𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐘𝐔𝐔 | oneshots

OKAY, I GUESS | M. OSAMU

(SOMEWHAT TIMSKIP) OSAMU MIYA X READER | FLUFF

"what the hell, samu.." 

you rub your eyes, slipping on your glasses and putting your phone on speaker. "i have an idea." is all osamu says, and you can tell he's running from the breathiness in his voice. "are you serious?! now?" you groan, rolling around in your sheets.

"yes, now!" he insists. "i was thinking, what if we added m-" the loud clang which follows makes you jump; you roll your eyes. "you just ran into a pole, didn't you." you hear shuffling, and a loud sigh. "yeah.." 

"whatever. you have the key. do what you want." "hey wait wait wait-" you shut your phone off, snuggling back into the warmth of your covers. 

ever since the two of you had met in your first year at inarizaki high, you had been inseparable. you shared the same deadpan energy he had, and he liked that about you. when he told you about his dreams of becoming a chef, you had offered him your apartment to use; just so that atsumu wouldn't find out about it until the time was right. 

but now you're seriously starting to regret it. 

the nice way to put it was that osamu perhaps was the kind of chef who marched to the beat of his own drum. you don't think he's ever learned proper cooking etiquette, or how to keep quiet in hyogo's biggest apartment complex at five in the morning. "that boy.." you groan.

the amount of sound he makes in your miniature kitchen makes it sound like he's bull who's entered a chinese porcelain store. 

your feet search for your slippers on the floor, wrapping your throw around your shoulders and exiting your bedroom. the sounds get louder as you walk through the hallway, until you make it to your combined kitchen and living room. you take your slipper off of your foot, holding it in your stronger hand, preparing to swing. 

but. 

when you see osamu around the corner, your heart melts. just a bit. and you think to yourself, maybe you do somewhat feel bad. 

he looks so happy, like this.

with one of the dozens of cringy aprons the two of you have collected over the past two years wrapped around his waist, plastic gloves donning his hands, his tongue sticks out of the corner of his mouth as he wildly mixes together whatever feels right to him; in the dark, might i add.

it makes you remember why you decided to offer him your work space in the first place. he's an unconventional chef; that's what makes him so special. he's never idolised the main stream cooks, instead the uncustomary ones. 

you sigh, placing your slipper back on your foot, shuffling out to the kitchen, flicking the switch on the way. "you can turn on the light, you know." he looks stunned when he can suddenly see what he's doing, and the mess he made. "ah.. thanks." 

you rest your head on his shoulder, already finding yourself dozing off at the feeling of his warm skin. "you know you can go to bed, right?" "mh, don't want to." you gently step on his foot with your own, "i need to teach you how to cook quietly."

"it's my style." he shrugs, reaching over for the wasabi. "now, would you like to explain to me what kind of concoction i have the pleasure of being force-fed today?" "i bought some salmon on my way here," he gestures towards the now empty plastic bag. "i got it just as they were coming back to the docks."

"such dedication." you mock, whistling. "shut it." he throws a piece of lettuce in your face. "i've added some sriracha, mayonnaise, msg, sesame oil and a tad of wasabi." he moulds the mixture together with his hands.