Archive of Our Own

It’s 1 PM when the buzzing of Kenma’s phone finally becomes enough of a bother to drag him out of bed. He curses at his phone, but is well-aware that the entirety of his career hinges on him answering it, so he presses the accept call button. “Yes,” he mumbles to the lit-up screen. 

“Good morning, Kozume-san,” comes the cheery voice on the other end, and there are days that Kenma loves his manager, but those days tend not to be the days that he gets woken up to the sound of his voice. He breathes out a quiet sigh, praying that his manager won’t hear. Of course, his manager is far too perceptive for that. “This is about your career, you know. You should be happy that you get so many calls.”

“I’m thrilled,” Kenma replies dryly. “Good morning, Fukunaga.” 

“Anyways,” Fukunaga says, because he’s known Kenma for too long now and also knows how to blow Kenma’s lack of enthusiasm off, “I’ve got an opportunity for you. You know the director Ennoshita Chikara, right?”

“Ennoshita Chikara,” Kenma says, his voice slightly hushed all of a sudden. “Who doesn’t know him?” Seven hit movies, multiple awards - it’d be impossible to find anyone in Kenma’s business who doesn’t know of him. “What about him?”

“Well, he wants to offer you a role,” Fukunaga replies. “No audition necessary.”

Kenma’s heart stops beating, and he accidentally drops his phone. Ennoshita Chikara?! Ennoshita wants to offer him a role?! Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, this can’t be real, he has to be dreaming. He digs his fingernails into his palm just in case, and is stunned when he feels the sting. When he finally gets himself together, he picks his phone back up. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” Fukunaga says cheerily. “He said he wrote the role with you in mind, so he doesn’t even want to audition anyone else if you’re willing to be in it.”

It’s almost too good to be true. “What’s the catch? There has to be a catch.” Kenma doesn’t even think of himself as a pessimist, just a realist, and at this point in his life, he’s well aware that nothing good in life tends to come without a catch. So he waits.

Fukunaga clears his throat. There it is, Kenma thinks. There is a catch. 

“Well,” Fukunaga says nervously, “it’s not a romance movie, but it does have romance in it. And, well, the person he wants to play the other lead - your love interest - is Akaashi Keiji.”

Kenma drops his phone for the second time.  He picks it up with slightly shaking fingers, his voice unstable as he says, “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“Unfortunately not,” Fukunaga says with a sigh. “He’s very insistent on this point. It’s either you and Akaashi - or it’s neither of you.”

“Holy shit.”

“You can suck it up for one movie,” Fukunaga says flatly.

“I can’t,” Kenma bemoans dramatically, but at the same time he knows that this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. But holy shit, did it have to involve being the love interest of Akaashi fucking Keiji of all people?! “But fine. Tell him I’ll do it.”

Fukunaga makes a noise of approval, then starts in with some rambling about the finer details of the project. Despite knowing the absolute importance of these details, Kenma can’t bring himself to listen. He feels sick to his stomach.

Of course it had to be Akaashi Keiji of all people. It couldn’t be one of the people in the business Kenma actually likes - Hinata Shouyou, for example, or Kunimi Akira, or Yaku Morisuke. No, it had to be the one person in the business that Kenma genuinely cannot stand, and with good reason. 

God, how the hell is he going to get through this one?

.

Two months later, Kenma finds himself standing in front of the Ennoshita Chikara, his heart pounding as he approaches the famous director, hoping that he isn’t able to sense how panicked he is on the inside. 

“Kozume Kenma,” Ennoshita says, a tiny smile on his lips. “Yes, I think you’re perfect for what I’m going for. Pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well,” Kenma says, giving his hand a firm shake. “I’ve always been a big fan. Your movies are fantastic.”

“Thank you,” Ennoshita replies. “Now, let me introduce you to your co-star, hm? You two are going to be spending a lot of time together over the next few weeks. I hope you’ll get along.” 

Kenma considers protesting, or at the very least informing Ennoshita that they’ve already met, but he decides it’s probably not in his best interest to harm relations with the director before they’ve even started filming. “I’m sure we will,” he says evenly.

Akaashi Keiji is on his phone when they approach, an old flip phone that’s way out of date and makes Kenma’s nose curl up. He puts it back in his pocket upon noticing the two of them. “Hello, Ennoshita-san,” he greets, completely ignoring Kenma’s presence. Kenma hates him, despises him, wishes he never existed. 

“Akaashi,” Ennoshita greets. “This is your co-star, Kozume Kenma. I hope the two of you will work well together.”

“Ah,” Akaashi says, casting a sharp gaze at Kenma, his eyes scrutinizing. “Yes, thank you, Ennoshita-san. We’ve met already. Hello again, Kozume-san.”

Kenma’s chest tightens. God, he thinks. This guy can’t even feign that they’ve never met for the sake of their director and their careers? He does his best to keep the snarl off of his face as he replies, “Nice to see you again, Akaashi-san.”

“Oh, you two know each other already?” Ennoshita says. “I hadn’t realized, but that’s even better. It’s about lunch time, anyways, so I thought you two could go get lunch together before we start our readthrough this afternoon, get to know each other a little better.”

No. No, no, no. Kenma finds himself internally screaming - the last thing that he wants is to go to lunch with Akaashi alone, just the two of them. But it’s not as though he really has a choice, so he swallows down his pride and fear and says, “All right.”

“I know a place nearby,” Akaashi says, and then, “Give me just a minute to go to the bathroom and we can go.”

Kenma nods, feeling a lump form in his throat. He contemplates running off and finding somewhere to hide or feigning an illness, but both would leave him looking like the weird one here, so he pulls out his phone and pulls up one of his favorite apps to waste some time on. It’s oddly soothing to move around the dots, but unfortunately not soothing enough for him to forget that he’s going to lunch with one of his least favorite people on the planet.

“Kozume,” comes the voice behind him. Kenma jumps a little bit, then hates himself for it.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grumbles, shoving his phone in his pocket.

“Ah,” Akaashi says. “Now that Ennoshita-san is gone, all the politeness suddenly fades away.” Kenma doesn’t dignify that remark with a response; instead, he turns his glare on Akaashi, letting his eyes speak in place of words. Akaashi raises one of his perfectly tweezed eyebrows. “Very mature of you.”

“Can’t we just exist in silence,” Kenma mutters, trying to pick up his pace to match Akaashi’s so he won’t get left behind. And does Akaashi have to walk so goddamn fast? It’s not Kenma’s fault that his legs are half the size of Akaashi’s, for fuck’s sake.

“You realize we’re going to have to work together,” Akaashi says. “We’ll have to pretend to be in love.”

“I’m a great actor,” Kenma says, half a lie because he questions his own abilities more often than he’d like to admit. “It’s not me that I’m worried about.”

Akaashi glances over at him, his gaze narrowing as the implications of Kenma’s words dawn on him. “You doubt my abilities.”

“I’ve seen Soar the Skies, ” Kenma says dryly. 

“That was one movie,” Akaashi says. “I was in dire straits at the time. Also, romantic comedies aren’t exactly my thing, so it was not easy for me to act in it.”

“And suddenly it’ll be a breeze for you to act like you’re in love with me? This movie has romance too.”

“I am more dedicated to the craft now,” Akaashi snaps. “I know what I’m getting into. Besides, I don’t know who exactly you are to talk, considering that I have not heard of any major projects that you have been involved in.” 

Kenma wants to retort, but finds he can’t - the last part is true enough. “I’m not a sellout,” is what he manages to say, which is the truth, but also probably not all that believable. “I don’t take parts I don’t want to take, and I won’t sacrifice my dignity for fame or money. So I’ve turned down numerous offers in the past.” Kind of an exaggeration, but he can’t think of any other words to say.

“Not all of us can afford to do that,” says Akaashi through tight lips. He stares at Kenma, his gaze searching, and then says, “You may not be a sellout, but I believe you are a jackass.”

“I’d rather be a jackass than someone who is incredibly self-centered, shallow, and only interested in how much money he can make,” Kenma retorts. 

“Fine,” Akaashi replies, crossing his arms across his chest. 

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Kenma doesn’t reply again, only stares at Akaash, his lips curving downwards and eyes narrowing - his warning sign. Akaashi, to his credit, doesn’t push the issue any further. All he says is, “I will do my best to outshine you in this film. Try to keep up.”

Kenma grits his teeth. “I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”

.

They don’t speak another word during lunch. Kenma watches Akaashi gobble down an entire large sandwich and package of chips, silently judging him, but also has to wonder how he maintains such a thin physique. Kenma picks at his own sandwich, eating a couple of bites before he becomes full. There’s a look of disdain on Akaashi’s face as Kenma wraps up his sandwich to take with him, but thankfully, he doesn’t say anything about it.

They walk back to the set in silence as well. Kenma can’t help but wonder how exactly this movie is going to go if he can’t even communicate with his own co-star. But God, he’d known it would be like this from the second Fukunaga said he’d half to work side-by-side with his co-star would be Akaashi. He and Akaashi have never exactly gotten along. 

They make it back into the studio room, both setting their drinks on the table at the same exact time. “Welcome back,” Ennoshita says simply. “I’d like you to meet some of our staff - Azumane Asahi, our production designer, Nishinoya Yuu, our gaffer, Kinoshita Hisashi, our camera operator…”

Kenma’s well aware that he should be listening, that this is important information for him to be aware of. But his gaze drifts down to where Akaashi is sitting, an expression of feigned politeness on his face. He’s almost pretty, Kenma thinks - or rather he would be if he weren’t such an asshole. An asshole that’s good at covering it, but an asshole nonetheless.

He wonders how Akaashi will be able to pretend to be in love with him. He can’t imagine how the next few months of suffering will be able to go. But hey, they’re actors. They’ll have to act their way through it. 

.

It turns out that it’s not quite as easy as Kenma had imagined.

After the first readthrough, Ennoshita pulls both him and Akaashi aside. “What the hell is going on with you two?” he asks. They both open their mouths, about to answer, when he cuts them off again. “And I don’t want to hear ‘nothing’. That was supposed to be a romantic scene, and I get that it’s just a readthrough and you aren’t really acting it out, but I could hear the disdain from your voices anyways. I know you said you’d met before, but… what the hell happened?”

The question brings Kenma back to the root of the problem: back to being a new actor, to showing up to the set of one of his very first larger scale movies to see a guy of a similar age. He’d been nervous, shy, hiding behind his long locks in hopes that no one would notice him. And he’d been more than a little bit awestruck to be working on the same movie as one Akaashi Keiji. 

Admittedly, he knew more about Akaashi than he’d ever reveal to anyone for hopes of maintaining the illusion of sanity. Akaashi wasn’t exactly a big name at the time, but something about his acting appealed to Kenma nonetheless.There were times he’d stay up on his laptop far past what was considered to be a healthy time to sleep at, watching interviews and clips of Akaashi, taking notes on how he could improve his own form.

Instead, after a few days of working up the courage, he’d made his way over to Akaashi. In a small, quiet voice, he’d said, “Hey.”

“Hello,” Akaashi’d replied. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.” Perfectly polite, in the way that Akaashi Keiji was known for. 

“I’m Kozume Kenma, but you can call me Kenma. Pretty much everyone does,” Kenma’d mumbled, looking down. “I hope we can get along.”

“Kenma,” Akaashi had repeated, as though he was trying to memorize the word, and a chill ran down Kenma’s spine. There had been something weirdly thrilling about having someone he’d admired for so long say his name. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Akaashi Keiji.”

“I know,” Kenma had replied, which in hindsight was incredibly weird and may have been the catalyst that triggered the reaction that was to follow. Akaashi hadn’t said anything at that point, though, and Kenma had quickly realized exactly what he’d said. “I mean, I’ve heard people talking about you.”

“Ah,” Akaashi had said in response. “You are playing Matsuoka, right?”

“Yeah. It’s not exactly a big part or anything, but I’ll try my best anyways.”

Akaashi had said something then that Kenma’s tried to block out since, words of encouragement that Kenma has come to realize were coated in niceties, to cover up his true self. Back then he’d made Kenma feel good, though, and although he and Akaashi did not talk too much during the rest of the filming of the movie - mostly because Kenma still felt too afraid to approach him - he’d felt a strange sense of comradery between the two of them. 

But apparently Akaashi hadn’t felt the same way. Because just a few weeks later, Akaashi had gone on live television for an interview; an interview that Kenma had enthusiastically clicked on as a soothing pre-bedtime routine. But halfway through the interview, the interviewer had turned to Akaashi and asked, “You worked with rising star Kozume on this movie, didn’t you?”

“Kozume?” Akaashi had repeated, his brow furrowing. “I apologize - who is that?”

Kenma’s heart had fallen at the words. Immediately, he’d closed out of the interview, staring instead at the blank screen in front of him - a visual of how his mind felt at that very moment. 

Akaashi didn’t remember him.

After all of that, an entire movie together of which Kenma was - well, not a big part, but a decent part - Akaashi couldn’t even be bothered to remember his name. 

That wasn’t what made Kenma hate him, though. Kenma wasn’t quite that petty. But it did plant the seed of resentment that burrowed deep in his chest, waiting for the right time to sprout.

A year later, Kenma was nominated for a Rising Star award. It was his first nomination. Usually, Kenma didn’t care all that much about awards or accolades - it was more of the way that he enjoyed acting that got him into the career path, not so much the praise or awards - but he couldn’t help but feel that thrill of hope as he looked at the nomination.

Until he looked down to see the other nominees.

Akaashi Keiji. There it was in fine, black print, above his own name, threatening and heartbreaking all at once. He’d felt his heart drop at that very moment. He had known that Akaashi was going to beat him, of course, but he still couldn’t help but be upset about it.

As he sat in the audience at the awards show and Akaashi Keiji’s name was announced, he’d clapped, feigning an expression of perfect politeness. But internally, he’d made a vow to himself: This was the last time that Akaashi was going to take anything from him.

This was the last time he would get beaten by Akaashi Keiji.

“Congratulations,” he’d said to Akaashi after the awards show when he’d passed him in the hallway. “You won’t be so lucky next year, though.” 

“What?” Akaashi had said, looking over his shoulder at Kenma. His brows narrowed in confusion - probably trying to figure out exactly who Kenma was. 

Of course he wouldn’t remember. Of course Kenma wasn’t important enough to even be a blip on the radar of his memory.

Rather than sadness, Akaashi’s forgetfulness filled him with searing hot spite. “My name is Kozume Kenma,” Kenma had said through gritted teeth, his tone low. “You should probably remember it. Because next time we get nominated for the same award, it’s my name that’s going to be called. Not yours.”

“Oh,” Akaashi said. Slowly, the confusion on his face shifted into an expression that was almost smug as he replied, “Well, I suppose we’ll see about that, won’t we? Best of luck to you, Kozume. ”

“I don’t need your luck,” Kenma had replied, before he’d turned on his heel and left.

The next year, the two of them had both been nominated for Best Supporting Actor . This time, though, it wasn’t Akaashi’s name that was called. Kenma’s chest had filled with joy as he walked to the front to receive his award. His joy was more in beating  Akaashi than at winning the award, though, if he was being honest with himself. His eyes searched the crowd before landing on Akaashi, greeting him with a smug smirk, and Akaashi returned it with a flat gaze - though the fury behind his eyes was obvious. 

Ever since then, he and Akaashi had not gotten along. Every interaction between the two of them turned into some kind of an argument. And Kenma was completely satisfied with, well, whatever they were right now - enemies or rivals, that seemed like a more accurate word. 

Akaashi is a grade A asshole, everything that is wrong with Hollywood. Self-obsessed, doesn’t care about the people that are ‘beneath’ him, only interested in himself and getting ahead. And then, when he’d taken on a role a year or so ago that coasted him into the A list - which was possibly the dumbest movie Kenma had ever seen, some stupid romantic comedy with no real plot to speak of - Kenma’s opinion of Akaashi hit rock bottom.

However, he thinks that all of this is a little much to explain to Ennoshita, not to mention if Akaashi butts in to explain his own side - a side that that Kenma really doesn’t want to hear. So he says, “I’ve worked with Akaashi before and suffice it to say, we don’t exactly get along.”

“We could get along,” Akaashi mutters bitterly, “were it not for the fact that Kozume-san here cannot go ten minutes without making some kind of snarky comment about me.”

“I don’t do that,” Kenma responds, crossing his arms across his chest.

“You do. Do I need to start keeping a record of each time you mutter something under your breath? I am willing, if that’s what’s necessary for you to see the light.”

“If you do that, I’ll keep a record of every self-righteous thing you say.”

“Fine then, go ahead.”

“Children, children,” Ennoshita interrupts with a sigh, “I put you both in this movie because I believe in your talents and I think both of you fit the roles really well. However, that doesn’t mean you can’t be replaced at the drop of a hat.” He fixes a harsh stare on the two of them, and Kenma swallows. “Am I understood?”

Kenma very determinedly does not look at Akaashi as he says “Yes, sir” in perfect unison with him.

“You two have to find a way to get along or you will not be allowed on my set,” Ennoshita says. “I suggest you spend your day off together tomorrow before it becomes a permanent day off.”

He leaves without even a goodbye, and Kenma’s eyes follow him before darting back to Akaashi. Akaashi has the decency, at least, to look slightly ashamed as he says, “Well, I suppose that was warranted.”

“I don’t want to spend my day off with you,” Kenma mumbles bitterly.

“Nor do I wish to spend my only alone time with you of all people,” Akaashi says. “However, I also don’t want to lose one of the biggest gigs I’ve had in a while, so…”

“Right,” Kenma says, because unfortunately Akaashi has a point. “So I suppose we’ll be spending our day together tomorrow.”

“I’d rather not go anywhere crowded or loud,” Akaashi says, and Kenma can’t help but be a little bit surprised. He hadn’t figured that Akaashi was the party type, exactly, but he does give Akaashi gave off the aura of someone with a little bit more confidence than Kenma possessed. “Maybe we can start off with a coffee shop or something. Do you drink coffee?”

Kenma frowns. “Not really,” he says. “But coffee shops usually have hot chocolate, so I’m fine with that.”

“Is it possible to be in this business and not drink coffee?” Akaashi asks with some degree of disbelief. “All the late nights, the long days…”

“Sometimes I drink Mountain Dew,” Kenma replies, lifting a shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “It has enough caffeine to keep me awake for a little bit, at least, and then I take a lot of catnaps.”

“Catnaps,” Akaashi replies, almost judgmentally, and Kenma narrows his eyes at him.

“I sleep wherever I can. Sometimes that happens to be on the couch in the dressing room. Sometimes it happens to be in the break room. And sometimes I get yelled at for it, but that’s a  risk I’m willing to take.”

Akaashi clearly does not get it, judging by the look on his face, but he starts walking anyways and Kenma follows him. “What? Do you just keep yourself up for days on end with fucking coffee or something?”

“Well, yes,” Akaashi says, and when he glances over at Kenma, Kenma notices the dark circles under his eyes for the first time. “I tend to only sleep four hours a night, maybe five or six if I’m lucky.”

“Damn, that’s got to be awful for you,” Kenma says, even though he can’t really talk because he tends to stay up late if left to his own devices and eats a diet that consists of mostly junk food and soda. “I’m pretty sure that kills brain functioning or something.”

“My brain works perfectly fine, thank you,” Akaashi gripes. Kenma just blinks at him, holding back the snappy retort that’s threatening to surface because god, they have to get along even if just for these few weeks. Then he can go back to the snappy responses.

And it’ll be much easier to get along with Akaashi when he has a delicious, steaming hot chocolate in front of him. 

.

The first few minutes at the cafe are awkward, almost unbearably so. They sit across from each other, neither really speaking, until Akaashi picks up his stupid flip phone and glances at the screen. Kenma hasn’t exactly seen a ton of emotion out of Akaashi, but it’s far too obvious now as his face crumples up in something like disgust, and Kenma thinks, huh.

“Someone you don’t like?” Kenma asks, because it’s something , and that’s better than the weirdly uncomfortable silence. 

“You could say that,” Akaashi says. He closes his phone, putting it back into his pocket, and then stares flatly at Kenma. “More just someone that I have had the displeasure of working with in the past and now apparently believes us to be friends, when we’re acquaintances at best because I admittedly am not the biggest fan of him.”

Thinking back to his own experiences with the same, Kenma can’t help but shudder. “Who is it? I won’t share. I’m not that much of an asshole.”

“Well,” Akaashi says hesitantly, “have you worked with the Miya twins before?”

Shit. Kenma’s own face wrinkles up as he thinks back to a movie he’d done a couple of years ago, a movie shooting that had not been quite as fateful as the one he’d done with Akaashi, but had left an impact on him nonetheless - a very negative one. “Yeah,” he says, and then, “Wait, is it Miya Atsumu?”

“Ah,” Akaashi says. “I see you’ve encountered him as well.”

“God,” Kenma says. “That asshole. The amount of times he wanted to redo shots because he didn’t think the cameraman captured his best angle -”

“And then even after the fourth reshoot, he’d manage to find something wrong with it and we would have to do it all over again,” Akaashi finishes. “Apparently, there was something wrong with the way that my eyebrow was positioned in one shot.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Unfortunately not,” Akaashi says. “We had to reshoot an entire portion of a scene for my eyebrow positioning that Atsumu insisted was ‘throwing off the vibe’.”

“It’s a pity, too, because his brother is so tolerable in comparison.”

“Osamu is most certainly the better twin.”

“Finally,” Kenma says with a glint in his eyes, “something we agree on. Hey, who else in the industry do you have a vendetta with?” And as Akaashi starts to list off people, mainly people that Kenma also has an issue with, a small smile makes its way onto Kenma’s lips.

.

They end up spending a good hour in the coffee shop, slowly sipping at their drinks as they air out their grievances with specific people in the industry and then the industry at large. It turns out that the two of them have had similar experiences with certain actors and directors. Kenma almost starts to think that maybe, just maybe, Akaashi Keiji isn’t so awful after all.

But no, he reminds himself. No matter how much Akaashi professes his hatred for Miya Atsumu or Oikawa Tooru, he’s still Akaashi. He’s still the same guy that didn’t even bother learning Kenma’s name, the same guy that insulted Kenma’s acting skills when Kenma beat him out for an award, the same guy that Kenma has despised for years now. Those negative emotions won’t go away in a single coffee shop visit.

Maybe, though, Kenma might be able to tolerate him. Maybe if he keeps talking like this and not being overly conceited. Maybe if he actually smiles. Maybe.

“Well,” Akaashi says, after they’ve finished their drinks. “What next?”

“What do you usually do?” Kenma asks, because he is genuinely curious. “When you have free time, I mean.”

“Free time?” Akaashi stares at him quizzically. 

“Time when you aren’t really doing anything.”

“I don’t usually have that much of it,” Akaashi admits. “But when I am free, I tend to watch movies to get a good view of my competition or improve my own skills.”

Kenma tilts his head at him. “Don’t you, I dunno, have any hobbies?”

“I used to sew sometimes. But I’ve since given up on it.”

“God, you don’t have to be this boring, you know? Just… come on. You’re coming with me.”

Kenma takes hold of Akaashi’s wrist, dragging him with him down the crowded street. Akaashi glances around, his eyes big. “Where are you taking me?” he half-whispers. 

“I’m not kidnapping you, so calm down,” Kenma says with a roll of his eyes. “I’m taking you to somewhere you can actually have fun.”

“I have fun,” Akaashi grumbles. 

“Yeah, stressing yourself out to the point of not sleeping for days on end sounds like loads of fun,” Kenma says, giving him a frown. “Just… trust me.”

“You want me to trust you ? After you immediately insulted me upon spotting me at the set?”

Kenma doesn’t really know how to combat that, so instead he just says, “Yes.” 

“I suppose it wouldn’t be the craziest thing I’ve done,” Akaashi says. “All right.”

Kenma’d scoped out the area around the set in advance, so he’s already aware that there’s an arcade not too far from where they are. He pulls up the address and drags Akaashi down the street with him, the latter muttering things under his breath the entire time. 

Once they get there, Akaashi glances around, his brow furrowing. “An arcade,” he says. “I haven’t been to an arcade like this since I was a child.”

Kenma points with his thumb to an arcade machine where a guy seemingly in his twenties is sitting, a stack of quarters beside him. “It’s not all just children here, you know.” 

“I suppose not,” Akaashi says. “But, well, you’ll have to show me the ropes. I haven’t played games in such a long time.”

“Finally, something you admit that I’m better than you at.”

“Only because you must have been playing for much longer,” Akaashi says, his mouth twisting downwards.

“My entire life, basically,” Kenma says. “But hey, it feels nice to have at least one thing I can definitely kick your ass at.”

“We’ll see about that.”

.

Akaashi does ‘see about that’, but probably not quite in the way he expects. He does not beat Kenma at a single game. They play for a few hours, a multitude of different games, but Akaashi fails at all of them, and Kenma can’t help the smile that overtakes his face.

“How is this fun?” Akaashi grumbles.

“It’s not really about the winning or losing,” Kenma says. “It’s more about the game itself.”

“So you’d be happy if you were repeatedly getting beaten?”

“I don’t know,” Kenma says. “I don’t think I’d ever be in that situation.”

Akaashi glares at him, and Kenma just gives a smug half-smile in return. Still, Kenma feels almost bad, even though it is Akaashi, so he decides to let him play a game on his own. He coaches Akaashi through the game, giving him advice on which way to go, on which strategies to use. And, shockingly enough, Akaashi gets a decent score.

“I guess you do have potential,” Kenma admits, albeit reluctantly. 

“I also had a decent coach,” Akaashi acknowledges. He looks at Kenma, his eyes the slightest bit brighter and a little curve to his lips. He looks… handsome, Kenma thinks, and then hates himself for it, but holy shit. It’s hard to ignore the truth of Akaashi’s attractiveness when Akaashi’s looking him in the eyes looking like that , however ridiculous it might be

His heart hammers against his chest. Kenma squashes it back down. He tells himself it’s completely out of the question. 

Isn’t it?

.

The next day, they show up to the set at around the same time. Kenma finds he doesn’t quite know what to say to Akaashi. He stares at the ground so that he doesn’t have to look up into Akaashi’s face.

A hand lands heavy on Kenma’s shoulder, and another hand on Akaashi’s. “How did your day out go yesterday?” It’s Ennoshita, whose voice seems cheery on the outside, yet has a threatening edge to it that makes Kenma shudder.

“I suppose it could have been worse,” Akaashi acknowledges. 

Kenma shrugs in response. “It certainly wasn’t the worst use of a day ever. Though it also wasn’t the best.” 

“It wasn’t the best because you looked as though you were in pain the entire time,” Akaashi says, crossing his arms across his chest, and Kenma almost has to laugh.

“I was the problem? When you refused to have fun at all the entire time?”

“I did not refuse. I simply had to learn how,” Akaashi refutes, but there’s not so much venom behind his words this time. Ennoshita looks between the two of them, and for a second, Kenma almost thinks that they’re going to get yelled at because neither of them have been able to cut down on their nonstop bickering. Instead, Ennoshita just laughs. 

It’s a scary laugh still, but it’s not a death threat. “It seems like you two know each other a little bit better, at least,” he says. “Still, I hope to see this kind of passion in your performances later today, yeah?”

Kenma gulps, casting a stray glance over at Akaashi. As Ennoshita walks away, Kenma says under his breath, “He’s kind of terrifying.”

“Yeah,” Akaashi says. “I don’t want to end up on his bad side. And after yesterday…” Akaashi pauses. “I do believe that we can get along. I think that we have more in common than I may have realized.”

“Hm,” Kenma says, because he’d rather die than admit that he himself was wrong, but also Akaashi has a point. Akaashi seems to understand this, though, judging by the glint in his eyes.

.

The readthrough that day goes a lot smoother. It’s still hard for Kenma to play the part of someone deeply in love since it’s something he hasn’t experienced himself, but he gives it his best attempt. He finds that Ennoshita had a point - it’s easier to pretend to love Akaashi’s character now that he knows a little more about the other man.

Still, though, it is a little awkward. Akaashi is still Akaashi. There’s still a lingering hint of bitterness in the words that he speaks to the other man. He doesn’t exactly know how to move past it, either. 

But after the readthrough ends and Kenma’s about to head back to his own place, Akaashi stops him. “I have a little bit of time before I have to get home,” he says. “Do you think you’d want to do some more line rehearsal? I just want to make sure that I have the script down pat.” There’s a little hint of a smirk on his face as he adds, “And I wanted to make sure you do as well. Can’t have anyone slowing me down.”

“That sounds like a challenge,” Kenma says, arching a brow in return. “And I don’t normally turn down challenges.”

“All right, then,” Akaashi says. “Maybe we can go to a restaurant or something to rehearse lines and get some food at the same time.”

“You’re hungry?”

Akaashi stares at him in response. “You’re not ?”

“I just ate a few hours ago. It takes longer than that for my hunger to set in,” Kenma says. “Still, it couldn’t hurt to have a dessert or two. Do you know anywhere around here that has decent apple pie?”

“Apple pie? Really, that’s your guilty pleasure dessert?”

“I wouldn’t call it a guilty pleasure, because I don’t feel remotely guilty about it,” Kenma replies. “It’s my favorite food.”

“I see,” Akaashi says. “Still, I do hope that you eat three square meals a day, all with healthy vegetables and the proper nutrients.”

“Who are you to talk about what’s healthy,” Kenma grumbles, casting a glare at the heavy bags under Akaashi’s eyes. “Get a half-decent sleep schedule and then you can lecture me, maybe.” 

Akaashi’s starting to yawn as Kenma says this, and he catches himself, his cheeks darkening. “I suppose you’ve got a point there,” he concedes.

They end up at a restaurant nearby that Akaashi says has half-decent pie. Akaashi himself orders three different dishes, and Kenma stares at him in disbelief. Akaashi’s tall, that much is for sure; he has a good few centimeters on Kenma. Still, he’s not very stocky in his build. Kenma finds it hard to believe that he eats that much on a daily basis.

But it’s the truth. In between lines, Akaashi shovels down massive bites of his food. Kenma is a much slower eater, taking tiny bites of his (admittedly delicious) pie, and he can’t even finish his one slice of pie by the time Akaashi’s eaten two of his dishes. 

Akaashi dabs at his mouth, then seems to finally notice that Kenma’s staring at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Kenma says, and then because that’s clearly not true and Akaashi’s narrowed gaze indicates that he’s well aware of that fact, “It’s just… you eat a lot.”

“Food is one of the only true delicacies in this lifetime,” Akaashi says dramatically, leaning back in his booth. Kenma has to keep himself from snorting. Who knew that Akaashi Keiji actually had a sense of humor - and one that’s honestly pretty in line with Kenma’s?

He lifts one shoulder. “I guess that’s true,” he concedes. “But only certain foods are delicacies. For example -” He motions forward with the top of his head. “Apple pie.”

“You have an incorrigible sweet tooth,” Akaashi says, shaking his head. “And apparently not that much of an appetite. You could order another if you wanted. I’ll pay, since this entire thing was my idea to begin with.” 

Kenma considers for a moment. On one hand, the idea of free pie is awfully appealing, but on the other hand, allowing Akaashi to pay for him feels a lot like losing. He bites his lip. “I’ll pay, actually. No need.” 

“No, no, I insist,” Akaashi says, and when the check gets placed on the table, he reaches for it before Kenma can even move a muscle - quick reflexes, Kenma notes. Was he an athlete once, maybe? Actors like the two of them aren’t typically athletes. But, well, there are always exceptions. 

“Fine,” Kenma relents, leaning back in his seat. “But next time, I’m going to be the one picking up the check. No arguments.”

“I suppose that’s acceptable,” Akaashi says, and then, after a second, “Next time?”

Kenma feels frozen in his seat. The words had come out almost as if he hadn’t been thinking about them. It feels natural that they’d do this again - and they are coworkers, Kenma knows, but he doesn’t usually do stuff like this with his co-stars. Sometimes he’ll agree to run lines with them, but always on the set and usually in between scenes or something. Not outside of work, and certainly not at a restaurant that almost feels like a… like a date.

Still, somehow, Kenma finds he doesn’t mind.

He doesn’t say this, though. Instead, he just shakes his head. “I mean, you need a lot of work, don’t you? So I guess I can take on the responsibility of making sure you’re up to speed.”

“Excuse me,” Akaashi says, but he only sounds mildly miffed, and Kenma can’t help but laugh.

.

It does continue through the next week. Every day, after they finish up on set, they eat a meal together that could almost be described as dinner were it not eaten at 10 or 11 PM. They don’t even have to say anything to indicate that they’re going to head out together - no, they just glance at each other, their gazes saying everything that has to be said. 

Akaashi knows the best restaurants in the area somehow. When Kenma asks about it, Akaashi merely lifts an eyebrow mysteriously and claims that he has his sources. Further pressing only gets him to admit that he has a friend that tries pretty much every restaurant in the area and reports back to Akaashi about it. For some reason, this leaves a weird taste in Kenma’s mouth. He supposes it’s because Akaashi is not exactly the overtly friendly type, so he hadn’t expected Akaashi to have many, if any, close friends. Still, it feels like this new knowledge means something beyond that - something Kenma can’t put his finger on. 

Friends. It’s something Kenma certainly never thought he’d be using to describe his relationship with Akaashi Keiji of all people, but he also never thought he’d be hanging out with his rival on a near daily basis. And that’s what friends do, isn’t it? They hang out. They spend time together. They talk. They know stuff about each other.

And Kenma knows stuff about Akaashi now. He knows that Akaashi wears reading glasses and has worn them since he was six years old. He knows that Akaashi takes notes in his tiny green notebook about things in the world around him that could “inspire him as an actor”, which Kenma thinks is partly pretentious, partly admirable. He knows that Akaashi’s eyes are a mix of colors - blue and green and gray.

That last point isn’t so much something he found out from the stories that Akaashi tells as from his own careful observation of Akaashi’s face, though. Kenma’s not sure what exactly that says about him.

Still, he thinks, they are starting to meet the criteria for friendship, even if neither of them would admit it. And it makes acting with Akaashi a whole lot easier when they’re not at each other’s throats the entire time. 

Fukunaga calls him one day in the middle of filming. “Kenma,” he says. “I haven’t heard any complaints about you yet, so I assume it’s going well?”

“I can be mature, you know,” Kenma replies, annoyance coating his tone. “I have that capability.”

“You didn’t answer my question. And excuse me - who was it that called me and told me that there was no way he could ever work with Akaashi Keiji and he was probably going to die? Which - people don’t usually die filming romance movies, you know.”

“It happens,” Kenma mutters sullenly. “It just didn’t this time, I guess. But to answer your question, yes, it’s going better than I expected.”

“Akaashi has been tolerable, then?”

Kenma avoids the question, instead choosing to ask, “Let’s say that, hypothetically speaking, there was someone that you used to hate. But then you got to know them better because you’ve been hanging out-- I mean, spending time with them pretty much every day. Would you call that a friendship?”

Fukunaga’s silent for a second, and Kenma can’t help but feel as though he’s facing Fukunaga’s judgment. But then his manager says, “This is about Akaashi, isn’t it?” 

“I said it was hypothetical.”

“And you’re nothing if not completely transparent,” Fukunaga remarks. “You and Akaashi have become friends, then? Well, I can’t say I’m not pleased to hear that. At least I won’t have to worry about the two of you duking it out at publicity events.”

Kenma groans, suddenly remembering that even after the filming stage ends, it won’t be the end of his association with Akaashi. He and Akaashi will have to do press events and interviews together, acting like they’re best of friends if they want to sell their movie. 

He bites down on his lip as he realizes the prospect doesn’t sound half as terrible as it had just a few weeks before. 

He wonders what exactly that says about the two of them - and mostly, about himself.

.

“Tomorrow’s the big day, huh,” says one of their coworkers, a loudmouthed girl with short blonde hair, offhandedly as they’re standing off to the side of the set. Kenma glances back over at her, his eyebrows narrowing. 

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“The big scene, ” she says emphatically. “You know, the scene where the two of you dramatically confess your feelings for each other and kiss or some shit. What, did you forget?”

Kenma doesn’t want to admit that yes, he had definitely forgotten. He looks away.

It’s not that kissing Akaashi is all that awful of a concept these days. No, it’s more of the fact that he kind of wouldn’t mind kissing Akaashi. 

Kenma finds it hard to fall asleep that night. His mind is haunted with images of Akaashi, of Akaashi’s eyes, of Akaashi’s lips more than anything. He hides under his blanket and prays for deliverance.

The next day, he finds Akaashi sitting in a chair, his eyes trained on a script. The bags under his eyes seem even bigger than usual. “Damn,” Kenma comments. “You look like hell.”

“Thanks,” Akaashi gripes without even lowering his script. 

“What, are you stressed?” Kenma asks, trying to pass it off as more of an insult than a statement of genuine concern, even though he can’t help being mildly concerned about Akaashi - his potential friend. Ew.

“I want this scene to be perfect,” Akaashi says. “And I’m afraid it won’t be.”

“I know, I know. You doubt my abilities,” Kenma says, unwilling to let Akaashi have the satisfaction of saying it. 

“No,” Akaashi says quietly. “I implied that before to mask my own insecurity. But in truth…” Akaashi inhales. “In truth, I am probably the one that will mess it up. My abilities pale in comparison to yours.” 

Kenma stares at him blankly. What the hell?

Of all the things Akaashi could have said, this is the one that makes the least sense to Kenma. This entire time he assumed that Akaashi had complete confidence in his own abilities. It was there in the aura that Akaashi projected, in the way that Akaashi talked about himself, especially in comparison to Kenma. And now he’s sitting in front of Kenma saying that he’s insecure?

He opens his mouth to respond, but before he can, a crew member whisks him away to get ready for the day. He sinks back into the chair as they mess with his hair, combing through it to get it looking silky smooth and pulling it back into a ponytail, but his head is still a mess. And shit, he has to go out there and kiss Akaashi with all of this on his mind?

He takes a deep breath once they’re done with him, staring at himself in the mirror. It’s all part of being a professional, he tells himself. He’s had worse. He can deal with this. And then he can sort through all of this confusion once he gets back home and can sit in the safety of his own bed.

But it’s a lot harder to be logical when he’s faced with Akaashi right in front of him and he can’t even ask what the hell Akaashi’s talking about.

He tries his best to concentrate, to give his all into the scene. It’s difficult, though - Kenma’s never experienced love like the love in the script before. In fact, he’s hardly ever even had crushes. He doesn’t get the butterflies in his stomach like other people he knows. He’s always kept just enough distance from people, never letting himself get too close.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Akaashi’s character says, staring out at the scenery in front of him. 

Kenma swallows, his throat feeling as dry as his character’s is supposed to as he manages, “Yeah.”

“You weren’t even looking,” Akaashi’s character protests. 

Kenma makes his lips turn up into a teasing smile, hoping it’ll be convincing as he replies, “I didn’t have to.”

And then he leans over to meet Akaashi halfway, and suddenly the butterflies in his stomach erupt in full force.

All he can think about is Akaashi - the way Akaashi’s thumb drifts gently over his cheek, the way Akaashi’s lips feel against his, warm and firm, the way he wants to be closer to Akaashi, his body unconsciously moving closer to Akaashi by the second. Once they pull apart, Kenma’s breathing too fast for comfort. 

He knows that he has a line next. But he can’t think of it. Fuck, why can’t he think of it? What the fuck is he supposed to say? He has to say something - he has to - 

“Kenma,” he hears the gentle urge, but he doesn’t know. He stares with big eyes at Akaashi instead.

Because - shit - it’s become more obvious than ever right now that he most definitely has a crush on Akaashi Keiji. 

His head spins as the crew calls for a cut, as Ennoshita walks over to ask him if he’s okay, as he agrees that yes, he is, he’s fine, he just blanked out for a second but he’ll do better next time. 

Shit , he realizes. He’s going to have to kiss Akaashi again. He’s going to have to pretend that it doesn’t faze him, that he’s not slowly dying inside. 

Fukunaga might be wrong, Kenma thinks. It turns out that a person can die while filming a romance movie. Or, at the very least - a person’s soul can.

.

He manages to make it out of the next kiss without dying, though he’s pretty sure that he gets close. It’s no less passionate, no less soft, no less likely to make Kenma feel as though he’s burning alive. 

God , he scolds himself as he lies in bed that night. How did he end up developing a crush on one of the people he’d hated most in the world? Akaashi’s still Akaashi, too - the same guy that had forgotten his name, that he’d competed with for years over awards, that he’d argued with whenever they met. How had it come to this? How had he let it come to this? 

He must be the biggest idiot on the planet. Because it’s not like Akaashi likes him back. It’s not like Akaashi would ever, ever think about him like that. 

He puts his pillow over his face and screams.

.

He decides that the thing to do is to put some distance between him and Akaashi, however much that might suck. So, the next day, when Akaashi asks him to read lines with him, Kenma shakes his head. “I have to get home,” he says quietly. “I, uh. There’s some important things I have to do.”

Akaashi’s gaze is disbelieving, but he says, “I see.”

The next day, Akaashi doesn’t ask him to go anywhere with him. He meets Kenma’s eyes for a second, looking almost hopeful. Kenma feels like a terrible person as he turns his head away. 

And so the separation of the two of them begins. They’re still filming scenes together though, so they have to interact then, doing their best to play up being a couple. It’s awkward and embarrassing and Kenma hates it, hates that he let himself develop feelings that interfere with the biggest movie job he’s ever gotten. 

After each day of filming, they don’t even look at each other. Whatever friendship the two of them had fades away. They go back to the way things were, but worse. They don’t argue. They just pretend that the other does not exist.

Kenma is not sure what else to do. Being around Akaashi feels almost physically painful, and he’d rather avoid that if at all possible. So he continues like this: pretending Akaashi never existed when they’re not on set, and that the two of them were never friends or anything close to it. 

It goes on for a few weeks in this way. Ennoshita seems at times like he’s about to intervene, but there’s something in his gaze that’s almost too knowing, so he doesn’t. And then, one day, as they’re about to leave the set after another tense day when Akaashi stops him. 

“Kenma,” he says, and then, wincing, “Kozume.” 

“Yes,” Kenma says. “Can we make this quick? I have to get home, I have to…” He trails off, knowing well and good that he’s not going anywhere. Uncomfortably, he shifts from one foot to the other. 

Akaashi opens his mouth, then closes it. There’s a beat of silence before he finally speaks again. “What did I do?” he says, his voice low and hoarse in a way that’s almost pitiful. “I know I must have done something for you to hate me in this way all of a sudden. So please. Just tell me what I did. I am more than happy to apologize, I can make up for it...”

Wait. What?

Kenma just stares at him. He’d never expected Akaashi Keiji - the Akaashi Keiji - to apologize to him of all people, much less without even knowing what he’d done. 

Kenma blinks, feeling extremely guilty all of a sudden. “I….” Kenma says, and then swallows, his throat dry. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“What, so you just randomly decided that you didn’t want to be friends anymore?” Akaashi says, his pretty eyes narrowing.

He realizes very quickly that this is not the way to be thinking and clears his throat. “It’s not like that.”

“So what’s it like, then?” Akaashi asks. “Because to me, it seems like you all of a sudden decided to stop talking to me, and I don’t - I don’t understand… ”

“Can I ask you something?” The question falls from Kenma’s lips before he can stop it, and he winces.

“Yes, of course,” Akaashi says. 

“A couple of years ago, you were on a talk show and someone asked you about me,” Kenma says, slowly, carefully, trying to get the words out in an order that doesn’t make him look completely pathetic. “You acted like you didn’t know who I was.”

“Someone asked me about… you?” Akaashi repeats, sounding dumbfounded, and Kenma feels like an idiot because of course he wouldn’t remember, of course. “Oh,” he says, though, after a second. “You mean when they asked me about Kozume.”

“I am Kozume,” Kenma says, doing his best to keep his voice even despite the hot blood boiling in his veins. “That’s just my family name. You forgot my name, didn’t you?”

“It’s just…” Akaashi hesitates, then sighs. “It’s ridiculous, I know, but I swear to you that I did not forget your name. When we were working together at that time, I started to refer to you in my head exclusively as Kenma. I knew your family name, of course, but I didn’t connect it to you in the same way. And when they asked me that, it caught me off-guard.” Akaashi pauses. “Is that what you have been angry about all this time? Because you know, I apologize for that, but also it’s not exactly what I was expecting…”

Holy shit. All this time, Kenma had been so angry over that one event - enough to push Akaashi away for years - and in the end, it turned out that Akaashi hadn’t even forgotten his name? Had his entire perspective of Akaashi been skewed all this time? Had their rivalry been built on nothing at all? 

Is there any reason now for Kenma not to like him? 

Kenma realizes all of a sudden that Akaashi is waiting for a response. “No!” Kenma says, a little desperately. “No, that’s not what it’s about. I haven’t been angry, though. Or at least, not at you.” 

“Who are you angry at, then?”

“I don’t know. Myself, maybe.”

Akaashi pauses, then says, “I know I am not exactly the most… emotionally open person, but regardless I am here and willing to listen if you want to talk to me. I know that’s what friends do.” 

“You wouldn’t understand,” Kenma says, because he knows, he knows, that Akaashi doesn’t feel - can’t feel - the same way that he does. 

“Try me,” Akaashi says, though, and if there’s one thing that Kenma can’t resist, it’s the appeal of competition, especially with Akaashi of all people. 

He inhales deeply before he speaks. “It’s just that…” A million thoughts shoot through his head, like a sky of shooting stars, so fast he can barely keep track. Before he knows it, he’s blurting out, “I fu - I like you,” he says. “And I wasn’t supposed to. Not you, of all people. I know that you don’t feel the same way, but that’s why I was avoiding you. I thought it would help me get over it.”

There’s another silence. It weighs heavy on Kenma’s shoulders, and he inhales deeply, a shiver passing down his spine. He has no idea what Akaashi’s going to say, how he’s going to reject him. And then, finally, Akaashi says, “Did it help?”

There are a hundred options that Kenma had gone through in his mind, ways that Akaashi would respond. This, however, had not been one of them. Kenma blinks. “W… what?”

“Did it help you to get over it?” Akaashi repeats. 

“Well,” Kenma says, and then thinks about it. Even right now, all he can think about is how close Akaashi is, closer than he’s been in weeks, how beautiful his face is as the emotions pass over it, how he wants to be closer. He slowly shakes his head. “No. It didn’t help at all.”

The corner of Akaashi’s mouth lifts up in a smirk. “Good,” he says, and then he leans down. For a second, Kenma’s not sure what the hell is going on - but then Akaashi’s lips are moving against his.  

It’s intense is the first coherent thought that Kenma can formulate. Akaashi is a surprisingly good kisser. His lips fall into rhythm with Kenma’s quickly, and his hands fist into Kenma’s hair, giving a gentle tug that makes Kenma’s mouth fall open. God, Kenma thinks, holy shit - along with a stream of thoughts that aren’t exactly family friendly. 

He jerks back a second later, though. “We’re still on the set,” he says, and then, another realization hits him. “Also, you like me?”

“One might say that,” Akaashi says, a twinkle in his gorgeous eyes. “I mean, I don’t tend to kiss people that I don’t like.”

“Shit. You really - me?” Kenma says, because even now, even though Akaashi had been the one to take the initiative in the first place, Kenma can’t quite believe it. 

Akaashi nods. “Yes, you. You are one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met in the business. Even when you seem to hate me for whatever reason.”

“I thought you were stuck up,” Kenma groans. “I thought that you forgot about me and then you didn’t exactly help matters by beating me for that award a couple of years ago -”

“I knew that you were bitter about that.” 

“Shut up. I just can’t believe…” Kenma trails off. “This is really happening?”

A tiny smile makes its way onto Akaashi’s face. He slips one of his much bigger hands around Kenma’s, but as he looks at their entwined hands, his face slowly falls. “It’s not going to be easy,” he says, voice low. “You know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Kenma says. He knows better than most how much of an asshole people can be, especially when people like he and Akaashi expose their lives to the public, including their love lives. He knows that the paparazzi will be in their business, that their fans may or may not approve, that Fukunaga might yell at him for getting involved with someone from the acting business. He knows that there’s a lot that could go wrong.

However, for once, his brain is telling him that there’s also a lot that could go right.

Akaashi’s mouth tilts up. “I always thought that there was something special about you,” he says. “From the day I met you. I simply had the feeling that you were going to become a star. And I admit that I was not upset when I heard that you were going to be my co-star on this movie. I knew you hated me, but still…” Akaashi’s cheeks color a vivid pink. “Still, I hoped. And - for once - I was not let down.” 

Kenma’s mouth tilts up as he stares up at Akaashi, as Akaashi leans down to kiss him again. He still kind of hates that Akaashi is so much taller than him. But in a way, it has its benefits.

God, who would have thought that when he got the call to do a movie with Akaashi Keiji, it would turn out like this ? Certainly not him. And yet -

Well, he’s definitely not complaining.

.

Ennoshita seems pleasantly surprised when he walks in the next day to find the two actors sitting on the couch, running through lines. He doesn’t actually say anything, but Kenma can tell by the draw of his mouth and the glint in his eyes that he’s pleased. It feels good. 

Fukunaga is slightly less pleased when Kenma calls him to tell him. He gripes about how Kenma had said he’d hated him, then teases him about how he’d fallen in love with his ‘worst enemy’ or whatever. Kenma almost wants to hang up on him, but is too afraid of losing the best manager he’s ever had, so he simply deals with it (even though he hates every second of it).

He and Akaashi transition back into their old schedule. Every day after filming, they head off together - sometimes under the premise of ‘running lines’, but most times just to spend time alone. Sometimes they go to restaurants, other times they go to arcades so that Kenma can teach Akaashi more games, and sometimes they go to Akaashi’s house so that Kenma can force Akaashi to get a decent amount of sleep. (It turns out that Akaashi finds it easier to sleep when Kenma’s there with him, his head pillowed on Kenma’s chest.)

But it’s different from their old schedule, of course, and so is their dynamic on set. Their conversations feel softer, their kisses feel more natural, their smiles are more genuine. Sometimes when no one’s looking, Akaashi will press a gentle kiss to Kenma’s forehead, or Kenma will lean up to steal a peck from Akaashi’s lips. 

On the last day of filming, Ennoshita approaches them, a notebook in his hands. “How does it feel to be done?”

“Good,” Kenma says, even though it feels anything but. He doesn’t like the idea that he and Akaashi won’t have to see each other every day anymore - that now they’ll probably be moving on to their own individual projects. 

Ennoshita laughs. “Well, unfortunately, this isn’t the last you’ll see of each other,” he says, his voice more teasing than Kenma would like. “You’ll be going to publicity events together. And hey, since you’re playing up a couple in the movie - would it be too much to ask for the two of you to maybe play up the flirtatiousness a little bit?”

Kenma glances over at Akaashi. The Kenma of mere months ago would’ve died from disgust at the thought, would’ve buried himself in a hole rather than agree to be flirtatious with Akaashi Keiji in front of the cameras.

But things have changed. He looks at Akaashi’s knowing smile, and his heart flutters. Stupid, he thinks. 

“I think we can do that,” he and Akaashi say in unison.

Stupid, Kenma thinks again. But…

It feels really, really good. 

( Fin. )