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i.
Suna Rintarou is sitting in front of the library, soaked from head to toe in rainwater.
The summer rain had conveniently chosen to arrive during his walk back from class. Bright and sunny, the morning sun had assured him. Maybe the forecast would have been a better bet.
And so, Rintarou had resigned himself to a miserable fate halfway to his dorm, sneakers swimming and bangs fastened uncomfortably to his forehead. He had trudged slowly to the little alcove in front of the library for a short respite in the hopes that the rain would slow soon. His umbrella was back at his dorm.
If it hadn’t been such an inconvenience, Rintarou thinks he would have actually enjoyed the rain today.
A shuffle of footsteps move towards him. A pause.
“Suna-san?”
He looks up, squinting through the droplets falling into his eyes. It’s Miya Atsumu, wearing a black cap and holding a black umbrella in hand. He’s being more polite than usual, it seems. Perhaps the drowned rat look really does it. Rintarou raises his fingers in a tired wave, greeting him with a “hi Miya.”
“Do ya need an umbrella?” Atsumu asks, already holding it out, “Yer not looking too good right now.”
“Thanks, I had no idea,” Rintarou scoffs. He stares at the black umbrella with a little confusion, and shakes his hand with an offhanded laziness “And it’s all good, I’m just gonna wait it out.” The setter frowns with more concern than Rintarou has ever seen in the past six months of being on the same team.
“Suna-san, it’s fine. I’ll be holed up in the library till late anyway ‘n I’m sure the rain will’ve stopped by then.” He sets the handle on the tiles. Droplets fall to the floor.
“Don’t even worry ‘bout returning it, ‘s all good. Just go home ‘n take a shower before ya get sick.” Atsumu walks into the library before Rintarou can even protest or throw the umbrella back to ask what made him decide to be less of an ass today. Mild discomfort sits in his chest as the offending object continues to drip, drip next to him.
Rintarou sits in his pool of water, cross-legged and alone once again. A little stunned.
He swallows the favour begrudgingly, covers up the tangle in his chest with a practised nonchalance. Rarely does he let himself owe others a favour, but he doesn't have the strength to fight back today. And so he takes the umbrella, making his way to start a hot shower.
He’ll ask about it tomorrow.
Rintarou attempts to return the umbrella back to Atsumu the next day, only to be met with confusion.
“Suna, I love getting free stuff n’ all, but why’re ya handing me an umbrella?” Atsumu looks at him blankly, drumming at the locker door with his fingertips.
Rintarou ignores the quip. “It’s from yesterday, dumbass. And what happened to all the ‘Suna-san’ and ‘get home quickly’ from yesterday hmm? Didn’t think you’d be stupid enough to forget what your own umbrella looks like.” Here he is, being nice enough to give it back, and Atsumu is playing with him.
Atsumu baulks at that and insists he has no idea what Rintarou is talking about.
“Miya, just take the damn thing. You were there with your cap and everything.” A look of realisation dawns across Atsumu’s face, followed by an uncomfortably wide smile. Nothing good comes of that look, Rintarou thinks. He sighs, rolls his eyes. “Spit it out.”
Atsumu tilts his head in mock-thought (because when has he ever truly used his brain). “Just drop it off at my dorm later. I'll text ya the address, but be there 8pm sharp, Suna-san,” he says with lilting glee and pure scheming in his eyes. He shuts the locker.
Rintarou’s face must be full of more disdain than intended, because Atsumu tacks on, “I was nice to ya yesterday, better return the favour,” before flouncing towards the door to annoy Sakusa.
"Just take it now are you kidding m-"
"I'm goin' to Omi's first to hang out," he says, like it explains anything.
Rintarou has never had a penchant for public stranglings, but he thinks today might be the day to start.
He arrives at Atsumu's door at 8:12pm, brooding in mild inconveniences and an even lower opinion of Miya Atsumu than before. Rintarou has no idea why he chose to listen to the setter, but he stands there awkwardly anyway, in a dormitory corridor bathed in fluorescent lighting.
Perhaps it had been curiosity getting the better of him. Or discomfort, at owing Atsumu a favour. It certainly hadn't been because of any semblance of respect.
He knocks once, twice, before sitting on the floor with a groan. Practice was hellish, and he doesn’t want to exert more effort than necessary.
Rintarou is nearly finished with scrawling a heartfelt letter of ingratitude to Atsumu on a scrap of paper from the bottom of his gym bag – his personal highlights include 'rancid hair' and hopes that Atsumu's crush on Sakusa would be flushed down a toilet – when footsteps down the corridor draw his attention.
Perfect timing, Rintarou thinks, scrawling the last few words into the corner. He glances up again.
Atsumu is carrying six bags of groceries, clad in another cap and black t-shirt. His eyes shift from the umbrella on the floor to meet Rintarou’s own. Quiet amusement paints Atsumu’s features, a disconcerting warmth that strikes him as out of character again. Nevertheless, Rintarou is just about to unleash a string of mildly violent insults when the setter speaks.
"Oh, is that mine? Suna-san, I told ya, there’s no need to return it,” he chuckles, “But thank you.” Setting down the bags, he reaches over Rintarou’s head to unlock the door before taking his umbrella. “Are ya feelin’ alright? You’re lookin’ a little-”
Rintarou is admittedly a little dizzy from the whiplash of being subject to all the different versions of Atsumu in the past couple of days, and can only look up helplessly. He scrunches his nose in confusion, judges the face above him. (And if he stares a little too long at the arms leaning against the door, nobody has to know.)
“Miya, are you sure you don’t have short term amnesia?”
Osamu palms his own face. Groans.
“You thought I was Tsumu, didn’t ya.” He steps back with a shake of his head.
Now it’s Rintarou’s turn to face-palm. “Maybe,” he admits, grimacing.
Mortification rides up his neck in a hot flush. His ears redden profusely. He would love nothing more than to dissolve into the door behind him, to evaporate off the face of the planet. Miya Atsumu has a twin, apparently, not a whining little brother as he’d made it seem.
“I’m the better twin, ya don’t have to worry,” Not-Atsumu assures, offering a half-smile that leaves Rintarou melting for a different reason, if he is willing to admit it. (Who knew the same face could be worn so differently.) He takes off his cap to demonstrate the lack of blonde hair dye and insufferability, and apologises for not clarifying yesterday.
“Nobody could be worse than Atsumu, so you’re fine,” Rintarou manages to fire back after gathering himself, an attempt at semi-normalcy.
And then the universe must hate him even more, because Not-Atsumu, laughing, crouches to meet Rintarou at eye-level – so close, in fact, that he can see the grey of his eyes.
“I hafta agree with that – just to make sure ya never get us mixed up again, call me Osamu, yeah?” His tone carries an amiability to it, and – if Rintarou had inspected a little closer – a drop of hesitation. But frazzled from the previous state of embarrassment, all he hears is graceful composure that he gratefully clings to.
“Sure thing, Osamu,” he says, lacing it with teasing.
He shifts to get up unsteadily before remembering the note for Atsumu. “Please give this to your dear brother tonight, 'cause I’m guessing you've got the misfortune of living with him.”
Osamu reads over it, releasing a delighted snort, and tells him he’ll get it framed for the living room.
As he walks out of the dorm building, back to his own dorm, Rintarou thinks to himself that he likes this Miya best.
ii.
And now it's their second year, and they are seated side-by-side in an izakaya, celebrating a sweeping win of the national volleyball intercollegiate tournament. The winning point had arrived in the form of Atsumu, dumping the ball into a neat little space in front of the net, unassuming and untouched. After the final whistle had blown, Rintarou had found himself searching for a certain black cap in the crowd, an uncharacteristic grin on his face.
He leans against Osamu now, mind slightly delirious from alcohol and fatigue and the feeling of his friend's jumper thrown casually over his shoulders. The air conditioner is cold, after all.
His teammates are crowded around a couple of tables ahead, chatting away. Atsumu is flailing his arms wildly, Bokuto is shaking poor Kuroo by the shoulders, and even Sakusa seems to be making conversation. But somehow the two of them stay put. A comfortable silence binds them in place, coated in the gentle pitter patter of rain from outside.
He takes a cold potato wedge from the basket at their table and, tilting his head uncomfortably, offers it to Osamu, who is sober. It might be an excuse to look at him, but Rintarou is not too sure.
"I can grab it myself y'know," Osamu smiles mildly, taking it deftly off his fingers.
"You didn't have to be here tonight," Rintarou mumbles, ignoring the comment. "I know you've got that thing in a couple of days."
"The culinary internship? It's fine Suna, ya know I've nearly finished packing anyway."
A whole year away, working in kitchens out of reach from the comfortable space they’ve made for themselves here. It is barely less than the time they’ve known each other. And Rintarou knows Osamu must be feeling far more nervous about it, but for some strange reason, a sickening lump sits in his chest everytime he thinks about it.
"Okay but–" he breaks off. Rintarou rearranges his thoughts. They're a bit looser than usual tonight, a little braver. “I just…Thank you, Osamu." The twin meets his gaze, widening his eyes slightly before they soften. A gentle smile sits on his lips.
He looks nice like that, Rintarou thinks.
"Ah it was nothin'. Besides, I wanted to hang out with everyone before I leave. Tsumu woulda killed me for not comin’ tonight." The opposite side of the booth sits empty in front of them, Atsumu having joined the crowd far earlier in the night, but neither mention it. It feels like another uncrossed border, palpable to Rintarou even in the midst of inebriation.
He hears cheering from the other side of the izakaya, all blurred and distant to his ears. They may as well be a million universes away. All he knows, in this moment, is the feeling of sore muscles against a sturdy shoulder, and a quiet pull of the chest that draws him always, always to the same place. All he knows is a hushed hope that Osamu will keep looking at him with those kind, open eyes.
It only feels like a continuation of something brewing in the past few months, a tangle of imaginary lines which have only grown with time. Rintarou has found himself tripping up, feet caught by lingering gazes, hand-fed spoonfuls of food, shared custody over umbrellas. His heart has never felt more confused, more full. And he thinks he’d like to let it spill over, just once, to see where it takes him. But for now, all that comes out of his mouth is:
“I’m gonna miss your onigiri so badly.”
He sits up slightly, turning his whole body to face Osamu, whose face has fallen into something quieter. Pensive, even. He hopes, just a little bit, that the words hold more weight than mere rice and filling to him.
“I sure hope you do, Sunarin.” Rintarou’s chest tightens with the nickname. Osamu doesn’t call him that often. Rintarou takes a sip from his empty glass of beer and tries to breathe.
They sit in the booth for a little longer, finishing off the wedges before Osamu suggests heading back to their dorms. It is late, after all, and Rintarou feels fatigue building up behind his eyes.
He hauls himself out of the booth, taking a few tired steps before the twin steadies him by the arm. “Come on, out we go.”
Rintarou feels mostly sober at this point, but the warmth of his friend’s hand on his arms leaves him dizzy.
They shuffle past Atsumu doing a shot with (surprisingly) Sakusa, and move towards the glass doors that reveal the shower of rain outside. The bell at the door tinkles quietly as they step outside, into the little alcove in front the restaurant. Rain pelts around them, highlighted by the lightbulb hanging above them. Humidity leaves the air feeling like molasses.
Rintarou turns to Osamu expectantly, squeezing his eyes slightly in a question.
“Yes, I brought our umbrella,” Osamu sighs, turns to fish it out of his backpack, and opens it up. "Bring yer own one next time." Rintarou ducks underneath without saying a word, attuned to this routine already.
"Let's go home," Rintarou mumbles to the wet concrete, the words slipping out of his mouth in a natural rhythm. He means Osamu's dorm, of course, but he blames it on the alcohol in his system, or the post-game exhaustion, or the rain outside, or anything but himself, really.
For the shape of the word feels a little unfamiliar, a little too big, for his own two hands. The feeling spills over, and he feels a bit like toppling to the ground.
And then the weight in his chest only seems to grow as he remembers, for the millionth time, that he'll be displaced from Osamu for a whole 365 days, exactly. He's not sure what he'll do on Saturday nights anymore, if not visiting his dorm for a new dish to taste-test, or to rewatch one of those old horror movies with the tragically terrible special effects. It's only been a year, he knows, but the space that's been carved feels far too deep to describe in the language of days and hours.
Rintarou glances up suddenly as Osamu hoists the umbrella up to accommodate them both, pulling him out of his thoughts immediately. The yellow bulb overhead casts Osamu in an unearthly glow, all warm and bright. Rintarou is offered that same smile as always.
"You can keep the sweater," he hears between the raindrops and splashing water as they step out. He shuffles a little closer, bumping his shoulder against Osamu's.
We'll be okay, Rintarou decides.
[From out of the window, Atsumu watches as Suna and Samu stand at the doorway of the restaurant, moving at a snail's pace.
He cannot see Suna's face from his seat as the middle blocker turns towards his brother, but he does notice the look on Samu's face. He's trying to do his stupid grumpy act, heaving out a sigh to show he's tired. And yet, there's a twitch to his mouth, a comfortable easiness draped across his shoulders, an extra glance in Suna's direction while opening the umbrella as if to avoid hitting him.
It's strange, Atsumu thinks blearily through a drunken haze, to see Samu go out of his way to be so considerate.
And then Suna must say something groundbreaking to the floor, because his brother whips his head back towards him with widened eyes. Hopeful, even. He looks flustered as he lifts the open umbrella up hurriedly.
Atsumu drags his head off his hand and looks at Kiyoomi.
"Do ya think Suna's told 'im yet?"
Kiyoomi looks up from his phone nonchalantly. "Told who?"
"Told Samu he likes him," spills out of Atsumu. "I hope he has, because I'm sick of Samu's yammerin' about him everyday and it's not like Suna's told me or anythin' but he seems way too sappy lately."
Kiyoomi freezes. "They aren't dating?"
Atsumu groans and thumps his forehead against the table in defeat. "No, and I'm sick n' tired of their stupid smiling." And then he twists slightly, places cheekbone to wood and glances up at Kiyoomi, whose mouth had puckered into a thin line at the sight of all the germs he must have picked up.
Atsumu huffs, already reaching for his own hand sanitiser. "Can they get together already?"
But when he asks Samu about it the next day over text, all he gets is a 'fuck off' and a threat to call a certain Sakusa.]
iii.
It is rainy season, third year, and Rintarou is sitting in his dorm room, alone. The steady drum of rain against his window fills the empty space.
His roommate Kenma is out somewhere – with Kuroo, probably, because he's sure they're dating – and he's inside, stuck dragging his feet through a paper on the history of photojournalism. He's not sure when he started caring about the stupid academic side of things, but he find himself here, laptop screen filled with two measly lines and frustration in his chest.
He's not fit for anything more mentally rigorous than volleyball. He's figured that out, at least. And even volleyball has been barely more than a failure this year – Atsumu has already received three offers from V. League teams, Sakusa has one, and Bokuto probably has all of Japan chasing after him. He has none.
Rintarou stretches backwards in his desk chair, dragging his socks against the wooden flooring of his room.
There are only ten days left until Osamu returns from Osaka. Time has never moved slower. They had texted frequently throughout the year, had their fair share of late night video calls, but the past few days have left Rintarou especially lost. A little bit scared too, although he has no idea why.
The blinking cursor on his screen blurs itself into oblivion, unmoving, while the thoughts fall in torrents. He stays in his seat for what feels like hours.
He's tired. That's what it must be.
He's tired of school and stupid essays and volleyball disappointments and being one year away from a life he has no idea what to do with, and he's so tired of having nobody to cook a warm bowl of soup for two to make him feel better. He's tired of missing Osamu too, it seems. It sits in his chest like droplets in the crevices of a pavement. He feels it in his bones, and even more so on a day like today.
Outside, the rain turns from a torrent to a trickle into silence.
Rintarou sighs. His head feels muddy. You need a change of pace, he can already hear Osamu telling him.
And so he peels himself off his chair, takes an old sweater off the bed, and makes his way downstairs. Even in his absence, Rintarou is listening to him.
It's not until he's made it past the library, and mindlessly down the steps to the soccer field behind it, does he realise it's begun to drizzle again, a light shower that glistens in the sunlight spilling from the clouds. Humidity leaves the air feeling thick. Just his luck.
He powers on, determined to find some peace or love or whatever it was he had initially left his dorm to do.
The weather reminds him of that day two years ago, when the sun had given in to rain, and fate had its waterlogged plans for him. Rintarou supposes they would have met at some point, him and Osamu, but it felt inevitable somehow that they would meet in such ridiculous circumstances.
He likes the rain now. It reminds him of umbrella sharing and cosy nights at the izakaya. But in Osamu's absence, the summer rain has also been a catalyst for longing. It leaves him missing home.
He feels his phone buzz in his pocket, and a momentary pang of regret hits him as he realises he really should have brought an umbrella. Yet another thing to despair about. The droplets are falling a little faster now.
Rintarou pulls the phone out. It's Osamu, two hours early for their weekly call.
"Samu?" he asks, voice cracking slightly. In better circumstances, he would be slightly mortified, but it merely adds to his pile of grievances from the past year.
"-arin? Where are ya? Are ya alright?" he hears Osamu's voice coming out of the speakers, and Rintarou breathes in through his lungs.
"I'm in the field." He blinks the water out of his eyes, looks up towards the decidedly umbrella-less sky.
"It's raining Suna, what the fuck are you doing?"
"Enjoying the weather."
"Don't be stupid," Osamu huffs, a note of panic etched into his words. “Just wait there.”
Feeling frazzled, Rintarou fails to comprehend the muffle, and instead he kicks at the growing puddles of water in the grass like a kid. What a strange thing to say, he thinks, when you’re 497 kilometres away.
A black umbrella approaches from behind the staircase, bobbing rather hurriedly. What idiot is going to a soccer field in the rain, Rintarou thinks. He blinks once, twice. Feels the rain pouring, his sneakers swimming, his bangs stuck to his forehead. He grimaces.
And then the figure grows, turning into the shape of someone far too familiar. They are both idiots then, he supposes. Miya Osamu, frequent occupant of his thoughts, paces towards him with furrowed brows and concern etched across his face.
He's here, he's here, he's here…
"Suna Rintarou what the fuck are ya doing out here. Yer gonna get sick."
It feels like Rintarou can breathe again, but his heart feels too big for his chest and he thinks his ears are ringing slightly. He knows that Osamu's presence is not going to fix his abysmal essay, or make him play better in matches. But it makes things feel a little easier.
Osamu finally reaches him, extending the umbrella to cover his head as well. He looks at Rintarou questioningly, only to receive no response.
“Well isn’t this a familiar sight?” Osamu says instead, to fill the lack of response. Rintarou almost tears up at the normalcy of it all. Osamu hasn't changed, he thinks, not in the ways that matter.
“Samu I-”
The words stick to his throat, and then he realises he wasn’t even sure what he was going to say in the first place. He just needs to say something. Maybe a hello, a thank you, a ‘what are you doing ten days early?’ An ‘I missed you,’ perhaps.
But Osamu merely looks at him with understanding and something else that makes Rintarou’s stomach flip. His head is tilted slightly to the right, and his eyes are softened at the edges. This is what he missed. It feels like they stand there for an eternity.
And then it all becomes too much, this realisation that Osamu is next to him with an umbrella in hand, and he’s got that same smile as always, and he knows that friends don’t look at each other that way, because it seems like Osamu’s got love in his eyes; And Rintarou doesn’t know what to do with it, this care all packaged up in unspoken words and quiet gestures and video calls every week – he feels like it is too precious for him to hold in his own two hands, and he doesn’t want to mess it up, not when he’s cold and shaking from the rain or from a year’s worth of longing, and not when he knows exactly what it feels like too, that tightening in your chest that leaves you willing to do anything, and so he finds himself stepping backwards, away, away, into the rain.
Osamu is here, with an umbrella for him, and Rintarou is in the rain again. Hesitation drips down his shoulders.
“Rin, I know it’s been a year,” Osamu starts shakily, “but please don’t do that to me.”
And then he pushes out his arm, holding the umbrella over Rintarou’s head. Rain falls across Osamu’s face, silently pleading.
Rintarou’s swallows, and he closes his eyes. He wills the thudding in his chest to calm. Lets his hands clench by his side, and then releases. It's a bit ridiculous, but there's nobody else he'd do this in front of.
Osamu is waiting. Has been waiting, for one, two, years, if he lets himself think about it for longer.
And maybe Rintarou has been waiting for a time when letting himself name that feeling will be less scary. But it's been three years since the day they met at the library, and it'll only be scarier the longer he avoids it.
So he peels his eyes open and looks up at Osamu, who still has that worried frown across his face. He is soaking wet too, at this point.
To hell with it, he thinks, knocking the umbrella out of his hand and closing the distance with a step. His clothes feel heavy, and rain drips over both of them now.
"Sorry it took me so long," he says quietly, earnestly. And Osamu still looks a little sure, a little disbelieving. So Rintarou, staring at the grass, musters up his courage and lets the words loosen across his tongue. His heart thuds.
"Samu, I like you. So much.” He lets out a breath. “And I don't know what to do with it all."
He doesn't look up, but he feels the tension from Osamu dissipate. He feels Osamu's head rest against his collarbone, and he instinctively lays his hand across the back of it. They stand there, linked by a shared relief and the rain, pouring, running rivulets down their clothes.
And after a comfortable eternity, Osamu gently cups Rintarou's cheeks with his hands. "Rin, don't be sorry. I'm just glad ya got there in the end." And then he presses a soft kiss to the corner of Rintarou's mouth, light and wistful. They rest their foreheads against each other, eyes closed and breaths mingling.
"I like ya too. If ya couldn't tell already."
Rintarou feels himself grinning widely, buoyantly. He is floating, here, in this space carved out by rain and an untangling of his chest.
Unsaid words have finally been unspooled and intertwined. He is glad he let it all unravel. And while he's not sure he's got the rest of his life sorted, this little piece of ease makes him feel better about it already.
He feels Osamu shift slightly, and looks up. "Uh Rin? I'm havin' the time of my life, but can we please get outta the rain?"
"We're gonna catch a cold?" Rintarou asks knowingly.
"We're gonna catch a cold." Osamu agrees, grinning.
Rintarou picks up the umbrella out of the puddle on the grass, and hoists it up over both of their heads. It seems a little futile, considering the water soaked into their clothes, but they laugh about it anyway and make their way back to the dorm with hands laced together. His shoulders are lighter now, despite the way his sweater feels a thousand times heavier.
They will be okay, he knows. It will be okay.
And so as they reach the dorm entrance, soaked from head to toe in rainwater, palms kissing, Rintarou thinks to himself that he doesn’t mind the rain today either.
["Wait, Samu, what are you doing here early? I'm certainly not complaining or anything though," Suna says later while they're curled up in a duvet on the couch, limbs entangled, all warm and dry. Osamu pauses to think.
He's not sure how to explain it properly, the fact that ten days felt like far too much time to wait, even when they had been apart for 355 days. It was the same feeling that settled in his bones after a missed movie night, or a day without texting Suna, and he's sure it had something to do with the tangle in his chest that appeared the first time he watched Suna play volleyball, and only continued to grow and grow.
To put it in the simplest terms, he supposes then, Osamu missed Suna, and he couldn't stand another day apart. And he tells him that, saying "Missed ya too much. Plus, my teacher was nice n' let me off early."
Osamu watches as jade eyes squint in his direction, barely concealing sparkles and a rising blush. "Can't believe I only figured it out today, you're painfully obvious about it," Suna says mockingly before covering his face. He looks happy.
And Osamu too, feels overjoyed in this bit of time and space hollowed out for the two of them.]