Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There's nothin' left here

All our best years are behind

What a brutal way to die

But you choose it every time

The bright yellow sweatshirt that’s way oversized than it originally already was is heavy in Rintarou’s hands, the EJP patch and embroidered “W.T.” glare at him, he feels the ridges of the initials, he isn’t sure what’s making the sweatshirt terribly heavy in his hands, the patch, the initials, or what the sweatshirt signifies. Everything he left and loved, everything taken from him like a rug violently pulled from right under his feet. Or is it everything he had run from? Figuratively, of course, he isn’t the same high-intensity athlete he once was, he isn’t athletic in any way, shape, or form, anymore at least. He bites the inside of his cheek until he tastes a bitter metal, he shoves the sweatshirt back in the box before he can dwell on the thought, he feels something sharp poke his hand, “Fuck” he shouts retracting his hand and cradling it, he sees beads of red on two his fingers, his hair falls over his eyes. Osamu rushes into the room, he looks at his disheveled best friend confused, “what did you do?” Osamu asks, “I decided to get myself cut by some of my old stuff,” Rintarou says pointedly. The other man sighs and wipes his hands on his apron, “Sunarin, I mean how’d this h-” Osamu pauses as he crouches to help RIntarou on the floor, the yellow sweatshirt sticks out of the box. “Rin,” he says softly, “don’t. I don’t want to talk–”, “when the hell are you going to talk about it then?” Osamu interrupts Rintarou. Rintarou doesn’t respond, he doesn’t know how to respond to Osamu, there’s no retort he can think of, and he’s not quite sure what to say either.

If Miya Osamu weren’t Rintarou’s best friend, he thinks he would’ve fallen in love with him. Rintarou has a mental list of why he would’ve fallen in love with Miya Osamu if the circumstances were different; 1, Miya Osamu is a patient man, he calls Suna Rintarou his best friend and he’s the twin of Miya Atsumu, those are self-explanatory; 2. Miya Osamu has a face that Rintarou thinks Aphrodite carved herself, although Rintarou doesn’t think that of Atsumu, Osamu’s identical twin; 3. Osamu’s eyes are honey brown and remind Rintarou of warmth and care, something he’s quite good at running away from; 4. Osamu loves with his whole heart, which Rintarou knows he doesn’t deserve. But he’s been on the receiving end platonically since he moved from Aichi to Hyogo. He respects that Akaashi Keiji should be the receiving end of Osamu’s undying love, the love that could rival stories written in history, a love he once had. Akaashi Keiji, he had become friends with the writer with the “most gorgeous ocean blue eyes you’ll ever see” as Osamu says, Keiji and Rintarou were close at one point in time that Keiji would confide in Rintarou in the rare times he and Osamu would argue. But that was then, Rintarou’s not quite sure how Akaashi Keiji would treat him now with everything that's happened, he’s not even sure what Akaashi Keiji is up to now. He just knows Keiji said yes to Osamu and they had gotten married last year, it was a small celebration if he remembers the posts well, all he actually remembers is admiring the invitation’s calligraphy and then letting it collect dust in his studio. 

“How’s Keiji?” Rintarou asks as he looks at Osamu meticulously treating his cuts, “for someone who needs his hands for a living you aren’t very careful” Osamu ignores his question. “How’s Keiji?” Rintarou asks again, Osamu looks at him confused, “what? Can’t I ask about my best friend’s husband?” Rintarou says pulling his bandaged hand back, he mumbles thanks. Osamu stands up to wash his hands and sits back down in front of Rintarou, “it’s just, I don’t know, Sunarin. I don’t know how to answer that question” Osamu responds, he rubs his chin roughly, there’s a slight scruff, Rintarou winces. “Well, you could start with ‘oh, he’s working on his second book’, or ‘oh, we’re looking to adopt’. You could start there because I had to find out through social media, Samu” Rintarou says, “that’s rich coming from you, Sunarin. You pack up one day without telling a single soul and run off to a country 13 hours away to pursue photography under a pseudonym. You didn’t just disappear from me, you disappeared from everybody, Sunarin, you disappeared from him” Osamu says, his words make Rintarou’s apartment feel much smaller than it is, it makes him feel like the space is closing in on him, the last statement sits heavy on his heart. “I–”, “you only decided to reconcile with me because I came to you, what would you have done if I didn’t?” Osamu asks, I would’ve kept myself away from you, all of you, Rintarou stays quiet. 

“Look, You have to tell me what happened because you owe me this. You’re not actually asking about Keiji, but you can’t come to terms with that.” Osamu says. “You can’t even answer the ques–”, “volleyball was the only thing I knew how to do, Samu. I was insane about it, I was living and breathing that sport, everything about me was that sport. It gave me everything, a career, friends, a home, and it also gave me him. But no one prepares you to lose it, I lost it in a blink of an eye, Samu. It was like waking up into a nightmare, I couldn’t play it anymore, everything I knew was gone, the sound of a whistle signifying the end of what was my whole life. So I ran, it was the only other thing I knew how to do” Rintarou says, he isn’t aware of his own tears until Osamu hands him a tissue. Rintarou laughs humourlessly, “fuck, I’m crying and I’m not even done trying to explain my shit reason for being an asshole”, Osamu looks at him with softness, he shakes his head “I left because if I stayed I would’ve hoped. If I stayed I would’ve been left” Rintarou continues. “I don’t think that’s fair to say about him, you know. He tried looking for you, he asked me up until last year, Sunarin. He searched for you until people had to stop him. I don’t think he even thought of leaving you” Osamu says, “I didn’t want to get hurt, Samu” he responds. “So you hurt him instead?” Osamu asks, “You hurt yourself in the process, so what did you really prevent? You didn’t even try to see it through, you just up and left once you were cleared to walk” Osamu continues. 

Rintarou feels a lump in his throat, he’s perfectly aware of how differently he could have handled the situation, on one hand, he could’ve given a shot at rehabilitation and physical therapy and attempted to power through it, but he’s terribly afraid of showing weakness and of showing he needs someone to lean on. On another hand, he could’ve properly retired in his home country and prevented hostility from every soul he knows in Japan. Rintarou’s aware of how he could’ve handled the situation better, but most of all, he thinks of the calm grey eyes and a warm dimpled smile that used to be reserved for him. He thinks of large calloused hands that used to hold his pale slender ones, he thinks of the warm voice that used to keep him grounded. “How is he?” Rintarou finally asks, Osamu looks up from his phone and sets his phone back down on the counter, “Tatsuki was loaned to a team in Brazil then his contract was bought by the Jackals” Osamu says, Rintarou shakes his head, “no, I mean how is he, Samu?” Rintarou asks again. Osamu sighs, “why don’t you find out yourself, Sunarin? I mean where are you even headed now?” Osamu asks because I’m scared that everything I’ve been avoiding will come crashing and I’ll have no way to pick myself up. What if he hates me? “I don’t think Tatsuki will ever hate you. You more than anyone should know that, I mean the fact you’ve taken advantage of it to the point that you’re still in a country he has no idea you’re in” Osamu interrupts Rintarou’s thoughts. “Why didn’t you tell him?” Rintarou asks, “would you let him see you?” Osamu retorts.

Chapter Text

‘Would I let him see me?’ Rintarou asks himself, Osamu had left New York a week ago but he left that lingering in Rintarou’s space, solitude if he can call it, headspace to simplify it. It echoes in his head every 6 hours like the vintage cuckoo clock that strikes at 6 o’clock, then again at 12 o’clock, he had seen one of those in an antique store on 82nd st. ‘Would I let him see me?’ the question sticks to the roof of his mouth like gum he can’t seem to get out, would Rintarou let Tatsuki see him? He’s not even sure Tatsuki would recognize him, he barely recognizes himself. But Tatsuki, he’s seen him in mutual friends, on the internet, in ads (the Calvin Klein one isn’t his favorite), but never in person. Although, he did take mental notes; Tatsuki’s a lot bulkier now and appears to be taller (he isn’t too sure about the science of that), he keeps his hair at a clean cut, his resting scowl turned into a permanent one (he’s seen a few articles criticizing it, he thinks 25-year-old Rintarou would have had a field day with that, but he’s 29-year old Rintarou now), and lastly, he never posts himself (Rintarou likes to play dumb and act like he’s unaware as to why that’s happened). So technically, Rintarou stalked Washio Tatsuki, but it’s also technically just checking up on his (ex) boyfriend who’s technically not really his ex since they never properly dealt with all that. 

He gets up from his mattress which in his defense did have a bedframe but he had to either unload or pay to get all his things shipped to where he’s moving which he wasn’t going to do seeing as he isn’t making professional athlete money anymore, he throws on whatever clothes he has out and grabs his camera and heads out to photograph his last days in New York. He first captures his neighborhood’s bodega, then the different alleys and streets, then he settles at a cafe. ‘What would Tatsuki think of me if he saw me now?’ Rintarou asks himself, he thinks his thrifted grey sweatshirt from a thrift shop in Yorkville that’s seen better days would throw Tatsuki off, or his vintage carhartts that should not be pants at this point, or his beat-up le fleurs, or the messy bun? The nose piercing? Or his ears covered with piercings? Or the fact that he’s lost a substantial amount of muscle mass? Maybe his entire being would throw Tatsuki off, which unfortunately leaves a weird pang in his chest that hurts a little bit more than usual, he realizes his chest hurts when he thinks about Tatsuki. 

“Suna?” someone calls out to him, there’s a distinct resonance to the way his last name is said, as if he’s being called back on the court, “Suna, is that you?” oh he’s being spoken to in Japanese. ‘Fuck, fuck fuck, this could not have come at a worse time’ Rintarou’s iterations are beating in his head, he turns to the person behind the unfortunate recognition and flashes a million-dollar smile. Iwaizumi Hajime looks at him, shock and confusion painting his face, “Hi” Rintarou says softly like he’s coaxing a frightened dog to shelter, “shit, it is you” Hajime responds still eyeing him, “the one and only, fortunately,” Rintarou says, “trust that you’d say something like that. Sorry, it’s just like seeing a ghost” Hajime says, Rintarou can’t hear any malice behind his words, ‘ God bless his kind soul ’ Rintarou thinks. “Well you might as well be” Rintarou jokes, he’s aware that wasn’t the best joke to someone who trains his ex-boyfriend. Hajime’s gaze softens, “I don’t think so, perhaps you aren’t who you were 3-4 years ago, but people change, nothing wrong with that,” Hajime says, ‘Oikawa Tooru, your husband is an angel on earth’ Rintarou thinks as he looks at Hajime utter those words, Rintarou’s sure Hajime knows, everyone does, so why is he being so kind to him?  

“Iwaizumi, the volleyball world is unfortunately small and you’re incredibly perceptive, what are you trying to do?” Rintarou asks defensively. Hajime laughs, “Nothing, Suna. I don’t meddle in business that isn’t my own, is it wrong for me to be friendly towards one of my old athletes?” he looks sincerely at Rintarou, old athlete, there’s the familiar pain in his chest. “Technically your business then, isn’t it?” Rintarou says, mentally he wants to punch himself in the face because he’s aware of how Iwaizumi Hajime has been nothing but kind and genuine with him. “Well the fact that you did manage to run even if it was hypothetically away from rehab and therapy, I don’t think I can go against your own decision,” Hajime says, “I’m not talking about me, Iwaizumi” Rintarou responds his voice a lot softer. Hajime sighs and takes a seat beside him, “I don’t want to speak for him because I really came over here just to say hi” Hajime pauses, ”Iwaizumi, please” Rintarou says. Hajime looks him in the eyes, which makes Rintarou uneasy, “but frankly, he hasn’t been the same, the play’s great, amazing even–but it’s like you left and took a part of him with you, Suna. I think I’m speaking more as his friend than his and your trainer. I’ve gone against my own words and meddled in business that isn’t my own” Hajime says as he laughs and rubs the back of his neck. 

Rintarou looks away and stares at his empty coffee mug in front of him, “how did you know that I’d be in New York?” he asks still not looking at Hajime, “I didn’t but I promised myself I’d try to talk to you if I ever bumped into you, mostly for you, partly for him too” Hajime says. “But did you know I did photography?” Rintarou asks finally facing Hajime, he nods, “yeah, I don’t know if you remember but I made a side comment during the Tokyo Olympics telling you that I see you getting into photography when you retire, you just snorted and said you’re never retiring,” Hajime says, Rintarou rolls his eyes at his own ego, where is he now? Doing photography. “Look I don’t know much about photography but I actually asked Osamu what you were up to and Osamu finally gave in and showed your stuff. I think you’re good but there’s something about your photos, it reminds me of this thing Akaashi had out once on their coffee table architectural longings? I think that’s what it’s c–”, ”Sehnsucht”, Rintarou interrupts, Hajime looks at him confused, “it’s a German word, it talks about longing. It was probably about the 2010 Venice Biennale, I gave that to Osamu when we reconnected because he wanted to help Kei–Akaashi find inspiration to write. “Huh, and here I thought you were repressing your own feelings, well you’re more than aware of what you need to do for yourself, for him too,” Hajime says with a smile, he squeezes Rintarou’s shoulder and heads out. ‘What the hell am I supposed to be not repressing? Sadness? Architecture? Longing? Oh.’ Rintarou scrubs his face harshly, he takes his phone out of his sweatshirt pocket, opens an email, and changes the keyboard to the Kana keyboard, he types out:

Good day,

Thank you so much for the offer, I would like to confirm my acceptance for the position of Photography Curator and Archivist.

Kind Regards,

Suna Rintarou

Street Photographer and Curator

He sends the email and hopes he’s making the right decision. He confirms his apartment lease and sends a text to his mom to send his deposit. He rushes home and takes his laptop out, books his one-way flight to Osaka. He opens a text conversation:

8/7 11:34 PM EST

Fr: Samu

Hope you stop being an asshole x

8/12 2:46 AM EST

To: Samu

I obviously haven’t stopped being an asshole seeing as I’m only responding to this after 5 days. Sorry, I lack the perception of time, anyways, I have one more favor, actually a few.

8/12 2:46 AM EST

Fr: Samu

Sunarin, why the hell are you still awake? Isn’t it 2 AM there?

8/12 2:50 AM EST

To: Samu

As mentioned above, I lack a perception of time. Anyways, you’re such a man, you didn’t bother to read the whole text,  I have a favor.

8/12 2:52 AM EST

Fr: Samu

Actually a few, you said. You’ve been asking for a lot of favors, I literally flew to New York to do you a favor.

8/12 3:15 AM EST

To: Samu

Because you’re a wonderful best friend and chef, Samu.

8/12 3:17 AM EST

Fr: Samu

Flattery doesn’t work on me, asshole. What is it?

8/12 3:25 AM EST

To: Samu

Don’t be afraid to admit I made your heart skip a beat. Anyways, can you pick me up from the airport and help me settle in my new place? I’m doing this thing now where I’m letting people important to me be aware of the fact that I am unfortunately alive and kicking.

His phone rings and flashes a badly taken picture of Osamu from years ago in an Izakaya lighting his pitch-black room and hurting his eyes. He answers, “how the hell would I pick you up from Taipei?” Osamu’s voice cracks through his phone speakers, “a plane. Samu, from Itami. I’m asking you to pick me up from Itami airport.” Rintarou responds, he hears something fall in the background. “You’re coming here?” Osamu asks, he can imagine Osamu’s face, the usual nonchalance gone, “yeah” he responds in a small voice, “what? How? Are you sure? Can you walk me through this? What made you? What” Osamu scrambles his words, “Sehnsucht” Rintarou says, “speak Japanese, idiot” Osamu responds. Rintarou sighs, “I ran into Iwaizumi and he brought up that word from Kei–Akaashi’s books, I gave that to you to give to Akaashi. Longing” Rintarou says, he feels drained, who knew trying to improve as a person could be so draining? “Oh. Sunarin, are you absolutely sure about this?” Osamu asks, “I can’t not be, Samu. I gave up the job in Beitou and the other gig in Charlottenburg, so I have no other choice but to be sure” he responds. Osamu stays silent, Rintarou chews on his lip, “can you say something please?” Rintarou asks, Osamu audibly sighs, “Sunarin, I’d be more than happy to pick you up and have you back in Japan. But I just need to make sure that you’re sure. You understand what you’re coming back to, right?” Osamu says, does he? “I am sure and no, I don’t, but I only have myself to blame and if I want to actually fix things, I actually have to try, don’t I?” Rintarou responds. “Okay, well send me your flight details,” Osamu says, “Okay, I will,” Rintarou says, “oh, and Sunarin?”, ”yeah?”, “don’t run away this time”.

Chapter Text

Rintarou’s feet have found a way to cement themselves to the ground when he needs to claim his baggage and get in Osamu’s car, he’s not sure if it’s his body adjusting to the time difference aka jetlag, his injury, the fact that he’s back home, or all three, that’s keeping him immobilized in place. His phone buzzes in his pocket,

8/26 7:30 AM JST UTC+09:00

Fr: Samu

If you’re not at the arrival gate by 7:50, I’m leaving you.

He rolls his eyes because he can sense the obvious sarcasm in the text, but a part of him thinks of how Osamu does want to leave him stuck in the airport. He finally finds the willpower to walk to baggage claim. He types a reply,

8/26 7:38 AM JST UTC+09:00

To: Samu

Give me some slack, I just landed. Do you think I can control planes?

Rintarou settles in front of the conveyor belt, what is he doing back in Japan? What exactly is he trying to do? He’s kept his identity a secret with his photography and uses the pseudonym for the press he’s had to do for his photography, so he could’ve simply accepted the residency from the gallery, but the archival and curator job? What is he even thinking? He knows he’s lost all senses. He sees his three beat-up silver suitcases covered in stickers and fragile stamps, he hauls one out successfully, and he feels a slight pain in his leg, he should’ve picked up a physical hobby when he began practicing photography, since when were suitcases this heavy. His two other suitcases are too far, he runs a hand through his hair and winces, he feels greasy and sticky, and he winces even more when he realizes he’s been wearing the same sweatpants and hoodie for more than 24 hours, he closes his eyes and takes a breath. He hasn’t been in Japan a full hour and already something’s gone wrong, he thinks this could be an omen like the proverb, “A bad beginning makes a bad ending”, he’s not sure if that’s how the proverb goes, but it sticks. He watches the other two on the other side, he looks over at the other conveyor belt, his eyes widen, and his hands slowly creep onto his face to double-check that he is in fact in a face mask. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Rintarou iterates in his mind, how could this happen? What deity did he offend? Did he commit treason in his past life? He looks down to avoid meeting eye contact with the familiar bright yellow jackets, he hears Komori Motoya laughing, his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he picks it up, “Samu, I’m just trying to get my luggage okay, please save your irritation for when I get in your truck, I encountered a slight fuck up.” He puts the phone down before Osamu can answer back. 

What are they even doing in Osaka? They’re based in Shizuoka, right? He hears his old coach telling them to gather their things right away and how they need to head to a hotel. His hearing tunnels, did Osamu know about this? Rintarou checks his phone 7:49 AM, that’s why Osamu called, he’s trying so hard to hide then he realizes that he’s an above-average Japanese man, there aren’t many above-average Japanese men who don’t play a professional sport, much less an above-average Japanese men that have caused controversy like he has, he remembers the look on the immigration officer’s face when he removed his face mask and presented his identity card along with his passport. He spots his two suitcases and hauls them out with whatever strength he has and manages to maneuver all three with him, he practically sprints out of baggage claim (he’s aware he’ll feel the pain in 8-10 hours). If he caught anyone’s attention, he could care less and hope they’d think he was just an odd tall man who should be in a professional sport.

He spots Osamu, his hair disheveled wearing an Onigiri Miya shirt and dark pants, standing outside his truck, “hurry” he says as he practically throws his suitcases in Osamu’s truck. Osamu stands there confused, Rintarou hauls himself into the truck, and sticks his head out the window, “I said hurry, Samu” he says panic-stricken. Osamu blinks twice before rushing to get in the truck. “Sunar–”, “Please just drive, their bus is right there,” Rintarou says looking ahead vacantly, Osamu nods and starts driving, he hands his phone to Rintarou, “directions,” Osamu says quietly. 

Osamu interrupts the silence, “Sunarin, just for the record, I didn’t know, I would’ve told you, I’m so–”, “I know, Samu, it’s okay. I did tell you I knew what I was coming back to, I just didn’t think to encounter any of it this soon” Rintarou interrupts him, he also interrupts to stop his best friend from apologizing about something that’s beyond their control. “At least it wasn’t the Jackals” Osamu says jokingly, Rintarou hits his shoulder, but he knows his best friend is right, what would he have done if it was the Jackals back there? What would he do if he got to see him? Would he recognize Rintarou? Would he even acknowledge Rintarou? “If it were the Jackals, you might’ve suddenly gained all your athletic ability back and made a run for it” Osamu muses, Rintarou glares at his side profile, “I told you I would try to fix things, so I wouldn’t run…. Maybe a little brisk walking” he says, Osamu snorts and stops the truck, “Osaka is a lot smaller than you think it is you know, anyways cool place.” Rintarou gets out of the truck and looks up at the building, he feels uneasy about it, but he’s not quite sure why. 

Rintarou is thankful he asked his workplace to coordinate his apartment troubles with his mom and Osamu, he’s even more thankful Osamu agreed without much protest (he asked Rintarou to work in Onigiri Miya on odd days). Rintarou leans back on the cool elevator wall and looks up, he squints his eyes at his reflection in the gold mirror above, Osamu stands beside him, “This elevator, it’s too nice”, he says, Osamu shrugs, “told you cool place, Osaka is a lot smaller than you think it is”, Rintarou looks at Osamu, Osamu looks back at him, still ridden with sleep but there’s something his best friend isn’t telling him. “There’s a penthouse,” Rintarou says, Osamu hums, and the elevator doors open, “this place is too nice, Samu” he whispers, Osamu looks at him and sighs, “Well make this nice place home, Rin”. His apartment is in the corner, Osamu fishes for a piece of paper in his pocket and punches a code in, “I made it something you’d remember by heart” he says opening the door wide enough for Rintarou to walk in. The apartment is bare except for the black couch, a bookshelf, a floor lamp, and a coffee table, “your mom got you a bed and some beddings already, I got you some kitchenware too” Osamu says, “does Akaashi know? I mean what if he finds out you bought kitchenware, what if he thi–”, “he chose your mugs, Rin” Osamu interrupts him, Rintarou nods wordlessly.

Osamu and him push his suitcase to his bedroom, his bedroom is bare just the bed his mom bought, a desk, and a bedside table. He sits on the floor, Osamu looks down at him and sits beside him, “is he mad?” Rintarou asks quietly, “On what grounds?” Osamu responds, “Any grounds, I guess” he replies, “On being Tatsuki’s friend grounds; he hates your guts, on being my friend grounds; he hates your guts, on being your friend grounds; he hates your guts, but on you being a person grounds; he’s worried about you” Osamu says leaning back on the bedframe. “Glad to see some leniency with your husband, Samu” Rintarou snorts, “Tsumu will probably call you a snobby scrub and then cry that he missed you, Sunarin. He’ll be the easiest to crack” Osamu offers, “who knows?” Rintarou asks moving to face Osamu, “I kept it from Tsumu which he might kill me for, I know your ma and sister didn’t tell a soul, and I only told my husband who probably only told Udai while they were editing his manga, but that’s it, Udai also gets that this is the last thing you want getting out. But who did your gallery tell?” Osamu cranes his neck to the side to look at Rintarou, “ha ha funny, they wouldn’t tell anyone, they used my pseudonym to announce that to the art industry since I’m always going to be working behind a camera or equipment” Rintarou retorts and sticks his tongue out. Osamu rolls his eyes and snorts, “are you 9? Anyway, I need to get to the restaurant, let me know if you get lost, so I can hit you on the head for acting foreign in your own country” Osamu stands and holds his hand out for Rintarou. He grabs it and stands as well, he feels a slight pain in his leg, “and Iwaizumi Hajime told me to tell you to get your leg checked” Osamu says eyeing him, Rintarou shrugs and motions for Osamu to head out. 

Rintarou manages to shower and change clothes before passing out, he thinks he’s lucky he managed to pass out on his bed, he feels around for his phone, almost knocking the lamp on the table off, 6:05 PM. He sits up in surprise, how did he pass out for 10 hours? He knows he doesn’t officially start work until next week but he hasn’t been back a full day and he already spent half of it dead asleep, he rubs his face with his hand and gets up, he feels pain shoot up his leg and he hisses. He takes a breath and rummages for a dark blue oversized buttondown, socks, and black shorts in his suitcase, he sluggishly gets ready (he ties his hair up and finds his clogs by the door, they’ve seen better days), and heads out. He goes in the elevator, presses the ground floor, puts his headphones on, and leans back, he lets the tune drown out whatever he needs to think of. Rintarou walks out of the elevator and he can hear voices spill in his headphones, weird, they’re supposed to be noise canceling? Oh fuck, no, fuck, of all things that could happen. He spots a head of platinum-blonde hair and flailing arms, “Washio-san, you have to let us see your pent house” Atsumu cries, Sakusa Kiyoomi stands beside Atsumu with Washio Tatsuki looking at Atsumu amused, Rintarou can’t seem to feel his leg, is he cramping? Of all times? Now? What did he do in his past life for this to happen to him?

Chapter Text

Washio Tatsuki goes through the mental list once he wakes up;

5:00 AM: Morning Jog (run off the insomnia)

6:30 AM: Cool down and shower

7:45 AM: Eat breakfast (4 boiled eggs, oatmeal, protein shake)

8:00 AM: don’t stare at the pictures by the bedside table (don’t spiral and think he’s passed, his therapist told him that’s a bad habit of his). Leave the house for a morning coffee. 

8:45 AM: Get to the Jackals gym, greet the staff, greet the trainers and the PTs (offer a smile when they do)

9:00 AM: Training (don’t think about him)

12:00 PM: Lunch break (don’t think about him, Tatsuki probably does and flukes a serve)

1:30 PM: Training (he imagines Citrine eyes and a soft laugh when he misses a block)

5:30 PM: Cool down (his mind races again)

7:00 PM: Read, knit, eat dinner if hungry (he’s not most times), look up “Tarou” (he shouldn’t)

Tatsuki has many labels; one of the most eligible bachelors of Asian sports, an Olympian, Calvin Klein ambassador, Monster Generation middle blocker, and Suna Rintarou’s boyfriend (he adds that mentally), he’s not sure if he still is, he probably isn’t anymore, but Rintarou never formally ended things with him, so by a technicality they aren’t broken up, they’re still technically Rin and Tsuki. 

He’s fully aware that it’s been 4 years since Rintarou disappeared from his life, taking everything that’s ever mattered to Tatsuki away from him, all he left him was a note that said: 

“You’ll be alright, Tsuki. 

I will be too, until then.

Love, Rin x”

Tatsuki should’ve seen it coming in hindsight, he knows Rintarou better than anyone’s ever been able to. Rintarou’s injury ripped him apart, he shut down and closed everything and everyone off, he had become a shell of himself. But Tatsuki never saw Rintarou as weak, Rintarou was resilient more than anything, Tatsuki knew Rintarou would get up and come back from it.

Except he doesn’t, Rintarou gets the surgery, get cleared then shuts down further, he decides to stop going to therapy. Tatsuki then finds out Rintarou had taken his name off the lease and paid for the next month in advance, he had also taken everything he owned with him, leaving Tatsuki with only their pictures together.

Tatsuki knows it isn’t healthy to hold onto that  technicality; he's still Rintarou’s and Rintarou is still his, but who can blame him, the note was vague, Rintarou has always been straightforward with him, he would’ve said so. 

He knows it isn’t healthy to still hope for Rintarou to come back when he had made it undeniably clear that he wasn’t coming back, and it mentally drained him and took a physical toll on him.

He knows it isn’t healthy to keep missing Rintarou when he had taken every chance to look for him in every possible place Rintarou could be, in cities, in music, in art, and in photography. But he can’t seem to find him, no matter how hard he looks.

He thinks he should’ve looked into photography first, he knows how much his love (he should stop referring to Rintarou as such, but he still loves him deeply) adored photography, Rintarou photographed and it could speak to anyone who saw it, it would tell the stories Rintarou couldn’t tell. 

He stumbled across a Japanese photographer under the pseudonym Tarou. Tarou’s identity isn’t known to the public, no one knows if Tarou is a man, woman, or non-binary, no one knows if they’re actually Japanese or they’ve just decided to coin a Japanese name. But he likes to think it’s Rintarou, he had asked Osamu once, roughly a year and a half since Rintarou had up and left, and Osamu avoided looking him in the eye and mumbled something about how all he knows is Rintarou’s in art school not much else.

“Keiji” Tatsuki breaks the silence, he stares at the coffee mug in his hands, across the table the light from the laptop screen makes Keiji’s face glow a gentle hue of blue. Keiji hums in response while typing, Tatsuki’s not sure how to bring up Rintarou, Keiji hasn’t been the most transparent with how hurt he was when Rintarou up and left, they had grown to be best friends, it’s been roughly a year and a half. Keiji stops typing, he looks over at Tatsuki with an eyebrow raised, “Tatsuki, what is it?” his voice gives him away, its coated with concern.

“Rin” Tatsuki manages to say, the name feels heavy in his mouth, Keiji looks back at the screen and exhales audibly, he looks at Tatsuki, “what—what about Rin?” Keiji responds quietly, unsure of what to say. “Where is he going to art school?” Tatsuki bites his cheek, regretting opening Pandora's box. Keiji pinches the bridge of his nose, “I—what would you do with that information then, Tatsuki?” Keiji says furrowing his eyebrows. 

“Well do you know?” Tatsuki asks, unintentionally clenching his jaw, unready for the answer.

“Answer my question first” Keiji looks at him pointedly.

“I—I don’t, I don’t know, but do you?” Tatsuki says, he probably sounds desperate, he can’t swallow the lump in his throat, he scrunches his eyes, there’s a weight behind his eyes. 

“I don’t—I’m not sure if I’m correct, so I don’t think it matters, okay? But you wouldn’t even know what to do with the information. What, will you go to him? What will you do? What will you say? It’s been almost two years, Tatsuki, this whole ordeal… it’s—it’s just destroying you. It’s taken this terrible toll on you” Keiji says looking Tatsuki in the eye, anger, concern, worry, several emotions swirl in his eyes. 

So Tatsuki did the best thing he could think of doing; running (ironic because it’s been more of Rintarou’s thing). He went to Brazil when he was offered to be loaned there, and he learned Portuguese and beach volleyball (to preoccupy himself). He hung out with Hinata Shoyo, became a third wheel to Shoyo and Kageyama Tobio, and saw a different place for once.

Tatsuki then gets frustrated because he’s halfway across the world and he still misses Rintarou, terribly. It isn’t healthy to still yearn for Rintarou, he knows, he’s tried to move on, but he goes off to Carnaval do Rio de Janeiro, sees a man with long brown hair in a half bun, sharp delicate features, and pale skin. He genuinely thought it was Rintarou, he dropped all defenses and almost approached him. 

Shoyo grabbed his shoulder to stop him and looked at him with so much concern, ‘Washio-san, you’re supposed to be here for something different and new. That’s not Suna-san, Atsumu said he’s in art school”, but that’s all the information anyone ever offers time and time again, that’s all the information anyone ever knows.

Tatsuki is at wits end when he decides to return to Japan to play for the MSBY Black Jackals, he did it, he tried something different, something new, and none of it worked because he still looks for Rintarou in everyone, in everything, he’ll continue to only ever look for Rintarou. 

What Tatsuki doesn’t tell people is how he went to therapy to get the pain to stop aching, to stop it from consuming him, to dull it in any way, he went to three different therapists, 2 in Japan and 1 in Brazil (none of it worked).  He only gets good at coping, he thinks about all the love he has left to give to Rintarou, he realizes all the love he has is only ever for Rintarou. He thinks about how no one ever tells you what to do with all the love you have to give to someone who’s just missing, constantly. 

Tatsuki hyperfocuses on volleyball, for his “carrer”, he understands that it’s gotten to the point that it’s unhealthy, but in the moment that his hand throbs in pain from practicing serves or his lungs burn from running 10-20 km on a treadmill, for a moment he can focus on only that burn, that numbing feeling. 

He develops an interest in art, something he’s never really been too keen on, he anonymously purchases Tarou’s photography of the different streets of the Americas. He also reads more than he should, his fans started a Twitter account for “What Washio Reads”, there are several pictures of him in the train, in a park, in international games and events, always reading, always preoccupied with a book.

It’s been four years and Tatsuki thinks he’ll always be heartbroken maybe until his next lifetime (he thinks he’s probably committed an atrocity against a deity). He occupies his time to avoid just how excruciatingly painful heartbreak can actually be. But he copes, he becomes an MVP in his first season back from his Brazil stunt, he becomes a brand ambassador, an Olympian and one of the highest paid athletes in Asia. 

Tatsuki thinks he’s gotten good at coping (or pretending, he thinks they’re interchangeable), he stands in his new apartment building lobby listening to Atsumu whine about wanting to see his penthouse that he didn’t even choose, his manager did because he was too busy immersing himself in some niche sport (he does squash in his freetime), he notices him. The man from Rio de Janeiro.

Tatsuki notices the sharp citrine eyes and cheekbones, the soft nose, the permanent frown. He notices the oversized blue button down, it’s Rintarou, his Rintarou. He was right in Brazil, he knows he’s right in this very moment, his hearing tunnels, his heart skips a beat too many, he needs to go after him.

He knows Rintarou more than anyone, at least he used to, but he notices the tattoo on the man’s leg, he knows the tattoo better than anyone, Rintarou drew it himself during an off-season and it was too humid to do anything. Rintarou told Tatsuki about how he would get it tattooed once they stopped being athletes. He notices the slender pale hands, his hair is longer, 

“Oi, Washio-san” Atsumu calls out to him, he eyes him confused, Kiyoomi mirrors his boyfriend’s expression, “you look like you just saw a ghost, Washio” Kiyoomi says quietly, Tatsuki looks over to the building employee trying to converse with Rintarou who seems more than distraught. The man limps on his left leg, further confirmation hits Tatsuki a beat too late. 

Atsumu grabs his arm before he can go after the man, “Washio-san” Atsumu’s voice is gentle, nothing like his usual drawl, “that’s—“, “what would you do then?” Kiyoomi asks, Tatsuki still doesn’t know. 

Chapter Text

“So are you just going to stand there like an idiot blocking the doorway or are you going to sit down and get yourself some food?” Osamu says without looking up. Rintarou isn’t too sure how exactly he got to Onigiri Miya but he’s here, he gapes like a fish out of water. He sees Osamu’s employees do a double take at him, probably trying to guess who he is (he doubts anyone remembers him for who he used to be) and what he is to Osamu. 

Osamu sighs, “Ji’s upstairs in the zone, so he probably won’t be down here until tomorrow. But I think that’s what you call it when writers get a surge of inspiration or something, he’s been having a hard time with that lately”, Rintarou winces as a dull pain shoots up his leg as he walks to the counter, Osamu pauses wiping the counter to look at him, his grey eyes study Rintarou. “Been having a hard time with what?” Rintarou manages to steady his voice, his leg hurts, he’s out of breath, anyone he knows could walk in at this very moment, he tries to change the subject either way. “Inspiration, he’s been having some block of sorts” Osamu sighs and motions for Rintarou to sit on a barstool. 

Rintarou nods in understanding, he’s had questionable episodes of artist block, once, he took the first flight to Rio de Janeiro when he first broke out into the photography scene. He liked to think that trip was a saving grace because he found his footing in photography, but only God knows when his photography from that trip will ever see the light of day. “Night Fever” Rintarou says in English, Osamu frowns at him as he sets the Onigiri in front of Rintarou. “What?” Osamu says leaning on the counter, Rintarou takes a bite of the Onigiri, there are only one or two other customers. He chews slowly, Osamu eyes him, “it’s a book, photography compilation, cities during night time. Keiji’s book, it’s about a man who ventures into the night to find himself or something like that, right?” Rintarou stops himself from talking anymore, he feels awkward, but Osamu nods and motions for him to continue. 

“There’s an article… Um, I can send it to him—you, I can send it to you. The article, well, it gives the insights of the different photographers who photographed their cities at night, I, well, I did my graduating exhibit on Night Photography” Rintarou continues, he feels like a little kid talking about the A he got on a Math test with his dad during dinner. Except this isn’t his dad, it’s his kind best friend who knows what he’s been up to because Osamu knows him too well. 

Osamu nods, “or you can just send it to Keiji, you know” Osamu hands Rintarou a glass of water, Rintarou’s brain short circuits, if anyone is angry or upset with him, it would be Keiji, again, rightfully so. “I—I don’t, I don’t have his number” Rintarou says quietly, “he never changed it” Osamu responds. 

Rintarou stays silent as he finishes the Onigiris and he’s about to pay, “you answer my question, you don’t have to pay, you stingy mug” Osamu says. Rintarou would contest that but he’s self aware of how stingy he is now, again, he doesn’t earn Professional Olympian Athlete money anymore. “What?” Rintarou squints, “tch, don’t be ungrateful, it’s free”, Osamu retorts, squinting back. “It isn’t free if I have to answer a question” Rintarou says scrunching his face, Osamu rolls his eyes, “what are you doing here, Sunarin?”, “huh? Eating, what else?” Rintarou says dumbly, the question is loaded, but Rintarou doesn’t want to say why he’s actually there. 

Osamu rolls his eyes again, “Sunarin, really, why are you here? What happened?” Grey eyes study Rintarou. He takes a deep breath, “he lives there” he says too softly, but Osamu catches it and lets out a full bellied laugh, “are you pulling my leg?” Osamu says still laughing. 

“No, what the hell? Did you know?” Rintarou says exasperated searching for an answer, Osamu shakes his head, “jeez, the universe has a way of making sure you can’t run from unfinished business” Osamu breathes. “Samu, it’s not funny, Tsumu almost saw me, Tatsuki, Tatsuki probably saw me,” Rintarou says, running a hand through his hair. Tatsuki, he hasn’t said that name in awhile, it feels warm still, as if he should’ve never stopped saying it. Osamu clears his throat, “can you walk me through how Tsumu that mug almost saw you and how your boyfriend saw you” Osamu says cocking his head, as if this is the funniest joke he’s heard in the last 29-30 years of his existence. 

Rintarou glares at him, “Samu, it’s not funny, okay. I was getting out of the elevator and they were in the lobby then my leg cramped and I had to limp—“, Osamu lets out another laugh and this time Rintarou slaps his shoulder, “you’re such an asshole and Tatsuki’s not my boyfriend, anymore” Rintarou grits.

Rintarou gets up, Osamu grabs his wrist, “sorry, sorry, but you see what I told you when we first reconnected, your actions have consequences, Sunarin. If you had just gotten therapy or shit, I don’t know, not run away from Japan maybe you wouldn’t have been stuck in this whole ordeal” Osamu says, “you’re a gigantic asshole, Samu” Rintarou glares at Osamu, “learned from the best” Osamu offers him a lazy smile.

“If it’s any consolation, both your leases won’t be up for the next three years, I think that’s what your ma said about that fancy apartment building of yours, so you’ll be neighbors with your boyfriend for the next three years” Osamu says calmly. “I just said he’s not my—“, “to you” Osamu interrupts Rintarou, Rintarou pauses, he opens his mouth, “but to Tatsuki? I’m pretty sure he’s never gotten with anyone else, no matter where he went, you’re just, you’re just it for him, Rin. You'll always be the one for him” Osamu's voice gets quiet, grey eyes soften, sadness flashes across his face. 

Rintarou isn't sure what to say, it's selfish, incredibly so, that it warms him from the inside out that Tatsuki loves him like that. Rintarou hates that he relishes in it, he should hate himself, how he has Tatsuki wrapped around his finger, why didn't Tatsuki move on? Why couldn't Tatsuki throw him away?

“Sunarin?” Rintarou meets a myriad of emotions swirling in ocean blue eyes. Sharp features knit together in shock.

Oh shit.

Shit.

Oh shit.

Rintarou clenches his jaw and looks down at his phone, he wants everyone to excuse his language, but

What

The 

Fuck.

Rintarou looks to Osamu, who seems as equally shocked as he is, he mouths a ‘sorry’, Rintarou exhales, he removes his wrist from Osamu's hand. “Su—Rin?” A steady and calculated voice breaks through the thick silence, Rintarou shakes his head he turns towards the door. “Rintarou, I know you can hear me” the same steady voice calls out to him. He pauses and takes a breath, he’s had to make a lot of difficult conversations lately.

“Miya” Rintarou tries to come off as aloof, a bunch of alarms have gone off in different departments of his mind. “Really, Rin? Miya?” Rintarou faces Keiji just as he responds. Keiji looks different, in a good way, Rintarou mentally notes, his hair’s longer and his face isn’t etched with stress from being an editor anymore, his eyes are all the same, calculating and calm, Akaashi Miya Keiji is still as beautiful as he always was. (Rintarou feels a slight envy because he’s sure he looks like he’s seen better days, which he has) “Really, Sunarin?” Osamu interjects. Keiji walks closer as if taking in Rintarou being back in Japanese soil.

“Well, aren’t you?” Rintarou tries to tease, he’s unsure of how his dear friend thinks or feels about him, he feels like he’s messed up either way, he sees Osamu shrink in on himself. Keiji looks at him pointedly, “well yes, I am a Miya now” Keiji pauses as if he's just as unsure with the other. “I suppose you found out when Osamu helped you pack up in New York,” Keiji continued. Osamu's grey eyes widen and he swallows nothing, perhaps his pride, perhaps the ordeal that he'll be on the couch tonight.

Rintarou’s throat feels dry, he’s not sure how much or how little Osamu actually told Keiji, but he feels like he’s just dug his best friend’s grave. “I found out when I got the wedding invitation actually, I’m sure I still have it, you also posted your wedding photos” Rintarou cocks his head as if the conversation doesn’t weigh on his shoulders. “Well, I'm needed in the kitchen” Osamu cuts through the tension, or avoids it, Rintarou thinks its the latter. “I'll man the register” Keiji says calmly, eyes still fixated on someone who rose from the dead (that's Rintarou, his fault really).

Rintarou nods like he’s unbothered, but his eyes give him away, fear flashes in his eyes. Guilt finds itself sitting heavy on Rintarou’s shoulders, Rintarou swallows thickly. “I suppose a belated congratulations is in order” he says quietly, Keiji looks at him with eyebrows knitted together, searching for something Rintarou’s hiding from the world, Rintarou stares at him intently. 

Silence coats them both, unsure of the other. What does Rintarou say? Sorry for being a colossal asshole and disappearing not only on your dear friend, but on your husband, and you too? That sounds flimsy. I’m here to make everything right, don’t hate me, Keiji. No, that seems desperate and manipulative, Rintarou knows the gravity of his own actions. He’s self destructive but self aware, the worst combination.

Rintarou picks at the loose thread of his button down, he feels like a child being scolded for knocking over a vase, he's been feeling like a child lately, lost and too small in an all too big world. “I suppose” Keiji says, Rintarou nods, he's about to turn on his heel, “why?” Keiji's voice is steady. Rintarou looks at him, “why what?”, he thinks that's an awful response, as if he's mocking the question, it's loaded, Rintarou's sure;

Why did you leave?

Why are you back?

Why are you here now?

Why didn't you try harder for Tatsuki? For everyone?

Why did you give up?

All the possible questions run at full speed towards him. 

“Why did you help me keep writing?” Keiji asks, shock registers in Rintarou's mind, “wh–”, “Sehnsucht” Keiji says, Rintarou's about to tell him it was Osamu. “I know the book is from you, Venice Biennale? Architecture? Really, Rin? That was a dead giveaway, Osamu's smart and reads quite a lot but he could care less about architecture and art festivals” Keiji continues, Rintarou nods again, “Night Fever” he blurts out awkwardly, Keiji looks at him confused, “your new book, the one you've hit a block on” Rintarou manages to say, Keiji motions for him to continue, “there's a photography book on night photography, and I well, I--uhm, well–”,”your graduating thesis was on Night Photography in New York and Lima, right?” Keiji interrupts.

Rintarou nods, “I'd be a shitty best friend not to keep tabs on my best friend, no?” Keiji says, “how'd you know? Did Samu tell you?” Rintarou asks, guilt seeps in his words. “He didn't have to, you photograph in such a specific way, Sunarin, anyone who really knows you would be able to tell” Keiji says. Rintarou nods, “Keiji, I–fuck, I'm not, I don't, I'm sorry” he says awkwardly. Keiji tilts his head while looking at Rintarou, he says nothing. “Really, Keiji, I'm sorry, fuck I really am” Rintarou's chest feels heavy, his throat feels dry, and his damn leg still hurts. But it's how heavy the silence hangs in the air that's getting to him. 

“It took quite a bit on you, didn't it?” Keiji asks, “what did? The apology? If you could call it that, no? I mean I owe you one obviously” Rintarou shifts his weight mostly because his leg is genuinely killing him. “No, this, being back, coming back” Keiji says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world, it is, anyone who knows Rintarou knows this is single handedly the hardest thing he's done in his life, aside from dropping chuupets from his diet when he was an Olympian. 

Rintarou's not too sure what to say, “you should get going, not because our conversation is done, but because Kiyoomi just texted that they're heading over here, the three of them, I think you've had too many difficult conversations in the past 6-10 hours you've been back” Keiji says, Rintarou nods again, “text me, Sunarin, it's an order by the way” Keiji says, “and get your leg checked, I'll haul you to the rehabilitation centre myself if I have to” Keiji continues, Osamu peeks from the kitchen and smiles at Rintarou.

How many more difficult conversations is Rintarou going to have?

Chapter Text

Tatsuki finds himself staring blankly at his television that takes up a good portion of the wall (again, he didn't pick anything in his apartment), Kiyoomi busies himself with making Tatsuki tea, while Atsumu figures out his television set up, “it's a smart TV, just like yours” Tatsuki's voice sounds foreign in his ears. Atsumu looks at him, “right, yeah” Atsumu says awkwardly, Kiyoomi comes with tea for Tatsuki and Atsumu, he sits on the couch across Tatsuki. 

Atsumu and Kiyoomi look at each other then at the foreign film Atsumu put on, Tatsuki isn't sure what it is, it's all noise. “I don't know” Tatsuki says, Kiyoomi looks at him, “I don't think you're supposed to know” he says quietly, Atsumu looks at Tatsuki, opens his mouth then closes it. “What, Atsumu?” Tatsuki asks, “I just, well, maybe that wasn't Su--Rin--him, fuck sorry” Atsumu winces at the name drop, Kiyoomi shakes his head.

Tatsuki notices that, it started a year after Rintarou had up and left, people started avoiding saying Rintarou's name out right to him, going as far as dancing around the topic of Rintarou, it made Tatsuki feel like everyone was in on some secret, as if he was the only one who didn't really know Rintarou. He doesn't get why people started avoiding talking or asking about Rintarou to him, Rintarou's his love, if anything, he should be asked first, he should be looped in first, instead people go to lengths to avoid anything about Rintarou when speaking to Tatsuki.

“That was Rintarou” Tatsuki says quietly, his name feels heavy in his heart instead of the exhale after a hard sprint that it used to feel like, or maybe he just isn't used to saying Rintarou's name after not saying it for awhile now. Kiyoomi’s gaze snaps to him, “Wash–”, “I would know, I would know Rintarou even in the biggest Carnaval in the world, I would know when it's Rintarou, I'll always know” Tatsuki says. Kiyoomi and Atsumu look at him, Atsumu sighs, “look, okay, why don't we ask Samu? Maybe Samu would have an actual answer” Atsumu looks at him concerned. Kiyoomi texts someone on the phone, Atsumu nods along, Tatsuki feels like he has no idea what's going on.

This is how Tatsuki finds himself seated in Onigiri Miya being stared down by Akaashi Keiji, “Keiji, where's my scrub of a brother?” Atsumu asks, Osamu glares at him when the kitchen door opens, “freeloader” Osamu snarks at Atsumu, Keiji sighs, and makes his way beside Tatsuki, “been well?” Keiji asks as he sits, Tatsuki nods, he's not sure what he's actually doing here, he doesn't know if he wants the answer now.

“Sunarin” Atsumu suddenly says, Tatsuki's hearing tunnels, he feels like the room has gone quiet, Atsumu knows how to cut to the chase. Osamu looks at him with his eyebrows furrowed, Keiji raises an eyebrow, Kiyoomi sighs. “Tsumu” Kiyoomi's voice is steady, “what? If anything, Samu and Keiji would know. I'm sure they know right now” Atsumu retorts, Kiyoomi scrunches his nose, “know what exactly?” Keiji asks, “Sunarin” Atsumu says casually before eating the rest of the onigiri Tatsuki wasn't aware he was already eating.

“Don't we all know Sunarin, others moreso” Keiji answers cooly looking Tatsuki in the eye, but there's something there. Tatsuki knows there's something more in Keiji's words, Osamu nods in agreement, “oi, you scrub, don't act all smart, he's back isn't he?” Atsumu says annoyed, Osamu shrugs his shoulders, “who's back where?” Osamu says nonchalantly, Atsumu's about to raise his hand at Osamu, “Rin, he's back here, isn't he?” Tatsuki speaks up, he's been quiet throughout this interaction, he's not really sure how to make out of all of this. 

Keiji and Osamu look at him, he feels like he's said the wrong thing, Keiji sighs, 

“I won't--I won't force him to talk to me, or--or see me.

I just, I want to know. I want to know if he's back home, if--if, maybe you know, he's okay?

How's his leg? 

Is he a photographer?

Is he really Tarou?

I just want to know something. Just–fuck, something, is he's vegetarian now? Anything. Anything would suffice. Fuck, even if he's just okay, not that he's in art school, did he graduate? 

How's he been?

What was his thesis about? 

Does he still have a sweet tooth?” Tatsuki doesn't realize he's crying, he wipes his tears roughly. Keiji looks at him sadly, Atsumu and Kiyoomi look at him concerned and he shakes his head, “he is, he's back, here, he's here” Osamu says quietly. Tatsuki nods, “I didn't let anyone know because he wanted to let people know himself” Osamu continues, Atsumu frowns at Osamu. “So you saw Sunarin?” Atsumu asks hurt, “Tsumu, maybe let Osamu explain first, he did say Suna wanted to let people know himself, right?” Kiyoomi says. 

“Thanks, Kiyo. I reconnected with him a year or two ago, I didn't mean to, I was at some event in New York and there was an exhibit happening and I saw him there because it was his joint exhibit with some other photographer, he had no choice but to reconnect with me since I cornerned him” Osamu says rubbing the back of his neck. Tatsuki nods, he doesn't care all too much, he just wants to know how Rintarou, his Rintarou is doing. 

“He, well he was supposed to take the residency in Taichung, I think or was it Taipei? but he called me at 3 in the afternoon one dayin a rush to help him get settled here, I don't know if I can say where his residency is or where he currently lives here, but all he asked was to let him do his own apologies” Osamu continues, Keiji nods and looks at Tatsuki, “how long has he been here?” he suddenly asks, Osamu and Keiji look equally shocked, “well like 12 hours” Osamu lets out an awkward laugh. Tatsuki ultimately tenses, voice barely audible, “that was him–”, “Washio–” Kiyoomi tries to interject, “no, no, I’ve already seen him–Rin, I’ve already seen him”, Tatsuki says again. 

Atsumu sighs, “Tatsuki–this is Rin we’re talking about–”, “I know”, Tatsuki interjects, “give him time” Keiji says, “haven’t I given enough?” Tatsuki speaks like a man that’s witnessed his love die a thousand deaths, “Atsumu winces, exhales, “Washio-san, Sunarin, he–it’s always gotta be according to his time.” Osamu eyes his twin, thankful that Atsumu is taking it like a champ, he’ll probably get a sucker punch when Tatsuki heads home, Kiyoomi will try to hold Atsumu back for the greater good. Tatsuki’s steely eyes look up, fighting the second round of tears, voice all but composed, he feels the same way he did then, as if everyone’s in on a secret and the secret is where Rintarou has been and how he’s been doing.

Chapter Text

It’s officially been a week since Suna Rintarou has been on home soil, officially a week since Washio Tatsuki saw Suna Rintarou in the flesh. Washio Tatsuki fixates on his routine to stop himself from spiraling (spoiler alert: he’s already spiraling, but everyone’s aware of that).

Tatsuki’s everyday routine sees a 30-minute increment adjustment; it goes like this;

4:30 AM: Morning Jog (run off the insomnia; he doesn’t remember the last time he’s actually slept)

6:00 AM: Cool down and shower

7:00 AM: Eat breakfast (4 boiled eggs, oatmeal, protein shake, green juice to compensate for his lack of sleep)

7:45 AM: don’t blankly stare at the pictures by the bedside table (his impulsive thought of Rintarou passing has been proven wrong by seeing the man in flesh). Leave the house for a morning coffee. 

8:30 AM: Stare at coffee (stuck on what to do; wonders what it would be like to run his hands through Rintarou’s long brown hair now. Doesn’t know what to do)

8:45 AM: Get to the Jackals gym, greet the staff, greet the trainers and the PTs (offer a smile when they do; wave off any concerned looks; word got around fast that Suna Rintarou may be back on home soil)

9:00 AM: Training (don’t think about him; thinks about him)

12:00 PM: Lunch break (don’t think about him, Tatsuki probably does and flukes a serve)

1:30 PM: Training (he imagines Citrine eyes; he hits a spike too hard until his hand reverberates)

5:30 PM: Cool down (his mind races again; he might see Rintarou in the apartment lobby–he doesn’t)

7:00 PM: Read, knit, eat dinner if hungry (he’s not most times), look up “Tarou” (The article appears–several, all on “Tarou”’s residency in Osaka, and archival and curator post in the gallery. Tatsuki wills himself not to go, he’s itching terribly to go)

Tatsuki hasn’t seen Rintarou since he saw him last week. He doesn't know if it's worse that Rintarou is so close, but feels even further than when he didn't know where he was. Tatsuki wonders if he had committed such an atrocity in his past life to be taunted like a horse with a carrot on a stick, except he isn't a horse, and well, Rintarou isn't a carrot; he's still Tatsuki's love, always will be. 

But either way, he feels like the universe has played a sick rouse on him–everyone in their friend group has somehow spoken to Rintarou or seen him within the week he had been back. They don’t answer him like they’re in on a secret only he’s not looped in on, but they all answer the damn same: “Tsuki, you know Rin, let Rin come around when he wants to.” It irks Tatsuki to no end because he knows Rintarou, of course, he knows his Rin! Everyone telling him he “knows Rin and to give him time” sounds like they’re patronizing him! He knows he can’t let it be on Rintarou’s time; he knows Rintarou’s habits, he first sits with his thoughts until his thoughts ultimately consume him, and he’s had to pull Rintarou back to earth one too many times. Now, Tatsuki can't sleep because he wonders if Rintarou is able to.

Two weeks have passed since Rintarou’s been back in Japan, Osaka to be exact, no one’s forgotten, Rintarou would like to forget. He has yet to be spotted once again by Tatsuki, now before anyone comes for Rintarou’s habit of running, he hasn’t actually taken into running from people he owes apologies to, it’s just, the moment he stepped foot in the gallery, he got handed a bunch of terribly valuable photographs and buried himself nose deep in archiving, which makes sense seeing as it is one of his roles in the gallery and there are so few archivists in Japan who specialize in photography archiving. 

Rintarou’s routine goes like this;

7:00 AM slaps around the bedside table for his phone, groans in pain when his hand hits it, languidly takes it, and presses snooze (he probably slept a cool 30 minutes max)

7:30 AM sit up, stare blankly, ignore the pain in leg (it won’t let him)

7:45 AM actually get up, shower, get dressed (probably a black sweater and baggy slacks, hair in a bun held by a pen or whatever stick he’ll find)

8:30 AM gets to work, dumps stuff in office (an archiving room that only sees artificial controlled light, temperature sits at a cool 16-19 degrees Celsius to protect the integrity of the material he’s archiving)

8:45 AM grabs a coffee (iced mocha, he never got rid of his sweet tooth, sometimes he grabs a pastry, especially if he forgot to eat the day before, he tends to do that, especially with the lack of human interaction in his line of work)

9:30 AM, his magnifying glasses on, white gloves, he’s already seated in his office, carefully archiving a photograph older than his parents

12:00 PM lunch meeting most probably (only time he remembers to eat lunch, it's usually about the archiving he’s done or has to get to or about a collection they’re about to acquire)

1:30 PM, he’s back archiving, his leg gnaws at him, he ignores it

3:00 PM another meeting (this one is rare, archivists and curators barely get called out to do meetings this often)

4:00 PM he’s back in his office/pseudo studio

8:00 PM, he loses track of time

8:30 PM, he decides to walk home (always a terrible decision with how his leg is taking a beating), he photographs

10:30 PM, he’s back at his apartment

Rintarou hasn’t seen Tatsuki in two weeks. He doesn’t know if he wants to, but it sits heavy in his chest, and it gnaws at him. He remembers a silver ocean that grounds him every time he looks, dimples that are like a shared secret between the two of them, calloused, warm, big hands that hold his slender ones–Rintarou has no idea why he’s typed up a number he knows by heart still, his finger taps on his thigh. 

Is this still even his number? (It is, when Rintarou activated his number, so did all of the messages that he was meant to receive all these years ago. It tore his heart apart to read through them--he had to stop himself.)

Will he even pick up? Rintarou was able to get his old number back after all. (Rintarou knows he will, anyone with a sound mind knows if Rintarou calls, he’ll answer)

What will Rintarou even say?

How hurt is he?

What does Rintarou want from this? (him, no matter how hard Rintarou denies it)

How mad will he be? 

Does he still love him?

Rintarou makes the sound decision to throw his phone on the bed, presses his palms to his eyes, groaning, he stands, still dressed in a black sweater and slacks, socks that a 29 year old should not be wearing, slipping on his clogs that have seen better days, he heads out of his apartment with his keys and two thousand yen in his pocket. He feels too underdressed for this place. He waits for the elevator, watching it descend from the penthouse level; he thinks nothing of it.

The elevator doors open, and he’s met with striking silver eyes.