Work Text:
“Oh, Suna!” Komori greets Rintarou enthusiastically as soon as he spots him walking into the office. He has a stack of manila envelopes in his arms, but he balances them precariously to wave. Rintarou waves back, surprised to see his friend here.
“Hey.” He walks towards him, adjusting the backpack he’d slung over his shoulder because he knows he’ll be receiving files similar to Komori’s. “Did you just get a job?”
“Yep. An actress from France is in town for a film festival and they wanted a few locals to join the team.”
He nods, eyes fixed on the files and wondering who the celebrity is, but he knows Komori will tell him soon enough. “Good luck.”
“You too,” Komori chuckles. “I hope it’s better than your last assignment.”
He walks away laughing as Rintarou scowls at the memory. The last person he’d guarded was the teenage son of a CEO visiting Japan from England. Rintarou spent more of his time guarding the little idiot from himself than he did protecting him from any threats.
He takes the elevator up to the Raijin’s floor and is welcomed by the familiar scent of coffee and printer ink. It’s a small office; bodyguards work on-call. They only come in to receive new assignments, so there’s no need for much space.
Rintarou knocks on Sarukui’s door when he gets there. They’d called to say the job was perfect for him, and he sincerely hoped it wasn’t another trust-fund baby on a break from boarding school.
“Good morning, Sarukui-san,” Rintarou says when he’s welcomed in.
“Suna-kun! Hope you’re well rested.”
Rintarou pauses at the doorway with his hand stuck on the handle. He decides he doesn’t like what that implies as he slowly enters the office. Sarukui gestures for him to take a seat across from him.
“I am,” Rintarou responds casually. He eyes the thick stack of files that look like they’re for him and squints. “Is all that for me?”
Sarukui gives the papers a gentle pat before sliding the intimidating stack towards Rintarou.
“Don’t worry,” Sarukui chuckles. “You’ll be travelling a lot, so most of that is just locations, floor plans, and travel routes you need to get familiar with. This isn’t a very demanding assignment.”
Rintarou sighs in relief. “Alright. Thank you.”
“Take a look and tell us by the end of the week if you can do it,” Sarukui says, tapping the small desk calendar beside him. “Then we’ll book your tickets.”
“And the NDA?” Rintarou questions, drumming his fingers on the yellow file.
Sarukui waves his hand dismissively, leaning back in his chair as if he isn’t Rintarou’s superior. “He said he didn’t need one. The client simply needs someone to accompany him on a small tour around the country. He said he’s only looking for someone to help him keep a safe distance from fans.”
“Huh.” Rintarou lifts a brow. “New actor? Idol?”
“Nope.” Sarukui grins in amusement before he answers. “Chef.”
🍳
When Rintarou gets home, he makes himself coffee, puts on his headphones, and dives into the file. It really is a lot, but there’s no pressing information, no death threats, and no suspicious persons to study.
It’s just a lot of floor plans for the places the chef will be going to. He wonders what kind of fans Miya might have for the chef to feel inclined to hire a personal guard for a tour.
He picks up the profile, curiosity finally satiated when he reads over the paper. Miya Osamu, aged 26, very handsome.
Rintarou’s mug freezes halfway to his lips and rolls his eyes at himself before he sips his beverage. He continues skimming, picking up on height, weight, and eye colour. Rintarou blinks at his client’s information as he takes it in.
Miya is slightly shorter than him, but also heavier. From the picture he’s provided, Rintarou thinks the guy might even be bulkier than him, with broad shoulders that make him fit the typical bodyguard image in the movies more than Rintarou does.
Rintarou opens his laptop, putting the floor plans and routes on hold to do a little more research on this Miya Osamu character. Just as he types his name into the search bar, Komori calls.
“Yo,” Rintarou says when he picks up.
“Wanna hear the French my client is teaching me?” Komori cackles. “Merde.”
Rintarou wrinkles his nose. “What does that mean?”
“Dunno,” Komori says. “She and her other guards say it a lot, though.”
Rintarou hums, scrolling through Miya’s Wikipedia page. There isn’t much he doesn’t already know from the profile. Hyogo born and raised, one recent Michelin star, twin brother who also has his own Wikipedia page. Huh.
“Have you heard of Miya Osamu?” Rintarou ventures. He hears Komori snort over the phone.
“Are you telling me about a new celebrity crush?” his friend snickers. Rintarou furrows his brow.
“No? He’s my new assignment.”
“Oh,” Komori says hushedly. “Are you allowed to tell me that?”
Rintarou clicks his tongue. “No NDA, so yeah. You know him?”
Komori lets out a soft “Ah” in understanding, before snorting again. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him. I’m surprised you haven’t. You’re the one who gets all the hot men doing random things on his social media.”
Rintarou frowns. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Okay,” Komori agrees slowly, but Rintarou can hear the smirk in his tone. “So I didn’t see the pottery guy, the bassist, and the dancer show up on your For You page back to back.”
“That’s-” Rintarou stops himself before he can continue. If he defends himself too hard, he’s guilty. Komori wins either way.
He sighs, shaking his head even though the bastard can’t see. “Forget it. What does Miya Osamu have to do with this?”
He opens TikTok on his laptop and searches up Miya’s name.
“Oh, well, he isn’t super active on it himself. He’ll upload some videos of him cooking, but he’s blown up countless times from fans reposting clips of cooking shows he’s been on.”
Rintarou gets a bombardment of TikToks as Komori explains. There are hundreds of videos from an assortment of cooking shows, interviews, and even some videos where Miya is cooking with a different celebrity.
Rintarou realizes his client is actually famous. More famous than the average celebrity chef.
Videos of the chef’s face, arms, and other less innocent close-ups that even Rintarou blushes at flood the results, posted by surprisingly enthusiastic fans.
The comments are either very adoring or extremely risqué. Most are in Japanese, but he sees quite a lot in different languages as well, making Miya’s fame even more apparent.
“Woah,” he exhales, closing a TikTok.
“You should check him out on YouTube,” Komori suggests. “You could probably find actual cooking videos.”
“Maybe,” Rintarou replies, and proceeds to open the site and search, somewhat invested. Komori doesn’t have to know.
“I gotta go. Let me know what you find,” Komori says as he hangs up but Rintarou barely hears him, simply humming in response. Miya Osamu appears to have quite the catalogue on YouTube, and Rintarou decides that he needs to spend the rest of his evening falling down a Miya Osamu rabbit hole in preparation for this job.
Komori was right. Miya has longer clips from cooking shows he’s been on, and he even finds a few full episodes.
He watches them, intrigued despite his complete lack of finesse in the kitchen. There’s something captivating about the way Miya talks about food and tells stories as he cooks, pulling laughs out of show hosts and live audiences.
For the rest of the week, Rintarou is immersed. Miya’s videos keep him company when he runs on the treadmill, right before bed, and as he’s cooking his own meals.
The day that he goes to pick up Miya from his house to bring him to his first destination finally comes. All the contracts have been signed, background checks done, and agreements made. Rintarou will be accompanying him everywhere for the next two months.
It’s both a big job and not. There is no looming threat to Miya’s safety he has to worry about, but it’s a long assignment and solo. Rintarou reminds himself not to take it easy.
Miya buzzes him in, and Rintarou walks through the lobby to get to the elevator, taking in the interior. It’s a nice building with security at the door, but Rintarou would rather be thorough.
It isn’t until he gets to Miya’s front door that he realizes the chef he’s been mildly obsessed with is going to be right in front of him in mere seconds. He tries to shrug off the embarrassment before knocking on the door.
“Miya-sama,” Rintarou calls. “This is Suna Rintarou, your personal g-”
Before he can fully finish his sentence, the door swings open, and the words die on Rintarou’s tongue. Miya Osamu, in the flesh, grins at him, suitcase in tow and a hat with his restaurant logo on.
Rintarou swallows. The videos don’t do his client justice. Miya Osamu is far more beautiful in person.
“Hey! Good mornin’,” Osamu says. Rintarou’s stomach flips at hearing his voice in real life for the first time, both too familiar and not familiar with it at all. Watching all those videos was a huge mistake.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Rintarou replies as stoically as he can. “Let me take your luggage, Miya-sama.”
Miya’s nose wrinkles, but he hands Rintarou his duffel bag instead of his suitcase. “It’s fine. You can just call me Osamu, by the way.”
Rintarou looks at him, puzzled because his clients rarely let him call them by their given names, and certainly not without an honourific. They are doing business transactions, after all. But Miya looks genuinely distasteful.
“Okay, Osamu,” Rintarou tries. The chef smiles and gives him a thumbs-up.
“Perfect. Lead the way, Suna-san.” He sticks his arm out, and Rintarou nods, stepping back so Osamu can get through the door. He almost feels off-kilter, so unused to a client with Osamu’s laid-back attitude, that he has to force himself to readjust.
“Mi- Osamu,” Rintarou says. They begin walking to the car waiting for them.
“Hm?” Osamu asks. When he looks at Rintarou, he almost forgets what he’s about to say, suddenly distracted by gray eyes.
“It just…” He clears his throat. “It’s a little strange only calling you Osamu.”
“Oh.” Osamu tilts his head in thought. “Sorry. I know we just met, but ya don’t hafta worry. I don’t care about that kinda stuff.”
“Alright. No worries, then.” Rintarou cringes to himself, but Osamu catches it. The chef chuckles as Rintarou opens the back door of the car for him when they arrive.
“You a formal guy, Suna-san?” Osamu asks lightheartedly. Rintarou snorts, lip curling up in amusement. Osamu’s use of informal speech with him puts him more at ease.
He’s usually very formal with his clients, simply because he knows that’s how he should operate. They’re usually important figures, and he’s tasked with protecting them. Osamu should be one of them, but he treats Rintarou like a friend from the get-go.
Rintarou laughs and shakes his head. He knows the driver will hear, but Osamu is so real, less untouchable than the other public figures he’s guarded, that he feels his professionalism slip a little for him.
“Nah,” he replies, dropping the act, and he swears Osamu’s grin grows. “So if you still call me ‘Suna-san,’ it’ll be a little weird. I am still the one working for you after all.”
Osamu rolls his eyes with a smile, and Rintarou feels something in his stomach flutter seeing the chef getting comfortable with him as well. “Want me to call you by your given name?”
He says it like a joke, and Rintarou doesn’t usually get called by his given name even by good friends like Komori, but it isn’t because he dislikes it.
It just matters so little to him that he doesn’t bother to ask for anything else. He supposes “Suna” is easier to say than “Rintarou”, anyway.
Although he’d rather like for Osamu to say his name.
“Rintarou,” Osamu tests out quietly. Rintarou snorts, but it doesn’t stop his knees from going a little weak. “How ‘bout Rin?”
It almost takes him by surprise how forward Osamu is, but Rintarou can’t say he’s opposed to it at all. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to play up to it, even if it makes him feel like a giddy teenager again.
“It’s up to you,” Rintarou smiles sleazily, before winking. “Sir."
This makes Osamu laugh, and when Rintarou finally closes the door for him and sits at the front, the assigned driver lifts a brow at him. Rintarou pointedly ignores him.
“Thank you for doin’ this, by the way,” Osamu suddenly pipes up from the backseat. “I’ve never hired a bodyguard, so I wasn’t sure what to expect.”
“Oh,” Rintarou says, thinking back on Osamu’s original request. He wants to ask Osamu about his fans and where his concerns lie, but he supposes he’ll find out soon enough. “I hope it’s a good experience for you.”
Osamu chuckles. “I’m sure it’ll be.”
The driver hired through Raijin takes them from Amagasaki to Osaka so they can take their first flight to Sendai, the first stop in Osamu’s tour.
Rintarou asks him what exactly the tour is for, and Osamu explains as he eats the snacks provided in the backseat compartment.
“I’m doin’ live cookin’ classes in a few different cities with some special guests. I’ve got a comedian joinin’ us in Tokyo, for example.”
Rintarou nods. “So you’re promoting your new cookbook by cooking in front of a live audience.”
“Yep,” Osamu confirms with a smile. Rintarou can’t help but smile back when he spots him in the rearview mirror.
Rintarou’s purpose during the tour is as follows: Get Miya Osamu to each of his showcases safely, help him maintain a safe distance from his fans to avoid swarming and crowding, and get him back to his hotel without being followed.
He’s done this countless times. Rintarou technically knows what to expect, but when they get off their flight almost two hours later, he’s not prepared for the random phone cameras popping up around them.
When he guards idols at airports, Rintarou usually has to use his entire body and a lot of his strength to block fans from literally pouncing on his client.
With Osamu, Rintarou is keenly aware of the people lifting their phones in an attempt to subtly photograph the chef. He stands close by since he is the only guard and he isn’t working with a team.
There are no potential threats from a few distant cameras, but Rintarou leans in to quietly ask Osamu how he feels.
“Do you want me to do something about those?”
Osamu shakes his head. “Not a big deal. I really just need ya when we get to the shows, ‘cause I’m a nobody out here.”
Rintarou almost stops in his tracks, and he blinks at Osamu.
Chef names may not be heard extremely often, usually well-known only in the culinary world, but Osamu is different. He doubles as an internet sensation. He may not be extremely high profile, but he’s far from being a nobody.
And it’s made clear when two people approach them in the taxi line to ask for a photo, polite and shy.
“Would you mind taking a picture with us?” one of them asks. Osamu smiles warmly despite just waking up from napping on the plane. He’d just been complaining to Rintarou about his joints.
“‘Course!” he responds, and Rintarou does the honours of snapping the photo. The pair thank Osamu before dashing off when a taxi arrives.
“How does it feel to be recognized?” Rintarou asks out of curiosity. Osamu clicks his tongue.
“Still weird,” he replies, and Rintarou finds that he appreciates the man’s honesty. “I mean, I opened a small onigiri shop fresh out of junior college, not expectin’ more than a small business to run until I’m old, y’know.”
“Well, look at you now,” Rintarou says, and Osamu snorts before shoving him lightly.
“Shut up,” he grins. “No one really expects to go viral overnight.”
Rintarou nods earnestly this time. “How did you feel about it?”
Osamu rubs at the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. “It’s still a little embarrassin’ to think that that’s how I got here, but I do appreciate that it brought people who actually cared ‘bout food.”
When Osamu glances at Rintarou, he pauses before red dusts his cheeks. “Wait.”
“Hm?” Rintarou tilts his head questioningly as Osamu’s eyes widen while he has a realization.
“Didja look me up beforehand?”
“Yes?” Rintarou answers, like it’s obvious. When Osamu gets more red, he suddenly understands and starts to feel his own face start to warm.
He told himself before coming that he wouldn’t admit to watching all those videos of Osamu that focused on everything about him except his cooking. Close-ups of his gorgeous face, flexed arms, and hands kneading rice flash in Rintarou’s mind, and he has to briefly turn away from Osamu.
“Wow. Let’s forget about this,” he says.
“Yeah,” Osamu agrees with a laugh. “Let’s.”
Rintarou recovers shortly after with a smile. He’s glad that making conversation with Osamu is effortless, and they seem to be comfortable with each other. Rintarou usually dislikes solo jobs because it gets a little boring trailing beside someone all day, every day without saying a word.
Sometimes the person is too talkative to over-compensate, which is far worse in Rintarou’s opinion. Osamu is the perfect client, though. He’s easy-going, funny, and very much Rintarou’s type.
He sighs quietly to himself. Either those videos did irreversible damage to his brain, or he needs to get laid after this job.
A taxi pulls up to the curb soon enough and takes the two of them to their hotel.
“Osamu-kun,” a woman calls when they arrive. Rintarou sticks close by as Osamu walks towards her with a smile. The rest of Osamu’s team had travelled separately, leaving the chef in his hands.
“Shimizu-san, how was the trip over here?” he asks as they go further into the hotel lobby.
“It was fine. Did everything go smoothly?”
Osamu nods before gesturing at Rintarou.
“This is the bodyguard ya ordered,” he grins teasingly, and Rintarou snorts. He straightens himself out and sticks a hand out to Shimizu who takes it politely.
“Nice to meet you. Shimizu Kiyoko,” she introduces herself. “Osamu’s manager.”
“Ah, nice to meet you,” Rintarou says, letting go of her hand. “Suna Rintarou.”
Shimizu gives him a small smile. “Yes, I know. I’m the one who hired you.”
She waves them over to the front desk to get themselves checked in.
“The rest of the team had to arrive before Osamu to get everything ready for him,” she explains as she simultaneously deals with all of their information with the clerk.
“Y’know, I’m not a singer,” Osamu chips in. “We don’t get to all go together on a bus like they do.”
Rintarou nods in understanding. “So you needed someone to keep an eye on him.”
“Ya make it sound like you’re babysittin’,” Osamu chuckles, but he’s quickly cut off when Shimizu bluntly says, “He is.”
They go up to their floor together, even though Shimizu’s room is one level above. He and Osamu each have their own room connected by a lockable door, and Rintarou does a check as per protocol before letting the two others in.
“I’ll be totally transparent,” Shimizu says as she helps them settle down. “This is the first time the entire team has done anything like a tour around Japan, so it’s taking all our power to get things sorted. We need you here to keep Osamu safe and to make sure he doesn’t get lost.”
Rintarou smirks, glancing at the displeased frown Osamu has beside him. “Roger that.”
He’s not exactly needed when the team comes into the hotel room to get Osamu ready, and Rintarou resigns himself to the side of the room.
He keeps an eye on Osamu, partly because it’s his job, but also because there’s something bewitching about the man.
Even if Rintarou didn’t need to, he couldn’t take his gaze off of him. He talks so easily with his makeup artist as she gets him ready for the camera, chuckling sometimes and revealing a small dimple on the side of his cheek.
Rintarou’s hands remain clasped behind his back, and when Osamu makes eye contact with him, the way his own grip tightens surprises him.
“How do I look?” Osamu grins cheekily at Rintarou. Rintarou has to clear his throat when he answers.
“Good.”
Osamu’s makeup artist, Miwa, snorts, before returning to her work. “Your bodyguard is very stingy with his compliments.”
Osamu chuckles good-naturedly, and Rintarou tries to remain stoic because it’s better that they think he’s stingy than know what’s actually going on in his head.
He sticks by Osamu as they travel to the first venue where the show will be held. There are already fans waiting to catch an early glimpse of the chef, excitedly calling for him. Rintarou can hear it from inside. He watches as Osamu waves at them.
“I wonder why they’re here so early,” Osamu thinks aloud, and Rintarou hums. It’s not uncommon for fans of idols and actors to gather and wait, but it’s his first time guarding a celebrity chef. He has no idea what to expect anymore, especially after seeing the sizable crowd.
The earpiece he has on crackles as Shimizu’s voice comes through. “Osamu-kun will probably want to talk to the fans. Give him 5 minutes.”
“Alright.” Rintarou’s starting to think he should just forget Osamu is a chef and start treating him like an idol.
“Should I stick close to ya?” Osamu all but whispers into his ear when Rintarou opens the car door for him and he leans in when he steps out.
Rintarou shudders a bit before recollecting himself and shaking his head.
“My job is to stick to you,” he replies. “Not the other way around.”
Osamu chuckles before straightening, flashing a smile at the people around him and waving. The venue’s security is already working to keep them at a distance and ropes are barricading them.
Despite all that, Osamu glances at Rintarou once before heading towards the hoards. Rintarou’s trained enough to follow immediately, but he’s still surprised.
“Thank ya for comin’!” Osamu smiles at his fans and they stick phones and cookbooks at him to sign with the marker he’s suddenly produced.
Rintarou sighs to himself, keeping his body ready to block anyone, but everyone is acting civil for now. Osamu even strikes up conversations with the people closest to him.
“Do you like Sendai, Osamu-san?” a woman asks, voice shaking as Osamu passes back the notebook she’d asked him to sign. He hums, tapping the marker to his chin thoughtfully before beaming at her.
“It’s real nice! But I actually just got here a couple hours ago, so I haven’t had the chance to explore,” he replies. “Ya got any recommendations?”
Rintarou continues listening and watching as people clamour to speak to him, and Osamu continues taking and signing whatever he can.
It’s not as smooth as Rintarou has seen it before with celebrities who have long been in their industry, this practiced ease when multitasking, talking to fans and signing things.
But Osamu looks truly engaged, happy to chat with the people who have come all this way to speak with him, and Rintarou finds it endearing.
He wondered why someone with Osamu’s career had a fanbase like his, but he thinks he understands now. Not only is he young, handsome, and an excellent cook. He’s genuine with his fans. This means Rintarou has to work a little harder than he anticipated because some people really want to reach out to the chef.
Eventually, his time is up, and Rintarou has to pry him away from everyone to get prepared for the show. The fans sound disappointed, but Osamu chuckles as he reminds them that he’ll see them later.
Once they step inside and the door closes, Osamu lets out a content, little sigh.
“Thank ya,” he says to Rintarou, clapping his hands together. His cheeks are flushed, even under the bit of makeup he’s wearing, and Rintarou can’t ignore just how gorgeous the chef is.
Rintarou simply nods and follows Osamu when his manager comes to retrieve him, and they get the show started.
He’s equally as captivated as the fans are when the live show starts. Osamu usually starts his shows solo, doing a quick classic, the thing that launched his career, the onigiri.
As he shapes the rice, walking the audience through the steps and the fillings he’s used, he speaks. He talks about the inspiration behind his cookbook, the process of creating it, and some other anecdotes that usually get the crowd laughing.
In the second part of the show, Osamu brings a guest. The first special appearance of the tour is his friend Hinata Shouyou, one of the players on the Japan men’s volleyball team, who is excited by the whole process.
“Shouyou-kun, can ya beat two eggs?” Osamu instructs, handing Hinata a pair of chopsticks. Hinata salutes him with the utensil, shouting, “Aye-aye,” before setting to work.
Rintarou can’t help but laugh to himself when he realizes Osamu is only giving Hinata the easy tasks. The chef has total command over the kitchen, and he wonders if he’s one of those people who needs the space to himself.
Later, he sticks close to him when he’s thanking Hinata for coming and doing a debrief with his team.
“I thought it went well!” Osamu says, before grinning at the staff. “Thank ya for your hard work! Let’s keep it up for the rest of the tour!”
The team cheers, and even Rintarou gets a high-five from someone beside him. Then he finds Osamu and ushers him into his dressing room.
“That was good,” Rintarou says from where he’s standing, watching the screen that Osamu changes behind.
“Right? I thought so, too,” Osamu replies, poking his head past the panel. “Ya think people had a good time?”
“Oh, for sure,” Rintarou answers honestly. “I mean, I had a good time.”
Osamu ducks back away with a chuckle, and Rintarou hears the sound of a zipper before Osamu steps out, fully dressed. He makes his way to Rintarou, grabbing his bag on the way.
“Best thing I’ve heard all day,” Osamu grins, and Rintarou suddenly feels like his face is on fire as he brings Osamu out to the car.
The team has dinner together at a small Thai restaurant in Sendai that Hinata brings them to.
Rintarou isn’t allowed to drink, obviously, but as he sits beside Osamu in the warm lighting, laughing with the staff he’s just met today, he feels a familiarity he usually doesn’t feel when he’s dining with clients.
He knows he’s working, but he can’t shake the feeling that he’s at dinner with friends. And the way Osamu keeps throwing him a dimpled smile every few minutes has him thinking of some other less professional ideas.
After dinner, he brings Osamu back to the hotel and retires to his adjoining room once he says goodnight. They have baths in their rooms, so Rintarou showers and gets ready for bed, even though he feels restless.
When he does solo jobs, it means the client doesn’t need someone watching them 24/7, so in this case, Osamu’s life won’t be at risk if Rintarou has a good night’s sleep. But his job still requires him to be ready if some more rambunctious fans turn up at the hotel.
Just as he lifts the cover off of his bed, there’s a knock on the door between his and Osamu’s room. When Rintarou opens it to Osamu grinning at him, he tilts his head in question.
“Are you alright?” Rintarou asks, and suddenly, a piece of long, cardstock paper is being waved in his face.
“Wanna get room service?” Osamu takes the menu back to peruse it. “I kind of want a snack.”
Osamu wanders back into his room and it takes a moment for Rintarou to decide if he should stay at the threshold, or if he should follow. It isn’t until Osamu, clad in pyjamas with a bathrobe on like a coat, gestures to him in invitation that he walks in.
He briefly wonders if it’s a bad idea, but when Osamu starts listing things on the menu, Rintarou loses to his temptation. He shuffles in, closing the door behind him.
“Soba noodle,” Osamu hums to himself as he plops down in his bed. He gives Rintarou a look when he notices that he hasn’t followed and has opted to stand awkwardly near the door. “You can sit down, Rin.”
Rintarou tenses even when the other man calmly looks back at the menu. He’s still taken aback by the way Osamu acts so casually around him. It’s been a day full of firsts for him.
He’s never had a client call him by his given name in such a friendly manner. Only his sister calls him ‘Rin’. He’s also never had them invite him over to their room just to hang out.
He’s only ever been requested if the client felt unsafe in their room alone, not because they were hungry for some room service and wanted company.
When Osamu glances back up at him and sees that Rintarou still hasn’t moved, he perks up suddenly like he’s just realized something.
“Oh, sorry,” he waves his hand. “I don’t want ya to feel like ya hafta join me. I just thought, since ya weren’t workin’ right now, we could hang out a little.”
Rintarou blinks at him. It isn’t that he’s uncomfortable, — although Osamu’s consideration is something Rintarou can’t help but make note of — it’s that he doesn’t know if this is a line he’s allowed to cross.
But looking at Osamu now, at ease in his hotel room with an open invitation extended towards Rintarou to join him, he figures that there can’t be anything wrong with this.
“Okay,” Rintarou says, finally moving, and the grin on Osamu’s face grows as he approaches. “What should I get?”
They end up ordering a pudding each, and once it’s arrived, Rintarou finds himself sitting at the foot of the bed talking to Osamu, even though they have to catch a flight the next morning to Sapporo.
“When you cook, are you the type of person who needs the entire space for himself?” Rintarou questions conversationally, and Osamu throws his head back in laughter.
“Was it obvious?” Osamu asks between chuckles, and Rintarou smiles. The chef shakes his head guiltily. “I prefer to have the kitchen to myself, but I’m okay with a helper. Unless it’s my brother.”
Rintarou snorts. “He can’t cook?”
“Oh, he’s fine,” Osamu answers, his tiny spoon scraping at the pudding cup. “But he’s so fuckin’ annoyin’, I almost wanna put him in the oven.”
The picture makes Rintarou chuckle. “I take it you guys get along well.”
Osamu laughs sarcastically before waving his spoon around, and Rintarou can’t help but pick up on every single mannerism the man has.
The way he licks his lips after every bite of pudding or the way he bends his right leg close to his chest when he gets excited. Rintarou doesn’t miss a single thing.
“We do,” Osamu hums thoughtfully. “Y’know how siblings are.”
“Yeah,” Rintarou scoffs, thinking of how his younger sister had kept him humble throughout adolescence. “I do.”
“Ya have siblings?” Osamu asks.
They order more pudding cups than should be allowed for such a later hour as they talk more through the night. It takes a long time for them to realize just how much time has passed.
Rintarou learns more about Osamu than a client profile and Wikipedia page could tell him. Talking to Osamu is easy, even if they aren’t just sharing information about themselves, they can tell each other stories.
Rintarou hasn’t talked or laughed this much in years with his friends, let alone with a client. He still knows that he’d only just met Osamu less than a day ago, but he feels like he’s known him for a lifetime.
It’s hard for him to leave and return to his room later, but they both worry they won’t be able to wake up for their flight. Rintarou almost feels guilty about not taking his job seriously, but Osamu’s invitation to do this for the rest of their time makes him forget it.
The following days of the tour are all quite similar in routine. Rintarou will help control the crowd when Osamu arrives at the venue, meeting and greeting people who have waited for him with a grin.
The smile he gives Rintarou after isn’t the same, but it’s dazzling nonetheless, and Rintarou has to come face-to-face with the fact that he was never immune to the chef’s charm.
He continues to be joined by a guest in the second half, a local entertainer or friend of Osamu’s who shadows him as he cooks.
It isn’t that the guests are boring – they’re a great part of the show. When they go back to Osaka for the Osaka tour stop, Osamu’s twin brother joins him, and their bickering has the crowd roaring with laughter at times.
He has a good time watching the guest segment. But he can never peel his eyes off of Osamu.
Yes, it’s his job, so it’s not like he’s supposed to take his eyes off of him, but he doesn’t feel that sense of obligation that normally comes with a job.
Even if you gave Rintarou a choice, he would choose to continue watching Osamu. He can’t get enough of the way he moves through the kitchen set-up on the stage and the way his hands move so purposefully.
He speaks so passionately about food and cooking, that even the fans who are more there for the man than his craft are bewitched.
Rintarou knows there’s more to Osamu, he’s been learning new bits of information every night, and he still wants to uncover more of it.
Their conversations get a lot more personal as the days go by. He shares the experience of starting a restaurant, and how difficult it had been in the beginning. Rintarou tells him how much he’d moved around as a kid, and how much it affected his childhood friendships.
He doesn’t know if he’s ever laughed so much, talked so easily, or felt so vulnerable around someone before, but Osamu just draws it out of him with little difficulty. He wants to speak with him forever if it means preserving that warm but electric feeling in his veins.
But a voice in his head reminds him to keep his distance.
He’s pretty sure that Osamu doesn’t feel anything towards him. He’s just looking for someone to spend time with when he’s far away from his friends and family, and Rintarou completely understands.
They’re together all day, and even if Rintarou feels like he sees a shift in the way Osamu smiles at him and talks to him when they’re snacking on room service in the evenings, this one-sided attraction will dissipate the minute Osamu’s contract ends. He will just be another client Rintarou has had.
It’s Rintarou who needs to get it together before this becomes more than it actually is.
🍳
The routine comes to an end at their last stop in Tokyo, and once the final show is over, Rintarou stands by as Osamu’s team huddles around the chef.
“Speech!” one of the tour assistants calls, and everyone starts repeating after him until Osamu concedes with a laugh.
“Thank y’all for makin’ this happen,” Osamu says, clapping his hands together. “I couldn’t have done any of this without all of ya, so let me take ya out for a drink when we’re back in Hyogo!”
Everyone cheers, and Rintarou follows Osamu around as he accepts a few more hugs and handshakes. As soon as they get to Osamu’s dressing room, he collapses into the first chair, sighing contentedly.
Rintarou can’t help but smile at him, his happiness exuding off of him despite how exhausted he looks. He keeps his hands clasped in front of him as he fights the urge to run his fingers through Osamu’s messy hair. He wants to reach out and touch the pads of his fingers to his face; feel how his gorgeous smile forms and the firm curve of his jaw.
Rintarou snaps out of his stupor as Osamu gets up and moves towards his things behind a screen. He listens as the man shuffles around before reappearing with a grin and a gift bag.
“For you,” Osamu says, handing the bag to him. Rintarou blinks at it, before looking at Osamu, hands hesitant to accept.
“For me?” Osamu sticks the bag out a little and Rintarou finally takes it from him.
“Yeah, even though it might not be that big of a surprise since ya watched me buy it,” Osamu chuckles. “You can open it.”
Rintarou listens, teasing through the gift paper before revealing a red box, and he immediately knows what’s in it. When he peers up at Osamu, the man laughs.
“Is this the Inari Senbei you bought?” Rintarou asks, taking the box out. They had an extra day in Kyoto to explore, and Rintarou had watched Osamu traverse through all the tiny souvenir shops.
He’d assumed the rice cracker baked into a fox’s head was for a family member or friend, not him, but Osamu’s eyes twinkle as he watches him open the gift, and Rintarou knows it hadn’t been an afterthought.
“I was gonna get ya somethin’ from Nagoya since it was one of the last days,” Osamu explains. “But ya told me you were from there, so I thought Kyoto would be better.”
Rintarou nods, heart warmed by the present. He’s gotten gifts from clients before, thanking him for his service, except he realizes that this one is different.
He said his feelings would go away once Osamu’s contract was over, but now he knows that deep down, he’ll treasure this memory the most.
He’ll miss talking late into the night with him in their hotel rooms about anything and everything. They only have a few nights left where Rintarou will have the opportunity to stay by his side. After that, he might have to go back to seeing him through a screen. And it’s disappointing, to say the least.
“Thank you,” Rintarou says, tone as even as possible. “You didn’t have to.”
“Are ya kiddin’?” Osamu replies gently with a soft grin. He scratches at his jaw almost shyly when he continues. “Honestly, I was a little homesick throughout the tour, and even though we’d only just met, I don’t think I could have made it through this month without ya. I liked gettin’ to know ya. So, seriously, thank you.”
Rintarou swallows, the gift in his hands suddenly much heavier. He nods at Osamu, soaking in his earnestness as much as he can before this is all over.
He wishes it would never end.
🍳
Their flight back to Osaka isn’t until the next morning, so they retire to their hotel after a celebratory dinner with the team.
When they get there, however, Osamu stops Rintarou before he can go to his room. Rintarou peers over his shoulder where Osamu’s hand is gripping him, and tries to decipher the conspiratory look on the man’s face.
“What’s up?” Rintarou asks.
“If I wanna go to a bar,” Osamu starts. “Will ya come with?”
Rintarou pauses for a moment before chuckling. “I mean, I can’t stop you. And I’m supposed to go everywhere with you.”
Twenty minutes later, he finds himself in front of a gay bar in Shinjuku standing next to Osamu who hasn’t moved. He cocks his head at the sign before turning to Osamu.
“Sorry,” Osamu says suddenly. “I shoulda asked if you’d be alright.”
He looks at Rintarou wearily, but the bodyguard simply gives him a shrug. “It’s okay. Fork found in kitchen, or whatever.”
Osamu blinks at him before laughing, and Rintarou follows closely as the two enter the establishment.
“I just wanted to see it, y’know,” Osamu explains as they take two seats at the bar. “Since I’ve never been to this part of Tokyo.”
The floor is sticky, but the bar isn’t very crowded or rowdy, but there’s enough noise for it to feel like everyone’s in their own world. The lighting is dim, but there’s enough for him to see Osamu’s face turning multicoloured as different lights from the disco ball flash over them.
“This one’s good,” Rintarou replies. “I don’t like the super loud and gross ones.”
Osamu nods in agreement. “Me neither.”
He tries to order them drinks, but Rintarou has to stop him.
“I’ll just take water,” Rintarou tells the bartender and laughs at Osamu’s frown. “I can’t drink on the job.”
Osamu shrugs. “Ya don’t hafta be workin’. You could just be my friend right now.”
“Can’t have anything happening to you,” Rintarou replies, shaking his head and grinning at Osamu’s insistence. “You can pretend, though.”
“Pretendin’ sounds silly,” Osamu clicks his tongue as their drinks get pushed towards them, and Rintarou quickly nabs his glass to do a check, much to Osamu’s chagrin. “I really do think we’re friends, Rin.”
Rintarou sets Osamu’s drink down in front of him, deeming it safe, and lifts his own drink to his lips. “Yeah?”
“Obviously.” Osamu rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I like talkin’ to ya and bein’ around ya. I hope ya don’t just forget about me after your job is done.”
Rintarou smiles into his cup before he puts it back down. He sees what Osamu’s getting at, and it makes some feelings of disappointment disappear, now that he knows Osamu wants him in his life even after his responsibilities are over. In any way, shape, or form, Rintarou wants to continue knowing Osamu.
“How could I?” Rintarou chuckles. “You’re my best client.”
“Woah!” Osamu dramatically touches his hand to his heart. “What will your other clients think of that?”
Before Rintarou can laugh, he feels a hand on his shoulder, and he turns away from Osamu to see who the stranger is.
“Can I help you?” Rintarou asks, automatically squaring his shoulders a bit. The stranger hasn’t taken their hand off from him yet, and Rintarou already knows it’s bad news.
“Can I buy you a drink?” they ask, grinning sleazily, and Rintarou almost wants to laugh. He can’t believe he’s the one getting hit on when Osamu is sitting right next to him.
“No, thank you,” Rintarou replies, waving a hand in dismissal before turning back to Osamu. When he sees his face, the expression he has is unreadable.
“Hey,” the stranger calls, shaking Rintarou, and he can only assume the person is drunk. “Don’t ignore me.”
Osamu stands, but Rintarou waves him off with a small shake of his head.
Rintarou knows he doesn’t need to be polite, but he also knows he’s still working. He’s worried that shaking this person off rudely will escalate things, and potentially put Osamu in some kind of danger.
“Is it because of him?” the stranger slurs, pointing at Osamu and shaking Rintarou roughly this time. “S’that your boyfriend?”
The answer is a simple ‘No,’ but for some reason, Rintarou flails. He debates whether or not saying yes might deter the asshole, but he also doesn’t want to put Osamu in that position. Especially when he can’t read the new expression on the man’s face.
It takes them too long to say anything, both too stunned by the question, and the stranger scoffs.
“So you're not,” they say, and Rintarou is suddenly being yanked by the collar of his shirt.
He has his hands up to fight back, but the grip on his front is gone as soon as it appears because Osamu throws a punch.
It happens so fast. The people around them gasp, and Rintarou watches in shock as the person across from him cradles their face, cheekbone already pink and purple where Osamu’s fist suddenly connected.
Rintarou turns his shock to Osamu and before he can think, he takes Osamu’s hand and gingerly touches his knuckles.
“You okay?” Osamu asks, his voice close to him, and Rintarou nods.
A barkeep has come around to usher the drunk person out as they curse at Osamu. He hollers at everyone, saying there’s nothing for them to see, and the bar returns to normal shortly after.
A different bartender comes up to them with an apologetic look on his face.
“I saw what happened, so we’re just going to ask you to pay and leave,” he says. “We won’t call the cops or anything.”
Osamu nods in understanding, and after paying, he walks outside with Rintarou, arm in arm.
Rintarou thinks he’s completely fine. The stranger’s behaviour has barely left him shaken because he knows he would’ve won in a fight easily. He’s also witnessed far worse, and been through more violent situations.
But Osamu’s arm linked with his is comforting, and he can’t help but laugh as soon as they walk out.
“Rin?” Osamu asks, worry etched into every corner of his features.
Rintarou smiles at him, leaning his head back to look at the night sky. There aren’t any stars, so he looks back at Osamu and waits for the concern to dissipate once the chef realizes he’s never been better.
The warmth of his body pressed against his side is grounding, and despite the night’s events, Rintarou feels perfectly at ease.
“You’re gonna put me out of work, Osamu. What’d you even hire me for?” Rintarou chuckles, and Osamu blushes before he looks away with a small smile.
“Sorry,” he says bashfully.
“Don’t be sorry,” Rintarou snorts, taking Osamu’s bruising hand again. He feels brave despite having no alcohol in his system, and he grazes his thumb gently over the reddened skin. “It’s nice being the one who’s protected sometimes.”
🍳
Something between them seems to shift the next day, but Rintarou tries not to think too much of it. Osamu had just stated yesterday that he wanted Rintarou to remain his friend. He said nothing more than that.
Plus, Osamu’s a good guy. Rintarou knows he would’ve punched the stranger for anyone, but his stomach still flutters at the way the man acted so valiantly.
“Let’s watch a movie,” Osamu suggests as they wait in line for boarding. Rintarou nods and walks ahead of Osamu to get to their seats, closing his eyes with a quiet sigh.
He hasn’t felt so much for someone in so long; he’s forgotten that excitement that comes with any small gesture. Just watching a movie on the little screen of Osamu’s tablet has his heart racing a little faster.
Rintarou has no idea what they spend the hour watching. He’s too distracted by how close he is to Osamu, arms pressed against each other so that the earbuds they’re sharing stay connected.
He’s so aware of the warmth beside him for the entirety of the flight that as soon as they get up to leave, he feels unbearably cold.
On the way to Osamu’s apartment, Rintarou can’t help but feel the dread of the job ending, even though he still has a few tasks left.
After a night of rest in Hyogo, he’ll accompany Osamu to a live interview here, and then a gala in Yokohama before returning to finish their journey.
When they get out of the car, he’s ready to say goodbye for the time being until Osamu points a thumb at his front door with a smile.
“Wanna come in?” he asks. “I can cook for ya. I still haven’t done that yet.”
Rintarou stands still for a moment as he tries to process the question. One part of him is screaming at him to say yes and call their driver downstairs to tell him to just abandon him here. He’ll find a way to his hotel on his own.
Another part of him tells him not to because he’s an idiot who needs to get his feelings in check, not make them worse.
Of course, Rintarou has no self-preservation, and Osamu is just so difficult to say no to. So he accepts with a grin and follows Osamu into his apartment.
“I gotta call the driver,” he pipes up as they’re taking off their shoes. “Don’t want him waiting down there.”
Osamu chuckles, and he walks further into the house with his suitcase with Rintarou trailing behind him.
He speaks to the driver as he watches Osamu familiarize himself with the place again, stretching in relief after being on the road for a month. Rintarou can’t help but smile at him, hanging up with the driver once they’re done speaking.
He strides towards Osamu, and when the man opens his arms, for a second Rintarou thinks he’s inviting him into his arms. But Osamu makes one of those funny, stretching sounds, and Rintarou realizes that he was absolutely not asking for a hug.
“It’s good to be home, even for a little bit.” Osamu groans in relief one last time before guiding Rintarou inside. “Wash up, I’ll show ya around, and make ya the best onigiri you’ll ever have. I hope you’re hungry.”
Osamu grins at him, and Rintarou laughs. “Even if I wasn’t hungry, I wouldn’t say no to food from you.”
Osamu gives him a little tour, starting from the bathroom so they can wash their hands. The interior reflects his character somehow, with the large windows in the kitchen and wooden furniture.
It’s nice enough to look straight out of a catalogue, but it still feels cozy and warm as he follows Osamu to the kitchen island. He takes a seat at one of the barstools, resting on his elbows and propping his head in his palms.
Osamu moves to the fridge, letting out a breath of relief when he opens the door.
“Guess I hafta buy him ice cream,” Osamu mutters, and Rintarou snorts.
“Who?” he asks.
“My brother,” Osamu replies, taking ingredients out and placing them on the counter in front of Rintarou who peers at them curiously. He kicks his socked feet against the island, hearing the quiet thuds every time his toes make impact. “I asked him to restock for me before I got back, and I kind of assumed he’d forget.”
“Oh,” Rintarou says, chuckling quietly at the surprise on Osamu’s face. “That’s nice. At least you don’t have to go grocery shopping as soon as you get back.”
Osamu nods. “Yeah. And I decided I wanted to cook for ya a while ago, so I needed to make sure I actually had things to cook with.”
He says it so nonchalantly because the truth is that it’s not that big of a deal, but Rintarou feels it again. That giddiness at the thought of being on Osamu’s mind. Probably not as much as he is on Rintarou’s, though.
“Why don’t you give me a personal cooking lesson,” Rintarou suggests teasingly, and Osamu chuckles.
“Aren’t ya sick of watchin‘ them so many times?” he questions with a raised eyebrow. “They were almost the same at every show.”
Rintarou shrugs, leaning more into his hand as he feels his cheeks warm from just looking at Osamu moving around his kitchen with so much ease. “Not unless you’re tired of giving them.”
Osamu pulls a pan out of a cupboard before smirking at Rintarou, approaching the kitchen island where he’s seated in a way that gets Rintarou’s heart beating faster.
“For you?” Osamu says, placing the pan down without breaking eye contact. “I wouldn’t be.”
Throughout the beginning, Osamu walks him through the steps of making the onigiri filling, throwing in all the theatrics he had during the tour and when he’s on TV just to make Rintarou laugh.
But when he starts teaching Rintarou how to use a rice cooker, even he gives up on the act, deeming it “Too ridiculous.”
“Y’know, I almost didn’t hire a bodyguard,” Osamu says instead of explaining the process of washing grains of uncooked rice. “Thought I would be fine on my own.”
Rintarou snorts. “You were gonna fend off all your fans on your own?”
Osamu chuckles knowingly. Rintarou had to exert more strength than he expected to keep people away from Osamu sometimes as they got too comfortable in crowding around him.
“I still can’t believe it sometimes. It just never really hits me how many of them there are,” he says, gesturing aimlessly to emphasize.
He puts the rice in the cooker and presses a few buttons before continuing. “Like, I just wanted to elevate home cookin' that people were familiar with; make nostalgic Japanese dishes more fun.”
A small, genuine smile graces his lips. “I wasn’t expectin’ much when I opened my restaurant, so I’m really grateful that people are comin’ from far and wide to eat my food or to tell me that they’ve actually learned from me. It’s more than anythin’ I coulda hoped for.”
Rintarou smiles back at him, sitting up. The kitchen is like its own bubble that can’t be burst. His heart feels like it’s being cradled, knowing he’s in a space that Osamu cherishes, and the chef is sharing his thoughts with him.
“I learned from you,” Rintarou says, watching his finger as he draws patterns arbitrarily on the countertop. “Your videos are really good.”
“Oh, yeah?” Osamu asks, and when Rintarou looks up, he looks more smug than embarrassed like the last time they spoke about this. Rintarou snorts, reaching over the counter to swipe at him.
“Don’t get a big head,” Rintarou scoffs as Osamu ducks away from his hand. He won’t admit that he watched Osamu’s cooking videos almost every night before they met out loud. At least, not at this moment.
Osamu chuckles. “Y’know, you can always get the real thing now.”
He gestures at himself, and Rintarou simply grins despite the warm feeling in his chest expanding again. He wants to treasure this invitation into Osamu’s apartment forever, where the man is safest and most comfortable even with Rintarou at his kitchen island. He wants to become a fixture in this space the way Osamu’s well-loved kitchenware is.
Even if he isn’t sure if Osamu will feel the same way, Rintarou knows there’s no point denying it anymore. He wants Osamu.
🍳
“That’ll be all the questions,” the interviewer says over the sound of polite cheers and applause. “Thank you, Osamu-san.”
Osamu shakes her hand and waves at the crowd sitting in the stands. Rintarou walks towards him with the staff, and he catches Osamu grinning at him as they take his mic off.
When they walk to Osamu’s dressing room together, Rintarou doesn’t speak, trying to fight his own thoughts so he can focus on his job. But he can’t stop thinking about the interview Osamu just gave.
He answers the questions honestly and with feeling, but it’s nothing like how he answers the exact same questions Rintarou asks him, and it makes a small part of him greedily hoard memories of their late-night conversations.
Osamu changes, and they’re in a taxi to get to the airport for Yokohama by late afternoon.
“Tired?” Osamu asks from beside him, silently offering him a piece of gum. Rintarou takes it.
“Yeah,” he chuckles, and Osamu smiles knowingly at him. “I’m gonna sleep so well at the hotel tonight.”
Later, when they check in at the lobby, Rintarou starts to think he’s jinxed himself.
“Are there really no other conjoined rooms?” he asks the concierge. The man at the desk double-checks with a frown, and Rintarou looks helplessly at Osamu.
Osamu looks unaffected, however, even though he’s the one who doesn’t have a room. They’d somehow given Rintarou a room, but not Osamu, their VIP guest.
“I’m sorry, sir. We only have a single room for Suna Rintarou. All our conjoined rooms are occupied.”
“Alright,” Rintarou sighs in defeat. He turns to Osamu with the key card and hands it to him. “You take the bed. I’ll just sleep on the chair or something.”
Osamu makes a disgruntled noise. “No way.”
“There’s not much else we can do,” he says. “There’s no way I’m letting you sleep on a chair, Osamu.”
Osamu glares at the key card in his hand like it’s personally offended him. “And I don’t wanna sleep in the bed knowin’ you’re just…sittin’ there.”
“You don’t like the idea of me standing guard and watching you sleep?” Rintarou jokes, and Osamu snorts. “It’s literally my job.”
Osamu doesn’t respond. Instead, he goes back to the concierge with determination.
“Ya don’t have any more double rooms?” he asks. The concierge looks at him pitifully. “I’m afraid we only have the one-bed rooms left.”
Osamu looks at Rintarou, silently trying to say something to him, but the concierge suddenly adds, “We’ll give you a discount for your troubles and all charges from the mini-bar will be waived,” and Osamu’s eyes light up at the mention of free food.
“Alright, no worries,” he pats the front desk jovially, and Rintarou’s mouth falls open as Osamu starts walking towards the elevator like the entire problem has been solved.
“Osamu,” he hisses from behind him as he quickly catches up.
“We’ll just share the bed,” Osamu shrugs before turning to Rintarou with a twinkle in his eye. “Do ya know how hard it is to pass up free hotel room snacks? Those little shits are always so expensive.”
Rintarou agrees wholeheartedly, but sleeping in the same bed isn’t going to work. It’s probably going to barely fit two, huge men, and if anything, they’ll be squeezed together.
Rintarou doesn’t know if he can handle that.
He glares at the bed when they walk in, the size proving him right. They’ll fit, but there will be very little room between them. Even Osamu seems a little wary now that he sees it.
“We can cuddle,” he jokes and laughs when Rintarou lightly smacks him. He hopes his cheeks aren’t getting comically red.
After getting cleaned and ready for bed, Rintarou thinks that if they were in any other situation, he could fall asleep on his feet right now. But as he and Osamu stare at the small bed pressed up against the wall, neither of them knows how they’re going to configure themselves.
“I think you can go in first,” Osamu suggests. “So you don’t fall off the bed.”
“But I’m supposed to be protecting you,” Rintarou grins despite himself, curving his body to look like he’s shielding Osamu, and the other man rolls his eyes.
“You’re ridiculous,” he huffs, but he returns the smirk. Rintarou sighs before he straightens up and crawls into the bed carefully, sticking his feet into the blanket hesitantly.
He shuffles closer to the wall and pats the space beside him. “Your turn.”
Osamu stands with his hands on his hips for a moment, studying the bed like a game of Tetris, before sliding in. He gets in just fine, but his entire side is pressed against Rintarou’s. There’s very little room for him to move if he doesn’t want to fall off the side of the bed.
“Are you okay?” He asks Rintarou, back pin-straight as they sit pressed against each other. “Is it too squished?”
It’s not entirely uncomfortable. If they sleep on their sides, it should be fine. But when Rintarou turns to face the wall, Osamu grabs his shoulder to stop him.
“Don’t face the wall,” he says, nose wrinkling. “It’s dirty.”
Rintarou cringes in understanding and faces Osamu. He wonders why Osamu won’t turn away from him, but he’s fine with the view, even though it’s making it hard for him to sleep.
He barely catches his hand when it starts to reach towards Osamu’s face, drawn in by the urge to trace his features with his fingertips. He quickly shoves the offending hand under his pillow before trying to close his eyes.
“Goodnight,” he mutters, reaching for the blanket to tug further up with closed eyes. When he can’t find it, he feels Osamu slide the cover over him, tucking him in.
He flutters his eyes open, and Osamu gives him a small smile before letting go, turning away to turn off the lamp. Rintarou’s heart thumps, and he can hear how loud it is against the pillow. He’s almost worried that Osamu will hear it, too.
The chef settles back in, facing towards him still, and Rintarou has to calm himself down.
“G’night, Rin,” Osamu whispers.
Rintarou watches his eyes close peacefully, and the small space between them is so warm, that Rintarou finds that he wants to get even closer.
🍳
When he wakes up, he hasn’t moved. He usually sleeps and wakes in the same position. But Osamu is all over the place. He’s on his stomach with one hand draped over Rintarou’s waist, and the other dangling off the bed. His hair sticks up on one side and he snores quietly against the pillow.
Maybe he isn’t fully awake yet, but this time Rintarou can’t stop the way his hand drifts up to card fingers through Osamu’s messy bangs.
It takes another hour for Osamu to wake up, and Rintarou also falls back asleep in the time that he waits. He laughs when the other man looks a little embarrassed when he retracts his arm from Rintarou’s waist.
They get to do some sightseeing before the gala, so he and Osamu set off to explore Yokohama again since they didn’t have much time during the tour stop.
They’re in Chinatown when Osamu gets a message from his publicist.
“She wants me to send her pictures to post on Instagram from the tour,” he relays to Rintarou. They’re sharing a cup of fishballs on skewers dipped in curry sauce, and Rintarou’s hunched over a cup trying not to make a mess.
“Do not take a photo right now,” he warns when he catches Osamu lifting his phone up. Osamu chuckles.
“But it’ll just be for me.”
“I’ll leave you here, Miya Osamu.”
Osamu laughs as he pulls up other photos he’d taken from their sightseeing on tour. Rintarou assumes his publicist is putting together some kind of compilation for him to post.
“This one’s nice. So’s this one,” he mutters around his skewer. Rintarou cocks his head at each one, surprised to see that he’s in so many. There are more of them together than he remembers taking.
“Do you not have pictures of just yourself?” he asks. “Your fans wanna see you. Not me.”
Osamu snorts, selecting a few pictures. “It’s fine if ya don’t mind bein’ on my Instagram. Lots of people have seen ya anyway since we’ve been together all month.”
Rintarou chews on his food as he thinks. He supposes that’s true. “Okay. But maybe not so many. More than half your photos have me in them.”
He eventually convinces Osamu to choose more pictures with himself in it, but there are a few pictures of the two of them together. They look like friends, not a bodyguard and his hire. Rintarou hopes he won’t get in trouble at work.
Later in the day, they return to their hotel room to get ready for the gala. Miwa is there to get him dressed and ready, and she’s kind enough to help Rintarou with his hair as well.
When they’re done, she snaps a photo of the two of them sitting on the tiny bed in their black ties and suits.
“You two are very cute,” she comments, and Osamu smiles smugly while Rintarou tries hard not to blush.
He badly wants to run his hands over the lapels of Osamu’s dark suit, sleek and handsome on his figure. Miwa is a master at her craft because Rintarou can’t get over the way his hair is tousled rather than slicked back. It’s perfect for him.
“Good?” Osamu questions, doing a little spin for Rintarou. He can’t help but smile.
“Great,” he replies, and he hears Miwa chuckle as she takes another picture of them.
When they arrive at the venue, Rintarou is reminded that he has no idea why he’s coming to this gala.
There’s no need for a bodyguard when there’s so much security around the premises, but he does his usual routine of checking around areas before letting Osamu follow him in.
As they make their way in, he can’t help but feel like people’s stares are lingering on them. He feels watched. Are they wondering why Osamu has a bodyguard?
Other guests who know Osamu come up to him to chat, glancing at Rintarou curiously each time. A few ask, “How long?” and before Rintarou can interpret it any differently, Osamu always answers, “A little over a month!”
“Oh,” Osamu tugs on his arm gently to get his attention when they spot a head of dyed, blond hair and two silver-haired siblings. “Lemme go say hi.”
Rintarou nods as he follows, extremely aware of the hand Osamu has on his bicep as he guides them.
“Heya,” he greets the group surrounding the cocktail table. The woman pauses mid-sip to clap her hands together excitedly, and Rintarou realizes why the whole table looks so familiar.
She and the brother are both models he sees regularly, and the man with dyed hair is the famous streamer, Kodzuken. The man eyes him, expression bored but like he’s still trying to figure something out, and Rintarou feels slightly unsettled.
“Osamu!” the woman exclaims as she wraps her arms around him.
“Alisa-san!”
Osamu finally lets go of Rintarou to return her hug. He then politely shakes the others’ hands.
“It’s good to see y’all,” he says, clapping the silver-haired man on the back. “Ya doin’ alright, Lev?”
Lev nods, grinning excitedly. “I got your cookbook, Osamu-san! But Kenma’s scared that I’ll actually use it.”
He turns to the other man, Kenma, with a pout, but he simply gets an eye roll in return. “You always want to use someone else’s kitchen because you know, deep down, that you’re going to start a fire.”
Osamu laughs, patting Lev’s shoulder gently in sympathy. “Ask Fukunaga-san. He said he was going to be using it.”
Kenma nods. “Hey, he told us about your boyfriend after he did the show with you. Are you gonna introduce us?”
Osamu blinks, and Rintarou is just as lost until Kenma gestures towards him, and Alisa places her hands on one of his shoulders excitedly.
“Right!” she says. “How long have you been together? Miwa told me about you, too!”
Rintarou glances at Osamu in confusion, and even Osamu looks like he has no idea what’s happening.”
“Boyfriend?” he echoes. “Rin?”
Kenma nods again, pulling out his phone and opening a few social media apps before showing Osamu and Rintarou.
“People have been talking about you two all day,” he explains before swiping back to Osamu’s Instagram where the picture of them together in front of Nagoya Castle stares back at them.
“We’re not datin’,” Osamu mutters, much to the surprise of his friends.
“Everyone’s saying he’s been everywhere with you.” Lev scratches his head.
“I’m his bodyguard,” Rintarou finally pipes in after being quiet for so long. His face feels hot. He finally realizes why everyone’s been asking, “How long?”
“What!” Alisa gasps. “But everyone thinks you’re dating!”
Osamu groans suddenly, pressing the pads of his fingers against his eyelids. “Oh my god. I thought people were asking how long I’d been on tour for. What the hell?”
Kenma sighs from across from them, swiping his thumb across his phone screen. “Well, to the internet, you’re dating. And you’re going a little viral for it.”
Throughout the rest of the night, Osamu and Rintarou try to ignore the knowledge that people have been seeing them as a couple. But people ask about it, and Osamu can’t do anything but flail and try to change the subject. Rintarou has never seen him so put off, and he can’t blame him. Everyone believes he’s his boyfriend, and it must be awkward for Osamu.
As much as Rintarou wants to revel in the fantasy, he knows that it’s a line he shouldn’t cross. He doesn’t want to let himself pretend when his affection isn’t returned by the man.
He doesn’t allow himself to feel hurt because this is a job. He isn’t supposed to get this close to his clients, and it’s his own fault for getting so attached to the chef.
When Osamu finishes a glass of champagne and leaves it on a tray, he leans in to whisper in Rintarou’s ear, “I think I’m ready to go back.”
Rintarou tries not to visibly shudder before he nods in understanding, and they slip out into the night, crisp, cool air like a salve. They take a cab back to the hotel, silent the entire time. Rintarou suddenly starts to worry that this situation might have freaked Osamu out so badly, that he wouldn’t want to see Rintarou as much after this.
It’s his last night working for Osamu. After he takes him home from the airport tomorrow, this will all be over, and he can return to Shizuoka to await his next assignment.
His heart breaks a little at the thought of returning to his apartment with little more than the memory of spending time with Osamu, but he supposes it’s for the best. He’ll get over it eventually.
He steps into the hotel first, doing his routine check before turning on his heel towards Osamu to let him in, but the man has already followed close by.
“Osamu?” Rintarou questions softly. The man looks at him, eyes clear but movements hesitant as he brings his hand to Rintarou’s wrist with a feather-light touch.
His fingertips migrate up Rintarou’s sleeve, and a hopeful part of Rintarou feels like it’s on fire when he reaches his jaw. Osamu leans in, eyes half-lidded when he looks down at Rintarou’s mouth, and he pauses to give him the chance to move away.
Rintarou doesn’t want to let himself believe that this is happening, frozen in place because he’s afraid of shattering whatever this image is. It isn’t until Osamu finally closes the gap and presses his lips against his that Rintarou realizes that this is really happening.
Osamu is gentle; it’s nothing but a soft touch to Rintarou’s bottom lip, but he pulls back so quickly, that Rintarou doesn’t even get the chance to properly react.
“Sorry,” Osamu gasps, placing his hands on Rintarou’s shoulders as if to keep him away. Rintarou fears his heart might leap out of his chest. His fingers and lips feel like they’re buzzing from the feeling of being kissed by Osamu, even if it is short.
“Osamu,” Rintarou whispers. The other man looks as stunned as Rintarou feels. “Why are you sorry?”
“Gah!” Osamu lets go before he turns away, scrubbing at the back of his neck with one hand in embarrassment. “Forget it. I drank too much. Got carried away ‘cause of what everyone was sayin’ at the party. I’m sorry.”
At that, Rintarou snorts. “Osamu, I’ve been watching your every move for a month. I saw you drink only one glass of champagne.”
Osamu pauses, frowning at Rintarou before shaking his head again.
“God, I just pulled ya in and kissed ya. Like an idiot,” Osamu groans, slapping a hand over his eyes. “I didn’t even tell ya how I felt.”
Rintarou still feels shell-shocked, but it doesn’t stop him from laughing quietly as Osamu grumbles from across the room, still unaware that Rintarou is just as enamoured by him. He wonders what he could have possibly done to be so lucky.
“So how do you feel?” Rintarou asks, trying to stop himself from floating away because of how happy he is. He wants to kiss Osamu again. He wants to see Osamu’s face when he tells him just how much he likes him.
Osamu sighs, shoulders sagging in defeat. He turns only halfway so that he doesn’t have to look directly at Rintarou.
"I mean, I really like ya, Rin,” he confesses. He reaches up to loosen his tie. “And I was so embarrassed ‘cause I knew ya only saw me as your client, and you were only here ‘cause ya had to be, but I couldn’t help but feel like maybe-”
“Osamu,” Rintarou cuts him off with a grin. He steps over to him and takes his hand before putting it against his pulse point. Osamu’s hand is warm against his neck, and Rintarou shudders when he realizes Osamu can’t stop his thumb from making strokes against his skin.
The chef’s eyes widen when he feels how hard Rintarou’s heart is beating, and Rintarou lets out a short chuckle before bringing his free hand to Osamu’s loosened tie.
“You’ve trusted me with your life for the past month,” Rintarou says. “So trust me when I tell you I probably like you a lot more than you think I do.”
Osamu lets out a breath, from either surprise, relief, or a mix of both, before looking into Rintarou’s eyes, hopeful in a way that Rintarou knows all too well.
“Really?”
Rintarou smiles, leaning in until their foreheads touch and the space he’d been trying to maintain between them is no longer necessary.
“Yes,” he whispers, tugging gently at the tie in his hands. “Kiss me again.”
Osamu chuckles in disbelief, and even though Rintarou won’t be his bodyguard anymore, he knows protecting Osamu’s smile will be an assignment he’ll gladly take on for as long as he can.