PSL /Overflow/ Open Post

[1foxgiven]

 What it says on the tin.

Comments

[chromatic_coma]

Osamu inhales sharply. Kita's stare, his words, both are so overwhelming in the best possible way. A validation of Osamu's secret desire, now shared with his trusted senpai.

He clenches his hand into a fist at his side. "Thank you, Kita-san. I will work as hard as I can. But that's why I want to enjoy volleyball now, while I can. And why it's frustrating to be injured."

Re-reading manga and Kita's/the Kansai dialect is a bit more distinct SO

[1foxgiven]

"So quit focusin' on that."

Kita pushes up.

Holding a hand out to Osamu.

"Get better and get ready for Nationals. We're gonna enjoy every second."

Totally up to you how you wanna render it!

[chromatic_coma]

Osamu looks at Kita's hand for a moment, just taking in the weight of it. It's like they're shaking on a promise, a promise to work as hard as they can, to put in that effort. And Osamu knows how Kita is about effort, so the idea of trying to live up to his upperclassman's example is a lot to take in.

But then Osamu reaches out and shakes his hand. "We'll take you all the way, Captain."

[1foxgiven]

Inarizaki chugs along. Preparing for their next stage and the return of the two loudest players. Kita looks forward to that. Not the noise, but having their monsters again. It feels off-balance without them.

(Even though Osamu hasn't left. Their promise still a weight in Kita's hand.)

Finally, Sunday evening settles in with its rare peace. Kita's run, showered, cleaned. Only dinner is left. Simple, since his parents are out.

He lines up the ingredients. Then the tools, down to the serving bowl. Even the recommended spices are pre-measured. Set out on small folds of paper. No last-minute digging through drawers for Kita.

[chromatic_coma]

The Kita household may be quiet and calm, but the Miya household is nothing of the sort. Atsumu is abuzz with energy, bright and alive, talking nonstop about the camp, who he's met, the kind of players they'll be up against at Nationals, "and eventually on teams with when we go pro. Personally, I'm hopin' Kageyama-kun stays on the other side of the net."

Osamu doesn't know why he says it; maybe talking to Kita, having his support, has emboldened him to the point where he can't pretend anymore. "I'm not goin' pro with you, Tsumu."

Everything freezes. Then the explosion happens.

Talked to Tsumu
He's throwin the tantrum of the century
Can I come over?

[1foxgiven]

Honestly?

That text is no surprise. Osamu's on edge, and Atsumu's always the one to push him over.


Of course


Kita sends the address, then begins washing rice.

[chromatic_coma]

Once Osamu has an address, he books it. Out of the house with only his phone and keys in his pocket, and a few hundred yen coins that were left over from the vending machine earlier that day. Good thing Kita's house is in walkable distance, because Osamu isn't about to wrestle with bus fare, and he doesn't have his transit pass, anyways.

It's not a short walk exactly, but the walk over gives Osamu some time to replay the conversation with Atsumu in his head, which has the opposite of a cool-off effect. To say that his twin's upset is an understatement; they'll probably need a few days for this to blow over. Time apart will be good.

That's what Osamu tells himself as he knocks on the Kita household's front door, far away from where his twin lives. Kita's home is super traditional from the outside, but that's hardly a surprise given his whole personality.

"Kita-san?"

[1foxgiven]

The door opens to Kita in a striped apron.

"Hi, come in. You can hang your jacket there."

Inside, the place gleams. Floors swept clear. All pictures straight. There are signs of people actually living here, though. A half-finished puzzle of butterflies. Clouds of steam rolling in from the kitchen. Enough to feel like a home, and not some movie set.

[chromatic_coma]

Osmau has to do a double take at the sight of an aproned Kita. Not that he hasn't seen his upperclassman in cleaning mode before, but it just looks so sweetly domestic against the backdrop of this traditional, warm house. And that's the impression Osamu gets of the house right away, that it looks warm and inviting and welcomes him in just as much as Kita does.

He toes his shoes off, removes his team jacket, and politely mutters a "Pardon the intrusion," as he steps past the entryway. "So this is where Kita-san lives," he can't help but wonder. Then Osamu takes a deep breath. "What's cooking?"

[1foxgiven]

Of course he's wearing an apron. Splattering oil damages clothes. Also skin.

"Peppers, tofu, and rice. Nothin' fancy, but it'll feed us both."

Kita heads back to the stove, oblivious to any confusion.

[chromatic_coma]

Intruiged, Osamu follows Kita to the kitchen, takes in the sight of the hot pan on the stove and the rice cooker nearby. He's fascinated to see the kind of food Kita makes, even if it is a simple dish.

"Is that a soy sauce based sauce, or dashi stock?" He asks, unable to help himself. It gives him something to talk about other than Atsumu.

[1foxgiven]

"Hm? Oh - Dad does the shopping. I didn't look."

Kita hands the box to Osamu for perusal. Which is maybe a horror, pre-made stock, or maybe not.

"I think dashi?"

[chromatic_coma]

Osamu is not horrified by the premade stock; a bit surprised, because Kita's family seems too traditional to pick stuff like this up at the grocery store.

"Oh, this is the one my mom gets, too," he comments, turning the box over in his hands. "You know what makes it taste a lot better is some garlic. Have you got any?"

[1foxgiven]

Homemade is best. However, Kita's juggling volleyball with college prep. Both his parents work. Some things have to be sacrificed for the overall result. Including kitchen time and ingredient quality.

Fortunately, garlic made the cut!

Kita digs out a head and begins peeling cloves off. The smell stinging his nose.

"How much?"

[chromatic_coma]

"Two cloves," Osamu suggests. Unable to help himself, he steps towards the counter. "Let me. There's a much easier way to do this."

He grabs a knife out of the block, and uses it bluntly to smash the garlic cloves. The skins are loosened by the pressure, so it's ridiculously easy for Osamu to pull them off and toss them in the trash. Then he starts mincing the garlic, not quite waiting for permission.

[1foxgiven]

Osamu sweeps in with such assurance. Chopping, smooth and even. And fast. Quicker than Kita could ever manage. How many hours of practice does this represent?

Right. Words.

"That's a lot faster."

[chromatic_coma]

Osamu smiles a bit as he stirs the garlic into the sauce. The smell of the dish is already notably different. "Yeah. I saw it on a cookin' show before, the host was showin' how it's much easier this way and it releases more flavor, too."

He pauses, then realizes that he's somehow got hold of Kita's wooden spoon. "Ah, sorry. Sort of took over." He holds it out to give it back to its rightful owner.

[1foxgiven]

Instead, Kita holds up both hands. Smiling.

"Ya know, if you're feelin' that good, I'll let you work."

It's clear who the more experienced person is. Stepping back just makes sense. Also, if Kita's honest? He'd really like to see more. Find out if Osamu's as much of a monster here as on the court.

[chromatic_coma]

"You sure it's okay?" Osamu can't help but ask, not wanting to overstep. But Kita's smiling, so it's hard to doubt. He knows that his Captain is never anything short of certain.

Osamu asks for a spoon so that he can taste the sauce that the veggies and tofu are cooking in. After a small taste, he hums thoughtfully.

"How do you feel about spice? The heat kind and also the flavor kind."

[1foxgiven]

In answer, Kita pulls open a cabinet. Pointing to a turntable of spices.

"Show me what you've got."

Both invitation and challenge. He's curious to see how Osamu works with it, what the choices will be.

[chromatic_coma]

Osamu can't hold back the grin, practically a smirk, that tugs at his mouth. "Well okay then," he says, stepping over to the open cabinet and reviewing his options. He pulls a few of the little jars out decisively, and takes them back to the stove. Then he begins meting out a little of this and some of that, trying to balance the flavors of the dish. Citrus brightness, chili heat, and a hint of sweetness.

"Do you want to taste it for me?"

[1foxgiven]

Though Osamu's never been here, no one would know. Every move is confident. Fluid, at home the way he is on court. Maybe even more so. It's impossible to look away.

At the invitation, Kita nods. Dips in a spoon. Not the one used for stirring because germs. He lets the steam drift off. Sips. Considers.

"That does make a difference. It can be spicier, if you want."

[chromatic_coma]

Osamu watches like a hawk for any twitch of Kita's face, any change in his expression, that might betray what he thinks of the taste. But Kita's face is simply thoughtful, not giving him much to go off of. At least it probably isn't a bad taste, Osamu thinks. Though maybe Kita's poker face is just that good.

The verdict seems positive, in the end. Different, but said positively. Osamu nods and add a little more chili powder, then borrows another clean spoon for a taste of his own.

"Good," he decides. "Any spicier and you won't be able to taste the rest of the flavors. And I'll do the dishes later, by the way."

[1foxgiven]

"Even though you don't like it," Kita recalls. "Good."

It really does give a snapshot of how much Osamu's growing. That he's volunteering for his least favorite kitchen duty.

Kita begins working on the table. Setting down straw placemats, chopsticks with their rests. Next are the bowls. Black, with white flowers printed on the outside. He sinks into the rhythm. Nudging everything just so.

[chromatic_coma]

"Well it's rude to make a mess at a senpai's house," he mumbles sheepishly, surprised that Kita remembered that. "And I'm in the one imposin' considerin' I invited myself over. So yeah. Dishes."

Osamu finishes up the cooking while Kita sets the table and it's achingly domestic. He can't think about it too much or his heart will start to ache with want, and that's just too much to deal with right now.

"Who else is comin' to dinner?"