Chapter Text
“It’s been a few months now, right? Are you still in contact with the other members?”
“Yeah, Suga called me yesterday, and the other three have been texting me updates.”
The therapist, a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair who insisted Akaashi call him Toshio, peered over his glasses. “The other three? I thought your band had six members?”
Akaashi sighed. “Our guitarist, Atsumu, doesn’t count. He hasn’t even talked to me since I made the announcement.”
“Have you tried to reach out?”
Akaashi studied a loose thread on the once-fluffy carpet, the faded baby blue shot through with green in a failed attempt to make the claustrophobic office something resembling cheerful. “...No.”
“Hmm. He may feel awkward or self-conscious about approaching you, especially given what you’ve told me about his strong and negative reaction when you first told him. It may be worth it to send him a message to get the ball rolling.”
“Atsumu won’t answer. He’s too stubborn for that,” Akaashi responded, shaking his head. On their last world tour, Atsumu had gotten lost in Boston after he had gone out shopping, and refused their offers to pick him up in favor of getting an exorbitantly expensive Uber back to the hotel.
“Akaashi-san–”
“Maybe in a month or two. Once their schedules ease up again.”
Toshio sighed. “Alright.”
For the fifth time in the past half hour, Akaashi stole a glance at the hanging clock above Toshio's head. The industrial gray hands remained rooted in place, while the dull red second hand clicked around in a never-ending cycle: a ceaseless heartbeat echoing, hollowly, through the small room. Five more minutes.
“Akaashi-san, I know we’re nearing the end of our meeting today, but do you remember the list of goals we set a few weeks ago?”
“The one we go over every week?” Of course he remembered them. They were pinned on his door, taped above his desk, typed out on his notes app, burned into the backs of his eyelids each time he closed his eyes to sleep. Goals. Maybe today was just a worse day than most, but he found himself sorely regretting whatever fit of self-improvement had possessed him when he and Toshio had written them three months ago.
“Yes, those. How have you been doing with them?”
“Well, for number one, I haven’t met anyone new.”
“Met anyone new outside of the entertainment industry,” Toshio corrected gently. “That’s alright, I understand it may feel overwhelming to put yourself back into social situations given the intense quality of your previous relationships.” Akaashi nodded. ‘Scared to leave his apartment’ sounded a lot less pathetic when Toshio said it with his psychology degree vocabulary. “What about the second? Take up a new hobby?”
“I’ve been reading more, recently. It’s not really a new hobby, but I was too busy to read full novels after we debuted, so I’ve tried to read some now that I have more time.”
“That’s great, Akaashi-san.” The warmth in Toshio’s voice was genuine, and Akaashi almost smiled back at him. “What have you been reading?”
“Some books I was recommended by my bandmates but never got the chance to start. I finished Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore a few days ago, and I’ve just started an American book, The Midnight Library by Matt Haig.”
Instead of moving on to the next goal, Toshio was silent for a beat before speaking. “Your bandmates recommended these?”
“Yeah, Suga told me about Kafka on the Shore . He reads a lot, when we’re on tour or whenever we have downtime, and Murakami is one of his favorite authors. And Oikawa lent me The Midnight Library a year or so ago, even though he knew I didn’t have much time to read, and told me to keep it when I moved out of the dorm.”
“What did you do for downtime when you were in the band?” Were. Akaashi was still getting used to the past tense. Even with the regular texts from his old bandmates, his heart split anew each time he realized that somewhere out there, Ready Set was training, singing, promoting, making music together as a five-member group. He still had no idea how their fans were reacting to his departure, having stayed off social media for a month on company orders and then out of his own cowardice after the required month was up. (He had a feeling Toshio was slowly gathering the strength to bring that up one of these days.)
“Akaashi-san?”
Akaashi blinked. “Sorry, could you say that again?”
“What did you do for downtime when you were still with the band?” Toshio repeated, no trace of annoyance in his tone.
“I worked on new songs, I guess? I usually start with the music and add lyrics later, but sometimes when I’m feeling stuck, I write out my thoughts as poems to generate ideas.”
“That’s still part of your job, though.”
Huh, Akaashi had never thought of it that way. “Well, besides that, I studied English and Korean. I also did chores around the dorm and gave the other members tasks to do.” That all still sounded like work, didn’t it? Akaashi wracked his brain for something else. “Sometimes I scrolled through Twitter?”
Toshio leaned forward, anchoring his elbows on his knees. “Akaashi-san, we’ve talked about this before, but I’d like you to continue to think about the possibility that overwork contributed to your breakdown.”
“It wasn’t a breakdown, I decided to-”
“I’m really glad you’re taking the time to develop some hobbies right now, and I hope you can carry those with you moving forward,” Toshio continued, ignoring Akaashi. Are therapists supposed to talk over their patients? “Time away from work is important, Akaashi-san. If I went home and tried to be a therapist for my whole family, I would lose my mind. Even if you find joy or comfort in songwriting, which I know you do, your brain needs to be stimulated with different things to keep it running.”
Akaashi started to argue, to say that it was different because he was the songwriter and not just one of the band members, that his role gave him different responsibilities, but realized the flaw in that line of thinking immediately. Songwriting was an instrument just like the bass or the drums, and it had to be practiced and perfected. But also just like an instrument, time away from it was invaluable, as it gave the songwriter a new perspective upon return.
The words were well-rehearsed in his mind by now, having told them to the other members to prevent them from burning themselves out with practice, and the cruel irony prickled in Akaashi’s chest.
Toshio chuckled, bringing Akaashi back to the small, stuffy room. “You’re a very loud thinker, Akaashi-san. I can hear your neurons firing from over here.”
“That’s what Suga always said,” Akaashi said, the words flying out of him unbidden. “He would say the Akaashi machine was chugging along and ready to spit out more genius ideas. Then he would give me a water bottle and say it was oil for my gears.”
“He sounds like a good friend,” Toshio said softly. Knowingly.
Akaashi blinked, startled at the sudden warmth in his therapist’s tone, but responded all the same.
“He is. They all are.”
When the minute hand ticked to the top of the clock a few seconds later, the ghost of a smile was still on Akaashi’s lips.
—
Goal number three was to get a job. Not that Akaashi particularly needed the money, but even Toshio had agreed that Akaashi would quickly fizzle out without work to focus on. “Much less strenuous than anything you did with the band,” Toshio had advised. “Preferably unskilled labor. Just to give you structure and something new to learn while not stressing you out.”
It sounded great in theory. The only problem was that it was absolutely stressing Akaashi out, because his adult life thus far had been completely void of job applications, and no matter how hard he combed through his memory, he could not for the life of him remember how he had gotten that cashier job at age 16.
In short, he was completely out of his depth.
He had considered asking Toshio for help, given that his therapist was clearly an adult with a job who had probably submitted countless applications in his life, but had decided against it in an uncharacteristic burst of self-confidence—or maybe just stubbornness. He could do this. He was 24 years old. He had written hundreds of award-winning songs, learned four languages and countless instruments, and managed on more than one occasion to get Miya Atsumu to admit he was wrong. Submitting a job application would be hard, but achievable. And when had Akaashi ever given up on something hard?
Unfortunately, as his laptop clock ticked down the seconds to midnight on a rainy Friday, Akaashi was getting closer and closer to answering that question with the words “right now.”
The Tokyo skyline was reduced to a multitude of fuzzy, gleaming dots outside of Akaashi’s eleventh-floor window. Water and ice mixed together streamed down the glass in ever-changing tracks, distorting the cityscape even further. It could have been a painting, really, something from the Impressionists. The loud advertisements and flashy storefronts were reduced to simple colors, splashed across the scene like diluted oil paint.
Akaashi stared at his computer screen, the heading Akaashi Keiji remaining etched into his eyes even when he blinked. Rain used to inspire him, he thought, annoyed. Some of Ready Set’s best-charting songs were written during those heavy summer storms, the kind that made Akaashi’s hair stand on end and saturated the practice room air with heavy moisture before they even started to rehearse.
Although he supposed writing a resume didn’t particularly require inspiration. More… perspiration. And experience which he didn’t have.
Even assuming he managed to write more than two words on his resume, where was he even going to apply to? What did he have to offer besides publicity and music? He supposed it would be nice to work somewhere quiet, somewhere he didn’t have to interact too much with the public. Retail would probably drive his stress through the roof. What options did that leave him, though?
He couldn’t think of a single possible job, and while he knew somewhere in the back of his brain that it was the late hour and his ever-present sleep deficit talking, he couldn’t help the frustration flooding through his veins. Couldn’t hack fame, couldn’t hack normalcy—what was he even supposed to be doing?
Across the table, Akaashi’s phone chimed.
SUGAWARA KOUSHI: akaashi!!! go to sleep its past ur bedtime
Rolling his eyes even as he felt his face soften with affection, Akaashi unlocked his phone and tapped out a response.
AKAASHI KEIJI: Noted
SUGAWARA KOUSHI: …
SUGAWARA KOUSHI: does that mean you’re going to bed soon
AKAASHI KEIJI: Maybe
Just to needle his friend, he added another text.
AKAASHI KEIJI: It’s so early, though
SUGAWARA KOUSHI: it’s literally midnight……
SUGAWARA KOUSHI: wait you’re fucking with me aren’t you
SUGAWARA KOUSHI: ugh just go to sleep you suck
AKAASHI KEIJI: Goodnight, Suga
SUGAWARA KOUSHI: goodnight akaashi <3
Akaashi closed his computer and locked his phone, heart full. Suga didn’t text every night—Akaashi understood more than anyone that schedules took precedence—but more often than not, Akaashi was roused from whatever late-night project (or funk) he often found himself in by the chime of his bandmate’s newest cheery goodnight text. At the beginning, the texts had made Akaashi miss Suga and the rest of Ready Set even more, but the sharp pang of longing had settled over the long months into a bittersweet but comforting reminder of the people waiting for him back at the place he still considered his home.
Thoughts occupied with these nostalgic musings, he stood up to take his laptop to the charger, but another noise from his phone caught his attention: the messages app again, but accompanied by another name. Curious, he unlocked his phone once more as another message came in under the first.
SEMI EITA: Hi Akaashi! Hope you’re doing well :]
SEMI EITA: Are you free for lunch tomorrow?
SEMI EITA: So sorry for the short notice, but Bulta Mag canceled on us so I’m free for a few hours! You know how promotions are, I’ve been so busy so I thought I’d jump on the opportunity
His interest piqued, Akaashi tapped out a text back, ignoring the Sugawara in his brain telling him to go to bed.
AKAASHI KEIJI: Sure, works for me. Did you have anywhere in mind?
SEMI EITA is typing…
Toshio would be happy, Akaashi mused. Although Semi was neither a new friend nor someone outside of the entertainment industry, meeting up with someone who wasn’t literally part of Ready Set had to count for something, right?
Maybe not. Akaashi would still count it as a personal win.
SEMI EITA: There’s a cafe in Shinjuku that Tendou recommended! I’ll send you the address
SEMI EITA: Is 11:45 okay?
AKAASHI KEIJI: Works for me, see you then!
Being presentable by 11:45 would be more difficult than Akaashi would like to admit, but as much as he hated to think about how much emptier his schedule was nowadays, he could acknowledge that routinely waking up at noon and eating a halfhearted brunch wasn’t the healthiest habit to have. Maybe having lunch with Semi could be a new start, he mused, shutting off the kitchen lights and shuffling into the bathroom with a stifled yawn. If it was a good night, he could even try to get up early to have breakfast.
—
The cafe that Semi had picked was on one of the rare quieter streets in Shinjuku, away from the main drag but still charged with the busy, nervous energy characteristic of the ward. Akaashi had to hand it to his old friend: Shinjuku’s barely controlled chaos would help them blend into the crowd, but the cafe itself was more private and wouldn’t be easy for cameras to find.
In a turn of events that even Akaashi himself was struggling to believe, he had not only managed to sleep through the night, wake up on time, and eat something for breakfast, but had also made it to the cafe a full 15 minutes early. He picked a table in the back of the cafe, partly obscured by a large decorative plant, and let his mind wander as he waited for Semi to arrive.
Semi Eita. Guitarist, songwriter, and producer of E.AgL, internationally acclaimed band under WT Entertainment credited with being a pioneer of the noise music genre in the Japanese music industry. Although their overseas audience was notably bigger than their domestic one, they still enjoyed relative popularity on the charts both at home and abroad.
But before all of that, he had just been Semi: Furudate trainee and the first guitarist Akaashi had ever worked with. His sheer dexterity on the instrument had been second to only his ability to effortlessly adapt to anything 18-year-old Akaashi had suggested. Watching Semi seemingly take the ideas right out of Akaashi’s brain and bring them to life on the fretboard, Akaashi had been distinctly aware for the first time in his life (but definitely not the last) that he was in the presence of a true musical genius.
It had been between him and Atsumu for the role of lead guitarist in Ready Set, and there had been a suffocating tension in the company building for weeks as the two faced off in evaluation after evaluation. The stakes were high: Furudate Entertainment didn’t have plans for another band soon, so the losing guitarist would have either had to settle for a secondary guitarist role in Ready Set or leave the company entirely and start from square one.
The choice had finally been made, not by Furudate, but by Semi himself. Perhaps hearing word of the stalemate between him and Atsumu, WT Entertainment had given Semi a lucrative offer to be the lead guitarist in their new band. “It would have been awkward for Atsumu-kun and I no matter how the lineup came out,” Semi had explained to Akaashi, Atsumu, Oikawa, Kageyama, Sugawara, and Kenma, his voice coming out a little thick. “This way, Atsumu-kun and I can both get to do what we love without stepping on each others’ toes!”
Atsumu vehemently denied that he had cried that day, but Akaashi would never forget how his bandmate’s eyes had welled with tears as Semi gave him a hopeful smile. Semi had been part of their family, and despite his rivalry with Atsumu near the end, he had been a mentor and close friend to the younger guitarist.
The members of Ready Set had stayed in touch with Semi over the next few years as both Ready Set and E.AgL debuted and carved out their own places in the music industry, but schedules were tight, and the higher they both climbed, the more eyes followed their every move. Group dinners had turned into video calls and then into texts, which slowly decreased in frequency as the months wore on. Akaashi had still avidly followed E.AgL’s music up until his hiatus, but maintaining his relationship with Semi had grown more and more difficult.
It would be so nice to get back in touch, Akaashi thought, lost in those old practice room memories, when being famous was a whispered fantasy and the only thing that really mattered were the scribbled chords on the page.
He was so grateful that Semi had reached out, really. Isolated as he was from the industry and the outside world, he would never have thought to do the same. He hadn’t even known that E.AgL was promoting a new project, he realized, slightly guiltily.
“Hey, Akaashi!” He looked up to see Semi at the front of the cafe, bundled up in a sleek black peacoat and a purple scarf, the door swinging shut behind him. With quick strides, Semi crossed the floor to where Akaashi had claimed a table.
“Hi, Semi,” Akaashi responded, standing up and waving. He froze for a moment, wondering what an appropriate greeting would be for a formerly close friend whom one hasn’t seen in person for over a year, but Semi answered the question for him as he arrived at the table and pulled Akaashi into a tight hug.
“I’m so happy to see you,” Semi said softly, his voice slightly muffled by the mask covering his nose and mouth.
“Me too,” Akaashi responded, surprised and slightly worried to find his words coming out slightly wet. Had he been living alone for so long that a hug was bringing him to tears? He took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp December air that clung to Semi’s clothes. “Thank you for reaching out and suggesting the place.”
“Of course, it was nothing,” Semi said, pulling away and giving Akaashi one last searching look before sliding into his seat and removing his mask. Akaashi followed suit, trying not to think about how the version of himself that Semi was seeing was the same version that terrified him with its listlessness every time he made the mistake of looking in the mirror.
“I looked at the menu a bit, but I wanted to wait for you to see if Tendou-san had any recommendations,” Akaashi told Semi, half-focused on attempting to swallow down the lump in his throat.
“Oh, you know he did. He jumped me on the way out and told me that the breakfast sandwiches are the best in Shinjuku, that the hot coffee is excellent but their iced coffee leaves something to be desired, and to avoid the fish dishes at all costs.”
Akaashi could picture the interaction in his head, the eccentric keyboardist and part-time food critic skidding in front of Semi to unload his endless opinions.
“I’ll take a mocha then, I suppose.”
While Semi relayed their drink orders to the waitress who had approached their table, Akaashi took the chance to study his old friend.
Semi hadn’t changed much since Akaashi had last seen him—which had been, if he remembered correctly, during an awards show back in February. Still the same fluffy ash blond hair with tips a few shades darker, still the same hawklike eyes that burned with an undisguised competitive fire that had intimidated a younger Akaashi more than he would ever admit.
Missing were Semi’s characteristic heavy silver jewelry and equally heavy black eye makeup that he was scarcely seen in the tabloids without, gone for the same reason Akaashi’s glasses were perched on his nose and his ears were bare of any adornment. The age-old trick: create an image for yourself, and you’re virtually invisible once you remove each defining element.
“So,” Semi began after the waitress inclined her head to the two of them and headed back to the kitchen, “how have you been for the past few months? I imagine it’s been a tough adjustment.”
“It’s been fine,” Akaashi said, twisting his fingers together underneath the table. “It’s definitely been strange to have so much free time all of a sudden, but it’s been a good break. Necessary.”
“Mhm, yeah. What have you been up to?”
“Trying to find a job, mostly. My therapist thinks it’ll be good for me to have a routine again.” Shit, he hadn’t meant to mention Toshio right out of the gate like that. He watched Semi closely, but his friend didn’t so much as bat an eye, instead nodding in understanding with a sparkle of amusement dancing in his eye.
“Such a workaholic,” he joked. “I get it, though. Even on break, this job never really ends. It must be so hard to get used to all of that just disappearing at once.”
“Yeah. I still don’t feel like I’m used to it,” Akaashi confessed. “I keep waking up at odd hours, panicked that I’ve missed some schedule or slept through some interview. I guess it’s hard to break habits after all these years.”
Semi hummed in agreement.
“Mocha and black coffee?” The waitress had approached their table again, holding a tray with both drinks. Semi and Akaashi accepted their drinks, Semi immediately taking a sip of his steaming coffee without adding any sweeteners and nodding appreciatively. Akaashi wrinkled his nose at the sight.
“And while I’m here, do you gentlemen know what you’d like to eat?”
“Yes, I’ll take the tomato and egg sandwich,” Semi answered.
“And I’ll have the breakfast bagel, please.”
The waitress collected their menus with a smile. “That will be right out for you.”
“Thank you,” Semi said, turning back to Akaashi with that piercing gray gaze as the waitress walked away.
Suddenly fearing an interrogation, Akaashi blurted, “So, how are promotions going?”
“Great, actually! You probably haven’t been online a lot, given everything, but we released our third album a few weeks back. It’s called Aurum. People seem to be really liking it, even more than our last EP.”
“Congratulations!” Akaashi said warmly, grateful that Semi didn’t blame him for not keeping up with the industry. “What’s the album like?”
“The styles are all over the place, but strangely coherent, if you know what I mean. I let Tendou loose on production this time, which was a bit of a gamble, but it actually turned out crazy good. There’s this one song, ‘High Octane,’ where he loops himself and Tsutomu like a million times, and I have genuinely no idea how it works so well. He does it live, too. Guy’s a monster.”
Akaashi couldn’t agree more. Tendou Satori had always been the sort of person fearless enough to throw anything and everything at the wall and talented enough to make it work the vast majority of times. “I’ll give it a listen. How’s Goshiki-kun doing, anyway? Still itching to take your job?”
Semi laughed, and Akaashi was surprised to hear an undercurrent of bitterness. “That ship sailed when I ended up getting replaced without Tsutomu even needing to lift a finger.”
Akaashi’s heart dropped. “What?”
Semi’s eyes widened. “Oh, I completely forgot, you might not have been… when did you leave Ready Set again?”
“About three months ago?”
“Yeah, this was around the same time. Must have been a little afterwards—the company might have even taken advantage of the gossip around your hiatus to quietly make the announcement.” Semi sighed. “There’s this Battle of the Bands-type thing that happens every year in Tokyo for high school and university students, and WT sends scouts every year to scope things out. It’s usually a pretty casual competition without a lot of standouts, but this year, the bass player from the winning band totally stole the show. Apparently, he had just graduated from the University of Tokyo with a degree in biology and is taking a year or two off before applying to med school. Lots of untapped potential, I guess. So, the WT scouts send this guy a message, asking if he’s interested in signing with them.”
“No,” Akaashi murmured in horror, already sensing where the story was going.
“He says yes, of course, but since he’s a student and just doing music to pass the time before med school, he says he’ll only sign if he can debut and start working immediately. WT doesn’t have any bands slated to debut soon, but they do have us, and we’d been asking for a bassist for a while, since Tsutomu and I have been sharing the bass and guitar roles but we both prefer guitar.”
“So how did he… replace you?”
“Turns out the guy—Shirabu Kenjirou is his name—played bass in his band, but he’s been studying guitar since elementary school, and that’s his real passion. He practiced with us once before signing, and I just knew instantly. He’s excellent on bass, but he’s got the kind of raw talent on guitar that Tsutomu and Atsumu have. Maybe I can keep up now, but talent always wins in the end, you know? So I told Shirabu he could be lead guitarist and that I’d move permanently to bass.”
“Semi!” Akaashi gasped, the last part of Semi’s story catching him completely off guard. “Your managers didn’t ask you guys to switch?”
Semi shrugged. “No, I did it myself. I knew they would have asked sooner or later, though. Shirabu’s just that good.”
Akaashi opened his mouth, then closed it again, at a complete loss for words. His mind reeled, struggling to reconcile this new information with the image of Semi Eita that had lived in his head for the past six years.
“Semi, I don’t… I can’t believe it. All of your hard work…” Akaashi reached out across the table and grasped Semi’s hand in his, guilt flooding his chest. “I’m so sorry I didn’t reach out earlier.”
Semi smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I can’t say I’m not frustrated, but the band comes first, and Shirabu’s been a great addition to the team. He’s the most hardworking person I’ve ever met and helps keep Tsutomu and Tendou in check. He takes criticism well and isn’t afraid to dole it out with brutal honesty.” Semi narrowed his eyes. “He’s sometimes a little too reserved, though. Annoyed the hell out of me in the first couple weeks.”
Akaashi raised his eyebrows questioningly, taking a sip of his mocha.
“Like, I’m used to Tsutomu brushing off my advice and talking back to me. In the beginning, I kept trying to test Shirabu, giving him tips and nitpicking his playing, and he just nodded and thanked me. Pissed me off.”
Akaashi snorted. “So he was just too nice for temperamental rockstar Semi Eita.”
“Oh, come on, you’ve never met someone who you wanted to dislike so badly but couldn’t?”
“My psychiatrist?”
Semi’s face froze, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, before an incredulous laugh bubbled out of him.
“God, I forgot how weird your sense of humor is,” Semi managed, a hand over his mouth. Akaashi let a satisfied smile slip onto his face as his friend took a deep breath and continued.
“Anyway. I was being an ass to Shirabu. It took me a month to realize that it would be impossible to tick him off and that it wasn’t worth it, especially since I did voluntarily give up my spot to him. I think it just annoyed me that he was better than me and didn’t act like it, when I absolutely would have if I had been in his position. I’ve always been so desperate to prove myself, like how I left Furudate when I was scared that I would be relegated to backup guitar for the rest of my career.”
“Why did you give up your spot so quickly, then?” Akaashi asked, the question still weighing on him.
“I’ve thought about that a lot.” Semi sighed. “I think it’s a similar thing. As much as I loved being lead guitarist, it would have killed me to watch Shirabu slowly start taking my parts album by album and pushing me to the side. I’d rather leave gracefully and dedicate myself to learning a new role. Bass is a fun challenge that I haven’t really gotten to focus on until recently. I’d forgotten how fun it was to learn a new instrument.” He swirled his coffee, eyes following the clusters of bubbles as they spun. “Plus, I’ve been writing much more than I used to, and it’s so cool to write for musicians like Shirabu and Tsutomu. They run with whatever I throw at them.”
“That’s how I used to feel about writing for you,” Akaashi said, a little morosely. As much as he tried to tell himself that Semi’s personal choices had nothing to do with him, he couldn’t help but feel a little left behind, like that in just three months, his friends had already started to move on without him. It was selfish and stupid, but it was a feeling that Akaashi couldn’t shake. Would he open Instagram for the first time in months to see a new man in his place, singing alongside Oikawa and strumming an acoustic guitar with Atsumu?
Semi’s ears turned slightly pink. “Really?”
Akaashi nodded. “I always thought you had this understanding of the music like no one else, like you not only felt it but knew it inside and out. You always approached things so methodically, building things up from the foundation with no tolerance for mistakes.” Akaashi hadn’t even realized how much he remembered about working with Semi, but the words just kept flowing out. “It’s a songwriter’s dream. You’re not just passionate, you’re so technically skilled and knowledgeable.”
“You’re making me blush,” Semi muttered, slouching a little. “You can’t possibly remember that much from when we were trainees.”
“I have a good memory when it comes to my talented friends,” Akaashi said. Semi rolled his eyes.
“You flatterer. But, honestly, playing bass has kind of brought me back to those days, when it was just me and you in the studio.” Akaashi swallowed thickly. “I’ve been competing with Tsutomu for so long that I forgot how nice it is to just shut everything off and play. I’ve been branching out to acoustic guitar as well for fun. That also reminded me of you,” Semi added, grinning.
“You mean from the covers I used to do on the Ready Set YouTube channel?”
“No, the ones you used to practice every night when we were trainees and I was trying to sleep. Every time I hear ‘You Belong With Me,’ it still surprises me to hear Taylor Swift’s voice and not yours.”
“Oh my God, I can’t believe you remember that,” Akaashi groaned.
Semi glared at him. “How could I not? You were the reason the instructors thought I was genuinely insomniac and tried to send me to a doctor!”
“Sorry?” Akaashi tried to apologize, the growing smile on his face somewhat ruining the effect.
“You’re six years late, you dick,” Semi hissed, kicking Akaashi under the table.
It was then that the waitress returned holding a tray with two plates balanced on it, and the two accepted the meals, Akaashi’s stomach rumbling audibly at the sight of the bacon hanging out of his bagel.
It really was the best breakfast sandwich he had ever had. The egg was fried just right, the edges crispy while leaving the yolk just runny enough to mix with the rest of the sandwich. The sesame bagel was toasted to perfection, the bacon was the ideal combination of crunchy and chewy, and the vegetables were some of the freshest he’d ever had. Thank God for Tendou Satori, he thought, humming appreciatively as he chewed.
Across the table, Semi laughed, covering his mouth with a hand. “You look like you’re having a religious experience over there.”
“I didn’t know sandwiches could be this good,” Akaashi mumbled, mouth full.
“Don’t worry, every time Tendou recommends a place I go through the same thing.” Semi paused, tapping his chin with his free hand. “You know, since Aurum promotions are slowing down and you have more time now, we should do this more often! Tendou has dragged us to a lot of places over the years and we know all the good spots to avoid paps.”
“I would love to,” Akaashi said, pleased. “I’m not doing much right now, anyway.”
Maybe his tone betrayed more than he meant, or maybe Semi was planning to bring this up no matter what, because at Akaashi’s words, Semi frowned and laid his sandwich down on his plate.
“How have you been doing with the hiatus? Be honest this time.”
Akaashi put his own bagel down and crossed his arms to hide his fidgeting hands. “Fine. It hasn’t been an easy adjustment, but it’s what I wanted.”
“I’m asking how you feel, Akaashi. Just because it was your decision to go on hiatus doesn’t mean you have to enjoy it.”
Akaashi was used to this routine by now, after countless video calls with his bandmates and appointments with his therapist. They would insist he was allowed to feel terrible, that he was allowed to wallow. He would shake his head, ignore the sticky darkness that welled up in his chest, and say that it didn’t matter, because he really was feeling fine. Recovering. Taking a deep breath and working on his mental health.
But although Semi was still looking at him expectantly, Akaashi heard his friend’s voice in his head, from only a few minutes earlier: I think it just annoyed me that he was better than me and didn’t act like it, when I absolutely would have if I had been in his position.
Semi had bared his heart to Akaashi, reopening old wounds that he was probably still trying to heal. Maybe this was Akaashi’s sign to repay his friend with some honesty of his own.
“Akaashi?”
“It’s been hard,” Akaashi admitted. Even such a colossal understatement of a confession made his heart pound and his tongue go dry. It made him feel a little pathetic, but he forged on. “Everything just feels so… stagnant. My whole life, I’ve been constantly pushing forwards, always working towards some rapidly approaching goal or deadline. And I knew that that was the problem with… with everything that happened, that I was pushing myself too hard, but completely breaking away from everything somehow feels even more overwhelming.” He exhaled. “I’m realizing that I don’t know who I am without Ready Set. Which is scary. And kind of sad,” he added, huffing out a dry laugh.
“It’s not sad,” Semi argued, just like Akaashi had known he would. “Your entire adult life has been spent in that band. It’s only normal that most of your identity is tied to it.”
Only normal. “You’ve spent your entire adult life in E.AgL too,” Akaashi snapped, the words coming out harsher than he meant them. “Why aren’t you having a mental breakdown and going on hiatus?”
Semi’s eyes flashed. “How do you know I haven’t had a mental breakdown, Akaashi? You haven’t been exactly checking in on me regularly in the past few years.”
Akaashi flinched, and he felt the fire drain from his body at the same time he watched it fade from Semi’s face.
Blood rushing in his ears, Akaashi looked down at his plate, embarrassment and guilt crowding his brain. In his peripheral vision, he saw Semi take a deep breath, then throw back what seemed to be the rest of his coffee.
Is this the way I treat the only friend who’s made an effort to reach out to me?
Akaashi had to apologize. He had fucked up first, wrapping himself in the safety blanket of self-hatred and lashing out at Semi when the person he wanted to scream at more than anyone was himself. Semi had only rightfully thrown back what Akaashi had given him. He had to apologize, but when he tried to formulate the thought, his head and heart roiled furiously, too wrapped up in shame to even attempt coherency.
Semi should and would not apologize first. No matter the appropriateness of Semi’s response, it was Akaashi’s wrong to right. More than all of that, though, Semi deserved an apology. Strangely, it was this thought that quieted the storm in Akaashi’s mind.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted like that,” Akaashi said, fiddling with his knuckles. “You hit a sore spot, but you were right, and I was incredibly rude in response. I’m really sorry.”
Semi sighed and leaned back. “I’m sorry, too. It’s not like I made an effort to reach out either. We were both busy, and I promise I don’t blame you at all.”
“I believe you, but I’m still sorry for not getting in touch.”
Shrugging, Semi replied, “Eh, what’s done is done.” He leaned forward again, tracing a finger on the rim of his empty mug. “Also, I know what you mean, what you said earlier. You’re frustrated that we’ve all spent equal time in the industry but it’s only affecting you like this, right?”
“Yeah,” Akaashi said, surprised that Semi was able to pin his feelings down so easily.
“I’m not a therapist,” Semi said, “or Shirabu, for that matter, who apparently almost became a psychiatrist and took a ton of psych classes in university. But I think you need to remember that everyone reacts to things in different ways. We’re all wired differently. Maybe I’m able to balance work and life better than you, but that’s because you have an incredible work ethic and a drive that I’ve always been jealous of. Even when we were trainees, you were always way more productive than me, and worse, you always enjoyed your work. I mean, I liked the guitar, but practicing was basically a chore until I mastered a piece.”
Akaashi tipped his mug back with a shaky hand and finished off the dregs of his mocha, the drink having long gone cold. His eyes remained fixed on Semi’s the whole time.
“To let myself rest for once, I had to be kicked off of my main instrument by a random college student. If what you need is a complete break from performing for a while, how is that any different? Just because you’re not cut out to produce music nonstop for six years straight doesn’t mean you’re not meant to be a musician, just that you’re human.”
Akaashi took a breath, prepared to thank Semi for his kind words, and was horrified to hear a small sniffle emit from his nose.
“Thank you,” he managed, feeling warm and cold and strangely stretched out all over.
“Aw, come here,” Semi said, sliding out of the booth and holding his arms out. Akaashi stood up and collapsed into Semi’s embrace, feeling a few tears slide out of his eyes and soak into Semi’s probably very expensive wool sweater.
“I meant it when I said we should do this again,” Semi said softly. “I know we haven’t been the closest over the years, but I’m here for you and anything you need.”
“Thank you,” Akaashi repeated into Semi’s shoulder, overwhelmed with gratitude.
Not wanting to completely break into sobs in a public place, Akaashi extricated himself from Semi’s arms and sat back down in the booth, Semi following him.
They chatted a little more aimlessly until the waitress came by to take their cups and plates and drop off the check. Semi insisted on paying, arguing that the whole thing had been his idea, despite Akaashi’s valiant attempts to shove his card into the sleeve.
Once the bill and Semi’s card had been safely removed from the table and Akaashi’s card dejectedly placed back into his wallet, Semi snapped his fingers.
“Oh, that reminds me. What kind of job are you looking for?”
Akaashi huffed a laugh. “Why does it remind you, because I’m in such desperate need of money?”
“Answer the question.”
Rolling his eyes, Akaashi went through the same logic that he had beaten into the ground the previous miserable night. “Well, my options are pretty limited. I’m forbidden from getting another job in the music industry for now, but that’s literally the only job experience I have. I could probably get a job in retail or a restaurant or something, but I obviously don’t want to do something that makes me interact with the public too much. And no admin or low-level corporate job will hire me with no college degree and no experience. So, that leaves me with pretty much nothing.”
“You’d think that, but fortunately for you, I just remembered that I know a job that fits all of those requirements and will 100% hire you.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.” It seemed too good to be true, but Semi’s face was dead serious. “It’s this bookstore in Bunkyo called Fukurou Books and Hobbies. Huge hangout and study spot for university students. You read, right?”
“Yeah? How is this different from any other retail job?”
“See, that’s the thing. The owner is this eccentric old guy who runs the place with his mysterious family fortune, so they’re not concerned with making profit or even breaking even. If you go and explain your situation, I guarantee they’ll find a job for you.”
Seeing Akaashi’s skeptical expression, Semi protested, “I swear it’s true! Look, I have this actor friend that I met after doing an OST for a drama he was in. He got knee surgery a few years back and had to find a job to tide him over while he was out of commission. He went to Fukurou on a whim and explained his situation and that he would rather not be in the public eye, and they made him social media manager! Paid him a pretty solid wage for it, too.”
“That’s nice of them,” Akaashi agreed, still unsure if this was a scam or not. Semi groaned.
“You’re so difficult. Look, I’ll give you their email, and you can do whatever you want with it. And, I mean, you can do nothing, but your inbox isn’t exactly teeming with job offers right now, is it?”
Semi was right—this was the best (and only) option on the table right now. Besides, he trusted his friend. He might as well give it a shot. “Sure, just text it to me.”
“Great! I’ll also give you my friend’s contact. His name is Komi Haruki.”
“Thank you so much,” Akaashi said as Semi opened his phone and tapped the information in, and he meant it a thousand times over. “I don’t know how to repay you for this.”
“Just take care of yourself, idiot.” Semi put his phone back down at the same time Akaashi’s buzzed in his pocket. “You’ve helped me and so many other people over the years. Let me help you back for once.”
At this point, Akaashi knew better than to argue, and instead sent Semi a grateful smile across the table. “Alright, fine. Can I at least treat you to ice cream?”
Semi narrowed his eyes, but relented. “Fine, if it makes you feel better.”
He still tried to slip his card to the cashier after they had both gotten their cones, but Akaashi beat him to it. Suga’s never-ending quest to pay for the rest of the band had given him plenty of practice in the art of paying the bill.
Although he thought Semi would disagree, Akaashi thought it made the ice cream taste all the more sweet.