Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Nothing screams years of friendship like receiving a text from Aran when Osamu has been frying his brain over calling him for the past hour. It’s so apropos, Osamu expects to read a glaring ‘Spill it’ the moment his phone lights up. 

[12.12 PM]

[Aran] I heard many many many things about the last 24hrs but maybe I heard it wrong bc for sure my best friend would give me a call if he brought a dude back home to introduce him to his mom

Osamu grins to no one in particular, one hand holding his phone, the other wiping his hair with a towel. The job is botched, but Osamu is in a hurry so he leaves his tousled hair at that, grabbing his toothbrush next. He has to go back and pick up Rintarou soon. Yet, Osamu requires this moment. He wants to talk to someone, a friend. Being alone after such an intense getaway was the right call, but it also gave Osamu time to ruminate about everything that happened. Stuck in his own head, there’s only so much he can do before exploding. 

The fact that Osamu can’t type properly with one hand and he has to rewrite his message several times because he can’t gather his thoughts seems to be Aran’s cue for calling him directly. Osamu’s ‘Man fr think I need to talk’ unfinished message disappears for the call interface. 

“By all means do take eight hours to message me back, it’s not like I have anything else to do than read the novel ya were typing. Ya better have a solid ten pages long excuse,” Aran says the moment Osamu picks up the call. There’s not a hint of real accusation behind his words. If anything, the only thing that transpires behind his cheerful, taunting tone is some slight concern. Osamu’s heart swells in his chest.

Atsumu might be his ride or die by birthright, but Aran is the man Osamu fiercely calls a brother by choice. 

Osamu takes a few more seconds than necessary to think about what he wants to say. Naturally, it prompts questions. “Are ya not alone? I can call back, if—” 

“I am. I am, man…” Osamu’s hesitation is a dead giveaway for Aran. 

“Shit. That bad, mmh?”

“I’m fucked, Aran,” Osamu says, without hesitation this time. He sags against the washing machine, running a hand over his face. 

“So, ‘that bad’ but in a good sort of way.” Aran reaches the conclusion by himself. Osamu groans.

“I don’t know if it’s good, Aran.” And Osamu isn’t lying or being dramatic when he says this. “It was great, we had a great fuckin’ time. A real break, everything. He’s…”

Osamu’s breath shortens and his pulse quickens when he realizes where he’s getting at. “I’m really fucked. I’m supposed to go pick him up soon, we’re going back to work and it’s gonna be a problem for me if I don’t get my shit together.”

“Hold on, backtrack a bit for me, man. Ya said he was a mess, like not even two weeks ago. Ya worked just fine with him regardless.”

“He is a mess. Kinda. But also not that much. That fucking agency doesn’t deserve him. He’s working hard, he’s a great guy so it’s easy to work with him, no matter what I was yapping about before. But…”

“But there’s more, obviously.”

Osamu looks at the laundry basket full of clothes waiting to be washed. The pants he was wearing the night they went to the club are there. “So much more. It’s complicated. No. Damn, it’s not complicated. Aran, I have a huge fat crush on this guy. It’s that easy. So, in short… I’m just fucked.”

“Good news is yer both a mess.” The way Aran jokes is never at Osamu’s expense, but he still whines like a kicked puppy hearing this.

“Please, Aran.”

“I know, I know. Look, it’s okay to have a crush on him. Ya did nothing wrong. It’s not like ya jumped him and made out in front of everyone like two hormone-crazed—”

Maybe it’s Osamu’s sharp intake of breath, or the fact that he literally trips over his feet and loudly knocks over the cup holding his toothbrush that gives it away, but Aran shuts his mouth really fast. 

“Man, what the heck did ya do?” A pregnant pause later, Aran heaves a huge sigh. “Osamu, tell me what happened exactly.”

Osamu doesn’t have much time left, but it might work in his favor. Going over everything that happened in Paris without wallowing in self-pity or layering over too many details feels like the most sane option. It’s like ripping a band-aid. It stings a bit, but he can trust Aran to smooth things over in the aftermath — so Osamu starts speaking.

He moves across the flat at the same time, getting dressed then smoking a cigarette by the kitchen window while he recounts everything from the start. “Give it to me straight, Aran,” are the last words Osamu utters — feeling both lighter and more nervous at the same time. 

“Well… First of all, that’s a lot. And second, there’s nothing straight about anyfuckingthing ya just—”

“Aran.”

Osamu crushes the butt of his cigarette to the sound of Aran giggling. At least, Osamu knows he’s not a lost cause, or else his best friend would definitely be a lot more serious. It alleviates some of his stress.

“Okay, my honest two cents, then. I don’t… I don’t think it’s bad. I don’t think yer fucked, man.”

“How come?” Osamu asks, in disbelief. His eyes fall on the clock in the kitchen, he has to get a move on.

“I wouldn’t say it’s optimal knowing ya two have another month working together but from what I hear, ya might not be the only one who has a fat crush. Question is, is that so bad? I don’t think so.”

Osamu doesn’t expect such a conclusion to overwhelm him this much, but it does. His palms turn sweaty in an instant, imagining Rin having a crush on him. But at the same time, it would be weirder, by now, to assume the contrary. Although despite how easy it is to accept that eventuality when Aran throws it into his face, Osamu has a hard time seeing how it’s not ‘that bad’.

“What if I overstep? He makes me want to spend more time with him,” Osamu mutters, grabbing his keys on the counter.

“There’s a world between spending a bit of pleasant time with the guy and jumping him in a dirty bathroom stall while yer both full of booze and other nasty—”

“Aran!”

“I’m right! What’s wrong if he gives you a good time in general? Ya scared he’ll make ya act all cute and shit?” Aran has a point. “Don’t serve me that crap.”

“I’m not scared. He enjoys it when I care for him for real. Not like those stupid mofos he works with. I was happy when he—” Osamu trails off while he sees himself sitting down in a Parisian park hearing Rintarou’s kind words or when he remembers that moment on the patio the evening before. 

“Ya were happy when he what? Ya know, not to be sappy, or cringe, or like the protagonists of those ass movies Tsumu loves so much, but… Yer a step away from sayin’ he’s healing something inside you.” 

Osamu freezes in the genkan, with only one shoe on. He looks at the phone he’s holding away from his face, as if making sure Aran can’t see him get flustered. 

“Ya cut the crap. I almost dropped my phone from the absolute fucking chills ya gave me,” Osamu says in a mumble that does nothing for him to save face. “Yer wrong, anyway. He's not doing shit. He's not some weird pushover guy. We haven't even known each other for that long so it’s not like he’s trying to do shit. Ya know like you'd do with a friend. Like the fuck yer doin’ right now to make me feel better about myself. But it's still…”

Aran hums on the other side of the line. A very pointed and committed little sound that tells Osamu he went straight where Aran was trying to lead him in the first place. 

“I understand. Long story short, he's a good guy. And you're not fucked at all, Osamu. Ya deserve it.” The word deserve makes Osamu’s shoulders tense up.

“I didn't do—”

“I'll drive to Tokyo to punch ya in the face myself,” Aran immediately warns him. “Yer doing plenty for people all the time. Don't take the credit if ya don't want to, but don't act surprised when good stuff happen because yer a good guy too.”

So much for not being sappy. Osamu closes the door behind him and hopes his next words get swallowed by the jingling noise of his house keys. “Ya sound like him.”

“He sounds smart, then. But he’s not as smart as me because I would never make-out with ya, ever,” Aran says proudly. Osamu is really close to reminding him he made out with Atsumu in a disastrous turn of ‘seven minutes in heaven’ years ago, so he shouldn’t brag, but Aran is faster. “He would, though. So go get yer man, or don't, but trust me. Yer allowed to be happy about all this. Stop overthinking, go to work and be there with him. I promise everything will be alright.” 

If only it was that easy, Osamu thinks.

“Work is kinda the problem though. I'm tryna be calm and all, but sometimes it gets really hard. There’s a bunch of terrible people there. Kinda makes me want to—”

“Ya want to punch people all the time, so this must be serious.” 

“It is,” Osamu says, slightly defeated. “They keep fuckin' him over. And when he tries to stand up for himself, they double down with terrible shit. They're doing what yer ex used to do, what did ya call—”

“Gaslighting?” 

Osamu stops in the middle of the corridor, remembering the numerous conversations they had about it. 

“Yes. Exactly this. They'll literally pat my arm and say shit like I must have it tough because I work with the infamous devil Suna Rintarou, poor lil me. But it's those motherfuckers, I swear. He's just trying to do good and… Yeah, it’s fucked up.” 

“Sounds tough,” Aran says, sympathetic. “But ya know… Maybe it can’t be helped, but at least, whatever happens while yer working there or after, I think he's lucky he has someone like ya standing up for him too.”

“I wish he wouldn't need that and stand for himself too,” Osamu says, thinking about the progress Rintarou made lately. Maybe he will be able to do just that soon. It feels a bit pretentious to think Osamu could change things for him, but he’d gladly take responsibility for it. 

“From what ya said, he's starting to. Have a little faith, it can't hurt. And until it pays off, ya guys can have each other's backs. Looks like it's gonna be the case whether ya smoosh or not.”

Osamu snorts. “Yer gross.” 

“But I'm very wise and very right.” 

“Yes, can't deny that. Thanks, Aran. I really appreciate it.” Osamu feels a bit lighter after their conversation. And he sure doesn’t feel like panicking at the idea of heading toward Rintarou’s place anymore. 

“Anytime, man. But remember one thing. If ya bring him home again and introduce him to anyone else before me, yer done for. Understood?” 

This time, Osamu barks a laugh. “Loud and clear.”

“Good. I’m glad,” Aran says. He sounds gentle, Osamu feels like something inside him was appeased for good. And nothing can bring his mood down, not even the darkening clouds gathering above his head as he heads out. 

“You know, if you don’t want someone to assume you’re smuggling drugs, maybe don’t look at the dog like you’ve got a kilo of crack up your ass,” Rintarou whispers from behind his fist before he steps through security. 

They just arrived at the agency and are about to make their way up for the routine inspection. 

Osamu wants to get back at him, but by the time he finds something smart to say, the security guard is all up in his face and looking for Osamu’s ID. Rintarou is smirking a few feet away, watching the scene. Osamu wipes the card out of his pocket, trying to ignore the dog by focusing on the frown on the guard’s face. 

“Ah. I got directives from the eleventh floor. You must bring your personal phone, today. Alright, step aside,” he says, deadpan, after letting go of Osamu’s ID.

“Oh, sure.” Osamu doesn’t need to be told twice before walking away from the dog and grabbing Rintarou’s sleeve in the process. “Ya tryin’ to get me fired? I thought we were getting along now,” he whispers back as they get to the elevator.

“I’m just trying to spice things up for you. You’re getting too comfortable with the big city life,” Rintarou says, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Yer a monster.”

“Not what you said last night.” The elevator doors open just when Rintarou does a double take at his own words. Both he and Osamu do, averting their eyes at the speed of light. 

Rintarou is the first one to regain his composure, as usual, clearing his throat as they step inside. “You gotta get your new work phone today, right?”

“Ye–yeah. Dropping this one on the way, then I have to go see Yukie for the new one. She said the insurance covered it just fine.”

“You really should have said it’s my f—”

Osamu silences Rintarou with a single glance. “No, I shouldn’t have.”

“Yes, sorry. Old habits die hard.” Rintarou tries to laugh it off but his heart is not in it. 

“Yer fine,” Osamu tells him, brushing the back of his hand with his own to give him some reassurance. He doesn’t doubt Rintarou isn’t going to drop the belittling antics that soon but it’s nice to see him try.  

“Hella fine, even. Come on, I’m on the cover of dozens of magazines, I’m more than fine,” Rintarou says, this time with a genuine, cocky smile.

“I can’t confirm nor deny. Ya wouldn’t be able to pass the doors, if I did.”

The atmosphere feels nice as they reach the eleventh floor. Aran was right, there’s nothing to fear. The little awkwardness here and there is a fair price to pay to have fun with Rintarou.

“See you in a few,” Rintarou says when Osamu knocks on the HR door. 

Komori opens the door with a huge smile on his face that Osamu is happy to return. He hands out his phone after exchanging a few pleasantries. 

“We’ll return this in a few. You can get it back after swinging by Yukie’s. Rintarou’s agent is in office today but he’s got several meetings planned so she’s handling everything.”

“Cool. Do ya wanna take a break when I come back? We can go have a smoke if ya want,” Osamu offers.

“Sure! I’ll join.”

Osamu could almost forget he’s basically walking into the enemy’s territory with how smooth the exchange is going. And when he finds Yukie at his desk a few minutes later, he gets the confirmation today is going to be a good fucking day.

“Welcome back!” She greets him warmly, gesturing at the chair in front of her desk. She shares the office with another assistant and Rintarou’s agent — but as Komori explained, his desk is currently empty. “How are you? You’re right on time, I was just finishing processing the papers.”

“Doing good,” Osamu says, as sincere as possible. He’s glad to feel the tension in his shoulders completely vanish when he sits down in front of her and the other assistant gives him a polite smile before returning to her own task. “Sorry again for all the trouble and thank you so much.”

“It’s okay, I know for a fact it wasn’t on purpose. No matter what happened,” Yukie says, typing on her keyboard. “I know things can get a little wild out there.”

“Yeah, they can,” Osamu admits, trying not to remember too vividly what happened in that bathroom stall.

“There was that one time, when your brother had to get a replacement and he wouldn’t tell us what happened. And Sakusa-kun had to step in and save him from a warning by explaining how another model dropped his phone into a bucket of melted ice because he wasn’t happy when your brother refused to down shots with him.”

“Come again?” Osamu asks, not believing his ears. “Damn, I never heard of that. Actually, he never told me how risky the job was,” he jokes.

“Would you have still signed up if he had snitched on us?” Rintarou’s amused voice comes from behind Osamu.

He doesn’t have to turn in his chair, Rintarou strides over fast. And, of course, instead of pulling another chair to sit next to Osamu, he’s happy to sit on the edge of Yukie’s desk.

“Hello Rintarou,” Yukie says, saving a pile of sheets before Rintarou can sit on it. “Gonna tell me why I’m handing your assistant a new phone?”

She doesn’t sound accusatory in the slightest — simply like she’s joking with him.

“Oh, I could, but I wouldn’t want to traumatize such a demure lady. I think I’ll keep that secret,” Rintarou drawls.

“I fell on my ass with the phone in my pocket because of a bunch of drunk models,” Osamu repeats the half-lie they already settled on and gave Yukie previously. “But please, do give us the details. I’m sure she can handle it, she’s a professional.”

It’s a delight to see the tip of Rintarou’s ear turn pink while he fights to save face. A small payback for his nagging during the security check. 

“Want me to share the details?” Rintarou asks, leaning toward Osamu with a piercing gaze. And suddenly, it feels like they’re alone in the room. Rintarou might be playing, but they both know they remember exactly what happened and the memory is as fresh as possible.

Osamu has a hard time swallowing his spit, his throat drying on the spot. But he’s saved by none other than Yukie, who probably feels like she’s the third-wheel of a very odd ride. She does so by slamming a box on the desk and pushing it toward Osamu. 

It’s a phone, of course. “This is second-hand, but it’s been restored to go back to factory default and the previous assistant who was using it kept it in perfect condition. Please, treat it with the same care,” she explains while opening the box.

Osamu clears his throat and reverts his attention back to her and the device she’s giving him. He fumbles with his pockets for a moment looking for the sim card he saved and is relieved to see Rintarou back off a bit.

“Will do,” he mutters, pushing the card into its new slot. 

“By the way, Rintarou,” Yukie says, stealing a glance at the other assistant who’s still busy at her desk and paying zero attention to them. “He won’t tell you, because it pissed him off. But that brand deal he tried to get you off? They tripled their offer to keep you as face of the brand and they’re pushing to renew the campaign digital rights for two more years. Including for the products you weren’t supposed to endorse. The office couldn’t turn down the offer but…”

“Let me guess. He accepted a bunch of meetings today because he didn’t want to see me gloat when he’d give me the news,” Rintarou says and he sounds absolutely ecstatic. 

“Is this about the LGBT campaign?” Osamu asks, feeling a surge of excitement rise as well. “This is great!”

“It is! You should be proud, Rintarou”, Yukie says, and she sounds very fond. “They asked for your address too, so I redirected them but I think they want to send you a basket of products and a personal note. I’ll let Osamu-san know when they have it delivered.”

The smile on Osamu’s face hurts his cheeks but it’s worth it. Rintarou is looking at his feet, as if he’s embarrassed to be praised.

“Congrats,” Osamu says under his breath while Yukie returns to her computer. Rintarou gives him a little nod, his ears going pink again.

Nothing could ruin this day, Osamu thinks. They’re finally on the right track. All he has to do is turn his new phone on, get back his personal one, then they can get out of here, celebrate this little win and move onto Rintarou’s next gig. Make sure it’s a success too. Celebrate again… 

And just when the screen of his new phone lights up in his palm, the door of the office swings open with surprising force. Everyone jumps in their seats and turns to look at the newcomer. Osamu recognizes him from the day he got hired, and he mostly recognizes his voice from a few calls he heard Rintarou receive — some quite unpleasant.

“You. Get up and follow me, please,” Rintarou’s agent says without any detour, pointing his chin at Osamu. So much for accepting a bunch of meetings to avoid Rintarou today. The tone leaves no room for interpretation, there’s no politeness behind his words, too.

Everyone is just as confused as Osamu by the invective. It feels so surreal, Osamu doesn’t even have time to be tickled by the usual anger a rude approach like this would usually trigger. Rintarou gets on alert mode way faster than he does.

“What does this mean?” he asks his agent, eyes squinting. 

“You should sit this one out, Rintarou-kun. For your own good and everyone who’s working hard for you in this room. We’ll get on your case later.”

This time, it’s Osamu who gets on his feet, fists balling at his sides. Rintarou doesn’t move away from him — not even an inch. He’s standing next to him, radiating the same tension. There’s electricity crackling in the air between them and his agent. Even Yukie gets up.

“Sir…”

“Miya-san, follow me into the human resources office, now. We don’t have to make a scene.”

Komori appears behind the agent just as he’s done speaking. He’s shaking his head in silence at the sight in front of him: namely Rintarou stepping in front of Osamu who has a hard time keeping his head cool. He looks like he’s trying to help, and it’s probably the only reason Osamu doesn’t lash out. That, and hearing his surname. He’s not the only Miya working for this company. He can’t just explode and endanger Atsumu’s position without knowing what happened first.

“I’ll go,” he says, his blood simmering anyway.

“I’m coming too.”

“Rintarou—”

“I’m coming too,” Rintarou repeats and he’s fuming with a sort of white fury that makes his agent give up.

Instead he gives him a curt, aggravated nod and steps back, colliding with Komori in the process. They can all hear him fail at biting back a ridiculous curse that makes him sputter but there’s nothing to laugh about. The entire atmosphere has shifted, Osamu can tell. Something terrible is about to happen and the worst in all that is that he has no clue what all this is about. 

It can’t be about the contract they just mentioned. Osamu had no part in this. He follows Komori outside of the room, Rintarou on his heel, his mind reeling. He thinks about their little escapade in the countryside. But even this isn’t something they’d hold against them. Rintarou had no obligations the day prior, they didn’t miss any appointments. Osamu didn’t go off grid or kidnap their precious model. He rakes his brain harder as they reach the same room where he was interviewed on his first day. Rintarou’s agent and Komori disappear inside and Osamu’s insides churn. Could someone have seen them at the club and reported what they did? There’s no way. They were alone when they kissed and the stall was closed when they—

“Step inside, please.” The voice calling for Osamu is cold as steel. 

Osamu’s heart feels like it’s beating out of his chest but he obliges. He has to know, and most of all, he has to stand up for himself and Rintarou if they somehow try to involve him in anything he’s accused of. We’ll get on your case later. No matter what’s about to happen to Osamu, they don’t intend to let Rintarou off the hook.

“What happened?” Osamu starts asking the moment he finds himself in the room.

On top of Rintarou’s agent and Komori, there’s the woman who participated in his recruitment process and another guy who helps manage Rintarou’s career. Rintarou follows him inside, followed closely by Yukie who closes the door behind them.

“I would also like to know,” he says, exactly when Osamu’s eyes fall onto something the woman is holding in front of her face.

It’s his personal phone, unlocked. On the screen, there’s a single picture on display. Osamu’s stomach drops to his heels as he recognizes the shot. The Rintarou depicted there looks a lot happier and more mischievous than the one who’s standing next to him. 

“Fuck,” is the strangled word that escapes Rintarou’s mouth when Osamu’s eyes shift back to his agent. 

It’s the selfie Rintarou sent him while he was taking a bath. The tip of Osamu’s fingers start prickling before they go numb as a cold sweat runs down his spine. He remembers the plethora of notifications they both got the moment they drove off his aunt’s property. All of them swiped left without a second thought. Osamu is used to receiving a bunch of messages belatedly when he stays there. He just didn’t realize it would mean Rintarou’s attempts at sending him silly, harmless pictures would go through as well. He never cared for the picture. He—

“He didn’t do anything wrong!” Rintarou interjects before Osamu can defend himself. He steps in front of him, holding an arm out as if to protect him.

Osamu can’t let him do that.

“Oh, really? Rintarou-kun, I’ve been taking care of you for years, I know what your apartment looks like. This isn’t even your home. It’s clearly not a hotel either. So can Miya-san explain what a picture of you, naked, in a private bath, is doing stored into his personal phone?”

The humiliation burns just as much as the anger Osamu feels from hearing the disdainful way his agent speaks to Rintarou. Yukie takes a sharp breath in, Komori’s head disappears between his shoulders. Osamu’s nape feels like it’s on fire.

“Listen. I know what it looks like, but we were just—”

“He didn’t do anything! I sent that picture! You know this, you must have found it in our exchanged messages!” Rintarou sounds desperate as he cuts him off. 

Osamu hates to hear this. He hates that he’s standing behind Rintarou. He hates that they’re treated like he’s a criminal and Rintarou is an idiot for something that should be a lighthearted prank between two friends.

“I’m sorry. I offered Rintarou a trip to the countrysi—” 

The glare Rintarou sends Osamu is so cutting, he shuts his mouth with an audible gasp. It’s hard and cold, but most of all, it’s full of underlying fear.

“He didn’t ask for this. I wanted to tease him a bit and took the picture because he was just too kind for his own good, ok? You’ve seen him! Yukie, you’ve seen how he is,” Rintarou says, turning to her with a half-crazed look that screams his distress. “This is just a good guy, too naive for this trash business we’re all doing, ok? I’m the fuck-up who can’t behave properly for five minutes. You don’t trust me, anyway, you’re not gonna start now, right? He’d never think of selling my pictures! He wouldn’t even know where to! I had to show him how to use instagram, you think he’d put up a big scheme like this?”

He turns back toward his agent and Osamu can’t decipher the mix of emotions that are slowly taking his body and mind. There’s something dark tainting the inside of his chest, swallowing everything in its wake. Something that licks at his heart and leaves a gross hollow feeling behind. His ears start ringing as he looks at Rintarou who’s trying to justify himself like Osamu isn’t even there.

“We were literally in a hole, okay? No paparazzi, not even enough signal for him to receive a picture. He’s not like him, he’s not like that, he’s just…”

“Just a naive country boy,” Osamu hears himself say before he can swallow the words back.

The noise that escapes Rintarou’s lips then makes Osamu feel like he just kicked a puppy. It breaks his heart a lot more than the stupid things Rintarou has been rambling in a futile effort to save them. 

“Osamu…”

“It’s fine. It’s done anyway. He’s saying the truth, I would never do that shit. He sent me the picture, it’s true too. But I’m still at fault for allowing this to happen. I should have been more professional from the start. Should never have let this happen. Because I don’t want to ever put him in that spot. I would never want him to be humiliated by anyone like this,” Osamu says, pointing at his phone. “Certainly not in front of several people, like yer doing.”

“How dare you?” The woman seems outraged, but it’s nothing compared to the silent wrath emanating from Rintarou’s agent. 

“What? It’s true, isn’t it? Ya don’t even care how he feels! Yer just angry because he does whatever the fuck he wants and shines when he does it. And yer even more pissed when it brings him joy or when it means ya might miss on some stupid money. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna sell the damn picture. I’m not gonna do anything that could harm him,” Osamy spits. He’s trembling as he retrieves his new work phone and suddenly pushes it into Yukie’s hands. “Just delete the goddamn thing and I’ll be on my way.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to, you little—”

“That’s my line! Leave him the fuck alone!” Rintarou snaps, snatching Osamu’s personal phone from the woman’s hands. The next second, he’s throwing it into Osamu’s hands in the same fashion he just did to Yukie. 

“We’re not done, here,” his agent hisses at him.

“No, we’re fucking not. Motoya, get him out,” Rintarou says as he places himself very obviously between Osamu and the rest of the room without sparing him a single glance. 

It’s clear everyone is baffled to see Rintarou react so strongly. There’s a concerto of protestations at first, but then Komori is ordered to comply and a pair of gentle but firm hands find Osamu’s shoulders. He’s too stunned amidst the chaos to move on his own, and certainly too shocked to resist when he is dragged out of the room. It’s only when the door is closed again that Osamu realizes what really happened and he shakes off Komori fiercely. His first reflex is to lunge for the door — especially when he hears angry shouts — but the way he pushes back Komori ends up too aggressive. Seeing him trip on his feet, barely catching himself against the wall and looking at Osamu like he’s grown a second head is enough to make Osamu falter.

“I’m sorry!” he says, rushing to help steadying him on his feet. “I’m sorry, oh god… I’m so fucking sorry. I have to go back inside.” Osamu rambles, panic rising like sour bile in his throat. 

“Hey, hey! Calm down,” Komori tells him, visibly not that offended by his initial reaction. There’s concern in his voice instead as he grips his arm and tries to hold Osamu back. “Calm down, it’s gonna be okay. He’s gonna be okay.”

“I fucked up. I can’t leave him alone with them, please—”

“—don’t need him!” Rintarou’s voice is so loud, it reaches them through the door.

Osamu and Komori exchange one look — he needs him to understand — and it seems to convince him. “You’re not going back inside,” he mouths barely above a whisper. “But you can listen.” Osamu nods, his knees turning to jelly when Rintarou repeats exactly what he thinks he’s heard the first time.

“I don’t need him to stand up for me!” Osamu’s throat closes up. It’s the words he wanted to hear from Rintarou for quite some time now. But he hates that he gets to hear them in this context. “I can fend for myself! Should have from the start! I don’t know why I was a fucking coward all this time, when he’s so right!”

One of Rintarou’s agents answers something, but Osamu couldn’t make out the words for the life of him. He’s dizzy, leaning against the door as much for support as he does to hear things more clearly. 

“That’s not fucking true! Maybe you gave me a career, but I’m the one who makes the calls that earns you big now. You never gave a shit what happened to me, as long as it brought you money and visibility. You knew what that guy was doing to me all these years! Yet you didn’t say shit until he crossed you and tried to get his bag without going through you.” 

Osamu jolts when he bites some flesh instead of his nails, shocking him back into reality. Hearing all this makes him see red, as much as it makes him want to knock the door down and take Rintarou away from them. But what anchors him there is the fact that Rintarou is so relentless and unapologetic when he finally says what Osamu has been hoping to hear. He doesn’t even care about the nonsense that’s answered to him. He thinks he hears Yukie’s faint voice before it’s covered by Rintarou’s agent again, and then Rintarou bursts again, making Komori’s eyes go wide.

“This is my image and I’ll use it how I want to! Don’t you dare forget that! I don’t have any obligation to renew my contract next year! You think I want to come in here every day, or get on the phone to hear you belittle me? She’s the only one trying to get me on gigs I find interesting and worth my time! The rest of you would sell me into pieces to any shark, as long as there’s a contract with the name of your precious company on it. Don’t think I don’t know you’d sign me up for AVs on the side, if I let you. You want to know why I went with him to his family’s home? Because he would never do something disgusting like that to me! You want to pin the blame on him for something so badly? Blame him for opening my fucking eyes! Because starting today, you’re never using me as you please again. We’re doing this by my rules, or the next thing that leaks through indelicate text messages is the way you’re treating me here.”

“Osamu-san, are you okay?” Komori’s question sounds foreign to Osamu. 

He must get some air. He has to get away from here before he’s completely submerged by the turmoil of emotions ravaging him from the inside. Atsumu would know how to help, Aran would know how to help. Running a few miles would help, screaming too. Osamu looks at him without really seeing him. All he can see is Rintarou, furious and proud. Tall and fierce against them, on the other side of this panel. But he can also feel his burning, cutting gaze on him — the last one he set on Osamu in the middle of a clumsy and desperate rant. The same gaze that reminds him how lonely Rintarou has been, how little he’s used to having someone stand by his side.

“I need air.”

“Sure. Yes, of course. You know, I think you should go home. I’ll handle it,” Komori says, helping Osamu walk away from the door. He’s following like a robot, still unable to figure out what to do with his body without blowing up a fuse. “It doesn’t sound like they’ll take any action against you, today. You can wait at home, right? I’ll contact you. You didn’t do anything wrong, Osamu-san. I don’t think you did.”

His words slowly make their way through to Osamu, whose eyes start burning. 

“I’ll look out for him, alright? Trust me, no one will harm him again. I don’t think it’s my place to say, but I don’t think he’ll let anyone try, anyway. Not after what you did for him. You can go home and rest, Osamu-san.”

Osamu doesn’t think he could rest even if he wanted to, but he agrees with Komori. He has to put some distance between himself and this building. And more than anything, he owes it to him to trust Rintarou, no matter how difficult it is and how much it costs him. A part of Osamu wants to see him immediately, but a voice at the back of his mind tells him it’s a bad idea. 

“Thanks,” he mumbles, unable to muster anything more than that. 

“Oh, just one minute,” Komori says before disappearing through the next door over. He’s back in a flash, holding an umbrella. “It’s pouring,” he says with a rueful smile. “Take care, okay?”

Osamu doesn’t really know how he makes his way downstairs. He barely remembers using the elevator or making it through the lobby. He doesn’t even remember to open the umbrella before stepping outside. The cold rain shower has the merit of being a nasty wake up call, but even after sheltering himself under the umbrella and focusing on his surroundings, Osamu feels lost. 

It’s the middle of the night in New York, he can’t possibly call Atsumu and give him a fright by dumping all this on him. Especially not when Osamu knows what is actually going to happen to him. He fucked up and he’s not ready to tell Atsumu he embarrassed himself there when Atsumu gave him this opportunity.

He could call his mom — she’d listen to everything. But she’d also tell him to come home, to take care of himself… It’s not what he wants to hear. Then there’s Aran, who’s probably working and who’d be horrified to know what happened just a few hours after their last conversation. 

Osamu is horrified. Everything looked so bright this morning. Everything felt like it could go right, finally. Maybe it still can go right for Rintarou. Osamu’s mind clears up more and more as he walks away from the agency. Anger comes in waves, but as the fresh air invigorates Osamu and washes away some of the terrible whirlwind he’s entangled in, he allows himself to experience other things. It isn’t easy, though. When pride hits him in the face, he finds it gross to have such a misplaced sentiment, when Rintarou was clearly in distress. Relief is something he barely accepts. Rintarou finally spoke up, but at what cost? It’s impossible to feel joy when he left on such a chaotic and gruesome note. Rintarou won’t be fired, but what if they make his life harder from now on? Even if he has faith in him, he can’t help but want to fight thinking of the hardships they put him through and will keep putting him through if they’re too displeased. 

And there’s more to this. The selfish part of him that is furious he might never see him again. The one that thinks it’s unfair for Rintarou and for himself to be subjected to this nonsense. The one that was finally starting to understand Rintarou, the part of him that was allowed to see the real him. The only one Rintarou allows to see. The one Osamu was falling for — a kind, funny and hardworking soul. To hell with being professional, Osamu just got fired anyway.

Osamu goes in circles, walking aimlessly. There’s Rintarou from the night before, kind, vulnerable yet strong. And then there’s Rintarou cracking under the pressure and resorting to the worst mechanisms he knows to try and worm his way out of the corner he’s been backed into. It could have been worse, and Osamu knows why he was harsh when he started rambling. Rintarou wasn’t trying to hurt Osamu’s feelings. 

This is just a good guy, too naive for this trash business we’re all doing, ok? I’m the fuck-up who can’t behave properly for five minutes. You don’t trust me, anyway, you’re not gonna start now, right?

That wasn’t Rintarou trying to get to Osamu at all. It wasn’t even him doing it unconsciously. He was resorting to old, nasty mechanisms, putting himself down. Osamu shifts his anger toward Rintarou for a different reason, before it dawns on him it’s not fair either to expect him to magically heal and change his ways. He did his best. He tried his best, while Osamu was stuck outside. He couldn’t be there for Rintarou, so Rintarou showed up for himself — even if it wasn’t perfect.

Osamu’s entire body shivers from the cold. There’s no rage left in him to keep him warm — no adrenaline to keep at bay the utter exhaustion seizing his body after the confrontation and walking aimlessly under the rain. He thinks about his car, parked under the building he left almost half an hour ago. The time for him to walk back and get it, he won’t be home before another hour at least. So much for getting some air. It’s bitter and there’s nothing sweet to comfort him. He’d usually smoke a cigarette on the way back, maybe two, or three. The idea makes him uncomfortable. Nicotine is an addiction — it’s not like he can just turn off the switch one day. But thinking of relying on his own vices while Rintarou was trying so hard just an hour ago, partly because of him, sounds like a defeat. Like being weak and pathetic. 

“Get a fuckin’ grip,” he tells himself, looking down at the bottom of his pants. They’re drenched, like his shoes. 

Instead of fishing for his pack of cigarettes, Osamu gets his phone. He’ll walk back to the agency, call Aran on the way. Find something to get his change his mind… But when he tries to turn it on, the device refuses to do so. Osamu lets go of a loud groan that makes a young girl rush past him with a concerned look. He’s an idiot. An idiot with an antique phone he forgot to charge after using the GPS for hours, calling a friend and letting people tamper with it for far too long. Of course, it’s dead.

And now that he thought about them once, the craving for a cigarette is impossible to ignore. Osamu turns on his heels, ready to head back to the agency. His hand closes in a fist around the pack in his pocket until it’s completely crumpled. There’s no trashcan in sight, so Osamu just tightens his grip around it. He looks at the bit of sky peaking between the skyscrapers surrounding him. It doesn’t look like the rain is near letting down. It’s fine. He steels himself with resolve. If it tickles him too badly, he’ll get rid of the umbrella. Cooling his head some more wouldn’t be too much of a luxury, after all.

In the end, it takes ages for Osamu to find his way back. Turns out walking aimlessly in a big city after an argument only works for the protagonists in stupid American romcoms Atsumu loves so much. Osamu got lost, and without his phone to help, he had to ask for his way twice, before finally making his way back. The walk didn’t even entirely calm him down. The silent rumination and helplessness, his mind constantly wandering back to Rintarou and his whereabouts… The embarrassment of asking for directions in a café, just to be told to look down the street to find what he’s looking for… Everything was pretty irritating, in and of itself. 

The sun is starting to get low by the time Osamu drives back to his brother’s place. He doesn’t even plug his phone in the car. Now that he’s been alone with his thoughts for a moment, he hates to think about the moment he’ll turn it back on and see notifications flood his screen again. The agency might have tried to contact him, Komori. The car door bangs shut and Osamu thinks he’d like to hear from Rintarou, but he wouldn’t know what to say. He’s lost and wouldn’t know where to start. 

Above him, the sky rumbles, annunciating another downpour after the last few minutes of respite. He leaves the umbrella in the vehicle, intent on giving it back the next time he goes back there — probably over the next few days to sign some stuff. Even if his name is cleared, Osamu has no doubt this wasn’t the last of it. 

On cue, rain starts falling again as he walks up the stairs on the side of the building. Osamu rushes to get cover before he gets drenched. He’s going to plug in his phone, leave it in a corner and take a warm shower. That’s the only plan ahead for him, he’ll figure things out once he’s done this much.

At least, that’s what he thinks until he reaches Atsumu’s floor. Osamu’s pace falters, but his wet shoes squeaking on the last step of the stairs are enough to make his presence known. There’s someone a few meters away, sitting by the door Osamu was heading toward, who looks up at him. 

Suna Rintarou is sitting there, his half bun messy and dripping, the top half of his hoodie a darker color than the rest — indicating he stayed under the rain for too long. Osamu’s heart probably stopped — he can't control his body as he starts moving again to plant himself in front of Rintarou. 

For a few seconds, the only sounds are the occasional passing cars and the pitter patter of the rain but Osamu tunes it all out, anyway. It feels like an eternity for him to reach the door, and, at first, Rintarou doesn’t seem to react. The stare they exchange is long, the air charged with so much it’s crushing. They’re both exhausted and at a loss, now that they get to face each other.

Osamu is torn. A part of him is a mess and wants all at once to lunge for him, take Rintarou in his arms, ask him if he is okay, ask him what the fuck this was all about, tell him they’re gonna be okay, ask him if they’re gonna be okay… The other one remains silent, in a daze. 

Rintarou goes through the same stages, but snaps out of it faster than Osamu. In the end, this must last less than a short minute, no matter how long the time seems to stretch. And it’s no surprise Rintarou is the one to scramble to his feet. Osamu deserves an explanation, and if he’s honest, if Rintarou doesn’t start speaking up, he’s afraid he’ll fall deeper into the mess in his head without being able to form any coherent thought.

“Osamu, I’m sorry, I’m so—We need to talk. You didn’t deserve any of this, I’m really sorry. I asked Motoya for your address, I couldn’t just—You didn’t answer your phone. And mine died like… ten minutes ago. I was gonna wait—We really need to talk. Please, let me explain.”

Not a stranger to the pang in his chest, Osamu still hates just as much to hear Rintarou sound so desperate. Yet, somehow, he’s at a loss for words. They absolutely can’t go on without speaking, but he had to process such vile emotions that he has a hard time not feeling numb right now. He wants to reach out, his eyes tracking the wet tip of Rintarou’s bangs. He needs to get them both inside, to bring Rintarou some warmth. And he really wants to hear what Rintarou has to say, but Osamu can’t move.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. They won’t fire you! Shit… That’s not what I came here to say. Osamu, please,” Rintarou keeps going, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie like crazy. 

Osamu nods slowly, trying to take it in. Get them inside, let him know it’s all fine… Mechanically, he finds his door keys and steps aside to unlock the door. It’s not fast enough to his taste, he wants to look at Rintarou, but his body cooperates on nothing. Maybe he should have let himself explode, he’s not used to this. 

“Osamu, please,” Rintarou repeats when Osamu pushes the door open. And it sounds like he’s begging. It turns Osamu’s stomach over. And it gets worse when he takes a step inside and Rintarou’s fingers clasp around his wrist to stop him.

He has the wrong idea — and it’s all because Osamu is acting like he’s braindead. He can’t have that, they deserve better. No matter if he’s conflicted after everything he heard, and even if he’s unsure of the future. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Rintarou came all this way to talk with him, because he thinks Osamu is worth it.

The hand on his wrist sends an electroshock along Osamu’s arm. A split second is all it gets for him to pull on his arm and yank Rintarou inside in the process. They’ll get to talk — damn, Osamu wants to sit for hours and talk if they have to — but, right now, there’s something else he has to get across to Rintarou. No matter what gets out of his mouth then, he never wants to hear him plead ever again. 

Rintarou gasps from the initial surprise, but Osamu doesn’t give him the opportunity to do it again as he pushes him against the panel of the door. Because he presses his entire body against Rintarou and swallows whatever noise Rintarou could have made in a demanding kiss. 

Osamu’s hands bunch in the fabric of his hoodie, holding Rintarou against the closed door. Rintarou is too shocked to answer the kiss first. Osamu stares into his wide eyes, silently lamenting how cold Rintarou’s lips feel under his — unyielding. Then Rintarou melts. Everything melts. Rintarou’s arms come up to circle Osamu’s neck, while he answers the kiss with the only kind of fire that could warm them up after the ordeals they went through today. Osamu closes his eyes, parts his lips and finally feels like taking a salvaging breath. One that’s half Rintarou, half oxygen — the only two things he needs to get going. 

Osamu’s tongue finds Rintarou’s one in a clumsy open-mouthed kiss — making him jolt when it slides over the smooth bead of his piercing — but no one complains. There’s only one certainty, they’re both indulging in something they’ve been craving for a long time. The only thing that feels right when words won’t come, and the only thing Osamu thinks will let Rintarou know he’ll be there with and for him regardless of what happened today. The way Rintarou clings back onto him is the bittersweet proof of how much it was needed.

After some time, Rintarou gets restless in his arms, pushing back into the kiss — although he never lets go. Osamu grabs him by the chin and breaks the kiss reluctantly. Rintarou doesn’t want to part. It makes Osamu’s heart flutter in his chest when he presses his forehead against Osamu’s, with his ragged breathing and his eyes shut hard as if he dreads that opening them will mean the moment comes to an end.

“Rin,” Osamu says, surprised to hear his voice is raspy. His hands move to cup Rintarou’s jaw so they’ll face each other properly when he opens his beautiful eyes. “I’m not goin’ anywhere. Ya could tell me anythin’ about what happened or what’s gonna happen, I’m still not letting go, okay?” Rintarou holds his breath, shaking his head frantically. “Hey, Rin. I’m with ya. So tell me everything.”

It takes another minute before Rintarou opens his eyes. They look darker than they ever did. Osamu wants to see the spark in them so badly, even if it means he has to take a step back. He’s just not ready yet. So, this time more shyly, he leans into him to kiss Rintarou’s lips gently. The faint restraint in his movements disappears when Rintarou indulges him, covering Osamu’s hands with his own. In comparison, this simple kiss is a thousand times more challenging for Osamu’s heart. They’re not rushing it, yearning for each other in the most sincere demonstration of their vulnerability.

“I don’t know where to start,” Rintarou says, voice a little broken despite how determined his gaze is when they part. “But I’m truly sorry. I didn’t want you to get hurt, and I think I’m the one who hurt you in the end and—”

“I heard what happened after they kicked me out. At least a good part of it,” Osamu interrupts him. 

Rintarou blushes furiously, turning his head away as if looking for an escape.

“And I’m not stupid. I get why ya said some of these things. But I fucking need ya to explain everything so I get it all. So I’m sure…”

“Yeah,” Rintarou croaks out weakly.

Osamu pulls away, but he makes sure to keep Rintarou’s hand in his own so he can drag him further into the apartment. To his relief, Rintarou follows. They kick their shoes off in an awkward silence, before Rintarou hugs himself as he’s seized by a shiver. Osamu gets a towel in a hurry, offering it to Rintarou.

“Give me yer hoodie. I can’t have ya getting sick on me,” Osamu says. 

“I need a t-shirt too. I’m sorry I’m a fucking mess.” Rintarou says and it’s obvious the way he throws the towel over his head is more to hide his face than to dry his hair.

It makes Osamu smile for the first time in hours. And it feels so good, his eyes get shiny for a second. He clears his throat before sidestepping toward the dressing where he left a few of his clothes. 

“Yer not a mess, by the way,” he tells Rintarou when he’s back. “From what I heard when ya were in there fighting against all of them, yer anything but a mess.”

The pink tint on Rintarou’s face seems to be permanent, at this point. They both turn away from each other when he strips off the hoodie to change, and Osamu thinks they’re going to need some time to cool off. He’s glad they have a few hours ahead. Maybe more. 

Tentative fingers grasp the hem of his t-shirt after a moment. Rintarou looks awfully worn out when Osamu’s eyes fall upon him, but when Osamu closes the distance between them and gestures for them to sit on the couch, he smiles.

The tiniest sliver of a smile, but it’s there. And it gives Osamu enough reassurance and courage to take Rintarou’s hand firmly as they sit down. 

Drowning in the green of Rintarou’s eyes as he gathers his thoughts, Osamu becomes certain of it. After today, he’ll never let go of him again.