osamu miya is hiding something.
he denies that he is, he denies everything that you’ve tried to insinuate, but ever since this morning — ever since you’ve made that offhand comment about moving in together — he’s been all shifty-eyed and panicky.
you initially made that comment as a joke. something to lighten the mood seeing as he’s been so awkward around you recently, but when he acted the way he did, something tells you he definitely received it the wrong way.
its just about seven in the evening, almost closing time for the infamous onigiri miya, and you sit comfortably on one of the tables close to the cashier, laptop in front of you as you prefer working closely to your boyfriend.
it’s almost always been like this — you with your laptop out, typing away whatever you need to be typed, and osamu walking by every thirty minutes with a glass of water or tea or whatever excuse he’s come up with to mingle with you.
but today — the lame excuses for the mingling has stopped.
osamu has barely said anything to you all day, aside from the “hey, you,” and the “ya want anything?”, he’s been completely silent.
“you almost done?” you look up from your laptop screen, calling to him as he’s taken the first time all day to walk to your table.
“hm.” he hums, tired and all, “busy day.”
osamu slumps down on the seat in front of you, the restaurant having been cleared of all the satisfied customers for today, and for the first time, taking his short moments with you.
he looks at you, face propped up with his right hand as he stares.
you look back at him, and he immediately looks away — osamu, pinkish in the face.
this is weird. your boyfriend is acting like a teenager pining for you right now, and whilst that’s not really out of the usual — it’s weird that he’s being so fidgety about it.
“samu,” you push your laptop aside, “is something wrong?”
and he blinks, “ya think something’s wrong?”
considering that he’s been avoiding you all day, has been falling into whispers when he talks to atsumu on the phone, and strategically staring at you when he thinks you aren’t looking — yes. you think something is very wrong.
( atsumu visited the restaurant earlier today, a big smile on his face as he slapped osamu harshly on the back, yelling something about “finally doing something right for once in his life!” and saying “take numerous pictures or yer dead meat.”
but the second they both saw you walk in the room, not only did their faces drop, but you’re also pretty sure osamu stepped on atsumu’s foot once or twice too.
you asked them what they were doing, but all atsumu told you was - in close tears, as he hugs you - “we’re having a brother bonding moment right now. please leave.”
and that was it. )
so yeah, something is very wrong with osamu miya.
“you’re just,” and you smile at him, “acting weird.”
“i am so not!” he scoffs, his own smile coming through as he looks back at you, “you’re the one who’s being weird.”
now, it’s your turn to scoff, crossing your arms over your chest as you shake your head, “do not call me weird, i sat here all day watching you be the weirdest person on the planet.”
“well, why were ya watching all day?” he leans forward, “that’s weird behavior if ya ask me.”
you smile, rolling your eyes, “you are twelve years old.”
and osamu leans back, a smile on his face that prides himself of his tone, “that’s what twelve year olds tell each other when they’ve got nothing else to say.”
and you laugh, “this is a very mature conversation we’re having.”
osamu smiles wider, his shoulders slightly raising as a little bit of a laugh escapes his lips, and for a second, he just looks at you, a glint in his eye.
he slides your laptop over to the side, leaning in over the table to be closer to you, and you do the same, following suit with a trail of laughter.
osamu smiles, “i can do something to make it more mature.”
“hm?” you indulge him, shaking your head as you let him put his hand on the base of your face.
he laughs, “hm.”
and he pulls you close — the way he’s been wanting to all day, the way he wanted to all those times he made up stupid excuses to come by your table — and with a smile, he kisses you.
the two of you have been together for a little over four months now, but he’s not gonna lie when he tells you that he’s been in love with you for longer.
the restaurant is empty, the sun has set, and he kisses you, slow and smiley and everything he’s always wanted.
osamu miya is in love with you, and for him, it’s a miracle that you love him too.
he pulls away for a second, voice above a whisper as his nose touches yours, “sorry i was weird all day.”
“yeah,” you smile, “be sorry.”
and he laughs, and he kisses you again, his hand on your face pulling you closer, repositioning his head every now and then to get a new angle close to you.
when he pulls away for the last time, he still doesn’t lean back in his seat, expectant for more of your kisses until you’re ready to go home.
“do you wanna have dinner?” your nose touches his as you ask.
and osamu, still smiling, tells you bluntly, “no.”
you blink, and you make the first move to sit back against your chair, moving away from him as you laugh.
you tilt your head, “no?”
and he tells you, amused, “no.”
only osamu miya would spend two minutes straight kissing you only to reject you for dinner not even thirty seconds later.
“okay, what is going on with you?” you cross your arms over your chest, laughter bubbling in your throat.
he leans back.
you put your elbows on the table, “ever since i dropped that comment on moving in together this morning, you’ve been all dodge-y.”
he watches you with an amused smile.
“and i get it, cause if you don’t want to move in together with me or my crappy house habits, now is the time to tell me.”
you probably sounded a bit more invested in moving-in than you probably were, but you spent the whole day thinking about it — what it meant if osamu was really so bothered with living with you — that you probably did sound as invested as you seemed.
“idiot.” osamu shakes his head, his smile as calm as ever, “i wanna move in with you, and your crappy house habits.”
you raise a brow, “really?”
and he smiles again, leaning forward to kiss you gently on the side of your head, “i promise.”
your eyes crinkle, “then you wanna go have dinner with me?”
and osamu mirrors your expression, “still no.”
“oh, come on!” you groan, shaking your head rather harshly as you slam your fist on the table as a joke, “why not!”
osamu smiles again, kissing you one more time before he says, “i can’t tell you why.”
“yes, you can.” you argue.
he shakes his head, kissing you again.
you pull away, “tell me.”
he says no, and he kisses you again.
“osamu, why the hell not?”
he doesn’t reply, but he does kiss you again.
“okay enough — samu!” at this point, you push him off, leaning him back against his chair as you try not to laugh.
he frowns, and he tries to lean closer to you again for another kiss but you shake your head.
“no kissing until you tell me why you can’t have dinner with me.” you cross your arms, and you watch as his expression immediately falls.
“no kissing?” he repeats back to you, offended.
and you nod, “no kissing.” having fun.
it all came down to two choices — either he tells you what’s been up with him all day, or he doesn’t get to make out with you all night — and really, he’s walking the fine line between doing the former just to avoid the latter.
“i can’t tell you.” osamu says, his smile failing him.
and you say, firmly, “then no kissing.”
osamu’s head falls on the table, his face smooshing against the glass as he groans, a long drag of “noooo” escaping his lips as he whines.
you lean your face against your hand, “this hurts me more than it hurts you.”
and osamu scoffs, “no, it doesn’t.”
and you smile, “i know.”
there’s a reason why osamu has been acting weird and standoffish all day — a reason why he’s been dodgey ever since you made that comment about living together.
and that’s because even though he did say he’d want to move in with you, that’s not what he wants to do at all.
it’s the same reason as to why he can’t have dinner with you tonight. the same reason why he’s got plans with atsumu when he’d rather be sharing the evening with you.
but he supposes, one night of ring shopping can be made up for with numerous more nights after it.
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𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 // armin likes to collect flowers and you’re his favourite <3
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 // manga spoilers, a tiny but of angst but tbh it doesn’t really count, fluff, armin being the best character
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 // 757
𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 // armin arlert
𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒 // i did this at 12am with a cold and didn’t proofread it so this might actually just be nonsense idk - also yes i did delete this and then reupload it just pretend y’all haven’t seen it if you did..
𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 collect flowers. he never had a reason for it, he’s simply wander through the grass on the hill, waving in synch with his golden hair and pick the prettiest ones he could find. then again, he thought every flower was pretty, he simply couldn’t choose. he’d pick and pluck the delicate things from the earth until he could fit no more between his fingers, not wanting to crush the skinny stems, and smile to himself on the way home. eren never questioned his friend’s love for the daisies and the - well that was the only one he knew, but he thought he might understand later on or something. armin loved nature and learning about the world, anyway. maybe there would be more in the icy deserts, ones that weren’t mentioned in the brown pages of his grandfather’s dusty book.
armin wondered about that too. about the other pretty flowers he might find when he escaped the towering walls of his home town. for now, however, he was satisfied with the ones he knew of already. sometimes armin would put a few in a glass of water by his bed, when he almost started to feel bad for snatching them from where they’d been thriving previously. some he slipped between the pages of his favourite books to keep them safe. to protect them from god-knows-what lurks outside the soaring walls that only birds had the pleasure of witnessing.
he wasn’t sure what he’s do with those flowers, really. keep them to himself to admire? when you asked him what he wanted to do with them, though, he immediately wanted to offer them all to you, every single one, even his favourites. he knew he’d never find something as pretty as you, not even those silly little wilting petals that were crushed between old, battered, dusty pages could never compare to your beauty. once he had found you, he wanted nothing more than to pick you and take you away to a place where he knew you’d be safe from the rest of the world, like you were a flower between the pages of his books. armin wanted to be your book, to protect you from harm, even if he wound up bettered and bruised by the end of it.
then the walls came tumbling down and he lost all his flowers. the ones that drooped and wilted sadly on his nightstand were crushed and the others were obliterated, along with the books that kept them safe. although he lost the silly petals he prized, you never even came close to wilting, even if you wanted to. even when the world became nothing but a war zone, a land of death, a realm of all things bad, with no flowers, it did not harm you. you weren’t crushed or turned to dust like so many people. he liked to think it was because of him but he could never be sure. then again, could anyone ever really be sure about anything in the world they lived in?
there were many things armin didn’t know. eren always said he was a genius, the smartest kid he knew, the boy that would save the world. he never thought that was true until now, when it had become reality. well, perhaps not all of it, though everyone insisted it was. he didn’t save everyone. he didn’t know how to - armin knew how much he loved his flowers but didn’t know how to stop them from drooping and dying. he supposed that was the same for those he loved, or maybe it was out of his control and always will be. maybe he couldn’t keep eren between the pages of his book forever, safe within his arms.
that’s why he was never quite sure how you hadn’t left him. he’d lost almost everyone, after all. he never questioned it though, oh god no, he never questioned it. he was quite content laying under the grand, old tree with you. his pretty flower.
“i like this one, too. i don’t know why… ‘s pretty.’ he handed the petals to you, forming a small collection on your skirt, like a bouquet. he was pretty, you thought. a rare, golden flower, only ever heard about in stories and tales, the prettiest anyone could ever find, and you had found that flower. he was yours and you were his, and nothing could ever withdraw you from the pages of each other’s books or the water from the water of each other’s cups.
reblogs appreciated <3
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