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tobio-mochi · 2 years

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chapter 7: one step forward (a million steps back)

chapters: 7 / 15 pairing: miya osamu x f! reader genre: romance, angst, fluff, inarizaki shenanigans wc: 2.8k summary: miya osamu does not dare set fire to his heart. it burns anyway.

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Swapping the backdrop from the rural countryside to the bustling metropolis does not dampen your feelings for Miya Osamu in any way.

You’d always thought he was attractive with his strong chin, the sturdy sweep of his shoulders but now your gaze lingers on him more and more, appreciating the openness of his smile, the warmth of his eyes. His heart is too big to cram into his chest, and you like him all the more for it - the consideration he pays to his staff (and you), the gruff love he shows his family, the genuine care he gives to his guests. It scares you, how much you love - like him, craving for his attention, his friendship suddenly insufficient when you want more. Your name sounds beautiful when he says it, even though you’ve always hated it (a relic of your past), and you stand a little taller, smile a little wider when he’s anywhere near you.

“So, the boss huh.” Suzuki states with a motherly pat to your shoulders. “Finally.”

The rest of the staff seem to share her sentiment, nudging you forward whenever they see the opportunity to leave you and Osamu alone, elbowing you with grins whenever Osamu smiles at you, nodding approvingly whenever he offers to walk you home (or to the night shift) after late nights at the restaurant.

You’re a terrible liar so you just shrug helplessly, biting your bottom lip. “Not that I know what to do”, you admit.

Which is true. You’ve had crushes before - handsome boys who accompany their parents to your father’s sushi restaurant, classmates who were unattainable, out of reach but you’d put them on a pedestal, imagining how you’d enjoy being one half of a couple, holding hands, sharing smiles. But this is different. You’ve never had anyone you actually, truly, really like for who they are, and there’s so so much to like about Miya Osamu.

Suzuki’s expression turns sympathetic when you confess all of this to her, your voice small, unsure. “I’ll help you”, she promises. “The boss needs something more than just work in his life, and I bet he probably feels the same way about you. From the way he looks at you, at least.”

“You think so?” you ask, but she doesn’t bother giving you a response, sending out texts on her phone at machine gun speed, and the next thing you know, she’s roped in Kaiyo and the entire staff (who’s itching to get involved anyway) to aid in the mission of capturing the elusive heart of one Miya Osamu.

Step one - feed the chef.

Suzuki-san and Kaiyo unanimously pronounce that the way to Miya Osamu’s heart is through his stomach. A tired saying, but one that rings true for the chef-owner of Onigiri Miya.

“But what am I supposed to cook for him that he can’t already cook for himself?” you protest, though whatever you say falls on deaf ears.

You consider baking something, but your parents’ old house lacks a working oven, understandable since your parents (and yourself, nowadays) would only retreat home for rest. You consider buying him some upscale delicacy, some sort of expensive cake or mochi or sweet treat of sorts, but it seems needlessly expensive and it’s not like Osamu’s a food snob to begin with. Then you overhear Osamu complaining that he can’t find the time to travel to the Kobe fishmarket to check out what’s on offer this winter deep sea fishing season, and an idea forms in your head.

He doesn’t have the time, but you do.

So you call in favours from your father’s old business acquaintances, pop down into Kobe before dawn in long unworn wet market boots, returning back to Osaka with your bounty. You stare at the array of fresh seafood. Kani, a whole hairy crab, splayed old, pincers wriggling out at you in an indication it’s still alive. Pearly grey oysters, all unshucked. Yellowtail, the fish still gasping, Madai, the red seabream’s gills glistening in the light. A bagful of shrimp, each impossibly long, perfectly pink.

You’re not quite sure what to do with them, so you present them all in their box, packed with ice. Like a floral arrangement, a bouquet of seafood to your intended conquest.

He gapes silently, eyes wide as dinner plates, darting between the box and yourself. “Surprise”, you say needlessly, weakly.

“It’s too much”, he says at first, but thanks you with boyish enthusiasm, when you explain he’ll only let the food go to waste if he doesn’t take it from you. He throws an impromptu party with staff and family that night with the spoils from your gift, unabashedly asking if you’d show him the best way to prepare the fish. It’s gratifying to watch everyone ooh and aah as the course after course of decadent seafood emerges from the kitchen, more so when he slumps beside you, head down on the countertop in an obvious food coma at the end of the night.

“What’s the occasion for all of this?” he asks, almost lost to sleep.

It’s just three simple words, but you chicken out. Courage has never been your strongest suit. “To thank you for being my friend”, you say instead, which is kinda, sorta true.

“You never need to thank me for that”, he says, before laughing at himself, at the cheesiness of what he’s just said.

You think otherwise, but you just echo the cadence of his laugh.

(one step forwards, two steps back)

Step two - show him affection.

You’re instructed by Kaiyo and Suzuki-san to express your affection for him.

“Physically”, Kaiyo says, “since you seem incapable of doing so with words.”

You feel like telling her that you’ve grown up without the blueprint to showing human affection, especially romantic affection.

“Okay look”, she adds after a few beats of you staring goggle eyed at her. “Just follow what ‘Tsumu and I do, k? You can try hugging him when he walks you home - don’t look at me like that, as if I don’t know that he does, honestly - the two of you act like you’re in high school, but act on your feelings and maybe hold his hand too - “

“You don’t hug Atsumu”, you point out. “You smack him and poke him and tickle him, and occasionally exchange kisses.”

“That’s what passes for foreplay in his mind -”

You wince. “I did not need to know that.”

“But if you wanna kiss Osamu, hey, you do you, I’m a great believer in goin’ out there and taking life by its balls.”

“Baby, I’m sittin’ right here when you’re talkin’ about me and - please don’t take me by the balls”, Atsumu pleads, covering Shoma’s ears with large hands. “Sounds painful.”

Kaiyo’s grin is shark-like. Yet Atsumu just gazes at her like a lovelorn puppy. You…admire their marital bliss, but you probably should not take them as role models in lessons of physical affection. Perhaps you can try your best to channel the Kitas instead with their open affection and gentle care for each other.

So you brush past him in the restaurant when you pass him dishes, greet him with a side hug which he returns with a chuckle when he comes to your place to bring Kombu-chan yet another treat, ruffling his hair when he does his best at baby-talking your haughty cat. You lean into him, chasing the heat his body emits when you leave his shop to fetch some item that’s run out, returning with your shirt translucent, clinging and wet with rain.

“Shoulda made sure you went out with an umbrella”, he mutters, frowning as you shiver.

His frown deepens as you lose your balance and nearly topple backwards, mind fogging up as he rubs his hands together to generate even more heat before clasping yours between his, so careful and gentle almost as if he’s afraid you might shatter. “I’m okay”, you breathe, but that doesn’t seem to reassure him, because your goosebumps line your flesh, your teeth chattering.

“Time for you to go home”, he says flatly.

Suzuki-san gives you a conspiratorial grin when he takes your elbow to escort you home, his arm heavy on your shoulders. “Take care of her”, she calls after him. He doesn’t respond, but the determination in his stride indicates he fully intends to.

His closeness grounds you and knocks you off your feet at the same time. You don’t even realise that you’re at your front door until he extracts your spare key from beneath your floor mat, Kombu-chan peeping between the gate to investigate.

“Shower, now”, he orders and you obey without a fight.

When you emerge, hair towelled dry, skin damp and warm from steam, there’s a warm cup of ginger and honey on the table. Your rice cooker hums, a glistening, perfectly fried egg waiting for you to plop it in your mouth. Ceramic clinks in the metal sink, a pair of wooden chopsticks line your bowl. “Eat, and then sleep”, he says again, mouth pinched. “Don’t want you t’come down with a cold or somethin’ worse.”

Usually when he shows you any sort of kindness (which is almost too often, because Miya Osamu is the best man you know), you just thank him with varying degrees of politeness and awkwardness, unable to express how actually grateful you are that he’s found you worthy of being nice to, but today, after freezing in the winter’s first rainstorm and dragging yourself through puddles and mud, your reserve peels away.

“Won’t come down with a cold”, you murmur before winding your arms around Osamu, the man frozen as you pull him into a semblance of a hug.

You wonder a half-second too late if you’ve overstepped before he relaxes, shoulders carefully settling. You could too easily get used to this, learn to be addicted to this - the feeling of him in your arms, large and strong and sturdy, basking in the heat of his body like sitting cross legged before a fireplace. He smells a little like rain himself, earthy and damp and there’s a hint of sesame oil, fragrant and nutty.

Then he disentangles himself from you, hands under your arms so he can hold you carefully away from him. You shudder from the sudden loss of warmth, whining under your breath.

“You’re definitely gonna get sick tomorrow”, he says, brushing a large palm against your overheated forehead, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Bed, now.”

He keeps you at a polite distance, hovers by the threshold to your room as you settle into bed, only crossing it once to bring Kombu-chan in, dropping her onto your lap. “Goodnight”, he murmurs before leaving you behind in darkness, thunder rolling in the horizon.

You crawl on your knees, tugging the curtains open, letting the tiniest sliver of light into your room as you lie face-up on your bed. Count the cracks in your ceilings, even though you already know the answer. Kombu-chan ends up deserting you and you stay awake for hours, only dropping off to sleep when the rain clears and the moon peeks out behind clouds.

After that, you’re unable to find any reason to show Osamu any physical affection whatsoever. It’s as if he’s constructed a force field to keep you out, the hair on your arms rising, almost crackling when he skirts around you, as if - as if he’s wary of you.

Oh, you conclude. You overstepped.

You apologise the next opportunity you get, but Osamu scrunches his eyebrows together, as if he’s trying to decipher whether he should be confused or offended that you even brought it up. “Don’t be silly”, he waves you off. It’s not clear whether he means it’s truly fine, because he goes back to normal after a while, reaching out to ruffle your hair when you bump his elbow with yours, but you’re not sure what to believe so you just - you just respect the distance he’s put between you.

(one step forward, three steps back)

“You two are hopeless”, Kaiyo says crossly after zero progress is made on the chasing Miya Osamu front. “Maybe we should just lock you both in the store room until proximity and time makes you desperate enough to just spit out that you like him, it’s not rocket science, y’know -”

Atsumu just shakes his head, balancing Shoma on his lap.

“What!” she exclaims peevishly. “Maybe you could contribute some suggestions, since you and Osamu shared the same womb.”

“Just grab him and kiss him”, he chortles, dodging a swat from his wife. “Worked like a charm for me.”

You just look at him with distrust. “I think I’ll pass, thanks”, you demur politely.

Step three - date night, just him and you.

“Maybe you should just be direct and ask him out on a date”, Kaiyo suggests. Suzuki-san nods with approval, and you agree readily, because you’d been facing their ire for failing to tell Osamu your feelings which is far easier said than done, but neither are going to listen to you anyway. So you do, asking him out for dinner on Monday, the only day of the week he’s willing to take a break (enforced by me, Suzuki-san tells you smugly), and he accepts without question.

It’s a last ditch attempt, a final shot before you’ll throw in the towel, give him up completely.

“Did you specify it was a date?” Kaiyo asks, face-palming when you admit with a sheepish smile no.

“It should be obvious!” you protest, because why else would you ask him specifically out for dinner at a fancy restaurant booked out weeks in advance by couples, serving fine French food and good Italian wines, but Osamu proves you wrong.

First, it’s bad enough that he turns up fifteen minutes late, but he sticks out like a sore thumb in jeans and a t-shirt. Second, he looks around and wonders aloud about the coincidence of everyone around you sitting in pairs. Third, and most egregiously, the sin that Kaiyo will slap the back of his head for as punishment, to which he’ll just frown at her, arguing his innocence -

“D’you mind if a friend joins us tonight? He’s havin’ a tough time.”

He doesn’t need to look at you with puppy dog eyes, doesn’t need to pout because you’re weak, unable to refuse anything he asks of you.

“Sure”, you reply.

That’s how Suna Rintaro, middle blocker of the EJP Raijin and soon-to-be divorcee and single father of one, ends up at your table, an awkward trio in a room full of cooing couples. He sulks through appetisers, pronounces that romance is overrated when the couple next to you shows off their engagement ring to their thoroughly unimpressed waiter, and eyes you with contempt when Osamu slips off to the washroom.

“He’s not interested. You should take a hint, like the rest of the women clamouring to date him.”

You splutter into your glass of water, choking out coughs. “I’m not - we’re just - I mean -” He levels a stare at you through feline eyes, decidedly unconvinced.

“Yeah, right.” Sharp, concise.

Shame burns through your veins, spreading like quickfire. You regret all of this immediately, whispering your excuses to Osamu when he returns to the table, confused by your sudden haste to leave. The nip of the early winter chill only serves to inflame your regret, making you want to drown yourself into a rain filled puddle.

Kombu-chan noses about your ankles when you stumble home, a bedraggled, sad creature wearing the tatters of her ego, the dregs of her dignity. “At least one of us is happy”, you tell her when you feed her a treat.

She meows and steps all over you as you lie facedown on the floor.

Osamu turns up at the end of your shift when you fail to turn up at his shop again, armed with his usual bribe of onigiris and mochi. “Was Suna rude to you, that lil’ shit?” he asks without preamble, face contorting into something ugly, harsh beneath artificial fluorescent lights.

You lie through your teeth, murmuring a no as you stare at your feet. You don’t even dare to look up at him, not when you’re still smarting from being seen right through by a close friend of his.

“He said somethin’, didn’t he?” Osamu persists, sighing when you match his stubbornness, shaking your head to pretend otherwise.

Osamu’s too busy, too distracted to spend much time trying to draw out exactly what’s wrong, what’s ailing you (the restaurant’s renovations are almost complete, he tells you, and he’s preparing a soft launch for family and friends, you have to be there of course), so he just walks you home, patting your back and saying “don’t mind Rin, he’s a piece of shit right now cos’ life is kinda rough for him”.

“There’s nothing to mind, Osamu. Really, I’m fine”, you reply with a cheerfulness that’s decidedly forced.

“Really?”

Your stomach always burns when you lie. You pick up Kombu-chan, burying your face in her fur, willing your innards to stop tearing itself into shreds. “You don’t have to worry about me, ‘Samu.”

You’re lying again, but he doesn’t need to know the truth.

(one step forward, a million steps back)

a/n: oh 'samu. oh suna. oh, poor, poor reader. i put her through the wringer ><

#miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu #mochi.recs

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tobio-mochi · 2 years

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chapter 6: a flicker of hope

chapters: 6 / 15 pairing: miya osamu x f! reader genre: romance, angst, fluff, inarizaki shenanigans wc: 3.8k summary: miya osamu does not dare set fire to his heart. it burns anyway.

(prev / next)

You write your newfound crush on Miya Osamu off as the natural consequence of over-exposure. With Atsumu leaving to get back to practice once the weekend is over, you expected Osamu to spend more time with the kids. But the kids seem all too ready to entertain themselves, Shoma running off with the Kita trio of daughters in an attempt to be one with the troupe of ducks living in the farmhouse’s backyard, Shino absorbed in her self imposed volleyball training regimen and calls to Meian Makoto.

So Osamu is always the first person you greet when you wake up for sunrises on the farm. You nod at him over the breakfast table while you eat your way through Obaa-san’s delicious offerings, golden rolls of tamagoyaki, glistening fillets of saba fish, vegetable pickles and of course, bowls of fragrant rice.

“What would you like to do today?” he’d ask once you’ve both finished helping Obaa-san clear up, him washing the dishes and you drying them.

“Anything”, you’d reply.

He’ll make a small, annoyed sound at the back of his throat but he’ll plan something for you to do anyway. Food will invariably be involved in some way - a visit to a soybean farm nearby, so he can do some research on what's the best sort of shouyou to use in his restaurant.

“I thought you said you were on a break?” you ask, arching your brows.

“I just came across the farm and we might as well go in and take a look since it’s on the way”, he immediately replies, a touch too defensive to be believable.

“I see why your employees imposed a holiday on you”, you tease.

“It’s mutiny, that’s what it is”, he mutters under his breath.

“You already work too hard, you shouldn’t even be thinking about work”, you argue, but he bites back a snort when your professional curiosity forces you to lift a bottle of transparent shouyou up to the light, examining its viscosity.

“I live to work”, he says. “My restaurants are all that’s needed to make me happy.”

You suppose you’re in no position to argue with that because it seems like it’s true. Work seems to always be on his mind.

He muses upon the endless possibilities his third restaurant will offer as you both take a break from picking apples, lying beneath a tree, tufts of grass peeking through his hair. “It’s another step in the right direction”, he says, tone almost jubilant, so unlike his usual, stoic self. You listen, spellbound as he details what he’s done with your parent’s old shop - the new stoves he’s installed, the industrial cookers, the warm upholstery and wood seating in the front to make the place a little more casual, a little more welcoming. The ghosts from your past haunting the place should fade, replaced by better, brighter memories of the happiness he brings to people.

(happiness he might bring to you, too)

It’s not overexposure, is it? It’s just the natural consequence of being around Miya Osamu.

He’s offered you a flame of hope with his friendship, the flickering light starting to chase the shadows and darkness you’ve been mired in for years, alone. He has no idea how monumental that is to you, drawing you out of the melancholy and regret of a thwarted childhood, forgotten dreams. You’re on the verge of telling him so, thanking him for how happy he’s made you. You wonder if you’ll ever dare to hint at whether he might, possibly, be open to you asking just a little more from him when you’re interrupted by a shout.

“Uncle Samu!”

A projectile is lobbed at the both of you, which he easily snatches out of the air with one hand - an apple, which he offers to you. “I told her food is to be respected, not used as part of a prank, but apparently she still forgets that at age twelve”, he shakes his head, before proceeding on the warpath to collar Shino, the culprit, for her blatant disrespect of food - unforgivable in his eyes, you gather.

(perhaps fate is telling you to fall back, observe the terrain a little)

You take a step back.

But then fate plays a trick on you. It sends cupid in the form of Miya Shino, the little imp pleading with her uncles (Kita Shinsuke is her uncle in all but blood, you discover) to play volleyball with her.

“C’mon”, she wheedles. “Da always said you were bloody fantastic at volleyball - ”

“Shino, language”, Kaiyo interjects, brows drawn in reproof, but the irrepressible tween just shoots her a half hearted apology, continuing to beg until Kita unearths a volleyball that’s in surprisingly good condition despite his claims that he hasn’t practised ever since the birth of Asami, his eldest daughter.

“Nonsense”, Ichika tells you cheerfully as she cheers her husband on from the shade, toasting you with a jug of apple cider. “Let’s just say I fall pregnant every time Shinsuke decides to unearth that volleyball.”

“You’re ready to jump him if he just looks at you”, Kaiyo teases.

“As if you’re not the same”, Ichika shoots back, indignant. “Shoma’s literally the product of a championship match, isn’t it -”

You think they’ve both lost their minds but then you promptly join them in their madness with Osamu decides to roll up his sleeves, displaying sculpted biceps that can be easily compared to a work of art (or the perfect slab of pink otoro, marbled tuna), powerful thighs flexing when he leaps into the air to demonstrate to Shino how to refine her spiking technique. To top it all off, when he takes a water break, he lifts his shirt to swipe at his forehead, giving you a whole eyeful of his abs, nary any softness despite age and his self professed love for food.

Kaiyo reaches a hand over beneath your hanging jaw, helping you close your mouth. “So you don’t get caught drooling”, she grins as you bury your face between your knees. “He’s like my brother, but even I can admit he’s maintained his figure - ‘Tsumu teases him too much so ‘Samu keeps himself fit out of spite - ”

You’re on the verge of making a deal with the underworld gods to open the earth up and swallow you whole when Ichika adds, without a touch of shame - “yeah, ‘Samu’s good-looking, but look at Shinsuke!” She leans her head in her hand, staring openly. “He’s perfect - gods, I want another baby with him - ”

“You already have three”, Kaiyo stresses, reaching over to slap her best friend’s mouth shut.

Emboldened by your friends, you whisper through your fingers, confessing to your knees that you find Osamu quite attractive too. That’s a little of an understatement though, especially when he catches your eye during a break in the rally and gives you a little wave. He looks like a god like this, broad shouldered and tall, tossing the ball up in the air with sheer athleticism. The stream of sunlight filtering through the leaves gleams, his dark hair and bronzed skin glowing. It’s almost as if he were carved out of pure gold - untouchable, perfect.

Your breath falters, lungs pierced by cupid’s arrows.

Kaiyo and Ichika melt away when he comes over, making excuses that the children need an afternoon nap, though it’s strange that the children return muddy and exhausted from a ‘nap’ in the duck pond. Despite his earlier protestations, Kita easily agrees when Shino asks to practise her receiving skills with him, distracting the younger girl from demanding her uncle’s attention.

“Hey”, Osamu approaches, frowning when you shrink back as if you’ve been burnt (you have, because you’re being scorched from inside out). “You okay there?”

“I’m fine”, you squeak, sun drunk. “It’s just a little warm.”

“C’mon, time for a drink”, he murmurs, pulling you up to your feet, hand at your elbow to usher you into the farmhouse, but you don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s his proximity to you is what’s causing your lightheadedness, and he’s just driving the arrow deeper into your chest when he seats you at the kitchen, rustling around to make a concoction of cool honey and lemon tea, watching you eagled eyed until you drink it all up.

“Feelin’ better?” he asks, but his efforts are counterproductive because he leans forward, almost placing himself between your open thighs as he presses a hand against your damp forehead. “You’re turnin’ feverish”, he comments, the furrow in his brows deepening at the flush of heat erupting across your face.

“It’s just a hot day, that’s all”, you manage to croak, barely keeping your balance on the stool.

He looks at you incredulously. “It’s autumn”, he deadpans, but he’s really not helping matters when he presses a warm palm against your neck, your pulse skittering, your heart deciding to erupt into flames, your chest turning into a kiln, melting your organs into molten liquid.

Thankfully, Obaa-san wanders into the kitchen just at that point, calling for help with dinner preparation.

“I’ll help”, you exclaim, extricating yourself from Osamu’s grasp.

Anything is welcome as a distraction to keep your heart from hammering itself into pieces, even a menial task like plucking off the heads and tails of bean sprouts, a task you hated when you were a child. But Osamu trails after you, dropping into a squat on the kitchen floor as he joins you in decapitating hapless bean sprouts. You’re too keenly aware of his body heat. Like a frightened animal, your natural instinct is to flee.

“I can do it if you’re feelin’ unwell”, he says and you take the out that he offers you, excusing yourself to your room for a nap.

But a nap isn’t what you need.

A breeze blows into your bedroom when you throw the sliding windows open to face the wide expanse of rice fields, but you still toss and turn, feeling the heat of the room bear down upon you. Throwing off your blankets doesn’t give you any respite, your sheets stiff, the futon beneath you uncomfortably warm against your skin.

So you escape the stuffiness of your room through the windows, slipping out barefoot into the grass. The sun seems to have gone into hiding, looming grey clouds in its place, but you find a spot beneath a shrub, taking shelter under its bright yellow branches. Head pillowed on your arms, the wind finally dancing freely against your face, you fall fast asleep. You’re worn out enough from spending too much time in the sun (and grappling with your burgeoning feelings for Miya Osamu) that you slumber undisturbed despite the sudden drizzle of rain that sweeps across the farm.

“‘Samu’s going stir crazy trying to look for you, yknow?”

Ichika’s words are loud enough to make you blink your eyes open with a groan.

“Wha - ”

“He’s running around the farm like a headless chicken right now, cos’ he passed by your room and saw your windows were open but didn’t see you anywhere. And here you are, asleep under a shrub, right under his nose!”

“Oh no -”

“Oh yes”, she grins. “It’s kinda funny to watch him panic. I’m pretty sure he started overturning all the pots and pans in the kitchen cos he’s convinced you’ve gotten yourself stuck in one of them! Obaa-san was quite amused when he tried to climb into the giant vats she keeps around to ferment her shouyou -”

“I should let him know I’m okay”, you gasp, scrambling to your feet, but Ichika catches your sleeve to pull you back into your seat on the ground.

“Ayako used to hide under this very shrub when she was upset with things - it’s her way of throwing a tantrum, she doesn’t cry much unlike her sisters, but she was so, so tiny then that it made Shinsuke fly into a frenzy and panic because we wouldn’t be able to find her for hours. Anyway - it was kinda like magic because when she’d decide it’s time for her to emerge from her hiding place, it’d be as if a storm passed, everything right as rain again.”

She laughs when you shoot her a look of utter confusion.

“That’s probably too many words to say that Ayako-chan needed her space to decompress. She needed the space to work out the feelings that her little heart is still learning to process.”

“Huh”, you reply after a few beats, slumping back into the grass.

Ichika continues on, undeterred by the lack of enthusiasm from her captive audience. “You’re probably wondering why I’m telling you these useless things - I mean, you could probably write it off as a parent just wanting to share uninteresting stories of their kids, which is probably partly true, cos I thought that habit of Ayako-chan was the cutest, apparently Shinsuke did that too, when he was younger - anyway, as I was saying - ”

You nod, trying your best to look like you’re following what she says, even though you’re completely flummoxed.

“I’m just trying not to be pushy like Kaiyo, because I know from personal experience she can be a pain when it comes to things like this. I prefer a different approach myself, lead the horse to the water so it chooses to drink of its own accord - not that you’re a horse, you’re much prettier than that - ”

“I - uh thank you?”

“You’re welcome!” Ichika chirps, eyes curving into half moons. “In this case, I half suspect the horse already knows what it wants. Because - well, did you know the plant you’re sleeping under is a weeping forsythia?”

You look at the swaying branches above you, adorned with bright yellow flowers, a stark contrast to grey skies. “Uh, no?”

“Mmhm”, she hums. “Sometimes, when Shinsuke and I can steal five minutes by ourselves from the girls, we ramble around the grounds talking about anything and everything - and he’s always had an interest in Hanakotoba - y’know, the language of flowers? He’s a bit of a romantic that way - ”

“I see”, you say blankly, though you clearly do not see. But you’ve been taught to always keep up a veneer of politeness, and Ichika is your host, so you nod and wait for her to continue. She gathers a handful of petals from the ground, tossing up into the air, an offering to the wind gods. You watch as the bright yellow specks swirl away in the wind.

“It means hope”, she says, as a shout of your name echoes. “Another meaning it has - which I personally prefer - it’s supposed to mean a wish that will come true. I think it’s quite apt, don’t you?”

You’re left to mull over her words, long after you’re chided by Osamu for falling asleep out in the open - ‘lay off, ‘Samu, you’re gonna turn into a worrywart like Shinsuke at this rate’, Ichika laughs, even as he rounds on her and scolds her for keeping you out through the downpour - ‘you need to be able to tell the difference between a drizzle and a thunderstorm, or have you been in the city too long to forget how it’s like in the country?”

Osamu ignores her good-natured needling, shooing you back into the guesthouse for a much needed hot bath before you’re ready to present yourself at the dinner table.

“You okay? You’re just playin’ with your food. That’s not like you.”

“I’m fine.” You take a determined bite of rice in an attempt to put his worries to bed, despite the churning in your stomach. It achieves the opposite effect though, because he ladles more food into your bowl, his gaze too sharp to allow you to sneak scraps to the farm’s cats purring and weaving around your ankle. “I just have a lot on my mind tonight.”

“Like what?”

You brush him off with a breezy “just - y’know, things in general”, avoiding giving him anything concrete by bading him goodnight before slipping off into your room.

The next day, you rise before the sun after a night spent tossing and turning in sweaty sheets. Something strange and mysterious draws you back to that same shrub, pulling you into a seat beneath yellow leaves, a beacon in the early morning’s darkness. The earth is damp and cool, and it lulls you into quiet contemplation.

Hope, you think.

A funny thing, that. Something you’ve not had in forever, not when the circumstances of your life dragged you beneath the churning current of its waves, into a joyless rut, of life repeating on a loop, again and again and again. You never used to hope for anything but a simple life, not even thinking that you could dare to dream of being actually happy.

But here you are. You are happy.

You’ve dared to wake up from your long hibernation and leave your hiding hole, take the first step out into the open. You have friends now, people who you trust to be kind to you. You are rediscovering your dormant love for cooking, for food, memories of laughter and camaraderie starting to paper over former scars and past nightmares.

Life these past months has been good. You will look back at the days and nights spent in Onigiri Miya fondly, guard jealously like a magpie with its stolen treasures, the smiles you’ve earned, the kindness that’s been shown to you. This past week in particular has been some of the happiest days of your life, riddled with pit stops at farms where you’re inevitably stuffed to the brim with food, country walks on paths strewn with autumnal leave. That impromptu afternoon drive to Osamu’s hometown, where you shared ice cream with him and watched the sunset on a hill by the sea - that, you’ll surely preserve, pressing it into your heart like flower petals between a book’s pages.

Perhaps you should be cautious. Perhaps you should hold your position, test how solid the ground beneath your feet is before you take another step. Any misstep might torpedo any chance you might have at retaining the happiness you’ve been blessed with these past few months. You have no wish to be reacquainted with the barren earth of winter.

Still, perhaps you should be brave enough to hope for even more.

If you’d never taken the first step of bringing flowers to Osamu at the hospital, if you’d never accepted his request to tour the burnt out shell of his shop with you, if you’d never made that first visit to Onigiri Miya, you would not even be where you are, right now. You’ve only discovered what life can offer you because you were brave. You can be brave yet again in the quest of more.

“Is it really that comfortable under there?”

With a start, you realise that the sun has chased the dawn’s darkness away, the dew on your skin disappearing into the cool, dry air. With another start, which makes Osamu chortle, the warm, deep sound sending a flush of heat into your face, you glance up at him, though you regret doing so immediately, because the first of the day’s light is kind to him, soaking him in a golden haze.

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, crawling beside you to sit beneath the shrub, comically oversized for the small space but he doesn’t complain. He doesn’t speak either, doesn’t seek to interrupt the morning’s first breaths, a silent spectator alongside you as the world wakes. It’s only when your stomach rumbles that he draws from his pocket a handful of plums, perfectly ripe when you bite into it.

“Osamu”, you say, your breath catching when he turns to look at you.

“Mm?”

You steal a moment to commit to memory the lopsided curve of his smile, the honeyed molasses in his brown eyes.

“The plums are sweet. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” The crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepen.

Embers smoulder, tucked in the fireplace of your ribcage, a flame of hope, fuelled by moments of happiness he’s given you.

(I hope you don’t mind if I begin to ask for more)

But first, you must bid farewell to the sleepy hollow of Hyogo, pack your bags to return to the hustle and bustle of Osaka, where your life is. Your vacation ends with Ichika and Obaa-san wrapping you in hugs, struggling with your luggage until Osamu helps you lift it into Kita’s van, nearly tripping over Shoma, who clings to the doorknob, refusing to leave. Kaiyo remonstrates with him but the little boy obstinately insists he wants to remain with Asami-chan, his best friend, until Osamu wrestles him into the van, kicking and screaming. You slip him a gummy bear when Kaiyo isn’t looking and he quietens down, leaning into your side until he falls asleep.

“He’s a pain in the ass sometimes”, Osamu remarks when he helps to slide the sleeping child into his seat, doing his best not to wake him up. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“It’s okay”, you shrug. “It’s good that Sho-chan has friends that he cares so much about.”

Osamu snorts. “Yeah, I suppose. ‘Tsumu used to claim he’d want some space from me when we were in elementary school, but there was one volleyball camp I couldn’t go for ‘cos I had a bad cold so he had to go alone, and Aran told me ‘Tsumu played like absolute pig’s crap, couldn’t even set a ball for nuts -”

“At least Sho-chan cares for his friends in a more straightforward way than you two”, you point out. Osamu only laughs.

As expected, Osamu rushes back to his stores the moment after he drops his bags, though not before he offers to help you with yours - “I’m fine”, you wave his offer of help away, - “I’m used to managing on my own”, so you trudge home alone, the dull greys and brown of Osaka doing little to lift your mood after the colours of the countryside in fall, but at least there’s Kombu-chan to greet you when you pick her up from your neighbour, and she licks your toes with her rough tongue when you feed her a treat to welcome both of you home.

“Tadaima”, you tell her. She only meows.

You pretend someone who sounds suspiciously like Osamu calls Okaerie back to you.

a/n: hahaha i hope you guys don't throttle me for the slow pace >< but the reader finally, finally has come to terms with what her heart wants (*cough* miya osamu) and who knows what's next!

#miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu #mochi.recs

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tobio-mochi · 2 years

Text

Chapter 5: Sparks fly

chapters: 5/15 pairing: miya osamu x f! reader genre: romance, angst, fluff, inarizaki shenanigans wc: 6.5k summary: miya osamu does not dare set fire to his heart. it burns anyway.

(prev / next)

Miya Osamu is not quick to anger except when it comes to his idiot brother.

But Kaiyo is sorely testing his patience today.

“What do you mean you invited her along our trip?!” he demands, chasing her around the counter in her store as Atsumu films his antics on his phone. Osamu doesn’t even care that Shin-chan and Sho-chan are both gawking at the spectacle of all the adults in their lives behaving like children, because Kaiyo is interfering with his life in the most infuriating of ways yet again and she’s not even the least bit apologetic about it.

“Pfft!” she sticks out her tongue to blow raspberries.

He grabs at her fruitlessly as she hops about his shop, nimbly dodging his attacks. “Come back here, you gremlin - ”

“Why can’t I invite my friend on a trip?” she wheedles, blinking doe-eyed at him.

He does not buy her act, not when she’s responsible for tossing Ichika almost literally into Kita’s lap, not when she’s responsible for engineering Sakusa’s first meeting with Asami - never mind the fact that the two couples in question are very happily married with children to boot. He does not appreciate such interference, and yet Kaiyo irrepressibly grasps every chance she has to toss him on the tracks of the marriage train.

“Cos you’re tryin’ to set me up and I don’t appreciate it - don’t think I can’t see what you’re tryin’ to do - ”

“It’s not like I asked her to marry you?!” Kaiyo squawks, using ‘Tsumu as a shield. “Why can’t I have a friend on the trip? She’s friends with all of us, and she mentioned she’s never had much opportunity to leave the city, so why shouldn’t she come along with us?”

“Because -”

“It’s not gonna be awkward if that’s what you’re worried about. She’s gonna have her own room and it’s not like I’m asking you to babysit her - she’s a grown adult, and not Sho-chan.”

“ - gonna play with ‘Asami-chan, don’t wan’ Uncle ‘Samu -”

“Because -”

“Kaiyo’s right - ‘Samu, you’re complainin’ so much you’re gonna give Kaiyo the wrong idea - ”

“- the right idea you mean -”

“Uncle ‘Samu, y’know your face is turnin’ purple - wait lemme take a photo and send it to Ma-kun -”

“ENOUGH!”

Four pairs of eyes turn to stare at him.

Seething waves ease into ripples of resignation. There isn’t actually any good reason why you shouldn’t be invited along other than the fact he sees through Kaiyo’s transparent attempt at trying to set him up with you, and even he wants to stomp his foot and pull out his hair in frustration - very much not helped by the fact that Atsumu is just watching him with that ridiculously cheesy grin - there’s nothing he can do but give in to Kaiyo’s scheming.

“Fine”, he says, grinding his teeth down. “Have it your way.”

Kaiyo whoops. He resolves to conveniently sell out of her favourite onigiris for a week at least.

It’s not that he dislikes your company. Far from it, really.

Contrary to his protests, he likes spending time with you - who else is he going to debate with about the best way to choose tuna, or the best knife to use in the kitchen (Kaiyo was very pleased when you realised you’d always worked with her family knives). Bad days are better when you smile at you from across the counter, he can’t help but chuckle under his breath when you send him videos of Kombu-chan scaring your other neighbour’s dog away from your door before trotting back to you smugly for some treats.

You’re his friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

He’d like to keep it that way.

Back in his high school days when his teammates would chat idly about their preferences in a partner, he’d share that his type would be someone who’s kind, generous and sweet, preferably someone who’d like food as much as he - ‘Tsumu laughed at him and shouted that what he wants is some boring, goody-two shoes glutton - Aran and Kita thankfully always stepped in to throttle him and remind him to be respectful before Osamu could even throw the first punch and beat him into the dust.

He’s not blind. He knows you’re what he wants, if only he were looking.

You’re not the first girl Kaiyo has tried setting him up with. But every single date he begrudgingly goes on inevitably ends with him breaking out the cliched it’s not you, it’s me. His singlehood is probably the only thing his okaa-san is more disappointed in him than Tsumu.

“‘’Tsumu already spawned two monsters, ‘ka-sannn.”

“The more the merrier, Osamu”, she’d always reply. “Surely you can;t blame me for wantin’ my sweet, sensitive boy to be happy - ”

“I am happy.” he’d insist. “Don’t worry about me.”

He’s going to rub it in Atsumu’s face on their joint deathbeds at the age of one hundred and eight (because either going to meet their maker first is a scenario too terrible to imagine) that he’s had a happier life. He already has everything that makes him happy - his restaurant, the first sprouting into the second before branching out into the third. He has his crew, he has ‘Tsumu and Kaiyo and the kids practically eatin’ him out of house and home, he has his customers who stream in and out of his store with bellies full of food, hearts full of joy.

He’s happy.

“Do you ever miss any of this?” he asked you once, jutting his chin out at the expanse of his restaurant, all forty something wooden seats occupied, orders flying in and out of the kitchen while a hungry line snakes out of the front door.

“Only sometimes”, you reply, looking as if you’ve bitten something bitter.

But he’s seen the notes you scribble in the dog-eared notebooks you tote around, on cooking techniques that you learnt from your father and his father before him. He’s seen you record with painstaking care the findings of experiments you two have been conducting in his kitchen to the amusement of his staff.

“Really?” he asks.

“Hmm…there are little things that I miss about it now”, you reply slowly. “Seeing people smile is…kinda nice.”

The clouds clear. The sun peeks through.

But then something sours in your expression when you drop your gaze down to the knife you’re holding. He does not miss the slight tremble of your hands nor the faint lines of scars running up your forearms to your elbows. “What happened?” he’d asked you about it once.

“I was five and kinda clumsy”, you replied, as if it explains everything.

It doesn’t. It only makes him want to pound something into the ground.

He digresses.

His restaurant makes him happy. It’s all that’s needed to make him happy.

After all, he has no desire to be like Atsumu, inviting a storm into his life when he’s unprepared to weather it out. Commitment - he doesn’t want to be responsible for another broken heart. It’d be easy to date around or get married, but what’s the point if he’ll just be a terrible partner, with his long hours and demanding career. He won’t even contemplate children. There’s no time for that when he already has three restaurants under his belt, delicate green saplings he’s determined to nurture into grand, old oaks.

“You are crazy for taking him back”, he tells Kaiyo bluntly the night she begged him to accompany Atsumu for drinks with her brothers, fearful that her newly returned husband might be maimed from the encounter.

She answers with a wry shrug.

“He’s already left you. Twice, in fact, unless you broke your head and forgot all about that.”

He’s been there in the wake of her heartbreak at the hands of his twin brother. First, he had to beat ‘Tsumu black and blue until he learnt his responsibility to the daughter he put in her belly. Second, he had to hold her together when ‘Tsumu left until she welded the broken pieces of herself back together. Despite having her heart broken again and again, she still keeps taking Atsumu back.

“He asked me to jump off a cliff with him” she explained when he remonstrated with her.

“How romantic.”

“Osamu!” she huffs. “You’ll understand one day when it’s your turn to fall in love.”

“Never.”

“You wait and see”, she teases.

He’s about to retort that he’ll never be as ridiculous as she is but he’s interrupted by Atsumu stirring from his drunken stupor from a night out with her brothers, all determined to drink him into alcohol poisoning.

“I’m here”, she goes to him as Atsumu murmurs her name. He looks away when she takes his brother’s hand.

Perhaps she’s finally found domestic bliss with Atsumu, who now seems to be the epitome of a family man. But Osamu isn’t convinced that he can do better than his brother. Outwardly, despite their identical faces, they seem like polar opposites. Atsumu is loud mouthed, Osamu is soft spoken. Atsumu is a dick, Osamu tries his best to be polite. But as Shinsuke has always noted, they share the same DNA, the same genetic sequencing, built from the same material.

How different can he truly be from his twin?

Atsumu’s not the only one with with a fraught marriage. He’s consoled patrons both young and old when they come in with their faces glum, caused by cheating spouses, deadbeats, partners who vanish without a trace. He’s seen what marriage has done to his own friends - Gintama’s in a loveless union with someone who treats him like dirt (just leave already, he says, but his friend only shrugs), and Suna - well, less said about that disaster, the better. Kita has a rock solid marriage, but that’s because he’s practically a god with no faults of his own.

Osamu, on the other hand, has so many flaws of his own. It’s only prudent that he not gamble with someone else’s happiness. Kaiyo can do so with hers, it’s her life, her prerogative, but he’s not going to subject some innocent third party to the ticking time bomb tucked inside him, hardwired to explode.

“‘Samu!”

Something twists in his gut when he finds you waiting on the train platform. Your hair is askew and you’re wearing probably the ugliest flannel shirt known to mankind in an attempt to look like a farm girl, but the bright smile on your face when you catch sight of him is contagious, and he can’t keep happiness from spreading like wildfire, greeting you with a smile of his own.

“I’m so glad you’re here”, you say. “Here, take my suitcase for me. I nearly died lugging it here.”

He stumbles under the weight of said suitcase when loading it into the train and curses aloud. Kaiyo only gives him a thumbs up though Atsumu makes a show of clapping his hands over Shoma’s ears. “What on earth did you pack for this trip, the entire combini?” he demands, when he locates your seats - next to each other, courtesy of Kaiyo, of course.

“Presents for the kids!” you reply, rifling through the huge container of things you’ve deemed necessary for a week-long trip. “A castella cake for Kita-san’s granny, Kaiyo mentioned she has a fondness for that. And I know it’s customary to bring fruit as presents for our hosts, but I figured they get better produce out in the farmlands so I popped into the department stores to get some expensive mochi and sweet treats, hopefully they’ll like that.”

“I hope they don’t like it too much or they’ll end up with a mouthful of cavities”, he says drolly, shaking his head at your generosity.

You roll your eyes at him before admitting sheepishly. “I…didn’t know what to bring for them. I’ve never really gone on a trip like this before. So I may have overdone it.”

“I’ll eat it all if they can’t finish it.”

You smack his shoulder. “That’s your motive for being discouraging, you sneaky bugger”, you accuse him.

“You’re still gonna give me one anyway”, he says, unrepentant.

Despite your outrage, you still plop a sweet into his palms and he settles back in his seat, satisfied. The train trundles on, its swaying lulling you to sleep, your head finding a pillow on the shelf of his shoulders. It’s only to be expected, because you stubbornly hung around the restaurant til closing last night despite having a night shift the night before. He wraps his jacket around you because it’s the decent thing to do, and does not even mind when you mumble incoherent nonsense and drool against his sleeve.

(Okaa-san raised one of ‘em right, at least)

“Aww”, Kaiyo coos, leaning over the top of the seat like a student on a school trip. “How adorable.”

He expects her to snap a photo or do something that would set his teeth on edge, but she sticks out her pinky finger at him. “I offer a truce to my favourite brother in law.”

“I’m your only brother in law.”

“C’mon! It’s a generous offer! I solemnly swear I won’t try anything on this trip”. She pouts when he only glares at her. “What!” she squawks, indignant. “Why don’t you believe me?!”

He’d stand up to throttle her, but that’d mean waking you up from your much needed nap so he tucks you against his shoulder securely before settling for a cat-like swat of Kaiyo’s hand.

“Cos you’re a bundle of trouble”, he states flatly.

“I forget how stubborn you can be sometimes”, she groans, wiggling her pinky insistently. “C’mon, I won’t push but promise me you’ll be a good friend to her and help her enjoy this trip? She deserves that much at least.”

“I’m not an asshole. I was gonna do that anyway.”

Her eyes dance with amusement. “And I promise to behave, if that helps you relax.”

While he’s inclined not to trust her, he links his pinky with hers. “Don’t push her over the mountaintop in some misguided attempt at matchmaking, that’s all I’m sayin’” he quips.

“C’mon”, she yelps, outraged. “I wasn’t even in Hyogo when Ichika decided to fall off that damned mountain, and I was just tryin’ to give Kita a gentle push in the right direction - ”

She trails off as he gives her a look, knowing that she’s not helping her own case.

“Promise you’ll be good”, Osamu warns.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m always good.”

“No interfering”, Osamu says firmly.

“No interfering”, Kaiyo parrots, pouting.

“Swear that you’ll stop your matchmaking attempts on your idiot husband’s life.”

She snorts. “I swear on my idiot husband’s life.”

“Hey!” Atsumu protests, but he’s distracted when Shoma wordlessly starts pasting a whole sheet of food stickers on him.

Fortunately, you continue snoring despite the commotion, even as the train pulls away from the city grid, concrete blocks of apartments and shops giving way to sloping green fields and hills that rise out of the earth. He settles back into his seat, careful not to jostle you, going through orders and paperwork on his tablet until the lightbulb shining overhead is overshadowed by dawn’s arrival.

“I don’t understand why you take so many night shifts”, he grouses as he walks you home.

You hum. Previously, you might’ve told him to just stop coming by the combini which he does without fail, at least once a week, but he always claims that he needs a breather after the intense mornings he has, rushing to the fish market at the crack of dawn, arranging for rice to be cooked, stocked to be boiled, all before it’s even eight o’clock in the morning. So now you just accept his complaints with equanimity.

Today though, summer is well and truly dying. Fall takes its place so the mornings are a little lazier, the sun rises a little later. You stop at the end of the road where the sidewalk ends, and morning traffic begins, tilting your face to the sky.

“I like seeing the sun rise”, you say softly. “I wonder what today brings.”

As the sun climbs over the horizon, spilling its light across the sky like fire in pink shades and gold hues, he takes hold of your shoulder, shaking you gently awake. “Wake up”, he murmurs, snorting under his breath when you squeeze your eyes shut. “It’s too early”, you grumble, but still, you obediently blink open your eyes.

“The sun doesn’t seem to think so”, he jokes, offering you a sip of hot tea from his thermos flask as you rub the heels of your hands into your eyes until like the earth, you slowly awake.

“G’morning ‘Samu”, you murmur.

The greeting pulls at the knot in his gut, though his heart is light with a feeling he does not recognise yet. “Good morning”, he replies, taking the liberty of brushing the hair out of your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. “Thought you might wanna see the sunrise.”

“I see it quite a lot these days”, you laugh, but when you turn your head, your mouth forms an adorable o! and he chuckles as he changes seats with you.

“I thought you see it quite a lot these days?” he teases as you press your cheek against the glass.

“Shhh. It’s so different out of the city”, you whisper, breath fogging up the cool window, obviously spellbound.

He wants to steal a bite of your childish delight for himself. “So what do you think of it?”

“Mm? Tis pretty” you murmur, gazing out of the window, eyes aglow.

“Yeah”, he replies, voice gruff. He doesn’t realise he’s looking at you, not the sun.

Kita’s waiting for them at the station with a colourful, glittery sign that spells out WELCOME!, the kanji stark against the dull browns and greys of the village parking lot. Clearly the doing of his wife and daughters, but he waves it sportingly over his head, bowing politely when everyone emerges, a little dishevelled from the long train ride.

“Did Asami make that?” Atsumu chortles gleefully, pointing at the banner.

“Yes”, Kita responds placidly. “By the way, you have a sticker on your cheek, Atsumu.”

Between the two former captains of Inarizaki, you snort at how clear it is to see who comes off the worse in that encounter, as Atsumu struggles to peel the bright coloured onigiri sticker from his cheek (Shoma, the perpetrator, holding his mother’s hand, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth) and Kita gives one last merry jiggle of the bedazzled poster before setting it down in his van, looking every inch the proud father of three daughters.

You bow politely when he turns to greet you. “It’s nice to meet you”, he says as Osamu lifts your suitcase into the back of his van. You could’ve sworn his lips quirk up ever so slightly as he adds “you must be Osamu’s friend”, and you wonder if you’re left out of an inside joke when he glances at Kaiyo from the corner of his eyes and Osamu chokes, but you’re too distracted thumping Osamu’s back in an attempt to stop him from hacking his lungs out to pay Kita’s strange behaviour any mind. You promptly forget that strange incident when everyone’s loaded onto the truck and starts the journey towards the farm.

Autumn in Hyogo is transcendent.

The maple trees on fire, leaf tips tinted gold. The yellow foliage of gingko trees in the gorge you drive past, the hues of orange and amber of fallen leaves, the rolling hills and vast valleys. You’re almost reluctant to leave the van because you’re still awestruck by the beauty of the Japanese countryside in all its autumn glory, but Osamu bumps your shoulder.

“I’ll drive you out to see it all again, if you want”, he offers, so you step out of the van to take charge of your suitcase and offer the proper greeting to your hosts who’ve so kindly agreed to put you up in the guest house.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” Ichika, Kita-san’s wife chirps, her trio of daughters clustered around her legs. “I hope you’ll be happy here.”

“I already am”, you tell her truthfully, because with views like that, you forget all your troubles, leave your worries behind. Besides, you already feel at ease with Ichika and her family by extension, because her warm manner is welcoming, and she’s clearly someone Kaiyo adores, your friend tossing herself bodily at Ichika, bawling into her shoulder that it’s been too long, I need to kidnap you from your husband, said husband looking both amused and concerned about the imminent disappearance of his wife.

“I’m glad”, she says, when she finally untangles herself from the octopus-like grip of her best friend with the help of Atsumu, ushering you up a slope where your lodgings for the next week await. Kaiyo’s mentioned her best friend runs a guesthouse that’s comfortable and clean in her multiple attempts to persuade you to tag along, but she’s clearly omitted the fact that the minshuku the Kitas own in their vast rice farm has blossomed into a stately property, twelve sprawling rooms with traditional tatami floors, a communal bathhouse, even barbeque pits on the sides for picnics under the stars.

Shoma’s already disappeared with the eldest of the Kita brood, while Shino’s already set up shop in the family room, video-calling Meian Makoto as her Atsumu glowers, until he’s dragged into a conversation with Kita and his brother. Kaiyo disappears off to greet and gossip with Granny, leaving you alone with Ichika, who brings you to your room.

“You have a beautiful place”, you say. “Thank you for letting me stay with you.”

“A friend of Kaiyo’s is a friend of mine”, she replies, and you find yourself beaming back at her, her cheerfulness contagious. “And thank you for your kind words! I always try to have Kaiyo and her family come over for as long as they can in autumn, though it’s a pity Atsumu has to leave early-”

“You’re just happy to get Kaiyo to yourself”, the man in question interjects. Ichika just turns her nose up at him.

“- And as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I personally think the minshuku is at its best in autumn when the leaves change colour and the entire valley looks like it’s on fire. Plus, the harvest is over and we can actually relax, but Shinsuke always disagrees and says it’s best in spring for some reason.”

“The farm is at it’s best in spring when the flowers blossom”, Kita Shinsuke pipes up, warmth evident in his eyes as he gazes at his wife. “You should come back in spring, see the farm transform into a sea of flowers in bloom.”

Ichika laughs, curling an arm around her husband’s lean waist. “We’re both biased in our own ways. I love the farm in fall because that when I first visited the farm - at Kaiyo’s suggestion, no less - and promptly fell in love with my wonderful husband right here - ” Kita promptly turns so red in embarrassment, you wonder if he’s impersonating a traffic sign though he just pulls his wife closer, shaking his head with exasperation - “Whereas he’s a romantic and loves spring best ‘cos that’s when we got married, right Shin?”

Kita sighs but answers stoically - “that’s right, dear heart.”

Even though he’s clearly embarrassed, the look of open affection is clear to see. Then they catch each other’s eye and oh - the magical glimmer of lovelight in their eyes, like fireflies on a summer’s night, makes your heart wrench.

“Oi! ‘Chika, she’s gonna keel over from the journey, can you stop mooning over your husband -”

“Miya Osamu, I swear you’re becoming more and more like your idiot brother - ”

“Hey!”

You’re ushered into your room, alone yet overcrowded with your thoughts. You should unpack, take a breather and maybe take a shower before offering some help to prepare dinner. Surely with so many people on the farm they’ll definitely need help with food and it’s really the least you can do. But as you’re about to leave your room you hear a clatter of something clearly metallic outside your door.

“What on earth - Osamu, did you actually bring your own knives? Do you actually think Granny’s gonna let you anywhere near her kitchen, at least tonight - ”

Miya Osamu clearly shares the same thought as you.

“C’mon, ‘Chika”, you hear Osamu grumble as you emerge from your room. “Let me cook for y’all so I don’t feel so much like a damned parasite - ”

“Absolutely not”, your hostess declares with the manner of an offended kitten. “You’re here for a holiday, which you hardly ever take for yourself, I know that ‘cos Kaiyo always complains that you work too hard.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” he says mournfully, arms full of sharp knives but still managing to look like a lost child. You find it absolutely adorable.

(put that thought on ice)

Ichika’s mouth stretches wide into a cheshire grin, turning to address you, the unwitting collateral damage in their exchange. “It’s your first time visiting Asago right? That means you’ve not had the chance to see the Takeda castle ruins, and it’s the perfect time to see it in the fall. ‘Samu will bring you, won’t he?”

Osamu just glares as if she’s mortally insulted him.

“It’s okay, I can just stay here and explore the farm”, you demur, but Ichika starts chattering a mile a minute about how everyone else is occupied - the children at the duck pond, Kaiyo disappearing with Atsumu to make out somewhere in the fields (it’s like they actively want to be caught by Shinsuke or something), she and her husband busy with some chores - so Osamu’s the best guide for you, since Granny and I’ll be cooking dinner, he’ll have nothing to do. She doesn’t take no for an answer, something she shares with Kaiyo in common, shooing you off in the direction of the truck, tossing the keys at Osamu’s head which he catches with well honed reflexes, grumbling under his breath.

“Don’t fall off the mountain!” she calls cheerfully. “But if you do - Osamu, you better carry her back home!”

Osamu just mutters something about how she’s in cahoots with Kaiyo, but gallantly opens the truck door, helping you in. “You wanna see the castle then?”, he asks, revving the engine, reversing out onto the road for the second time today.

“I don’t need to”, you reply. “I don’t know what’s around here. I mean - we can do anything you want, I really don’t mind.”

“It’s not about what I want”, he says, patient as ever. “I grew up around here, been dragged up the castle more times than I care to count. It’s kinda nice ‘specially around sunset. We can go there if you want.”

You imagine Osamu as a young boy, one half of a ragtag duo with Atsumu, dirt smudged on his cheeks, scuffed up knees, more considerate than his loud mouthed brother, the reasonable, responsible Miya twin.

“Would you bring me around to your favourite places around here?” you ask meekly.

His forehead puckers in confusion. “My favourite places?” he echoes. “I grew up in Tooyoka, it’s about forty minutes drive away. You sure you wanna visit it? It’s just another sleepy town y’know? Great onsens around the area, but it’s pretty quiet.”

“I’m just curious” you say without offering any further explanation, expecting him to laugh at your odd request but he glances at you, wordlessly confirming that you’re serious before turning the truck northwards, slicing through the mountains, following the road towards the sea.

As he drives, he offers you snippets of stories, how impressed he was that Kita Shinsuke used to cycle an hour through the mountains just to get to high school and was not only punctual, but always the first one to arrive for morning practice, almost always before dawn, and how Atsumu, in contrast, could never wake up for anything except for volleyball practice, leaving you in stitches as Osamu mimics his brother yelling at him for letting him oversleep as passes the bus stop where the twins used to wait for the bus to school.

“Don’t you want to stop to say hi to your parents?”

“Nah, you asked for my favourite places, right? C’mon, don’t look at me like that”, he chortles, carefully parking the truck before leading you down a row of shophouses, stopping in front of a soba noodle shop. The proprietress bursts into a wrinkled smile when she recognises him through thick glasses and marvels over how handsome he’s grown.

(you find yourself agreeing with her)

“I should’ve known your favourite places would revolve around food.”

“You make me sound like a terrible son. C’mon, food first - I’ll visit them later in the week before ‘Tsumu leaves for practice. We had an early lunch, now it’s time for tea”, Osamu argues, ordering two steaming bowls of soba noodles, topped with freshly grated ginger, crisp spring onions and perfectly golden tempura bits.

“Plus, it’s life changing. It’ll teach you the meaning of happiness.”

“Life changing, huh?” you tease, but your eyes widen dramatically as you take your first slurp of noodles. Handmade buckwheat noodles, grown in fresh soil and water, piping hot soup laden with savoury comfort. It feels like a warm hug from a doting grandma or the feel of a sweater fresh out of the dryer, and if you have to eat your words for doubting him in the first place - well, Osamu just grins and orders another bowl for sharing and doesn’t rub it in.

He pronounces the ice cream he drags you to life-changing as well, narrating how he’d stop by without fail after elementary school, leaning his bicycle against the preposterously ugly cow statue they have in front, ordering two scoops of ice cream at least- cycling through all the freshly made flavours. In homage to the season, he orders kuri, jewelled chestnuts in the pale yellow scoop, along with a blend of satsumaimo, the vibrant purple of the sweet potato twirling around swirls of creamy vanilla. In between licks of the ice cream which he so generously let you hold, he tells you about how he’d wander up and down the food street, trying their wares, figuring out what he liked about each and everyone of their offerings, experimenting in his parents’ kitchen on the weekends even though his grandma disapproved.

“We all hate that all witch”, he says matter of factly, as he leads you down the street. “So it’s karma that I’m doing the exact thing she used to scold my ma for.” He switches to a nasal whine - “How could you let your son be in the kitchen, it’s a woman’s job - “, then he deadpans - “well, my ma and I would make onigiris together anyway to bring over to my grandma - I used to wonder what the odds are of her chokin’ on one, but you know what they say, evil just doesn’t seem to die - ”

“Miya Osamu!” you say severely.

He just snorts. “She’s alive and kickin’, so don’t get all huffy on me right now.”

You reach the edge of a park. “So you sell onigiris just to spite your grandma”, you muse as you sit on a swing.

He takes a seat next to you, kicking up sand as he builds momentum.

“Nah, it’s cos’ they appeal to a wide segment of society and I’m raking in money from low margins”, he deadpans as you roll your eyes at the nonsense he’s sprouting from his mouth. “Hey! I gotta use the business school jargon I learnt so I don’t waste the term I spent there before droppin’ out.”

“Sure”, you say. “Not ‘cos you have a soft heart and want to make as many people as happy as possible, with life-changing onigiris -”

“My life mission has been found out”, he replies, drolly twisting his mouth, before you both collapse in mirth, the clear afternoon air ringing with your shared laughter. Your belly aches so much from the combination of too much food and laughter that you’re almost too distracted to hear his next words, whistling in the wind.

“At least - I hope they make people happy”, he says, staring far away as if he’s able to peer through time and space back into each of his little restaurants if he peers past the horizon. “My onigiris, that is”, he adds, as if there’s any need to clarify what he means. “I think they do. That’s all I set out to do in this life.”

You think of his restaurants, filled to the brim with hungry patrons leaving content at the end of a hearty meal. His onigiris, stuffed with handmade fillings, lovingly made with fresh ingredients, each a palmful of rice squeezed loosely thrice, roughly the size of a heart. Simple yet deeply satisfying, the sort of food one eats regularly both for sustenance and comfort.

“They do”, you announce to your audience of one who just looks at you, bemused.

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Well - I mean - ”, you fumble, because you should qualify your statement, stealing a few beats to formulate a response by tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Suddenly, you’re shy because perhaps you’ve spoken out of turn, you’ve never professed to be the best at reading people so you’re not exactly best placed to make hasty generalisations about his customers. “Your onigiris”, you parrot his own words back at him, as if there were any doubt what you were referring to.

“They make me happy. They do.”

Then you glance up almost furtively at him, worried that you’ve overstepped. You’re - yes he’s said you’re his friend - but there’s almost something too personal about declaring that the fruit of the craft he’s devoted his entire life to is a source of joy to you. Perhaps it comes off as a little creepy, perhaps he’s going to think you’re rude.

But he looks at you, gaze steady. “I’m glad”, he says simply.

The coil of anxiety tightening in your chest loosens. You hesitate but his open expression doesn’t falter, so you allow your mouth to fall open into a smile.

There’s a gradual build up of children in the park, some even waiting around you - swings are hot property and school just let out for these kids, he explains, as you take his hand, letting him help you out of your seat. He guides you along a well worn path - ‘Tsumu and I used to play tag there, he points to a muddy field as you shudder in sympathy for the state of his parents’ floor, we nearly drowned catching frogs here, he points to a clear stream, water burbling a merry song.

Tori gates flare scarlet in the distance, framing steps cut into the hill. “C’mon”, he urges when your pace slackens. “We won’t make it to the peak in Takeda, but I think this is a pretty decent substitute. Just in time for sunset too.”

You obediently follow him up the steps even though your thighs burn, unused to the exertion. When you reach the peak, he grabs hold to the back of your top, the fabric tethering you to him.

“I’m under orders not to let you fall off the edge”, he says in response to your questioning glance, clearing a space for you to sprawl out on the grass.

You don’t point out that there are barriers ring-fencing you from toppling over. Besides, the peak of this little hill is hardly anything to speak off, barely overlooking the sleepy town stretching into the sea. Instead, you listen to his recounting of how Ichika and Shinsuke’s ill-fated hike up the mountain the ruins of Takeda castle, gasping when Ichika tumbles off the peak (she was too distracted lookin’ at Shinsuke to watch her footing), cooing when Kita Shinsuke carries her on his back to find their way back towards the farm (she sprained her ankle, but I think she still enjoyed that hike).

“What a nice romance”, you sigh.

“I guess”, Osamu says with a nonchalant shrug.

He scoffs when you ask him teasingly if he ever brought a sweetheart or two up here in his youth. “They all flocked to ‘Tsumu, not me”, he says, without a hint of resentment. “Not that I had too much interest, t’was too wrapped up in volleyball in high school. And I guess it didn’t make sense for me to date then, my pocket money’s better spent on food for myself.”

“And now?” you ask. For some reason, your heart crawls its way up your throat, leaving a burning sensation behind.

“Now? I’m busy. Can’t be bothered”, he replies shortly.

Again, you wonder if you’ve overstepped, if you’ve crossed the boundaries that friendships have in place (you’ve had so few of them, you wouldn’t know what’s right from wrong) but he just cracks a wry smile. “Stop starin’ at me, you’re here to watch the sunset.”

Obediently, you follow his lead, tilting your face up to watch clouds gust across clear skies. You bear witness to the extinguishing of the sun’s rays, its gradual dip towards the horizon. The sky starts to darken until fiery orange and gold streaks from the sun’s farewell are all that remains of the day.

“Did you enjoy yourself today?” Osamu asks as you make your way down the hill, back through the town where the truck is parked.

For a split second you close your eyes. You imagine another life where you grew up here in this small town between the sky and the sea. You imagine another life where you were allowed to learn how to kick your legs on the playground swings so you can arc through the air. You imagine being childhood best friends with him, accompanying him as he shyly tells each store owner that their food is oishi! when it deserves praise, following him through tori gates up to the top of the hill where you’d get him to yourself since everyone else would flock to Atsumu. You imagine another life where, on a perfect autumn day like today, you tell him that you like him. You imagine stealing a kiss from him as the sun sets.

You choke.

Your heart thunders against your chest, so hard that you have to press your hand against your ribs to keep steady. Blood rushes through frozen ventricles, a sudden inferno blasting your insides, gasoline churning in your gut. Your brain must have turned into ash, you’ve clearly lost all sense of logic to have such thoughts stray into your mind. You’re a walking cliche, forming a crush on the first guy who’s nice enough to befriend you. You should retreat back in your hole, bury yourself deep enough until the earth caves in and no one is around to witness your shame.

“You ok?” Osamu asks, frowning when he doesn’t get a response from you.

You have to avert your eyes. In the shadows of dusk, the sun leaves its mark, gold flecks in his dark eyes. You need to take a step back, regroup and figure out what’s your next step.

“Yeah”, you manage to say, your mouth bone-dry. “I’m fine. I - I enjoyed myself today. Thank you.”

His lips curve into a smile. “I’m glad”, he replies.

Sparks fly. Fire burns in the night sky.

note: a little early, and i hope you enjoy this chapter too! drop me an ask and let me know what you think!

#miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu #mochi.recs

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