Work Text:
“yearning for each other, when shall we meet again? it is hard to love this night.”
l.b.
–
Neither of them met the other until the next nationals tournament.
From the moment Akaashi acquired a gray-haired wing spiker’s number and exchanged several texts with him deep into the night, Akaashi had tried to make opportunities for himself. After all, he and Osamu had kept in touch–mostly for volleyball purposes, sometimes for casual reasons–but logistics had kept them miles apart. For Akaashi, as the newfound captain of Fukurodani in the wake of Bokuto’s absence, it was hard enough to fill in the shoes of a star. Organizing a trip to Hyogo all in the guise of a practice match was downright difficult and unnecessary, especially when the Fukurodani Academy Group kept their summer training camp tradition strong.
And it was so: neither of them saw each other until one year later, and when they did, the foxes plucked the owl’s feathers straight from their wings.
Akaashi tried not to be so forlorn about their team’s loss, but it was hard not to piece two and two together. When Fukurodani still had Bokuto and even prior, they were a school to be feared and revered. Now that Akaashi was captain, he failed to even get Fukurodani into the quarterfinals of the nationals. Last year, Bokuto had taken them all the way into the championships, and even then they were just shy of winning first and–
“Hey.”
Akaashi looked up, his ears perking up at the familiar voice. When his eyes found another’s across the net that divided one team from the other, he was surprised to see Osamu standing across from him on the other side. He was hardly a picture of glory, with sweat trailing over every inch of him and drenching his jersey to his skin. But his rocket metal gray eyes were bright and alert, appraising Akaashi like he could pick him apart by look alone.
It was equal parts unnerving and comforting.
Akaashi stared at their clasped hands, a handshake suspended for a few seconds too long, before he pulled away.
He would have been a fool to miss the way Atsumu’s eyes narrowed at the both of them.
Akaashi continued shaking the rest of his opponent’s hands, bidding them congratulations for a game well played, before they retired to their respective benches. Then they exited the center court, and Akaashi refused to look back, else he unraveled any further.
Once his team returned to their original spaces, Akaashi huddled them together and gave his own words of encouragement to his team. To his ears, his comfort sounded sweet, but in his heart, he knew it was nothing, just empty words that masked the disappointment and pressure he felt building in his chest. When he dismissed them, he excused himself and casually made his way to the closest bathroom, hand buried in the pocket of his jacket as he clutched his phone tightly.
“Are you there?” he texted just as he cleared the bathroom door. He was seconds away from falling apart, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could take. But he carefully checked all the cubicles, making sure he was alone, before locking himself up in the one farthest away from the door. He kicked the toilet seat closed, sat upon it, and then buried his head in his hands.
His fingers were already dialing Bokuto’s number, uncaring whether he really was available or not for a chat. When Bokuto’s voicemail picked up instead of the man himself, Akaashi couldn’t find it in himself to hold back.
“We lost,” he began, blunt and straight to the point. “I know what you’re going to say: making it into the nationals is a feat in and of itself. Making it two rounds in is another. And I know you’re right, but I can’t help but think I’ve let everyone down, especially since we’ve had such a great run last year. I don’t know how to be the captain you were, Bokuto-san, and it’s in these moments that I really miss you the most.”
Akaashi took several trembling breaths, allowing himself some time to gather himself as he rested his head against the wall. “Please call me back as soon as you can. I just feel...so lost. In more ways than one, I guess.”
He stayed on the line just in case he had more to say. Then he terminated the call and hung his head. He didn’t even realize he was crying until he felt several of his tears seep through the clothing of his shorts. He looked down at his lap, at his fingers closed tightly together, wondering why they weren’t enough to lift his team all the way into glory.
He continued crying for several more moments, allowing himself to let out the guilt, the disappointment, the sadness, the frustration. But to cry longer was to expose his swollen eyes to his team, and that would be a sight that would reduce them to further disappointment, so at odds with Akaashi’s speech earlier.
So Akaashi gathered himself, steeled himself to his feet, blew out several pent up breaths, then unlocked the door to his stall.
And froze.
Standing on the other side of the door, his back to one of the sinks and his head trained towards where Akaashi had emerged, was Miya Osamu. He had his arms crossed over his chest and an unreadable expression on his face that softened when he beheld Akaashi. He straightened just as Akaashi blurted, “How long have you been there?”
Osamu paused, and his hesitation told Akaashi everything he needed to know. Instead of answering his question, he revealed his own phone and waved it once. “You asked me where I was. Figured ya’d be here.”
“Oh.” Akaashi looked down at his phone with a frown. He had been so certain he had texted Bokuto, but his fingers must have had a mind of their own. Treacherous things.
“It seems like I always catch ya at yer worst,” observed Osamu, pocketing his phone. He turned, grabbing several pieces of tissue and handing them over to Akaashi. Akaashi took them without a word, using them to wipe his moist and swollen expression.
“Sorry if that makes me less attractive,” replied Akaashi. He threw the tissues in the bin before inspecting his reflection in the mirror. Wincing, he turned the faucet and began splashing water over his face.
“Not at all.” Osamu glanced at him, and Akaashi caught his look from the corner of his eye. “If anything, it makes me want to take care of ya.”
Akaashi choked on his own spit. He pretended it was because he inhaled some of the water coming out from the faucet.
“How are ya feelin’ now?” continued Osamu, as if he hadn’t just said something that stopped Akaashi’s world cold.
“As great as can be when the team you’re leading lost.”
“I’m sorry.”
Akaashi raised his brows, genuinely surprised. “Nothing to be sorry for.” He grabbed more tissues, wiping his face. “It’s all part of the game, Miya-san,” was what he intended to say, except the tissues muffled his response into a less dignified, “Am pat of the game, Myaa-sam.”
Osamu must have understood it well enough because when Akaashi looked at him again, most of the guilt in his eyes had been assuaged. His eyes narrowed a little before he reached up with one hand, the jacket of his sleeves enveloping his palm. Akaashi’s breath caught as Osamu stroked the base of his hand against the curve of Akaashi’s right cheek, and he could have sworn his own hurried pulse beat in time to Osamu’s.
“Ya had some snot on yer cheek,” teased Osamu, even as his voice trembled at the edges. Even when he was finished brushing Akaashi’s cheek, his clothed hand lingered against his skin.
Akaashi swallowed. “Gross,” he murmured. And embarrassing. “I’m so sorry.”
Osamu grinned, and it expelled all the nervousness Akaashi had previously seen. “All part of the game, Akaashi-san.”
What game are we talking about now? Akaashi wanted to ask. Instead, he clenched his jaw before looking away. His fingers crumpled around the tissue in his hands. “Just Akaashi is fine.”
He could feel Osamu’s stare against his back as he turned and disposed of the soiled paper in his hands. When he looked back, Osamu already had the door to the bathroom open for him. Akaashi bowed gratefully, the gesture done both to express his gratitude and to hide his rising blush. Only when they were outside of the bathroom did he speak again. “So, I kinda have to–”
“Would ya like some onigiri?” blurted Osamu suddenly, unceremoniously.
Akaashi blinked. “I’m sorry?”
The other hand, the one that remained carefully out of view from Akaashi and in Osamu’s pocket, revealed itself. A little ball of onigiri wrapped in clear plastic appeared with it. “Here.”
“Did you have that with you the whole time?” Akaashi couldn’t help but ask. A smile was threatening to break his sober expression.
“I mean, I was about to eat it anyway.”
“In the bathroom?” His voice was teasing.
Osamu’s brows drew together as a blush painted his cheeks. “Ya have a weird sense of humor, don’t ya, Fukurodani setter?”
“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or a jab.”
“Would I ever do anything to insult ya?” Osamu extended his hand out further. He looked almost desperate now, as if a rejection would make him curl in on himself. “Come on, have an onigiri.”
Despite himself, Akaashi took it, cradling it almost gently. “Thank you. Did you make this?”
“Would ya be inclined to eat it if I said no?”
Akaashi smirked. “The opposite.”
Osamu raised a brow at him. “Then yes.”
Akaashi rolled the rice ball between his two hands. “Thanks.” He looked up and offered him a genuine smile in return. “For...all of this. I know you didn’t have to go here, but...I really appreciate it.”
Osamu buried both his hands in his pockets. He cleared his throat as he replied, his voice low and suddenly shy, “’Snothing. Ya needed a friend, and I only obliged ya.”
Akaashi nodded, his own eyes averted from Osamu’s. “Guess I’ll go now. Team’s waiting for me.”
“Right. Me too.”
Akaashi prolonged their goodbye no longer. He turned on his heel and began to jog away. But he barely took three steps when he heard Osamu call out his name.
He slowed and looked over his shoulder. Osamu was already further away from him, as if they’d turned and started sprinting away at the same time before afterthoughts tied them in place. “I–” the Inarizaki spiker began. “I just really hope we get to see each other more often.”
Akaashi smiled. His fingers curled around the onigiri in blind hope. “So do I.”
–
As it turned out, the onigiri was quite good.
Akaashi tried not to judge it too harshly, given that Osamu had claimed it came from the work of his hands. But he practically inhaled the snack on the way back to their hotel, its taste lingering on his tongue and its giver lingering on his mind.
But it wasn’t until much later, when the day had given way to the night and the temperatures had dropped to winter coolness, did he remember to thank Osamu for the gift.
He hid himself from the rest of the team, all of which were still celebrating for even having made it this far into the nationals, and found solace in the balcony overlooking the city. He zipped up his jacket all the way to the base of his neck before retrieving his phone and typing in several texts to Osamu.
Akaashi Keiji
Your onigiri is good. [8:39PM]
Did you really make it? [8:40PM]
But as soon as Akaashi’s message delivered itself to its recipient, his phone was soon occupied by another. On the second ring, Akaashi picked up his best friend’s call, trying to hide his joy from his voice as he answered, “Bokuto-san.”
“Akaashi!” exclaimed Bokuto from the other end. Judging by the background noise, he was still inside the Jackals’ arena. “I’m so sorry! I just finished practice now. I saw the highlights of the match, though. Heard your voice mail too. How are you holding up?”
Akaashi’s finger traced the outline of an onigiri on the balcony railing. “I’m fine. I’m sorry if my voice calls freaked you out a little. But everything’s alright now.”
“Hmm.” From the other end, he heard Bokuto shift his phone to the other ear.
“What is it?”
“You sound more than fine,” said Bokuto skeptically.
Akaashi swallowed. “Do I?” he squeaked, wincing when even he heard how high his voice had climbed.
“Now you just sound like you’re trying to hide it.”
“How do you know?”
“You’re kind of obvious, actually.”
But Akaashi had already gone past the point of playing coy. When he spoke again, he clarified his earlier question. “What I meant to ask was: how do you know if you have a crush on someone?”
For several seconds, the only sounds he could glean from Bokuto’s end were the friction of rubber against the floorboards, the sound of volleyballs slamming down against the ground. Then, all at once, he heard a yell dialed to full volume, “Akaashi?”
Akaashi pulled his phone away from his ear, scowling. “My ears,” he complained, loud enough to be heard despite the distance between his lips and the receiver.
“You like someone now?”
“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi sighed, replacing his phone against his ear. “Please just answer the question.”
“Right!” he yelled, still clearly astonished. “Right, right, right! I can answer that! No way I’m letting my best friend down on such an important moment of his life!”
“Please.”
“Well, okay! Maybe,” began Bokuto, his words slowing as he thought his answer out, “Maybe if I laugh at all their jokes? I mean, that’s how I know I like someone that way.”
“But you laugh at everything,” pointed out Akaashi.
“Fine,” conceded the spiker. “Then...well. I guess–I guess maybe it’s when I would tell any joke? I’d love to see them laugh, so I think I’ll try anything just to see them smile.”
“Tell a joke,” repeated Akaashi. Admittedly, Bokuto’s answer was sweet and downright thoughtful, but Akaashi didn’t think he could find it in himself to tell a joke.
Then again, the fact that he was even considering making jokes for–
“So who is it, ’Kaashi?”
Akaashi blinked. “Hmm?”
“The person on your mind?” pressed Bokuto. Even from here, Akaashi could hear the teasing smile in his voice. “Your maybe-or-maybe-not-but-probably-is crush?”
“I’m still figuring it out,” he admitted. When he felt Bokuto inhale a breath to begin a string of protests, Akaashi hurriedly added, “But you’ll be the first to know as soon as I confirm it for myself.”
“’Kay!” conceded Bokuto. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What?”
Bokuto’s voice dropped a little, and yet it still held all of his enthusiasm and concern. “Don’t deny whatever it is you’re feeling, okay? Knowing you, you probably will.”
Akaashi almost laughed. How his best friend managed to be one step ahead was beyond him.
Yet it’s exactly why he loved Bokuto so much.
“I won’t,” promised Akaashi. “Good night, Bokuto-san. And I miss you. Hope training has been kind today.”
“Na, don’t worry about me. Training is always great! But I miss you too, Akaashi.” After a pause, he added, “And you did well, okay? I’m very proud of you, Fukurodani captain.”
He merely hummed in acknowledgement to his words before he hung up. Today has been enough of an emotional rollercoaster; Akaashi need not get into another ride. But when he looked at his screen again, all other emotions gave way to surprise.
Miya Osamu
na [8:49PM]
just in this local mart down the street [8:55PM]
its my dream to open up my own shop someday tho :) [8:56PM]
want more? [9:00PM]
[IMG_0115.jpg] [9:01PM]
Akaashi sighed as he zoomed in on the picture. It was a selfie of Osamu holding up a basket of onigiris, his face shrouded in shadow from a cap over his head. Though he himself had half of his features cropped out, half of his crooked grin was enough to make Akaashi’s heart stutter.
How do you know?
Akaashi hurriedly typed in his response, seeing that he was already minutes late into replying.
Akaashi Keiji
I’m sorry. I only saw this now. [9:15PM]
Miya Osamu
sfine [9:17PM]
bought u some tho [9:18PM]
i can give it to u tomorrow [9:18PM]
Akaashi Keiji
Why not tonight? [9:19PM]
Miya Osamu
so i can ensure u’ll be there tomorrow [9:21PM]
to watch our game [9:22PM]
hehe [9:22PM]
dont be so eager to see me ;) [9:23PM]
Akaashi nearly dropped his phone. “That’s not–” he protested to his screen before catching himself. He rubbed the corner of his phone against his temples, pressing it against his skin to alleviate the headache forming. Then he stared at his screen again, his mind sorting through all the possible replies he could give without giving himself away. But before he could settle on one, a new message appeared.
Miya Osamu
im right arent i [9:30PM]
Akaashi pressed his lips together, trying to will away the smile on his lips.
Akaashi Keiji
I’ll be there tomorrow. [9:31PM]
For the onigiri. [9:31PM]
I hope you win, though. [9:32PM]
Cheering for you. [9:33PM]
Inarizaki, I mean. [9:33PM]
Miya Osamu
GREAT [9:35PM]
ill score my 1st point for u [9:36PM]
for fukurodani, i mean [9:38PM]
:) [9:38PM]
Akaashi didn’t bother replying anymore. Instead, he pulled up his conversation with Bokuto, about to confess his thoughts, when he saw that he already had a message waiting for him.
Bokuto Koutarou
Btw [9:15PM]
Miya osamu [9:15PM]
Is my guess [9:16PM]
\(★ω★)/ [9:16PM]
Akaashi left him on read too and went back inside.
–
The next day, Akaashi watched Osamu keep both of his promises. When their gazes touched each other across courts, Akaashi thought that perhaps he need not have asked Bokuto anything at all. Maybe in his heart, he already knew all the answers to his questions.
And when their fingers grazed each other as Osamu handed him a bag of onigiris, a hopeful smile on his face, Akaashi doubted no more and allowed himself to fall for a wing spiker and his pair of rocket metal gray eyes.