than to comfort you. the only problem? you're both chaperoning the kindergarten field trip.
part eight of the after school series, a friends-to-lovers AU featuring you, osamu, and the relationship you build solo-parenting two girls in the same kindergarten class.
Her name was Itoga Kohana. Twenty-six. Creative strategist at a Top Five advertising agency. (You didn't even know what creative strategists did.) Her Instagram was flooded with vacation photos of your ex-fiancé and her perfect, well-styled family, and she was gorgeous.
It had only been a week since Jun invited you to his wedding. Asked you — no, insisted — that Misa be his flower girl for the ceremony. Since then, you'd carefully placed his save-the-date in a kitchen drawer. Created a Google calendar notification for May the ninth of next year. Not that you'd made your decision just yet.
"Think on it," Jun said, plopping his platinum card onto the leather check presenter after the waiter had taken your plates. "Hana and I couldn't think of anyone better to do it, but she insists on having your blessing first."
As if you could ever give your blessing to a person you'd never met. To your infuriating ex-fiancé, who would probably make a LinkedIn post about this later that week. I had a tough conversation with a person from my past. Here's what it taught me about B2B sales...
If you had the luxury of being selfish, you would put your foot down and say no. After all, the entire idea of Misa as Jun's flower girl was rich. Performative. A complete ruse that painted Jun as the present, loving father he never cared to be.
But this was Misa you were talking about. The girl whose eyes lit up whenever her father entered the room. The girl who still included him in family drawings, albeit on an airplane beside her butter yellow sun. She didn't know Jun's absence wasn't right. If anything, she saw him as a superhero, squeezing in time to see her whenever he wasn't out saving the world.
It was sweet at times. Heart-breaking at others. You wanted nothing more than to preserve Misa's reality for as long as possible. Or at least until she was old enough to hold the truth about her father without completely crumbling beneath it.
But that was a problem for later you.
“Mornin’, sleepyhead,” Osamu murmured. He pressed a warm thermos of coffee to your cheek, startling you from your thoughts. “Ya ready for today?”
“Hm?” You blinked back at his concerned expression. Felt your eyes wander to the plaid flannel that stretched across his forearms, his chest. “Oh, yeah.”
He frowned. “Ya look like ya haven’t slept a wink.”
“Yeah, well…” You scratched your scalp. Awkwardly accepted the thermos. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“Yeah? Wanna talk about it?”
“What? Here?” You gestured to the chilly parking lot. The eighteen squirmy kindergarteners waiting to be let on the school bus. “Miss Yuki will be back any second.”
“Miss Yuki is currently hunting down the custodian to unclog the toilet in her classroom,” Osamu chuckled. “I think we got time.”
You folded your arms across your chest. Took a sip of the coffee Osamu had prepared. Two creamers and one Stevia, just how you liked it.
"Fine," you grumbled, lowering your voice so no one else could hear. "It's Misa's father."
"Oh?" Osamu nodded, feigning ignorance as best he could.
You frowned. “Please don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you didn’t already meet him!” you hissed. You averted your gaze, a blush rising into your cheeks. "Go ahead, judge all you want."
"No, no! He looked...smart. Accomplished."
"He's fake and conniving, is what he is," you sighed. "Anyway, he just asked me something super insensitive, but I don't think I'm entirely in a position to say no."
“Why are you sorry? You’re not the one who asked me."
You squirmed beneath Osamu's gaze, then — that grey, glassy-eyed stare he'd give you whenever you confessed to skipping lunch or working late nights. He looked at you like one might an elderly person. Or a malnourished cat.
Either way, you were relieved to hear the sound of Miss Yuki's orthopedic shoes smacking against the loose gravel not a moment later.
"Alright!" your daughter's teacher chirped — hair frazzled. Sweater slightly askew. "Fortunately for us, an entire roll of toilet paper is no match for me and Mr. Watanabe. Unfortunately for us, we're running about twenty minutes behind."
She smacked a stack of name tags, Sharpie pens, and a seating chart into your and Osamu's hands.
"I need to grab the first aid bag from the front office before we go," she said. "You know what to do!"
You and Osamu busied yourself for the next half hour — wrangling girls into seats, sticking name tags onto polo shirts. (You had to peel Kina's off her forehead at least twice.) By the time Miss Yuki had returned, you both had resigned yourselves to your own assigned seating. You in the front. Osamu in the very back.
You okay? he mouthed when you spared a glance over your shoulder.
You gave him a bleak thumbs up before collapsing into your seat, the sound of high-pitched laughter reverberating in your ears as the bus lurched into motion.
As childish as it was, you almost wished you were sitting next to him.
Osamu had never been to the sculpture garden before. Just thirty minutes outside the city, the fourteen-acre property was home to twenty outdoor art installations, a two-story villa for rotating exhibits, and a koi pond teeming with peacocks. (Misa nearly ripped his arm off when one approached her in the parking lot.)
It was quaint. Quirky. The perfect outdoor wedding venue, according to their tour guide. Not like he was paying much attention, anyway.
The class had split up thirty minutes ago for a guided tour of the premises — and while he'd more or less expected to be separated from you, he couldn't help the uneasiness now seeping into his stomach. Just what exactly had Jun asked of you? And why weren’t you in a position to say no?
He knew he had no right to ask. Knew you, of all people, were capable of handling conniving men on your own. But that didn't mean you had to.
"Osamu-san," Misa murmured, trailing behind the rest of their assigned group.
She tugged on his flannel with a bunched fist and pointed at an art installation just beyond the trees. "Can you take a picture of me and Miffy-san?"
He trained his phone camera on your daughter's sun-warmed face, felt a chuckle rumble from his chest as she stood beside the ten-foot-tall bunny sculpture like a soldier recruited for battle.
"Don't worry," Misa said when she caught him staring at the photo a little too wistfully. "We'll be back with mommy soon."
At that, Osamu’s face turned beet red.
"Yeah?" he chuckled, pocketing his phone. Playing it off. "I just hope Kina ain't givin' her a hard time."
Misa merely hummed. As if she couldn’t reassure him on that one.
The entire class reunited for lunch outside the villa — picnic blankets sprawled across the grass, the smell of katsu sandwiches, ketchup, and cold milk thick in the air. He spotted you handing out bagged lunches from a soft cooler hung over your shoulder, and something in his chest shifted when your eyes caught his across the lawn.
“How’d it go?” he asked as you approached.
“Good! Nobody got lost, and Kina only serenaded the group twice." You frowned. "She knows a surprising amount of Kendrick Lamar, though."
"Are ya serious?"
"Don't worry. I don't think she actually knows any of the words."
"I told Atsumu to stop listenin' to his game day playlist in front of her..."
You smiled at him for a half-second. "Well, if you're not sitting with anyone for lunch..."
"Daddy!" Kina interjected, voice barreling across the lawn. She waved him over from the picnic blanket she was sharing with another girl from her group. Yuta. Or was it Yui? "We saved you a spot!”
"Go," you reassured Osamu with a laugh, sweeping your gaze across the lawn. "I’m gonna find my own spawn. I'll...I'll catch up with you later?"
At a ripe twenty-eight years-old, Osamu had never felt more childish as he accepted a bagged lunch from you, stalked across the grass, and plopped himself down on the blanket next to Kina.
He was halfway through his pork katsu sandwich when Yui (he'd read her name tag) asked, "So is Y/N-san, like, your girlfriend or something?"
"What?" he balked around a mouthful of food. He reached for a paper napkin and swiped the corner of his mouth. "What makes ya think that?"
The child shrugged. "You look at her like my dad looks at wagyu beef."
"You're so silly, Yui," Kina giggled into her sandwich. "My daddy doesn't have a girlfriend."
She met her father's eyes, then. Noticed the way they drifted to your and Misa's picnic blanket across the lawn.
"See? There it is again!" Yui cried.
"Oh my gosh," Kina said, wide-eyed. "Do you have a girlfriend?"
"No!"
"Oh." She sagged her shoulders. Took another bite of her sandwich. "Well, maybe you should."
They continued to giggle about his lack of a love life for what felt like ages. Osamu's face didn't return to its normal color until lunch was well over.
The field trip concluded with a free-draw period by the koi pond. Students were given a sketchbook and pencil and told to recreate whatever they wanted, provided they didn't disturb any of the animals. ("We do not touch the peacocks. Okay? We respect the peacocks' boundaries.") The energy of the group had since taken a dip — some girls crouched protectively over their drawings, others still circled the pond in search of inspiration. It was nice. Tranquil, even.
"Why don't you two take a break?" Miss Yuki suggested. "There's a walking trail not too far from here. I hear it's beautiful this time of year."
"Are you sure?" you asked, eyes flitting toward the pond. You half-expected a child to tumble in at any second.
"I'm sure," your daughter's teacher reassured you with a smile, practically ushering you and Osamu in the direction of the trailhead. "Just don't wander too far!"
The warm buzz of cicadas now filled your ears as you walked side-by-side with Osamu — the sun hitting you sporadically through the trees, the crunch of gravel sharp beneath your feet. You'd subconsciously hoped for a moment alone with him the entire day, but now that you had it, you didn't quite know what to say.
"You know, I never got the chance to — "
"So how was the rest of yer — ?"
You both clamped your mouths shut. Exchanged shy, sheepish smiles flanked by matching pink expressions.
"You first," Osamu insisted.
"I was just going to thank you for making me coffee this morning," you said. "I got pretty crap sleep last night, so..."
"Yeah?"
You nodded. "What with work and Misa's father coming into town, it's just...it's been hard to fall asleep."
You began to feel it, then. The dull circles pooling beneath your eyes, your unwashed hair clinging to your face. Even your usual button-up shirt seemed a little more wrinkled than usual.
"Ya can always call me, ya know," Osamu murmured. "If yer goin' through somethin'. Ya don't need to wait until ya see me."
"I know." You nodded, painfully aware of how guarded you were and how wonderful he was. You just couldn't find the right words to tell him. Didn't know if they existed anywhere beyond the deep, gaping void in your chest. "I will."
Farther along the trail, a bridal party stood taking photographs amid the trees. It was a small group — you could count on one hand the amount of bridesmaids and groomsmen, and they were all dressed in the same sage-green satin.
"Did I ever tell you that Jun and I were engaged?"
Osamu blinked back at the question. The sudden force in which you'd asked it.
"No."
"It wasn't for very long," you added quickly. "I actually think it lasted about nineteen days."
Your eyes drifted to the happy couple. The untouched joy in their expressions, the way their shoulders shook in nervous, pre-ceremony jitters.
"He came into town to tell me he was engaged to someone else," you said suddenly. "And to ask if Misa would be his flower girl."
Osamu stopped walking. You followed suit. His eyes — sharper than you'd expected — bore into yours.
"Ya serious?"
You nodded. His shoulders sank.
"Shit, Y/N." He ran a hand down his face. "How long have ya been holdin' that in?"
"I dunno." You shrugged. It didn't stop your expression from crumbling. The tears from prickling the corners of your eyes. "About a week?"
Osamu didn't hesitate. Simply grabbed your wrist, pulled you flush against his chest, and held you. You squeezed your eyes shut as an onslaught of tears threatened to ruin your mascara, and your whole body tensed as the scent of Osamu's detergent fried your every nerve.
"I don't know why I'm crying," you scoffed, clenching your jaw in protest. "I'm over him."
"I know."
"For fuck's sake, I don't even like him. He just..." You shuddered, hot tears dribbling down your face and onto Osamu's shirt. "He shows up whenever he wants. Leaves at a moment’s notice. He gets to decide that now's a good time to get his act together, and I..."
"...don't?" Osamu guessed after a while.
A weak laugh slipped past your lips.
"I don't regret having Misa." You buried your face into his shoulder. Relaxed ever-so-slightly into him. "And I love the life we've built together. I just...I wish I wasn't the only one who had to take responsibility for it, you know?"
"Yeah," Osamu exhaled. He pressed his cheek against the top of your head and frowned. "Yeah. I understand ya completely."
You stayed like that for a while. Osamu's arms holding you firmly in place. The sounds of laughter and camera shutters lifting your spirits slightly.
He was warmer than you expected. Like a patch of sun on a cloudy day.
"Have ya told Misa yet?" Osamu asked once you'd stopped crying.
"No," you muttered. "I'm afraid her excitement might blind me."
"Yeah..." Osamu's chuckle rumbled through your whole body. "She was so happy to see him the other day. I'll give him that."
"I know," you groaned. "God, what am I going to do?"
"Well, whatever you decide," he murmured, hands rubbing gentle circles into your back. "I'll be here for ya."
"...thank you," you breathed. You pulled away from Osamu's arms. Gestured miserably toward your swollen face. "Does my mascara look bad?"
You tried not to squirm as his calloused hands cupped either side of your face, thumbs swiping firmly beneath your eyes.
"Crap," he admitted after a moment. "I think I'm makin' it worse."
"Forget about it," you told him, a shaky laugh working its way out of your chest. "Just walk with me."
You continued hiking side-by-side toward the end of the trail. Congratulated the newlyweds as you overtook them. When a lone peacock wobbled onto the path beside you, you nearly ripped Osamu's arm off in terror.
The whole situation was absurd. Hilarious, too, if you weren't so goddamn petrified. Distracting enough to make you forget about fiancés and flower girls and seemingly incurable fatigue. If only for a moment.
And right now? You'd take any of those moments you could get.
HALF FILOIWA???? IM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH AT THE TOUGHT!!!! From one filipina baddie to another--you're killin' it queen!! Kaya mo to!!
GAHHH SALAMAT 🫶 WHERE MY FILIPINA BADDIES AT 🫦🪩💃🏻✨
no but seriously this means so much to me 🥲 life has been kicking my booty lately (between work, family, physical and mental health, etc.), but writing has always been my soft place to channel all of those feelings! 💗 so it just really makes me happy and grateful to share that with others. *wipes tears*
in any case, half-filo iwa is already slow-cooking in the back of my mind mwahaha 😏 i've got ideassss
your ex-fiancé comes into town with a favor to ask. meanwhile, osamu struggles to keep his own feelings in check.
part seven of the after school series, a friends-to-lovers AU featuring you, osamu, and the relationship you build solo-parenting two girls in the same kindergarten class.
You got the call at 9:47 in the morning.
"I — " You blinked at the phone on your desk. Felt your stomach lurch once you read the name. "It's Misa's father."
"You serious?" Kuroo leaned back in his desk chair to see for himself. Sure enough, your ex-fiancé's stupid Apple contact photo flashed across the screen — some fancy headshot he'd taken at his first firm after college. You hadn't gotten around to removing it.
"Talk about a jump scare," he muttered. "When's the last time he called?"
"I dunno. Eight, nine months ago?" You winced. "He called to say our Christmas gifts were on the way. In the middle of March."
"Father of the year, everybody," Kuroo drawled, voice dripping with sarcasm. His eyes flicked to your face. The traces of dread there. "You gonna answer it?"
"Erm." You stared at your phone like it was a bomb. "I'm kind of hoping it goes to voicemail before I can."
The ringing stopped. Your shoulders sank in relief. Then — just when you thought you were in the clear — he called again.
"For Christ's sake," you muttered, snatching your phone and ID badge before storming off toward the nearest exit. "I'll be back in ten!"
"Grab me an iced coffee before you get back?" Kuroo called toward your retreating figure.
You shot him the middle finger before slamming your body into the push bar of the door and exiting out into the hallway.
"Jun," you said into the phone, voice polite. Borderline annoyed. "What is it? What do you need?"
"My — is that how we're greeting each other now? No hello? How are you?"
"Hello," you conceded, albeit through gritted teeth. "How are you?"
"See? Was that so hard?" You could practically hear the lazy grin in his voice. "I'm well, Y/N. Just wanted to check in on my two favorite girls."
That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one. "We're fine. Misa started kindergarten a few months back."
"That's great! Public school, I'm assuming? How's she adjusting?"
"Actually, I put her in private,” you said, folding your free arm across your chest and squeezing hard. “The Kimori School for Girls? It's a K-through-8."
"No, yeah. I've heard of it. That's a good school," Jun hummed, almost impressed. "How'd you swing that?"
You clenched your jaw. “I manage just fine."
“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you made the right call. Public school would’ve eaten that girl alive.”
Perhaps pacing the length of the hallway would ease the blood now boiling in your ears. “What do you need, Jun? I’m at work.”
"Would you relax? I just wanted to let you know that I'll be in town this week on my way back from Singapore. Figured I could stop by, see my daughter." He made it sound like it was his birthright. Like it was a book he could pick up and read whenever he wanted. "Maybe we can get dinner one night, too. Just the two of us."
You would've rather stabbed yourself in the eye with a fork. But before you could voice this, Jun added, "There's something I've been wanting to ask you."
At that, your eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What about?"
"I think it's best I tell you in person," was all he said. "I'll send you a reservation on Google Calendar. Your email still the same?"
Now, it took every ounce of your self-restraint not to snap at this man. To end the call, block his number, and extract him surgically from your memory.
But you'd long since accepted the fact that the most important person in your life also belonged to someone else. And if there was any chance of him partaking in even a sliver of Misa's life — you would take it. Even if you had to hold out.
Even if holding out hurt.
"I have to check my schedule and find someone to look after Misa," you managed, massaging the inner corners of your eyes. "But yes. My email's the same."
Ten minutes later, you slammed two cans of iced coffee on the desk in front of Kuroo so hard that he flinched.
"Call went well, then?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
A muscle feathered in your jaw. "Is that discount for your jiu-jitsu gym still on the table?"
Misa's gonna hate me, you thought as you signed her up for the Tiger Tots membership and input your credit card information. You'd figure out how to pitch it to her later — and explain to her why her father was suddenly coming into town.
A question you couldn’t even answer yourself, you realized the moment Jun’s calendar invite hit your inbox.
Later that week, Osamu waited for his daughter outside the school gate, squinting at his TikTok feed like a senior citizen.
He'd updated the app so he could watch the hundreds of videos you sent him a week, and while he'd only been scrolling for fifteen minutes, he was floored by how quickly his algorithm had inferred his interests. Reviews of mom-and-pop boba shops in the area. Parenting hacks for excitable children. A sponsored post for a new handroll bar downtown — he saved that one for later. Wondered briefly if you'd ever be down to go with him.
He caught himself doing that these days. Catching wind of new restaurants. Wanting to take you. Maybe he'd make a reservation on OpenTable, have Atsumu look after the girls. Maybe he'd pull out that baby blue button-up you liked so much, spritz on the cologne that'd been sitting on his bathroom counter since Christmas...
The idea sat half-baked in his brain as the bell rang sharply overhead.
"Daddy!" Kina yelled, the sound of her light-up sneakers reverberating off the pavement. "Can we get Totino's Pizza Rolls?"
"Can we get what now?" Osamu asked as the five-year-old approached, Misa not too far behind.
"Pizza rolls!" Kina repeated, flinging her arms around her father's legs and grinning up at him like he hung the moon. "Y/N-san gets them all the time from the frozen foods aisle."
Like a forensic scientist presenting evidence from a crime scene, Misa dug inside her ladybug backpack and held out to him a plastic baggy. Sure enough, a singular pizza roll lay inside, it's blistered crust and burnt edges enough to make Osamu's nose crinkle.
"Looks like a nicotine pouch," he drawled, taking the baggy and frowning at its contents. Out of all the home-cooked meals he made for these girls, this is what they preferred?
"We saved the last one for you," Misa supplied.
"Ya did? Oh, ya shouldn't have." Osamu gave the girls a bemused smile. "I guess I could ask Y/N-san where she gets these. Looks like somethin' she'd whip up in the air fryer..."
He briefly wondered how he could make them himself before sliding the baggy into his back pocket. "Where is she, by the way? I haven't seen much of her this week."
At that, Misa shrugged. "Mommy's been working really hard. But she's not picking me up today."
"Oh?" Osamu asked, blinking back. "How ya plan on gettin' home, then?"
"I..." The sound of another parent approaching the school gate pulled her attention like a loose thread. Osamu watched, then, as your daughter's face broke out into a bright smile.
"Daddy!"
Now, Osamu didn't know much about the father of your child. He knew you'd met the guy in business school. Knew the way your voice grew wan any time he came up. Like he was a joke you were constantly trying to find the humor in.
Yet nothing quite prepared Osamu for the man that stood before him now. From his neatly cropped hair to his expensive watch to the Patagonia vest he kept zipped up to the quarter, he looked nothing like the kind of man you'd get along with today.
How the hell would you know? Osamu chided himself as the man picked up Misa by the armpits and swung her onto his hip.
"Hey, squirt! How's my favorite girl?"
"Good!" Misa giggled, latching her arms around his neck and squeezing tight. "Better now that you're here."
"Aw, shucks. You flatter me, kiddo," he said, setting her back down. Osamu's breath stilled as the man sized him up from across the courtyard. Kina shrank behind her father's legs as he approached.
"Yamada Jun," the businessman said by way of introduction, extending his hand out. "You must be Miya Osamu."
"Yes, sir." The scent of cologne, sharp and amber, filled Osamu's nose as he went in for the shake. "It's a pleasure to meet ya."
Jun's eyebrows ticked up in amusement. "That a Kansai accent I hear?”
"Sure is. Familiar with the area?"
"Oh, hardly," he scoffed. "My parents do business out there, tried convincing me to run the branch of their electronics company just outside Kyoto. Pace of life just didn't suit me, though."
A bemused hum escaped Osamu's lips. "It ain't for folks who can't stay still, that's for sure."
Jun sniffed, as if he couldn't quite gauge what Osamu meant by that.
"Y/N said I might run into you here," he went with instead.
"Did she now?"
"Oh, yeah. Said our girls are thick as thieves." Jun leaned in to smile at Kina like she was a pet. "This one yours?"
Osamu winced as Kina's nails dug into his straight-leg chinos. Afraid she might bare teeth, he placed a steady hand on the back of her shoulder and squeezed gently.
"Her name's Kinami," he ground out. Then, because his leg was really starting to hurt, "She's normally a lot chattier than this."
"Hey, I get it," Jun chuckled, lifting his hands. "It isn't often I get to fly into town to see my daughter, so I'm just grateful to you both for looking after her while I'm gone."
While Osamu didn't know the exact details of your parenting arrangement, something about Jun's choice of words — get to, grateful, while I'm gone — irked him more than it should've. But before he could let it show, he clamped a firm hand on that part of his brain and told it to pipe the fuck down.
"No need to thank me," he said instead, meaning every word. "Misa and Y/N are good friends. They...they make it easy to be there."
Jun's easy expression flickered for a split-second at that. Eyes narrowed. Nostrils flared. He cleared his throat before Osamu could even register it and checked the watch on his wrist.
"Right. Well, I think it's about time Misa and I got going." He nodded back toward the parking lot, extended his hand out toward your daughter. She blinked up at him before taking it, as if to confirm he was actually there. "It was nice meeting you, Osamu."
"...so that's Misa's daddy," Kina mused, watching as they walked hand-in-hand toward the electric car parked in a spot marked off for teachers and staff.
Osamu blew out a sharp breath and rubbed the back of his neck. "Guess so."
Kina pushed her bottom lip out and said, "I don't like him."
"Yeah?" he huffed, trying to be the mature one here. "We don't know him, though."
"Yeah. That's why," Kina murmured. Osamu merely chuckled at that, wondering how on earth you were holding up. Why Jun was here in the first place. What he was going to do about the tension now wedged somewhere behind his ribs.
As if she could sense it, too, Kina reached into the back pocket of his chinos, slid the pizza roll out, and held it out to him.
Osamu ate it without another word.
The restaurant Jun picked was nice. So nice that when you'd arrived in your oversized button-up and kitten heels, you felt marginally underdressed.
"You couldn't have bothered to change?" Jun tsked, looking around. He unbuttoned his sports coat as the waiter placed a pair of leather-bound menus atop the table setting.
You thumbed through each page with an unbothered expression, debating whether or not to whip out your phone flashlight so you could see better. "Didn't realize this was a date."
"I had dinner here with a partner from the firm several years back," he explained, examining the wine menu through a pair of reading glasses. "Their Cabernet Sauvignon is a must-have. Would highly recommend."
Somehow, that only made you want it less. "I think I'll just stick with water."
"Oh, come on, Y/N." The dim candlelight bent around the tilt of his smile. "Let's cheers to our daughter starting kindergarten."
"Do you think she looked okay?" you interjected instead, ignoring the way his words pin-pricked your gut. "You know, when we dropped her off at Tiger Tots this afternoon?"
"I dunno." Jun lifted his shoulder. "She looked fine to me."
As if on cue, your phone lit up with a text from Kuroo. It was a selfie of him and Misa at the jiu-jitsu gym. Her uniform was a size too big, and your co-worker's forehead took up nearly sixty percent of the shot, but...she looked good. She looked okay. He'd even gotten her to throw a peace sign at the camera.
All geared up and ready to go!
You hearted both messages immediately. Felt your pulse slow as you saved the photo to your camera roll, zoomed in on your daughter's brave, dimple-clad face.
"I met your friend today at pick-up," Jun hummed once the waiters took your menus away. He leaned back in his seat, swirled his glass of Cabernet Sauvignon with a steady hand. "Osamu, was it?"
The mere mention of Osamu's name on Jun's lips made your stomach twist. Between the stress of Jun's arrival and your late afternoons in the office, you hadn't had the chance to catch him up. It wasn't exactly something you could disclose to him over text, either.
Hey! My ex-fiancé and the father of my child just parachuted into town unexpectedly, so don't be alarmed! I'm trying not to be!
Jun's smile turned saccharine across the table. "He works at a restaurant, right?"
"He's the owner," you corrected him, fists clenching beneath the table. "And an incredible one at that."
"Where'd he go to school?"
You told him. He pushed out his bottom lip and asked, "Did he finish?"
"No." Your jaw tightened. "He dropped out to take care of Kina."
"Hm." Jun stared at his wine glass down the slope of his nose. "Wonder how he scrapes together the tuition every month. Do you think his kid's on a scholarship?"
"Does that matter?" you snapped, voice cracking the air like a whip. "What matters is that he does it. What matters is that he's there. What matters is that he’s shown up to every PTA meeting and music concert and school project show-and-tell, and I become a better mother and person every second that I'm in his company."
“Alright. Calm down,” Jun chuckled. Your blood roared in your ears as he lifted his hands to pacify you. “Just doesn’t seem like the type of guy you’d get along with, is all.”
Your eyes narrowed. “And how would you know the type of guy I’d get along with?”
“Well. That’s easy.” Jun scoffed. “I was one of ‘em. Wasn’t I?”
Now, you'd built a tolerance for Jun's shit over the years. His half-baked promises, his backhanded compliments. His inane ability to take credit for the person that you raised. And you'd swallowed your pride for the most part. Promised yourself that so long as he made Misa smile — which he did, he really did — you would play nice.
But there was something inherently different about the way you felt when he talked about Osamu. Something sharper, more volatile. It pained you to think that they talked earlier that afternoon. This absent, performative excuse of a man and the best father you'd ever really known. They should've never even met. Never even breathed the same air.
"Why are you here, Jun?" you asked, keeping your voice low. Steady. "I imagine you have much better things to do than to sit there, insulting people you barely know."
"Well, apologies for asking about the new people in your life," Jun drawled, downing the rest of his wine. "Especially since I'm making such an effort to introduce the new people in mine."
"What?" You blinked. "What are you talking about?"
Jun reached into his sports coat and retrieved from it a slim white envelope. You took it into your hands, slid a manicured nail beneath the seal, and popped it open.
It was a save-the-date.
"I'm engaged," Jun said, his words clamoring in your ears as your eyes pored over the textured cardstock, the black-and-white engagement photo of your ex-fiancé and his wife-to-be. "I'm engaged, I'm ready to start a life with her, and we...we want Misa to be the flower girl at our wedding ceremony."
Now, there were only two other times in your life when you felt this way. The first was when you learned you were pregnant. The second was when you learned you'd be doing it alone. You'd spent every consecutive second withstanding the fact that you and Misa would never be enough to capture Jun's full attention. Which was fine. You didn't love him. Didn't want him the same way you did at twenty-one.
But as you stared at this photo — at this beautiful woman with her straight teeth and long hair and easy, infatuated expression — you immediately felt your stomach drop. Your hands grow cold. That familiar, red-hot flush of shame flood the space behind your ribs.
Except this time, it was far worse than when you were twenty-one.
And you had absolutely no idea why.
a/n: and the plot thickens! 😝 osamu and y/n will most definitely talk about this in the next chapter, but not without some lovely tension first... 🙈
as always, THANK YOU to everyone who reads, likes, reblogs, and comments. i am so lucky to have a community who cares about these characters just as much as i do, and i cannot wait to share what i have in store for them. 💖 (also, tell me why i name all my villain characters jun i can't help it 😭)
@miyasmagnolias, 2026
Your series “After School” is so good!!! And omg I clicked on your profile and you’re Filo too!!
omg thank you!! 🩷 and yes i ammm 😏
it makes me so happy to hear from filo readers! there are quite a bit of us here — feeling seriously inspired to write some filo!reader and/or half-filo!iwa content now 🙈 maybe once “after school” is done!
osamu comforts your daughter before her first music recital of the school year.
part six of the after school series, a friends-to-lovers AU featuring you, osamu, and the relationship you build solo-parenting two girls in the same kindergarten class.
"What on earth are you wearing?"
Osamu stopped short in the middle of the courtyard. Looked down at the baby blue button-up he'd thrown on in the rush to get here.
"Why?" he asked, inspecting the slightly wrinkled linen with a frown. "Did I stain it or somethin'?"
"No, I just..." Your brain short-circuited at the sleeves rolled past his muscled forearms, the fabric stretched across his broad chest. He'd even put a little product into his hair, from what you could tell. "I didn't realize you had other clothes in your closet."
A snort escaped him. "Trust me. I'd much rather be wearin' a t-shirt than this stuffy thing. Pretty sure it's Atsumu’s, actually."
"Well, you clean up nicely," you murmured, squeezing the supermarket bouquet you'd picked up on the way here. "Maybe you should steal from him more often."
“Yeah?” An amused, if not bashful smile ticked onto his lips. “He’s a lil’ slimmer, but I’ll see what I can do.”
You walked side-by-side toward the small gymnasium tucked into the heart of campus, where a throng of parents, grandparents, and family friends stood waiting to be let inside.
"For what it's worth, ya spruce up nicely yerself," Osamu added, gesturing his own bouquet to the patterned dress that hugged your curves, the dainty pearl necklace you'd worn to match. "Is that new?"
"What, this old thing?" You ran your palm down the red chiffon fabric and laughed. "Honestly, I feel a little silly. I haven't dressed up like this since before Misa was born."
His grey eyes scanned the sheepishness on your face. The slight tenderness there.
"Well, silly's the last word I'd use to describe ya right now."
"Okay," you snorted, although it didn't stop the heat from rising into your cheeks. "Did that shirt come with your brother's pick-up lines, too?"
Osamu chuckled as the crowd shuffled into the gymnasium, the scent of floor wax, air conditioning, and expensive bouquets rushing to greet you.
As part of Kimori's dedication to the performing arts, all students were required to participate in a semesterly strings recital as directed by the school's music instructor. The man himself, a composer by the name of Jules Bonneau, had been touted as Kimori's best-of-the-best, having sent multiple students to both national and international-level competitions. He was a prodigy, you'd heard from the mothers at the PTA. A modern-day Niccolò Paganini.
Osamu crinkled his nose. "Who the hell is that?"
"I have no idea," you said with a shrug. "Sounds impressive, though."
"I dunno," he drawled, filing into a vacant row toward the front of the room. "I don't doubt the guy's talented, but Misa and Kina just started school. What good's a couple months of lessons gonna do?"
"Who knows?" You plucked the program from your seat and eased in beside him. "Maybe one of our daughters will surprise us. Maybe we have a future prodigy on our hands."
"Well, I'd bet all my money that it's yours. I love Kina to death, but she can't sit still for five seconds without burstin' into flames."
"Yeah, well, I'm about to burst into flames if these people don't move their bouquets." You glared at the forty pounds of azaleas currently blocking your view of the stage. "Can a five-year-old even lift that thing?"
Before Osamu could open his mouth to respond, someone cleared their throat beside you.
"Excuse me, madame?" The elderly man greeted you with a bow. "Pleasure to meet you. I am Monsieur Bonneau, Misa's music instructor. You are her mother, yes?"
"I am!" You scanned his tense expression — the kind all teachers used when they were about to deliver bad news. "Is everything okay?"
“Yes! Just wanted to pop in and say what a joy it has been to have Misa in my class. She is wonderfully attentive, and I am excited for you to see all the hard work she’s put into the class performance.”
He kept that same, cheerful smile plastered to his face as he crouched down and looked you dead in the eye.
“That said, she’s currently undergoing a case of…how you say? Stage fright?”
You set your bouquet and program on the chair beneath you, flung your purse over a shoulder with all the determination you could muster. Meanwhile, Osamu stared at you with those steely eyes of his and asked, "Want me to go with ya?"
You blinked back at the question, the half-kind, half-blasé way in which he'd said it.
"I've got it."
"I know." He frowned. "That's not why I asked."
It wasn't often people accompanied you in situations like this. And if it were anyone else, you'd probably tell them not to worry. You'd spent the past five years of your life calming your daughter's storms, no father, grandparents, or hired help in sight.
But as you sank into Osamu's words — pictured him standing outside the classroom doing virtually nothing except being there — you felt your posture relax for a fraction of a second.
"...okay." You nodded, beckoning him out of his chair before you could think about it too deeply. "Come on, then."
It was all Osamu needed to hear before he set his own bouquet down and followed you out.
"Hey, kiddo." You crouched beneath your daughter's desk in the middle of her empty classroom, the scent of crayon shavings and Lysol already clinging to your clothes. "Mind if I join you?”
Misa reminded you of an armadillo when she was nervous — knees tucked against her chest, chin pressed into her sternum. You found her like this whenever thunderstorms rolled through your neighborhood, or dentists called for her biannual cleaning. Stage fright, however, was new territory for the both of you.
"There isn't enough room," she murmured.
"That's okay! I'll just stay here, then." You kicked off your glossy black pumps, laid belly-down beside her desk, and tried not to think about all the norovirus that lived on these floors. "I met Monsieur Bonneau this afternoon.”
"You did?"
You nodded. “Apparently, he’s a modern-day Niccolò Paganini.”
Your daughter frowned. “Who’s that?”
"Couldn't tell you."
She remained silent for a moment. Pensive.
"Is he mad at me?"
"Not at all. He just wants to know if you're okay. He said you put a lot of hard work into today's performance. Is that true?"
Nodding, she said, "Monsieur Bonneau lets me play violin in the music room at recess. When it’s quiet."
"Really? That’s kind of him." Your heart swelled at this newfound piece of information — this small glimpse into Misa's world that grew more colorful by the day. "Going from a quiet classroom to a big stage must feel pretty scary, then, huh?"
She buried her face between her knees.
"I don't wanna go up there, mommy. I wanna stay here with you."
"Oh, love." You reached out and gently tucked her hair behind her ears. "I get it. If you decide you don't want to do this, I won't force you. We can chill, take a half day. Go get ice cream sandwiches at the konbini."
A small smile worked its way onto your face as you nudged her under the chin.
"I think you've got what it takes to get up there, though,” you told her honestly. “Scaries and all."
Misa merely rolled her eyes, as if that was the biggest lie she'd ever been told.
Outside the classroom, Osamu sat on the wooden bench closest to the door. Eyes closed. Head laid back against the wall. He'd poured you and Misa two cups of water from the nurse's office, and he tried not to think about how presumptuous he looked, hovering around like a member of the secret service.
He hoped you didn't take offense to him being here. After all, you were plenty capable of handling Misa on your own, and the last thing he wanted was to suggest otherwise. He just found himself...clinging to you these days. Wanting to stay in your orbit, even if he wasn't explicitly needed.
He told himself it was because you were his friend. Because he'd rather sit here in silence than engage in small talk with other parents about where he vacationed. (Which was nowhere.)
But when he pictured you — with your patterned dress and dainty jewelry and the way your lipstick smudged when you laughed — another part of his brain wholeheartedly disagreed.
Osamu squashed the dispute like a bug as you pushed open the door to the classroom.
"How's she doin'?" he asked as you stepped outside and eased onto the bench.
You blew a raspberry. "She's stubborn, that's for sure."
Osamu handed you your water, eyes tracing the curve of your neck as you gulped it down. He averted his gaze once he realized what he was doing.
"She's convinced that I don't understand her." You hiccuped. "That I don't know what it feels like to be scared."
"I thought only teenagers said stuff like that," he chuckled. "Makes sense, though. Yer practically her superhero."
"Doesn't make situations like this any easier. I’m this close to shaking a box of Cheez-Its in her face."
Osamu snorted. "She ain't a cat.”
You winced. "Wouldn't be the first time."
"Well, maybe she'd respond to someone more neutral," he suggested, taking your paper cup and folding it into his palm. "Someone she doesn't have all these preconceived notions about."
You pushed your bottom lip out.
"Wanna try talking to her?"
He blinked. "Oh, no. I didn’t mean — "
"It's okay," you reassured him, the warmth of your smile easing the worry etched onto Osamu’s face. "I trust you."
He tried not to react to those words, the easy conviction in which you'd said them. But as he nodded in your direction and lifted himself off the bench, he couldn't help the emotion that flickered in his chest. Like he'd just been handed something fragile and was determined not to drop it.
"Misa?" He knocked on the door frame before stepping inside. "It's Osamu-san. I got ya some water."
A second passed. Two. Then, a small voice piped up from under a desk in the far corner.
"Did my mommy tell you to come get me?"
"No." He frowned. "Not directly, anyway."
At that, Misa sighed. "I am thirsty."
"Well, we can't have that now, can we?" Osamu drawled, propping open the door. "Just sit tight. I'll come to ya."
His joints popped the moment he crouched onto the floor beside her desk. Misa's eyes — the same color as yours — widened to saucers at the noise.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"Yeah," Osamu grunted, forcing himself into a criss-cross position. When was the last time he worked out? "My pride's a lil' wounded, but I'll survive."
She took the cup with both hands and drank in several, hearty gulps.
"Nice place ya got here," Osamu mused, admiring her tiny desk like one might a home in Architectural Digest. "Ya always hide under tables when yer nervous?"
"Yeah," Misa confessed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I hide in my pantry at home, too."
"Yer pantry? I like the way ya think," Osamu chuckled. "Ya might not believe this, but I also hid in my pantry once upon a time."
"You did?"
"Yes, ma'am. It was the openin' night of my restaurant, and I was so scared that I would mess up someone's order — or worse — no one would show. So I locked myself in the pantry of the kitchen and yakked into a mop bucket."
"Ew!" Misa giggled, the gleam in her eyes making Osamu's heart swell. "What did you do next?"
"Well." He rubbed the back of his neck. "My brother gave me a water, we talked, and then...I decided to do it scared."
Your daughter softened at his words. Stared into her own cup of water for a long while.
"I'm not sayin' ya have to do it exactly like me," he said. "I'm just sayin' that if I can do it scared, ya sure as hell can, too."
Misa pursed her lips to one side. "Isn't that a bad word?"
Osamu's ears turned bright pink before he burst out laughing.
You watched silently from the doorway as they spoke — Misa's cheeks tinged pink from laughter, Osamu's eyes saturated in amusement. You had no doubt he was incredible at being a parent. But seeing him here, handling the literal extension of your heart with more gentleness than you ever thought possible...
It filled your chest with a feeling so old you didn't recognize it.
And when Misa crawled out from under her desk, prompting Osamu to waggle his eyebrows at you from across the classroom, you knew that feeling wasn't going anywhere.
"Good afternoon!" Monsieur Bonneau said into the mic just as you and Osamu slid back into your seats. "I am Monsieur Jules Bonneau, and it is my utmost pleasure to welcome you to Kimori's first music recital of the school year."
An enthusiastic applause ricocheted through the gymnasium.
"These students have been working incredibly hard at their craft this semester, and it warms me to see so many parents here in support." The lines on his face deepened as he smiled. "Now, without further ado, please welcome our kindergarten class to the stage!"
You watched as Miss Yuki corralled her kindergarten class onto the stage — violins knocking into one another, footsteps clamoring onto the carpeted plywood. Kina's face broke out into a wide grin when she spotted Osamu, and she nearly smacked Misa in the face with her bow when she waved.
"Jesus Christ," Osamu muttered through his smile as he waved back. "She's a walkin' hazard."
"At least she didn't hold up the entire show," you huffed back, sliding your phone out of your purse to record.
Now, you didn't know what you'd expected. A simple rendition of Hot Crossed Buns. Something you could at least show Kuroo once you got back to the office.
But as Monsieur Bonneau lifted his conductor's baton and cued everyone in, you quickly realized two things: (1) the man was a prodigy, not a miracle worker, and (2) you actually hated the sound of the violin.
"Dear lord," Osamu breathed, staring at the stage in horror. "What are they even playin'? Wheels on the Bus?"
You struggled to think straight as the sound of eighteen screeching violins pierced the inside of your skull. "No, no I think it's Twinkle Twinkle Little Star..."
Squinting, he said, "Kina ain't even holdin' the bow right."
"At least she's making noise!" you hissed back. "Misa's bow isn't even touching her violin."
Osamu choked on his laughter, which only made you choke in response.
"Jesus." He hid his face in his hands. "I feel like an asshole."
Your shoulders shook as you sputtered out, "First one to break buys lunch?"
"Oh, yer on," he drawled, immediately schooling his expression. "I'll have a pork katsu curry from that new place down the street. Extra pickled veggies."
It was hard to glare at someone while actively trying not to laugh. "What makes you think you'll lose, asshole?"
In that moment, Kina actually did manage to smack Misa in the face with her bow.
You ended up paying for each other's meals that afternoon.
you meet osamu's twin in the pick-up line of your daughter's school.
part five of the after school series, a friends-to-lovers AU featuring you, osamu, and the relationship you build solo-parenting two girls in the same kindergarten class.
"You're not Osamu."
You blinked back at the blonde, six-foot-one athlete leaning against the gate to your daughter's school. Cell phone in one hand. Green smoothie in the other. He raised his eyebrows at your blunt, borderline accusatory tone before offering you a hint of a smile.
"No, I ain't," he concurred, wrapping his lips around the straw of his beverage before taking a long sip. "Sorry to disappoint."
"No! Sorry, I just — " You stupidly whipped your head around the parking lot, grip tightening around the strap of your work bag. "Is he here today? I was hoping to give him something."
His twin brother pursed his lips to one side and shook his head.
"Afraid not. He's workin' a caterin' gig for my volleyball team tonight, so I'm drivin' Kina to her Mimi's before headin' over."
"Ah. Right. That's...that's today."
At your disappointed expression, Miya Atsumu pocketed his phone and shot you a humored grin.
"Don't worry. He'll be back tomorrow."
Your face grew warm at the words — at this stranger whose face you knew but otherwise couldn't recognize. You knew Osamu had a twin, had filed it away with all the other arbitrary facts you'd collected about him. You just never considered the fact that you might actually meet the guy, what with his tapered joggers and MSBY t-shirt and brand-deal athletic shoes.
Amused by the fact that you were very evidently weirded out, Atsumu asked, "This yer first time meetin' twins, or what?”
Frowning, you said, "Feels like I'm staring at an optical illusion."
His laugh was louder than Osamu's. More garish.
"That's a new one," he told you, shucking his empty cup into the nearest trash can before extending his hand out. "The name's Atsumu."
"Y/N. My daughter is in Kina's class," you supplied, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. "Osamu's told me a lot about you."
"Yeah?" The corner of his lips tilted into an easy smile you'd only ever seen on Disney princes. "Hopefully all good things?"
"Eh." You shrugged. "He may have mentioned wanting to eat you in the womb once or twice."
"Ha!" Atsumu's brown eyes glinted as he laughed. "Ya know, when Osamu told me he'd made a new friend at Kina's school, yer not exactly what I had in mind."
"Oh, yeah?" you asked, folding your arms across your chest. "And what did you have in mind?"
"I dunno. Someone borin'. Pushin' fifty."
"Well." You gestured down to your business casual, the glossy work heels that hurt like hell to walk in. "Sorry to disappoint."
The sound of antsy parents and their electric cars filled the silence between you.
"So how does all this work?" Atsumu asked, gesturing toward the school gates like they might fly open at any second. "Do I need to sign her out or somethin'?"
"Osamu should have put you on Kina's pickup form. Though I'm sure your face is confirmation enough," you joked. "Their teacher will bring them out here once the bell rings. You can check in with her then."
"Got it."
You studied his expression — the slight concentration there.
"Trust me, you've done way more complicated things as a D1 athlete. I'm sure you'll be just fine."
"Oh?" He looked pleased. "Ya know who I am, then?"
You hummed. "I work with Kuroo Tetsurō at the JVA. So I've watched a couple of your games."
"Well, would ya look at that." Atsumu folded his hands behind his neck and smirked. "Always a pleasure, meetin' a fan."
You shrugged. "I root for the Adlers, personally."
Before Atsumu could open his mouth to retort, the bell rang.
"UNCLE TSUM TSUM!" Kina bellowed, having escaped the single-file line now teetering from Miss Yuki's classroom. She ran up to the gate and pushed her face through the bars. "Ya remembered to pick me up!”
You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling as another parent shot Atsumu a disapproving glare.
“I — of course I did, ya spawn!” He palmed her face back through the gate so that she wouldn't get stuck. “And what is that on yer shirt — is that blood?”
“It’s ketchup."
“Of course it is,” Atsumu breathed. You reached into your work bag, retrieved a packet of baby wipes, and held it out to him.
"Ya know," he began, fishing out a handful with his fingers. "If you've got any free time tonight, ya should stop by this charity thing we're hostin' at the stadium."
You shucked the packet of baby wipes back into your purse and watched it disappear into the abyss of receipts, hair ties, and Chipotle napkins.
"I would! But then I wouldn't have anyone to watch my daughter."
"Right. Right," Atsumu chuckled, shaking his head. "Kinda a full-time job, huh?"
You smiled at him politely. "Afraid so.”
"Well." Atsumu lifted the wipes in thanks and glanced at the teacher now beckoning Kina to get back in line, please. "Suppose I'll have to convince ya to root for MSBY some other time, then.”
Between the bars, Kina shot her uncle a suspicious frown as you chuckled.
"I'll see you around, Atsumu."
"Oh, I'm countin' on it."
You watched Atsumu jog toward the entrance to the gate, surname and jersey number flexing across his back like a badge of honor. Meanwhile, you made a mental note to text Osamu good luck on the catering gig. You hoped he wasn't too stressed about it.
"Mommy, who was that?" Misa asked, brow scrunched in confusion as you crossed the parking lot hand-in-hand.
You fished for your car keys in your bag but were only met with another handful of Chipotle napkins. "That was Osamu-san's twin brother."
"Twin brother?"
You nodded. "Their mommy gave birth to them at the same time. Can you believe that?"
Misa's face twisted in thought as you unlocked the car, flung her backpack into the trunk, and hoisted her into her carseat.
"Is that why they're the same?"
You carefully considered your daughter's question as you buckled her in, the clicks and zips of her carseat filling the otherwise quiet vehicle.
"That's why they look the same, yes," you told her, tucking a strand of loose hair behind her ear. "But as for their personalities, they couldn't be more different."
Misa's expression bloomed with fascination as you kissed her forehead, closed her car door, and climbed into the driver's seat.
"Ya didn't tell me she was hot!"
Osamu rolled his eyes from the industrial-sized refrigerator he'd been organizing for the past hour. "Could ya not resort to callin' women hot? Pick another adjective."
"Yer friend, dumbass." The stadium’s kitchen door swung closed as Atsumu stormed inside, leaned against the stainless steel worktable, and grinned. "The one from Kina's school? I tried invitin' her here tonight, but she looked at me like I was stupid."
"Yeah, probably because she has a child."
"You have a child!”
"Yeah, and I've got dumbasses like you who can pick her up when I get busy!” Osamu snapped. "Not everyone gets that privilege."
He shut the refrigerator door and began flipping through his inventory lists for that evening's event, agitation etched into every crease on his face. Atsumu merely frowned at him from across the kitchen, fingers working at the bow tie his publicist had forced him to wear.
"Someone's prickly today."
Osamu dragged a hand down his face. "Yeah, well, I didn't get much sleep last night, I've got staff comin' in thirty, and I’m pretty sure I’m down five pounds of onions. So sorry if I’m not in a more chipper mood.”
"Ya know what ya need?"
"Five pounds of onions?”
"Someone to calm ya the fuck down," Atsumu answered. He adjusted the knot of his bow tie and huffed. "When's the last time you've been on a date?"
“I dunno,” Osamu grumbled, the question alone making his ears turn red. “Since before Kina was born, maybe?”
“Seriously?” Atsumu’s eyes bulged out of his head. “Ya mean to tell me the last time ya got laid, it resulted in Satan’s spawn?”
“Would ya quit referrin’ to my daughter as Satan’s spawn?”
“No wonder yer so wound up!” Atsumu cackled. He rounded the worktable and clapped his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, Samu. After tonight, I won’t spring any more last-minute gigs on ya.”
“Is that so?” Osamu winced as his brother shook him back and forth like a vending machine.
“I’ll even set ya up with one of my friends.” Atsumu waggled his eyebrows. “Or better yet, ya can ask out yer pretty friend over at Kina’s school!”
“Okay,” Osamu drawled, writhing out of his brother’s grip. “Relax. She’s just a friend.”
“I dunno. She seemed pretty disappointed when I showed up today.”
Osamu shot his brother a flat stare. “I think that’s just yer effect on people.”
Atsumu’s face split into a cheeky grin — the same, scheming kind he wore when they were kids.
“Lemme call Kita and tell him about the missin’ produce. In the meantime…just think about it, okay?” Atsumu poked his twin brother in the ribs. “Ya deserve to be happy, too.”
Osamu could write a laundry list of reasons as to why he couldn't do that. His five-year-old daughter. This catering gig from hell. The way his skin crawled whenever he thought about meeting someone new.
Hi, I'm Osamu. Business school dropout. Twin brother to Miya Atsumu. Oh, and did I mention I have a kid?
He loved being Kina's dad. Loved learning her humor, what fruits she liked and didn't like. He loved showing her things she'd never seen before and watching her grow into herself, little-by-little.
But he also didn't expect anyone else to understand that — much less sign up for an entire lifetime of it. Why choose him when there was an easier, blonder, childless version of himself walking around?
Ya deserve to be happy, Atsumu had said.
But as Osamu watched him pace outside the door to the kitchen — phone pressed to his ear, tux glinting beneath the stadium lights — he figured this could be his version of happy. Seeing his daughter grow up, his brother succeed. It was enough. It had to be.
His phone pinged in his pocket before he could think about it too deeply.
Good luck on the catering gig today! you'd texted. Manifesting for you the biggest donations and the best sleep of your life. Lmk if you need anything.
Osamu blinked back at the messages. The series of motivational gifs you'd sent along with them. Some of them were so absurd, he found himself laughing at his phone like an idiot.
"Yer in a better mood," Atsumu drawled when he returned from the hallway.
"Am I?" Osamu hummed, pocketing his cell phone. A hint of a smile grazed his lips. "Just saw somethin' funny, is all."
The first of his catering staff walked into the kitchen before Atsumu could question him further.
"You're back." You smiled at Osamu as you approached the school gate the following day.
"Yes, ma'am," Osamu drawled, holding out a plastic bag of leftovers he'd prepared for you the previous night. "Who else did ya expect?"
"Honestly, I was half-expecting a secret third triplet to appear," you joked, taking the bag into your hands without objection. "How was the event last night? Did you raise a trillion yen?"
"Maybe not a trillion, but enough to make the lack of sleep worth it," he chuckled. "I, uh...I packed some extra short rib as a thank ya for wishin’ me well last night. Really boosted my morale."
"Well, I know how much you wanted to do right by Atsumu.” You hugged the bag close to your chest, the scent of caramelized vegetables and freshly made rice filling your nose. "It was the least I could do."
You tilted your neck toward the sky as a gentle breeze swept across the parking lot, the afternoon sun on your skin only amplifying the warmth in your chest.
"...he didn't bother ya too much yesterday, did he?"
You paused at Osamu's expression. The slight unease there.
"Who? Atsumu?"
"Yeah." Osamu shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know he can be kinda a flirt. Unless yer into that, I mean — "
You laughed as a blush rose into Osamu's cheeks.
"Don't worry. I've met athletes like him before, so they don't faze me." You nudged him in the side with your elbow. "Besides, I'm glad to have you back."
He raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Yeah?"
"Of course! I can't gossip about the kinder group chat with your doppelgänger. It's not the same."
Osamu's shoulders shook with laughter. "I guess not."
The sound of the bell cleaved your conversation in half as students flooded into the courtyard.
"Oh! I almost forgot," you blurted, reaching into your work bag. "I meant to give this to you yesterday."
You shoved a manila folder into his hands and hoped to God it wasn't too wrinkled.
"Misa has an eye doctor's appointment at four, so I gotta run to beat traffic. But take a look and let me know what you think!"
Before Osamu could open his mouth to respond, you were already jogging toward the school gate in your high heels. How you managed to do that, he had no idea.
"We'll catch up more tomorrow!” you promised him, waving the plastic bag. “And thank you for the food!"
Blinking back in confusion, Osamu peeled back the flap to the envelope and slid out the papers you'd tucked safely inside. His jaw slackened once he realized what they were.
Several mockups you'd designed of a new sign for Onigiri Miya — plus contact information for a signage company you worked with at the JVA.
He thought you were kidding when you'd offered to make one several weeks back.
A small gift for all the hard work you've put in, you'd written into the margins with a felt-tip pen. And a thank you for feeding me and Misa.
Osamu had long since accepted his version of happy. Had drawn a neat circle around all he permitted himself to feel, to want.
But as he stood there in the courtyard of Kina’s school — holding this kind, thoughtful gift you'd spent hours working on — he felt that circle widen, if only for a moment.
The feeling was enough to make his head spin as he tucked the envelope beneath his arm and went looking for his daughter.
you convince osamu to let you film a thirst trap tiktok of him cooking at onigiri miya.
a/n: inspired by that one line i wrote in my ongoing osamu series. and kenny song, ofc.
"So get yer MSBY special at Onigiri Miya today! 'Cause the only thing hotter than our winnin' streak? Is this onigiri."
"...and cut!" You step back from the DSLR you'd mounted onto your tripod with a self-satisfied smirk. "I think we got it that time!"
"Thank fuck," Atsumu sighs, rolling out his neck as he tosses the basket of onigiri onto the table with a dull thud. "Can I eat now? I'm 'bout to pass out."
From behind the bar, Osamu folds his arms and snorts. "Ya would've finished earlier if ya didn't need so many takes."
"I — it's hard bein' an influencer, okay?" his brother snaps, fixing his blonde hair in the reflection of the window. "Gotta give the people what they want."
"Yeah? And what exactly do the people want?"
"I dunno. Smiles. A lil' muscle."
"Sex appeal," you deadpan, eyes never leaving the viewfinder of your camera. Atsumu's face splits into a wide, shit-eating grin.
"What?" he laughs as Osamu shoots the two of you a disgusted look. "She said it, not me!"
You merely shake your head as the twins continue bickering in the middle of the empty restaurant, your lights and camera equipment occupying nearly half the dining room. You and Atsumu had spent the past hour filming content for an upcoming collaboration between the MSBY Black Jackals and Onigiri Miya, and while it isn't your first choice to spend your Saturday morning at work, you're determined to market this delicious limited-time meal to hell.
Even if that means convincing the chef to do the one thing he detests.
"Oh, no," Osamu warns as you approach him with your expensive camera and wide, puppy-dog eyes. "Ya already convinced me to let ya in here before openin'. Yer not gettin' me on camera, too."
"But why?" You pout. It takes every fiber of your being not to stamp your foot into the ground like a child. "Imagine the comments when MSBY fans realize there are two Miyas?"
"Imagine the shame I'll feel when my employees see me shakin' ass on the Internet?"
"I wouldn't make you shake ass!" you guffaw, ignoring the one million viral trends that flood your mind like text notifications. "Not yet, at least."
The glare Osamu gives you makes your cheeks flush pink.
"Look," you tell him, schooling your expression. "I'm not going to make you dance or recite a corny script. You don't even need to talk! Just...let me take a couple shots of you cooking the MSBY special, and I'll be on my way."
Osamu's features darken in suspicion as he considers your seemingly harmless request.
"Just do it, jackass," Atsumu says around a mouthful of onigiri, teriyaki sauce already folding into the corner of his mouth. "Whoever gets the most views gets free dinner."
The chef massages the inner corners of his eyes and sighs. So much for being the chronically offline twin.
"Fine," he says, your excited squeal making his chest twinge against his will. "Just...let me change my shirt first. I look like I just rolled out of bed."
"You look like a million bucks, baby," you coo, already reaching for the power cords of your studio lights.
The shoot goes surprisingly well. In fact, as you watch Osamu in the viewfinder of your camera, you find it criminal that he's kept himself off the Internet for so long. He guides his knife through a green onion with syncopated chops, whisks the teriyaki sauce with near-surgical precision. His biceps are flexing against his black t-shirt, and you try not to notice the way his veins strain against his large hands...
"Somethin' the matter?" Osamu asks, wiping his brow with the back of his hand once you'd stopped recording.
"...huh?" You look up from the tight shot you'd just taken with wide, unassuming eyes.
He snorts. "Ya look like you've just seen a ghost."
"No! No, I just..." You gesture vaguely to the camera in your hands, suddenly forgetting how to string together sentences. "Just admiring the food, is all."
You can't muster the pride to tell him what you were really admiring.
Or what you plan to do with the footage later that night.
"Ya made a thirst trap edit of me?!" Osamu balks at your laptop in horror.
"It's not my fault you look like that!" you snap, gesturing to the video you'd spent four hours editing on Adobe Premiere Pro last night. "I just — I couldn't help myself, okay? I reached a flow state!"
"Yeah, if by flow state you mean ovulation," Atsumu mutters as his brother's forearms take up half the screen.
At your murderous glare, he blurts, "What? Ya sure as hell don't edit me like that!"
Osamu drags a hand down his face. It's not that he's entirely put off by your edit of him. If anything, he's impressed by how you brought out the colors of his ingredients, synced the sounds of his knife to the beat of the song. He's just...he's flattered. Is this how you see him?
“I’m sorry.” You wince. This is more embarrassing than when the twins found your TikTok dedicated to hot athlete fan edits. It was actually how you landed this job. "I don't need to post it if you don't want me to."
"No! No, I just..." Osamu recoils as he's seen extending the MSBY special toward the camera with a smirk. "Ya clearly worked hard on this, and I don't want that to go to waste, so just...post it and never show it to me again, okay?"
"...okay."
You watch his brain short-circuit as he stands up and wanders back into the kitchen. He nearly slips on a freshly mopped patch of floor on the way there.
As if to redeem yourself from the depths of hell, you add, "I promise I'm not ovulating!"
Once he's out of earshot, you bury your face into your arms atop the counter and groan. "I totally am."
Atsumu takes a bite of what has to be his fifth MSBY special this week and says, "I didn't realize chefs were yer type."
"They're not."
"Yeah?" He hits the space bar of your laptop as several color-corrected clips of Osamu's hands flash across the screen.
You want nothing more than to melt into the tiles and have Osamu mop up your remains.
The video performs well — over four million likes on TikTok alone. Later that week, Atsumu asks Osamu what he wants for his free dinner. Osamu pretends not to hear him. You thumb through comments in the back corner of the restaurant, unsure of what you've just unleashed.
volleybabe87: HE HAS A TWIN??
msby_wifey: oh to be a riceball...
respectfullyferal: u know msby's social media manager is down bad
It takes every fiber of your self-restraint not to delete that last comment. Especially as Osamu serves you a steaming plate of food, blushing furiously.
osamu finds out about his daughter's school project the night before it's due. in a rare moment of panic, he calls you for backup.
part four of the after school series, a friends-to-lovers AU featuring you, osamu, and the relationship you build solo-parenting two girls in the same kindergarten class.
a/n: i didn’t think i had arachnophobia before researching for this chapter, but maybe i do... 😅
"I'm screwed."
You blinked back from the press release you'd been editing on your laptop for the past thirty minutes. "Well, hello to you, too."
"Sorry. I just — " Osamu's frustrated sigh rippled through the phone call. "Did ya know about this bug fair project that's due tomorrow?"
"Yes." You'd only done all the research, taken two trips to the craft store, and stayed up until 2:00 AM the previous night trying to finish it. (Misa tried her best to help, but promptly burst into tears after getting a glue stick stuck in her hair.) "Did you?"
"No!" he exclaimed. "Kina only told me about it ten minutes ago!"
"It was in the kinder group chat and end-of-week email, though," you said, only realizing how unhelpful you were being once you'd heard it.
"Figures," Osamu grumbled. "I've been so swamped with this caterin' gig for my brother's volleyball team, I haven't had a chance to check my messages."
"Well, you've still got time. It's only 7:10," you pointed out. "What bug did Kina choose? A honeybee? A monarch butterfly?"
"...the Goliath bird-eater spider," Osamu admitted. At your pregnant silence, he said, "Don't ask."
You frowned at the horrifying photos that appeared in your Google search images, now grateful for Misa’s affinity to ladybugs. "Wasn't going to."
"I tried makin' a trifold out of some boxes from the restaurant, but it looks like absolute crap."
"Do you need one? I've got extras."
"Ya do?" Osamu sounded confused. "But why?"
"For emergencies like this, duh." You shut your laptop and pushed it across your small dining room table. "I can head over right now, if you want."
"I can't do that to ya. What about dinner?"
"We just finished," you reassured him, glancing over to where your daughter sat watching Blues Clues reruns on the TV. "Besides, Misa could use the company. And it sounds like you could, too."
"Yeah. That's an understatement," Osamu huffed before pulling the phone from his ear. "Oi! Who told ya to step out of the time-out corner?"
"But daddyyy!" Kina wailed in the distance, all elongated vowels and drama. "I've been standin' here for ages!"
"You've been standin' there for two minutes. You'll survive," Osamu deadpanned. He returned the phone to his ear and said, "I swear, I'm raisin' my brother all over again."
You laughed lightly. "We'll be there in thirty with a trifold and my craft box."
"Thank ya, Y/N. Yer a lifesaver."
The sound of Osamu and Kina's bickering continued as you hung up, stretched, and pulled Misa's attention from the screen.
"Want to make a pit stop at Kina's?"
You could practically see the question mark unfurl above her head.
"But what about our bedtime business?"
"Come on, kiddo. Live a little," you joked, although you appreciated how saintly she was. "Tell you what. If you put your shoes on right now, I'll read you two books when we get back."
Her toothy grin was enough to make your heart squeeze. "Deal."
Half an hour later, the four of you stared at Osamu's shoddy attempt at a school project in the middle of his cramped living room. Arms crossed. Brows furrowed. You tried coming up with something positive to say, but Misa piped up before you could open your mouth.
"Mommy, I'm scared."
"What is there to be scared of?" Kina demanded. "He's cute!"
"He's terrifying," Misa mumbled.
Massaging the inner corner of his eyes, Osamu asked, "He's a he now?"
"Oh, yeah," Kina said, beaming at the giant cutout of the Goliath bird-eater spider she'd hastily slapped onto cardboard. From its eight hairy legs to its small, beady eyes, it was easily the most disgusting thing you'd ever seen. "His name is Tsum Tsum."
Osamu's face drained of all color as you coughed out a laugh.
"Yep. He's gonna hate that," he murmured under his breath before gesturing toward the open door on the other end of the apartment. "Why don't ya two play in Kina's room for now? Y/N-chan and I will see if we can salvage this."
"Do you need any help?" Misa asked, eyes wide as saucers.
You mashed your lips together as the glue stick fiasco from the previous night came to mind.
"That's very sweet of you, kiddo," you said. "But unless you want a bowl cut for school picture day, then I'd suggest you sit this one out."
You watched as the girls half-ran, half-skipped into the bedroom, already debating the rules of some make-believe game they'd started during recess that day. Meanwhile, Osamu stared at the makeshift poster on his coffee table like it was the bane of his existence.
"Sorry for draggin' ya into this," he said once the girls were out of earshot. "I know there's probably a million things you'd rather be doin'."
"Besides spending quality time with you and Tsum Tsum?" you joked, gesturing toward the photo.
"God." He dragged his hands down his face. "My brother's gonna kill me."
"Maybe if we put a pretty bow on it, he'll spare you."
You rolled up the sleeves of your sweatshirt and got right to work — partly because you offered, mostly because you needed something to do with your hands.
It didn't escape you that Osamu's apartment was similar to your own, what with its bare walls, second-hand furniture, and endless piles of half-folded laundry. It also didn't escape you that this was the first time he'd ever really asked you for help. In the couple of months you'd known each other, he'd always been so suave, so put-together. A PTA heartthrob and a good cook to boot.
Now, as you watched him pad toward the kitchen in his plaid pajama bottoms and overgrown hair, he seemed...realer. Less constructed, almost.
"Can I get ya anythin'?" he asked, yanking open the door to the fridge. "Water? A carton of Yoo-Hoo?"
You gently scraped Tsum Tsum off the cardboard with your box cutter and said, "I'd kill for a carton of Yoo-Hoo right now."
Osamu chuckled and grabbed two from the fridge.
"So what's this catering gig you're doing for your brother?" you asked, thanking him as he placed your box of chocolate milk beneath a coaster on the coffee table. "He plays for the MSBY Black Jackals, right?"
"Yes, ma'am. He's the team's star setter and everythin'." He grunted as he sat down on the carpet beside you. "I'm surprised ya don't run into him more, given all yer fancy JVA connections."
"Eh, I know who he is. Watched him play a handful of times, approved some advertisements with his face on them. But that's about it."
Osamu gave you a sideways glance and chuckled. As if he seldom found people who weren't totally star-struck by Miya Atsumu.
"Well, the MSBY Black Jackals are hostin' this charity event for athletic youth programs in rural areas," he explained. "It's the first time they're doin' it, and havin' grown up in the middle of nowhere ourselves...it means a lot to us."
"Wow." You pushed out your bottom lip, impressed. "Sounds exciting."
Osamu blew a raspberry. "It would be...if Tsumu hadn't told me about it two weeks before."
You barked out a flat, humorless laugh. "Procrastination runs in this family, doesn't it?"
"Unfortunately," Osamu grumbled. "I just feel like...I got no room to breathe these days, ya know? Between the caterin' gig and the restaurant and Kina's homework..."
You set your box cutter down on the coffee table and met his gaze.
"You can say no to things, you know," you told him. "Obviously not, like, school projects and stuff. But the catering gigs. Those are optional, right?"
"Yeah. Right. Well, sort of." Osamu rubbed the back of his neck. "Remember how I told ya I quit college to run Onigiri Miya full-time?"
You nodded.
"Well, before that, my brother and I always told each other we would pursue volleyball. Professionally."
"What? I didn't know that."
Osamu nodded. "Used to daydream about it all the time. Broke Tsumu's heart when I told him it wasn't really what I wanted."
He picked at a loose thread on his pajama pants.
"Guess that's why I feel like I can't say no to him," he huffed. "One, because I still feel bad. Two, because...I dunno, maybe I need to prove to him that I made the right choice."
Your shoulders sank at his words. The way they colored in the picture of who he was — what he silently tucked away beneath all that hard work and steady, agreeable charm.
"Well, for one, you should never feel bad for following your gut," you told him, reassuming the box cutter. "And two, I don't think you need to prove yourself to anyone. Least of all me."
Something shifted in his grey eyes as you proceeded with your handiwork, the steady metal scrape of the blade filling the silence between you.
"Aha! Got it." You beamed, holding the life-size photo of the Goliath bird-eater spider like it was a prize certificate. "What do you think? Should we sneak this under Atsumu's pillow and call it even?"
Osamu scoffed, half-amused, half-sheepish. "You've never even met the guy."
You shrugged. "Do I need to?”
The two of you worked in silence for the next hour. Clipping out the fun facts Osamu had printed. Organizing them atop the trifold you'd pulled from your closet. You realized how ridiculous you both looked once you started gluing everything down — elbows locked, asses up. Bodies bent over Kina's school project like it was open-heart surgery.
"Somethin' funny over there?" Osamu huffed, meticulously working his glue stick beneath the loose corners of the paper.
"Nothing, it's just..." His ears turned red as you laughed at his slightly compromising position. "Some twenty-seven-year-olds spend their Thursday nights clubbing."
"Well, most twenty-seven-year-olds don't have kids their senior year of college."
"Touché," you snorted.
Once you were finished, you both collapsed against the foot of the couch and admired your work.
"Wow," you breathed.
"The bubble letters were a nice touch," Osamu said, gesturing to the title you'd free-handed with a Crayola marker. "Real cute."
"Oh! That reminds me..."
You retrieved a tiny pink bow from a Ziplock bag you kept at the bottom of your craft box and secured it right above Tsum Tsum's eight beady eyes. Osamu barked out in laughter.
"It's perfect," he said, eyes gleaming. Voice thick with exhaustion. "I…I can't thank ya enough."
You smiled at him beneath the warm lights of his apartment and peeled the superglue off your fingertips. "Should we see what the girls think?"
You found them passed out on the floor of Kina's bedroom not a moment later — eyes closed, cheeks pressed against the carpet. They were surrounded by an assortment of play food and stuffed animals, and they were snoring.
"I swear, they'll sleep anywhere but their actual bed," Osamu said, leaning against the door frame with a flat expression.
A snort slipped past your lips. "It's almost as if they did all the work."
His face bloomed into a soft, exasperated smile.
"Wanna carry Misa to the car? I'll bring yer craft box down."
"In a moment," you reassured him, padding back toward the living room in your socks. "I still have to finish my box of Yoo-Hoo."
It wasn't often people reached out to you for help these days. They often chalked it up to you being a mom, having different priorities. Which wasn't entirely wrong. When your pregnancy test came back positive nearly six years ago, you'd accepted the fact that your friendships would look different. More distant. Which was fine. You had handled it.
But as you collapsed onto the couch next to Osamu — limbs heavy, smiles tired — you realized how much you missed being someone's friend. Being close enough to someone to see all of them. Messy parts included.
It was nice. A breath of fresh air, almost.
You had a feeling Osamu felt it, too, as you lifted your boxes of chocolate milk in cheers and slurped them down in one go.
osamu treats you to lunch at onigiri miya — and grows determined to change your half-hearted relationship with food.
part three of the after school series, a friends-to-lovers AU featuring you, osamu, and the relationship you build solo-parenting two girls in the same kindergarten class.
a/n: we're learning a bit more about y/n and osamu's backstories in this one, friends! i'm excited to get into it. as a warning, there are brief mentions of food insecurity and parental absence in this chapter, so please read responsibly. thank you! ♡
"Yo, boss."
Osamu looked up from his desk to see his newest hire standing in the doorway to his cramped office.
"Itsuki," he said, lowering the stack of vendor invoices he'd been cross-checking for the past hour. "What's up?"
The disheveled eighteen-year-old jutted his chin out toward the dining room. "There's someone here to see you out front. Says you owe 'em some food or somethin'."
A huff slipped past Osamu's lips. "Is it Kita?"
"No, sir. It's a woman," Itsuki said matter-of-factly. Then, because he was an honest guy, "Mad pretty, if that helps."
The fact that Osamu immediately knew who his employee was talking about made his jaw twitch.
"I — yep, it does," the restaurant owner clipped, easing himself out of his broken desk chair and absentmindedly adjusting his baseball cap. "Tell her I'll be out in a sec."
He found you studying the menu at the register not a moment later — lips pursed to one side. Work bag weighing down one shoulder. The wind had tousled your hair the moment you'd stepped out of the car, and it didn't escape Osamu that Itsuki was entirely right. Not that it mattered, anyway.
"Well, would ya look at that," he drawled. Your eyes flicked to his as he braced his palms against the countertop and grinned. "Look who finally decided to show up."
You lowered the laminated menu with an exasperated smile on your face.
"To be fair, it was very hard to find this place." You gestured flippantly toward the parking lot. "Did you know your name isn't listed on the pylon sign out front? I drove by it, like, three times."
"Huh. Is that what they're called?" Osamu chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess I didn't think it was necessary."
"Well, let me know if you need one designed," you told him seriously. He could see the gears turning at rapid speed behind your eyes. "I don't mind doing it."
Something like concern crossed his grey eyes as he said, "I'm startin' to think you'd rather work yerself to death than be bored."
You scratched your head with a manicured finger. "Kuroo may have kicked me out of the office until I ate lunch."
Osamu snorted.
"Well, lucky for ya, rush hour don't start for another hour." He jutted his chin toward the bar before heading toward the sink. "Have a seat."
The rush of tap water filled his ears as he asked, "Anything in particular yer cravin' today?"
"Not really," you sighed, heaving your work bag onto the countertop like a sack of potatoes. "I'm not much of a foodie, so I don't have any strong preferences."
He snapped the faucet off and frowned.
"What d'ya mean, yer not much of a foodie?"
Shrugging, you said, "I dunno. I've always kinda seen eating as a means to an end. Something I do out of necessity rather than enjoyment.”
You might as well have slapped him, given the way he looked at you right now.
"Let me get this straight." He leaned against the countertop, dried his hands on the apron fastened neatly across his waist. "In yer entire twenty-seven years, you've never had a meal that made yer eyes roll into the back of yer head?"
"No?" You blinked. Then, because you stupidly forgot who you were talking to, "Have you?"
"Course I have!" he laughed. "So many times. It's why I'm in this business to begin with."
"Hm." You folded your arms at what he'd just described. Wondered if he found you psychotic for never experiencing it yourself.
At the way your brow creased, Osamu dropped his shoulders and smiled.
"Look. Ya don't need a Michelin-star palate to appreciate good food," he said. "Just gimme the chance to impress ya. Show ya what you've been missin' out on."
At your doubtful expression, he asked, "Didn't ya call me the male Mary Berry the other day?"
You rolled your eyes at him. "Don't let it get to your head."
"Too late," he hummed, reaching for a clean pair of gloves.
You hadn't meant to show up here unannounced, what with your wrinkled dress shirt, bulky work bag, and frustratingly uncooperative bedhead. But when Kuroo heard your stomach growl and told you to take an early lunch, now seemed as good a time as any to cash in on the free meal Osamu had promised you.
Now, you watched him from across the counter — eyes sharp with concentration, biceps flexing beneath black compression sleeves. He looked like one of those thirst trap chefs that went viral on TikTok for violating their food, though you would never in a million years admit that to him.
"This is a really nice place," you said instead, sweeping your gaze across the cozy dining room. "How long have you been here?”
"About four, five years?" Osamu guessed. "I started sellin' onigiri out of my college dorm when I was twenty-one. But when I found out I was gonna be a dad, I dropped out to do it full time."
Your eyes widened. "That sounds…terrifying."
"Oh, I was shittin' bricks," he assured you with a laugh. "I had no idea if it was gonna work out — only that I had a decent customer base and desperately needed the money."
A grin worked its way onto his lips as he added, "My ma didn't know what to do with me. Soon-to-be dad with a runaway girlfriend. Business school dropout to boot."
"To be fair, I don't think you need a business degree. And that’s coming from someone who has one.”
"Yeah? Ya do a marketin' track or somethin'?"
"Yes, sir," you drawled. "I graduated summa cum laude with a baby bump the size of Jupiter. My parents were so livid with me. Misa's father, too."
At that, Osamu scoffed. "He does realize it takes two to make a baby, right?"
You shrugged. "Apparently, I should've used a better birth control pill."
"Unbelievable," he murmured, shaping the rice in his hands with practiced ease. "I'd like to see him graduate at the top of his class nine-months pregnant."
You laughed at the absurd image that now played across your imagination. "He wouldn't have lasted a day."
A calm, comforting silence washed over the both of you.
"I still think about goin' back sometimes, though," he confessed to you. "I only had a semester left."
"Well, it's never too late. The local community college has a great program for nontraditional students."
Wincing, he said, "Ya make me sound so old."
"You are old. You open the TikToks I send you on Safari."
"I — my phone needs an update, okay?" he argued, plating your onigiri with near-surgical precision.
The laugh that tumbled out of your lips died the moment he presented you your food.
Now, you'd eaten at nice restaurants before. Had chewed your way through premiere seafood at networking events, medium-rare steaks at company Christmas parties. But none of those meals felt quite as inspired as the one that sat before you now. It had a little bit of everything: braised pork rib, miso-glazed salmon. Ginger scallion rice and an abundance of pickled veggies.
It was gorgeous. Architectural. It made you realize why Osamu felt confident enough to quit school to do this.
"...ya gonna eat it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "Or just stare at it 'till it gets cold?"
"Right." You blinked back, indecisive. "Which should I try first?"
"The salmon, for sure. It's a fan favorite."
The crunch of nori and crispy salmon skin was music to Osamu's ears as you took your first bite — mouth full, shoulders hunched over your plate. His face broke out into a grin when your eyes rolled into the back of your head, and you were ninety-nine percent sure a moan had slipped past your lips.
"Not a foodie, then, huh?" he asked, folding his arms across his chest.
"Shut up," you said around a mouthful of food, knowing perfectly well how satiated you looked and how thoroughly he'd proven you wrong. "What did you put in here? Crack cocaine?"
"Oh, no. Ya caught me.”
You nearly choked on your food as you laughed.
"No, but seriously. Where did you learn to cook like this?"
"My ma, mainly." He shrugged, wiping down his workspace with a damp rag. "We didn't have a ton of money growin' up, so she was always tryin' to make stuff at home."
"That makes sense. My parents were always working, so they didn't have a lot of time to cook.” Snorting, you added, "I probably have radiation poisoning from all the frozen dinners I'd microwave for myself."
At that, Osamu's expression splintered.
You shot him a wry look from across the counter. "Sorry. Did I break your heart just now?"
"No! No," he insisted, schooling his expression. You smiled at him pointedly. "I mean, a little, it’s just — "
How could he convey to you just how much you were missing out on? How pleasurable food could be? He saw your face the moment you’d bitten into your onigiri, had relished in it more than he cared to admit. Would it be weird of him to say that he wanted to feed you more — just so you could make that face again?
“Ya deserve a good meal every once in a while, is all."
“So I’ve realized,” you drawled, taking another bite of your onigiri. "Maybe you should feed me more often, then."
Those words — the teasing, easy way in which you'd said them — made a lightbulb flicker on in his brain.
The next morning, Osamu met you and Misa in the Kimori parking lot with two bento boxes of food in his arms.
"You didn't." Your jaw went slack at the assortment of fruits, vegetables, and tuna mayo onigiri staring back at you. "When I said you should feed me more, I meant that as a joke!"
"Are you sure I can eat this, mommy?" Misa whispered, holding her own bento box like it was contraband. "What about the food you made me?"
You winced at the peanut butter sandwich and peeled orange that was probably flattened at the bottom of her book bag.
"It's okay, love," you reassured her, sighing as the first bell of the day rattled in your ears. "You can save it for after school."
"Or you can give it to me!" Kina chimed in helpfully.
Her father cut her a pointed look. "Try again."
The excitement drained from her face like water from a bathtub. "Or you can save it for after school."
"There ya go."
You watched as the girls ran toward their classroom — thank you's called out over shoulders. Book bags bouncing with every step. Your pride was only mildly bruised from having accepted Osamu's help, yet you couldn't help the emotion that now filled your chest.
He'd made you lunch.
Not only that, he'd made Misa lunch.
How could you ever repay him?
As if he could read the question on your face, he said, "Ya don't owe me anythin', by the way. This one's on the house."
Your grip tightened around the bento box now warming your palms.
"…thank you, Osamu," you breathed. "I hope you know I'm now ordering you the biggest pylon sign known to man."
A low chuckle slipped past his lips. "Lookin' forward to it, then.”
Once your lunch break rolled around, you made sure to savor every bite.
