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Osamu
For as long as Osamu could remember, food was a source of comfort: miso soup with silken tofu when sick; fried karaage, a platter of yakiniku, and cake during celebrations; being saved an extra portion of rice during dinner. He can remember the warmth he would feel when he took the first bite of whatever his mother made, and then proceeded to ask with her questions—what did she make, what ingredients she used, and how did she make it—and she would always humour him, even if he didn't some of the processes; even if his hands were a bit too small for this. Now that he was more capable, he'd call and ask her—trying to recreate the meals with hopes that it would provide the same warmth and care.
Upon reaching high school, he realised that food could be so much more. It became his third language, used as a means to say the things he couldn't say, or when he couldn't find the words to say it: a pudding cup in the fridge; a bigger serving of onigiri; and a share of his portion of the meal.
He found it so much easier to let the food speak, and see the way his care manifests in the eyes of excitement, a surprise of being given a meal, and the satisfaction once the receiver ate it. Hence, it wasn't odd that when he noticed his classmate—and also teammate— with questionable decisions for what constitutes lunch food, he decided to give him an onigiri.
Osamu was nervous—it was the first time he tried to give it to someone outside of his mother and brother. Rintarou took it from him and took a bite.
"How was it?" Osamu asked, a bit nervous but waiting patiently for his reaction,
Rintarou swallowed before he replied, "It's good—I like it."
Osamu felt ecstatic. He noticed that there was a small smile from Rintarou—the first one he'd seen ever since he joined the team.
"Thanks, made it myself," He smiled at him. Osamu went back to what he was eating—silently relishing in the joy that came from watching how his food was enjoyed. It lit a spark in him—he wanted more avenues for his food to reach out to people; to convey a sense of comfort; a feeling of warmth; and a means to brighten a day.
The next time he made himself—and Atsumu—lunch, he found himself making an extra portion for Rintarou. For him to try and give feedback, that's what he told himself, at least—it became their routine. He would always make sure to pack extra, reasoning that it was so much easier to make a bigger batch, and it allowed him to play with the flavours. Rintarou didn’t press on further; he would eat whatever was given to him.
As time went on, Rintarou became more open about his thoughts. Osamu noticed his reactions more, the way his smile would curl if he used a specific ingredient, the way his eyes would light up when handed his portion, and the sense of contentment radiating from them when eating. Osamu once asked him what his favourite dish was, and he answered—he hadn't thought much about it. Unlike Atsumu, who was vocal with what he liked and disliked, Rintarou made things a bit more complicated. It was difficult, trying to make something for someone who didn't have preferences—especially if he wanted to impress them. However, with the way he noticed those subtle changes in his features, he was able to build up a taste profile on Rintarou
There were various kinds of Onigiri filled with whatever he could find; there were some experiments with frying in different things dipped in tempura batter; an everything yakisoba, where he used different toppings that he liked; and even an attempt at chocolates at one time.
All of which he noted which ingredients and what flavour profile made Rintarou react positively, that even if he claimed he was fine with anything, Osamu knew which ones he liked better; he knew Rintarou's nuances.
With cooking and gifting a dish, Osamu realised how happy it had made him, and he realised he wanted to be able to do more of it. While he found it tiring—the formulation of recipes, the prep, the cooking, and the washing of dishes. However, amidst the toll it took, he knew he wouldn't want it any other way. Hence, it wasn't surprising that by his third year, he decided to continue his path towards cooking.
It caused friction with Atsumu, but it was nothing his favourite meal could fix—well, Osamu had to make it a lot before Atsumu forgave him.
There were a lot of things he could not find the words to say, and constructing the right words is complicated. Whereas miso soup conveys the want for the person to get better; a sweet red bean as a means to congratulate them for getting high marks; a warm oyakodon to help as a way for their body to recover after training. It was easier to put all his feelings into creating food—shaping with all the words he wanted to say and more. When feelings become complicated, and so has the frequency of his dishes—a midday snack, an afterlunch dessert, and after training pick-me-up—he thought it would have been excessive, especially for someone who did not enjoy eating as much as he did, but somehow, his feelings for Rintarou were able to reach him.
With soft smiles and full stomachs—the two started dating.
Going beyond high school was difficult. There was a shift in their schedules, and while Osamu would want to make all of Rintarou's meals for him, given that they were living far from each other, it was harder. There were times when he would send him a package, but Rintarou's schedule made it harder to work around, and his profession also required him to hit certain nutrition goals. However, for their daily lives, a compromise came in the form of text reminding the other eat, and asking about their meals—sent in the morning, afternoon, evening, and even at random points of the day.
Food has always been a means for him to show he cares, and if he cannot give the person the food, then maybe the reminder would suffice.
When Rintarou confided in him about his loss, he would've gone straight to Shizuoka, but there were pressing issues in Osaka that he had to work on. Rintarou asked for his recipe, and he gave it to them. He was happy with the outcome that Rintarou sent, and he complimented him. He was about to call, but it was declined. Osamu made a mental note to book a ticket for the bullet train the moment the issue was resolved.
He sent one last good night text and closed the store.
A usual day for Onigiri Miya was never quiet, and while there are the down times, there will often be a sort of chatter—especially from his loyal patrons. No matter the time of day, people would always be looking for a good meal. However, this time, he would have to close the store earlier—he needed to catch a train.
As he was wiping the counters, he heard the door jingle. Osamu looked back and saw Rintarou—puffy eyes, unfixed hair, sagging shoulders, and a slope in stance,
"Are you still open?" Rintarou asked, with a shaky voice.
Osamu offered him a warm smile, and while he was happy to see him, it broke his heart to see him in this state.
"For ya, always."
Rintarou
For as long as Rintarou could remember, food was just food. It was there. Whatever his mom cooked, he ate. There wasn't any particular dish or meal that he would consider a favourite. If he were sick, he would eat soup; if he was hungry, he would eat more; if he wanted to celebrate, the last thing on his mind would be to eat. It was just a thing he needed to consume to function. He probably could live off basic meals, as long as he hit his nutritional requirements.
It wasn't until he arrived in Inarizaki that his point of view changed. At that point, he'd often find himself eating chuupets, and while for him it was a normal amount, it wasn't until someone pointed out that he was eating too much. He looked at him weirdly, before being offered an onigiri—a bit misshapen and wrapped in plastic—and not wanting to come off as rude, he decided to take it. He planned to put it in his bag for later, but the way those grey eyes were staring at him intently—Rintarou knew he had no choice but to eat it.
It was ok, the rice was a bit crumbly, and the seasoning needed more vinegar to contrast the salt; the filling needed less mayonnaise and more tuna; and the shaping needed work, but overall, he enjoyed it.
"How was it?" Osamu asked, eyes waiting for his reaction,
Rintarou, not wanting to be rude, said, "It's good—I like it," and bit more of it.
He didn't think much about it, but there was a sense of happiness in Osamu's eyes that piqued his interest. He'd only ever had home-cooked meals from family, and whenever he was out with his friends, back in Aichi, they would just go eat out. He smiled at the gesture, it was new—it felt nice. He liked the reaction. After he ate, he took out his phone and scrolled through social media. From the corner of his eye, he can see Osamu happily continue to it, and he couldn't help but find it a bit cute.
Rintarou thought that it would just be a one-time thing. However, the following week, he found himself staying in his classroom for lunch and was about to eat a random piece of curry bread from the cafeteria. Osamu was also beside him, and he could see had a bento box and some onigiris.
He took out his phone, but he stopped. There was a piece of onigiri placed on his side. He looked at Osamu and raised an eyebrow,
"Uh, I made it—been' experimentin'. Wanted to yer opinion on it," There was a faint tinge of red on his cheeks as he held out the onigiri. Rintarou took it from his hand and tasted it. He took a bite and found that this time, it tasted better.
Somehow it became a norm—tasting his food, listening to the process and what the ingredient was, and giving his feedback. From then on, Rintarou found himself actively seeking out meals made by Osamu, and while he still didn't have a favourite one in mind, he knew at that time that whatever Osamu made, it would fill him with a pleasant feeling—one that seemed to make his heart skip a beat for whatever reason.
From then on, he looked forward to what food he would receive—red bean mochi, chocolates, miso soup, oyakodon—and even if he could not take it all, he never complained. He took some and brought them to his dorm. Even when heated up, the quality of Osamu’s food never faltered.
Slowly, his view on eating changed—he never gave much thought about what dishes he liked or what flavour he was drawn to, until Osamu kept on giving snacks and dishes that seemed to mesh well with his palate.
It took Rintarou a while before he realised he caught something more than just a newfound appreciation for a home-cooked meal, and that was what he was feeling–the way his stomach fluttered, the warm feeling in his cheeks–and thankfully, for whatever reason, it was received.
From then on, food has become a source of comfort, and whenever he felt down, anything that Osamu made would be sure to make his mood rise up and make him feel better—it might not fully eliminate the problem he was facing, but it was enough for him to be given the strength to endure it.
Hence why he finds himself in front of Onigiri Miya—EJP recently had lost, pushing them out of the finals, and while the team had already decided to drink out their frustrations, it was not enough. During these times, he would always ask Osamu to cook for him, but since he was currently in Osaka, it was up to him.
Rintarou tried making a tuna-mayo onigiri—just like how Osamu makes it—following the recipe sent through their chat box. When he finished, he took a picture and sent it to him, to which he replied and complimented him. He was proud of it, but when he took a bite, he just wanted to cry even more—it was ok; it wasn't what he needed. He followed the recipe, right to a tee, and it tasted like a tuna-mayo onigiri, but it was lacking. Something about it made it bland, and it made him want to cry—he wanted the warmth and comfort that Osamu's food; he wanted an onigiri made by Osamu; he wanted Osamu.
He saw his phone light up with a call notification, and he didn't answer and stated that he would be sleeping, and they could call tomorrow. Defeated, he went to his bed, while his stomach was full; his heart felt empty.
The following morning, he knew he needed to go somewhere. While he was used to the usual duration of the bullet train, this time he felt like it was taking him longer. He was feeling restless, but the thought of finally being able to eat Osamu’s food relaxed him.
When the train arrived at the station, he made his way out and went to Onigiri Miya. He ignored the closed door and entered. Rintarou saw Osamu behind the counter, initial schock at seeing him but melting into the loving look he gave him.
"Are you still open?" He asked, voice a bit worn out. His eyes were a bit puffy from crying, and his state was a bit rattled.
Osamu looked at him warmly, "For ya, always."