a/n: Osamu > Atsumu, I said what I said

prompt: (Y/n) wakes up in a stranger's bed

warning: suggestive content (there are no actions, just talk of it), strong language

word count: 1206

.・-: ✧ :-　second-person point of view　-: ✧ :-・．

The warm linen sheets rubbed against your skin when your body subconsciously turned as you began to awake. The urge to remove yourself from the warm bed was all but absent. Your limbs felt heavy as bricks, a searing pain spreading across your head when you tried to open your eyes. The embrace of your surroundings was all too comforting. 

But that embrace felt strangely foreign. There was a lingering scent of savory cologne settled into the blankets and pillows. The material of those pillows and blankets was different from the ones you slept with every night. Your eyelids slowly peeled open, your retinas adjusting to the light streaming in through the open curtains.

Panic shot through every nerve of your body. This was not your bedroom. You were not in your own home. You shot up, tumbling out of the messy and unmade bed. Your feet hit the floor, your legs wavering to follow orders. One leg felt, however, significantly shorter. You looked down, noticing that you were wearing only one shoe. Your clothes were still on too.

What the hell happened last night? Your throbbing head wondered. Well, you went out drinking with your friends last night, that was what happened. You quickly approached the wall-mounted mirror. Your hair was disheveled and your wrinkled clothes were slightly out of order. You tried your best to make yourself look as presentable as possible. After all, you hadn't the slightest clue who was waiting for you outside that room.

Other than the bed you had slept in, the bedroom was relatively clean. There was a closed closet, a lamp on the nightstand beside a non-fiction book, and a small bottle of Melatonin. There was a bookshelf that was filled mostly with figurines or other memorabilia. On the top shelf, there was a framed photograph of a small family.

Surely, whoever you had gone home with couldn't be that bad. With a deep breath, you stepped into the hallway. It felt similar to the bedroom in the sense that it was minimal and quiet. Your steps were the only thing you could hear. You reached down and slipped your shoe off.

There was a door across on the opposite side of the hall that was shut. You peered down said hall, seeing a kitchen bar and dining table planted on the other side of the apartment. As your line of sight increased, you saw the rest of the home. You stood at the end of the hallway, to your left the way out, and to your right, a large sofa across from a TV.

You walked into the kitchen, which looked of nice quality, but well-used. You found no one waiting for you. They must have been in the closed room. In the meantime, you found your missing shoe and the jacket you wore the night before. You tucked them both away by the coat rail near the front door.

"Oh, you're awake," A calm voice nearly made you jump out of your skin. You spun around to see him. A tall young man with an unbothered expression, his warm slate eyes stared at you almost lazily. His dark brown hair was wet, dripping onto the towel that hung around his neck. It looked like he had just gotten out of the shower, so you decided to believe that room was the bathroom. He wore a black t-shirt and basketball shorts of the same color.

"Um, hi," You awkwardly greeted him. Instead of responding, he walked past you and into the open kitchen. Hesitantly, you trailed behind him like a lost puppy. You watched wordlessly as he opened the refrigerator.

"Do you have any allergies?" He asked calmly. He acted as if you were old friends, not total strangers.

"What?" You wondered, confused by his question.

"I'm making breakfast," He clarified, glancing over his shoulder at you. "Do you have any allergies?" You shakily answered him and he got to work. You stood awkwardly on the outskirts of the kitchen, unsure of the proper procedure.

"The bathroom's down the hall," He told you unprompted. "You can use it for whatever if you want."

"Th... Thanks," You muttered before scurrying off to the bathroom. As soon as the door shut, you let out a heavy sigh. You've never had a one-night stand before. Perhaps you couldn't call it that, after all, you weren't sure if sex even took place. You quickly freshened up until you no longer felt gross. By the time you returned to the kitchen, breakfast was being plated.

"Thank you," You told him kindly. He hummed in return. You sat at the kitchen bar while he chose to stand at the counter. Silence cloaked the atmosphere as you ate. To you, it felt tension-filled. But, he had not minded it.

"This is really good, you're a great cook," You said in a shallow attempt to fill the void. You saw the corner of his lips twitch.

"I know," He remarked slyly. "Otherwise I'd be out of a job." You let out a small chuckle.

"So, you're a chef then?" You saught clarity, a smile on your face for the first time that morning.

"I own a restaurant, actually," He informed you casually.

"Oh, wow," You said in slight surprise. "If you tell me the name, I'll stop by some time." He walked over to a small bowl on the kitchen counter. He moved some miscellaneous items before pulling out a small rectangular black slip of cardstock. He placed it down in front of you. It was a business card with, "Onigiri Miya" in bold letters. You tucked it into your pocket and the silence returned. You let it stand for as long as you could, but you needed to know,

"Last night... did we... ?" You struggled to get the words out, but he knew precisely what you were referring to.

"I don't think so," He shook his head with composure. "But I don't remember last night either."

"I guess that's why they call it blackout drunk," You remarked, mostly to yourself. He let out a small sigh. He knew he should have never agreed to go out for drinks with his brother.

"I'm (Y/n) (L/n), by the way," You introduced yourself politely.

"Osamu Miya," He said back. "Nice to meet you." He wore a small bittersweet smile. His features were objectively handsome and radiating a sense of calm and secure confidence. You had to admit, you wouldn't have been necessarily upset if your worry had turned out to be true. You would've been upset about not being able to remember it. You wondered if he would have regretted it.

Osamu grabbed your empty plate and his, then loaded them into the dishwasher. He strolled over to one of the cabinets and opened a rattling bottle. He handed you aspirin, which you gratefully swallowed.

"Sorry, but I have to go to work soon," Osamu explained briefly.

"Oh, yeah, of course," You shook your head, climbing off the barstool. "Thank you again for being so... hospitable." Osamu shrugged as if to say don't mention it. He walked you to the front door. You swiftly slipped your shoes back on and zipped up your jacket. You gave Osamu a parting smile when he opened the door for you.

"Um... " He paused, preventing you from leaving for just a moment. You could have sworn he even looked nervous.

"If you drop by the shop tonight, I'll--I'll be sure to say hi," He stuttered for just a moment. "Maybe, uh, even ask for your number." You watched him shrug again, a very faint red dusting his ears and cheeks. You felt your heart swell.

"Then I guess I'll see you later, Osamu."