I Love Osamu Miya - Tumblr Posts

KILIG KILIG KILIG MARRY ME ALR BEEFY ARM OSAMU 🦋🦋🦋

call it a freak occurrence, an alignment of planets, or even mercury in retrograde, but osamu has no freaking idea how he ended up here.

or more specifically, here in 2012.

less than a minute ago, he was in his bed, ready to go to sleep next to you and all that, and now, well now, he’s definitely not where he’s supposed to be.

by the looks of it, or from what he can remember, he stands in front of the old inarizaki high school building, just a few steps away from the entrance gate.

how long has it been since he's last been here? maybe 5 or 6 years? he's lost count, or more accurately, he can't really remember.

osamu's confused. he's definitely dreaming, that's for sure. he can't remember getting out of bed or making plans of coming here, and even if he did, he would never come back here without you.

he shakes his head, "this is a weird dream."

osamu opts to look around the place, nothing much to do since it looks as deserted as it feels, but he takes one step too far to the right, and something crashes into him.

“sorry! i didn’t see where i was — samu?”

and it’s you — but then again it's not you. because the 'you' he knows is older, just as old as he is, a bit taller than the one standing in front of him, and definitely wouldn’t be here right now — it’s younger you.

“how’d you get here so fast?" you ask him, eyebrows knitting together as you take a step closer, "and what happened to your clothes?”

osamu swallows, unsure of what to say, of what to do, so he takes a step back, distancing himself away from your questioning tone.

you narrow your eyes, “what happened to you?”

he shakes his head again, “i’m not—"

“quit running from me!” an all too familiar voice interrupts him, yours and his attention coming to the source of the sound, and his eyes widen as much as yours does.

it's him — osamu miya, 17, ashy grey hair, in his inarizaki uniform, chasing his breath as his running comes to an abrupt stop in front of you — its younger him.

osamu's taller than his younger self, a whole lot taller that it makes a striking difference, his once grey hair now a stark black as he's let it grow out over time, and instead of an old uniform, he wears an onigiri miya shirt with a pair of black trousers.

he looks like himself but then again he doesn't.

“what the hell." you say aloud, being the first to speak after a very long minute.

younger osamu takes a step closer to you, eyeing the stranger in front of him with a glance that's almost threatening to be a glare, "who's the scrub?"

"he's..." you don't know what to say, "i don't know."

osamu, the original one as he likes to name himself, feels very much like the villain here, and to that, he scoffs.

how is he the villain here?

yeah, he gets how a grown man approaching a bunch of kids in a school campus is sketchy, but hey! he didn't ask to be here. he doesn't even know why he's here. heck, how can he even be sketchy one of the kids in question is literally a younger version of himself?

osamu takes a deep breath, already peeved and ready for this dream to be over, but no matter how much he tries to pinch or will himself awake, it seems like he's stuck here for the time being.

so he looks at you, you and your confused look matched with his younger self's unrelenting glare, and he takes the time to explain what he thinks might be going on here.

( the only sane conclusion, omitting the fact that he's probably just dreaming all of this, time travel! )

“i don’t trust him.” his younger version tells you, although by the way he keeps his annoying gaze on him, osamu has a feeling that he wanted him to hear it as well.

you pull on younger osamu's arm, “i kinda do.”

and he turns to you, “he’s a stranger!”

“technically, i'm you.” osamu interrupts, shrugging, and this earns him another glare from the younger version of him.

he rolls his eyes, “alright, where's tsumu? i'm gonna kill him for pulling such a stupid prank.”

“tsumu should be in the gym with kita right now.” osamu looks back to the campus, then he turns his head to look at you, and then back to his younger self.

he finishes, "he stayed behind on purpose."

“yeah...” there's a slight dash of pink on his younger version's ears, “how'd ya know that?”

and osamu grins, thought it’s too small to actually tell, “i remember today.”

that's why this place feels so familiar.

it isn't just the place or the weather. it’s this specific day.

he remembers asking atsumu to stay behind so he can walk with you alone, he remembers making jokes and chasing each other around the empty streets, and he remembers how it felt to kiss you before running home.

he remembers today.

osamu looks at you, “i kissed ya for the first time here.”

he says it so casually, like he's kissed you a hundred times over to even be ashamed or embarrassed about it.

you snap your head to the boy next to you, “you were gonna kiss me!”

and he yells, defensive, “what — no!”

osamu turns to you, now an amused smile on his face, “and you punched me in the gut.”

“you punched me after i kissed you?!”

“must be because you were so bad at it!”

it goes on like this for another second or two, just two flushed and flustered kids bickering and yelling, and osamu almost feels too old to be involved in it.

you look at him again, “so — uhm — if there’s a samu in the future, is there a me?”

and for the first time today, osamu smiles, one that you easily recognize, “there is.”

“do we stay friends?” this time it's the younger version of him who asks this, standing next to you tightly as if he's almost embarrassed to ask the question.

osamu takes a second to pause, “no.”

the minute feels longer again.

osamu's stirring awake, he knows this because he feels it, something like a yawn coming up in the back of his throat or a hug coming around his chest to pull him away from his sleep.

he's waking up soon, but this — the school, the memory, you and the younger version of him — it still feels way too real and vivid.

“i have to go.” he tells you specifically.

and all you do is nod, unsure of what to say.

“don’t screw things up.” he looks directly at his younger self this time, “if i wake up, and i'm not married anymore, i'm gonna come back just to kill ya.”

he takes one last look at you standing next to younger him, both a bit flushed after you both seemed to have spotted the gold band he wears on his ring finger.

and he blinks, and he's gone — just as fast as he got there, he's back to where he started.

cold comforters, sunlight peeking through his hooded eyes, and the gentle stroking of fingers tangled in his messy morning hair.

he opens his eyes to the bright sun, a cluttered apartment bedroom with socks and shirts on the floor, college books stacked on a study table, and an apron dangling on one of the door hooks.

2018.

he turns to his side, finally seeing you after a cruel amount of time, and the first thing he does is pull you into a quick kiss.

“hello.” you smile, pulling away from him, “you were talking in your sleep.”

osamu stirs, disturbing the heavy comforter as he does, and he yawns before blinking away the last of his drowsiness.

“i say anything interesting?” he looks at you, turning on the cold pillows.

you nod, laughing lightly, “i punched you in the gut apparently.”

he quirks a brow, “oh, is that why my stomach hurts?”

and you smile, “ah well you know me, i've got a strong punch.”

for a second, his hand greets yours, him gently lifting up your fingers to see the matching ring he has with you, and he smiles timidly once he sees it there.

“something wrong?” you ask, and osamu pulls your hand closer to his face to kiss on the back of your fingers.

and all he tells you is, with a gentle smile on his face, “i'm just checking.”