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“Hey, Osamu?”
Osamu makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a hum.
“How much do you remember from last night?”
“Uhh, I recall a distinct urge to strangle Atsumu quelled only by Mister José Cuervo. Oh and Komori taking yer hotel key after Sakusa kicked him out.”
“So you don’t remember getting married either?”
Osamu’s favorite customer of the graveyard shift stopped by around 5:00 AM, right as the indigo black of the night began shifting into violet dawn. He’d stumble in, not out of drunkenness but exhaustion, slump into one of the red vinyl bar stools, and pillow his head on the counter.
Suna and Osamu celebrate the end of a millennium.
He’s perfect, but not in the way one would expect to find perfection. From the distracted look on his face to the discreet designer tags on his clothes, Suna Rintarou is the perfect mark.
Love & How To Make It, by Suna Rintarou and Miya Osamu, featuring a love letter, a poolside, and the warmth of someone's hands.
A love story made of fried chicken, vending machines, and stardust.
Moonlight spills through the cracks in the canopy of trees; the dark sky is a gaping mess of cavities and black teeth and starlight fillings.
Suna’s cheeks are bright red. He spins the tab of a beer can between his fingers, and his helix piercing glints metallic. He’s pretty like this—eyes flashing silver, mouth flushed a gentle pink. Osamu is close enough to see the green rings of his irises.
He says softly, “I love you.”
“Okay,” Osamu whispers faintly, the words making space in his ribcage for the cool night air to fill his lungs. “Okay.”
A remote Pacific island. A steadfast bar owner. A wayward sailor on the run. A faint taste of salt water on the tongue.
"Suna." He says, and clears his throat when his voice is not really his voice.
"Osamu." He hears. Osamu lets out a breath. Well, Suna still exists. "What the hell!?"
Osamu takes the phone away from his ear when he hears Suna —himself— but then brings it back because apparently the situation is just as strange for the two of them.
"Are ya... yer in my body?"
"Well of course! We have to see each other. Now."
"Hey, I just woke up!"
"Osamu, we have swapped bodies!"
Just as he’s about to leave, the boy straightens, finally disconnecting from the girl’s mouth, and they make eye contact over her shoulder.
And – and Osamu recognizes him, recognizes that face.
Suna’s eyes widen, surprised, and Osamu flees back into his apartment.
This is weird. Bizarre. Odd, even, but Suna is extraordinarily hot in the anemic sort of way and odd as it is, Osamu can’t say he’s against Suna smelling him. “This isn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said”—the words die in his throat as Suna drags his teeth over Osamu’s jaw—“when I said, uh, that I wanted to get to know you.”
It’s a sunny Tuesday morning when Osamu decides that he might finally kill Atsumu for all the crimes he’s committed against Osamu’s sanity.
His most recent crime is the worst of all: handcuffing Osamu to Suna Rintarou.
Suna Rintarou, Tokyo University middle blocker, recreational Instagrammer, and the guy who wrote that one heart wrenching book. Is he okay?
The thing about university is that nobody knows what the fuck is going on, but everyone is so determined to pretend they know what is going on that nobody ever has a chance to ever fully understand or ever figure out what the fuck is actually going on. Add to that the arbitrary laws of magic and you have one potion for an absolute disaster.
Suna has no one except his bad habits and the money that funds them.
It’s a simple enough proposition: graduate students don’t make a lot of money, and it’s far cheaper for two single people to live in university-provided couple’s housing than to live in single’s housing. All Rintarou and Osamu have to do is tell the university and anyone who asks that they’re dating, and they’re set. Easy. Any idiots could accomplish that, right?
And having his sworn high school rival, Suna Rintarou, as his new debate partner is certainly no help.
“I brought my scrub twin to the gym today,” Atsumu says, looking back at Osamu and grinning that shit eating grin Osamu should’ve knocked off his face in the womb.
The one where Osamu and Suna are secret agents infiltrating a criminal organization.
The way the coach says Miyas, it's like it should be immediately obvious to Kiyoomi who the Miyas are. Identical like the Miyas, Kiyoomi thinks, so the Miyas are twins too, and then with a starburst flare of irritation, who even are the Miyas?
The kitsune was gone — vanished in a lick of flame. A thick haze settled over Osamu’s mind, eyes suddenly heavy and body fatigued. What a strange dream.
The Miya twins are the best agents Inarizaki has ever had.
Unfortunately for them, Kita disagrees.
Osamu and Atsumu have fucked up one too many times, and in an attempt to tame the Miya Chaos, Kita assigns them to different partners.
When Atsumu is featured in the Facebook group Subtle Inarizaki Dating, Osamu begins to be mistaken for him everywhere he goes.
He's annoyed and grumpy about it, but mostly, he's pissed at the person who orchestrated the whole thing: Suna Rintarou.
Miya Osamu and the promise, the love, and the hope that built him.
“Hi?” Rintarou says. It comes out more like a question. He should probably know the guy’s name, since he’s seen him around a few times before, but he doesn't, so he just keeps his mouth shut and waits for an introduction.
“I’m Osamu,” the boy blurts out. He shifts from foot to foot. “First violin.” He’s got a pleasing voice, mellow and a little husky.
His relationship with Suna is tenuous at best. Every encounter happens by chance, and they never see each other for longer than ten minutes at a time. Oh—and Suna thinks he’s someone else, but that’s a minor blip.
jun 3 2024 +