Work Text:
Keiji knew he should’ve taken better care, but the long hours of editing and endless deadlines have resulted in neglect and signs of carpal tunnel syndrome. Osamu helped Atsumu through this before. Atsumu strained his wrist once during high school after playing too much League. He wouldn't stop complaining about not being able to get past SIlver I despite everything.
Osamu pours the oil onto his palms and rubs it into his hands before beginning the meticulous process. This became a nightly routine after Keiji dropped and broke a bowl due to numbness in his hands. He didn't want to burden Osamu since he had a restaurant to run.
Osamu holds Keiji’s right hand and hovers his fingers above Keiji’s palm; smooth hands meet the rough calloused skin, and Keiji feels his soft fingers stroke his palm, brushing against each callous on his work-worn palms. He takes Keiji's arm in his hand and rotates it as his other hand rotates in the opposite direction. Keiji felt a shiver run down his back as Osamu continued to apply pressure down towards his wrist. His hands rub circles into the underside of Keiji’s palm, barely applying any pressure while working the oil into the crevices of his skin. Osamu’s strong fingers then work through the tense muscles in his hand.
Keiji’s fingers are a little longer and thinner than Osamu’s, but Osamu’s hands are soft and supple compared to the cracked dry skin on the back of his hands from long hours in the editing office with the air con blasting. Even without the massage oil, Keiji knows that Osamu’s hands are smooth enough to glide over his skin.
Retirement from volleyball came along with college entrance examinations, and Keiji neglected his carefully crafted routines of trimming his nails, getting rid of hangnails, and applying clear nail polish to prevent his nails from cracking. He picked and peeled at the hangnails, and his nails remained unclipped.
A cook’s hands are unmistakable: their fingertips ironed and flattened out by hot cast iron pans, the sides of their fingers corrugated by the potato peeler, and callouses on their fingers formed from the constant work of the knife or the wok.
Osamu’s constant work with rice gave him the opposite – smooth, bright, and almost unblemished.
Keiji remembers Kita’s grandmother mentioning how the process of making sake has helped maintained the youthfulness of her hands. She enveloped his and Osamu's larger hands in her smaller ones at the end of the day after a visit to Kita’s farm. The skin on her hands felt soft and pillowy despite her age. Warmth surrounded his hands. Her eyes crinkled with a knowing smile. In the corner of his eye, Keiji spots the blush creeping up Osamu’s neck as he gives Kita’s grandmother a light-hearted laugh before saying their goodbyes.
The heavy lifting of ingredients and long hours of work don’t show themselves on Osamu’s hands; they look as if Osamu never worked a day in his life. Faint scars and indents from accidentally cutting his hands while preparing ingredients or burning himself from hot pans litter his hands, but Osamu’s continuous work with rice fades them.
I have to start remembering to bring hand lotion to the office. Keiji stared at his unoccupied hand, noting the fine lines on the back of his hand and the cracked skin around his knuckles.
Osamu continues to apply pressure in circular motions onto his hand as he makes his way around Keiji’s fingers. His grip loosens as he works towards the end of Keiji's fingers before pulling at his knuckles. Keiji's knuckles cracked as he pulled on them. Osamu lets out a soft laugh, “I’ll never get used to that sound.”
“Did it hurt a lot today?” Osamu asks as he turns Keiji’s hand onto the other side and repeats the massage.
“Not as much as a we- ah! A week ago mmh” pain shot up Keiji's arm and he tore his eyes away from his other hand.
“Sorry darling, it’ll just be a bit before we get done. Bear with it for just a little while more. I’ll try to be gentle,” Osamu moves with gentle pressure, careful not to hurt Keiji's hand even more. His fingers brush lightly against the callouses formed on Keiji's palm, and his hand strokes the back of Keiji's palms; the tension in his hand dissipated with every action. Osamu caresses Keiji's before working towards the known sore spot on his wrist. His thumbs rub circles into Keiji's wrist with warmth radiating from his fingers onto Keiji's colder hands to soothe the angry aching muscles.
“A-ah oh god that feels too good.”
Rocket metal grey meets gunmetal blue eyes with a glint of mischief as Osamu’s fingers continue their ministrations, “Is that so? I’m glad.”
Osamu takes both of Keiji's hands into his as he finishes the massage. Keiji feels the remnants of the massage oil on Osamu's fingerpads. The same hands that served hundreds of onigiri a day felt as smooth as silk.
" 'm done, gimme a sec, I'll be back," Keiji almost whines at the absence of Osamu’s warm hands on his skin.
He hears the running of water in their bathroom as Osamu washes the oil off his hands before making his way back to their bed. Osamu runs his dried hands through Keiji’s hair, messing up the parting a little, and he cradles Keiji’s face in his hands. Keiji leans into the warmth and softness of Osamu’s hands and meets his soft eyes. Osamu gives him a chaste kiss, “Don’t overwork yourself Keiji darling.”
---
The constant flood of customers into Onigiri Miya keeps them busy. Mothers and their children came in during the early hours of opening to grab a quick breakfast, tired college students stepping into the restaurant to treat themselves before going back to studying, and haggard salarymen stopping in for a drink and a quick snack before heading home for dinner.
Osamu prepares the third batch of rice for the day as more customers come in for dinner. Joe Hisaishi plays softly in the background, it’s relaxing enough to help with the stress of running a restaurant, but it’s overpowered by the chatter and laughter of the tipsy office workers.
Keiji watches Osamu's methodically prepare the rice, now second nature to him. He pours Kita’s rice into a large metal bowl, and his hands wash the rice under cold running water with delicate care as to not break the grains. He swishes the rice in the water to ensure all impurities have been removed before cupping the edge of the bowl to pour the water out, careful not to waste any of the rice. Osamu repeats the steps a few times until the milky starch water turns clear before putting the rice into the large rice cooker. His large hands spread the uncooked rice within the rice cooker to ensure an even cook before shutting the rice cooker and letting its magic do the work.
Keiji watches the muscles in Osamu's forearm strain as he fluffs the rice in the cooker with a large wooden spatula before scooping it out onto a bamboo basket to cool. Osamu dips his hands in water and rubs salt into his hands. He takes a handful of the still warm rice, used to the warmth emanating from the rice, and he places the rice into the wooden mold and creates a dip for the filling. Nimble fingers place the umeboshi into the centre of the onigiri before Osamu covers it with more rice. Osamu picks up the half-completed onigiri and cups it between his hands, gently pushing with his palms to finish shaping the onigiri. The signature triangular onigiri takes its shape in Osamu's hands. Osamu wraps a nori sheet around the rice before setting it on the plate to join the rest of the order.
"Here you go Keiji," Osamu places the plate filled with onigiri atop the bar counter.
Keiji remembers their first interaction after high school at the MSBY-Adler game. Osamu recognized him first despite the glasses,“Fukurodani setter? Good to see you after all this time.”
Back then, Osamu’s presence at the game threw Keiji off and distracted him from his hunger. Despite watching Osamu’s hands shape each onigiri with care, Keiji didn’t notice how soft Osamu’s hands were.
The day when Osamu cradled his face in his hands, whispering a confession, Keiji got distracted by the soft warmth emanating from Osamu's fingers that rubbed gently across his cheeks. He grabbed Osamu's hands and felt the soft skin, drawing circles onto the back of his hand. He looked up at Osamu's kissed pink face and gave a smile.
“Kaashi-san, say something. You’re making me embarrassed here.”
Keiji laughed and tilted his head as he leaned forward to capture Osamu in a kiss, “It’s Keiji.”