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“Psst, hey, open your door.” You jolted out of bed to find that the one and only Osamu Miya casually standing on your balcony, tapping the glass of your door. Rubbing your eyes and tugging the fabric of your sleep shirt back over your shoulder that had fallen down, you opened the door.
“Samu? What-” Before you could say anything more, Osamu pressed his lips to yours. Keeping your lips connected he slowly started walking forward, until your back was against your bedroom wall, and Osamu was holding onto your hips for dear life. When you finally broke away, you panted slightly, faintly licking your lips only to taste the vinegary taste of beer.
Your best friend was kissing your jaw. And he was not letting up. Pushing him away, you snarled at him.
“Osamu Miya.” You started, tone of voice stern, “Did you really go along with Atsumu, acting like complete idiots to go ahead and drink the night before a game?” You rubbed the temple of your head as Osamu flung himself onto your bed.
His dizzy state of illusion and fuzzy contentment was to blame for the kiss then, you realized. He rubbed his face into your pillow as he started talking, you sat on the edge of your bed and pulled his shoes off. They were coated with dirt and slightly damp, from the light fall of rain outside. Throwing the shoes to the floor, that you'll have to clean in the morning, you told him to speak up as you rubbed his back.
“Nope, I did it all by myself. ‘Cause remember, remember the time, the time when, we were in first year, yeah first year, and you told me, only me, not Atsumu, only me, that you liked independent guys? Remember?” He deadpanned, the words dense and coated with an air of jealousy. His voice was muffled by your pillow, but each word was distinct and stuck to your ears like glue. He was not thinking, or maybe he had been thinking too much.
When you stood up to go get a glass of water for him, Osamu just pulled you back down to him. “Don’t leave. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, please don’t go.” His eyes wide and blown out from the alcohol that was flooding his senses and clouding his judgement. You ruffled his hair, but when you went to pull away, he just gripped your hand and kept it pressed against his head.
“Osamu, I'm just going to get you some water.” You finally were able to pull your hand away, starting the walk to your bathroom to get a glass of water. When you came back, Osamu was shirtless and he was struggling to take off his socks. “What are you doing?” You giggled when he looked up at you with puppy eyes, pouting lips, and a confused face.
“Sleeping. What are you doing?” He sarcastically stated, his tone lifting with every word. You sat back down next to him and helped him take off his sock. Leaving him in just a pair of joggers. Blinking a few times, Osamu shook his head before wrapping you in a hug. He nuzzled his face into your neck. “I don’t even care, don’t care at all, if I'm dreaming, I'm just glad, like really glad, that you’re here Y/n.”
You got up again, with a faint whine from Osamu, going to your closet and pulled out one of your oversized hoodies. You had to coo at him for a bit before he let you put the hoodie over his head. Then you forced him to down the entire glass of water, which he only did once you promised that you would play with his hair again. The resemblance he had to a child while he was drunk made you chuckle to yourself, while he just kept humming as you tugged on his gray hair.
“Osamu, why’d you even drink tonight?” He was still in a delirious state, but his words had sobered up quite a bit.
He shrugged before pulling you into his lap suddenly, he went back to nuzzling your shoulder as he let out a muffled answer. “I miss you. Atsumu and I were outside on the porch and, and he told me that he likes you, and I just wanted, I just wanted you to be one thing that I didn’t have to share. I always have to share with Atsumu, that bastard, I just want you to be mine and I really wanna be yours.” Osamu really was dramatic.
You let out an understanding noise, before prying yourself away from Osamu. You sat on your floor, Osamu furrowing his eyebrows while making grabbing motions with his hands. You waved him off, pulling out a shoebox from underneath your bed. Leaning your back against your bed, you patted the spot next to you, and Osamu slid down next to you, resting his head on your shoulder. His hair tickled your neck, but you opened the shoebox and pulled out a small leather-bound journal.
Among the shoebox items, contain various memorabilia from high school. Tickets to volleyball games, pictures of you with the Miya Twins, one where they were both kissing one of your cheeks and you throwing up two peace signs. Hidden under knick knacks won from carnival games in your honor, were the notes Atsumu had written to you, starting last year. Notes contained everything from compliments, to observations about your personality, to contemplations about your future together. Notes where he confessed, and notes where Atsumu and you agreed to keep your relationship a private thing.
Something only you and he shared.
The leather journal was really the only thing that Osamu had dedicated just for himself in your shoebox of memories.
Osamu immediately took it from you and pulled the drawstrings open, as he started to flip through the book. You smiled, inside were dozens of his recipes, along with your own doodles of constellations.
In middle school, you went on a vacation with the Miya family, camping in the great unknown. You brought the journal along, drawing the hundreds of different patterns the stars made. When Osamu had seen you trying to draw them, he asked if he could make recipes based off of the different star designs. At the end of the weeklong trip, Osamu had come up with at least twenty different menu options to go along with your drawings of the stars.
None of the recipes were edible, but they sounded like potions he would try to concoct if only his mom would let him mix mayonnaise, graham crackers, and jello mix to represent The Little Dipper.
“Why’d ya show me this Y/n?” Osamu asked, carefully tying the drawstring back together and setting it lightly down in your shoebox again. He patted the lid of the shoebox softly, as if he was sealing some kind of magical spell.
“Because, Osamu, you don’t have to share the stars with Atsumu. The stars are yours and yours alone.” You started, before pulling him up and walking outside to your balcony, resting your arms on the railing, Osamu looking at you for a moment before copying your actions. “See? Hundreds of thousands of millions of miles away, there are billions of these giant compressed entities of warmth. So, if you think about it, Atsumu can’t have all the stars, so you can have some of them.”
Osamu gasped dramatically, uttering a small ‘you’re right’ as he gazed up to the twinkling lights up in the air.
Osamu Miya may have the stars, but in the end, he’ll never have your heart.