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Chapter Text

As always, Akaashi was punctual.

If he was being honest, it was a feat in and of itself to have kept up his daily routine of leaving work by eight in the evening. No matter how much he still had left on his plate, no matter how many pages he still had to scan and proofread, Akaashi resolved to always leave at the set time. It was already later than most of everyone’s usual, anyway, and that made it a perfect time for him to unwind from the pressure of socializing all day.

With one last glance at his wrist watch, he unfurled the umbrella over his head and stepped out into the sidewalk. The Tokyo sky had been weeping since this morning, and he had had to take a longer route during his walk, if only to avoid the wetter parts of the city. He didn’t mind, though. Akaashi had always been an acquaintance of solace, and in these past twelve months he had only grown closer with it.

He passed by several dimly lit shops, each promising the warmth of good food and the comfort of dry seats. Akaashi dared to peer inside the window of one–and immediately regretted it. Plastered alongside the café’s advertisement of their newest katsudon special was a poster of Japan’s most beloved volleyball players from the league’s divisions. Akaashi vaguely registered the hard lines of Kageyama’s frown and the serious expression on Ushijima’s face, but it was always one player that managed to catch his attention the most. In this poster, Bokuto was grinning, his eyes alight as he froze mid-air to spike. He wore the usual uniform of the MSBY Black Jackals, but the coloring in the poster made the gold accents almost glitter.

Just like a star.

Exhaling a shaky breath, Akaashi turned and began walking away.

Twelve months. It had been nearly twelve months since their falling out, and there were still some days where it hurt to even read his name. The pieces of his heartbreak had lost their sharp edges, but a dulled knife was still a knife. And Akaashi was nothing but careful when it came to things that reminded him of the love he lost. If he could afford to avoid revisiting past places, past landmarks, past memories that were intricately entwined with Bokuto, he would.

But there were other times, times such as these, that he could not evade the ghosts that haunted him.

Take it back.

There were times where he mistook a mop of light hair awash in silver light as Bokuto’s.

Take it back.

There were times where the sound of a door swinging shut resembled the door Bokuto had closed on his way out.

I want to take it back.

“Can I help ya?”

Akaashi startled, in part because he had lost himself (again) in his thoughts and in part because the voice that pulled him back to the present was one he had heard before. He raised his head, surprised to find himself astray from his usual path home. Even more surprising were the familiar red walls of a café he had once frequented so much. But the most surprising thing of all was the man standing before them, his cap failing to prevent Akaashi from recognizing him.

“Myaa-sam.” It wasn’t a question, but his voice had an unsteady lilt to it that made it seem like one.

Miya Osamu tilted his cap so that he could get a better view of Akaashi through the downpour. His brows rose in surprise and a small smile found its way to his lips. “Fukurodani setter.”

Akaashi lowered his head, frowning. How had he gotten here? Was it possible that he had been so consumed in his thoughts that his instincts had led him here? It wasn’t out of the way from home, he reasoned, yet it was a route that he had successfully abstained from for the past year.

Akaashi’s fingers twisted his umbrella handle. “Is–is Onigiri Miya closed for tonight?”

Osamu held up a set of keys. “It was about to be,” he admitted, “but I could make an exception for ya.”

Akaashi shook his head. “Ah. There’s no need–”

“Too late,” cut in Osamu, opening the door once more. “What kind of host would I be to deny a customer in need?” He stepped inside, already unzipping his coat. He must have sensed Akaashi’s hesitation because he turned back to him. “Are ya just goin’ to stand there, starin’, or are ya goin’ inside?”

He should have walked away. After all, Akaashi already had dinner back at his apartment, leftovers from the day past. He should have chosen not to trouble Miya Osamu at all. But instead of taking a step back, he took one step forward. And another. And another. Until he was right by the doorway of Onigri Miya, where the scent of recently made rice wafted from the inside. And, because Akaashi never could quite resist the enticement of good food, he left his umbrella by the stand, hung his coat on the rack, and closed the door behind him.

Everything was familiar and strange all at once. The walls were still maroon, but there were several nicks and scratches that proved that the place was always well-packed. The last time Akaashi had been here, there were cherry blossom origamis strung up on the ceiling to herald Japan’s golden week celebrations. Now there were mere paper lanterns, emitting soft golden glows that made the place feel cozier. There were more chairs and tables now too, with the former turned upside down over the latter.

Osamu was already disappearing behind the kitchen. “Can I get ya anythin’?”

“Just water is fine,” lied Akaashi, because all he wanted now was to get a piece of onigiri. Yet for all the magic and wonder this place evoked, it was also tinged with the sadness of what he used to have and who he used to be. The sooner he could leave, the better.

“Mmm, sure,” Osamu hummed. “Help yerself there while I go get ya some water.”

Akaashi took his place by the bar, where he could sit in the direct line of sight of Osamu rummaging through his kitchen. As he was turning a chair over, Osamu slid a glass of water towards him before whirling away again. “It’s been a while,” he called out.

Akaashi slung his bag over his head and placed it by his side. “Yes.”

Osamu gave him a furtive glance as Akaashi busied himself with drinking. He tried not to pay too much attention to Osamu, fixating instead on the walls. But when those became a painful reminder that this was the place he and Bokuto used to go to all the time, he turned his attention to the counter and began counting the number of scratches on the surface.

Osamu had begun his preparations in making an onigiri, probably oblivious to Akaashi’s internal turmoils. Akaashi wasn’t too far gone in his musings to not notice Osamu making him a meal, but he couldn’t find it in himself to lie again and say he didn’t want anything.

These were the only sounds for a long, long while: the rain pouring insistently outside, muffled by the walls. Osamu humming a song, all the while busying himself with his task. Akaashi tapping against his glass, fingers rapping against it nervously. Tap tap tap.

“You’re not going to ask?” he finally blurted out, after what seemed like ten minutes had passed.

Osamu looked up. “Ask about what?”

“Why I’m here.”

Osamu raised a brow, one side of his lips turning up. “For my onigiri, of course.”

Akaashi looked down. “Of course.”

Silence, again. Akaashi took it upon himself to count the seconds that ticked by. On the two hundred and fifty-first second, Osamu finally spoke up.

“I know it’s not my place,” he began slowly, “but ’Tsumu was always a terrible secret keeper.”

He didn’t need to spell it out; Akaashi already knew what he meant. He shrugged in reply. “Even without your brother, I’m sure you would’ve known. There are only so much you can hide if you’re a star.”

And it was true. Akaashi remembered the terrible weeks following the breakup, where Bokuto’s social media accounts were filled with questions about Akaashi’s presence, or the lack thereof. Bokuto eventually found it in himself to announce the truth in a post that consisted of ten words and no more.

“Right.” Osamu flourished a clay plate from one of the cabinets. “So why now?”

“What?”

“Why come back ’ere now, after twelve months?”

Akaashi raised his brows. “Someone’s been keeping track.”

Osamu spared him a glance, smirking. “Sales have plummeted since ya stopped payin’ a visit.”

Akaashi snorted. He highly doubted that, if the decorated interior was anything to go by. His fingers tapped against his glass again. Tap tap tap.

I want to take it back.

“Everything...hurt,” Akaashi finally confessed, quiet enough that Osamu could have missed it. Just because he could afford a moment of candor doesn’t mean he was keen on others hearing it. “For the longest time, even thinking about going here hurt too.”

Osamu did not respond for a while, obviously caught up with rolling rice balls. Akaashi almost thought that meant he hadn’t heard him when Osamu replied, “And now?”

“Now?” Akaashi leaned back, heaving a sigh. “I don’t know. I guess I’m here, aren’t I? That must mean something.”

“Hmm. It must indeed.” Osamu began sauntering over to where Akaashi sat, a plate in his hand. It was only then that Akaashi noticed the large onigiri on the platter, wrapped cleanly in seaweed and sprinkled with sesame seeds. The sight was enough to make his mouth water, but he forced himself to stay still as Osamu set it between them. “An onigiri for yer thoughts?”

Akaashi made a face, unimpressed. “I’m fairly certain the saying is, ‘A penny for your thoughts.’”

“I’m fairly certain I don’t care.” Osamu pushed the plate towards Akaashi, grinning. “It’s a recipe I hadn’t had the chance to release to the public yet. Why don’t ya try some and tell me what ya think?”

With a dubious look at Osamu’s mischievous one, Akaashi slid the onigiri closer to him. He felt uncomfortable knowing that Osamu’s gaze was on him as he lifted the food to his mouth and took a bite of it. But all his self-consciousness trickled away as the flavor of the onigiri overwhelmed his senses. Akaashi nearly gasped and folded in delight. He had missed this, he thought. He was such a fool for letting one bad breakup keep him from eating the best onigiri in Japan.

“It’s delicious,” he remarked once his mouth was no longer full.

Osamu did not even look surprised. “’Course it is.” He leaned forward and rested his cheek against his hand. “What’s on yer mind, Fukurodani setter?”

Akaashi frowned. “No, thank you,” he rebuffed, taking to his meal once more.

“I gave ya an onigiri in exchange for yer thoughts!” whined Osamu.

“You told me to try some and then to tell me–”

“What ya think.”

Akaashi glared. “Of the onigiri.”

“No, in general.” Osamu’s mischievous grin was back. Akaashi ignored him in favor of eating his onigiri, but it only fueled the Miya twin further. “Come on. It can be our little game. Ya can be perfectly honest with me about one thing, even if it’s just the most trivial of things. And I’ll cross my heart to keep it a secret between us.”

“Even from Atsumu-san?”

“Especially from ’Tsumu.”

“Why do you even bother?” grumbled Akaashi through a mouthful of rice.

“Who knows?” Osamu shrugged. “Ya seem like good company, and I wanna know if my instincts are correct. Tokyo gets borin’, ya know. I’d like a friend to visit every now and then.”

“I think your instincts are mistaken.”

“Tell ya what, I’ll turn around and ya can tell it to my back.”

“Please let me eat in peace.”

“They say it’s easier to tell a stranger a secret after all.”

Akaashi was certain he could strangle him right now, if it weren’t for the fact that he owned the place. He had always assumed Osamu was the more mild-mannered brother. He should have known that he was still one half of the infamous Miya twin duo. “We aren’t strangers, though.”

“Almost. The only thing I know about ya is yer name.”

“‘Fukurodani setter’?”

Osamu laughed, clutching his chest in an attempt at feigning hurt. “Please. Give me a little more credit, Akaashi Keiji. If ya thought that was the only thing I truly did know about ya, then it shoulda been easier for ya to confide in me, a supposed stranger.”

Akaashi continued to chew, unswayed. Osamu finally sighed, raising both hands in defeat.

“Yer onigiri is free if ya agree to tell me what’s on yer mind.”

Akaashi held his gaze, expression devoid of any emotion, as he continued to eat. Only when he was a bite away from finishing his onigiri did he finally avert his gaze. “I am...glad I could be here again at Onigiri Miya.”

Osamu blinked at him. Then his smile widened. “Aww. Well, that’s sweet.”

Akaashi stuffed the last of the onigiri in his mouth. Before he could regret it, he asked, “What’s on your mind?”

“Oh?” Osamu’s voice dropped coyly, and Akaashi winced. He already regretted asking.

“Forget I asked.”

“What do I get in return?”

“My company, my friendship.” Akaashi shrugged. “Two can play this game, Myaa-sam.”

“Ya can call me Osamu, ya know.”

“Okay.” Still, Akaashi didn’t indulge him.

Osamu leaned back, assessing him once more. Finally, with his eyes wholly on Akaashi’s, he said, “I am glad ya could be ’ere again at Onigiri Miya, too.”

Akaashi stared at him. It shouldn’t have, but his confession made him feel...warm. It’s not that Akaashi did not have friends, but he found that his coworkers often had a veil of pretty words hiding the real truth beneath. Pure honesty from someone who was not exactly a stranger but not exactly a friend just yet was refreshing.

He wiped his fingers clean before retrieving his things off the floor. “Don’t worry,” he reassured him, standing up and slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll cross my heart to keep that a secret between us.”

Osamu looked like he was about to protest against him leaving but decided against it. Instead, he said, “Yer not as timid as everyone makes ya to be, ya know.”

“Sorry to prove you wrong, then.” Akaashi bowed. “Thank you for the meal. Truly, it was delicious.”

As he made his way to the door, Osamu yelled after him, “No tip?”

Akaashi retrieved his coat from the rack and began shrugging it on. “Next time,” he promised, nearly smiling, before opening the door and leaving Onigiri Miya.

Chapter Text

The remaining three weeks of the month passed by uneventfully for Akaashi. He settled into the same routine he always had: wake up in time to prepare himself breakfast and a packed lunch, arrive to work with several minutes to spare, and leave to make his way back home by eight in the evening. The only thing different this time were his frequent visits to Onigiri Miya. Akaashi had decided that every time he accomplished something worth celebrating at work, he would pay a visit there and reward himself.

However, he hadn’t seen Osamu since that fateful night. If Akaashi was busy editing manuscripts and making sure his mangakas were being punctual with their deadlines, then Osamu was just as occupied with his growing business. He had been making his rounds around Japan: opening up stalls where games were present, checking up on his other branches, and occasionally visiting his business suppliers. Akaashi only knew all these because he had always followed Onigiri Miya’s Instagram page, and the stories posted daily were of Osamu’s everyday escapades.

So he was pleasantly surprised when one day, after aimlessly scrolling through his feed on his way to work, Akaashi found himself staring at a picture of several rows of onigiri, with the location tagged as the Tokyo branch. Captioned in the corner of the Instagram story was, “Try our newest flavor of onigiri! Exclusive only to the Tokyo branch!”

Akaashi did a double take of the post. He checked the timestamp (16 hours ago) and double checked the location tag (it really was Onigiri Miya’s Tokyo branch).

He closed his phone then and took a deep breath. There was a blossoming sense of excitement taking shape within him, and he reasoned that it had everything to do with the new flavors and nothing to do with the return of an acquaintance.

The rest of the morning passed by as it always had. Akaashi spent a quarter of his time on calls with clients, a quarter on checking up with his mangakas, and half on making sure Udai-san was actually working and not just complaining. By the time their break shift rolled around, he had nearly forgotten about Onigiri Miya at all. It was only when he retrieved the lunch he’d packed and found several pieces of Family Mart’s onigiri did he remember.

Akaashi drummed his fingers against his desk, debating. Onigiri Miya was near enough that he could make a trip and back with hardly any consequences, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to brave the influx of customers at such a time. Besides, he was fairly certain there would be more of them, especially with the newest exclusive offer.

There was absolutely no reason to go at this hour.

With a sigh, Akaashi stuffed his lunch back into his shoulder bag and stood up. Udai-san, who was seated in the cubicle opposite Akaashi and bent over several pages of his sketches, jolted at the sudden movement. He frowned when Akaashi began shrugging on his coat.

“Where are you going?” Udai-san asked, brushing a strand of his hair away from his face.

“Udai-san,” acknowledged Akaashi, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’m headed out for lunch. Do you want anything?”

Udai-san glanced at the paper bag poking out from Akaashi’s bag before looking back up at him. “You’re heading out?”

“Yes.”

“For lunch?”

“That’s what this next hour is for, yes.”

“Uhm. Okay.”

They continued to stare at one another. Akaashi shifted on his feet, growing uncomfortable. “So…?”

“Ah.” Udai-san finally turned away and bent over once more to his work. “I’ll get whatever it is you’re getting.”

“Okay.” Akaashi nodded and turned to leave. He was already pushing against the glass door of their office when Udai added, “Enjoy!”

Akaashi looked over his shoulder, frowning in confusion. “Okay,” he repeated and left.

–

As he had expected, the crowd that gathered around Onigiri Miya was thicker than usual. People filed outside in a neat line, talking excitedly of the latest offer available. Akaashi found the end of the queue and waited, counting the amount of time it took per customer to get their orders in. He had the slight luxury of time now, but if this was going to take longer than expected, he supposed he could swing by later.

But the line moved up faster than expected, and in less than ten minutes, he found himself face to face with the cashier, a young woman with dark hair tied back and hidden beneath a cap. When she looked up to greet Akaashi, her bright eyes widened in recognition. “Akaashi-san?” she gasped.

Akaashi blinked down at her, his memory failing him for several heartbeats before he finally remembered who she was. He smiled at her. “Oh. Hello, Fujimatsu-san.”

Fujimatsu-san beamed at him. “You’re here!”

Akaashi’s smile grew. She had been working in the Tokyo branch up until a year ago, where she was transferred to the Nagoya branch. “So are you. How have you been?”

“Great, thank you!” She glanced behind Akaashi’s shoulder, her expression falling. “Sorry, Akaashi-san, but I gotta hurry up a bit. Still the usual?”

“Yes. But make it two orders, please.”

“Two orders?” came a voice from behind Fujimatsu-san. Akaashi looked up just as Osamu stepped up to stand beside her, a brow raised at Akaashi’s direction. “My, my. Who is the apple of yer eye now?”

Akaashi blinked, taking in the sight of him. Finally, he tilted his head. “Myaa-sam,” he said, by way of greeting.

“Fukurodani setter,” returned Osamu.

“What a coincidence to find you here again.”

Osamu laughed. “In case ya didn’t already know, I own the place.”

Fujimatsu-san cleared her throat, shooting Osamu a disapproving look for drawing this out longer than it should be. She turned to Akaashi. “Is this for to-go?”

“Yes,” confirmed Akaashi, at the same time Osamu said, “No.”

“Why don’t ya stay for a bit?” added Osamu. “Yer order will grow cold by the time ya head back to wherever it is ya came from.”

Akaashi was already retrieving his wallet. “I can’t. I’ve still got work to do.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

Akaashi handed the payment to Fujimatsu-san. “It doesn’t matter because I’m leaving anyway.”

Fujimatsu-san gave Akaashi his change before pushing Osamu away. “Go away and get his order! Have you not seen the line?”

Osamu rubbed his shoulder, feigning hurt. “Wow. It’s almost like yer the boss around here.” But Osamu dutifully turned, disappearing for several seconds before returning with a bag of Akaashi’s orders. Akaashi reached out to take it but didn’t pull away once it was in his grasp.

“My shift ends at eight,” he said, before he could think better of it.

“Oh?” Osamu let go and stepped back. “That’s too bad. My shop closes at the same time.”

Akaashi mirrored his movements. “Too bad indeed.” With one last word of thanks to Fujimatsu-san, Akaashi turned and began to walk away.

It was only when he retrieved his onigiri in the hopes of appeasing his hunger did he realize that he didn’t even purchase the latest onigiri flavor at all.

How odd of me, he thought absentmindedly, eating while he walked.

By the time Akaashi returned to his workplace, he had all but consumed his meal and the lunch he had packed. He still had several free minutes of break to spare, so he dropped Udai-san’s order in front of him, took the mangaka’s payment and thanks, and sat down with his phone in hand. He was scrolling through the latest news of volleyball when Udai-san cleared his throat.

“So.”

Akaashi looked up at him, eyebrows raised. Udai-san was peeling the wrapper from his onigiri. “How was it?”

Akaashi frowned. “How was what?”

“Lunch.”

“It was...good?”

“What did you eat?”

“Whatever it is you’re eating. You told me to get the same thing.”

“Oh.”

With a lingering look at Udai-san, Akaashi returned to his phone. Yet no matter how much he tried to concentrate on reading the articles on his screen, he could still feel the gravity of Udai-san’s gaze on him, obviously itching to ask something else. Akaashi sighed. “Was there something else?”

“Are you seeing anyone?” Udai-san finally blurted out.

Akaashi stared at him for several long seconds before succumbing to pure confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You’ve only ever gone out for lunch when you were still dating Bo–” Udai-san caught himself, his expression turning apologetic as Akaashi’s darkened. He waved a hand. “Anyway, these past twelve months, you’ve contented yourself with eating your packed lunches here. So I was just wondering.”

“So nosy,” grumbled Akaashi, putting aside his phone and sliding the pile of papers towards him. He hoped Udai-san would take that as a sign to stop pestering him and let him work in peace. But the latter only leaned forward, now extremely curious and partly smug. “So is there someone?”

“No, Udai-san, there is no one,” said Akaashi a little sharply. He looked up at him through his glasses. “And may I gently remind you that the last pages of your chapter for this week are due in two hours?”

Udai-san stuck his tongue out before diving into his lunch. “Worst editor,” he grumbled, even as he finally left Akaashi to his own devices.

–

Was it possible to get food poisoning from too much onigiri? thought Akaashi as he made his way down a familiar path, right after the clock struck eight. Truthfully, he had finished everything he needed to do half an hour earlier, but he had stayed in his seat, pondering about everything and nothing at once. He weighed the pros and cons of visiting Onigiri Miya before its closing hours, and he weighed the pros and cons of even visiting at all. Then he wondered whether it was possible to eat too much of one thing and get sick of it, and he wondered if that one thing was the rice balls he had been consuming.

Now he was musing over food poisoning.

Akaashi stopped in his tracks, shaking his head. Why was he even thinking of such things?

How odd of me, he thought for the second time that day.

When he finally arrived at Onigiri Miya, having taken his sweet time to get there, he found the shop as it was back then during that stormy night: dimly lit and devoid of any patrons. But now the door was ajar, revealing gleaming floors freshly mopped, tables and chairs neatly put away, and the back of the owner himself. Osamu had his back to the door as he stacked the last of the furniture. He still wore an apron around himself, but his usual cap was absent from the top of his head. Sweat plastered his shirt to his back in dark patches, and Akaashi could almost make out the cuts of his muscles through it.

Akaashi stepped up to the door and knocked against it. “Need some help?”

Osamu whirled around, startled. Upon seeing him, his look of surprise melted into his usual, easygoing one. “Yer here already.” He stacked the last of the chairs, save for two facing the bar, and retrieved a towel from the apron he wore around him. He wiped himself clean before retrieving his cap from behind one of the chairs and placing it over his head.

“Can I still come in?” asked Akaashi.

“’Course ya can.” Osamu grinned and gestured around him. “Make yerself at home.”

Akaashi stepped through the doorway and made his way to his usual place by the bar. “Have you eaten dinner yet?” he asked Osamu, who had already begun making preparations in the kitchen.

“Na, I just finished cleaning up.” He glanced at Akaashi. “What about ya?”

“I just finished work.”

Osamu handed him a glass of water before placing another glass in the spot next to him. He winked and then spun away. “Lucky us, then.”

Akaashi found himself smiling at his retreating figure. Then he quickly wiped the look off his face, lest Osamu sees it and decides to gloat about it.

Unlike the last time he’d been here, Akaashi felt comfortable enough to flourish his phone and busy himself with checking his social media accounts. Osamu, like the last time he’d been here, hummed while he worked. The silence that followed was neither awkward nor heavy. If anything, it was the kind of silence that Akaashi loved best, one that gave more than it took. It did not demand anything of them other than to simply exist alongside each other for the time being.

As the minutes trickled by, the scent of cleaning products and soap were soon replaced with the promise of a scrumptious meal. Akaashi stopped using his phone long enough to catch Osamu sprinkle the last of the final touches over the twin onigiris. Without looking up, Osamu remarked, “Ya know, I don’t think I’ve met anyone who looked at onigiri quite like ya do.”

“Believe it or not, I like nanohana no karashiae best.”

“What I wouldn’t give to see the look on yer face when ya see that!” Osamu took up the two plates and placed one before Akaashi. As he set down the other one beside him, he added, “Ya didn’t even get to try the latest flavor. Ya came all the way here during the busiest time of the day and ya ordered yer usual?”

“Yes” was all Akaashi could say. Osamu didn’t need to know that truth.

“If I didn’t know better, I’m pretty sure ya only did that so ya could get this for free now.” Osamu slid into the spot next to Akaashi.

Both of them exchanged a look, a question in both their eyes. Then, as one, they brought their hands together and bowed. As one, they said, “Itadakimasu.” And, as one, they began to eat.

On Akaashi’s first bite, he let an ungodly groan slip through his lips. He immediately covered one hand over his mouth, turning red from embarrassment, as Osamu laughed at him. “What the heck?” the Miya twin exclaimed through a mouthful of rice and seaweed.

Akaashi still had one hand over his mouth, even as he chewed. “It’s that good, okay?” he said defensively.

“’Course it is!” Osamu laughed again and, after letting his own shame dissipate, Akaashi learned to laugh with him.

The two of them continued to eat in silence after that, taking to their own meals and favoring the art of eating over the art of talking. It was only when they had contented themselves with more than half of their onigiris did they pick up the conversation once more.

“So,” began Osamu. “What’s on yer mind?”

Akaashi chewed slowly. He had been sorting through which truth he could opt to give now, and he was still coming up empty-handed. “A lot,” he said at last.

Osamu shot him a look. Akaashi scowled back, protesting, “Doesn’t that count? It is the truth.”

“Na.” Osamu began chewing once more. “If I don’t like yer answer, then it doesn’t count.”

“That’s a terrible rule. And you’re not going to like half of the things in my head.”

Osamu turned to him, his expression oddly serious for once. “Try me.”

Akaashi swallowed, taken aback by the firm statement. He allowed himself to finish his onigiri first, buying himself enough time to choose what he’d say. When he finished his onigiri, he downed the rest of his water and asked for more. When Osamu obliged him without a word, standing up and refilling both their glasses to the brim, he took to drinking half of his. And when Akaashi finally lowered the glass from his lips, he thought he had found which truth was the safest.

“I’m tired” was what he intended to say.

“I’m tired” was what he said––and then some.

“I never wanted to be in the manga industry,” began Akaashi.

Stop.

“When I graduated from university, I wanted nothing more than to get into literature.”

Stop rambling.

“Maybe–maybe if I had gotten what I wanted, I wouldn’t be as tired as I am now. Or maybe I would, and I’m just using my unfulfilled dream now as a scapegoat for my exhaustion.”

He doesn’t want to hear this.

“Either way, working in the manga industry was more stressful than I thought.”

Akaashi slowly looked to Osamu, uncharacteristically afraid to see what he’d find there. But Osamu was looking at him with every inch of his attention poured onto him, his onigiri forgotten on his plate. He offered him the barest cracks of a smile, as if to say, I want to hear it.

Akaashi fiddled with his fingers, a habit he never could quite get rid of. “But I guess I’m not as tired as I was before,” he admitted, quieter this time. “Everyday I’m driven to the edge of my patience with the strict deadlines and the cutthroat competitors and the demanding clients. Yet everyday, little by little, I’m being driven to love what I’m doing. It doesn’t make sense, even to me, and yet it is what it is.”

When he finally turned his attention to Osamu again, he found him with a pensive expression. Akaashi shifted in his seat. “I did say you wouldn’t like the thoughts in my head.”

“That’s not exactly the word I’d use to describe yer thoughts.” Osamu shoved the last of his onigiri in his mouth. “Thank ya for sharin’ them with me. I appreciate it.”

Akaashi did not know if he preferred this sincere and considerate version of him over the smug and teasing one. They were both equally unnerving. So he nodded instead. “Well. Thank you for listening.” He paused. “Your turn. What’s on your mind?”

Osamu rested his cheek against his hand, still chewing. “Lotsa things.”

Akaashi glared at him.

“See?” Osamu reached for his water, smiling over the rim of his glass. “Ya didn’t like that answer, either!”

“Point taken.”

He set down his drink, looking up at the ceiling as if his truth would be written there. Finally, he confessed, “I’m thinkin’ of expandin’ this branch.”

“Oh?” Akaashi straightened in his seat, suddenly excited. “That’s great!”

Osamu’s brows furrowed together in amusement. “Anythin’ related to furtherin’ my business is great to ya, Fukurodani setter.” He stretched his arms over his head and sighed. “There are just a lot of paperwork to take care of, and just thinkin’ of gettin’ to them makes me feel a little overwhelmed. And I don’t know if an expansion would actually do more good. Travelin’ around the country is tirin’ enough as it is. A bigger place would mean a higher rent, and that’s an extra cost to my pockets.”

“Don’t tire yourself out too much then,” offered Akaashi. “Maintaining balance is always important, you know.”

“Aww, so sweet.” He leaned forward. “Are ya worried about me?”

In that moment, Akaashi knew three things: Osamu was only teasing. Osamu didn’t mean any harm. Osamu was just being his usual self.

But Akaashi flinched away anyway, as if Osamu had just raised a hand to him. The words themselves were harmless. Eight words forming a statement, a question where someone wanted to know if they cared. But eight words were enough to remind Akaashi of a memory he had tried so hard to forget, a sin he had tried so hard to forgive, another set of eight words that still haunted him to this day.

You don’t have to worry about me anymore.

Akaashi pursed his lips. “I just think you should pace yourself,” he said in a rush, in one breath. Then, keeping his head down, he gathered his belongings in one swift motion. “I have to go.”

He didn’t need to see him to know he had alarmed Osamu. Through the haze of his panic, the reasonable side of Akaashi was also alarmed at his sudden shift in mood. “Wait–”

Akaashi flourished several yen from his pocket. Osamu placed his hand over his, the gesture finally forcing Akaashi to look at him. Osamu searched his eyes, trying to find...something. Anything. “Don’t worry about payin’–”

“Your tip,” cut in Akaashi. “As promised.” He withdrew his hand and nearly sprinted to the door.

“Akaashi!” Osamu called out.

But Akaashi was already gone, this time running, running, running, hoping he could outrun the memories in his head too.

Chapter Text

TWELVE MONTHS PRIOR

(a.k.a. the day Bokuto should have stayed)

Twelve months ago, on a perfect autumn day where the trees had all turned golden and their leaves fell like snow on the ground, Akaashi Keiji broke his own heart.

He thought it would have been one of the best days of his life. He had woken up feeling strangely rejuvenated, not at all exhausted and weary like the past few months had made him to be. He texted Bokuto good morning, rolled out of bed, got ready for work, and settled into his familiar routine with an odd sense of peace and contentment.

Akaashi should have known it wouldn’t last.

It happened in the evening, right after one of Bokuto’s practice matches in Tokyo. Earlier, Akaashi had excused himself from work early, much to the chagrin of his coworkers and to the disappointment of his boss, to come and watch the game.

“You should have informed us earlier,” chastised his boss, even as he allowed Akaashi to take his leave.

“I’m sorry,” apologized Akaashi. He felt guilty for leaving them all to pick up the work he left behind, but not nearly enough to cancel his plans.

“I’m going to need you to do a little better if you’re serious about that editorial promotion.”

And there it was: the first brick had appeared on his shoulder, the weight of the world once again come to crush him. Akaashi had bowed his head, pursing his lips. He really did want the promotion. But there were things more important to Akaashi, and climbing the ranks comes second to those. “I will,” he had promised, hoping that he could actually deliver and live up to his expectations.

Akaashi watched Bokuto play now, a soft smile on his face as his star pulled all the light in the room towards him. Because it was only a practice match for the MSBY Black Jackals, they were playing in a smaller, nondescript stadium, away from the public’s attention. Akaashi was well-known enough to have been let in without much fuss, and he was one of the few privileged enough to even be watching now.

There will never be a day where he wouldn’t enjoy watching him and the rest of the MSBY Black Jackals play, he thought.

But when the practice match ended and Akaashi began making his way from the stands and to the court, his feelings of affection were dampened. He found himself distracted by the insistent amount of messages he was getting from his phone. Clenching his jaw, Akaashi flourished his phone, his pace slowing as he read through the questions of his coworkers and the requests of his clients.

And there it was: the second brick appeared on his shoulder, come to drag him down.

“What’s that?”

Akaashi looked up, surprised, as Bokuto crushed him in a warm embrace. Bokuto attempted to peer over his shoulder, but Akaashi carefully shielded the admonishments of his coworkers from his view.

“Just work,” replied Akaashi distractedly, tilting his phone and beginning to type in his replies.

“Right! You sure got lots of them now, what with your upcoming promotion and all.”

“Yes.”

“How are the edits going?”

“Fine.”

Bokuto was quiet for a while. Akaashi looked up at him, turning shy beneath his boyfriend’s inquisitive gaze. “I’m sorry, this is only going to take a second.”

“You didn’t have to leave work to come here, you know,” said Bokuto gently.

“Nonsense.” Akaashi locked his phone and pocketed it. He forced a too wide smile, hoping it would be enough for Bokuto to stop probing. “You hungry?”

Bokuto eyed him for several seconds longer before finally sliding his hand in his. “Starving.”

Akaashi was still smiling as he led them away, but it was only a fissuring facade to hide the brewing storm beneath.

–

They found themselves at Akaashi’s apartment afterwards, bags of food from the local convenience store in tow. Akaashi immediately set the table, glad to finally be home after a long day, but Bokuto’s attention caught on the pile of papers on Akaashi’s coffee table. He placed their food on the kitchen countertop, draped his jacket over the back of the couch, and began sorting through the pile.

Akaashi cringed. “Bokuto-san, you don’t have to bother yourself with those. I’ll get to them later.”

When Bokuto did not respond, Akaashi hurriedly set their plates and peered over towards his living room. “Koutarou?”

Bokuto was sifting through Akaashi’s mail, his frown deepening with every letter he read. He finally looked up. “’Kaashi, these are bills.”

“I know.” To be perfectly honest, Akaashi did not need to be reminded of them. He walked over to where Bokuto was just as his boyfriend stood from the floor.

“Did you also know that these are months overdue? And never mind your bills. You’ve got binders here containing unedited manuscripts from weeks past!”

Akaashi rubbed a hand over his eyes, skewing his glasses from their perch. “Please don’t remind me.”

“Keiji–”

“Let’s eat,” interrupted Akaashi, plastering on another tight smile. “Please.”

Bokuto closed his mouth. Slowly, he set the papers down. When he smiled again, Akaashi was deflated to see that it mirrored his own. “Okay.”

Dinner was cold and quiet. After they bowed their heads and muttered, “Itadakimasu,” they ate without speaking a word. Normally, their dinners were filled with excited chatter, mostly from Bokuto and occasionally from Akaashi. But this time, the stillness was thick, the space of a thousand unspoken words constricting Akaashi’s lungs.

How was it possible for silence to be so deafening?

When they were finished, Bokuto threw away their paper containers and Akaashi cleared away their plates. By the time Akaashi was done with the dishes, Bokuto was already snuggled in the corner of the couch, once again going through Akaashi’s files. Akaashi watched him for a moment longer, swallowing the stale taste of dread and bitterness at the back of his throat.

“Hey,” he finally said, peeling himself from the wall and coming up to sit before Bokuto.

“Hey,” replied Bokuto. He cupped Akaashi’s cheek. “Keiji. Is everything alright?”

Akaashi wanted to tell him it was. After all, didn’t he wake up with such an optimistic view of today just this morning? But when Akaashi tried to reassure him with a smile, it faltered. His lips wobbled, and he bit them to stop himself from crying.

But thinking about crying only made it worse.

Akaashi reached out to Bokuto wordlessly, folding beneath Bokuto’s worried gaze. Before he knew it, Bokuto had his arms wrapped around him as Akaashi sobbed unabashedly against Bokuto’s chest. He clutched his shirt like a lifeline, fisting it as if it could keep him from slipping away.

For several minutes, the sounds of Akaashi’s apartment were filled with nothing but his sobs. He allowed himself to be held by the man he loved as he poured all the stress from weeks’–no, months’–past into tears. Through it all, Bokuto held him tenderly, his fingers running through his hair in soothing strokes.

When Akaashi finally found it in himself to quiet down and pull himself into a semblance of fine, he sniffled, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Bokuto. “You held me through my own moods. It’s time I finally did the same for you.”

Akaashi choked out a laugh. “What would I do without you?”

Bokuto took in the sight of Akaashi. He looked almost as if he were memorizing his features. As if it was the last time he would see him like this.

Looking back, Akaashi should have already known then.

“Keiji.” Bokuto took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly into five counts. “I think–I think we should take a break.”

Out of all the things Akaashi had expected Bokuto to say, that was not it.

Akaashi pushed himself away from Bokuto’s embrace. He blinked up at him, wiping his tears and snot with the back of his hand. “What kind of boyfriend are you if your first instinct after seeing me cry is to suggest breaking up with me?” he joked.

But Bokuto was not laughing. In fact, he couldn’t even look Akaashi in the eye. “Keiji, I’m serious. This,” Bokuto pointed between them, “is going to be your undoing.”

“What?”

“‘What would I do without you?’” he echoed. “You’d be doing well, that’s what.”

“Wait, slow down,” begged Akaashi, getting to his feet and putting several feet between them. “Do you even hear yourself? Where is this even coming from?”

What is happening?

Why is this happening?

“I know how much time and effort you’re putting into our relationship, and for that I am grateful.” Bokuto stood up, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jersey shorts. “But don’t think I haven’t noticed all the times you chose me over work, over your responsibilities at the manga company.”

“And?” Akaashi crossed his arms over his chest, growing defensive. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You would be flying higher, if you didn’t have to choose me all the time.”

“Who are you to decide what’s best for me?”

“You are no longer managing your time–no, yourself–wisely! There’s a balance to things, Keiji. Too much of one thing can and will hurt you in the end.”

“So your solution for that is for us to stop seeing each other completely?” said Akaashi flatly.

“I am only telling it to you like it is!” Bokuto’s voice had risen, but Akaashi could see him struggling to stay calm. “You are sacrificing too much of your time for me. You are giving too much of yourself to me, and look where that has gotten you! Unpaid bills, untouched manuscripts, a notice of eviction, for the gods’ sake–”

“I don’t care about those–”

“But you should!” Bokuto sighed in frustration. “I don’t know how else to convince you to care about these things, because you should!”

“How can I, when I am too busy worrying about you?”

At that, Bokuto stopped. He furrowed his brows together. “Worrying about me?”

“If I decline your dates or–or–or if I can’t watch you play, I’m scared you’ll put out nothing less than your best!”

“What?”

“Just like back when we were still in Fukurodani!” reasoned Akaashi. “But you’re in the professional stage now, and if I’m the reason for your sudden shutdown, then the rest of your team will suffer.”

“’Kaashi.” Bokuto laughed, but there was no humor within. “You hadn’t had to worry about that since I’ve graduated high school.”

“No, but what if? And what if you interpreted my busy schedule as me no longer being interested in you?” At this point, Akaashi was grasping at straws, and they both knew it. He just couldn’t find the words to name what exactly he was feeling, why exactly he was worried about and for Bokuto. “What if you have to go across the country again and we won’t be seeing each other as much anymore?”

Was he really worried for him?

“What if I get too consumed with my work that I forget about you?”

Or were these his own insecurities come to prey on someone else?

“What if I become too caught up in being a senior editor that you forget about me?”

Bokuto took a step forward, reaching for him. “Akaashi, what are you even saying–”

“I am saying,” yelled Akaashi, clearly fed up from everything that had been leading up to this moment, “that you should never have pursued volleyball because it’s all your fault that I’m in a disarray like this!”

And there it was: the third and final brick, come to break him down.

Bokuto and Akaashi stared at one another, Bokuto’s hand frozen inches away from Akaashi. They were only an arm’s reach away from one another, yet the distance between them might as well have been cleaved through with oceans. The silence following Akaashi’s scream was even worse. The words almost seemed to echo in his apartment, the accusation ringing and worming its way through every corner and crevice.

Take it back.

Akaashi didn’t mean it. He hadn’t meant a word of what he had just said.

Take it back.

Volleyball meant everything to Bokuto. It was his passion, his dream, his life. Akaashi would have died ten times over if only he could undo what he had just done.

Take it back.

But there were some things no apologies could mend. Words were, after all, flimsy things. They were empty promises, filled with nothing but sand that slipped through fingers and disappeared into the wind. But they were only useless in the aftermath of words that cut, words that speared through, words that broke.

I want to take it back.

Bokuto was the first one to look away, his arm falling limp by his side. It was eerie, how calm he actually looked. Had it not been for the tense set of his shoulders, Akaashi would have thought he was simply looking down in search of something that had fallen on the ground. “Fine.”

Akaashi wilted beneath that one word. Bokuto’s tone wasn’t even nearly as vicious as he thought it’d be. And yet it was a word that carried a white flag, a declaration of surrender. Akaashi looked away then, his fingers fumbling together. “Fine,” he repeated.

Bokuto picked up his coat from the back of Akaashi’s couch. He retrieved his duffel bag from the floor. But he left his spare keys to Akaashi’s apartment hanging on the organizer on the wall.

That decision finally spurred Akaashi into action. He stumbled forward and nearly tripped on his feet. “Koutarou–”

Bokuto stilled, and it was enough to stop Akaashi in his tracks too. “You’re going to tell me you didn’t mean it. I know, ’Kaashi. Believe me, I know. But if you could say something as cruel as that at the height of your emotions, then you must have thought of it once or twice.” Bokuto looked over his shoulder. The expression he offered Akaashi was less of a smile and more of a porcelain surface breaking from the inside out. “From the bottom of my heart, Akaashi Keiji, I am sorry to have ever been a burden to you. You don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

There were a thousand things Akaashi could have–should have–said, as he watched Bokuto’s retreating back. “Wait,” would have sufficed. “Can we talk this out?” would have been a good alternative. “Please don’t go,” would have been proper. “Please. Stay,” would have been best.

Instead, he said nothing at all as he watched Bokuto close the door on his way out.

–

In the weeks following the fight that ended their relationship, Akaashi had tried. He would have been the biggest fool not to have tried to salvage what he had broken. But Bokuto had declined to reply to his texts, had chosen not to answer his calls. Akaashi had even sent a handwritten letter of apology to Bokuto’s mail, and he knew that it had made its way to him because he had asked Hinata to inquire subtly about it.

But there was only nothing.

It was only then that Akaashi allowed himself to cry. He hadn’t let himself succumb to his grief, positive that he could turn this around the way he had always made things work out between them. But it didn’t matter whether Bokuto’s avoidance was for his sake or for Akaashi’s. The silence that followed after a plea of desperation was answer enough.

And yet–Bokuto had been right about one thing. In the weeks following their breakup, Akaashi had picked himself back up. He had taken care of his bills, filed for a renewal of his rent, polished and submitted all his pending manuscripts on time. In the succeeding months, he even got that editorial promotion. Granted, Akaashi was only doing everything perfectly because he was determined to prove to Bokuto that he could be put together, even during the worst time of his life.

So it was that. Whereas Akaashi’s misadventures in love were put to a complete stop, his adventures elsewhere ran onward at full speed.

Somewhere, Akaashi knew, there was an irony in that.

–

PRESENT DAY

(a.k.a. the night Akaashi should have stayed)

Akaashi pressed the palms of his hands over his eyes, willing the memory away. The words from their last fight were still ringing in his head, but they were slowly fading, replaced instead by the steady whirring of the airconditioning in the subway car and the distant hum of wheels on tracks.

He ran his fingers over his hair, forgetting that he had placed his glasses over his head. It clattered to the ground and, with a sigh, Akaashi bent to pick it up.

The memory did not sting as long this time, he thought, wiping his glasses before sliding it back over the bridge of his nose. It always hurt when it came to pay a visit, but its stay had grown shorter and shorter.

It was something Akaashi was proud of. That meant he was healing. Right?

But as his train slowed to a stop, signaling the station he ought to get out on, he remembered the reason why he was even going home this late.

“Osamu,” he whispered to himself, getting to his feet and filing out of the subway car. He checked his phone, knowing full well he didn’t have Osamu’s number, but willing himself to try anyway. Akaashi sighed, tapping his phone against his temple as he tried to think of a way to aptly apologize. How do you even say sorry for suddenly–and rather rudely–getting up and leaving someone alone to their dinner?

Akaashi should have stayed.

Groaning in disappointment at himself, Akaashi pocketed his phone and began walking home. He supposed he could apologize tomorrow, right before Onigiri Miya formally closed. But then again, would Osamu even accept an apology after Akaashi’s behavior? Akaashi tried to put himself in the other’s shoes, picturing what he would have done. But he didn’t know Osamu well enough to envision scenarios like those yet, and Akaashi soon gave up.

Don’t overthink this anymore than you already have.

When Akaashi finally arrived at his apartment, he peeled away every layer of his clothing and belongings, left them in their respective places around the house, and buried himself beneath the cool waters of his showerhead. He rested his head against the wall, willing himself to think of nothing but the way the water rolled down his skin, like fingers telling him it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.

Because if these past twelve months had taught him anything, it was that it was okay. With or without Bokuto, he had been okay, he was okay, and he will continue to be okay.

After washing himself up, Akaashi settled into his special futon, one he kept in his spare room to help drive away the more stressful days. He settled himself beneath the covers and checked his phone.

Lit up on his screen, in light that had yet to adjust to the dimness of his room, were messages from an unknown number.

Heart beating fast, Akaashi immediately opened it.

>> If I have said or done anything to offend you, I am very, very sorry. ~Osamu [8:56PM]

>> But if it was my cooking that drove you away, then I take my apology back. I am confident it isn’t bad enough to make someone run away like that. ~Osamu [8:58PM]

Akaashi read the texts once. And then twice. And then one more time for good measure. Then he closed his phone and stared up at the ceiling, breathing deeply. Then he opened his phone and began to reply.

<< No, it was on me. I’m sorry for leaving so abruptly. Thank you for the meal. Your onigiri was perfect, as always. [9:29PM]

Akaashi’s finger hovered uncertainly over the send button. He turned over in his futon, chewing on his lip, and then hit send. There was a reply almost immediately.

>> :) ’Course it is. [9:30PM]

Akaashi snorted. “Cocky,” he murmured to himself. Then another thought dawned on him and, despite the dread beginning to pool in his stomach, he willed himself to ask.

<< How did you get my number? [9:31PM]

>> ’Tsumu. [9:31PM]

Akaashi let out a deep breath at that. If he had gotten his number from Atsumu, then Atsumu must have asked Bokuto for his number, which meant that Bokuto still had Akaashi’s number. Or maybe Atsumu was smarter than that and had asked Hinata instead. Hinata and Akaashi were close enough to have each other’s contact details. Or maybe Atsumu had his own number saved on his phone.

God, he was such an overthinker.

His phone lit up with another message before Akaashi could berate himself further.

>> See you again tomorrow? I’ll make you a better meal. [9:32PM]

<< You’ll still be here? [9:33PM]

>> Yeah. I don’t hop around Japan everyday, you know. Did you want me to go? [9:34PM]

Despite everything that happened, Akaashi smiled.

<< See you tomorrow. [9:36PM]

>> :) [9:36PM]

Akaashi closed his phone before closing his eyes. And then, for the first time in a long time, Akaashi slept peacefully, the ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips.

Chapter Text

Udai Tenma was, once again, acting strange.

Akaashi tried his best to ignore him while he worked, but how could he? For one, Udai-san was sitting directly across from him, their spaces only separated by the things cluttering their desks. For another, Udai-san himself was not working. Under normal circumstances, that would be cause for celebration because it meant it was one of the rare times he managed to turn in his drafts on time. But now, it only meant that his coworker had too much time on his hands.

Time he spent casting Akaashi furtive glances as he pretended to sketch out his ideas for next week.

“Udai-san,” Akaashi finally caved, even as he continued to pencil in his comments across papers. Lunch had come and gone, and Akaashi’s previous theory had since been discarded. (The theory in question: Udai-san’s strange behavior was an effect of his hunger and would come to pass after he ate a good meal. Discarded because Udai-san had treated himself to a bento meal and was still goofing around.)

“Akaashi-san.”

Akaashi closed his eyes. He took off his glasses and leaned back, taking this as a short reprieve from being bent over the desk all day. He was about to put his glasses back on when he noticed that its absence made everything around him blurry and difficult to make out.

For his sanity, he kept it that way as he squinted at Udai-san.

“What are you doing?”

Udai-san gestured at his desk. “Drawing.”

“I meant, what are you doing? You’ve been squirming in your seat all day, looking at me when you think I don’t notice.” Akaashi leaned forward, suddenly concerned. “Is there something on my face?”

“No, why would you think that?” Udai-san tapped his pen against the desk, but he did not add anything more.

Akaashi finally put his glasses back on, sighing. “Whatever it is, can you please just let it out?”

Udai-san pursed his lips. Then he pointed to a spot on the edge of Akaashi’s desk. “Are you going to open that or not?”

“The what?” Akaashi had to stand a little to peer over the stacks of manuscripts on his table. The nearing end of a week always meant that he had the most on his plate.

And there, behind the little towers of his pages, on the border of his and Udai-san’s desks, was a little paper box. It was tied neatly with a maroon ribbon, with the crest of Onigiri Miya stamped over the top. It was small, appearing only to be the same size as Akaashi’s hand, and fitting enough for one onigiri.

Akaashi stared at it. Then he stared at Udai-san. Udai-san stared back.

“Was this here the whole time?” demanded Akaashi, at the same time Udai-san said, “I thought you saw that when you arrived this morning!”

“Was it here when you arrived?” Akaashi picked it up, surprised to find how light it was in his grasp.

“Yeah.”

“You should have said something! What if the food has already spoiled inside?” However, even as Akaashi sat back down in his seat, he had a feeling there wasn’t even anything inside. Frowning, he pulled on the ribbon tying it together and popped the box open.

Udai-san had stood up to get a closer look. “What is it?”

Akaashi ignored him as he stared inside. He was right about one thing: there was no food within. But there was a little card taped to the bottom of the box, with an unsigned note:

I’m sorry again for last night. Also, sorry to get your hopes up, but this ain’t onigiri. Come by tonight for the real thing. ;)

“Akaashi-san?”

Akaashi immediately closed the box and looked up at Udai-san, who was still trying to get a good look at the contents of the present. “Hmm?”

Udai-san looked concerned this time. “What’s that on your face?”

Akaashi’s hands flew to his cheek. “What is?”

“Oh, I know.” Udai-san sat back in his seat, grinning triumphantly, his act falling away. “It’s called a smile. Never knew you could do that.”

Akaashi picked up one of his spare pencils and threw it at Udai-san, biting the inside of his cheek as hard as he could just to keep himself from smiling more.
_

When Akaashi arrived at Onigiri Miya later that night, he found himself standing outside of its closed entrance for several minutes, his fist raised in a knock that never came.

He should have bought Osamu a little gift, just like how Osamu took the time to give him one. He had an awfully twisted sense of pride, to come knocking here after having made a mess the night before. At the very least, he should have given something for Osamu’s troubles.

The door suddenly swung open, and Miya Osamu nearly collided against Akaashi. The former stopped himself just in time, his hand gripping the doorway, as Akaashi let out a startled gasp. They were close, too close, but neither of them made to pull away from the other. Akaashi stared at him, noticing that Osamu’s cap was once again nowhere to be seen. Dark hair fell across equally dark eyes, which were studying Akaashi fervently.

“Hi,” Osamu finally said. He almost sounded shy.

“Hi,” said Akaashi, equally as soft. “Where were you headed?”

“Nowhere.”

“Okay.”

Osamu blinked. Then his bewilderment turned into mischief as he leaned against the doorway. “So. Did ya like my gift?”

“Would have liked it better if there was food in it,” Akaashi found himself answering.

Osamu whistled. “Rude!”

Akaashi smiled, his fingers finding one another. “Can I still come in?”

Osamu finally stepped back, allowing Akaashi space to cross. “What’s stoppin’ ya?”

But Akaashi remained standing outside as he continued to fidget with his fingers. “Last night–”

“Don’t apologize,” interrupted Osamu, waving a hand. “Come now. What happened ain’t somethin’ a good onigiri can’t fix.”

Convinced, Akaashi let himself in. He was still hanging his coat by the rack when he asked, “How’d you know where I worked?”

“Google!” Osamu called from the kitchen.

“Even as to where my desk was?” Akaashi took up his usual seat by the bar.

“What can I say? I am charmin’ enough to have convinced the guard to slip a package in for ya.”

“You’d make a terrible criminal.”

“I’d make an excellent criminal! Your security is just terrible at his job.”

Akaashi laughed, and Osamu looked up at the sound. “You’re right,” said Akaashi.

They did as they always did then: Osamu cooked. Akaashi waited. They bowed their heads and said their thanks. They ate in silence.

And then they began their little game.

“What’s on yer mind?” asked Osamu, turning his seat so that he faced Akaashi.

Akaashi dabbed at his lips with a tissue. He couldn’t look Osamu in the eye as he said, “Would you like to know why I left last night?”

“’Course I do. I have my guesses, and I’d like them confirmed.” Osamu shifted in his seat, drawing Akaashi’s attention on him. “But I’m only interested in hearin’ ya out if ya want me to know.”

“Okay.” Akaashi folded the tissue in his hands and placed them atop his plate. “Sorry to have to keep you guessing then.”

Osamu leaned his elbow against the bar. “Like I said, ya don’t have to apologize for anythin’. Besides, the game is only fun if yer sharin’ somethin’ willingly. Otherwise, I would rather we not play at all.”

“No,” Akaashi said hurriedly, regretting it as soon as the word left his lips.

Osamu raised a brow. “‘No’?”

“I mean...we don’t have to stop playing.”

“Oh?” Osamu grinned. “Grown attached, have we?”

Akaashi wrinkled his nose. He wanted to wipe that stupid smile off his face. “I like talking to you,” he said honestly, purely, without a timbre of doubt.

Somehow, it worked. Osamu opened his mouth and then closed it again. He licked his lips. “Is that yer truth for tonight, Fukurodani setter?”

“It is if you want it to be.”

Osamu looked up, tapping a finger against his chin. “Hmm. Alright. I’ll take it.”

Akaashi turned so that he was facing Osamu too. Their knees knocked against one another as Akaashi settled, mirroring Osamu’s own pose. “What’s on your mind?”

Osamu resumed his thoughtful expression. But this time, there was a crease in the space between his brows, the only telltale sign that he was actually deep in thought and not only pretending to contemplate. “Ya know,” he began, his voice devoid of his earlier devilry, “when I chose to pursue this business, ’Tsumu wasn’t particularly happy at first.”

Truthfully, Akaashi wasn’t sure where this truth was coming from nor where it was going. But he didn’t care. Instead, Akaashi rested his head against his hand, his eyes on Osamu as he listened. “What happened?”

“We fought. Badly.” Osamu laughed to himself, wistful as he rewound a memory only he could see. “Kita-senpai–our captain–had to break us apart in the end, and we got yelled at by our coach for unnecessarily injurin’ one another. Even after, ’Tsumu was angry at me for hours.”

Osamu’s finger traced a pattern absentmindedly on the countertop. “But I never regretted my decision, ya know? Even if there are still some days I wonder what a life we woulda lived, if we coulda been the Miya twins, playin’ alongside one another in the league.” He straightened up, flashing Akaashi a smile tinged with sadness. “I think, what I’m tryin’ to say is: these are one of the days where I miss ’Tsumu a little more than usual. Must be because I asked him for yer number last night. ’Twas nice to hear from the idiot.”

Akaashi chuckled.

“And,” continued Osamu, “I think what I’m also tryin’ to say is: things coulda been different, yeah, but what I have right now ain’t so bad either.”

Akaashi stared at him for a heartbeat longer. He swore he could almost see Osamu’s walls coming back up, the vulnerability he willingly gave retreating back beneath a mask. Saying something soft now would only earn him a teasing remark, so Akaashi responded the only way he knew how. “If half of my mangakas were as articulate as you,” he said, “then I would have a much easier time at work.”

Osamu laughed, and Akaashi tried to stamp down the way his heart swelled at that.

–

For the next two weeks, their weekday nightly meetings became a part of their routines. Osamu demonstrated the prowess of his culinary skills by preparing a wider variety of meals. Sometimes, Akaashi offered to help–and he did try to help–but it became clear which of them had the talents for cooking.

During the weekends, Akaashi and Osamu continued to keep in touch, but conversations were short. The former preferred to use the time to get his bearings back together while the latter often went away to where Atsumu was.

Akaashi began to learn both the big and little things that made up Miya Osamu. He was the older twin, born three full minutes before Atsumu, and he used this fact to boss Atsumu around sometimes. His favorite food was food, and when Akaashi tried to tell him that was a terrible answer, Osamu insisted that his love for it was what brought him here in the first place. His favorite color was gray, which was why he dyed his hair that hue back in high school. He used to have a fish named after Atsumu’s then-boyfriend (“It was ugly, just like he was,” explained Osamu), but his twin flushed it down the toilet after the relationship ended.

There were details Osamu unknowingly gave away too, things Akaashi kept to himself lest Osamu closed himself up. Osamu hummed while he worked, songs that were often the most popular ones on the radio. He crossed his arms over his chest whenever he wanted to prove he was right. Even his grins whispered secrets of their own: a tilt to the left meant he was teasing; to the right meant he was sincere.

Sometimes, Osamu’s mannerisms reminded him of someone he used to love. The way he would throw his head back when he laughed at something he found terribly amusing. The way he clapped his hands together when he perfected a recipe down to its core. The way he would make finger guns and say, “Bingo,” every time he caught Akaashi slipping.

But Akaashi was beginning to forget the face of the one who had come before Osamu. He was beginning to not let everything remind him of Bokuto.

Yet as much as Akaashi enjoyed his company, both of them still had other responsibilities to tend to. It was on a night nearly two weeks later that he was reminded of this fact, after Akaashi had told Osamu of the hobby he used to have of collecting stamps from across different posts.

“What’s on your mind?” asked Akaashi afterwards.

Osamu, who had been grinning earlier–lips tilted to the right–, sobered. He cleared his throat. “I’m leavin’ Tokyo for a bit.”

“Ah.” Akaashi paused, unsure of why he felt as Osamu looked. “When?”

“Tomorrow mornin’. There’s been a surge of demand for my onigiri in Fukuoka, and I wanted to see if it’s enough to set up a branch there.”

Akaashi beamed. “That’s great!” he said, and he meant it. “You’ve come a long way from Hyogo.” He rested his elbow against the table and began to absentmindedly fiddle with his fingers.

“I have.” Osamu stared at Akaashi’s hands, caught by the movement. “Why do ya do that?” He placed his hand over his, as if he was coaxing them to be still.

And it worked. His touch had turned Akaashi to stone: every part of him frozen, concentrated only on where skin met skin. A thousand thoughts flitted across his mind’s eye: why was he so bothered? It was normal for friends to touch, wasn’t it? Why had he stopped breathing then?

Why did his touch feel so good?

“Force of habit,” Akaashi finally replied, surprised at the normalcy of his voice.

If Osamu noticed Akaashi’s sudden change in behavior, he did not let on. He carried on casually, “I noticed ya only do that when ya’ve got a lot more on yer mind than usual. Care to share?”

I think I’ll miss you when you go.

The thought rose suddenly, unbidden–and stuck. It broke the ice that had settled over Akaashi, and he withdrew his hand a little. Osamu curled his fingers on himself, but his hand remained settled over his.

“Unfortunately for you,” said Akaashi, relieved he sounded steady, relieved he had already had his turn in their game, “you’ve ran out of luck.”

“Aww.” Osamu leaned back, finally withdrawing his hand. His fingers caressed Akaashi’s gently, the touch feather light and enough to be mistaken as nothing at all. “Somethin’ tells me I woulda liked whatever it is yer thinkin’ now.”

Would you, really?

Akaashi held his gaze. And, because there were always two players in this game, he gave him a small smile that tilted to the right. “Something tells me you would have,” he confirmed.

–

When Akaashi returned to Onigiri Miya the next evening, he had all but forgotten that Osamu had already gone. He stopped at the mouth of the alley, blinking at the unfamiliar stranger turning the keys to Onigiri Miya.

“Excuse me,” he called out, jogging towards them.

The stranger looked up, and Akaashi slowed to a stop at Fujimatsu-san’s familiar gaze. “Oh, hi, Akaashi-san. I’m sorry, but we’re already closed.” She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “And I’m sorry, but I’m not nearly as diligent as Miya-kun when it comes to entertaining customers after hours.”

“No, it’s fine,” he replied hurriedly, a blush creeping to his cheeks. “I forgot. He left today, didn’t he?”

Fujimatsu-san glanced down, and Akaashi found that he had begun to play with his fingers. He stopped himself immediately. “He did,” she confirmed.

“Okay.” Akaashi bowed, feeling suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry to keep you. I’ll be going now.”

“Take care, Akaashi-san.”

“You too, Fujimatsu-san.”

Akaashi cast one last lingering look at Onigiri Miya before turning away. Strange, he thought. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought his disappointment tasted awfully a lot like longing too.

Chapter Text

[10/31]
<< Saw this and thought of you. 🍙🍙🍙 [5:52PM]
>> Cute keychain! Buy it! [5:53PM]
>> Bet you’re always thinking of me anyway. [5:53PM]
<< Haha. [5:58PM]
<< You wish. [6:00PM]
>> 😏😉 [6:01PM]
[Read 6:05PM]

[11/01]
>> You busy? [2:05PM]
<< Depends. [2:06PM]
>> On?? [2:06PM]
<< On what you need. [2:07PM]
>> Rude!!! [2:09PM]
>> 😠😠😠 [2:09PM]
>> I’m in a boring meeting with some interested franchisers. [2:10PM]
<< I’m busy. [2:11PM]
>> You’re so rude today!! [2:12PM]
<< Please listen to them, Myaa-sam. [2:13PM]
>> Why are you still calling me that?? [2:14PM]
>> Call me Osamu. [2:14PM]
<< If I do, will you listen? [2:16PM]
>> Depends. [2:17PM]
<< On? [2:17PM]
>> On how you’ll say my name. 😉 [2:18PM]
<< Please listen to them, Osamu. [2:19PM]
>> Did you even try?? [2:20PM]
>> But since you asked so nicely. [2:21PM]
[Read 2:21PM]

[11/04]
>> Hello from me and ’Tsumu! [8:42AM]
<< Nice selfie. Good morning to you both. 😊 [9:12AM]
<< He’s in Fukuoka? [9:15AM]
>> Just for today. [9:17AM]
<< Have a good day then. 😊 [9:18AM]
[Read 9:22AM]

[11/05]
>> Onigiri Miya is officially coming to Fukuoka!! 🍙🍙🍙 [6:34PM]
<< Congratulations!! 🥳 🎉 [6:59PM]
>> Wouldn’t have been possible if you didn’t tell me to keep listening in that meeting. [7:29PM]
<< Haha. [7:32PM]
<< Where are you off to now? [7:35PM]
>> Aww, just say you want me back in Tokyo. [7:36PM]
<< I don’t miss you that much. [8:01PM]
>> But you DO miss me? [8:02PM]
[Read 8:03PM]

[11/06]
>> Tokyo might have to wait. Got lots of things to do right now! [12:00PM]
<< It’s okay. Like I said, I don’t miss you. [12:02PM]
>> Liar! You said you don’t miss me /that/ much. [12:05PM]
<< So where to now? [12:06PM]
>> All around Japan, I guess. I’ll be spending another week here in Fukuoka to finalize the groundwork. [12:12PM]
<< Take care. [12:13PM]
<< The winter bugs are going to be making their rounds soon. [12:14PM]
>> ’Kay! [12:15PM]
>> Take care too. [12:18PM]
<< 😊 [12:20PM]
[Read 12:23PM]

[11/11]
<< Hey. [1:14AM]
>> ?? Why are you awake?? [1:16AM]
<< Why are YOU? [1:17AM]
>> Work. [1:18AM]
<< Same. What’s on your mind? [1:19AM]
>> Oho? 😏😏😏 [1:21AM]
<< Never mind. Good night, Osamu. [1:24AM]
>> 😱😱😱 [1:25AM]
>> You said my name without my prompting! [1:26AM]
>> Absence does make the heart grow fonder, huh? [1:27AM]
<< Stop texting. I can’t sleep with all your messages. [1:28AM]
[Read 1:28AM]

–

By mid-November, the temperature in Tokyo had dropped several more degrees. Afternoons were cool, the sun’s heat paling in comparison to the autumn breeze that stirred the city. Nights were crisp, the moon’s glow amplifying the chill that settled between the cracks of the pavement.

Because he was always weaker against the cold, Akaashi often found himself with a scarf wrapped around his neck, head bowed when he walked along the streets. He was often home by the time it was half past eight these days, preferring the warmth of his apartment.

Besides, the one interesting thing that used to happen after hours was now miles away from him.

Not that distance stopped him from reaching out to Osamu, and vice versa.

As if summoned by the thought of him, Akaashi’s phone lit up with a new message from Osamu just as he was slipping off his loafers by his apartment’s genkan. He unfurled his scarf as his thumb slid to open the message.

[11/15]
>> Did you see?? [8:32PM]

Frowning, Akaashi placed his scarf on the back of his couch before heading to the kitchen. He was microwaving the bento he had purchased earlier when his phone chimed once more.

>> My brother’s coming to Tokyo to play! There’s a match this Saturday. [8:34PM]

Osamu’s wording was careful, but Akaashi had an inkling that he was trying to communicate a bigger thought. Akaashi took out his reheated meal from the microwave before replying.

<< MSBY vs. Azuma Pharmacy Green Rockets? [8:35PM]
>> Yup! [8:36PM]
<< Yeah, I saw the news. [8:37PM]

Sitting down and placing both his dinner and his phone on the table, Akaashi brought his hands together and rested his chin against his hands. When his phone lit up again, he merely glanced at it.

>> Are you going to watch them play live? [8:39PM]

Quite frankly, Akaashi hadn’t watched a live game of the MSBY Black Jackals since he and Bokuto had broken up. He still took the time to stream the games or watch their replays, but he never had the heart nor the courage to be in the same enclosed space as Bokuto.

Akaashi said his thanks for the meal and began to eat, ignoring Osamu’s text for the meantime. When he was done, he washed what needed to be cleaned, disposed of his trash properly, and then finally settled against his couch.

Did he want to watch the game? Was it going to be okay? Was he going to be okay?

<< Are YOU? [8:51PM]

So what if Osamu was?

>> From the sidelines, as usual. Onigiri Miya doesn’t rest. 😪🍙 [8:53PM]
<< Haha. [8:53PM]
>> So...are you going to watch? [8:55PM]

Akaashi’s thumbs hovered restlessly over the screen as he deliberated on his decision. Was he really considering this?

So what if Akaashi was?

Taking a deep breath, he sent in his reply.

<< I will. [8:57PM]

Akaashi closed their conversation. He was in the middle of purchasing a ticket for the upcoming game when Osamu responded.

>> Yay!! [8:57PM]
>> It’ll be nice to see you again. [9:00PM]
<< Haha. [9:00PM]
<< It’ll be nice to see you again, too. [9:05PM]

–

The week came and went far too swiftly for Akaashi’s liking. On one hand, he had been looking forward to Saturday. He would finally be able to see the Black Jackals in the flesh again. Circumstances may have separated him and Bokuto, but that didn’t mean Akaashi’s adoration for the team dwindled any less. They were still his favorite team, previous and current biases aside, and it also pleased him to watch them at their best.

He would also finally be able to see Osamu, too.

On the other hand, he was dreading the approach of Saturday. For precisely the same reasons aforementioned.

“The MSBY Black Jackals are playing here tomorrow,” opened Udai-san now as they ground through their Friday hustle.

“Yeah.” Akaashi immediately regretted not asking him earlier, so he asked him now, “Did you want to watch?”

“If I could.” Udai-san sighed and held up his binder. “I’ve got to finalize these spreads before tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll need all the time I can get to work on it.” He set it down and pouted. “Of course, if my editor would be so kind–”

“As your friend, I’m sorry. I really am. But as your editor, I am looking forward to those finished manuscripts by tomorrow.”

“How can you sound so nice and so cruel at the same time?” complained Udai-san.

Akaashi rolled his eyes and continued typing on his laptop, trying to wrap up the string of emails he needed to send to his clients. Udai-san cleared his throat and added, “Are you going to watch?”

Akaashi’s fingers slowed before he resumed his rhythm. “Yes.”

Udai-san’s jaw dropped open. “Keiji!” he exclaimed, startling both Akaashi and everyone in their near vicinity.

“What?” hissed Akaashi, glaring at him as their coworkers shot daggers at them.

But Udai-san was looking at Akaashi with a strange expression. For the first time, Akaashi saw the man he had once been years ago: the little giant, small in stature but mighty in play. The way he assessed Akaashi now gave the same impression, like he was a crow come to prey on its victim.

“You’ve changed,” said Udai-san finally, voice almost sentimental.

“Uhm. Is that a bad thing?”

Udai-san had already returned to his work, but he glanced at Akaashi and offered him a genuine smile. “No.” He began sketching again, but the proud look on his face remained. “It’s not a bad thing at all.”

–

The game was scheduled at two in the afternoon on a perfect autumn Saturday. Akaashi knew this, and he knew he could have spent the time before that doing more productive things.

Instead, he arrived in the stadium, ticket in hand, a full hour before the game began.

There were already people milling about, of course. Both of the volleyball team’s vans were parked behind the building, and food stalls and merchandising booths were already set up neatly inside the lobby. There were several kids boasting jerseys of their favorite players, and it nearly gave Akaashi an aneurysm to see so many Bokutos running around.

“Can I help ya?”

Akaashi jumped at the voice in his ear, spinning around.

And there he was. Miya Osamu wore his signature black shirt tucked into a loose pair of jeans. A moon bag was clipped around his waist, the zipper slightly open to reveal several folded bills inside. His cap was angled lower than usual, casting his face in more shadow. His hands were hidden behind his back and his grin was tilted crookedly to the left.

“You didn’t have to scare me like that,” scowled Akaashi.

“Sorry,” Osamu said, not sounding sorry at all. “Ya just looked a little lost, that’s all.”

Akaashi shot him a disapproving look. Then he reached into the pockets of his coat and flourished a little paper bag. He held it out to Osamu, his eyes trained purposefully on it. “Welcome back.”

“Aww, how thoughtful of ya.” Osamu plucked it from his grasp. He turned it upside down, shaking the item into the palm of his hand. A little onigiri keychain slid into his grasp, and Osamu laughed.

“I told ya to buy this for yerself!” Osamu began clipping it to his moon bag.

“I did.” Akaashi turned a little, revealing his own onigiri keychain on his backpack.

Osamu laughed again. Once he finished attaching his own keychain, he flicked it once. “Cute. Ya must’ve thought of me a lot then.”

I did. “You wish.” Akaashi tucked his hands behind his back. “So where are you located?”

Osamu pointed to a stall nearest to the court. Onigiri Miya’s maroon banner was pinned to the front of the tablecloth while Fujimatsu-san manned the booth in Osamu’s absence. Feeling their attention on her, Fujimatsu-san swiveled in their direction and gave an enthusiastic wave. Akaashi waved back.

“Ya hungry?” Osamu asked.

“Actually, not really,” said Akaashi. For the first time, he really wasn't. “I was hoping to get settled in before the game started anyway.”

“Too bad. Off ya go then.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them moved. They remained standing there, just drinking in the sight of one another.

Was it normal for friends to do this? wondered Akaashi. He does consider me his friend, right?

“Ah!" Osamu exclaimed, breaking the spell between them. "I almost forgot.” He flourished a little paper envelope and held it out for Akaashi. “Yer not the only one who thought of buyin’ gifts.”

Before Akaashi could thank him, Fujimatsu-san called out Osamu’s name across the crowd. Osamu winced, ducking and hunching his shoulders together, as if it could conceal him from the crowd’s growing curiosity.

“Gotta go.” He glanced at Akaashi, a question in his eyes. “See ya later?”

“Yeah,” Akaashi nodded. “See you later.”

Osamu smiled before jogging away back towards his stall. Akaashi made his way to his seat, double checking to make sure he was in the right side of the court and in the right row before finally settling down. It was only then that he opened Osamu’s gift for him, sliding out the content of the little wrapping.

A stamp of Fukuoka settled against his palm. If Akaashi tilted his hand, a gold sheen caught the light, illuminating it in kaleidoscopic colors.

Akaashi smiled before gently placing it back into the wrapper and keeping it in his bag. Osamu claimed he was the thoughtful one, but he had it the other way around.

In no time, the stadium around him turned from half empty to nearly full. Both of the team’s cheering squads began to take their posts on the higher boxes of the stadium. Fans filled the seats beside and around Akaashi, their excited chatter filling the court alongside the officials’ test run of their buzzers. Media personnel set up their cameras and mics while photographers idled by the sidelines. All the players filed in afterwards, beginning their warm-ups, but Akaashi had busied himself with work in order to prolong the agony of what he had been avoiding.

But, in no time, the warm-ups ended and both of the teams were formally introduced to the court.

Because the MSBY Black Jackals were sponsoring this game, they had their own special introductions. Their captain, Meian Shugo, was introduced first. The rest of the team were called forth in numerical order of their jerseys. Akaashi clapped along with the rest of the crowd with every member that was introduced, although he sat tensely as he waited for the one player he had been anticipating to see.

“Number 12 of the MSBY Black Jackals,” the announcer finally heralded, “and arguably the most beloved player of this season’s Division 1–Bokuto Koutarou!”

Time slowed as Akaashi watched Bokuto step out into the limelight of the court. He looked just as Akaashi remembered: broad shoulders, muscular build, black and white hair slicked back into points atop his head. But he had a brighter glow about him, as if he had finally achieved the peak of who he was.

He marched into the court, arms raised high, and goaded the crowd to clap for him. Time snapped back into place as everyone around followed suit, their cheers overwhelming Akaashi enough that he couldn’t think long enough to spiral into his darker thoughts. The announcer continued to introduce the rest of the team’s line-up, but his voice was drowned out by the uproar of the crowd’s joy.

As the rest of the Black Jackals were paraded–with Akaashi cheering a little harder for Hinata–Akaashi found that he was...happy. His thoughts did not snag on Bokuto nor did they focus solely on him, apart from his earlier introduction. Instead, he was watching the team as a whole, glad that he could see them again, even if from afar.

The Azuma Pharmacy Green Rockets shuffled afterwards, and both teams filed into neat lines on opposite sides of the net. The players shook hands, the buzzer rang, and the Black Jackals prepared themselves to make the first serve.

Akaashi leaned forward in his seat. No matter how he felt about one of the players on the court, he would always feel entranced by volleyball as a whole.

Miya Atsumu was set to serve first. He took six steps away from the starting line, the ball in one hand. With the other, he raised it up over his head only to close it in a fist.

The Black Jackals’ cheering squad immediately lapsed into silence. Akaashi found himself snorting despite himself. It was an antic that never failed to amuse him.

When the official blew his whistle, Atsumu tossed the ball in the air. He slammed the ball down and over, all the way on the other side of the net. The players from the Green Rockets stayed still, calling for an out. But when the ball hit the ground, the referee pointed his flag in.

The crowd erupted into a frenzy. Akaashi clapped along with them, glad for Atsumu’s first service ace of the day.

The game carried on viciously, both teams packed with an arsenal of skills that challenged the other to do better. Akaashi would sometimes linger on one of Bokuto’s plays, admiring the way he could hit a spike in or wincing when it went out of bounds. But for the most part, he watched the game without a particular bias to one player.

The MSBY Black Jackals won the first set with a lead of 3 points. Akaashi erupted into applause, proud of his favorite team playing wonderfully as they always did.

As usual, he should have known things weren’t going to be so easy.

The second set started out well enough. Points were exchanged between the two teams, but there wasn’t anyone particularly playing awfully. If anything, Bokuto and Sakusa were both on top of their games, aces that racked up points for their team. And now, as Bokuto was faced with a triple block, he slammed it down against their wall, breaking through and scoring three straight points for the Jackals.

“BOKUTO BEAM!” the crowd roared, caught up in the tidal wave of his success.

Bokuto laughed and pointed at the crowd. “Hey, hey, hey!” he yelled, drinking in all their admiration.

And then it happened. Bokuto made to turn away, eyes sliding back on the court, when his gaze snagged against Akaashi’s. Akaashi froze as they stared at one another, the distance closing itself with that one look alone. Bokuto’s jaw dropped, his brows rising with disbelief.

Atsumu ran up to Bokuto, slapping him hard across the back. Akaashi immediately looked away, sucking in a deep breath. When he looked to the court again, Bokuto was yelling at Atsumu, and the crowd misinterpreted it as friendly banter among teammates. But the tortured expression Bokuto cast over his shoulder told Akaashi otherwise.

“Come on, Bokuto,” whispered Akaashi under his breath. “Don’t falter now.”

But Bokuto was undeniably distracted for the rest of the game. It was almost imperceptible at first: his spikes were softened by several one-touch blocks, but his serves were still getting in and his receives were still on point. And then his serves started getting caught in the net or turning up out of bounds. And then his receives turned sloppy, the ball spinning away from his grasp or bouncing off towards an awkward angle.

“Don’t mind! Don’t mind!” Hinata yelled, loud enough for Akaashi to hear, when Bokuto failed to get another serve in.

Bokuto ran his fingers through his hair, casting a forlorn look to Hinata. Then he glanced to the bench and caught sight of Oliver Barnes standing just as the referee signaled for the substitute.

But you’re in the professional stage now…

Shoulders slumping, Bokuto jogged over to the bench. He and Oliver Barnes grasped the placard of Bokuto’s number until the official approved of the exchange.

...and if I’m the reason for your sudden shutdown…

Bokuto sat in the bench, immediately wiping off his sweat. Their coach, Samson Foster, approached him, and the two exchanged several words. Bokuto held up his hand and shook his head, and their coach left him to attend to his players on the court

...then the rest of your team will suffer.

“Bokuto,” gasped Akaashi, his heart breaking all over again with that one name.

The Black Jackals did their best to keep their lead from slipping from their grasp. But Akaashi watched the Green Rockets take advantage of the moment, seizing their chance at winning this round. In a span of several more minutes, they were declared the victors of the set.

It was over. It was done. The Black Jackals lost the second set.

And it was all my fault.

Akaashi stood up so abruptly that his knees knocked against the seat in front of him. The one seated against it turned to yell at Akaashi, but he was already headed towards the exit of the court, running, running, running away.

Akaashi crossed the doors, ready to leave this whole damn stadium, when he caught sight of the red banner of Onigiri Miya. A couple was busy choosing onigiris from their selection, Fujimatsu-san kindly attending to them as Osamu handed someone else their change. As soon as the patron went away, he looked to Fujimatsu-san, presumably to correct her of something, when he caught sight of Akaashi instead.

For the second time that day, time slowed to a stop, suspending both of them in an infinite bubble. Osamu’s expression darkened with worry as Akaashi’s lip trembled. They were several feet apart from one another, far enough that Osamu would never have heard Akaashi whisper, “Help me.”

But those words seemed to snap the strange chokehold time had on them. Osamu whispered something to Fujimatsu-san, who looked up momentarily, finding Akaashi. Osamu smiled politely at the remaining patrons, bowed, and backed away.

Then he was sprinting to Akaashi. Akaashi had only taken one step towards him before Osamu collided against him, his fingers frantically touching Akaashi everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.

“Akaashi,” breathed Osamu.

“It was all my fault.”

Osamu grabbed his arm gently and tugged them away from the lobby, past the few fans milling about, past curious onlookers, past those who had set up their business for today’s game. They broke through the stadium doors, into the afternoon light, and Akaashi had to squint against the brightness. But Osamu was still pulling him along, until they were safely cocooned in the shadows at the back of the building.

“What happened?” Osamu asked. Akaashi had never heard Osamu sound so gentle.

“It was all my fault,” Akaashi repeated, his words coming out in a rush. “Bokuto saw me. He saw me across the crowd, and then his game–I don’t know–he started playing badly. He was benched and the Black Jackals lost the set and I think it was my fault.”

Akaashi slid his glasses over his head and rubbed his eyes, willing himself to stop rambling. But the truth poured out of him instead, everything that he never could quite tell Osamu before spilling out of him now. He told him about how he had chosen Bokuto over and over, over his work, over his career. He told him how he did so because he was afraid exactly something like this would happen. He told him of the night they broke up, how Akaashi’s overwhelming love and poisonous pride became his downfall. He told him how he thought he had forgiven himself for all those mistakes, how he tried his best to be a man on his own, how he did everything to make sure both of them could stand without needing one another.

When he was done, Akaashi was panting, drinking in lungfuls of air, like he had been running for miles. Osamu watched him, his face carefully devoid of emotion or thought. It unnerved Akaashi, and he forced himself to croak out, “Please say something.”

Osamu blinked. Then he wrapped his arms around him, closing the distance until their bodies were pressed against another. Akaashi flinched in surprise before he melted into the embrace, resting his head against Osamu’s shoulder.

Cold.

Osamu tightened his embrace before reaching up to stroke Akaashi’s raven hair.

So cold.

Osamu pulled away, his eyes taking in every inch of Akaashi’s features, his gaze touching him in places his hands couldn’t, making sure he was going to be alright.

His hands are so cold, thought Akaashi, as Osamu cupped his face in his hands. But if his hands are so cold, then why is there a fire burning within me?

Osamu leaned forward, bringing their foreheads to touch against each other. Akaashi closed his eyes then, but he could feel the intensity of Osamu’s gaze on him.

“It’s not your fault,” whispered Osamu finally.

Akaashi swallowed. His hand instinctively found the collar of Osamu’s shirt, and he held him tight. “I know.”

“You are not responsible for the actions of others.”

“I know.”

“It’s not your fault,” Osamu repeated. “I want–I need you to know that.”

“I know.” Akaashi finally opened his eyes. This close, Osamu was practically a blur before him. Akaashi dared to lean forward a little more, the gesture slight enough that it could be interpreted as an accident. The tips of their noses brushed. “Can you tell me something good?”

“Akaashi.”

“Yes?”

“Akaashi,” Osamu said again. His lips curved slightly to the right. “You are good.”

Akaashi closed his eyes again. He didn’t cry when Bokuto fell apart on the court. He didn’t cry when he had trembled before Onigiri Miya, pleading for help. He didn’t even cry when he recounted the worst night of his life, a time he had tried so hard to forget. But the tears fell in silent streaks now as Akaashi inhaled a fragile breath. “Please say my name again.”

“Akaashi.”

“Again.”

“Akaashi.”

“One last time.”

“Keiji.”

Akaashi let go then, but he did not peel himself away from his touch. “Osamu,” he said in return.

They stayed that way for several more minutes, until the last of his tears had run dry, until the guilt dissipated like vapor in the wind, until there was no room left for the hurt in his heart to grow anymore.

–

In the end, the MSBY Black Jackals managed to pull through from their slump and take back the third set. They won the game by the fourth. Akaashi had returned to his seat to watch the remainder of the game, but he turned to go as soon as the officials signaled the Black Jackals’ victory.

If he had stayed for just a second longer, he would have seen Bokuto glance at his direction. If he had stayed for just a second longer, he would have seen Bokuto follow Akaashi’s line of sight, towards where Osamu was standing by the exit. If he had stayed for just a second longer, he would have seen Bokuto freeze for half a beat before smiling tenderly at Akaashi’s retreating back.

But Akaashi was already looking ahead, to where Osamu was leaning against the doorway. Akaashi was already smiling at Osamu as they took their leave side by side.

Chapter Text

For a short period of time, Akaashi was afraid that the incident during the MSBY Black Jackals game would be enough cause for Osamu to distance himself.

Despite the fact that Akaashi had lingered afterwards, waiting for Osamu and Fujimatsu-san to pack things up. Despite the fact that Osamu had offered to bring Akaashi home, and he had dropped him off at his apartment before driving away with a wink. Despite the fact that the two continued to converse in text messages, as Osamu left Tokyo for other business endeavors.

A full week passed before Akaashi decided to bring it back up again.

[11/27]
<< Can I ask you something? [10:02PM]
>> Anything. [10:03PM]
<< What was on your mind? [10:04PM]
<< Back at the MSBY BJ game. [10:04PM]
>> I thought ’Tsumu was being annoyingly arrogant with his serves. [10:06PM]
[Fukurodani setter~ 😊🍙 is typing…]
>> I’m kidding. [10:07PM]
>> I know what you meant. [10:08PM]
>> Don’t kill me. 🙏✌️ [10:08PM]
[Miya Osamu is typing…]
[Miya Osamu is typing…]
[Miya Osamu is typing…]
>> I was thinking I never wanted to see you like that ever again. [10:20PM]
<< Like what? [10:22PM]
>> Like you were drowning. But I couldn’t do anything about it. [10:25PM]
<< You helped me. More than you realize, I think. [10:28PM]
>> 😊 [10:28PM]
>> I’m glad. [10:30PM]
>> I would do it all over again, for you. [10:37PM]

Akaashi lingered on the last two words of his text. For you. What the hell did that even mean?

And why was Akaashi agonizing over it far too much? Did he want it to mean something? Was he scared if it did?

He typed his thanks, hit send, and buried his phone beneath his pillow, hoping he could stave away all the thoughts that fluttered in his mind.

–

Before Akaashi knew it, November tapered off into December, the days growing colder and colder. The stress of his work rose and fell, as it always did during the winter months, and he began to spend less time for leisure and more time for his career. There were days where he could barely muster the strength to reply to the texts Osamu sent, and he tried to swallow the guilt that came with putting him second. There were days where he forgot about him entirely, the space of his mind crammed to the brim with deadlines and paperwork.

It was during one of these high strung days, during the later weeks of December, where Udai-san rattled Akaashi’s desk out of the blue. It was nearly the end of Akaashi’s shift, but he was still scrambling to try and get work done so that he wouldn’t have to work thrice as hard tomorrow.

“Udai-san!” Akaashi yelled, as his pencil zigzagged across Udai-san’s current spreads. Akaashi grabbed fistfuls of his hair, groaning in frustration, as Udai-san continued to shake his desk. He looked up, his anger rising to the surface. “What in the ever loving f–”

“Akaashi-san!” cut in Udai-san, before Akaashi could pour out a string of profanities he’d regret. He pointed to the door. “Someone’s here to see you!”

“Who would pay a visit to the office this late into the night?” Akaashi demanded, whirling to face the door. The anger and annoyance clawing their way up to the surface immediately halted, as the visitor gave them a casual salute.

Akaashi was pretty sure he was hallucinating right now.

“Bad time?” asked Osamu, grinning. He looked dapper, with a black sweater and a pair of slacks hidden beneath a large beige coat. A gray scarf hung loosely over his neck and shoulders, and he was carrying a paper bag unmistakably from Onigiri Miya. “Told ya, ya have terrible security.”

“You–what–how…?” stammered Akaashi. “What are you doing here?”

“Surprise!” said Osamu, still standing by the door. “I came to check up on my Tokyo branch. Then I figured I’d check up on ya.”

Akaashi glanced at Udai-san, who was watching the whole exchange with wide eyes and a hand over his mouth. Then he looked back at Osamu and sat down in his seat. “I–thank you. Uhm. Just a sec, I’ll just wrap this up–”

Udai-san reached across their desks and tugged Akaashi’s papers to him. “Go home, Akaashi-san!”

Akaashi stared at him, completely taken aback. “What–”

“Akaashi,” Udai-san said again, more sternly this time. “You deserve the break anyway. You’ve been working the hardest out of all of us. Go home. I promise I won’t bother you at all tomorrow so you could finish your edits on time.”

Akaashi hesitated. Osamu must have sensed him caving in, because he chimed in, “Yes, Akaashi-san, listen to yer mangaka.” He held up the bag he held and pretended to take a whiff. “Wouldn’t want yer onigiris to turn cold.”

Slumping his shoulders, Akaashi conceded. “Fine.” He tugged back his papers from Udai-san’s grasp, narrowing his eyes. “But you better keep your promise. And I want your double spread on my desk by lunch.”

“Yes, sir,” Udai-san said, nodding a little too enthusiastically. Akaashi sighed before packing all his necessities into his bag. He shrugged on his own coat and tugged a pair of gloves over his hands. He was about to reach for the scarf on the back of his chair when Osamu beat him to it.

“Let me,” Osamu offered. He placed the bag of onigiri down before wrapping the scarf around Akaashi’s neck. Akaashi could hardly look at Osamu, so his eyes settled on Udai-san instead. Udai-san was slouched low in his seat, attempting to conceal himself from view. But when he and Akaashi exchanged a glance, he gave Akaashi a thumbs up.

“There ya go,” said Osamu, tucking the end of the scarf neatly into itself. He picked up the onigiri again and began walking to the door. “Sorry for disturbing ya!” he called to Udai-san.

“Only apologize if you mean it,” chastised Akaashi, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He glanced at Udai-san and found him recording their exchange with his phone. Akaashi reached over, attempting to swat his phone out of his hands, but Udai-san dodged, sticking out his tongue.

“Akaashi?” Osamu turned when he realized Akaashi had yet to follow after him.

“Coming!” Akaashi immediately straightened, giving up. He glared one last time at Udai-san’s triumphant grin before following after Osamu. He was already waiting by the elevator, and he smiled at Akaashi when he had caught up. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Akaashi fiddled with the straps of his bag. “You’re here.”

Osamu arched a brow. “Were ya surprised?”

“Of course!” Akaashi tried not to sound too eager, but it had been so long. “How long will you be here to stay?”

“I leave in the mornin’.” The elevator doors opened and both of them filed in. “I really am just passin’ by. Onigiri Miya is closed a little early tonight too for some general cleanin’. But I couldn’t resist seein’ ya.”

That statement was nearly enough to warm Akaashi. “We could eat in my apartment,” he offered, before he could think twice about it. “If that’s what you want.”

“If that’s what I want!” Osamu laughed just as the elevator opened into the lobby. As Akaashi opened the lobby door for both of them to make their exit, Osamu said, softer this time, “’Course I’d want that.”

They spent the rest of the journey to Akaashi’s apartment catching up with one another. Akaashi told him of Udai Tenma and their odd friendship that both drove Akaashi over the edge and kept him sane. Osamu recounted his work in the other branches, how he was proud that each of them were doing well enough on their own. They exchanged stories of nothing and everything, and more than once their laughter paved the way back home.

By the time they arrived at Akaashi’s apartment, Akaashi wasn’t nearly as cold as he would usually have been. But as he turned the keys to his lock, one hand pressed against his door, he glanced at Osamu. “Don’t judge the place.”

“It’d be rude of me to do so. Ya were already kind enough to bring me all the way ’ere.”

“Okay.” Akaashi offered him a timid smile before turning the door and pushing it open. He opened the lights and immediately began to unlace his shoes by the genkan, but Osamu had paused to learn the space Akaashi called home. Akaashi followed his gaze and tried to see it through his eyes. His apartment was clean and sparse enough to have the necessary furniture without being crowded with the little details. There were some things that made it unmistakably his, though: there were potted plants on the corner of his living room and several more on shelves (all made of plastic, because Akaashi never remembered to water the real ones), there were several ceramic owl figurines scattered as ornaments around the place, and there were two picture frames set on the space before his TV.

“Make yourself at home,” said Akaashi, once they had both placed their shoes against the wall. Osamu set their dinner down on the table as Akaashi set their utensils. Osamu quietly slid into the living room, picking up the frames in his hands.

Akaashi leaned against the wall, watching him as he dried off one of his mugs. He was getting a feeling of deja vu from this particular scene, but he couldn’t think past the thought of Osamu looking so at ease in the middle of the room.

“These yer parents?” asked Osamu, looking over his shoulder. “And...Fukurodani?”

“Yeah.” Akaashi set the mugs down on the table before coming up to stand beside him. He smiled down at the pictures, one of him and his parents in a rare embrace and another of Fukurodani holding up their silver medals. “This one was taken right before I moved away. And this one was taken during my second year of nationals.”

“Ew,” said Osamu, cringing. “Please don’t remind me of my second year of nationals.”

Akaashi laughed as Osamu set them back down. “Weren’t you guys the second seeded team? How the fans fell for Inarizaki then!”

“Shut up.”

Akaashi laughed as they made their way to Akaashi’s table. Osamu began bringing out the contents of their dinner, and Akaashi was surprised to find that Osamu had also brought them some rice bowls. He raised his brows, recognizing the dear brand from which it came from. “One of these days, I’m going to have to repay you for all the food you give.”

“Na.” Osamu glanced up at him. “Yer presence is payment enough.”

“Really?” asked Akaashi dubiously, as they finished their preparations. He slid into his seat.

“Really.” Osamu took the place opposite him.

Both of them brought their hands together, murmured, “Itadakimasu,” and began to eat.

“What’s on yer mind?” asked Osamu, halfway through their dinner.

Akaashi picked up the gyudon from his rice bowl. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“In Tokyo or in your apartment?”

“Both.”

Osamu smirked through a mouthful of rice. He chewed carefully before answering, “Take it as my early new year’s gift then.”

Akaashi snorted, returning to his meal. But Osamu had slowed down, and if Akaashi didn’t know better, he would have labeled his sluggish movements as nervousness. Akaashi continued to watch him from the corner of his eye, waiting for Osamu to voice his thoughts.

“And about the new year,” Osamu began, clearing his throat. “I was thinkin’ about somethin’.”

“Is that what’s on your mind?”

“I guess it is, ya.” Osamu returned to his rice bowl, picking up pieces of rice with his chopsticks. “I was wonderin’ if you’d like to spend it with me. Did ya already have plans penned down?”

“Not really. What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinkin’ of spendin’ it at Miyagi. I’ll be taking care of something in Sendai for the upcomin’ weeks, and I think my stay would extend up until the new year. We could pray to the shrine of the gods there, and then I could take ya around.”

Osamu said all these in a rush, as if he needed to get it out of his chest before he lost his courage. Akaashi cocked his head to the side, and it was only then that Osamu looked at him. “Are you actually nervous, Myaa-sam?”

And just like that, the stiff demeanor Osamu presented melted away. He raised a brow and leaned back in his seat. “’Course not, Fukurodani setter.”

“Sure.” Akaashi picked at his food. “And sure–I’d love to spend the new year with you.”

Osamu’s eyes widened before he gathered himself to composure. “Oh. Yay!”

“So I’ll just take a train there and–”

“Nonsense! I’ll pick ya up here, bring ya there for the day, and have ya back ’ere before midnight.”

“Osamu, you don’t have to–”

“You’re right,” he confirmed, stretching out his legs beneath the table. Akaashi flinched when they tangled with his, whether unintentionally or otherwise. “I don’t have to. But–I’d like to. If you’d let me.”

Osamu’s leg grazed against Akaashi’s, softly and almost temptingly. Definitely intentional.

“Okay,” Akaashi finally said. His voice cracked a little with that one word.

Osamu smirked before withdrawing his legs away from his. “Okay, then.”

They ate the rest of the meal in silence, and Akaashi was almost afraid that Osamu could hear his heartbeat through it.

–

[12/27]
>> It’s snowing here!! ❄️ [9:20AM]
<< Cute. [9:45AM]
>> The snow or me? [9:49AM]
<< The snow, obviously. [9:50AM]
>> OUCH. 😭😭 [9:52AM]
[Read 9:55AM]

[12/29]
<< The new year can’t come fast enough. [2:22AM]
>> Don’t be so eager. 😏 [2:25AM]
>> Why are you still awake? [2:26AM]
<< Work. [2:27AM]
>> One of those nights, huh? [2:28AM]
<< Unfortunately. [2:32AM]
<< I’m sorry if I woke you. [2:50AM]
<< Sleep well, Osamu. [2:53AM]
>> Sorry! I fell asleep. [10:09AM]
>> And I slept well, thanks to your blessing. [10:12AM]
[Read 12:34PM]

[12/30]
>> You still up for our new year trip? [5:43PM]
<< Of course. Why? Did something happen? [5:49PM]
>> Nope. Just finalizing some things. [6:00PM]
>> Would you be okay if I picked you up at 5AM? [6:04PM]
<< You’d have to leave Sendai just a little after midnight. [6:05PM]
>> It’s fine. So 5AM? [6:08PM]
<< Okay. [6:13PM]
[Read 6:13PM]

[12/31]
>> It’s almost the new year! [10:34PM]
>> Hello from me and ’Tsumu! [10:40PM]
<< Hello. 😊 [10:43PM]
<< Atsumu-san is there? [10:45PM]
>> He’ll leave in the morning, don’t worry. [10:54PM]
>> You’ll have me all to yourself tomorrow. 😉 [11:12PM]
[Read 11:31PM]

[1/1]
>> HAPPY NEW YEAR, AKAASHI!! 🎉🎉🎉 [12:00AM]
<< Happy new year, Osamu! [12:00AM]
>> I’ll see you in a few hours? [12:14AM]
<< See you in a few hours. [12:15AM]
<< Please take care on the way here. [12:22AM]
<< Good night, Osamu. [12:27AM]
>> See you soon, Akaashi. Good night. 😊 [12:40AM]
[Read 4:15AM]

–

Akaashi was waiting by the sidewalk at 5AM on the first day of the new year. He remained huddled in the safety of his coat, blowing against his gloved hands and rubbing them together, as he waited for Osamu to arrive. He had texted Akaashi just several minutes earlier, saying he was already near, and Akaashi had taken the liberty of waiting for him by the road.

A pick-up truck the color of olives eventually appeared at the corner of the street. The closer it got to the front of Akaashi’s apartment, the more it slowed until it eventually stopped directly where Akaashi was standing. Osamu rolled down his window and smiled. The stereo was already on, singing tunes from the local radio station. He adjusted his cap, tilting it into a greeting. “Mornin’.”

Akaashi couldn’t help but smile back at him, despite the cold. “Morning. Happy new year.” He opened the door to the passenger and climbed in, sighing when he was hit by the warm waves of the truck’s heater. Akaashi passed Osamu his cylindrical tumbler from the pocket of his backpack. “I brought coffee for you.”

“My hero!” sung Osamu, uncapping the lid. He took a sniff of the drink before sipping from it. “Thank the gods.”

“Did you get any sleep?” Akaashi asked, as they began to pull away from his apartment.

“Some,” admitted Osamu. “Not as much as I’d like.” He glanced at Akaashi and immediately added, “Seein’ ya ’ere is worth it, though.”

“Sure it is.”

“It really is!”

Akaashi shook his head and looked out his window, trying to hide his smile. He soon became entranced with watching Tokyo in the midst of this ungodly hour. The streets were bare, yet the city lights flashed like beacons against a black backdrop. The very few people that milled about seemed to be those coming home drunk from new year celebrations or couples walking hand in hand in the night. Akaashi watched as towers of concrete and glass turned into a scenery of trees that looked rather sinister this deep into the night.

Osamu was humming as he drove, and it put Akaashi at ease to know that Osamu wasn’t bothered by the silence between them. It left Akaashi to be freer to observe his surroundings, eyes trained on the horizon until the first vestiges of dawn began to claw its way through the clouds. He admired the way the pinks and blues and golds bled with one another to welcome the rising sun.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, unaware he had spoken until it was too late.

“Yeah,” replied Osamu. If Akaashi had turned, he would have caught Osamu looking at him. “Beautiful indeed.”

But when Akaashi looked to him, Osamu already had his eyes back on the road.

They arrived in Miyagi a little past nine in the morning. Akaashi and Osamu had shared a light breakfast meal of convenience store pancakes during the drive, and by the time they arrived in the new city, Akaashi was famished once again. But Osamu took them to the shrine of the gods first, as promised.

The place was already packed with a throng of people come to pay their respects. When Akaashi hopped out of Osamu’s truck, he found his companion reaching for his toes with a yawn.

“And that’s eight hours on the road!” huffed Osamu. He caught sight of Akaashi’s expression and rolled his eyes. “Please don’t apologize again. How many times do I have to tell ya that it was my pleasure bringin’ ya ’ere?”

Akaashi resisted the urge to apologize once more. Instead, he said, “Come on. Let’s say our thanks to the gods.”

They climbed their way to the shrine side by side, taking their places in the queue of visitors. Osamu filled the silence by entertaining Akaashi with facts about Miyagi, while Akaashi interested Osamu with facts about the birds that flitted over their heads. It was small talk, conversations that did not hold much substance, but Akaashi felt so full hearing them with him.

When they finally arrived at the shrine, they bowed their heads and began to pray in silence. But when Akaashi closed his eyes and brought his hands together, everything he was thankful for all trickled down into one smile he had come to know all too well.

He opened his eyes in surprise and glanced at Osamu. Osamu’s eyes were closed, his face serene as he offered his quiet thanks to the gods. Akaashi closed his eyes again, trying to think of something, anything, other than the dark eyes of the man beside him.

Afterwards, Akaashi and Osamu decided to treat themselves to pulling o-mikujis. To their surprise and delight, they both managed to pull “small blessings”. Osamu laughed, and Akaashi wondered if the o-mikuji paper in his hand already knew how blessed he really was at this moment.

Osamu finally drove them away from the shrine and deeper into the grasslands of Miyagi. The sky above, which had previously been sunny and light, had become clouded with wisps of clouds. It muted the otherwise vibrant colors of the countryside, bearing a secret promise of more tumultuous weather.

Osamu finally led Akaashi into a little town of terracotta roofs, paper banners, and ceramic pillars. Osamu slowed to a stop in front of a nondescript shop before killing the engine. He turned to Akaashi excitedly. “We’re ’ere!” He gestured to the entrance of the shop, where the shoji door was slid open. Akaashi could glean tatami floors inside, along with several patrons sitting cross-legged before low tables and steaming bowls.

“Where are we?” asked Akaashi as Osamu led them both inside. The smell of pulled noodles and hearty broth flooded Akaashi’s senses, and he was thankful that he wore enough clothing to muffle the rumble of his stomach. They were seated in a small corner of the room, between two other pairs who were enjoying their lunch.

“A ramen shop in Miyagi’s smaller towns. It’s not on any of the maps, to be honest, and I only knew about this place because Hinata told Atsumu about it.” Osamu flagged down a server before ordering two bowls of tonkotsu ramen bowls. Then he rested his chin in his hands and smiled at Akaashi. “The ramen ’ere is the best one I’ve ever tasted, the kind that makes you hungrier for more.”

“Really?”

“Ya. I gotta keep myself from comin’ back every time.”

Akaashi smiled, mimicking him. “I think you could afford to indulge yourself every now and then.”

“If I did, then I would never leave.”

“Maybe you could afford to stay, if only for a little while.”

Osamu sighed. “Oh, to have the amount of free time to simply go wherever I want to and stay there.”

“Well, if you could, where would you want to be right now?” challenged Akaashi. “If you could choose to be anywhere right now, in this moment, where would you go?”

Their server returned with two bowls of steaming tonkotsu ramen. Akaashi’s mouth watered at the sight and smell of it, but he held himself back as Osamu pulled out his chopsticks.

“Right ’ere,” Osamu answered, lips tilting to the right. “If I could choose to be anywhere right now, in this moment, I’d still choose this.”

Akaashi smiled. He bowed his head. “Itadakimasu.”

“Itadakimasu.”

Akaashi gathered a serving of noodles and meat and stuffed them into his mouth. He immediately sagged against the wall, his brows furrowing as he let the flavors stew in his mouth. “Fuck,” he whispered.

Osamu laughed. “So vulgar. But I did tell ya.”

They finished the rest of their meals in between bouts of small conversation and gushing over the food. And by the time they left the ramen shop behind, a frosty wind had picked up and the clouds overhead were dark and foreboding.

“It might rain,” mused Osamu. “So what would ya like to do next?”

Akaashi wrinkled his nose, wrapping his arms around himself as he braved the cold. But as much as he’d like to avoid the possibility of rainfall and even wetter temperatures, he couldn’t leave this town without at least paying a visit to the rest of it. He turned to Osamu. “Let’s explore the town.”

Osamu grinned, brightening. “I thought ya’d never ask.”

The rest of their afternoon was spent exploring the little nooks and trinkets the place had to offer. Osamu and Akaashi found themselves in a variety of places. They stepped into a store selling authentic katana blades, weapons that drew Osamu’s interest but lost Akaashi’s. They immersed themselves in a little stall selling mochi balls, both of them standing before it for half an hour as they stuffed themselves full with every flavor it offered. They crossed into a street selling rows of wooden keychains, each one handcrafted and unique in design. Akaashi bought himself a wooden owl while Osamu purchased one of a fox.

They were paying for their gifts when the sky finally opened up and cried onto the winter earth. The large drops of rain fell slowly at first, kissing Akaashi’s cheek in warning before it touched his shoulders, his hair, his toes. Then the rain came in a waterfall, sudden and without warning, with nary a thunder or a lightning strike to announce its presence.

Osamu cursed as they scrambled to find shelter. Vendors and visitors alike were already slithering away into roof shelters, and their space to hide dwindled until Akaashi could find nothing that could help them escape the downpour.

“Found one!” Osamu grabbed Akaashi’s wrist and tugged him forward. “In ’ere!”

The place in question was an extremely narrow crook in the space between two shops, their tiled roofs offering a canopy of shelter from the rain. They slipped inside, Akaashi gesturing for Osamu to go first before Akaashi followed. They stood face to face with one another, only a hand’s width apart, as the rain dripped from every inch of them.

“Shit, man,” Osamu whined, touching his soaked bag. “This sucks.”

Akaashi stared at Osamu. Osamu stared back, his frown smoothing.

Their laughter began as little chuckles, sounds that slipped through their lips unconsciously. It escalated into loud bursts of laughter until they were both guffawing. Akaashi’s stomach ached with his joy as he beheld both of their sorry states.

“This sucks,” agreed Akaashi, even as he let out the last of his laughter.

Osamu grinned. “Ya good?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the rain despite how close they were.

Akaashi shook his head and pointed up. Right above his head, where the two awnings met one another, was a sliver of space that let in a steady trickle of rain. It poured over Akaashi’s head, further drenching him than he already was.

Osamu laughed again. He reached for his cap and put it atop of Akaashi’s head instead. Akaashi wrinkled his nose. “Like that would do me good now,” he pointed out, even as he felt grateful for the thoughtful gesture.

“I’m still a gentleman, ya know.” Osamu grinned before glancing up, squinting as he tried to determine how long they would need to hole up.

But Akaashi didn’t care how long it took. In fact, if he was being raw and honest with himself, he could kiss the rain for bringing them close like this.

I could kiss him.

He watched Osamu now, tracing the beads of raindrops streaking down his neck, watching them disappear beneath the soaked fabric of his white sweater that had turned translucent. Akaashi swallowed, unable to help himself from memorizing the hard planes of his chest, the curve of his broad shoulders, the contour of his arms. His eyes traveled back to Osamu’s face, but they dropped once more to rest against his lips.

Akaashi, stop.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, voice loud enough to rival the storm.

Osamu glanced at him, brows raised. His eyes seemed to travel a path of their own, looking at Akaashi the way Akaashi had with him. Akaashi would have thought he imagined Osamu leaning closer against him, but the way the rain fell against his hair proved that he did manage to close the already little space between them.

“I’ll tell ya what’s on my mind,” Osamu said, tapping Akaashi’s nose, “if ya tell me what’s on yers.”

Akaashi laughed, but it came out a little airily, a little nervously. “Hasn’t that always been our game?”

“Has it?” Osamu’s voice was husky and low. All traces of his earlier delight had turned sultry. “A game of equal exchange?”

Akaashi swallowed. Somehow, the shiver that ran down his spine had less to do with the rain and more to do with the man before him. “Yes.”

“Ye gave just as much as ye took?” Osamu leaned forward.

“I’d like to think so.” Akaashi did the same.

Osamu’s fingers grazed against the inside of Akaashi’s arm, tracing circles against his skin. “And if I asked for more?”

“It depends.”

“On?”

Akaashi was hardly breathing now. They were so close that he could feel every exhale that passed between Osamu’s lips.

Stop thinking about his lips.

“On what it is you want more of.”

Osamu stared at Akaashi, his fingers relentless with their light tracings. Akaashi could hardly hear the rain over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. He was fairly certain Osamu could feel his heartbeat as well. It was practically vibrating through his chest.

Osamu raised one arm, caging Akaashi in as his body tilted forward. Akaashi pursed his lips as Osamu’s leg slid between Akaashi’s, the friction creating warmth in places he would rather not be in heat right now. “I’m thinkin’ that ya could be right.”

Akaashi turned his head a little so that he could breathe without being overwhelmed with the presence of Miya Osamu. “About?”

“Maybe I can afford to indulge myself every now and then.”

“If you did,” Akaashi’s eyes treacherously dropped to Osamu’s lips once more, “then you would never leave.”

“Maybe they’d let me stay.”

“Maybe.”

Osamu tilted his head to the side. “What’s on yer mind?”

“I’m thinking you could be right.”

“About?”

“The ramen was the best one I’ve ever had.” Akaashi’s hand found its way to Osamu’s cheek. Osamu turned to it, breathing in the scent of Akaashi Keiji. “It makes me hungrier for more.”

Osamu looked up at Akaashi through his lashes. Eyes wholly on Akaashi, he pressed a light kiss against the inside of his wrist. “And so the curse of yearning begins.”

Akaashi almost smiled. He almost dropped his hand and closed the final inch between them. He almost pressed his lips against his.

Almost, almost, almost.

But through the thunder in his veins, the storm in his ears, he realized that everything around them had gone silent and still, the storm come and gone just as quickly as it arrived. Osamu seemed to have come to the same realization, because he broke eye contact to stare up again at the sky.

“The rain stopped,” he confirmed.

“Yes.”

He glanced at Akaashi, eyes dark. “Do ya want to go?”

No. No, I really don’t.

Akaashi gave a small, hesitant nod. “Okay.”

Osamu smiled, but he looked almost...disappointed. But he leaned back and, taking Akaashi’s wrist in his hand, tugged him back into the wide breadth of the street. “Then let’s get dry and then let’s get ya home.”

–

Akaashi fell asleep for nearly the entire ride back home. Osamu had enough clothes to spare Akaashi some (“I keep these in the truck just in case I need to do some sudden visitations,” he explained), and the sweater and jogging pants he’d given Akaashi to wear were comfortable enough to lull him to sleep.

He stirred awake when they were already on the outskirts of Tokyo, the night already ripe and enveloping them in cool darkness. A warm blanket had been thrown over him, concealing all but his head that rested against the window, and he was once again grateful for Osamu’s thoughtfulness. He looked to the driver’s seat and found that Osamu had yet to notice him.

Akaashi contented himself to watch him for several minutes. The radio was softly playing the pop songs Osamu loved so much, and Osamu hummed along to them as he drove with one hand on the steering wheel. His cap was nowhere to be found as he favored running his fingers through his dark hair instead. The road lights came in intermittent bursts, lights slanting across his features that lit him up like a halo for half a breath before drenching him once again in shadows.

If Akaashi could choose any moment to preserve in his life, this would be a strong contender: this image of Osamu, carefully driving down a nearly empty road, all his walls down, with Akaashi curled up on the passenger seat.

With one last look at Osamu, Akaashi finally lifted his head. Osamu immediately flicked his gaze to him, the softness of his features hardening into alert lines. He grinned at Akaashi before staring back at the road. “Mornin’. Did ya sleep well?”

Akaashi wrapped the blanket around him tighter, basking in its comfort and the unmistakable scent of Osamu. “I did.”

“We’re almost to Tokyo. Sorry it took us so long to get back ’ere.”

“I don’t mind,” confessed Akaashi. “Sorry I couldn’t keep you company.”

Osamu laughed softly. “S’alright. Are ya warm enough there?”

“I am. Thank you.”

They drove the rest of the way in silence, with Akaashi alternating between checking his phone and watching the city lights blur outside. Occasionally, he would glance at Osamu, but Osamu would catch him in his attempts to be discreet, and Akaashi would turn away before the lights revealed the blush in his cheeks.

When they neared the roads to Akaashi’s apartment, Akaashi finally peeled himself away from his comfortable position. He folded the blanket over him before placing it in the backseat. He retrieved his still soaked backpack and the plastic bag that contained its contents, ruffling through them to make sure he had everything with him. When Osamu turned the corner of Akaashi’s street, Akaashi took a deep breath and asked, “When will I see you again?”

Osamu grinned. “Miss me already?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

He snorted, continuing his drive until he slowed to a stop in front of Akaashi’s place. He shifted the car into park and let it idle by the side of the road. “Maybe in two weeks’ time, if all things go as planned,” he finally said.

“Okay.” Akaashi fidgeted with his fingers, unable to look Osamu in the eye as he recounted their day in his mind. “Thank you for today. Really. I appreciate it.”

“’Twas nothing. I mean–it wasn’t nothing,” Osamu stammered. “It was...nice.”

Akaashi looked up, surprised, before smirking at him. “Who knew you could be at a loss for words too?” he teased.

“Shut up.” Osamu gestured to the view outside. “And in case ya didn’t know, we’re ’ere.”

“I know.” Akaashi grabbed his bag, checked both ways to make sure there wasn’t any incoming vehicle, and opened his door. He hopped out, one hand on the door, and hesitated. “Take care,” he finally said, unable to bring himself to say goodbye.

“You too.” Osamu drummed his fingers against the steering wheel before adding, “And Akaashi–thank you for spending the new year with me.”

Akaashi smiled at him, hoping he could see everything he couldn’t say. “I would do it all over again, for you.”

He closed the door and left Osamu longing after the ghost of him.

Chapter Text

A week after his trip to Miyagi, while quietly reading a novel in his apartment, Akaashi received a text message from Osamu.

[1/08]
>> I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!!!! [4:37PM]

Akaashi raised a brow. If this was something serious, Osamu would have approached it with less enthusiasm. It must be another one of his pranks, another one of his attempts to rile Akaashi up, or another one of his overly dramatic periods.

<< ? [4:39PM]
>> It was your birthday last month!! [4:45PM]
>> December 5th?? [4:46PM]
>> 😠😠😠 [4:46PM]

Akaashi straightened in his seat, suddenly alert. He closed his book and set it aside.

<< Ah. I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was important to mention. [5:00PM]
<< How did you even know? [5:01PM]
>> Full offense, but what do you mean it wasn’t important to mention??? [5:12PM]
>> We’re celebrating it. [5:13PM]
>> Also, I found out from ’Tsumu. [5:14PM]
<< Of course. [5:34PM]
<< Wait, what?? [5:35PM]
<< What do you mean celebrate?? [5:36PM]
>> Can I call you? [5:38PM]

“This damn guy,” sighed Akaashi, already beating Osamu to it as he dialed his number. He put his phone to his ear, the line ringing twice before Osamu picked up.

“Yer unbelievable,” he said immediately, before Akaashi could get a word out. “Ya made me seem like I’m a terrible person for not even greetin’ ya.”

“Like I said,” Akaashi started, lying down against his couch, “it wasn’t important to mention.”

“Whatever. We gotta find a way to celebrate it still.”

“Like you and I have the luxury of time.”

“Don’t be so pessimistic! Tell me: what’s one thing ya haven’t done yet but ya’ve always really wanted to do?”

“Get into literary.”

“Har har, Akaashi. I’m bein’ serious.”

Despite his disapproval for Osamu’s idea, an answer rose unbidden in Akaashi’s mind. There were many things he had yet to try, but there was one thing he had always wanted to do ever since he saw an advertisement about it on the TV. He hesitated, weighing the pros and cons of mentioning it to him. “I may have something in mind.”

“But?”

“But if this idea takes off, we are splitting the costs evenly.”

“Deal.”

Akaashi paused, pleading with himself not to bring it up. It was pure self-indulgence, a want more than a need, something that he could learn to live without. But a part of him felt a little selfish at the moment, so he said, “I’ve always wanted to feed the deer at Nara Park.”

Silence. Akaashi checked his phone screen, making sure Osamu hadn’t gotten disconnected. “Uhm. Hello?”

“I’m sorry,” said Osamu giddily, the sound on the other end of the line returning all at once. It sounded like he had been laughing for the past few seconds, but he had cleverly concealed it by muting his microphone. “That...is such a cute answer.”

“You’re laughing at it,” said Akaashi flatly.

“I’m not! Well, I was, but–”

Akaashi hung up and grabbed his book, determined to pick up where he had left off. But Akaashi’s phone rang again, and he couldn’t find it in himself not to answer. “What?” he demanded, a little crankily.

“I’m sorry!” said Osamu again, even though it seemed like he was still reigning in his laughter. “Nara Park. The deer. Got it. I’ll make it happen.”

“You don’t have to–”

But Osamu had already hung up.

Akaashi sighed. He knew the polite and right thing to do was to call him back, convince him that they shouldn’t ride with that idea. There were far too many things in both their lives right now that made such a costly trip less than feasible.

But Akaashi’s thumb hovered against the redial button until his screen went dark.

He put his phone away and continued to read in silence, even as his eyes combed through the same paragraph over and over again. All his attention had been redirected to deer parks and road trips. Maybe Osamu would forget about it anyway, he thought. Maybe it was an idea, and only an idea. Maybe it was never going to happen.

But throughout the rest of the week, amidst the calls and texts he received from work, Akaashi also received some from Osamu. Osamu would be free on the fifteenth, a Saturday, and he was wondering whether Akaashi would be available then too. Osamu could afford to bring his truck, but taking the bullet train would be faster, so he was wondering which one Akaashi preferred. Osamu suggested that a day trip to Kyoto might be too taxing, therefore he was wondering whether Akaashi would be alright with spending the night in a cheap hotel before coming back.

That last suggestion threw Akaashi off-guard. He had read Osamu’s message in the morning, and it haunted him throughout the rest of the day until he finished his shift. By the time he revisited his messages, Osamu had texted him to say that he could afford to take care of their housing, if finance was Akaashi’s concern.

<< No, paying for the stay won’t be a problem. [8:39PM]
>> So are you alright with a two-day trip? [8:43PM]

Akaashi blinked at his screen. The truth was, he was more than okay with spending one night in Kyoto. That meant they could wander around the city without the pressure of time breathing down their necks.

He just wasn’t sure if he would live to survive a night spent with Miya Osamu.

<< Two beds. [8:47PM]
>> Aww, how’d you know I was planning to book a room with only one? [8:48PM]

Akaashi rolled his eyes and left him on read after that.

–

On the morning of their trip to Kyoto, Akaashi arrived at the Shinkansen Tokyo station at eight o’clock sharp, a duffel bag in tow for their overnight stay. He was surprised to find Osamu already waiting for him, a large bag strapped to his back. When he caught sight of Akaashi, he waved him over, smiling through his yawn.

“When did you arrive in Tokyo?” asked Akaashi as they made their way to pay for their tickets. He tried not to linger on Osamu’s appearance, but he had once again managed to make such a simple ensemble look so elegant on him: his signature dark cap, a black sweater with matching black slacks, his familiar gray scarf, and a large brown coat.

“Last night. Drove here from Saitama.” Osamu yawned again. “Ack. This is too early.”

“You set the time,” Akaashi reminded him. He flourished a tumbler from the pocket of his bag and held it out. “But I came prepared.”

“Always the thoughtful one,” crooned Osamu, twisting the cap and sipping to take in the coffee Akaashi had prepared for him.

When they finally arrived at the ticket booth, they purchased their tickets for Kyoto and made their way to the platform. Akaashi adjusted the bag over his shoulder, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “So where are we staying tonight?”

Osamu looked at him from the rim of the tumbler. “Ya know,” he said, licking the coffee stains from his lips, “ya seem awfully concerned about how we’ll be spending our night.”

Akaashi could feel himself turning pink. “It’s a valid question.”

“We’ll be staying in a little hotel just a few blocks from the Kyoto station. If you want, we could always pass by first and leave our things there before venturing to Nara.”

“I’m good.”

They continued to wait for their train, Akaashi rubbing his gloved hands together for warmth as Osamu continued to drink his coffee. When the platform finally resounded with its impending arrival, Akaashi forced himself to remain still while he waited. When it slowed to a stop before them, the sleek train gleaming as if brand new, Akaashi pressed his lips together. Its doors opened up for passengers to file in and disembark, and Akaashi and Osamu stepped inside an interior marked with twin rows of lights overhead and two plush seats on either side of the aisle. When they took their seats, Akaashi wordlessly took the one by the window. And when the train finally started moving, Akaashi silently turned to survey the view outside.

“Is this yer first time on the Shinkansen?” Osamu finally asked him, disturbing his bubble of wonder and awe.

Akaashi glanced at him. “Yes.”

Osamu furrowed his brows together. “Why do ya look like yer tryin’ yer hardest to hide that fact from me?”

Akaashi frowned. “Because you laughed when I told you about the deer!”

“Because you were cute!” Osamu looked like he was about to laugh but stopped himself in time. Akaashi made a face before turning away to stare out the window again, even as most of what he could see now was a blur.

“Hey.”

Despite himself, Akaashi turned to Osamu. Osamu smiled, lips turned up to the right, before patting Akaashi’s hand. “I really am sorry if I made ya feel a little conscious about wantin’ to go to Nara.”

Akaashi cocked his head to the side. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

It was a question that had begun to take shape in Akaashi’s mind, from the moment Osamu decided to bring him to and from Miyagi earlier this month. “Why do you do that?” he started. “Why are you doing that? You go through all this trouble for me–and for what?”

Osamu must have found his question unexpected. He lifted the tumbler to his lips, looking away as he sipped his coffee slowly. When he finally set it down, he cleared his throat. “Well. I like seein’ ya happy.”

Akaashi stared at him. “That’s it?”

“That’s it,” confirmed Osamu. “Plain and simple. Are ya happy now, Akaashi?”

Akaashi could only nod in reply. He couldn’t trust himself to speak after a confession like that.

Osamu smiled, as if understanding his non-verbal reply. “Then there’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do for ya.”

For the next two hours and some, Akaashi alternated between staring out the window and reading the book he had packed. Despite the coffee, Osamu had fallen asleep not even ten minutes into the ride, his cap pulled low over his face as he snored silently beside Akaashi. More than once, Akaashi caught himself glancing at him, memorizing the look of him slumped over and tranquil, so at odds with the image he had of the insufferable and energetic Miya Osamu. More than once, the cap on his head threatened to slip, and Akaashi gently righted it every time.

When they finally arrived at Kyoto station, they took the Kintetsu Line, knowing it would lead them to Nara Park. They spent the remainder of the time discussing topics that ranged from facts about Nara Park and Kyoto to trivia about harvesting the perfect rice for onigiri to the current state of the MSBY Black Jackals in the V-league. Osamu also told Akaashi about the simple itinerary he had set out for them: feed the deer, spend the day taking pictures at Nara Park, and return back to Kyoto so they can shop around Nishiki Market.

“But any time ya feel tired or somethin’,” added Osamu, “ya tell me, and we’ll head straight to our hotel.”

By the time they arrived at the Kintetsu Nara Station, both of them were hungry and yearning for something to fill their stomachs. They agreed to find a place to eat first, eventually settling for a small café that specialized in sushi and sashimi. After they had their fill, they finally walked to the Nara Park, where a crowd of buses and tourists teemed on the outskirts. Trees were interspersed between and around paths, and there were stone lanterns staked to the ground. Deeper within the park, Akaashi could see a Torii arched before stone steps.

And the deer. They were meandering about everywhere, flocking to everyone and anyone who fed them crackers from their hands.

Akaashi couldn’t help the gasp that passed from his lips as he beheld the sight. When he turned to Osamu, he found Osamu already pulling away from a vendor selling deer crackers. He held it up, grinning. “Let’s have some fun!”

Osamu and Akaashi divided the crackers amongst themselves. Osamu tugged Akaashi towards where several deer were attempting to push through the crowd and get a fill of their own. Osamu held out his hand first, clicking his tongue to catch the creature’s attention. When several of them swiveled in their direction, Akaashi couldn’t help but take a step back.

“What are ya doin’? The deer are ’ere!” Osamu grabbed Akaashi’s coat, pulling him forward, but Akaashi found himself rooted to the spot.

“There are so many of them!” protested Akaashi.

Osamu gave him an incredulous look. This time, he did not try and conceal the laughter that bubbled from his throat. “Akaashi Keiji,” he said in a singsong voice. “Are ya afraid of the deer?”

“No,” Akaashi lied, even as he closed his fingers over the crackers, hoping the deer wouldn’t sniff them out.

“C’mere.” Osamu positioned himself so that he was standing behind Akaashi. Osamu nudged Akaashi forward.

“Stretch out yer arm.” Osamu ran his hand down Akaashi’s arm, unfurling it from its bent position. Akaashi was forgetting to breathe entirely as Osamu touched him everywhere.

“Open your hand.” He coaxed Akaashi’s gloved fingers to extend, revealing the smattering of crushed crackers in his hand. At this point, Akaashi wasn’t sure which was taking up more of his attention: the looming number of deer or Osamu’s body pressed against him from behind.

“Please, don’t,” Akaashi whispered to the deer, attempting to pull away.

“No, no,” sang Osamu, completely enjoying Akaashi’s misery. Akaashi looked over his shoulder and found Osamu conversing with a stranger, asking them if he could take their picture. “Akaashi, look at the camera! Say cheese!”

Akaashi was about to tell Osamu to stop coddling him in public when he felt something nip at his fingers. Akaashi yelped, turning away from the camera as he withdrew his arm on instinct. But Osamu had a firm grip on him, and he kept Akaashi in place as the deer began to feed on the crackers.

The stranger returned Osamu’s phone to him. After thanking him, Osamu leaned his lips against Akaashi’s ear. “See? It’s not so bad after all.”

They remained that way as the deer consumed the last of the food in Akaashi’s hand. Osamu finally stepped away from him, winking back at Akaashi.

Akaashi couldn’t even find it in himself to berate Osamu. All he could think of was how he wanted Osamu pressed against him once more. And if it took several damn deer for it to happen again, then so be it.

–

They spent the rest of the day feeding deer, Akaashi’s earlier fear waning with every interaction with them. Osamu and Akaashi also went around, exploring the other parts of the park and taking pictures before the more scenic views.

When they were satisfied with their tour around the park, they agreed to return back to Kyoto. Throughout the ride, Osamu was talking animatedly about Nishiki Market, how they would be able to find a variety of goods and food there. Akaashi looked at him, smiling tiredly. Osamu had made him promise to tell him when he was feeling overwhelmed from the day, but Akaashi endured his own weariness in favor of Osamu’s excitement.

As the sun set and the night rose to life around them, Akaashi and Osamu spent the rest of their hours moving beneath golden lanterns and through the steam of freshly cooked food. Their dinner was a shared meal of food they purchased here and there, and they contented themselves with a game of rating which one was the best and which one was the worst. They indulged themselves in several snacks they’d bought to take back home, and Osamu couldn’t resist purchasing several herbs for his own stocks at Onigiri Miya.

By the time they got to their hotel room, a little space of two beds that seemed claustrophobic with both of their sizes, Akaashi’s stomach was a little too full, his hands were a little too cold, and his feet were a little too sore. But his cheeks were also a little too strained from smiling so much, and he thought that that made everything a little more worthwhile.

After setting all his bags down by the floor, Osamu immediately flopped down against one of the beds, raising his legs so that his toes were pointed to the ceiling. “I’m so tired!” he announced, sinking into the softness of his sheets.

Akaashi laughed quietly, setting his own bags down. He sat on the floor, pulled his duffel bag towards him, and began rummaging through his belongings. “You’re the one who insisted on going everywhere.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t be tired.” He tilted his head so that he was looking at Akaashi upside down. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, “Did ya have a good day?”

“I did.” Akaashi looked up from folding his clothes and smiled. His voice was equally soft. “Thank you for everything.”

“Yer birthday’s just my excuse to actually pay those scenic views a visit,” explained Osamu, even though the light blush dusting his cheeks said otherwise. “I should be thankin’ ya.”

Akaashi rolled his eyes before returning to his task. He heard Osamu grunt as he peeled himself away from his mattress. Then Osamu laid down prone on Akaashi’s own bed. He positioned himself so that he was in Akaashi’s direct line of sight. “What’s on yer mind?”

“I’m thinking of telling you off for lying on my bed with your outside clothes.” Akaashi reached out to shove him. “Go.”

Osamu dodged, grinning. “Aren’t ya tired?”

“I am.”

“Then why are ya still fixing yer things? Those can wait ’til the mornin’.”

Akaashi stopped whatever he was doing and turned his full attention to Osamu, setting his elbows against folded knees. He wasn’t sure if all the food was making him braver than usual, but he jutted his chin out and asked coyly, “What else should I be doing?”

Osamu propped himself up on his elbows, his grin turning devious. “We can play a game.”

Akaashi raised a brow. “Aren’t you tired of playing games?”

“I could ask ya the same thing.” Osamu leaned forward, challenging him to answer.

Akaashi considered him. Was he tired of playing their little games, their little challenges that gave them an avenue to open up? If that’s what they were talking about, then no. Akaashi hoped that would never come to an end.

But somehow, somewhere–between their nightly meetings at Onigiri Miya, their shared banter, their candid messages–Akaashi knew that he had become a player in a two-man game, a dance that had yet to be named.

“Alright then,” said Akaashi, making quick work to dispel his thoughts. “What is it?”

Osamu clicked his tongue before rolling off of Akaashi’s bed. He bent over his backpack, searching for something, as Akaashi pushed his duffel bag away. Akaashi cleared the space between the two beds and sat with his back to his mattress just as Osamu took the spot opposite him. Osamu flourished a pack of cards, retrieving the deck from a tattered box and setting it down between them.

“The game’s simple,” Osamu began, spreading the cards facedown before them. “Ever heard of Slapjack?”

Akaashi nodded. “That’s it?”

“’Course not.” Osamu’s eyes were gleaming mischievously. “The losin’ player gets to do a dare set by the one who won.”

“Oh? Tired of hearing truths, huh?”

“Na.” Osamu leaned forward. When he set his hand down, it landed just a little too close to Akaashi’s. “I just think we gotta start bein’ a little braver.”

Akaashi swallowed before reaching for the deck. He began to shuffle them, but he held Osamu’s gaze the whole time. He divided the cards equally between them. “Just so you know, I won’t lose.”

Osamu smirked, lips tilting to the left. “Likewise. Ya flip a card first, birthday boy.”

Akaashi finally looked away then just as his hand flipped his first card. Five of diamonds.

Osamu flipped his next, at a speed that could rival a knee-jerk reaction. Ace of spades.

Akaashi did the same. Ten of spades.

Queen of hearts.

Ten of clovers.

The game went on, both their hands flying as they turned their cards over one by one. Neither of them spoke, their eyes wholly set on the game between them, both sides determined to come out triumphant.

It was only a matter of time before one of them made a mistake. When it did, it was a complete accident that set one of them down a path of loss.

Osamu placed his latest card on the pile between them, revealing two of clovers. He was still pulling away when Akaashi reached out, hand already turning his card. But their momentum caused their fingers to brush against one another, sparking electricity between them. Osamu glanced at Akaashi, distracted in that space of a breath.

You shouldn’t have looked away, thought Akaashi, slamming his palm down against the jack in his hand. Osamu followed a beat too late, more out of instinct than the realization that a jack had turned up. Akaashi grinned at him, raising one fist in the air as he whistled in triumph. Osamu buried his head in his hands, groaning in frustration. “No fair!” he protested.

“What part of that wasn’t fair?” challenged Akaashi.

“Ya diverted my attention on purpose!”

“Really?” Akaashi leaned forward. With one finger, he tilted Osamu’s chin up to look at him. “Maybe you just find me distracting,” he dared to assume.

Osamu blinked, caught off-guard for the second time. Then he pushed Akaashi’s hand away. “Piss off,” he grumbled, but his voice had turned hoarse. He coughed before muttering, “Let’s get this over with. What’s the dare?”

Akaashi sat back, leaning against the weight of his hands behind him. “I dare you to close your eyes.”

“Oh?”

“Just do as I say.”

“’Kay,” said Osamu, happily complying. “Eyes closed.”

Akaashi gathered the cards in his hands and began to reshuffle them again. “That’s it. That’s the dare. I dare you to close your eyes and keep them that way until you win.”

Osamu immediately did the opposite, glaring at Akaashi. “What? This is a terrible dare! This is not what I had in mind when I started this game!”

Akaashi gave him a pointed look. “What did you have in mind then?”

“I’ll show ya if ya let me win.” Osamu wagged his brows, willing Akaashi to rise to the bait.

“Win fair and square first. Close your eyes again.”

Scowling, Osamu murmured his complaints but did as Akaashi commanded. When the cards were divided into two once more, Osamu felt around until he touched his deck.

“Just so ya know,” he said grumpily, “I hate ya.”

“Just so you know,” rebuffed Akaashi, “I don’t care.”

They began their next round after Akaashi signaled its beginning. For Osamu’s sake, Akaashi tried to slow his pace, even as Osamu continued to turn his cards with a vicious speed, eyes closed the whole while. But when the jack finally appeared in Osamu’s hand, Akaashi slapped it first.

“I win again!” he announced triumphantly, after Osamu followed a second too late.

“I hate this game,” said Osamu gloomily. “I regret ever introducin’ ya to this. Why was I even born if I’d be dumb enough to get played like this?”

Akaashi laughed. “You’re so dramatic. Stop complaining and listen to your next dare.” Akaashi took Osamu’s hand, turning it so his palm was facing upward. “Now,” he said, voice steadier and more confident than he felt, “I dare you to keep your eyes closed and tell me what this is.”

Akaashi drew his finger down across Osamu’s palm. He trembled a little as he did so.

“A line,” answered Osamu immediately. “Also, that’s two dares you’ve asked of me. Cheater.”

“I’m not yet finished!” Akaashi drew the line again, downwards before connecting it with one that curved inward. Then he drew a horizontal line over it, connecting it with another that curved outward.

Osamu frowned in concentration, his lips already parted to make his guess. “Wait,” urged Akaashi, already tracing the next. He continued drawing, dashes and curves, edges and corners, pausing in intermittent beats, until he had finished drawing out his message.

好きです。

I like you.

Osamu was quiet, his expression blank. Akaashi was half fearful, half hopeful, and wholly unsure if he wanted Osamu to voice out what he had written.

This is me being a little braver, Osamu.

Osamu finally frowned and cracked one eye open. “Ha? Ya drew way too fast! Do it again!”

Akaashi slumped back, hiding his relief and disappointment behind a chuckle. “No. I’m only going to do it once every round.”

“Can I at least open my eyes now?”

“No.” Akaashi brought his hand over Osamu’s face, closing his eye again. “I told you, you have to keep your eyes closed for the duration of the game.”

“I hate ya,” sniffed Osamu as Akaashi reshuffled the cards once more.

“Sure you do.” Akaashi placed their new decks between them. He gently took Osamu’s fingers, placing them atop his cards. “Let’s begin.”

As expected, Akaashi won the next round. Osamu already had his hand open, and Akaashi placed it in his lap to begin writing out his confession once more.

I like you.

Osamu shook his head. “Again.”

The cycle continued for three more rounds.

I like you.

“Again, but slower.”

I like you.

“Again.”

I like you.

“Give me one last try,” said Osamu as he pulled away. His voice had gone quieter with every round they played, the words he said growing sparse and the expressions he made growing rare.

Akaashi hesitated, watching Osamu sitting with his eyes closed before him. Osamu said this was a game of bravery. Maybe he had expected a gesture of grandeur and maybe now he wanted more. But Akaashi was scraping the last of his courage just to spell out his feelings in the palm of his hand, again and again and again.

“Last,” Akaashi permitted. He placed Osamu’s hand over his deck. “Go.”

Their game had turned very quiet, the air between them charged with far too many things unsaid. When Akaashi secured his last win, Osamu clicked his tongue in disappointment, even as he already had his hand up. Akaashi dipped his finger into the softness of his skin, considering. Then he began to write.

大好きです。

I like you so much.

Osamu swallowed, brows furrowing.

He knows.

But then he took a deep breath. And when he exhaled, what came out was a whine. “Why did that one seem longer?” He withdrew his hand and held both up, opening his eyes. “Alright, I concede! I’ve had enough of this game!”

Akaashi laughed, the sound fringed with his nerves, as they gathered the cards spread out before them. “You’re a sore loser.”

“Because ya cheated!” accused Osamu. He gave Akaashi a sideways glance, his grin sliding back into place. The sober mood he had earlier was gone, replaced by his usual cheery demeanor.

“I did not. I maximized the rules.”

“That’s somethin’ a cheater would say.” He filed all the cards inside the box, putting them away neatly before rising to his feet. Akaashi watched him stretch his hands over his head, yawning, before pulling his night clothes from his bag. “Time to shower.”

“Did you figure it out?” Akaashi dared to ask, watching him retreat to their bathroom.

“Nope!” he called from inside.

Akaashi frowned when Osamu did not follow it up with anything more. “Not going to ask about it?” he ventured. The last thing Akaashi wanted was for Osamu to pry, and yet he found it strangely odd that he was so lax about losing. The Osamu he knew would have pestered him until he had an answer that satisfied him.

“I would.” Osamu popped his head out from the ajar door. “But someday, I know ya will be brave enough to tell me yerself.”

He knows.

They stared at one another for a second too long.

Akaashi hung his head forward, the first to break away from their impasse. “Yeah. Someday.”

“It’s okay.” When Akaashi looked up, Osamu was smiling at him gently. “Take yer time.” Then he closed the door to the bathroom, turning the lock in place.

With a sigh, Akaashi laid down on his bed, no longer caring if his clothes soiled the clean sheets. He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the shower running as Osamu began washing up for the night. He forced himself to focus only on the rush of running water, to clear his mind from everything else and from anyone else.

His silent meditation must have worked, because he found himself stirring half-awake when the bathroom door opened. But the pull of slumber had already wrapped its arms around Akaashi, and he wasted no more efforts trying to rouse himself. He listened instead to Osamu’s footsteps going through their room, to the light switch clicking to turn off their lights, to cloth rustling against cloth.

He already had one foot in his dreams when he felt a cool hand against his cheek. Warmth enveloped him as the weight of a thick comforter covered his body. Another hand lifted his head, and he felt the softness of a pillow underneath him as he was gently laid back down.

“Belated happy birthday, Akaashi Keiji,” he heard Osamu whisper.

He felt more than heard Osamu back away, tucking himself in his own bed.

A half hour must have passed before Osamu dared to speak up again, a confession to the darkness. “I really like ya too, ya know,” he said quietly.

But the volume of his voice hardly mattered. By then, Akaashi was already far and fast asleep.

Chapter Text

[1/16]
<< Thank you for the trip. And thank you for walking me home. [5:42PM]
<< Thank you for everything, actually. [5:45PM]
<< Please tell me once you’re home safe, too. [5:50PM]
>> It’s no problem. 😊 [7:04PM]
>> Sorry for replying late. I had to check on Onigiri Miya for a bit. [7:08PM]
<< No worries. [7:10PM]
>> And I’m home, by the way. If you were still wondering about me. 😉 [7:13PM]
<< When am I not wondering about you? [Drafted 7:15PM]
[Read 7:18PM]

[1/18]
>> Have you tasted the macha tea we bought from Nishiki?? [10:09PM]
>> SO GOOD. [10:10PM]
<< I have. It’s great. [10:14PM]
<< It’s best paired with chocolate too. [10:15PM]
>> It’s best if you were here with me. [Drafted 10:16PM]
[Read 10:16PM]

[1/20]
>> Akaashi. [12:10AM]
<< Yes? [12:15AM]
>> ?? Why are you still awake?? [12:17AM]
<< Work. Got lots to do this week. [12:18AM]
>> Ah. [12:19AM]
<< What’s up? [12:20AM]
>> Nothing. Sorry for disturbing you. [12:21AM]
<< It’s okay. [12:22AM]
<< What’s on your mind? [Drafted 12:24AM]
>> I just wanted to say I miss you. [Drafted 12:24AM]
[Read 12:24AM]

[1/25]
>> I know I talked a lot about being brave during our Kyoto trip, but the truth is I’m the one who’s a coward for refusing to tell you how I feel. What kind of loser tells the guy he likes that he likes him too when the guy in question is finally asleep?? And I’m sorry if I [Drafted 9:02PM]
<< Osamu, are you there? [9:02PM]
<< I was going to send you a picture of this goldfish I saw, but I saw you were typing. So I was waiting for you to say something first. [9:04PM]
>> I wasn’t typing anything. Must have left my phone unlocked again in my pocket! [9:06PM]
>> Let me see that goldfish!! [9:07PM]
<< Here. 😊 [9:10PM]
>> God, that’s way cuter than what I used to have with ’Tsumu. [9:13PM]
>> Does everything remind you of me these days? 😉 [9:15PM]
[Read 9:16PM]

–

The start of a new year meant that Akaashi had begun a new routine of his own, whether intentional or not. Mornings and afternoons were dedicated to his work, and he had reverted back to bringing packed lunches instead of paying visits to other cafés during this limited break. Evenings were spent on winding down (during the days he had less to do) or on catching up with his edits (during the days he had more on this plate) or on nightly conversations within the warmth of Onigiri Miya (during the days Osamu could afford to visit Tokyo).

But the weeks flew by at a frightening speed, far too fast for Akaashi to track. The only thing he knew was that the amount of work he had was inversely proportional to the amount of time Osamu could afford to spend in Tokyo. Certainly, that meant there were less distractions for Akaashi, but he had begun to ache for him. He wanted to see him again, to see those tilted smiles of his, to feel those hands warm his cheeks. More than once, he found himself scrolling through their pictures from Miyagi, Kyoto, and Nara. More than once, he had thought of changing his background to an image of the both of them. More than once, he had fallen asleep to the candid photographs of Osamu’s expressions.

Elsewhere, the lives of those he knew and cared about went on as well. The MSBY Black Jackals continued to climb the ranks of the V-league, toppling over one opponent after another. Osamu was in every game of theirs, providing Akaashi a live update of his thoughts and feelings, while Akaashi contented himself with watching taped reruns when he got home. Onigiri Miya’s Fukuoka branch had finally opened, a celebration on which Akaashi was invited to attend but had been unable to participate in due to prior commitments. Udai-san’s own manga reached a million copies in sales, and even Akaashi couldn’t help but drink in celebration to that.

Life was...good. And steady.

But it made Akaashi afraid. The last time he felt the smooth run of things, it all came toppling down anyway to crush him.

It was on a March Friday afternoon when the winds of change finally came. By then, Udai-san’s story was doing better than ever, the MSBY Black Jackals had just won the championships against the Schweiden Adlers the day before, and Akaashi had managed to avoid cramming in edits for two weeks in a row now. But the temptation to upend all that careful balance presented itself in the form of a text from Osamu.

[3/11]
>> MSBY is hosting a victory party tomorrow in Tokyo!! [2:59PM]
>> ’Tsumu invited me. [3:00PM]
>> Well, he had no choice but to invite me because we’re holding it in my Tokyo apartment. [3:02PM]
>> Come keep me company while I deal with the Black Jackal idiots? [3:04PM]

Akaashi leaned back in his seat, his work momentarily forgotten as he considered Osamu’s invitation. He closed his eyes, tapping his phone against his mouth. These days, whenever he had time to spare, all he could think about was Osamu. This had to be the longest they’ve gone without seeing each other face to face, with their last meeting being a few days into February, and Akaashi wanted nothing more than to see him again.

But to go to the party meant there would be others watching, some of whom Akaashi weren’t particularly too keen to meet too closely. Atsumu was definitely one of them. Even before Akaashi had grown close with Osamu, Atsumu’s teasing yet watchful gaze made Akaashi feel like he saw everything. He was pretty certain that Atsumu would immediately see right through him the moment they met.

And Bokuto–Bokuto was definitely another person he could forego seeing. There was far too much history between them, and Akaashi wasn’t sure if his presence there would be a landmine for either of them.

When Akaashi opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was Udai-san. It must have been a good day for him, as he had his mop of dark hair pulled back into a bun atop his head. He was deep into his task of coloring his center page for the coming week, but he looked up when he felt the weight of Akaashi’s stare. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry,” said Akaashi, sliding his chair closer to his desk. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re doing it anyway.”

Akaashi scowled. But before Udai-san could return back to his groove, Akaashi confessed, “I’m being invited to the MSBY Black Jackals’ celebratory party. Tomorrow.”

Udai-san raised his brows, realization dawning on his face. “Ah.”

“Don’t ‘ah’ me.”

“But I already know what you’re going to ask me anyway!”

Akaashi blew out a breath, forcing himself to remain composed. It was his own nerves and impatience that was making him irritable, and Udai-san didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of his snappy attitude. He set his phone down, fingers clenching and unclenching on his desk. “So…have you any advice to spare?”

Udai-san folded his hands before him. “‘So what?’”

Akaashi blinked twice. “Come again?”

“That’s my advice, Akaashi. ‘So what?’” Udai-san leaned back in his seat. “So what if you go?”

“I think–”

“I’m not asking you to answer that,” clarified the mangaka. “I’m asking you to think on it before deciding. So what, right? So what if you show up to the party? So what if you come strolling in with someone new? So what if the pieces of your past and the pieces of your present collide there?”

“That’s not–I don’t think–” Akaashi stammered. He sighed, fingers fumbling together. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Udai-san’s eyes were as sharp as a crow’s. “So what then, Akaashi? What could possibly go wrong anyway? And, conversely, what could possibly go right? And, additionally, so what if both and neither happen all at once?”

Akaashi stared at Udai-san, attempting to digest his words of wisdom, if they could be called that. But even through his doubt, Akaashi had a strong feeling there was an undertone of truth to it all. He just had to figure out what it meant.

“You’ll thank me someday,” Udai-san said, picking up one of his markers to resume his work. “Or not. That advice is, after all, the reason most of my manuscripts are turned in late.”

Akaashi kicked him from beneath their desks, earning a sharp yelp from Udai-san, which earned them a warning from their boss. But after getting a short reminder on unruly behavior and professional etiquette, Akaashi and Udai-san exchanged a silent glance before both of them dissolved into barely suppressed laughter.

When he had calmed down enough, Akaashi began typing in his reply to Osamu. He may not understand Udai-san’s advice just yet, but he understood it well enough to know that he would be a fool to turn down a perfect opportunity.

<< I would love to come with you. 😊 [3:45PM]
>> Great!!! Maybe you can help me prepare for the party? It starts at 6, but you could come by at 10 in the morning tomorrow. I’ll text you my address. [3:47PM]
<< Sure. [3:48PM]
<< See you, Osamu. [3:49PM]
>> See you, Akaashi. 😊 [3:50PM]

With the ghost of a smile still lingering on his face, Akaashi turned his phone facedown and went back to work.

–

As always, Akaashi was punctual.

He stood before Osamu’s gray apartment door at exactly ten in the morning, one hand holding a paper box of pastries he’d purchased on the way here. He was about to knock when the door swung open suddenly, the force of it enough to make Akaashi flinch. The growing smile on Akaashi’s face halted as he stared at the man before him in equal parts shock and disbelief.

Miya Atsumu stood in the doorway, eyes just as wide as he stared at Akaashi. But his surprise immediately shifted into one of smug mischief. “Oh?” he said, voice a near purr.

Akaashi knew, with every fiber of his being, that the man standing before him looked nearly identical to the man he liked, save for his blonde hair and broader, more muscular features.

So why the hell was he so annoyed looking at Atsumu?

“Akaashi-kun,” crooned Atsumu. He threw his arms wide as he leapt forward and crushed him in a too tight embrace. Akaashi barely spared his pastries in time, and his irritation only grew as Atsumu knocked Akaashi’s glasses askew from his nose.

“Atsumu-san,” deadpanned Akaashi once he had pulled away. He righted his glasses, unable to hide his frown. “What are you doing here?”

“Helpin’ ’Samu prepare for the party later. What are ya doing here?”

As if in reply, Akaashi heard Osamu yell from somewhere within the apartment. “’Tsumu! Get yer ass back ’ere, or I swear to all the gods–”

Osamu appeared, a mop in one hand and a lint roller in the other, just as Atsumu stepped aside from the doorway. Osamu’s fury immediately fizzed out as he beheld Akaashi. “Oh. Hi.”

“Hi.” Akaashi almost smiled.

“Oh, go on!” called out Atsumu, and Akaashi began to scowl again. “I’m sure Akaashi-kun here is interested to hear what yer plannin’ to do to me.”

Osamu glared at Atsumu, his previous frustration returning. “What did ya do and why does Akaashi already look so annoyed?”

“I did nothin’!” Atsumu skipped deeper into the apartment, brushing past his twin. Osamu immediately handed him the mop he was holding, scolding, “Can ya please actually get ’round to cleanin’? I’m doin’ all the work ’ere.”

“Because it is yer apartment.”

“My apartment that yer usin’ for yer team’s party!”

At this point, Akaashi was no longer sure whether it would be best to leave or to stay. Osamu must have sensed his uneasiness because he glanced at his direction, expression softening. “I’m sorry. Please come in and make yerself at home. I’ll be right with ya.”

Akaashi hesitantly let himself in as the twins disappeared around the corner, both of them yelling at one another. Akaashi surveyed Osamu’s apartment as he dutifully left his shoes by the genkan. It was wider and more spacious than Akaashi’s, with minimalist decor and sleek furniture dotting the place. Akaashi slowly made his way around, eventually coming to the kitchen, where he placed his bag of pastries against the countertop. There were several bags of groceries already taking up the floor space, and more than once Akaashi tripped against one and feared he had broken a glass bottle or two.

“Ya brought breakfast?”

Akaashi whirled around. Osamu was leaning against the archway to the kitchen, arms crossed over his chest. Akaashi drank in the sight of him, taking his fill. In the past weeks that they’d been apart, Osamu’s hair had grown long enough so that fringes brushed over his eyes. His skin had taken on a warmer pallor, as if he had been spending a lot of his time beneath the sun.

“I did.” Akaashi looked down at his feet. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Osamu peeled himself away from the wall and grabbed his chin. He lifted his face up to his. “Really? Then why can’t ya look me in the eye when ya say so?”

Akaashi licked his lips, and Osamu’s eyes dropped down to them, pupils dilating. “Just in case,” said Akaashi.

“In case what?”

“In case you don’t feel the same.”

Osamu smiled, lips curving to the left. “Somehow, I highly doubt that.”

“Ew. Disgustin’.”

Akaashi and Osamu immediately pulled apart, as if the place where their skin met burned. They both turned to Atsumu, who had materialized by the entrance of the kitchen. He was munching through an onigiri, unimpressed, as he stared at the both of them. “Get a room.”

“Atsumu,” thundered Osamu. He attempted to grab the onigiri from his grasp, but Atsumu simply dodged aside. “I can’t believe ya! And ya’ve eaten the last of the onigiri we’ve ordered for later! Would it actually kill ya to be useful for once?”

“Just buy more! Or make more! Whatever!” Atsumu disappeared into the living room and settled on the couch. He propped his feet up against one end, still eating. “Yer the one who owns Onigiri Miya. Should be easy for ya.”

Osamu looked like he was about to explode. Akaashi brushed a hand over his shoulder, hoping it would reassure him a little. “Don’t mind,” he said gently. “We’ve still got time until six.”

Osamu rubbed his temples. “Thank the gods yer here, Akaashi. I would’ve murdered my brother if ya weren’t.” He grabbed a set of keys from the kitchen countertop and held it up for Atsumu to see. “Takin’ yer car to buy all the onigiri ya stole!”

“I didn’t steal them! And why are ya takin’ my car? Ya have yer truck!”

“I already told ya, its engine is bein’ fixed for today!” Osamu glanced at Akaashi as he began sliding his shoes on. “Wanna come with?”

Akaashi wanted to say yes. He wanted to get away from here and spend the rest of the day by his side. But doing so would only encourage Atsumu’s teasing and knowing looks, and he didn’t need any more of that if he was going to stay sane by the end of the night.

“I’ll stay,” said Akaashi. “I think someone needs to look after Atsumu-san anyway.”

“Yer right.” Osamu stood. “I’ll be back before ya know it. Ya can begin settin’ up all the plastic cups and paper plates. They’re all in the grocery bags. Feel free to boss ’Tsumu ’round, too. Don’t be scared of him.” To Atsumu, he yelled out, “Be nice to Akaashi!”

“But I am nice!” whined Atsumu from the couch.

Osamu shot his twin a withering look before turning to Akaashi. He touched his cheek. “Thank ya for this, really. And for the record.” Osamu leaned forward, lips coming to rest by Akaashi’s ear. His teeth nipped against him, and Akaashi flinched in pleasant surprise. “It’s nice to see ya again too.”

And then he was gone, turning the lock from the outside as he went on an errand to buy more onigiri.

Akaashi took a deep breath, resisting the urge to touch the place Osamu’s teeth had been, before spinning on his heel. Atsumu was now standing several feet before him, hands across his chest.

“Shit,” Akaashi swore. “You scared me. I thought you were still on the couch.”

Atsumu smirked at him. “Akaashi-kun,” he began.

Akaashi narrowed his eyes, all his lust from Osamu’s actions and all his fear at being startled dissipating. “Atsumu-san.”

They stared at one another, a fox and an owl each appraising their prey. Atsumu’s intentions were no longer hidden behind a veil of pretense, and Akaashi’s response to that had manifested in his glare.

“So how is it, being my brother’s friend?” Atsumu quipped at last.

“Good. How is it being Suna’s?” Akaashi fired back.

Atsumu whistled. “So prickly! But, Akaashi-kun.” Atsumu tilted his head down and looked at him through his lashes. “Are ya sayin’ that my relationship with Rin is similar to the one ya keep with ’Samu?”

Akaashi bristled. Even back when he had dated Bokuto, Atsumu already had a complicated relationship with one of his friends back at Inarizaki, Suna Rintarou. Atsumu would often bring Suna along to their practice matches the same way Bokuto would with Akaashi. Yet every time anyone cared to ask about their relationship, both parties would deny anything was happening between them.

Even though Atsumu and Suna would often enact public displays of affection that drove Sakusa away in disgust. Even though Atsumu would often steal a kiss from Suna’s lips when the whole team wasn’t looking. Even though Suna would often steal a kiss from Atsumu’s lips when the whole team was looking.

“You and I are nothing alike,” Akaashi finally replied.

Atsumu hummed, the mannerism so like Osamu it made Akaashi cringe. “On that front, I can agree. I like Suna.”

“Okay.” Akaashi already knew that.

But Atsumu was still smirking. “There, I said it. Can ya do it? Can ya admit those three words and say the same about my brother?”

And there it was: the trap the fox had set for the little bird. Akaashi exhaled through his nose, trying to come up with the perfect reply. His first instinct was to deny that he even felt something for Osamu, but that would be pointless, seeing as how Atsumu already saw through him. His next plan was to retort with another argument about him and Suna, something that would embarrass Atsumu enough to shut him up.

But through it all, he heard Osamu’s words, clear as if he had been standing right behind him.

But someday, I know ya will be brave enough to tell me yerself.

“I could,” Akaashi finally said slowly, tasting the words on his tongue, “but I’d rather he hear it first before you did.”

Atsumu raised his brows, the only giveaway that he was surprised by Akaashi’s response. He rubbed a thumb over his bottom lip, musing. “Well then.”

“Well.”

“What’s stoppin’ ya from tellin’ him?”

Akaashi raised a brow. Atsumu’s earlier smug demeanor had been replaced by an aura of pure curiosity. “I can’t tell if you’re supporting me or discouraging me.”

Atsumu chuckled. “You’re a good man, Akaashi-kun. I’ve seen ya with Bokuto enough times to know that ’bout ya. So I know whatever it is ya decide to do, ya’ll do it right.”

Akaashi didn’t know what to say to that. He was used to Osamu’s open honesty with him, but for Atsumu to be candid was another thing entirely.

“Does he know?” he asked instead. Akaashi’s voice had lost its edges, softening into timidity.

Atsumu cocked his head to the side. “I think that’s somethin’ ya should ask him yerself.”

Akaashi nodded. “Fair enough.” With a deep breath, Akaashi marched away, towards the kitchen. He didn’t need to look back to know Atsumu was following him with his gaze. As Akaashi brought the stacks of cups and plates out, he said, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Atsumu sounded confused.

Akaashi looked over his shoulder, pausing in his task. “For trusting me to do the right thing.”

Atsumu narrowed his eyes. Finally he looked away, smiling to himself. “Ah. I can see why you’re so well-loved.”

Akaashi wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that. He turned back to the groceries. “So are you going to help me or not?”

“I take it back,” murmured Atsumu, even as he conceded and finally helped with the preparations for the MSBY Black Jackals’ victory party.

–

The whole lot of MSBY Black Jackals arrived a full hour before the official beginning of the party. By then, Akaashi was completely exhausted from helping out the twins transform Osamu’s once humble apartment into one that would cater to the various requests of the team. Hinata had asked for a karaoke night, and Akaashi had spent a painful amount of time downloading an application onto Osamu’s TV for that. Sakusa had asked for a spare room where he could relax in peace, and Atsumu surprisingly honored that request by tossing a futon into Osamu’s study. Even Bokuto had asked for bowls of corn chips, and Osamu was considerate enough to buy packs of every flavor.

Akaashi suddenly sat up from where he was lounging on the couch as he heard the team help themselves through the doorway.

Bokuto.

He was already turning away when he heard Hinata’s excited squeal. “Oooooh! Akaashi-san?”

Akaashi did not have time to react. He felt Hinata tackle him in an embrace, and they both tumbled to the floor. Despite his rising anxiety, Akaashi couldn’t help but feel a blossom of fondness upon hearing Hinata’s surprised laugh from behind him. “You’re here! I’m so glad! It’s been so long since I saw you!”

Akaashi sat up, adjusting his glasses. He smiled at Hinata and reached up to ruffle his orange hair. “It’s nice to see you too, Hinata.”

But Hinata seemed like he was the only one who was relatively thrilled at his presence. The rest of his team stood quietly by the living room, and more than one pair of eyes were on Bokuto. Akaashi risked a glance at his direction and found Bokuto with the same wide-eyed expression he had when he saw Akaashi during that Tokyo game.

Akaashi looked away.

“Alright!” Atsumu clapped his hands together. “Y’all can just stand there or y’all can make yerselves at home. This is our party, so what are y’all waitin’ for?”

Hinata was already on his feet, bounding excitedly away to where the snacks were. Akaashi took a little longer to gather himself. Once he did, he was surprised to find a hand already extended out to him. He looked up to find Atsumu smiling down at him.

“I got ya,” he said. “Ya may have a crush on ’Samu now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have yer back. If anythin’, I kinda feel a little more responsible for ya.”

Akaashi swallowed, taking his hand. Atsumu pulled him to his feet before patting him twice on the back. “Try to enjoy the party too, Akaashi-kun. Ya deserve to have fun just as much as we do.”

Before he can thank Atsumu, he was already bounding away, mingling with the rest of his team. Akaashi silently made his way around the apartment, unsure of what it was he was looking for until he found Osamu arriving through the front door, Atsumu’s car keys swinging around his finger. Osamu only had time to beam at Akaashi for a brief second before Akaashi was closing the distance between them. He wrapped his arms around Osamu, taking comfort in the solidity and warmth of his body. Osamu hesitated for a beat before wrapping his arms around Akaashi.

“As much as this feels nice,” began Osamu, voice concerned, “ya seem a little out of it.” He pulled away, surveying Akaashi. “Everythin’ okay?”

Akaashi nodded. “It is now,” he said, and he meant it.

“’Kay.” Osamu assessed Akaashi once more. “If ya want to go home at any time, ya just tell me, alright?”

“Okay.”

For the next few hours, Akaashi tried his best to lose himself in the revelries. For the most part, he was successful enough. He didn’t have the best of luck initiating conversations with the Jackals, but they were all warm to him, most of them confessing that they’d miss having him around to watch their games. He managed to avoid Bokuto as well, neither of them acknowledging one another and neither of them finding each other in the same room at any one time.

But after hours of talking, after hours of stuffing his cheeks with the feast laid out for them, after hours of listening to Hinata and Atsumu take turns belting out songs, his social battery had become drained. He flopped down against one end of the couch, one hand clutching his empty cup as he endured Hinata’s off-key tunes. Akaashi slid his glasses atop his head and closed his eyes, hoping he could get a moment’s reprieve.

He felt someone settle against him, the weight of his companion making the seat sink a little further. “Hey,” said a familiar voice, loud enough to be heard over the obnoxious karaoke.

Akaashi cracked an eye open. “Hey,” he said back to Osamu.

“I thought people had fun at parties.”

Akaashi gestured to the guests around him. “They are.”

“Ya aren’t.”

Akaashi smiled. “It’s tiring to hold a conversation all the time. But I really was enjoying.”

Osamu snorted. “I could take ya home now, if ya want.”

“The subway’s closed.”

“’Tsumu’s car is right there.”

Akaashi finally turned his head to look at Osamu. Somehow, despite the bright lights of Osamu’s living room, despite the raucous around them, Osamu was still a caricature of beauty in the midst of chaos. “Okay.”

“Okay.” Osamu stood. “I’ll go get the keys.”

Akaashi returned his glasses back in place, standing up. He made his way to the kitchen, hoping to dispose of his cup and grab one last onigiri before he went.

Instead, he ran straight into Bokuto, who was holding a red cup of his own in his hand. They stopped just a few inches short of one another, their hands flying to prevent the contents of Bokuto’s cup from spilling forth.

Shit.

Slowly, Akaashi turned to Bokuto, his throat turning to sandpaper. Bokuto looked just as surprised and terrified, but he forced himself to crack a small smile. “Akaashi,” he said. He took a deep breath. “You’re here.”

Akaashi knew what Bokuto really meant. You’re here in this party. How? Why?

“Osamu invited me.” Akaashi swallowed, looking down at the empty contents of his cup.

“Osamu,” repeated Bokuto. Somehow, he did not sound surprised or even confused by the revelation. He almost sounded...relieved. It was almost like Akaashi had confirmed a thousand suspicions with those three words. Akaashi peered up at him.

Did you already know?

Bokuto licked his lips. “So,” he said slowly. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi’s fingers tapped against his cup. “How are you?”

“I’m fine too.”

They remained standing there, both of them shifting uneasily on their feet, as Atsumu and Hinata sang. Somewhere, Akaashi heard Sakusa yell at them to keep it down.

Bokuto finally set his cup down against the countertop. He rubbed the back of his neck, a habit once so familiar to Akaashi now sending a hundred messages he could no longer decipher. “Listen, Akaashi–”

“Keiji.”

Both Akaashi and Bokuto looked up. Osamu was standing by the kitchen doorway, arms crossed over his chest. He smiled, but there was something strained about it. “Time to go.”

“Okay.” Akaashi nodded, grateful that he had an excuse to get away from this conversation. “I’ll go get my bag.”

Akaashi excused himself, ducking away as he found his way to the living room. To his dismay, Bokuto trailed after him, albeit several steps behind. Akaashi shrugged on his backpack before taking a deep breath and spinning to face Bokuto.

“Bokuto-san, it was nice–”

“Are you happy?” Bokuto blurted out, cutting him off abruptly. Thankfully, everyone around them was either too immersed in their own conversations or too distracted by the party. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. But I just have to know–are you happy now?”

From the corner of his eye, Akaashi saw Osamu turn away, presumably to wait for him in Atsumu’s car. Akaashi looked down, fidgeting with his fingers, wondering how to respond to that. He knew Bokuto enough to know that the question was laced with a thousand unspoken more.

Are you happy the Black Jackals won? Are you happy to be in this party? Are you happy with your job now?

Are you happy without me?

Are you happy with him?

Akaashi smiled as he envisioned Osamu’s face in his mind’s eye. “Yeah.” He looked up and said, louder, “Yeah, I’m very happy right now.”

Bokuto returned Akaashi’s smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. There was nothing but relief and respect in those golden eyes. “That’s nice. I’m very glad.”

“What about you?” asked Akaashi, unwilling to go without making sure he was okay. “Are you happy too?”

Bokuto nodded. “I am.”

Akaashi could feel tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He and Bokuto had fallen apart before, when a million little bricks came toppling down and ruined their picture of forever.

But someday, Akaashi knew, it would be a million little bricks that would piece them back together again. They would no longer paint the picture Akaashi had once hoped and dreamed of, no, but the bridge between them would be rebuilt.

Looking into Bokuto’s eyes, Akaashi was comforted by the fact that Bokuto knew this too.

“I’m very glad,” confessed Akaashi. He sniffed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. At that, they both laughed, and Bokuto reached up to wipe his own eyes.

“Goodbye, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi said at last, willing himself to say what he could not those many months ago.

“Goodbye, Akaashi,” Bokuto said in turn.

With a final wave and one last look over his shoulder, Akaashi Keiji left Bokuto Koutarou and went to follow after Osamu.

–

Akaashi hopped into the passenger of Atsumu’s idling car, murmuring his apologies to Osamu, who waited in the driver’s seat. When Akaashi sniffed again, Osamu turned to him.

“Are ya alright?” His expression was a storm of emotions, each one flitting to the next far too fast for Akaashi to decipher.

Akaashi reached for a tissue in his bag and blew his nose. “Yeah,” he said, smiling as he composed himself. “I’m okay.”

Osamu smiled back, but the expression was brief. He brushed the back of his hand against Akaashi’s cheek once before he turned to the road. Then he shifted the car into drive and began to pull away, leaving Atsumu’s apartment complex behind them.

The drive back towards Akaashi’s place was quiet, and it was the first time he was driving with Osamu with the radio off. Akaashi was about to point this out when Osamu piped up, “What’s on yer mind?”

Akaashi looked at him, trying to ascertain Osamu’s current state. His fingers were gripping the steering wheel a little tightly, and his gaze was a little too dedicated to the road before them. “I’m thinking that I’d like to know what’s on your mind.”

Osamu snorted, a smile almost cracking the veneer of his expression. “Really?”

“Really. What’s on your mind?”

The question seemed to tip Osamu further, his knuckles whitening against the steering wheel. He blew out a breath, still refusing to meet Akaashi’s gaze. Akaashi sat back against his seat, afraid he’d said or done something wrong.

“It’s okay,” Akaashi reassured him, fingers fidgeting in his lap. “Take your time.”

Osamu nodded, but the silence stretched out between them. Akaashi contented himself with staring out the window, the way he always did when they traveled together. When they reached a crossroad, the stoplight turning red before Osamu had the chance to step on the gas, Osamu finally shifted the car and let it idle.

Akaashi glanced at him. Osamu was still looking straight ahead.

“You,” Osamu breathed. It seemed to take everything in him to say it, his Kansai accent smoothing with just that one word.

Akaashi swallowed. He needed to be sure he heard him right. “What?”

“You are what’s on my mind.” He finally turned to Akaashi, a tortured expression on his face. “Every second, every minute, every hour of every day–you are always on my mind. And watching ya pine after someone else makes me….”

Akaashi was taken aback. “Osamu–”

“Wait,” he interrupted, holding up a hand. “Let me finish.” He took a deep breath, fingers running through his dark hair. “I know yer never going to love me the way ya did–or still do–with Bokuto. I know ya enjoy my company only because I’ve always been the fallback whenever ya needed someone to turn to. I know–after seein’ ya with him back at the party–that ya have never thought of me the way I think of ya. But I just need to know, before I make an even bigger fool of myself–is there a chance, no matter how small, that ya could see me in a different light too?”

Akaashi opened his mouth. Closed it again. Osamu must have interpreted it as a confirmation of his assumptions because he turned away.

“Never mind,” he said quietly, defeatedly. “Forget I said anythin’.”

There were a thousand things Akaashi could have–should have–said, as he watched Osamu’s expression fall. “Wait,” would have sufficed. “Can we talk this out?” would have been a good alternative. “Please don’t turn away,” would have been proper. “Please. Listen,” would have been best.

The stoplight turned green. Osamu shifted into drive. They began to move forward.

Akaashi would be damned if he’d let words fail him again.

“Osamu,” said Akaashi, quietly at first. “Osamu, wait.” He reached out and placed a hand over his. “Stop. Osamu. Please stop the car.”

Osamu complied, turning so they were now moving on the side of the road. When he found a suitable place that allowed them to park, he stopped. “Akaashi–”

“Look at me,” said Akaashi, reaching up to touch Osamu’s face. Osamu finally turned to him, his expression on the precipice of heartbreak and hope.

“Close your eyes.”

Osamu complied, his throat bobbing.

Akaashi began to caress his cheek, his knuckles tracing lines and curves over the smooth surface of his skin.

好きです。

“I like you.”

大好きです。

“I like you so much.”

Akaashi painted the words on his cheek again.

“I’m sorry it took me this long to finally say it to you. But I’ll say it again and again, until you finally believe me and until there is no more room for you to doubt it. Because, to answer your question, Miya Osamu: there is no chance, not because it will never happen, but because it already has. Every second, every minute, every hour of every day–you are always on my mind. Not Bokuto. Not anyone else. And I’m sorry if I made you feel like I don’t feel the same you do.”

Akaashi took Osamu’s face in his hands. Osamu opened his eyes, taking in every inch of Akaashi as if he could find a fib in his words. Akaashi merely smiled back. “All I ever wanted these past few months was you.”

Osamu continued to stare at him as he reached up his own hand and placed it gently across Akaashi’s cheek. His thumb rested against Akaashi’s bottom lip. “Akaashi.” He smiled. “How the fuck did ya not get into a literary company?”

“So vulgar,” Akaashi grinned.

Osamu’s thumb never ceased in touching him. “Akaashi.”

“Call me Keiji.”

“Keiji,” he corrected. “I like ya so much, too.” His eyes dropped to his lips. “Does this mean I can finally kiss ya?”

“Of course.” Akaashi leaned forward, their breaths mingling with one another from how close they were. He pressed their foreheads together, a mimicry from the time they did the same during the MSBY Black Jackals’ game in Tokyo. “That’s something you never have to ask.”

Akaashi closed his eyes as Osamu gravitated towards him, their bodies separated only by the brakes and gear level of the car between them. With one hand, Osamu slowly took Akaashi’s glasses from his face. With the other, Osamu’s fingers dropped to Akaashi’s chin, tilting his face for better access, and Akaashi dutifully complied.

And then Miya Osamu was kissing Akaashi Keiji.

His lips were soft, so soft, against Akaashi’s. Osamu kissed him with the gentleness of a raw confession, the pure tenderness of something new, and Akaashi kissed him back with just as reverence. They savored it slowly, cautiously, neither one willing to disrupt the careful balance of the moment. Osamu’s hand had fallen away to rest against Akaashi’s chest, and he tugged Akaashi to him, bringing him just a little closer. Akaashi’s hand was still caressing Osamu’s cheek, but he scooted forward to wrap his arms around him better, trying to close what little gap was between them.

But the seatbelt strapped across Akaashi’s chest suddenly stuck, preventing him from leaning any more. A string of curses escaped him as he pulled away from the kiss, hexes and jinxes cast upon the wretched thing for disturbing such an important moment. Osamu raised his brows, laughing as Akaashi angrily disentangled himself from the seatbelt. When the car’s interior began to alarm from the absence of the clipped seatbelt, Akaashi groaned in frustration.

“So feisty,” Osamu teased.

Akaashi glared at him. “I’ve waited far too long to let a seatbelt get in my way.”

“Mmm.” Osamu leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss against Akaashi’s lips. When Akaashi yearned for more, Osamu held up a finger between them. His eyes were hooded and dark. “So have I.”

Osamu rolled the car windows down several inches. Then he took off his own seatbelt. The alarm began to blare even louder before it was promptly silenced when Osamu killed the engine.

“Backseat,” Osamu directed, already turning to squeeze himself through the gaps of the two front scenes.

Akaashi looked at him incredulously. “Unbelievable,” he said, as Osamu struggled to get all four limbs over and across. Akaashi contented himself with opening his door and stepping out of the passenger seat. Then he opened the door to the backseat and peered inside. “You could have–”

But Osamu was already reaching for him, grabbing for Akaashi. Akaashi tumbled forward, the momentum pulling him flush against Osamu as they laid across the backseat. Their heads knocked against one another, Akaashi’s teeth clamping down against his tongue painfully, and Osamu yelped from the sudden weight of another body atop him.

Akaashi pulled himself away from Osamu to peer down at him. “You’re so messy,” he admonished. He pressed two fingers against his tongue and found crimson against his skin. “Ugh.”

“Please,” wheezed Osamu, still catching his breath. “Yer the one who wanted to get it goin’.”

Akaashi propped himself up on one arm before grabbing the front of Osamu’s shirt with the other. Osamu rested against his elbows, grinning at Akaashi mischievously. “You talk too much,” said Akaashi, before bringing down his lips against him.

If their kiss had previously been a slow exploration of boundaries, this one was a heated push to see how far they’ll go before they break. This kiss was hungry, lips against teeth, teeth against tongue, tongue against lips. More than once, Osamu made to lick away the steady trickle of blood from the cut on Akaashi’s tongue, and more than once Akaashi had let out an ungodly sound at that.

“This is your brother’s car, you know,” said Akaashi in between breaths. He sat up, adjusting his position as best as he could before pulling Osamu to sit before him. Their legs were a puzzle of limbs, and every shift in their current position caused a delicious friction that set a fire in Akaashi’s loins.

“Don’t mention ’Tsumu here,” scowled Osamu, lips tracing Akaashi’s jaw as Akaashi held Osamu’s head against him. “Fuck my brother.”

Akaashi gasped as Osamu began sucking against the skin of his neck. “Rather fuck you instead,” he breathed.

“Keiji.” Osamu bit down against Akaashi, and Akaashi cried out. “Ya can’t say somethin’ like that and not expect me to reciprocate.”

Akaashi took Osamu’s face in both his hands, pausing the trail he had been making down his body. Despite the darkness of the night, he could still make out Osamu: hair disheveled, eyes wide and dilated, mouth red and bruised. “You’re so beautiful.”

Osamu placed his hands over his. “And so are ya.” He leaned forward, ready to pick up where he had left off. But Akaashi held him in place, and a flash of uncertainty flickered over Osamu for the first time.

“Wait.”

“What is it?” The lust in Osamu’s eyes was immediately eclipsed by his concern.

But Akaashi merely shook his head. He kissed Osamu’s forehead, his temples, his eyelids, his cheeks. “This will be my first time doing this in a car.”

Osamu laughed. He gently pried Akaashi’s hands from him. “Don’t ya worry.” Osamu reassured him, brushing his lips against Akaashi’s forehead. The gesture was so heartbreakingly tender it almost made Akaashi weep. When Osamu pulled away, his lips were tilted up to the right. “I’ll be the last of yer many firsts.”

Akaashi placed a doting kiss on his nose. Then both of them were falling, falling, falling, down and deeper into the depths of their newfound love for one another.

–

In the end, Akaashi and Osamu did end up getting a mouthful from Atsumu about boundaries, respect, and honoring one’s personal space. While in his office the next day, Osamu forwarded Atsumu’s voice messages to Akaashi (“I take it all back! There is nothin’ good ’bout Akaashi-kun! He is fuckin’ filthy, as are ya!”), and Akaashi almost felt guilty for doing what they did in Atsumu’s car.

But as he exited his conversation with Osamu, he paused. His new wallpaper was a picture of him and Osamu back in Nara Park: both of them pressed against each other, Osamu’s hand over Akaashi’s, as they offered crackers to a wandering deer. It wasn’t even their best picture together. The stranger that took it must have moved, because it was slightly blurry at the edges. Akaashi’s face was one of pure panic while Osamu’s was one of complete mischief. The deer’s mouth was a few inches shy of Akaashi’s palm, and it gave him shivers just reliving that moment again.

Yet Akaashi smiled to himself, running his thumb over Osamu’s devious grin.

Are you happy now?

Akaashi turned his phone facedown and returned to work.

Yeah. Yeah, I’m very happy right now.

And it was true. Because, for once in Akaashi Keiji’s life, everything was exactly as he had dreamed it would be–and more.

And he was no longer afraid of what that might mean from here on out.

It had taken him a little longer than he thought, but Akaashi understood Udai-san’s advice now. Maybe things would take a turn for the worse. Maybe they would take a turn for the better. In the end, they were the same anyway. Akaashi would just have to do exactly what he had been doing this past year: he would have to learn to ride the highs and lows, to reign in what he can control and to let go of what he couldn’t.

The bad will come, as will the good.

And so what if they did?