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suna rintarou/miya osamu // ~1.5k
> piece for Under The Mistletoe Zine, Vol. 2; Canon, High School

The box of chocolates had been Kita’s idea. Suna knew it didn't match the season’s themes and traditions, but it wasn’t like he had any plans of telling him that. This was, after all, Kita, and ultimately, it wasn’t like anyone who cared enough was there to question the strange decision.

Except when Suna emerges from the station, Osamu says, “Why the chocolates?”

“Why are you here?” he asks. The box of chocolates feels heavier than it should in his hold. He wonders if it’ll miraculously disappear if he just doesn’t see it, a reminder of a gift that couldn’t be given.

There’s a bench right outside the train station and Osamu is the only one occupying it, sitting at the corner and then stretching his legs to take up the rest of the space as if he’s on his bed or the couch at home. An asshole move, Suna thinks, but Osamu is an asshole and it’s a weird time in the day anyway; those few hours in between the tail end of rush hour and the beginning of noon, so they’re the only ones here.

Osamu pulls down the scarf wrapped around his neck to speak clearer. “Waitin’ for you.”

Suna gives him an unimpressed look. “I wasn’t supposed to come back.” And it wasn’t like Osamu even brought him here. Suna had asked a few days ago, rather casually, if Osamu would like to see him off before he boarded the train and returned to Tokyo. Osamu said he didn’t want to wake up that early, so Suna had come alone.

“I know,” says Osamu. “Didn’t actually expect you to come back. Miss me that much?

Suna pushes Osamu’s feet off the bench so he can sit. “Shut up.” There’s no bite in his voice. It’s still early in the day and he hasn’t done anything besides come here to board a train he ended up not riding on, but he feels tired nonetheless.

He looks around, finding the lack of people unnerving even though the adults are at work and kids are still at home, likely asleep since school is over or hanging out in more fun places, ones that don’t only have banks, post offices, and train stations surrounding them. For the holiday season, it feels more lonely than magical, but it’s not exactly a new feeling to Suna.

“What’s with that sour look on your face? Do those chocolates taste like crap?” Osamu asks.

“You’re full of it,” Suna replies, but Osamu grins, like what Suna had said pleased him. It hits him that Osamu had only asked just to get him to talk because he’s been quiet and solemn for too long. “I thought you had plans for the day.”

“Do you?”

Suna shrugs. “Not anymore.”

He expects Osamu to question it, but he's always had more tact than his brother and it's easy to read in between the lines. “Guess that makes two of us then,” Osamu says, before standing up. “C’mon. I’m cold.”

==

Suna gives Osamu the box of chocolates because he has no need for them when they can’t even reach their recipient. He’s never had much of a sweet tooth anyway.

“Your parents like chocolates?” Osamu asks around the mouthful he had shoved inside. Suna doesn’t know where they’re actually headed, but he’s not worried about their aimless wandering because there has never been anything daunting about Hyogo, everything is more or less familiar. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, that Suna hasn’t been here his entire life when he feels like he can effortlessly list down an entire row of shops with perfect accuracy, but can’t say if the place he grew up in Tokyo ever had a nearby record store.

“I have no idea,” Suna admits. It’s telling, not just to Osamu, but to Suna himself, who doesn’t even know what would be an appropriate gift to bring his parents when he’d see them again—ideally today, but now, it’s reverted back into a someday once more. If he thinks about it, he doesn’t even know what their house looks like, doesn’t know if his dad is the one who likes those American burgers or if his mom is the one with tattoos.

The last time he saw them was three years ago. Now, it’ll be four. Suna wonders what else he’ll forget, because video chats on black screens and photos propped up on walls aren’t enough to stop him from possibly forgetting his dad’s favorite color or his mom’s least favorite TV show, or how it felt to be held by strong, reassuring arms that had nothing but warmth.

“Your face is really sad to look at nowadays, y’know,” Osamu points out. Suna is about to protest, but Osamu uses that opportunity to shove a piece of chocolate into Suna’s mouth. “There.”

He looks smug. Suna rolls his eyes as he chews the chocolate. It’s gooey in his mouth and he thinks it’s because of the caramel, a sweet taste that should objectively blend well with the bitterness of the dark chocolate; instead, it just makes him pull a face because he’d prefer everything to just be sweet rather than have a contrast. What’s the point of calling something sweets if not everything is sweet? “How is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Eatin’ is good for you. Lifts the spirits.”

“For you, maybe,” Suna grumbles, but he takes another piece of chocolate from the box anyway. It doesn’t really matter if the taste isn’t his type; maybe having something to do will keep his mind from wandering to unpleasant places.

It’s early in the winter season, enough for snow to start falling but not enough for it to pile up. When their feet lead them to an open field that’s usually occupied by families and couples enjoying quality time together over quiet afternoons on the weekend, Suna thinks how it’ll only be a matter of time before the area will be blanketed in this snow.

Despite his fading memory, he can still recall how there had been a playground he frequented back in Tokyo as a kid where he had snowball fights with his parents. It’s not like they would’ve done that if Suna had actually returned to Tokyo, if his parents didn’t send him a last-minute text message just as he was about to line up to board the train, sorry, something came up; coming home might not be the best idea right now.

Suna is no longer seven and desperate for his parents’ attention, but it doesn’t stop the small child in him from craving for something similar to that kind of affection and closeness, a simple act enough to make up for the years of separation.

“We should have a snowball fight here,” Osamu declares, like some kind of mind reader. There are probably only around three to five people in the entire area besides them, less than the usual because of the cold season and because it’s a weekday.

Suna stares down at the ground. A gentle breeze blows, and he wrinkles his nose, the closest thing he’ll show to a shiver because he doesn’t want Osamu to know he’s affected. He should’ve brought a scarf. Then again, he didn’t think he’d need to wear that many layers when he was supposed to spend most of his day on the train. “That keen on freezing your own ass?”

“You just get cold easily,” Osamu says, and then he stands in front of Suna. With the box of chocolates now closed and tucked under his arm, he takes off his scarf and tries wrapping it around Suna instead. It’s clumsy work, given that his other arm is busy trying to keep the chocolates in place, but Suna makes no move to help; he simply watches the concentrated look on Osamu’s face, focuses on the purse of his red lips and the faint blush on his cheeks from the weather. It’s a simple moment, two boys standing in the middle of an open field in winter, one giving his scarf to the other even though the latter hadn’t even asked, but Suna suddenly feels touched. “It’ll be fun.”

“Maybe,” Suna allows. Osamu smiles, and there’s a funny little feeling in Suna’s chest that makes him realize that he doesn’t feel as alone as he thought. The memories shouldn’t make him sad, he realizes, not when right now, he’s making one with Osamu, and there’s nothing tragic about this moment. “Osamu. C’mere.”

Osamu moves closer to him. When Suna pulls him in a kiss, short and sweet, it feels just as warm as an embrace.