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Motoya was doing that thing again. He faced away from the room at large, shaking out his hands and hopping from foot to foot, muttering to himself and making every single noise the human mouth, tongue, and lips were capable of making. Osamu glanced at Rintarou, his eyebrow raised in question, but Rintarou just shook his head. The message, Just let him do his thing, came across loud and clear, and Osamu was only all too happy to settle in and wait. He leaned his head against Rintarou's shoulder, smiling as Motoya started jumping up and down in place.
Paradise had always been a concept wrapped in white sand beaches and drinks sweet enough to hide just how alcoholic they were, adventures through the wilderness, every whim resting just at one's fingertips. Osamu felt, respectfully, that all of that was complete and utter horse shit.
Paradise was this, was his home in this apartment that was really too small for all three of them, sitting on this shitty couch he'd had to wrestle Atsumu for, leaning against Rintarou and letting Motoya's chatter fill the air. It was the knowledge that the loves of his life were right there with him, that his brother and his Ma were each only a phone call away, that they and his boyfriends and all his friends were in easy reach. It was the opportunity to indulge Motoya's every whim, to parry Rintarou's every quip, to just be.
"Okay!" Motoya said, nodding to himself. He turned on his heel and brandished the remote, turning on the television that had been hooked up to his laptop at the beginning of this warmup. Osamu and Rintarou both sat up a little more, ready to hear what their third had prepared for them.
A Case for Miya Motoya.
Osamu blinked at the title page, his whole body going warm at just that thought. He leaned more firmly into Rintarou and ignored the quiet little laugh he got at that. Rintarou wrapped an arm more firmly around Osamu, supporting him even as he probably drafted a thousand new ways to make fun of Osamu for this.
"Assembled Miyas," started Motoya, and another jolt of warmth went through Osamu at that. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the cheap gold-plated band Rintarou wore on his left hand, carrying with it all the memories of a drunken proposal, a sheepish re-proposal, a quick ceremony in Hawaii with no one present but Ma, Atsumu, and Rintarou's little sister, and a refusal to allow Osamu to replace the ring with something nicer. Rintarou's jerseys still read Suna across the backs, but it was really only to avoid confusion with Atsumu and Kiyoomi during JNT games and when EJP Raijin played the Jackals. Rintarou was a Miya, and what a lovely thought that was.
Motoya seemed to falter, looking down at his shoes for a moment. It was enough to draw Osamu out of his dreamy thoughts so that he could sit up a little more. "You okay?" he prompted. Rintarou's hand moved from his shoulder to his thigh, squeezing softly in a reminder to let Motoya work through his anxiety. It was something he and Osamu had been working on, giving Motoya space and letting him ask for help rather than just offering to fix his problems straight away. Motoya took a deep breath, then started again.
"Assembled Miyas," he said. His head snapped up and that beautiful, sparkling fire was back in his eyes. He held a stack of index cards in front of his chest and set his jaw firmly. "Today I lay before you a proposal that will bring unprecedented gains to all involved parties, in terms of personal fulfillment, financial stability, and overall happiness." He clicked a button on his laptop and the slide changed.
Komori Motoya: Boyfriend Material.
Osamu glanced at Rintarou, but it seemed there were no answers coming from that direction. Rintarou just looked bemused.
"Now, you may be asking yourselves: Motoya? Everyone's favorite little buddy, Komori Motoya? What makes him boyfriend material?" Motoya's face was dead serious, and it was only the knowledge that the punchline was certain to be coming that had Osamu holding himself back from shouting a joke of his own. "Well, friends, I'll tell you," Motoya continued, and clicked the button again.
Humor
"Komori Motoya is funny," Motoya said, and Osamu couldn't help himself. He tried, he really did. But all that meant was that the laugh he let out was strangled and escaped from his lips like a whistling teapot.
"I don't see it," Rintarou said, utterly deadpan. Osamu smacked him and bit his own tongue to calm himself down.
"Sorry," he managed. "Please continue, Toya."
"Thank you, Osamu-kun," Motoya said primly. "As I was saying. I'm funny. My jokes bring light and levity to daily lives, and by dating me you will have the opportunity to boost the amount of light and levity in two ways. Number one." A click, and the words Access to jokes appeared under the humor heading. "By dating me you would increase your proximity to me, and thereby raise the proportion of my time spent sharing my jokes with you both. Number two." Another click, joined by Genre of jokes. "By promoting me to the status of 'boyfriend' you will allow me to deliver an entirely new subset of humor. In addition to receiving the usual 'friend', 'teammate', and 'relative of my relative's husband' styles of joke, you will also be receiving 'significant other' jokes. This delightful new classification is only available to a select few, and positions do not open often."
Osamu took the moment in which Motoya flicked to a new index card to glance at Rintarou, who looked just as confused as Osamu. Before Osamu could say anything, though, Motoya clicked the button again and a new heading appeared on the page.
Attractiveness
"Komori Motoya, is, simply put, a snacc."
"Oh, look, Samu, he is funny!" Rintarou said, smacking at Osamu's chest a few times and grinning. Motoya glared at him and he fell silent, still grinning as Osamu struggled to keep himself out of trouble. Rintarou waved his hand for Motoya to continue, but did not repent.
"As I was saying," Motoya snipped. "I am, objectively, a goddamn catch. Look at these beautiful blue eyes. Look at these delicate facial features. Look at these calves."
"Interesting choice of body parts," Osamu commented before he could stop himself.
"Hey, now, they are really nice calves," Rintarou argued.
"Rin's got that whorish waist, you've got tits, and I'm not even trying to compete with Tsumu in the thighs department. I know when I'm outclassed," Motoya said.
"Acknowledged. Continue."
"Any couple would be privileged to walk down the street with me as their arm candy," Motoya said. "I'm like a purse dog in human form-"
"Furry," Rintarou muttered.
"-or a bimbo in an evening dress on the arm of a billionaire who won't remember her name by morning," Motoya continued as though Rintarou hadn't spoken.
"How is he getting worse as he lists them?" Osamu stage-whispered, just for the joy of watching Rintarou's face go red with the effort to not laugh.
Motoya seemed to have adopted a policy of just ignoring his audience as he steamed ahead. "I have the kind of good looks that can adapt to any situation. Grannies want to pinch my cheeks. A good tuxedo and suddenly I'm sophisticated and people want to hear my opinions. A bit of eyeliner and I'm having to beat off modeling contract offers with a stick."
"That's actually true. He literally had to smack someone with a broom handle once," Rintarou said. Osamu quirked an eyebrow, making a mental note to get the rest of that story later.
"Beautiful and funny," Motoya said. "Can this package get any better? I'm glad you asked. It can!" He clicked the button as Osamu held back the urge to point out that no one had asked. Another header appeared, reading Support. "Beauty and charisma are not enough to make one truly boyfriend material. Said boyfriend must also be supportive. He must prop up his prospective partners, boost them toward their dreams, help them up when they stumble. They must help with the dishes, the dusting, the scrubbing of baseboards."
"Oh my god I ignore the baseboards in the sharehouse one time—" Rintarou groaned, throwing his head back. Osamu patted his knee consolingly without even bothering to try hiding his smirk.
"Not only am I a man able and willing to pull my weight in the household chores, oh no. Nor am I simply a third income to cover household expenses, either. I am supportive in many different ways. I am a listening ear. A shoulder to cry on. A sounding board. A taste-tester. The only athlete on both teams willing to partner with Rin for stretches."
"I pout at everyone else," Rintarou explained when Osamu quirked a brow. "I get pissy when I don't get a chance to put my hands all over him."
"Ah."
"Toya, I think there's been a miscommunication," Rintarou said. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees and lacing his fingers together in a way that reminded Osamu in a painfully visceral way of Kiyoomi. The five of them really had become quite the tight-knit family over the years. "Why are you trying to convince us to date you?"
"If you would shut up and watch the rest of the presentation, I'll tell you," Motoya said in that sweet, innocent voice that promised painful repercussions for any more interruptions. Rintarou held his hands up in surrender and leaned into Osamu's side. Osamu put an arm around him and squeezed his shoulder, a silent reassurance that he had no fucking clue what was happening, either.
Motoya seemed flustered for a moment, looking down at his cards. He shook his head and clicked to the next slide. This one read Testimonials at the top.
"Upon request I can provide many references to my character and qualities as a potential boyfriend," Motoya said. His voice was starting to grow small, losing some of its confidence. He clicked the button again and Osamu didn't bother reading the entirety of the quote that popped up next to his brother's face. He just stood, shaking off Rintarou's hand, and reached for Motoya.
"Motoya, Rin's right," he said softly. "There's been a miscommunication." He stepped slowly backward toward the couch, coaxing Motoya along with him. "We don't need all this to convince us ta date you."
Rintarou reached out as they stepped close enough and drew Motoya onto the couch beside him. "We actually have a counter-proposal for you," he said. He pulled Motoya close to himself so that Osamu was free to go rummage around in the back of the coat closet. He could hear them talking in soft tones, Rintarou soothing Motoya through each protest he could come up with. Finally, Osamu managed to grab what he was looking for and he moved back to the others.
"A case for Miya Motoya," he murmured as he knelt in front of them. "I had never been more insulted in my life than when you called yerself 'boyfriend material'. Yer clearly husband material." Osamu opened the box he held, revealing a set of three rings, black metal shot through with a braid of gold, silver, and rose. "Please, Motoya, marry us so that I can get Rin to take off that piece of crap he's been wearin' for six years."
"But... We're not even dating?" Motoya asked, head whipping between Osamu and Rintarou.
"Darling, we've been dating since your twenty-eighth birthday," Rintarou said. "We should've figured you'd forgotten, but you never said anything."
"I don't even sleep in your bedroom!" Motoya insisted.
"You do sometimes," Osamu pointed out.
"And Kiyo has his own room at his and Tsumu's place. We figured you needed your own space sometimes," Rintarou added.
"We've never kissed!"
"We made out for two hours on Tuesday," Osamu droned.
"As friends!" Motoya was beginning to look genuinely distressed, so Osamu clambered up to sit beside him.
"Toya, if we read all this wrong, it's okay to tell us," he said. "But neither of us have ever wanted ta be yer friend. We always wanted you. We've loved you pretty much as long as we've known ya. We want to marry you, but since we don't seem to have communicated that clearly, we'll take this at yer pace."
"Fuck his pace," Rintarou huffed. "I wanna marry him now."
Motoya made a noise like a tire deflating and turned to hide his head in Osamu's shoulder. Then he gasped and leapt to his feet with a cry of "That bitch!"
"Wh—"
"Kiyoomi knew! He knew all along that we were already dating and he still let me make this stupid presentation! He even helped me pick themes for it!"
"At least he's supportive?" Rintarou tried, but Motoya dodged his hands as he tried to reach out and pull him back onto the couch.
"He's just lookin' fer blackmail he can use ta get back at us fer him and Tsumu," Osamu said. "There ain't enough blackmail in the world."
"Okay, but if he ever asks, we weren't dating and my presentation was so good that you went out to buy rings today, got it?" Motoya looked at them each with a fierce expression, and Osamu could only smile.
"Got it," he said. "Now, c'mere and lemme put this ring on yer finger.”
“Can I finish the presentation after?” Motoya asked, eyes narrowed. “I put a lot of effort into it. There are like. Twelve more slides.”
“We’d be delighted,” Rintarou answered, “if you will just fucking come here first and let us finish proposing to you.”
Motoya's whole being lit up and he threw himself back onto the couch, pawing at Osamu's hand around the ring box. The evening was perfect, utterly magical in a way that had Osamu thinking that not even Rintarou putting that shitty gold band onto his other ring finger rather than throwing the piece of crap away could bring him down from this high. Not when his paradise was right here.