open the door, to another door [Haikyuu, Hanahaki Fake Dating, Osamu x Akaashi]

portions for foxes

Meteo Attack, the latest publication from Shonen Vi, was one of the most popular up and coming sports mangas. It was great for Keiji's career as an editor, but it occasionally got in the way of his ability to make it to Onigiri Miya as often as he wanted to. On Fridays, he tried to venture out to get his rice balls and if he was feeling generous, pick up some for his mangaka, Udai Tenma.

Today, however, Keiji was not feeling generous. He was feeling overwhelmed since his mangaka had failed to deliver his illustrations until well past his deadline. This meant Keiji would be working overtime to get his edited pages to the publishers in time to meet the printing deadline. So in lieu of coming himself, he sent the artist who had put him in such a predicament to run the errand for him.

Deep circles recessed Tenma's face, framed by long, greasy hair. Clearly, he was a man who had little sleep; it was a wonder he was able to accomplish any assignments Keiji gave him.

When Osamu saw the tired mangaka instead of Keiji, he thought he felt mild disappointment in his chest, an emotion that he barely acknowledged -- it felt more like a familiar rumble he knew all too well.

"Hmmm... that's weird," he whispered under his breath as he rubbed his chest with a closed fist, tapping twice before going about making Shonen Vi's onigiri order.

-🍙-

Today, coffee kept Miya Osamu conscious. Shallow breaths allowed him to stay upright. Muscle memory kept him in motion and on task. He could form onigiri in his sleep at this point. And yet, it was lucky his body allowed him to stay afloat in his current situation because his brain wasn't doing him any favors. His comprehension of what he said and what was talked about that evening between him and Keiji may have been non-existent.

Primed to be easily distracted, minor details caught his eye. They were tantamount to torture. He was distracted by everything Keiji did, not for any reason other than the pure, unadulterated fact that Akaashi Keiji was just so damn distractingly pretty. Why hadn't he noticed sooner?

Case in point, Osamu's attention was drawn to the mundane, to every minute detail that he previously overlooked without a second glance that he now drunk in with fervor, allowing his other senses to dull in return. He was drawn to the way his hair wisps moved with the fan. The way the corner of his lips turned up when onigiri were placed in front of him. The flecks of moss in the green of his eyes. The rice he got stuck to his lip that he had to wipe off. The way his throat moved when he drank water. How his tongue crested his lips seeking every bit of flavor his food departed.

His lips. God, those lips. He felt his face heat. What was he thinking? What was Keiji saying right now? Why was it suddenly so difficult to breathe?

Keiji had always been pleasing to the eye, but now it was like Osamu was wearing rose-colored glasses. The man had suddenly become even more appealing, so much so that Osamu's breath hitched in his throat as the setting sun silhouetted the editor with a halo of orange light before his eyes adjusted and he was gone.

Suddenly, the room was reeling. It was harder to breathe as he felt a familiar feeling blossom within, lacing its way through his lungs. It was a softer feeling, but the pressure was building in his chest the same. His vision clouded and he lost his balance. Grasping at the counter, he let the lightheadedness pass before stumbling towards the alley door. Barely a pace outside and the barking cough trembled through his body. His lungs spewed their mess of blood, roots, leaves, and buds, some blossomed, some not.

The majority of his blossomed petals were the white gardenias, but he noticed that there were now two different types of buds and two different types of petals, intermingled. The newer blossoms were much smaller than his original flowers; they were the same tiny blue salver-shaped petals he had noticed in one of his last cough spells. There were more of them than last time. A lot more.