feast on this

[softpunks]

miya osamu/sakusa kiyoomi // ~5k
> The pains one would endure for one's crush, Sakusa Kiyoomi-style.




It's sort of like a tradition or saying—one that only Miya Osamu probably follows, really—that part of being a good neighbor means offering homemade food to new tenants. Homemade, because (1) that's what Osamu says it is, and (2) if it was store-bought, Kiyoomi seriously doubts that the business would be one standing for more than a week, tops.

The thing is, Kiyoomi is not a new tenant. Hasn't been for nearly a year. And yet—

"Oh," Tsukasa says from the couch. His head turns to Kiyoomi's direction, and he no longer cares that Komori is currently destroying him in whatever combat game they pulled up on the PS4. Kiyoomi does not own a PS4, and it has these weasel stickers slapped on top that look like Motoya’s handiwork. He isn’t even going to ask how that got there. "Is that from Osamu?"

"Osamu?" Motoya echoes, tone amused even though his eyes are still glued to the TV. "Is that why Kiyoomi's still lingering by the door like a lovesick puppy?"

Kiyoomi bristles. "No," he says, and takes a sweeping step back to make a point before realizing that Motoya isn't even looking at him and that he doesn't need to prove himself in the first place. Motoya's grinning though, as if he knows exactly what Kiyoomi did. Kiyoomi flushes in embarrassment.

"It's okay, Kiyoomi," Tsukasa reassures him, smiling good-naturedly. It's scary how there's absolutely no judgement in his words and expression. "It's perfectly reasonable to linger by the door and bask in the moment of having a very handsome neighbor hand you free food for literally no good reason."

He’s right. There is literally no good reason for this, but Kiyoomi had taken the sign of good will anyway. And it’s not like Tsukasa is completely off when he says Osamu is handsome, but it’s not like Kiyoomi will admit that.

"Not when it looks like Devil's spit from hell," Motoya supplies. His eyes finally flicker to his cousin and the plastic container in his hands, taken out from the paper bag. "What is it this time?"

"Brownies from hell, I think," Kiyoomi says, after lifting the lid by a bit. His nose is immediately hit with a waft of something that... should be what he usually associates brownies with. The truth is, he wouldn't really know. He never really had a sweet tooth until trying Osamu's stuff, and then he started to gorge on every kind of sweet-tasting thing that he could get his hands on just to get rid of the lingering aftertaste. "It... doesn't look that bad."

"It's green," Tsukasa points out, because he has superhuman vision from all the way on the couch. Kiyoomi covers the container like he's trying to protect its dignity as he walks over to the kitchen counter. "I think I'd be more reassured if those brownies were black."

"It's food coloring?”

"Why do you sound so unsure?"

Kiyoomi hears the telltale sound of the game pausing and footsteps approaching him until Tsukasa and Motoya are behind him and peering over his shoulder to get a good look at the food he set down on the counter. The brownies are indeed green. Kiyoomi's also pretty sure they're supposed to have some semblance of a shape, like a rectangle or square or somewhat like it's being held together, with maybe faint ridges from the heat to form a crunchy top layer, but everything looks mushed and damp, like halfway through attempting to bake... whatever this was supposed to be, Osamu had decided to pull it out of the oven and stick it under the rain.

It's a disturbing, disgusting image, but Kiyoomi reaches over to grab one of the spoons he has in a utensil cup for quick snacks that aren't finger foods—he did not think to have this kind of thing until Tsukasa and Motoya started coming over and bringing on all kinds of foods, and Kiyoomi didn’t like how they messed around with all his drawers and cupboards just to find forks and knives—and scoops a small portion of the brownies anyway to eat it.

He doesn't say anything for a few seconds. Tsukasa and Motoya just look at him expectantly. He knows they expect him to spit it into the bin, which is what they did the first time, and the second time, and the third—and it was at that point where they gave up just eating it entirely, as if it was for them in the first place—and it's also why they've already retrieved the same bin from the corner and hold it out to him.

Just to prove a point, Kiyoomi swallows instead. It takes a bit of effort, given that he drank no water and he didn't even attempt to chew it—he's not keen on savoring the taste when he thinks his tongue has suffered enough—but he manages. He gives Tsukasa and Motoya a look. Tsukasa sighs, walks back to return the bin, while Motoya quietly heads to the fridge and fetches Kiyoomi a glass of milk because he's not a complete menace.

As much as he'd like to take the glass to wash out the food, he doesn't accept. Instead he says, "It wasn't that bad."

Motoya sets down the glass beside him. "You do realize that you don't have to eat it, right?" he eventually says, in that tone that means they've had this conversation a hundred times over, because they have. "You can always just throw it in the bin. You know, like what the rest of us normal people do when we run into edible garbage."

Kiyoomi pulls a face but doesn't deny Motoya's words. "I don't want to lie to him and say I didn't eat it if he ever asks." Luckily, Osamu’s never asked. It’s probably because he assumes that Kiyoomi thinks it’s alright since he keeps on accepting more of his food. On the plus side, at least Kiyoomi doesn’t have to buy tupperware.

"Oh, but you'll lie about how it tastes?" Motoya just looks unimpressed. He shakes his head in mock disappointment. "I don't remember when my cousin ever turned into such a liar."

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. "Fuck off."

"We accept you, Kiyoomi," Tsukasa cuts in, which isn't as comforting of a statement as Tsukasa thinks it is because he's saying it in his Teacher Voice and Kiyoomi is not actually ten years old. He's twenty-five. "And the fact that we both know that you're only doing this because—"

"I'm being a good neighbor," Kiyoomi futilely argues.

Motoya doesn't even miss a beat. "—Osamu is a very hot guy."

Instead of high-fiving like normal people, Tsukasa instead shoots finger-guns at Motoya for finishing his sentence for him in some unsaid that was cool! gesture, which is a thing Tsukasa just started doing because that's what the kids at his preschool are currently into. What's even more embarrassing is the way Motoya responds by pretending Tsukasa shot him in the heart and they reenact a very strange death scene that might be in reference to whatever movies they've been watching lately.

Kiyoomi wouldn't know because he's not really home since he’s busy with work, so the only reason his couch is still warm is because Motoya and Tsukasa keep putting their ass on it all day. On the other hand, Motoya points out that the real reason Kiyoomi's always preoccupied is because he probably spends so much of it in the toilet, vomiting his brains out because he refuses to not eat whatever actual dog shit Osamu tries to give him every month.

Sometimes Kiyoomi thinks about kicking Motoya out just because he can and because he never invited him over in the first place, but that means kicking Tsukasa out too, and if Kiyoomi hasn’t managed to do that for nearly a year since he moved in, he doesn’t see how he can do it now.

Resigned, Kiyoomi finally picks up the glass of milk.

==

So maybe Kiyoomi doesn’t do it to be a good neighbor. But it had been like that the first time around when he was first moving into the apartment building with the assistance of his university friends, Tsukasa and Motoya, and Miya Osamu made his presence known by knocking on his door and offering a housewarming gift. It was curry and a strange choice for a present, but it’s not like he ever gave or received anything like this before, so he didn’t question it much.

What was strange was that the curry was pitch black. Motoya said it looked like toxic waste; Tsukasa argued that maybe Osamu just had eccentric taste. Kiyoomi did not join in the debate, more distracted by how handsome Miya Osamu had unexpectedly been—they lived in a street that was mostly populated with older people, and the landlord remarked that they were one of the few young tenants living here—than he’d ever admit aloud to really care.

It was enough for Kiyoomi to actually give Osamu the benefit of the doubt and chalk it up to eccentric taste. Never mind that seconds later after tasting it, the three of them—it was actually just for Kiyoomi, but solidarity never hurt anyone (curiosity did, but it was mostly why Tsukasa and Motoya wanted to try it in the first place)—ended up fighting for a chance to reach the toilet.

In the beginning, Kiyoomi didn’t really know much about Osamu past three things—that he lived on the 11th floor, that he probably wasn’t the best cook, and that he was very handsome. Despite the attraction, Kiyoomi was somewhat content with that being the extent of their relationship. He was busy with his new job, which was why he moved into the area, and he already had enough on his plate having to deal with Tsukasa and Motoya squatting in his place on a near-daily basis.

“I didn’t know you had kids,” Bokuto, Kiyoomi’s co-worker at the Jackals Magazine, told him one morning. They worked in different fields—Bokuto was under the sports section and Kiyoomi just tended to jump to whatever column needed more writers because he was flexible, which was why Meian loved him—but they could be considered friends. At the time though, Kiyoomi was only there because he needed to pick something up for Akaashi that he left behind at Bokuto’s desk. When Kiyoomi shot Bokuto a strange look, the latter simply gestured to his... entire face. “You got that look on your face. Uh, tired dad? Man, you’re younger to me, so this makes me feel old.”

“I don’t have kids,” Kiyoomi replied. “I have—” He paused. “Roommates.”

Now it was Bokuto’s turn to look confused. “I thought you said you lived alone?”

“I do.” And then Kiyoomi gathered the papers he needed from Bokuto’s cubicle and left. This was his life: his job and his friends. It was mundane and maybe a bit pitying, but Kiyoomi didn’t really think too deeply about it.

The curry turned out to actually be neither the first nor the last of Osamu’s “gifts”. It’s “gifts'' because Motoya dubs them as curses. It’s a curse, sure, but maybe it’s also a blessing in disguise because Kiyoomi gets to see Osamu’s face and talk to him (Tsukasa’s claim, not Kiyoomi’s).

Kiyoomi is the one who always answers the door because it is, after all, his apartment, no matter how often Motoya and Tsukasa stay over, and though the food mostly stays grossly the same, the conversations Kiyoomi has with Osamu start to get longer. What used to be small, polite talk by the doorstep turn out to be fifteen-long random updates or anecdotes about their lives, and suddenly Kiyoomi’s arsenal of knowledge on Osamu expands, ever so slightly—like what music is good to listen to in the shower or how many times you should do bench presses in the gym to get some kind of proper body ratio or that time Osamu accidentally rented a porno thinking it was a blockbuster movie and watched it with his parents.

Kiyoomi doesn’t know what to do with any of this, but he listens regardless.

“Is this a courting ritual?” Bokuto asks over their ten-minute break. Kiyoomi hadn’t told him anything about his encounters with Osamu, but he did say something vague or two to Akaashi, because he’s one of the main editors, and somehow everything that Akaashi knows, Bokuto knows too. “Like, he’s giving you lots of food he made to butter you up and show his affections.”

“You need attraction for something to be called a courting ritual,” Kiyoomi simply replies.

“And you’re not attracted to him?” Bokuto looks dubious.

“I never said that.” Because in reality, it’s just been growing. How could it not, when Osamu has an easygoing smile and a very thick-looking chest and a very smooth voice and this peculiar eye crinkle he gets whenever he’s talking about something that amuses him, which happens to be about anything because he’s probably the type of person who, at twenty-five, thinks life is great in its own small ways.

It’s something Kiyoomi likes, this culmination of little things about a person that make them unique, because when Kiyoomi himself looks in the mirror he doesn’t find what he sees that interesting. A mundane job with good people that he’s had even when he was nineteen and a mere intern, two university friends who he still maintained contact with that like to meddle with his life because god knows he’d never really strive to do anything out of the ordinary with it, and that’s their weird way of caring, and it’s nothing new.

And Kiyoomi knows he’ll always be okay with it if there’s nothing more than that, but Osamu is the first hiccup in the smooth, unstilted line of Kiyoomi’s life, and he’s easily drawn to it. Ever surrounded by what’s already familiar, he likes the notion of having something he could learn to be familiar with. That’s what he thinks whenever he thinks of Osamu, from his sparse quirks to his mystery to his absolutely terrible cooking.

So yes, he might be attracted to Osamu. The only reason Kiyoomi doesn’t actively address it is because Tsukasa and Motoya use every chance they get to point it out. Bokuto, at the very least, seems to have enough respect for Kiyoomi to not do that.

And besides.

“But his food is still really bad,” Kiyoomi adds.

In fact, it’s probably the most adventurous thing about him. It’s okay, Kiyoomi thinks, because they all have their quirks. Osamu seems like the kind of person who has many. He also still hasn’t told Kiyoomi his job, but it probably has something to do with labor or manual work because he doesn’t know what else biceps like those could be used for.

Bokuto nods like that makes perfect sense. “I get it; especially if he’s actually trying to poison you and just hasn’t succeeded yet. I don’t think you’re ready for that kind of commitment yet.”

He probably means death, but sure. Kiyoomi will take it.

==

What continues to elude Kiyoomi is Osamu’s insistence on bringing him something to eat on a monthly basis. Bokuto says something about a courting ritual, maybe a way to hit on or spend time with him or something, and though Kiyoomi doesn’t want to jump to that immediate conclusion of romance or attraction just yet because he isn’t sure how reciprocated it is, he does think this might be Osamu’s very awkward way of trying to be friends with the only other person living in the apartment building who is around the same age as him.

Kiyoomi would tell him that Osamu could honestly do it without the food, but even Kiyoomi hasn’t mustered up the guts to properly ask Osamu to hang out—though he doesn’t think it could be his fault entirely, given that he mostly uses up his social battery on work and Tsukasa and Motoya—so maybe that makes them both hopeless. Or maybe Osamu just keeps on bringing him food because he thinks Kiyoomi actually thinks it tastes good.

Kiyoomi should probably start making things clear with Osamu about the way they define spending time together (doorstop conversations are a no-go and now out of fashion) and the food (which is two seconds away from being evil incarnate manifesting in Kiyoomi’s stomach) for both of their sanities. Tell Osamu that they should stop trying to know each other in the hallway and maybe in a coffee shop or a restaurant. Someplace with actually decent food.

Since Kiyoomi doesn’t know what unit Osamu’s in and he isn’t about to knock on every door on the 11th floor, he tells himself he’ll actually make the attempt when Osamu swings by again.

But Osamu doesn’t come. Kiyoomi doesn’t even realize that it’s almost been two months since he last saw him until Tsukasa asks about it over text in their group chat.

Tsukasa: Kiyoomi, I think you should just make the first move.

Kiyoomi: I am.

Motoya: You’re making a HALF move. There’s a difference! Just ask your fucking landlord or something where Osamu lives. He would know. And it’s NOT because he’s the landlord and should have records of his tenants.

Kiyoomi: Then why?

Tsukasa: Because Osamu is a very hot, memorable guy...

Motoya: ...who does bench presses and watches porno with his parents.

Kiyoomi: I hate you two.

Kiyoomi decides to just… sit on it. Dwell on it some other time. There’s a new assignment that currently has his attention because he’s put in charge of the section for writing new food establishments, and it takes more time than he expects to find suitable places worth checking out and putting out on their magazine. With Valentine’s Day coming up, the editorial board wants Kiyoomi to pick places that are good places to go on a date, but not as well known yet for their special issue.

This is how Kiyoomi discovers Onigiri Miya.

==

“Suspicious,” Motoya remarks, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“Definitely,” Tsukasa agrees, lowering his binoculars. “Komori, do you want a turn with the binoculars?”

The shop they’re spying on is only a few meters in front of them. Kiyoomi’s eye twitches. He stands under the tree shade and the bush rustles with movement because of his two friends. “Please leave.”

“No,” Motoya says, sounding resolute. “We are your friends and we are concerned for your well-being.”

“My well-being, or my suffering?”

“Did you know,” Tsukasa starts. “That there are seven other people in the world who look exactly like one person, and how often that’s been taken advantage of to hurt people?”

“Oh, you mean those doppelganger stories wherein people take over their look-alikes lives and trick the people they know?”

“This is not a doppelganger situation,” Kiyoomi deadpans. “And please get out of the bush. We’re the only people on the block.”

There are some construction people too, working on a portion of the road, but that’s not the point. It’s broad daylight, and though the workers aren’t even glancing at their direction, Kiyoomi feels flustered for various reasons. Onigiri Miya is a quaint establishment tucked between a milk tea shop and a handicrafts store. Kiyoomi’s familiar with the street because he passes by it every day to get to work, but he’s never ventured down before because he was told there wasn’t much there worth checking out. The ongoing construction doesn’t really add to its appeal anyway, which might be why others haven’t bothered either. It doesn’t seem like a sketchy area, just an uninteresting one.

Tsukasa frowns. “Oh, so we’re not sneaking in?”

“We’re going to spy from a distance to make sure that no one gets jeopardized.”

“You’re not going to do anything, and I’m going to go in. Like a normal person.” Kiyoomi emphasizes the normal person bit. Before he can even take a step towards the shop though, Motoya and Tsukasa immediately grab him and pull him into the bush with them. “What now.”

“What if Osamu is already compromised?” Motoya questions. “Think about it, Kiyoomi. Who knows if this Miya Osamu is even trustworthy enough to talk to? He may be named as the owner of this onigiri shop, but he’s also the same guy who tries to poison you every month.”

“Makes you wonder how this guy’s been able to keep this shop afloat for, what did you say again, Kiyoomi? Nearly two years?” Tsukasa wonders, stopping Kiyoomi from arguing that he’s pretty sure the poisoning isn’t intentional. “It could be a front for stuff like money laundering.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. Those two have really been watching too many movies together lately.

“Exactly.” Motoya nods. “That’s suspicious. We should proceed with caution. What if this owner’s impersonating Osamu?”

“Or,” Tsukasa snaps his fingers. “What if Osamu is impersonating the owner?”

“This is not a doppelganger situation,” Kiyoomi hisses again, exasperated. “This is an interview. Besides, this Osamu of Onigiri Miya doesn’t let people take pictures of him, so he might be completely different from Osamu the Neighbor. Maybe they just happen to share the same name.”

“Or maybe Iizuna-san and I are absolutely right and this guy is dangerous,” Motoya says. “Or maybe it’s his evil twin.”

Kiyoomi pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just tell me the real reason why you’re doing this.”

“Because you might die.”

“Motoya.”

“Because this guy you like is clearly lying to you!” his cousin exclaims. “Fuck the doppelganger or similar name thing, you know those are too far-fetched to be true. You like him enough to ask him on a date—”

“—I’m asking him to hang out—”

“—Date.” Motoya says, leaving no room for argument. “But you don’t know shit about this guy besides really stupid things like his shower playlist and that he has a favorite gym activity. Do you know how shady that sounds? You don’t even know what he does for a living.”

Kiyoomi huffs. He can’t argue with that, but they’re being a bit overbearing, and he’d expect this more from Tsukasa, who is a teacher and is naturally overprotective. But this is Motoya telling him all this and Motoya is also his only family. And still, it changes nothing. “I can take care of myself.”

“You’re eating poison just to not upset him,” Motoya points out. Kiyoomi wants to defend himself, but for some reason, the only thing that really comes to mind is the response, he’s really handsome, because that’s a response Motoya would understand but also judge him for. Kiyoomi just opts to stare at him silently instead, hoping to convey that it really doesn’t matter. “Fine.” Motoya raises his hands in surrender. “But at least confirm if the guy who you’d let kill you on the first date is also the same guy attempting murder on innocent customers via his cooking. It’s always another thing entirely if others get involved.”

“I’m telling you,” Kiyoomi grumbles. “I get where you’re coming from, but there’s still no proof that this Miya Osamu and my Miya Osamu are the same—”

“Sakusa?”

Motoya and Kiyoomi freeze. Tsukasa takes the opportunity of the silence to blurt out the obvious, “Your hot neighbor just walked out of Onigiri Miya wearing a cap and apron with the shop logo.”

Osamu just raises an eyebrow, and he looks stupidly good in that cap. “Hot neighbor?” he repeats. “Also, do ya wanna explain what yer doin’ in a bush?”

“Not really?” Kiyoomi says, sounding unsure as he steps out of the bush with as much dignity as possible.

That just makes Osamu laugh. Kiyoomi is not a funny person by nature, so this—this is nice. It’s nice that Kiyoomi can bring that kind of look on Osamu’s face. But he’s also still completely mortified at being caught like that.

“So what brings ya here?” Osamu asks.

“It’s—” But when Kiyoomi turns, Motoya and Tsukasa have vanished. “I came here for… you, actually.”

“Me?”

“Yeah.” Kiyoomi clears his throat. He can’t believe the one time he may actually need his friends, they decide to bail on him then and there. Suddenly, he doesn’t know what to say, so he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, “It’s about your cooking?”

“My cookin’?” Osamu looks confused for a brief moment before his face lights up. “Oh, ya wanna try the real deal? I thought that everythin’ I was given’ ya was kinda overboard and I got shy ‘bout it; plus I swamped with work, so I couldn’t stop by. But now that yer here, it’s perfect! It means ya liked what I made. Told ‘Tsumu that he was wrong when he said it wasn’t yer type.”

That’s definitely not that Kiyoomi meant to say, but Osamu’s already grabbing his hand and pulling him inside. His touch is warm and makes Kiyoomi’s face burn despite the growing horror dawning on him because Osamu is going to make him food and he’ll have to eat it in front of him, and even though he’s nearly conditioned himself to just take it, sometimes willpower is not enough.

As he looks at his surroundings to look for help, he finally sees Tsukasa and Motoya across the street, shooting him a thumb up and what he’s guessing to be encouraging gestures because they both know that (1) Kiyoomi is not going to escape this, and (2) there’s no way he won’t eat Osamu’s food, especially when Osamu, for the first time, will actually be there to witness him eat it.

Motoya yells out, “Changed my mind, I think you’ll be completely fine! Congrats! You totally asked for this!”

With his free hand, Kiyoomi flips them off before getting sucked into inevitable doom.

==

So it turns out that Osamu isn’t actually bad with food. And it actually turns out that the food Kiyoomi had been subjecting himself to like it was Medieval torture is actually the makings of his brother, Atsumu. He’d been switching out the containers when Osamu hadn’t been looking in order to impress his boyfriend—Suna, Osamu supplies, as if that would explain anything even though Kiyoomi doesn’t know who that is—who had complained about Atsumu’s subpar cooking skills.

“I’m glad ya didn’t die from his cookin’,” Osamu tells him later on, right behind the counter as Kiyoomi sits on the bar stool across him.

“It was very terrible cooking,” Kiyoomi easily agrees, and he picks a small grain of rice from the plate and eats it. He licks the roof of his mouth right after, still trying to savor the remaining salty flavor of the onigiri Osamu made for him right then and there, his treat. Did that make this a date? “At least this wasn’t all bad.”

“‘Wasn’t all bad’?”

“It was good,” Kiyoomi amends, even if Osamu isn’t actually that offended, based on the grin on his face. Easygoing and teasing. How charming. “It was—it’s good. You’re really good. This business could make it big someday.”

“We’re going pretty steady right now, so I like it.” Osamu leans on the top counter. “But I guess more customers wouldn’t hurt. Guess I’ll havta thank yer magazine if I do make it big, right?”

It’s another nice thing to know about Osamu, another mundane detail to add to Kiyoomi’s collection of things about Osamu—shower music, a gym activity, an embarrassing anecdote, a nice eye crinkle. There’s a brother, a shop, an actual knack for cooking, a small-scale but worthwhile desire for something he doesn’t have yet but will if he just works hard enough. Nothing too adventurous, but nothing too boring either. This nice in-between that Kiyoomi would like to slot himself into.

In comparison, Kiyoomi really does feel lacking, nothing more than the work he does and the people he surrounds himself with. What makes him unique enough, makes him his own person, to be able to let himself be around people who are actually interesting?

His eyes drift down to the empty plate though, and he thinks about how he’s the person willing to eat terrible food for the sake of someone they like. A small quirk he’d unearthed upon meeting Osamu.

When Kiyoomi glances up at him, he wonders what more can he discover.

“Depends on what I write and say about you,” Kiyoomi replies. “And I guess it depends on what other stuff you could make that’s good.”

“That means you’ll be stickin’ ‘round then?” Osamu says, rolling up his sleeves even though it’s just for show.

“Do you mind if I do?”

“We’re closed on Sundays, so I’m all yers for today,” Osamu tells him. “But I can’t keep on feedin’ ya for free, y’know.”

“Of course. How does having dinner out sound then? My treat. Wherever you want. Just... maybe not in your shared apartment with your brother,” Kiyoomi adds.

“I like the sound of that.” Osamu beams, already turning around to prepare the next batch of food for Kiyoomi to try to make up for all the bad ones he’s had to suffer through. “Tell me at the end what of mine tastes best, ‘kay?”

(At the end, Kiyoomi never says it, but he knows it’s Osamu’s lips, the kind of thing he’d like to savor and return to over and over. Despite coming here to prepare for the Valentine’s special that the Jackals magazine is doing, it feels like the holiday came earlier than expected, just for him.)