Work Text:
Osamu zips his jacket up over his chin as he twists his body around in his seat to peer around the stands, chilly in the gym’s heavy air conditioning.
“Aw christ, look at that serve,” Suna murmurs next to him, looking down at the court where Itachiyama is currently demolishing whatever poor souls got stuck with them for the quarterfinals.
Osamu tears his eyes away from where he’d been trying to track down the roaming snack vendor to peek down at the court, but by the time he looks down the ball’s already hit the floor.
“Hmm,” he says in response, returning to his original quest.
To his right, Atsumu is chowing down on an energy bar, whole body angled forward as he watches Itachiyama’s match, rapt.
Osamu glances down at the compact brown bar where it peeks out of its wrapper for just a second before he settles back in his seat with a huff. ‘Tsumu’s lucky Osamu doesn’t like those bars enough to consider taking it from him.
He crosses his arms, letting his gaze wander around the other courts below them.
To Itachiyama’s right, it looks like Fukurodani is about to get knocked out of the bracket. They’re trying their best to hold on to the final set but ultimately it’s a lead that’s going to be hard to overcome.
Osamu follows the ball as it makes a clean arc over to Fukurodani’s side, where it’s quickly received by their libero, drops neatly into their setter’s outstretched palms, then is pushed to the outermost edge of the court where their #4 sends it sailing right inside the court’s white line.
Not bad.
His eyes drift back down to their setter. He’s bent over slightly, hands on his knees as he looks across the net, then for just a second he glances over his shoulder to look at the server and oh–
Even from his position in the stands, Osamu can tell he’s got delicate features. Pretty. His eyes are narrowed in focus and a few slightly curved strands of his hair are sticking to his forehead and the sides of his face with sweat.
Osamu blinks, moving forward in his seat just slightly to catch the start of the rally. This time, the setter arches back on the receive, sharp eyes turned behind him as he sets to the right side of the court.
He almost misses the spiker’s clean shot, still watching their setter come back to the ground.
At the sound of the whistle, Osamu cocks his head toward Atsumu.
“Oi,” he says. “Who’s Fukurodani’s setter?”
Atsumu tears his gaze away from Itachiyama’s court, giving Fukurodani a passing glance before he peeks over at Osamu.
“Akaashi Keiji,” he says, mouth still full of the energy bar. “He’s a second-year.”
“Ah,” Osamu responds, nonchalant. “He’s pretty good.”
“Mhm,” Atsumu murmurs around his food. Finally, he swallows and opens his mouth again. “Is that why the tips of yer ears are red?”
Osamu drives a sharp elbow into his twin’s side, ears threatening to break out into an even angrier red.
“They’re not red.”
“Oi!”
Suna turns to face them among the commotion.
“What’s happening?”
Atsumu butts in before Osamu can respond.
“Osamu has the hots for Fukurodani’s setter.”
“I do not.”
“He does. He was watching them when we should be watchin’ Itachiyama,'' Atsumu the Evil, says.
Suna sighs.
“If you’re gonna have a crush at least have one on someone useful,” he says, turning back to face the courts below them. “See if you dated Sakusa, you could give us intel on how they’re training–”
“Or why his wrists are so damn flexible,” Aran mumbles to Suna’s left.
“Or take him behind a building and bust out his kneecap,” Atsumu suggests.
Osamu frowns.
“M’not dating Sakusa.”
“That’s fine,” Atsumu says. “You already have another crush and ya wouldn’t be smart enough to convince Sakusa-san anyway.”
“Atsumu,” Aran warns lightly.
“You know,” Suna continues, still following his last thought. “If you did date Akaashi-san you could give us information on Fukurodani. We might have to play them anyway for Spring Nationals.”
“M’not dating someone just to give ya idiots volleyball tips,” Osamu grumbles, snatching the last of Atsumu’s energy bar out of his hand anyway for good measure.
“What if we dare ya to?” Atsumu says, stretching out to try to pull the wrapper back out of Osamu’s hand.
“No.”
“I second that dare,” Suna, the traitor, says.
“Aran?” Atsumu prods gleefully, giving up on the energy bar.
“I abstain.”
“There ya go,” Atsumu says triumphantly. “We give ya permission to date Akaashi Keiji, for research purposes ‘Samu.”
“Thank you, all,” Osamu grits out.
“Go get ‘em tiger,” Suna says flatly.
++
After the matches end, Osamu is stuck watching Atsumu and Suna’s bags in the hallway as they go to the bathroom.
He flicks through his phone absentmindedly until they return. An ad for one of the local restaurants pops up, and he suddenly remembers how hungry he is.
“Watch my bag,” he says when Atsumu and Suna come back, shoving his bag into Atsumu’s chest. “I’m going to go get something to eat before we get on the bus.”
“Ok,” Atsumu says, looping Osamu’s bag around his other shoulder. “Going to go see how yer boyfriend is takin’ the loss?”
“I will kill you in yer sleep,” Osamu promises, walking away.
He recalls spotting a vending machine near the locker rooms after their match earlier and heads in that direction.
He gets there and is busy weighing the pros and cons of a bag of chips over a pre-wrapped bun when the door to the locker rooms swings open and Akaashi Keiji steps out, eyes flicking over to Osamu’s end of the hallway and widening in recognition? before they quickly flick back to the floor.
Osamu’s own face snaps back to the machine and he sees the tips of his ears beginning to turn pink in the glass.
Akaashi’s steps sound out on the linoleum toward him and before he knows it, Akaashi’s standing within a few feet, gracefully bending over to refill his water bottle at the water fountain next to him.
Their stretch of the hallway is mostly sparse and they’re close enough that Osamu can hear the stream of water hitting the inside of the metal bottle.
Osamu doesn’t know what possesses him when he opens his mouth.
“Yer Akaashi Keiji.”
Akaashi’s blinks, both brows raising before he tilts his head up and takes his finger off the fountain, stopping the sound of the stream.
Up close, Osamu can’t decide if his eyes are a deep blue or a deep green.
“I am,” Akaashi says, the world’s politest smile appearing at the edges of his mouth. He nods in Osamu’s direction. “Miya-san. Inarizaki.”
“Osamu,” Osamu corrects him reflexively, ignoring the small part of him that is somewhat pleased that Akaashi already knows who he is. “It’s easier like that when ya got a twin.”
Akaashi hums in acknowledgement, a small smile still on his face but he doesn’t correct himself.
“Ya played well,” Osamu continues, something inside him wishing to prevent Akaashi from walking back to his locker room. “Some of us watched ya after our match was over.”
“You watched me?” Akaashi asks, tone indecipherable even if Osamu’s pretty sure he’s joking.
He stumbles anyway.
“Y-yer team, I mean.”
“Ah.”
“Since, y‘know, we’ll probably be up against ya in the spring too.”
“Mm,” Akaashi responds. “Perhaps.”
There’s a moment of silence, and Akaashi swishes the water around in his bottle for a moment before he blinks.
“Well, good luck with the rest of the tournament Miya-san,” he says, backing up with a polite nod as he begins to turn around.
Osamu suddenly feels a sense of panic.
His first instinct is to, stupidly, respond “you too!” to a boy who’s just been brutally eliminated from competition, which is perhaps why his brain shifts into second gear and instead what comes out is–
“Wait,” he says, and Akaashi pauses. “Do ya wanna go out with me?”
It takes a few more seconds for Osamu’s brain to catch up with the consequences of his mouth, but when it does, he feels like dying.
Fuckin’ idiot, he thinks to himself, watching as Akaashi’s eyes turn into full-blown saucers. He was planning to go for, if at all, something more along the lines of can I get your number?
He might as well have proposed.
Akaashi is staring at him, speechless, and Osamu can do nothing but blankly stare back.
Akaashi looks surprised. Surprised, for sure, but not… upset.
Finally, his lips part (and Osamu notices a very pleasant shade of pink beginning to form across the bridge of his nose) and against all odds–
Akaashi Keiji opens his mouth and says,
“Sure.”
++
When he gets back to his team, they’re already all loaded on the bus back to the hotel and Osamu enters in a daze.
He boards with his fist clenched around a crumpled piece of paper, and when Atsumu and co. manage to pry it out of his palm, they find a phone number with a Tokyo area code scrawled on it.
Suna gives him a high-five.
Aran – a pitying glance.
Atsumu says nothing at first, just directs a raised eyebrow at him until the bus starts moving.
Osamu pulls out his phone and opens up his map to discover for the first time that there are exactly 588 kilometers between the Hyogo prefecture and Tokyo.
That’s fine.
He’s dating Akaashi Keiji. Fukurodani setter and second-year.
A-kaa-shi, Kei-ji. He rolls the syllables around in his mind, pleased at how they seem to slide right off of his tongue.
Kei-j–
His stupor is interrupted by Atsumu’s voice.
“Ya know yer literally never gonna see him right?”
The stupor is broken and Osamu thinks to swipe at him, but instead he just shoves his phone back into his pocket and turns to watch the scenery pass by outside of the bus’ window.
“Shut yer trap.”
++
He agonizes all night over what his first real text should be.
He’d already texted Akaashi the day before, on the bus, just a quick hey, this is Osamu :) to which Akaashi responded with a single thumbs up. So they’re off to a great start.
By the time they arrive back at the stadium the next morning, Osamu’s figured it out. He has it. The Perfect Text, striking the perfect balance of witty and friendly and prompting is sitting in his mind, ready to be translated to text and shot into the ether.
He opens his phone in the locker room, only to find Akaashi Keiji actually went ahead and already shot him his own Perfect Text himself.
32 minutes ago, Akaashi texted him:
Good morning! Good luck against Itachiyama today :)
Osamu resists the urge to clutch the phone to his rapidly beating chest.
Next to him, Atsumu, as if reading his mind, fake-gags.
++
After Interhigh, they begin texting two or three times a week. At first disappointingly, it feels like appointment texting.
Osamu texts him in the morning and routinely, Akaashi doesn’t respond until the afternoon. Then, Osamu replies in the evenings after practice and this is how they manage to stretch a single conversation out over the course of an entire day.
He’s still excited every time Akaashi’s name pops up on his screen but there’s a part of him that wants to ask for more.
He’s entitled to that isn’t he? More? They are dating after all.
Aren’t they? he thinks, wondering not for the first time if the whole dare thing has ruined it before it’s even started.
Three weeks in, Osamu asks Akaashi if he wants to video chat.
From: Akaashi Keiji
sure. give me 5?
From: Miya Osamu
of course
Osamu spends two of those minutes running out into the living room to tell Atsumu not to come in to their bedroom over the next hour and Atsumu just scrunches up his nose and says yer disgustin’.
Osamu hits the video call button five minutes on the dot and it rings three times before the screen blips.
“Hello?” Akaashi’s even voice comes through first, quickly followed by his image. He’s sitting at a desk, walls mostly plain save for a full bookshelf behind him. Most importantly, he’s wearing what look like reading glasses and his collarbone is peeking out through the stretched-out collar of an old t-shirt.
“Are those readin’ glasses?” Osamu asks with a grin, unable to help himself.
Akaashi’s nose twitches cutely before he responds.
“Yes.”
“Cute,” Osamu comments, patting himself on the back for the video call idea. Genius move. Big brain shit.
On the pixelated screen, Akaashi is turning pink.
Yes, the video calls change things.
++
On their fifth video call, Akaashi gets to talking about his team.
They’ve talked about volleyball before – it’s kind of impossible not to when it takes up so much of their time – but this time he delves into specifics in a way he hasn’t before.
“–we just landed a new minus tempo with Bokuto-san I’m trying to hone. And Konoha is trying out a new floating serve that he’s been having me try to receive. ” Akaashi yawns, covering his mouth. “That’s why I’ve been staying at practice for so long.”
“I’m sure you’ll nail it soon,” Osamu replies, hand coming up to stifle his own yawn.
Akaashi smiles softly at him.
“And now I’m keeping you up. I’ll let you go before you fall asleep on me again.”
“That was one time–,” Osamu begins to argue.
++
The next day at practice, he’s standing on the sidelines, refilling his water bottle when he hears himself casually mention to Suna–
“–it’s like Fukurodani’s new minus tempo, plus now they’ve got a floating serve too.”
“Oho?” Suna raises an eyebrow. “Is that what your boyfriend’s telling you?”
Osamu’s mouth zips shut.
“Hmm,” Suna says, putting down his drink. “Maybe we should work on those receives then.”
Osamu looks down at his water bottle, frowning, before he squeezes a jet of water over his hair to cool off.
++
In mid-October, Akaashi tells him he’ll be in Osaka for a family member’s wedding.
“I won’t have too much free time,” Akaashi says, gaze averted on their call. “But we could probably get lunch the day before if you’re free?”
Not for the first time, Osamu can’t seem to believe his luck.
“Of course.”
++
Osamu thought nothing could prepare him for the sight of Akaashi Keiji, wrapped up in a pale blue scarf this morning when he met him at their agreed-upon lunch place, but more accurately, nothing could prepare him for the fact that he now has to say goodbye to Akaashi Keiji, still in that pale blue scarf, after a mere two hours.
“Thank you for showing me around, Miya-san,” Akaashi says, voice supremely softer in-person than transmuted over Osamu’s shitty phone speakers. They’re standing on the train platform, awaiting a line that’ll take Akaashi back to his aunt’s house, then later all the way back to Tokyo. “I had a nice time.”
“I did too,” Osamu says, hands shoved into his jacket’s pockets. He borrowed the stupid thing from Atsumu after 30 minutes spent trying on and throwing off nearly all of the items in his closet.
Yer hopeless, Atsumu complained, throwing him a crisp black bomber from his side of the closet. Yer lucky at least one of us was born with taste.
“M’sorry ya can’t stay any longer,” Osamu mumbles, glancing up at the electronic board that tells him they have three minutes until the next train approaches.
Akaashi throws him a slight smile.
“Maybe next time, you’ll come to Tokyo.”
Osamu whistles low, shuffling on his feet. “I’d love that.”
The electronic board blinks down to two minutes.
“Ya could just stay here,” Osamu proposes. “Yer more than welcome to take ‘Tsumu’s bed. He’s a demon. He’ll sleep anywhere.”
Akaashi chuckles, shoulders shaking.
“I appreciate the offer but I have to get back to practice on Monday, as I’m sure you do too.”
Osamu grunts, shrugging.
“I’d skip practice, if it meant I could spend more time with you,” Osamu says plainly, not even intending to be flirtatious.
Akaashi’s expression freezes for a second before he looks away quickly, suddenly bashful.
“That’s sweet,” he says, hands coming up to adjust his scarf.
In the corner of his eye, Osamu watches the ticker go down to one minute, and he peeks around Akaashi for a moment to scope out the station. There’s some girl near the end of the platform with her headphones in, but otherwise it’s fairly empty.
Osamu curves his head back, mind made up.
Akaashi seems to sense a shift in the atmosphere, one brow perking up inquisitively, but Osamu doesn’t give him much time to overthink it.
Osamu reaches out with one hand, taking hold of Akaashi’s cold fingers in his own as he pulls him closer and tilts his head slightly down to meet his lips.
Akaashi’s mouth is soft against his when he gasps, startled.
Osamu feels the barest hint of Akaashi’s inner lip against his own when his mouth opens, and then Osamu steps back to give him some space.
He also takes a quick moment to make sure Akaashi is stable on his feet before he also drops his hand.
“Oh,” Akaashi manages after a second, looking stunned.
“Sorry,” Osamu blurts out, although the fireworks currently exploding in his chest say exactly the opposite. “I didn’t mean to catch ya off guard.”
Behind him, he can hear the whistling air of an approaching train.
“No no, that was fine,” Akaashi says, fingers weaving uncertainly in front of him.
“More than fine,” he adds on, catching Osamu’s slightly worried expression.
Akaashi’s definitely redder than Osamu has ever seen him, but there’s a subtle curve at the ends of his lips threatening to break out that tells him he has nothing to worry about.
“Ok,” he says, nearly drowned out in the sound of the train pulling into the platform. The rush of hot air jolts them both into moving, and Osamu steps back to allow the swarm of exiting passengers to make their way around him.
Akaashi breaks his gaze away, taking a step forward toward the doors. When he’s nearly there, he turns slightly on his heel.
“I’ll talk to you soon?”
Osamu nods, heart already sinking at the prospect of many many more weeks of video calls.
“Text me when ya get home.”
Akaashi smiles, pulling his coat tighter around him as he steps into the train car. Osamu watches until the doors slide shut behind him.
++
When he gets home, he throws Atsumu’s jacket on top of his bed and sits down to stare at his phone.
He slides open a blank message, gears in his mind whirring.
From: Miya Osamu
are you my boyfriend now?
Akaashi doesn’t respond for a couple minutes, but Osamu just waits.
From: Akaashi Keiji
Are you asking me right now or are you asking if we already are?
From: Miya Osamu
either
Osamu jiggles his leg on the floor, shaking the whole bed with his movement.
From: Akaashi Keiji
I guess i am
++
Akaashi sends him music sometimes.
Soft acoustic shit by artists Osamu has never heard of in his life, or ambient background music that he says he sometimes works to.
“What did you think of that one?” Akaashi asks him in the evenings, after Osamu’s sat with his suggestion of the day for a few hours.
“Babe,” he’ll say, venturing into pet names now that Akaashi is his Certified Boyfriend and that he’s absolutely obsessed with the way that Akaashi goes red whenever he uses one. “It was incredible.”
He says it to make Akaashi blush. Also to watch him smile.
++
The next time Akaashi gets into strategic volleyball talk, Osamu feels so sick with guilt that he just picks at his plate during dinner.
He slowly lifts each granule of rice off the plate one by one, bringing it to his mouth as he contemplates just never talking to Akaashi about volleyball ever again.
Atsumu sits across from him at the table, throwing him a weird look.
It’s a shame no one will ever love Atsumu, he thinks, chewing slowly. He won’t ever understand these matters of the heart.
++
Two months later, Akaashi has to come down to Osaka again.
Osamu doesn’t even hear the reason when he tells him. He just hears “whole day” and immediately starts planning for a day full of touristy shit that he can use to impress Akaashi.
Unless Akaashi doesn’t like touristy shit.
Fuck, Osamu thinks. Akaashi definitely won’t like touristy shit. His taste is much better than that.
His brain is flying in a thousand different directions trying to think of alternatives when Akaashi interrupts his train of thought, still blinking at him through the phone screen.
“Osamu?”
“Huh?”
Akaashi smiles.
“I asked if it would be ok if I came over. Not for the whole time but I do want to see where you live.” Akaashi says, a little self-conscious at repeating himself. “If that’d be alright.”
Osamu’s heart leaps in his chest.
“Yer more than welcome.”
++
“This is it,” he says, throwing open the door to his and Atsumu’s room with a flourish.
“This is where all those video calls happen,” he says, grinning as Akaashi steps gingerly into his room for the first time.
“Bunk beds?” is the first thing out of Akaashi’s mouth, surprised, before he catches himself and glances back at Osamu. “Why did I never notice you two have bunk beds?”
Osamu shrugs, following Akaashi into the middle of the room.
“Dunno,” he replies, heart only beating a half-step too fast at the sight of Akaashi Keiji in his space, examining his surroundings with a small smile on his face. “I usually take yer calls from my bed, so maybe ya just never saw it.”
Akaashi hums in response.
“I don’t have any siblings,” he says, threading his fingers together. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to share the space.”
“Lucky,” Osamu grumbles, sitting down on his bunk with a huff. “Atsumu just steals my shit all the time. Yer lucky he’s not around today. Probably practicin’ with Suna or somethin’.”
Akaashi smiles, lowering himself next to Osamu on the bed delicately.
“Oh I’ve met him before,” Akaashi says, placing his hands flat on the bed. He peeks at Osamu’s face through the side of his eye. “You two are pretty different.”
Osamu grins, leaning back against the wall.
“I hope so,” he says. “I think I’m obligated to be yer favorite twin.”
“Something like that,” Akaashi replies, hiding his grin.
Osamu perks up at that, instead deciding to lean forward a bit into Akaashi’s space. He places his two hands on either side of him and Akaashi leans back against the top of Osamu’s bed in response, eyes widening a bit.
“Was I yer favorite even before we started datin’?”
“Miya-san,” Akaashi starts, the hint of a complaint in his tone. “I didn’t know either of you before then.”
“Mmm, but ya knew of us,” Osamu continues, pressing forward until Akaashi’s head is almost on the far wall. “And no revertin’ back to Miya-san. I told ya, it’s Osamu.”
“Osamu, ” Akaashi says, correcting himself.
Akaashi opens his mouth to continue arguing when Osamu is suddenly distracted by the slightest peek of skin. Akaashi’s t-shirt has risen up with his retreat, baring a pale, smooth stretch of stomach.
Unlike Akaashi, Osamu very much grew up with a sibling. A sibling who needs to have his ass kicked every other week at that, so physical boundaries are not something that have ever really been a part of his life.
And his whole family’s always been physical. Just last week he was bouncing his baby cousin on his knee as the kid gurgled, and blowing raspberries on his pudgy stomach to make him shriek in laughter.
Akaashi Keiji does not have a pudgy stomach, but that does not stop Osamu from inhaling a huge breath, dipping his head down to place his lips on Akaashi’s lower abdomen, and blowing out with all his might. He doesn’t even think twice about it.
Akaashi, just like his little cousin, also shrieks, though not quite with laughter. It’s more of an undignified yelp, if he had to characterize it.
“Osamu!” Akaashi yells, limbs automatically curling up like a bug’s as Osamu comes up on his elbows.
“What?” he asks innocently, looking up at Akaashi’s shocked face with a grin.
“Are ya ticklish?”
Osamu begins to move up the bed, holding himself above Akaashi while his right fingers threaten to ghost at Akaashi’s exposed side.
“No,” Akaashi says sternly, warding Osamu off with a comically raised finger, but there’s enough of a choked back laugh in his voice that Osamu feels comfortable continuing his climb.
“No don’t tickle ya, or no ya aren’t ticklish?”
“Osamu!” Akaashi complains again, hand coming down quickly to squeeze Osamu’s when his fingers twitch at his stomach.
“Ok, ok.” Osamu relents, letting his hand relax.
His hand comes down to rest and he realizes he’s unintentionally boxing Akaashi in against his pillow.
Akaashi’s flushed with laughter, but when it starts to subside, Osamu can see he begins to register how close they are.
“Osamu,” Akaashi says quietly, looking up at him curiously. His mouth opens as if there’s more he wants to say, but it falls shut again and Akaashi’s gaze drops down to his lips.
As if drawn in by his gaze, Osamu dips his head down lower, enough for their noses to brush, but stops short. His eyes flicker up to settle on Akaashi’s expression.
He wants another kiss.
But he wants Akaashi to give it to him this time.
As if reading his mind, Akaashi slightly bites at his own lip before he tilts his chin up infinitesimally and meets Osamu’s mouth in a soft kiss.
After a second Akaashi pulls back.
Then moves in for another one.
Osamu is the one to pull back this time, unwilling to push his luck any further. Given the way the past few months have gone for him, it must be looking like a taut rubber band by now.
He begins to lean back further when Akaashi’s two hands come up to tentatively rest on his shoulders and nudge him back down.
Osamu sighs into the kiss, one hand coming up to frame his head, and he runs the pads of his fingers through the tips of Akaashi’s hair softly. He rubs a few strands between his fingers, letting them slip out like water.
They break away for air for a moment before their mouths come up to meet again. This time, Akaashi’s mouth opens shyly under his and suddenly Osamu feels like he’s playing a whole different ballgame.
Akaashi leans up off the bed and into the kiss, so Osamu brings one hand up to the small of his back and lets his fingers skim the knobs of Akaashi’s spine above his shirt.
He feels dizzy with power.
So this is what making out is like.
When they part, Osamu adjusts to that he can press himself to Akaashi closer, but the movement slots his thigh between his legs and Akaashi accidentally lets out a sharp breath when their hips meet.
Oh.
Osamu wants more of that.
Osamu wants more of that immediately.
Akaashi seems to be on the same page, both arms firmly hooked around his shoulders now.
His tongue lightly meets Osamu’s again and he makes a noise that sounds like a whine. Osamu’s fingers begin to dig into the fleshy parts of his hips, soft where his t-shirt has ridden up and–
“Woah,” comes Atsumu’s voice, followed swiftly by the sound of their bedroom door ricocheting violently off the wall stopper.
Osamu’s head snaps up to look at him.
Under him, Akaashi gasps, arms reflexively shooting out to push Osamu off of him with a surprising amount of force.
Osamu isn’t prepared for the way his head hits the bunk above him before he hits the floor.
He’s sent tumbling, and when his body comes to a rest, his upper body is completely hanging off the bed but his feet are still up where they’d been caught by the ladder leading up to the second bunk.
His ankle bone is throbbing.
Upside down, he watches Atsumu’s dumbass smirk grow at the doorway.
“Am I,” Atsumu says with one brow raised, eyes hopping from Akaashi to where Osamu lies. “Interrupting something?”
Osamu is thankful, not for the first time, that he has the bottom bunk. It’s a faster jump to killing Atsumu this way.
Above him, Akaashi chokes out a response.
“No."
++
At the train station, Akaashi tries to apologize for the fourth time.
“I guess I’m glad yer not a spiker,” Osamu says, hand coming up to touch his bruised skull. “I woulda been concussed by now.”
“Osamu–”
“Stop that, ya already apologized three times.”
When the train comes this time, he doesn’t kiss him – the platform’s too full.
But Akaashi squeezes his fingers affectionately before he boards and it’s almost better.
++
“I didn’t know he was here!” Atsumu gasps out through his headlock once Osamu’s back home.
For once in his life, he sounds genuine, so Osamu lets him go.
“From the way he pushed you,” Atsumu says, hand rubbing at his throat once he’s scuttered a few feet away. “I woulda guessed he was the one sabotaging ya.”
“Yer being dumb,” Osamu complains, leaning down to wipe the sweat from Atsumu’s neck off his hand. He was right, Atsumu was out practicing with Suna. “No one is sabotaging anyone.”
“Ok,” Atsumu says. “So are ya gonna tell him it started as a joke now that yer swappin’ spit with him?”
“This isn’t a joke ‘Tsumu.”
“I know it isn’t now–,” Atsumu glances at Osamu’s face, and closes his mouth. “Fine. Do what ya like.”
Osamu ignores him.
++
A week after his visit, Akaashi is visibly stressed over the upcoming Spring Interhigh.
“I know it’s a little different since Inarizaki is sure to be first or second seed, but Fukurodani needs to play that first round and it’s not that I don’t have faith or think that we’re going to be knocked out in the first round or anything, but there’s just so much we still need to work on and Bokuto-san has been so demoralized at practice lately and losing to Itachiyama in the playoffs didn’t help much and–”
“Keiji–,” Osamu interrupts, voice stilling his boyfriend where he fidgets over the video call. Osamu grimaces before he can think better of it. “Can we talk about somethin’ that ain’t volleyball?”
Immediately, he realizes that was the wrong thing to say.
On his screen, Akaashi’s eyes widen, affronted, before his expression closes off.
“I’m sorry,” he says, clipped. “It’s just been a long week.”
Akaashi goes silent and Osamu can almost physically feel himself get shut out over the airwaves.
“M’sorry,” Osamu says. “I didn’t mean it like that. Ya can tell me all ya want about your week still. Please.”
Akaashi sighs, averting those owl-eyes of his.
“It’s fine. I should go to bed anyway.”
Osamu mentally slaps himself.
“Ok.”
Akaashi gets up from his desk on the screen and Osamu can tell he’s about to receive a curt goodnight so he jumps in before he gets hung-up on.
“It’s not that I don’t wanna know what’s going on in that big head of yers,” he says. “On the contrary, sometimes I feel like I really don't know what’s going on in yer head at all. And I want ya to share–”
Akaashi’s face is indecipherable now that he’s away from his desk lamp.
“–just maybe not about volleyball. Since we might hafta play each in a couple weeks.”
Akaashi blinks, but something about his expression tells Osamu his guard is still up.
“Ok. Goodnight Osamu.”
Osamu sighs. At least he didn’t get a Miya-san.
“Goodnight Keiji.”
++
A few days later, Akaashi apologizes for leaving so abruptly.
“That was rude of me,” he says, expression sincere enough that Osamu immediately forgives him. Not that there’s much he wouldn’t forgive Akaashi for.
“It’s alright.”
That night, after they hang up, Osamu decides he’s gonna tell him at Nationals. He’s gonna tell him about Atsumu and Suna’s stupid joke. And depending on how that goes, he might even tell him that he’s maybe, just a little bit, slowly, falling in love with him.
Depending.
++
In the early January air, Akaashi Keiji stands outside of his team’s hotel, shivering, when Osamu finds him.
“Hi,” Akaashi says first, normally-level expression lighting up like it can’t help itself when it sees Osamu.
Osamu feels his chest flutter at the sight. God he’s so gone on this boy.
“Hiya,” Osamu says, hopping up the few steps leading up before he stands in front of Akaashi.
“How was your trip in?” Akaashi asks, hands rubbing together in front of him, both for warmth and out of nerves. He hunches further into his jacket.
“Good,” Osamu responds, automatically reaching out to take Akaashi’s hands into his own jacket pockets.
Akaashi’s nose scrunches.
“Your pockets are cold.”
Osamu grins.
“They’ll warm up.”
Akaashi lets out a breath, visible in the nighttime air.
Osamu wants nothing more than to pull Akaashi closer, wrap him up in his own jacket and plant them both inside. But before he can do that he has to–
“Do ya wanna talk real quick?” Osamu blurts out, tone coming out more direct than he’d intended.
Akaashi blinks, and Osamu feels his hands flex where they’re wrapped up in his, as if he wants to let go.
“Oh. Ok.” Akaashi acquieses. Then he actually lets go.
Osamu immediately misses the warmth, but Akaashi doesn’t go too far as they walk to the side of the building, finding an empty bench to sit on.
Akaashi sits down first and Osamu stays standing for a moment, planting the tip of his foot on the edge of the bench and bending his knee a few times.
“What did you want to talk about?” Akaashi asks after a moment, watching Osamu move.
His eyes flicker up to look at him and Osamu spends a second looking at his lashes.
He sighs.
“There’s something I gotta tell ya.”
There’s a flash of something that looks like fear on Akaashi’s face before it’s suddenly gone.
“Oh?”
“It’s about when we got together.”
Akaashi just continues to stare up at him, unblinking.
Osamu sits.
“Before I asked ya out at Interhigh, when I told ya that we were watching yer game,” he starts, watching Akaashi’s expression carefully. “‘Tsumu and Suna suggested I ask ya out as a joke, or as some kind of dare to get me to spy on yer team through you. I told them it was stupid and that was about it.”
Akaashi’s face still remains blank, but he shifts in his seat to better face Osamu.
“I wasn’t even thinkin’ about that when I ran into ya in the hallway. I just thought ya were really cute and I liked the way you played,” he continues, hands stuffed deep into his pockets. “And I didn’t want you to hear one day that this all started as a joke or somethin’. Because it didn’t.”
A few different emotions flit across Akaashi’s face but they’re too fast for Osamu to catch.
“Ah.”
They sit there in silence, then both open their mouths to speak at the same time.
Akaashi shuts his. “Go ahead.”
Osamu takes the opening, feeling like he has to finish his thought.
“But I also never want you to feel like ya can’t tell me something or talk to me about anything. Including volleyball and what yer team is up to. I just couldn’t do it without you knowin’ about the whole conversation first. It felt weird.”
Akaashi’s face softens, and he turns fully to face Osamu.
“Oh Osamu,” he says, voice laced with such affection that Osamu can’t help but reach out to hold his hand. Akaashi lets him.
“I– uh,” Akaashi continues, suddenly dipping his head with a bit of a bashful tilt. “I already knew some of that.”
Osamu’s so busy admiring the boy in front of him that it almost doesn’t register.
“...Huh?”
“At Interhigh,” Akaashi says, squeezing his cold fingers around Osamu’s warm grip. “Konoha heard Suna and Atsumu joking about it in the bathroom after our match. And then he told me and Bokuto about it and they both told me to say yes if you asked me. They were joking about the same thing Atsumu and Suna were, except instead that I should feed you fake information if you ever asked about the team. ”
Osamu feels his blood run cold for a second.
“Oh? Is that why ya–”
Akaashi shakes his head before Osamu can even finish his statement.
“Honestly I only did that once or twice though, early on.” Akaashi looks apologetic. “I stopped lying once you started getting this really guilty look on your face every time we talked about volleyball. I figured you probably weren’t sharing anything with your team.”
Osamu groans, brain whirring with the mess they’ve somehow managed to create. He instinctively puts his forehead down on Akaashi’s shoulder, even though he hasn’t really answered the question of–
“So when ya said yes, that was because of Bokuto-san and yer teammates?”
Akaashi moves his shoulder, shrugging Osamu’s forehead off so that he looks up at him.
“No,” Akaashi says simply. “Although, truthfully I’m not entirely sure why I said yes at the time.”
Akaashi burrows closer to Osamu’s warmth, preemptively soothing over any hurt from the statement.
“I was going to say no, when Konoha told me about what he heard,” he says, looking at Osamu through his lashes. “But when you actually asked, you looked really earnest about it. It caught me off guard.”
“And you’re also a very attractive person,” he adds on, cheeks becoming slightly more tinged.
Osamu closes his eyes for a second, bringing his head back down to rest at the crook of Akaashi’s neck. Akaashi shivers at the touch of his cold nose.
“So the textin’, the calls, the kissin–”
“I liked that,” Akaashi interrupts, voice soft but firm. “I liked all that.”
“I really like you,” he admits.
Osamu’s heart is running victory laps in his chest.
“Good,” he finally responds, twisting his head to firmly plant a kiss on Akaashi’s cheek. “‘Cause I like ya too.”
When he pulls back, Akaashi is quietly beaming, and he can’t help give him a quick kiss.
“So are ya my boyfriend for real real now?”
Akaashi scoffs, hiding his mouth in the neck of his jacket.
“Yeah. I guess I am.”
“Great.”
Akaashi rolls his eyes, burrowing himself under Osamu’s arm as they continue to sit, basking in their joint warmth for just another second.
“I thought you were breaking up with me at first,” Akaashi murmurs into Osamu’s neck, tone slightly petulant. “When you pulled me back here.”
Osamu grins, pulling Akaashi tighter against his side.
“Oh,” he says. “Don’t worry about that.”
“I’m never gonna break up with ya,” Osamu promises, meaning it entirely.
It’s worth it for how deeply Akaashi flushes, then tilts his head up to kiss him.