Archive of Our Own

It’s supposed to go like this: Akagi has a stable job lined up, Akagi has a boyfriend to return home to, Akagi has his friends to keep in touch with. Akagi is supposed to leave university feeling satisfied and proud of everything he’s accomplished in the past three years.

Instead, it goes something more similar to this: there’s a month, five final exams, and a stretch of despair from being unemployed that stands between him and walking across the stage for graduation. Akagi knows that it’s foolish to think that things will run smoothly, but that doesn’t stop him from hoping—and it doesn’t stop him from feeling disappointed, either, when he opens his email to find yet another line: Thank you for your application, but we have chosen to pursue other candidates at this time.

Akagi rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. It’s midnight, and he’s sitting in the kitchen, hunched over his laptop. This has become an increasingly common occurrence for him. Whether he’s studying for class or studying for interviews or applying for jobs, Akagi is almost never seen without his laptop. He treats his email like a second significant other, constantly checking it throughout the day even if the ringer hasn’t gone off. It helps that he can see encouraging messages from his friends. It doesn’t help that—out of everyone else in his third-year friend group—he’s the only one that’s still unemployed.

Aran’s being scouted by professional volleyball teams. Oomimi signed his offer letter last fall as a customs officer in Kyoto. Kita has plans to work for a family friend’s business. And Konoha has verbally accepted an analyst role at the pharmaceutical company he interned last year.

For the first time in his life, Akagi—known for sprinting ahead with enthusiasm and curiosity—feels left behind.

“Hey.”

A warm presence gathers behind him. Akagi tilts his head back, resting it against Gin’s chest. Gin’s chest sits at the top of Akagi’s head, smothering his spiky hair in a way that Akagi knows will make it look like a mess, but he doesn’t really mind. “It’s late.”

Akagi closes his laptop quickly, too embarrassed to admit to Gin that he’s gotten another rejection. It hits worse than getting a bad grade, because usually, when Akagi receives low marks, he can attribute it to something he’s done wrong. Either he didn’t study too much or he started studying too late, or his poor sleep schedule came to bite him in the ass and made his brain work slower than usual. This is a different type of embarrassment, where Akagi can’t figure out why no one’s offering him a job. It makes Akagi feel like he’s doing everything wrong despite attempting to do everything right. 

“You’re one to talk, Gin. Weren’t you up late studying for your anatomy exam?” Akagi twists around in his seat to see his boyfriend staring down at him. He forces a smile. “I know you got up after I fell asleep.”

Gin frowns. His sandy-colored hair has grown out significantly over the past few weeks, mostly because Gin has been putting off getting a haircut. “Yeah, but I’m always up late. I feel like you’re doing things later than you used to, which is a bit weird.”

“Mhm. I’m just—” Akagi stuffs his hands in the pockets of his hoodie as he lies through his teeth. “Ugh. I’m just stressed about my final literature paper. It’s a lotta work.”

“You’re stressing for nothin, prolly.”

“That’s funny, coming from you.”

Gin rolls his eyes but smiles anyway, tugging Akagi by the elbow. Akagi stands up to follow him to Gin’s bedroom, resisting just long enough to grab his phone from the kitchen table.

He glances behind at his laptop. His roommates won’t mind if he leaves it out, cluttered among his notebooks and pens. And he can stand to leave it there for just one night.

“Long day?” Akagi asks. He always feels better when he can talk more to Gin than focus on his own problems. They’ve been dating for a few months now, although they were something of an ‘item’ for a couple months before that. It is, perhaps, the one thing in Akagi’s life right now that he has to be thankful for.

It helps that Gin is one of his roommates, so Akagi is lucky enough to come back to his apartment with the promise of Gin’s presence waiting for him. Sure, Akagi comes back to Osamu and Kosaku, too, but it’s different with Gin. 

It’s different because—Osamu and Kosaku are Akagi’s roommates. Gin is his home.

And right now, Gin tosses off his jacket and pulls Akagi beside him as he lays back on his bed. Akagi sighs and nuzzles his face into Gin’s neck. Most of his worry melts away like this, but there’s still a knot of despair that rattles his stomach. 

Gin groans. “Long day,” he finally replies. He inches further onto the mattress and Akagi follows. “I’m about two seconds from quitting my nutrition course.”

“You can’t do that.”

“Ugh. I know.”

“You don’t wanna wind up taking all your requirements next year.”

“I know.”

Akagi laughs, which quickly morphs into a screech when Gin makes a grab for his sides, knowing full well that Akagi is extremely ticklish there. “You’ll be fine, Gin.”

Gin wrinkles his nose, but Akagi lifts an index finger to smooth it. Their faces are centimeters apart, and Akagi would be perfectly content if he could be like this every day, enjoying Gin’s company and poking fun of him and reminding Gin to take it easy from time to time. It’s certainly better than the alternative—where Akagi is alone and stuck in a spiral of insecurities so thick that he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to find his way up.

His throat tightens, but he manages to keep a grip on himself by focusing on Gin’s eyes staring back at him. “Always a hard worker, ain’tcha? I don’t remember the last time you stopped thinking too much about all the shit you gotta do.” He takes on a lighter tone, one he’s always apt to carrying whenever Gin is stressed. Because Gin is the kind of person who’s easily distressed, not Akagi, and Gin needs comfort more than Akagi does. At least, this is what Akagi tells himself. “You always say you’re stressed out but you wind up getting the top scores in your class.”

Gin’s face softens as he brushes stray baby hairs away from Akagi’s forehead. “It’s because I get stressed that I study a lot and get good marks.”

“Mm. Have you tried not getting stressed and studying?”

Gin wrinkles his nose again, and this time, Akagi pecks him right at the crease. “That’s like asking you not to get hungry.”

Akagi snorts. “Point taken.”

“Ugh. I’m just tired.” Gin rolls onto his stomach and props himself up by the elbows, nudging his nose against Akagi’s. “You’re lucky you’re done after this semester. I just wanna be outta uni now.”

Akagi’s chest tightens. That’s something he’s been hearing more and more about from his kohai. All his roommates are a year below him, so they look at Akagi almost wistfully, counting down the days until they no longer have to wake up for morning lectures after a grueling night of studying past midnight. It’s understandable, and Akagi can remember feeling that way last year, too.

But the grass is always greener on the other side, and in this case, Gin has a slightly wrong view of what lies on Akagi’s side.

Because he doesn’t know that Akagi doesn’t have a job lined up. He doesn’t know that all the time Akagi spends ‘studying’ is actually Akagi’s time looking up job postings, tweaking his applications, and preparing for phone screenings.

Akagi knows he should tell him. But Gin’s stressed already, and deeply rooted shame grabs hold of Akagi’s honesty and refuses to let it go.

And thus, Akagi finds himself on the side completely alone—he’s unemployed, he’s struggling with his classes, his friends and his boyfriend don’t know about it, and every day, he begins to question whether or not university was even worth it.

“Yeah,” Akagi says. “I am.”

Before he can say more, Akagi loops his arms around Gin necks and pulls him down to kiss him. It’s a welcome distraction from endless questions about Akagi’s future, and if he can push it off another night and exert all his energy into being present with Gin, he’ll take it. Gin accepts it readily, hungrily, adjusting his position so he’s hovering over Akagi and running his fingers through Akagi’s hair.

Gin pulls back a few minutes to look at him. “It’s late, Akagi. Maybe we should just—”

“I ain’t tired,” Akagi interrupts, and he snakes his hands under the hem of Gin’s shirt to convince him. “I promise.”

When Gin discards his shirt and pulls the blanket over them, Akagi focuses on the fact that Gin’s body is warm and he tastes like toothpaste. He tells himself he’s not tired and that tomorrow things will improve. Things are supposed to unfold where Akagi’s optimism and easygoing personality make the transition from student to full-time adult go smoothly.

Akagi has been telling himself this since the beginning of the semester, and still, even four months later, things are the same. Instead, reality hits like a steadily growing tidal wave, responsibilities and anxieties mounting before him, and the only thing Akagi can do is look at it in despair.

At least he has Gin. Gin, who presses his hands against Akagi’s face, who presses his lips against Akagi’s neck, who pulls back for a moment just to offer Akagi an affectionate smile.

“You good, Akagi?” Gin says, noticing Akagi’s attention wavering.

Akagi swallows.

“Yeah,” he lies again, ignoring the knife of shame that wedges itself in his chest. “I’m good,” hoping that Gin doesn’t notice, and hoping, beyond anything else, that if Akagi says it, then he’ll start to believe it.

Akagi’s lie slipped out of his mouth unwillingly. He’d just been freshly rejected from the sixth interview he’d had in the week prior, and Osamu had noticed him laying back on the couch with a pinched expression between his brows.

“Are you alright, Akagi?” Osamu asked. He was in the middle of washing dishes, but stopped the water streaming through the faucet in order to hear Akagi better. “You look…” Osamu paused. “Upset.”

“Me? Huh?” Akagi sat up so fast that the blood rushed from his head, making it spin. “I ain’t upset.”

“You sure?” Osamu craned his neck and frowned. “You’ve been sighing to yourself the past thirty minutes.”

Akagi bit down the sting of rejection and gave Osamu a thumbs up. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

Osamu shrugged and carried on with the dishes. “Job search is going okay? I know you’ve been busy with that.”

“Mhm.”

“Gin was saying how you were busy preparing for interviews and everything. Said you were working real hard.”

Akagi wanted to crumple in on himself and stay that way. He loved when Gin talked about him to other people, because he knew it was from a place of genuine affection. But at the same time, the more Gin talked, the more Akagi felt like he was falling short of his expectation—something that was made two times worse since his parents and his older sister did the same, too. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Any luck?” Osamu set down one of the massive pots onto the stove top, shutting off the water again and peeling off the rubber dish gloves. He reached for one of the drawers next to the sink, rummaged around, and pulled out a clean towel. “If you want, I can ask any of my third-year friends if you need any help—”

“I’m good,” Akagi blurted. “Real—very good, actually. Don’t worry about me.”

Osamu’s eyes lit up as he turned with an honest smile on his face. “Oh? Didja get something?”

And, just like that, Akagi’s will crumbled. He’d lied and said yes, and of course, Osamu told Suna, and it spread to the Inarizaki University men’s volleyball team.

Looking back on it, Akagi should have admitted that it was both a lie and a wish. He’d only dug himself into deeper shit by texting Gin about it, because once Atsumu and Suna knew, he knew it was only a matter of time before Kosaku and Gin found out, too.

Gin had come home with a wide smile, hugs, and takeout from Akagi’s favorite dan dan mien restaurant. And Akagi had swallowed it down and kept up the facade to avoid worrying his friends and his boyfriend. He’d lied about what company he’d be working for. He’d lied about what job he’d taken—some fake marketing position he pulled out of his ass. But, mostly, he’d lied about how much he was looking forward to graduation.

Akagi is a terrible person.

This is, probably, one of the worst things he’s done. Akagi doesn’t consider himself a problematic person. He teases his friends and sometimes he forgets to change out expired milk in the fridge, but he doesn’t do things that are bad. This is decidedly bad. Not only is he lying to his boyfriend and his roommates and all his friends, but he’s doing it with fake smiles and fake enthusiasm while still being stuck in the rut of having absolutely no control over his future.

It sucks, to say the least, and each night, Akagi falls asleep going over his steps over and over again. Clearly he’s doing something wrong if the situation is the same. He needs to figure out what, exactly, is blocking his path towards success. As much as Akagi wants to seek advice, there are few people he can turn to. Mostly because his friends don’t know about his predicament, and even if they did, he’s tired of hearing the same old thing over and over again. Stop worrying about it. It’ll work out. You’ll be fine.

He appreciates the sentiment. He really does. But it gets old after five and fifty and five hundred times. 

Then there’s the extra issue where Akagi isn’t even sure what he wants. The idea of life post-graduation is as vague as it is distant, and when Akagi tries to picture himself after university, all he can think about is no longer having his friends around. He won’t see Kosaku frantically tidying up the apartment before his girlfriend comes over. He won’t see Osamu cooking up a storm in the kitchen while Suna and Atsumu bicker over who has to set the table. And he won’t see Gin curled up on his bed every night, lazily cracking open his eyes when Akagi reaches for him.

Akagi cares about his unemployment, but he thinks he might care more about losing out on his friends and the subsequent memories they’ve made with each other. All of it stings.

So Akagi turns to the one person he knows who will be honest with him while also keeping his private thoughts private—Kita Shinsuke.

“Wadaya mean your job ain’t real?” Kita says. They’re in the dining hall, because Kita has offered to buy Akagi dinner with his meal plan. It’s always a little unnerving hanging out one-on-one with Kita, because Kita has a presence that undercuts the usual impulsivity college students have.

Kita sits up straight, stirring his fried rice with a pair of chopsticks. He glances up with a furrow of his brow. It immediately makes Akagi feel bad. Kita has that effect on people.

“I didn’t mean to,” Akagi explains. He leans one elbow on the table to prop his head up, groaning. It’s peak rush hour at the dining hall, so Akagi has to raise his voice slightly to be heard. “It just kinda spiralled—”

“Didja think to correct it?”

“Of course I did.”

Kita gives him a funny look, which is rare. It’s a mix of disbelief and confusion. “So why didn’t you?”

Akagi pushes around the vegetables on his plate, suddenly losing his appetite. This has become more frequent for him as time has passed. Akagi is known among his friends for having a bottomless pit of a stomach, but lately, his emotions are coiled so tightly that he has trouble distinguishing when he’s hungry. Although the idea of eating is unappealing to him, Akagi shoves a mouthful of rice and broccoli into his mouth. 

“I don’t like lying,” Akagi says after swallowing. He takes a swig of water and wipes his mouth with a napkin. “But now I’m too embarrassed to admit that I lied.”

Kita nods slowly. Akagi doubts Kita understands. He and Kita have known each other since they were first years, well before Kita took on the responsibility of being a teaching assistant and residential assistant. It’s rare that Akagi sees him when Kita’s not working, and it’s even rarer that Kita has time for more than quick hellos. For as long as Akagi has known him, Kita has been the ideal university student. Perfect grades. Undramatic personal and social life. And a job lined up for him right after graduation. 

So, yeah—Kita definitely doesn’t understand, but he seeks to listen rather than to judge, which is something Akagi desperately needs. “I was honestly hoping I’d find a job soon and I could tell ‘em all that I wound up ditching a previous offer for the new one.”

Kita frowns. “That’s still lying.”

“Okay, well—at least it’s not as bad as—will you quit looking at me like that?” Akagi huffs as Kita continues to stare pointedly at him. “Shinsuke, I came asking for—I dunno. Advice? Gimme some of your sage-like wisdom. I’m desperate here.”

“I don’t have sage-like wisdom.” Kita rubs at the back of his neck, lips pulled together in a taut line. “I’m sure your friends will understand—”

“I don’t want them to understand. I just want them to…” Akagi’s voice falters. He’s not even sure what he’s looking for, and that’s all it takes for Kita to raise his eyebrows at him.

“Have you considered looking at the career services?” Kita asks. “Maybe they can help you.”

“Sorta.”

“Wadaya mean, ‘sorta’? Akagi, they’re there for you to get help—”

“I know. I know, I know, I know.” Akagi sets down his utensils and runs his hands over his face. This turns out being about as unproductive as he’d expected, but at least it feels nice to be able to talk to someone honestly about the whole situation. He takes a deep breath and tries to suppress the way his throat tightens again.

This has also become a common occurrence. Akagi isn’t quick to cry, but lately, he’s been on the cusp of a full meltdown, heightened with every day that passes. Akagi smothers it as quickly as it appears with a boatload of excuses bubbling to the surface. They’re always busy, he wants to say. I have too much work to do for class. The receptionist never responds to emails, and every time I try to call, it goes straight to voicemail.

But the biggest excuse—and perhaps Akagi’s biggest fear—is: there’s nothing they can do to help me.

It’s something that Akagi has tried to work himself out of through self pep-talks. Because, somehow, failing to find a job even after seeking help feels so much worse than failing on his own. If Akagi graduates and doesn’t have a job and the career services did what they can to help him, then what can Akagi say to that—other than admit that the problem really has been him all along?

“I’ll think about it,” Akagi mumbles. He pushes food around on his plate, ignoring Kita staring him down again.

“Akagi.”

“What?”

“I know you’re telling yourself there’s no way in hell you’re gonna ask for help.”

Akagi scowls. “Piss off, Shinsuke.”

Kita breathes a small laugh of amusement, shaking his head. It’s the smallest relief in all this, and Akagi finds it in him to crack a tiny smile in return. “Whatever you’re thinking about why you don’t wanna ask for help—you know you’re overthinking it.” 

Yeah. Akagi knows he is. He doesn’t overthink often. He can only remember two instances when his thoughts got the better of him: the first time, he’d been choosing which university to go to. The second time, he’d been deciding what to do about his feelings for Gin. Lately, though, overthinking seems to be the only thing Akagi can do right.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Kita nudges at Akagi’s elbow from across the table, a gentle press of his finger against Akagi’s sweatshirt, and he gives him an encouraging smile. “Then go ahead and do it.”

Akagi merely nods and proceeds to ask Kita about how his residents are doing and whether or not he has any funny stories from the students in the class he TAs for. He listens attentively, another welcome distraction that deters the hurricane that brews inside of him.

Much like Kita’s advice and personality, Akagi’s next steps are both simple and straightforward. He should ask for help, and he should do it now. He’s already overwhelmed by the amount of studying he has to do for final exams, and those are a month away.

“Wait. Regarding your dilemma,” Kita says, backtracking a few topics. He fiddles with the strings of his hoodie and chews his bottom lip in contemplation. “I still think you should at least tell Ginjima-kun. He ain’t just your friend—”

Akagi squeezes his eyes shut. “I know.”

“And especially if you two are planning on staying together after—”

“I know. Fucking hell. ‘Course I know that, Shinsuke. I’m working on it, alright?” Even now, flashes of Gin’s kindness course through Akagi’s eyes. The dan dan mien he’d brought to celebrate Akagi’s supposed employment. The coffee he brings him in bed on the weekends when Akagi’s too lazy to get up. The small packets of chips Gin brings along whenever they go out, knowing full well Akagi will get hungry.

He’s lied to Gin before, though it was more of a lie of omission. Back before they defined their relationship, when Gin had wanted to keep it a secret but Akagi knew his roommates already found out. That was enough for Akagi to feel torn up about it for weeks.

But this is arguably bigger, both because of the lie itself and the fact that it can directly impact his future. And because he and Gin are a couple now, it can impact Gin’s future, too.

“What if he—” Akagi cuts himself off, cursing internally at the near slip of the tongue. He doesn’t elaborate, nor does he make an attempt to finish the sentence.

Kita’s eyes are piercing as he prompts, “What if he—what?”

“Never mind. It’s nothing.” Akagi busies himself by shoveling lukewarm rice into his mouth even though his stomach begins to cramp in protest. 

Kita, known for prodding right at the truth that people try to avoid, lets it slide. He doesn’t ask more, and although Akagi is grateful, his mood slumps when he’s hit the realization that he must be really off the rails for Kita to let him get away with whatever’s messing with him right now.

What if he dumps me? Akagi wants to ask. Because he knows he adores Gin and Gin adores him, and that they’re as stable as a three ton anchor sunk at the bottom of the ocean. Maybe it’s irrational for him to think that, especially considering that he and Gin were friends long before they were boyfriends. Something like a temporary—at least, hopefully temporary—bout of employment shouldn’t change that.

It bothers him, though. It’s a possibility. No one wants to be with someone who’s unemployed, let alone someone like Gin, who’s as meticulous with his studies as he is about planning out steps to make sure he achieves his goal of becoming a personal trainer.

Even with Gin, who’s a year younger, who’s always said he looks up to Akagi for how easygoing and flexible Akagi is—even with him, Akagi feels like he’s stuck behind, trapped in a trench of glue that refuses to let him run forward.

Akagi swallows down his food and tries to ignore the discomfort clenching his gut. He’s not used to this. Stress, anxiety, and shame are a part of it, but they’re fragments of the big problem at hand.

It’s been a while since Akagi has experienced it—being afraid. People tell him to stop worrying about it and that things will work out. People tell him he’ll be fine, but that doesn’t stop Akagi from being afraid.

He’s scared. He knows he is.

“Make an appointment,” Kita says, “with career services. Okay?”

Akagi resigns to the fact that he’ll regret it if he doesn’t heed Kita’s advice, even if it’s the furthest thing from what he wants to hear. “Alright. I’ll do that.”

Kita gives him a smile, and Akagi, as usual, offers one back to him—despite knowing full well that he doesn’t really mean it.

When he was younger, Akagi told his parents he wanted to be a superhero. He’d seen all the Marvel movies, and his five-year-old brain latched onto Superman. Akagi still has a faded and torn Superman poster hanging from his bedroom wall, and he wakes up to it every day.

He thinks that might be part of the reason why he wound up playing libero in high school—because he liked to save things, and if he could save a point from being stolen, then of course he’d do that. Akagi prided himself in being crafty and resourceful with instincts to boot.

Akagi used to feel that way. Invincible and strong despite lacking the intimidation that a superhero has. He doesn’t feel that way anymore. In fact, he feels incredibly weak when he sends his first email to the career services administrative office, requesting an appointment.

He tells himself asking for help and admitting his shortcomings isn’t a sign of weakness. He knows it’s a lie.

“Akagi.” Kosaku pokes his head into his room. “I’m making some curry. You want any?”

Akagi glances up from his laptop. The aromatic smell of curry powder and stewed meat wafts into his bedroom. He shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Oh.” Kosaku steps in through the doorway. He wears an apron that says Miya printed across the front pocket. It has a massive oil stain on the left side, which Osamu has tried to wash out in vain. “Are you sure? I’m making enough for all of us.”

“Uh. Maybe later.”

“Alright. I’ll leave some in a container for you, and you can heat it up if you want.”

Akagi nods as he sifts through his notebook for his notes. It takes a few beats for him to realize that Kosaku is still standing there, arms crossed, wooden spoon in one hand that drips a crust of curry sauce onto Kosaku’s shoulder. “What?”

“Nothing.” Kosaku’s frowning, though, and he traces his eyes around Akagi’s room. “Geez, Akagi. Your room’s a mess.”

“Huh?”

“When was the last time you did laundry?”

Akagi blinks and looks around his space. “My room looks how it always does.”

Kosaku raises an eyebrow.

Akagi rolls his eyes. Okay, maybe his laundry bin is overflowing. And maybe there’s a fine sheen of dust that collects on his shelves and surfaces, which makes Akagi sneeze a bit more than usual. “Relax, Yuto. I’m doing laundry this weekend.”

“Ain’t that what you said last weekend?”

“Shut up.”

“No wonder you and Gin are always in his room instead.” Kosaku eyes the small garbage bin by the foot of Akagi’s desk, overflowing with torn up notes, old copies of his resume, and plastic bags from Akagi’s snacks. “You gotta clean, Akagi.”

“I will.” Akagi wants to point out that, of everyone else in their apartment, Kosaku is probably the worst offender when it comes to cleaning. He’s usually the last to notice the missed stains on dishes. “Don’t you have your curry to attend to?”

“You sure you don’t wanna eat with us?” Kosaku says. “Osamu and Gin are here, too.”

“I’m fine.” Akagi turns back to his laptop and resumes clicking away, and he hears the door shut behind Kosaku moments later. 

It’s a relief to be able to close the door and be shut away from his roommates, especially when Akagi’s back to editing his resume for the millionth time. He thinks he’s starting to see things in double, and his head begins to throb from staring at his screen for too long. Akagi glances at the clock—20:00. He’s been staring at this damn document so long that he decides to give himself a three hour break to study instead.

The door creaks open again right as Akagi switches to his outline for an upcoming paper, and Akagi scowls. “I said I ain’t hungry, Yuto.”

“Hey.” Akagi flinches and whips his head towards the door at Gin’s voice. “It’s me.”

“Sorry,” Akagi says, cringing, at the brusque tone he’d used. “I thought you were Yuto.”

“It’s okay. Kosaku’s annoying, anyway. He tried to sucker me into going outta my way to pick up beer on the way back, never mind the fact that it’s a weekday.” Gin’s presence is almost enough to dissolve the tension that has worked into Akagi’s back. He approaches Akagi with easy steps and places two hands on Akagi’s shoulders. He isn’t wearing much—a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that Akagi had bought him as a birthday gift—and his feet are bare. “Working hard?”

“Yeah. Y’know how it is.”

“Mhm. You should come eat.”

“I ain’t hungry.”

“I don’t care if you’re not hungry. You didn’t eat dinner yet, right?” Akagi shakes his head. “Then you gotta eat, stupid. Otherwise how are you gonna keep on being able to get your work done?”

The word work stings. Of course, Gin doesn’t mean it that way. He means work as in—schoolwork. Gin doesn’t mean ‘work’ as in the job that Akagi decidedly doesn’t have. Akagi knows this. But it hurts anyway.

Akagi shoves aside the thorny reminder of his unemployment. “I’m fine, thank you. Yuto said he’d save me some, so I can eat some if I get hungry.”

Gin looks displeased at the response. He has very angular features that Akagi has always admired from afar. Since he and Akagi have first met, Akagi has noticed how his jaw has sharpened, how his cheekbones pop a bit more. He’s not the nervous, distressed first-year he once was, in the same way that Akagi isn’t the relaxed, playful senpai he was, either. “Come eat with us. You can afford a short break.” Gin pauses. “Please? For me?”

Akagi wants to groan. He’s helpless against Gin’s puppy dog eyes. For me has turned into something like Gin’s catchphrase. Wouldja mind laying around a bit for me so we can cuddle? is a common one. Let’s go on a walk. For me? is another. It renders Akagi useless, because there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for Gin.

But he doesn’t want to have to sit through another dinner with all of them. At least, not right now—he doesn’t have the energy. He doesn’t even know if he has the energy to just cuddle, either, not when his never-ending to-do list calls out to him from the messy confines of his notebook. “Maybe next time.”

“Akagi.”

“I said I’m okay. I don’t need to eat right now.”

“It’s getting late—”

“I said I’m fine.”

Gin flinches at the sudden snappiness in Akagi’s tone.  Akagi immediately backtracks and wants to kick himself. “Sorry, Gin, I didn’t mean—”

“Are you feeling okay, Akagi?” Instead of getting offended or upset, Gin looks concerned. He nudges Akagi to get him to scoot over a bit to sit down. It isn’t an easy feat to fit two boys in a chair meant for one person, and Akagi has to hold onto Gin’s arm to keep from falling off the side. “I’m worried aboutcha. You don’t look like you’ve slept in days.” Before Akagi can say, I’m fine again, Gin shakes his head. “And don’t gimme that bullshit about everything being okay. You know that ain’t true.”

Akagi’s throat bobs as he reaches for Gin’s hand. He chews his lower lip and takes a shaky breath, unable to sort out the mix of emotions brewing in his chest. “I’m sorry for getting snappy. I didn’t mean that.”

“I know,” Gin says, and the simplicity with which he speaks with is almost enough to make Akagi cry.

He doesn’t, though, and manages to reel himself in by tilting his head onto Gin’s shoulder and focusing on the feeling of Gin tracing small circles on the back of Akagi’s hand with his thumb. “I’m just stressed. That’s all. I’m not trying to—I know you’re—”

“It’s okay if you’re stressed. I feel like maybe you don’t remember what it’s like anymore.” Akagi huffs a laugh that makes Gin break out into a reassuring smile. He tilts Akagi’s face up with his fingers. “Since you’re always so...not stressed all the time. But you still gotta eat.”

“Yeah.” Gin steals a quick peck, and when he pulls back away, Akagi purses his lips. “I know.”

“It ain’t like you to turn down free food, either. So you should come and eat.”

“But—”

“Or I can bring it in here if you want? You don’t gotta eat with us if you’re busy. Or if you wanna eat with just me, we can do that, too. Or it can be just you. It’s up to you.” Gin hesitates, and his eyes search Akagi’s for an answer that Akagi knows he isn’t ready to give.

He can tell Gin wants to ask him about it. For Akagi, Gin is about as easy to read as a book. When his focus wavers and his eyebrows scrunch slightly, Akagi knows that means Gin is overthinking something. When too much of the whites of his eyes are showing and the tendon on the left side of his temple sticks out, Akagi knows Gin is panicking. And right now, the slight pout of Gin’s lips and the constant back and forth of his eyes across Akagi’s face means that Gin wants to ask Akagi a question.

But Akagi doesn’t want to answer. So he tells Gin, “I got a lot of stuff to do for class. I’ll just take a bowl and eat at my desk, if that’s okay with you.”

Gin nods, but his eyes veer off. There’s a wrinkle around the edges and a furrow of his brow that lets Akagi know that Gin isn’t happy about it.

“Okay,” Gin says. “Lemme getcha some food.” He moves to stand, but Akagi catches him by the hem of his shirt.

“Wait. I can get it myself.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I gotcha.”

“Gin—”

“Kosaku already put ‘em all out, anyway, so I just gotta bring it, okay?” Gin rakes his fingers through Akagi’s hair quickly, giving it a playful tug before pulling away. “I’ll be right back.”

Akagi exhales a quiet sigh of relief once Gin steps out of his room. He feels awful for pushing his friends and Gin away and for skipping out on another roommate dinner—something they used to share almost every single night—but he can’t help it. It’s like his mind is hurtling towards an endless abyss of hypothetical scenarios that drive him to stay at his desk hunched over his laptop with dread seeping into his bones. 

Gin pops back in with a steaming bowl of curry, a spoon, and a bottle of lychee Calpico—Akagi’s favorite. “I made sure Osamu gave you extra meat.”

Akagi snorts. “I bet he wasn’t happy about that.”

“Well. My boyfriend needs it more than he does. You work harder than Osamu.”

“Are you sure about that?” 

Gin sets the bowl on Akagi’s desk, on top of the notebook full of Akagi’s chicken scratches and bulleted lists with line items highlighted and crossed out. He hands Akagi a spoon and leans over to give Akagi a kiss on the forehead. “Don’t work too hard. I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” And when Akagi says it, he really means it.

Gin hesitates again, just a little bit. He lingers behind Akagi and when Akagi tilts his head back again to see him, he knows Gin’s holding back.

It’s tough, sometimes, when it feels like there’s a gap between them that they’re both aware of. Gin isn’t stupid. He knows that there’s a reason to Akagi’s unbecoming beside the I’m stressed excuse that’s starting to grow old. Maybe Gin can’t read Akagi to the same level Akagi can read him, but Gin is familiar with how Akagi operates. If there’s a gap between them, Gin is definitely aware of it.

It happened before, when they were just friends and navigating what it meant to have more-than-friends feelings. And it’s happening now, when Akagi knows he’d do anything just short of setting the world on fire in order to see Gin smile. Everything except this one thing that Akagi has told Kita, and no one else.

This is stupid, Akagi thinks to himself, and his mind flashes back to his conversation earlier that day. 

But Gin brushes off the tension bristling in the air with one of his easy smiles. He gives Akagi’s shoulder another squeeze before slipping out of Akagi’s room, door shutting softly behind him.

Akagi waits until he hears Osamu, Kosaku, and Gin’s voices through the thin walls before dropping his forehead onto his desk. “Shit,” he mutters to himself. “Damn it.”

It’s not like he doesn’t trust Gin. Or Osamu and Kosaku, for that matter. He trusts them about as much as you can trust twenty-year-olds with good intentions but impulsive decision making skills. And he knows they wouldn’t judge him for his current unemployment status. Akagi just doesn’t want their pity, of all things, and he doesn’t want them to worry about him.

Akagi props his chin on the desk and clicks around on his laptop, refreshing his email, as if anything new has developed in the past ten minutes. It hasn’t, and he’s stuck in the same place, as usual. 

He sighs. He can’t even enjoy moments with Gin anymore. Even now, when Gin walks in and Akagi wants to bask in his presence, all he can think about are the small lies he’s built little by little. On the days where he says he’s going to the gym after class, Akagi is desperately searching for an empty room on campus to have phone interviews. During nights where he says he has study groups, Akagi is scouring websites and job boards for open positions that he might have a shot at. 

And the biggest lie of them all—when Gin asks, Are you excited to be graduating? Are you ready to start your new job? Akagi gives him a thumbs up and says yes.

Then there’s the issue about his relationship with Gin, and how that’ll be different after he leaves university—if they’re even together at all. Akagi has never taken Gin for granted. Not since the first day they met and not in the year of friendship that followed, and not since they finally started dating. Gin is special, and Akagi knows he’d do anything to stay with him even if they’re not roommates or students at the same university anymore. He’s sure Gin will stay with him, too.

But that doesn’t stop him from worrying. Akagi, the chronically easygoing person, has quickly regressed into Akagi the chronic worrier. He worries that Gin will finally blow up on Akagi’s mood swings or he’ll finally get sick and tired of them or he’ll accuse Akagi of things that Akagi will have to answer to. Akagi doesn’t deserve him, at least not right now—and he desperately wants to earn the right to continue calling Gin his boyfriend, even in the midst of unemployment, and even past his graduation date.

“Fuck,” Akagi whispers. His nose stings and the corners of his eyes prick, but he manages to keep it together.

Because that’s what Akagi does. He keeps things together. When Osamu is off the rails from getting in a fight with Atsumu and when Kosaku is panicking scrambling to clean the apartment before his girlfriend comes over and Gin is freaking out by stressing over every small detail—Akagi keeps things together with his flexibility. That’s who he is. That’s what he does.

So he doesn’t know how to cope with feeling like he’s beginning to fall apart at the seams. It’s like every two stitches he puts together, three become undone, until he’s finally sitting alone in his bedroom with a bowl of curry going cold on the desk in front of him with the threat of tears stabbing his eyes.

Akagi closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. The wave of emotion will pass, he tells himself. This ain’t a big deal.

When he reaches for the bowl of curry and shovels a spoonful in his mouth, he’s disheartened to find it doesn’t excite him as much as eating dinner should. He’s alone with his roommates’ voices muffled on the other side of the door and the clinking of his spoon against the dishware. The tab on his laptop for his resume mocks him, and Akagi wants to pick up the whole thing and throw it out his window.

Akagi Michinari

Thanks for dinner :)

Miya Osamu

you’re welcome

 

Kosaku Yuto

❤️   

 

Ginjima Hitoshi

Don’t send my bf hearts Kosaku 

 

Kosaku Yuto

You jealous?? 

Hey Akagi

😘 😘 😘 

 

Ginjima Hitoshi

STOP SENDING THOSE

 

Miya Osamu

feisty

akagi

😘  

 

Ginjima Hitoshi

STOP

 

Kosaku Yuto

Gin said grrrr

Akagi come get your bf

 

Ginjima Hitoshi

I’m gonna tell Sunarin and Mai that you’re flirting with MY boyfriend

 

Miya Osamu

honestly suna probably flirts with u all more than he flirts with me

 

Kosaku Yuto

Hah as if, boy is WHIPPED

Not as whipped as Gin though

 

Ginjima Hitoshi

Shut up u are so not funny

 

Miya Osamu

grrrr

 

Kosaku Yuto

Akagi come get ur bf he’s feral

Come out come out wherever you areeee

Akagi?

 

Miya Osamu

?

Akagi hears Kosaku laughing through the door and Gin raising his voice at them, and as much as he wants to smile at his roommates’ antics, Akagi can’t bring himself to. For some reason—although they’re being their usual, carefree selves—it drives a wedge into Akagi’s stomach. He’s a little jealous that they can joke around that easily and that their laughs erupt from their throats without a second’s hesitation. It’s stupid and foolish and completely unnecessary, but Akagi feels it anyway.

He swallows down the bitterness with the sweet lychee Calpico and types in the most uncomplicated response his mind can think of at this time.

Akagi Michinari

Sorry guys def next time!

At that, the voices outside of his doors hush. He thinks he can hear murmurs, but he doesn’t know what they’re saying. He can make a few educated guesses, but it’s hard to say for sure.

All he knows is that it drives the knife further into his stomach. Akagi forces himself to take another bite of curry before setting it to the side, re-opening his resume and praying that something new will come to his head. It doesn’t. No further disruptions burst their way through the walls, which should be a relief. But somehow, the silence in his apartment—stoked by Akagi narrowly dodging them with halfhearted text messages—is even worse, and Akagi continues to feel more alone than ever.

As it stands, Akagi’s appointment with career services turns out to be a total bust. The only time they had available was early in the morning on Friday, but Akagi is left feeling wholly unsatisfied and no less stressed than before. He’s given vague pointers for how to bolster his resume and resources for the alumni network at Inarizaki University. The advisor is nice enough, and he listens when Akagi rambles in response to questions that he asks. 

Funny enough, nothing prepared Akagi for the biggest question of them all: where do you see yourself in ten years?

The question stumps him. He knows that the answer should include every facet of his life, but when Akagi fumbles for an answer beyond, in Hyogo with my family, he almost sees a flash of pity in the career services advisor’s eyes.

It’s not that Akagi hasn’t thought about it. He’s thought extensively about what jobs he wants, but that sends him winding down the road of visualizing his ideal life—which consists of everything except having a job.

“I wanna be with my friends,” Akagi had replied. The career services advisor visibly paused when he said that. “I dunno about the other job stuff. I don’t know what to do with that.” A second part of that statement threatened to jump off his tongue: I was hoping you’d tell me what to do with my life.

Much to his disappointment, Akagi has not been told what to do with his life. He collapses back on his bed, face smushed into his pillows, and he wants to scream.

It’s a Friday afternoon, and rather than enjoying the fact that the weekend beckons him around the corner, Akagi buries his face into his mattress and thinks about the question: what does he want to do? In ten years, where does he see himself? If he could choose any job in the world to have lined up for him after graduation, what would it be?

The answer should be straightforward. Akagi knows he hates sciences and he likes watching movies and he gets along easily with most people. This should be enough to figure out something, but it isn’t.

Akagi sits up and reaches for a hoodie draped over the back of the chair—Gin’s, which Akagi stole but never gave back—and tugs it on. His apartment is eerily empty for the time being, and Akagi finds being in his room suffocating. He drags himself out of bed, leaving his laptop and printed copies of his resume behind, making a beeline for the kitchen.

He realizes that it’s hard to think about his future without confronting his failures. They come at him like shards of glass sinking into his ego—like, maybe if he’d studied a bit more for his introductory biology course his GPA would be better. Or if he’d opted to take an extra psychology course rather than the easy-A film studies course, it would make him a more appealing candidate to people.

Akagi just wants to ignore all that. He wants to enjoy his time with his boyfriend and his roommates and his friends and focus on the present, not desperately searching for a better future or regretting things from his past.

There’s a small container of fried rice sitting in the fridge from a couple of days ago that Akagi had forgotten about, and he pulls it out to reheat it in the microwave. While he’s waiting, he scrolls through his phone. He avoids social media for the most part these days, because it’s depressing to see employment announcements popping up on his phone screen. He avoids text messages, too, because he’s tired of lying to his friends.

He sees a message from Gin—Home late tonight. Eat dinner without me!

He sees a message from Kosaku—Dude do u have any extra toothbrushes mine fell in the toilet.

And he sees a message from Osamu—are you coming to tsumu’s match with us on saturday?

Akagi sends a thumbs up to Gin, a no to Kosaku, and a maybe to Osamu. He slides his phone in his pocket and pokes his head into the fridge again, pulling out a bottle of sake that’s been sitting there for fuck knows how long.

It’s Friday, he tells himself, and the ding of the microwave cuts through the silence of his apartment.  Akagi winces at the sting of the container hot against his fingertips and sets it on the table along with an empty glass and the sake.

It’s Friday, so Akagi can’t even use schoolwork as an excuse for why he’s so cranky. Logically, he knows that his friends are right to be worried about him. Akagi can feel how his clothes fit him differently—a little looser than he’s used to—but even more than that, his limbs always feel heavy with exhaustion. He dozes off in class more frequently than before, and whenever people talk to him, even if it’s just easy conversations, Akagi is on edge. 

He supposes that’s kind of the point of alcohol. To take the edge off and to help his thoughts unravel until they become nothing more than unfiltered fragments. So he pours himself a glass, mutters, “Itadakimasu,” and takes a generous sip. It goes down like water, putting up less off a fight than the food sitting in front of him.

Maybe Akagi would be better off going back home. He’s been stubbornly trying to find jobs in the area so he can be close to Gin and his friends. It’s hard to imagine a life without them, and the idea of stumbling into adulthood without familiar faces nearby sends knots of anxiety into Akagi’s stomach. He gets along with strangers just fine, but it’s different knowing that he’ll have to be doing and trying things unknown to him.

Akagi laughs in amusement to himself as he considers jobs he’s never thought of before. He could be a stripper. He’d probably be bad at it. But it wouldn’t have as high expectations as something like an office associate. 

It doesn’t take much for Akagi’s list of ridiculous job ideas to become absolutely absurd. Before Akagi knows it, the sake and fried rice have been cleared and Akagi’s lying on the couch with a fresh bottle on the floor next to him, staring at the ceiling. He pokes around on his phone to play music in an effort to make the apartment feel a little less empty, though it doesn’t really work.

He sniffles. There’s a moment of consideration where Akagi thinks about turning on a movie to distract himself, but even that doesn’t seem appealing to him.

In reality, Akagi—despite being a little drunk—has enough self-awareness to know that he just needs a good cry. But he’s stubborn. He doesn’t want to cry. In some ways, crying feels like a defeat. It’s the final nail in the coffin of all the other ways Akagi has unknowingly messed up, and if he cries now, then he’ll have to admit to himself that things are not okay, and they haven’t been for some time now.

He needs to tell Gin. There’s no way he can keep this from Gin. Of all people who deserve to know, it’s him, but that, too, feels like a defeat. Akagi inches back against the couch, propping his back next to the arm rest as he takes another swig of sake. He doesn’t think he’d ever be able to tell Gin to his face that he’s been lying this whole time. Sending a text message doesn’t seem appropriate, though. 

Akagi hums to himself as he pulls out his phone once again, ignoring all the texts and going straight to Gin’s contact card.

Akagi Michinari

Helo

Gin, as usual, responds promptly.

Ginjima Hitoshi

?

Akagi Michinari

Will you come

Home soon?

Ginjima Hitoshi

Uh yeah I should be wrapping up in like ten minutes?

Why?

Akagi Michinari

Comeeee ehomeeeeee

Ginjima Hitoshi

Akagi are you drunk

Akagi Michinari

Noooooo

Ginjima Hitoshi

Lmao you are so drunk

Everything ok?

Akagi Michinari

Nooooooo come home

Ginjima Hitoshi

Okay I am coming home soon

Go drink water

Akagi Michinari

:(

Ginjima Hitoshi

Is anyone else home

Akagi Michinari

No

Ginjima Hitoshi

Oh

Akagi tosses his phone onto the other end of the couch, frustrated that he’s alone and stuck in a situation he can’t weasel his way out of. He’s even more frustrated that he also doesn’t want to be alone, which makes no sense at all. 

He’s all but falling off the couch when he hears the front door swing open and he calls out, “Ginjima. You’re finally home?”

Akagi burps. The alcohol doesn’t sit right in his stomach. There’s a signature clench that comes with being sick from drinking too much, but Akagi swallows it down and takes a deep inhale, holding his breath to stifle it. He can feel his heart beating erratically in his chest, and when he hears footsteps approaching, he forces a smile. “I had some water like you told me. Dunno if it helped.”

“Akagi?”

Akagi’s eyes fly open upon realization that it’s not Gin. He sits upright and suddenly feels dizzy, clutching his head. “Oh. Sorry, Osamu. I thought you were Gin.”

Osamu shuffles over to the empty space on the couch, swatting at Akagi’s legs to get him to move aside. He slings his bag off his shoulder and eyes the bottle of sake on the ground. “How much did you have to drink? It ain’t even that late yet.”

“Enough.” Akagi smacks his mouth. “Too much, prolly.”

“Yeah, no shit. Where’s Kosaku?”

“Dunno.”

“Fucking hell. I thought he was gonna be home by now.” Osamu nudges Akagi on his knee. “You should try to sit up. You’ll feel less sick that way.” He pulls out his phone and types around a bit before setting it on the armrest. When he turns to look at Akagi, he doesn’t look happy. “Christ, Akagi. The hell are you doing drinking by yourself? Y’know how panicked Gin was when he called me?”

“What?”

“Your boyfriend, you idiot. He’s worried about you.” Osamu stands up suddenly, which makes the cushions spring up in a motion that makes Akagi’s insides lurch once again. “I dunno how much water you had, but it wasn’t enough. I’ll be right back.”

Akagi tries to nod but fails, and he rubs a hand over his face to attempt to sober up. He’s not sure if he’s more embarrassed by the fact that Gin had to call a personal babysitter, or that Osamu’s the one to do it. Then there’s the humiliating fact that Akagi wound up like this in the first place, which is a whole other issue. “Sorry to bother you, Osamu.”

“Shut it. You ain’t bothering me.” The sound of the faucet running. “I was just hanging with Rin. It’s no problem.”

“Oh. Suna.”

“Yeah.” When Osamu turns around with a glass of water, there’s a soft smile curled up on his mouth. “It’s okay. Gin will be home soon, anyway. Rin can wait.”

Osamu sits back down on the couch and offers the cup to Akagi, but Akagi shakes his head. He thinks if he drinks anymore liquid—alcohol or not—he might wind up puking, which is never a good feeling. Osamu is patient, waiting stubbornly with the glass extended until Akagi feels bad and takes it from him. He sips slowly at it, managing to take down a quarter of the amount before feeling sick to his stomach again.

“You look like shit,” Osamu finally says. 

Akagi throws him the scariest glare he can muster. “Thanks.”

“I mean it. You ain’t like yourself these days, Akagi. Pretty sure that’s Kosaku’s sake you were drinking.”

“Oh.” Akagi takes a second glance at it before realizing it is, in fact, not his. “Tell him I’ll buy him a new one.”

“Uh-huh. That ain’t the problem I was referring to.” Osamu frowns. He tilts his head while staring at him, which Akagi finds unnerving. “What gives?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, clearly something’s bothering you. Otherwise you wouldn’t be looking like you were dragged out to the clubs until four in the morning when it ain’t even midnight yet.” 

“I was just—” Akagi stops himself as his stomach twists again. He can’t tell if it’s from drinking too much or if it’s the bundle of nerves that’s ignited by Osamu making him feel like he’s stuck under a microscope. “Don’t worry about it, Osamu.”

“Okay. I won’t worry about it.” Osamu pauses again, and Akagi has a flash of realization that he’s not going to like whatever Osamu says next. “But you know we’re all worrying, right?”

Akagi huffs. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I know you’re prolly stressed cuz it’s the end of uni and all that.” Osamu rubs at his neck and fixes the glasses that have started to slip off his nose. “I mean, I can tell you that Aran-kun is all worked up all the damn time cuz of it. It’s not something you gotta hide from us.”

“It’s not cuz of—”

“Quit lying, Akagi. You’re even worse at lying than Gin is.” Osamu snorts. “I think everyone I know who’s graduating this year is going through a crisis. That’s normal.”

Yeah, it’s normal—Akagi knows it’s normal. He can’t count the number of times he’s chatted with classmates aimlessly when the topic of graduation inevitably comes out. It’s always a mix of, I’m looking forward to being done with this uni shit, and I wish I could stay in uni forever. Both are equally depressing when Akagi thinks about it. So he wants to not think about it.

Osamu clears his throat. “So...do you wanna talk about it?”

Akagi takes a massive slurp of water before setting the cup down on the ground. “Not really.”

“Well, you can if you want.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know that. But you can. That’s my point.” Funny enough, Osamu has a vaguely annoyed expression on his face, the same that he gets whenever Atsumu’s around. “I know, obviously, you’re with Gin and all—but we’re friends, too. And Kosaku. If there’s anything you wanna talk about that you haven’t told even Gin—”

Akagi’s throat jumps. “There isn’t.”

“If there is,” Osamu emphasizes, “then that’s okay, too. You shouldn’t be looking for answers with alcohol by yourself on a Friday night—is all I’m saying.”

“I’m not—there isn’t—it’s not like—” Every excuse that bubbles to surface dies the moment they hit Akagi’s tongue. He gives up partway through piecing together a lame explanation and slides back down until his back hits the cushions. 

“Akagi. You’re gonna get sick if you lie down like that.” A nudge at his ankle. “Akagi. Akagi.”

“Leave me alone,” Akagi mumbles, and he hears Osamu sigh.

He doesn’t mean to be a brat. It’s probably the alcohol.

It isn’t long before he hears the door open again, and he hears Osamu say, “I found him like this.”

And he hears Gin say, “Thanks. Sorry to bother you.”

When Akagi opens his eyes again, he sees Gin standing over him with an intense frown on his face. “Oh.” Akagi tries to smile, but he knows it looks more like a grimace. “You’re home.”

“Have you moved from this couch since the last time I heard from you?”

“I peed. And had some water like you told me.”

“Did you yak?”

“No.” At the mention of vomiting, Akagi kind of feels like it might help his nausea, but he swallows it down. “I thought about it.”

“Do you think you’re gonna?”

“I dunno.”

“Okay. C’mere, stupid.” Gin tugs at Akagi and pulls him upright, settling himself on the edge of the cushions to pull Akagi onto his back. “You’re an idiot for drinking by yourself. You should’ve waited until one of us got back.”

“Hmm.” Akagi leans his chin against the curve of Gin’s shoulder and tightens his arms around his neck. Gin’s body feels warm, and he smells like his deodorant. “You smell good.”

“And you smell drunk.” With a short grunt, Gin manages to stand with Akagi on his back, arms around Akagi’s legs. Akagi isn’t light, but Gin is strong, and manages to move fairly easily with Akagi clinging to his back. “How much did you have drink anyway?”

“Osamu asked me that, too.” Akagi turns his face to nuzzle the back of Gin’s neck. It’s incredible how quickly his mood lifts, even just a little, when Gin is around.

The fact that he won’t be once Akagi graduates—it’s enough to make Akagi’s mood drop.

“You didn’t answer.”

“I had sake.”

“I didn’t ask what you had, idiot. I’m asking how much you had.”

“Too much.”

He feels Gin sigh as he kicks open his room door. “Okay. I guess that’s an answer.”

Gin moves to his bed and sits at the edge, allowing Akagi to slide off with ease. Akagi rolls onto his back and rubs his temples. The lightheaded feeling has given way to a blossoming headache, and it’s bad enough that Akagi’s face twists in discomfort. “I think I drank too much.”

“No, shit.”

“Thanks for coming.”

Gin turns and swings his legs up, cross-legged, and puts a hand on Akagi’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re not gonna throw up?”

“Prolly.”

“Tell me if you think you’re gonna. I’ll rush you to the bathroom.”

“Yes, sir.” Akagi does a mock salute, but Gin interrupts it, snatching his hand with his fingers. He doesn’t say anything as he squeezes Akagi’s hand gently. Akagi doesn’t look at him, but he can sense Gin’s eyes sweeping back and forth across his face as he tries to decode answers out of him.

Akagi’s throat tightens again. He tries to lighten the mood. “Did you have a good day, Gin?”

“Akagi.”

“Huh?”

The mattress squeaks under Gin’s weight as he splays out onto his stomach, propping himself up with his elbows. He peers down at Akagi with enough caution that’s almost enough to push Akagi over the edge. “Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong.” Akagi hiccups. 

“You don’t have to hide anything from me, y’know. Something ain’t right, and I feel awful when I don’t even know what’s bothering you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Akagi waves him off. “Graduation, y’know. That kinda thing. It ain’t anything outta the ordinary.”

If Akagi had enough courage, he’d admit to Gin about the situation with his job search and the subsequent lies that spiraled out of control from there. But when Gin looks at him with tenderness that’s more genuine than anything Akagi’s seen in his life, any strength Akagi superficially worked himself into evaporates.

“Akagi,” Gin says, quieter this time.

“Yeah?”

“Are you worried about graduating?”

Akagi shrugs.

“What about it are you worried about?”

“It’s just—y’know. Graduation. I dunno what to expect after.” Akagi swallows. “It’s scary, ain’t it?”

“I guess. I thought you were looking forward to it.”

“I guess I am. But also, I’m not.”

“Hm.” Gin taps his fingers lightly along the palm of Akagi’s hand. His lips are pulled into a tight line that Akagi can’t help but press forward to kiss. When he pulls away, Gin follows with another brief kiss that Akagi pulls him into, looping his hands around Gin’s neck to tug him closer.

But Gin resists. He picks his head up and braces his arms against the mattress. “Stop changing the topic.”

“I’m not changing the topic. I just wanna kiss my boyfriend.” Akagi tries to yank him down again, but Gin shakes his head.

Akagi’s heart drops. “C’mon, Ginjima.” Akagi draws out Gin’s name and pouts to hide his disappointment. “We’re losing out on precious moments we got left together ’til I graduate—”

“Christ, Akagi. You ain’t dying. You’re just leaving uni.”

“Well, yeah. But I might as well be dying.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true. It ain’t like you’re—”

“Your life ain’t ending just cuz you’re moving on from college, stupid. Graduation don’t even mean jackshit aside from giving you a dumb piece of paper to make you feel better about suffering for years of schooling.” Gin untangles himself from Akagi’s arms and slides his hands from Akagi’s shoulders down his bare skin until he’s gripping both his hands. “So stop thinking too much about it.”

“Still. You never know. How different things are gonna be. Makes me kinda sick thinking about it.” 

Gin is silent for a while as he studies him. Akagi holds his breath, trying to pull his mind out of the relentless spinning in his vision. If he had it his way, he’d push this conversation to the side and spend the rest of the night making out with Gin until he inevitably passes out from the liquor. But knowing Gin, he won’t let that happen.

“Akagi,” Gin finally says. “Michinari. Can you look at me for a second? I gotta ask you something.”

“What?” Akagi tilts his head to the side. Gin’s breath fans out over his face, and although the affection is still there, so is a thread of—something. Something that looks suspiciously like defeat. 

There’s a deafening pause as Gin’s jaw clenches in a way that can’t be comfortable, and Akagi’s reaching to place a hand on it right when Gin lets the bomb drop.

“Do you want to break up?”

Akagi’s lower lip trembles unwillingly. “No.” His voice cracks on the single world, and it’s almost painful how much the lump at his throat presses into his vocal cords. He shakes his head. “No. I don’t want that. No, of course not. No, no, no.”

Gin nods slowly, and he methodically undoes each tight curl of Akagi’s fingers. What hurts the most isn’t that Gin asks. It’s that Gin says it with such a quiet, caring tone that Akagi’s heart threatens to burst right here—and not in a good way. If Gin had been angry, or if he’d been annoyed, or if he’d demanded answers, then it wouldn’t elicit a visceral surge of panic shaking through Akagi’s lungs every time he exhales. “’S okay if you do. I mean, I know lotsa college relationships don’t last long, anyway. I dunno if that’s what you’ve been thinking of these days, but I don’t wantcha to feel obligated to force things if they ain’t workin’—”

“No, Gin. Ginjima. No. I don’t want us to break up.” Akagi’s eyes begin stinging. “That’s the last thing I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.” 

“Okay.” Gin exhales a sigh of relief. His shoulders sag down, and he rotates onto his side, letting his head hit the pillow. His hands run over his face, and he exhales a dry laugh. “Thank fuck. I thought you were gonna dump me.”

“Gin.” Akagi shakes his head so fast that his brain feels bruised. “I don’t wanna dump you, ever.”

“Okay. I was just checking. You don’t seem too into it these days, Akagi, and based on how you’ve been acting, and how you’ve been hiding things from me, and how you’re talking about how graduation is the end of an era…” Gin’s voice falters, and it hits Akagi, then—how this must have felt from Gin’s perspective. The last thing he ever wants is for Gin to feel like Akagi wants to call it quits, even though he knows that his aloof personality has communicated otherwise. “I just had to check.”

“The answer is no,” Akagi says.

“I’m just saying. You don’t have to feel obligated to drag out something if it feels like you’re outgrowing it, especially with—”

“Gin. Stop it. I ain’t dumping you. Stop talking about it.”

“Well, what else was I supposed to think?” There’s an edge to Gin’s words, and it makes Akagi flinch. “You’ve been distant from me and everyone else, and we all think you’re—we know that you’re prolly getting cold feet over leaving uni, since it’ll be your first time having a full time job and having to pay for bills and all, and so of course it got me thinking about the stuff you’ll leave behind.” Gin pulls back, and the action hurts Akagi more than it should. His gaze is steady and his jaw is set, and when Akagi reaches for him, Gin shakes his head. The casual rejection of invitation slams Akagi in the chest. “It made us all start thinking that you were being distant on purpose.”

“I’m not being distant.” Akagi’s voice tightens as he tries to reason his way out of it, fumbling for a response that doesn’t exist. “I’m just—”

“It’s okay if you’re getting cold feet. That’s all I’m trying to say. I get it. I mean, not fully, since I ain’t graduating yet, but if you’re panicking, then that’s okay.” Gin takes a deep breath. “I just thought that maybe it meant you were thinking about leaving me behind, too. And Osamu and Kosaku. But mostly me.”

Akagi shakes his head so fast that he can’t even see Gin, and before he knows it, his eyes start stinging and it’s overwhelming and uncontrollable, much like the predicament he’s tangled himself into. Perhaps it’s the alcohol unleashing a storm of emotions he’s suppressed down. Or maybe it’s the sincere concern coloring Gin’s eyes as he searches Akagi’s face for an answer. 

“Akagi,” Gin says, quieter. The harsh tone dissolves immediately. He reaches for Akagi, then, one thumb tracing the eyelid of Akagi’s eye. “Hey. Don’t cry. Akagi.”

Just like that, Akagi can’t hold in anymore. There’s a momentary silence that crackles in the air between them, and next thing he knows, hot tears are spilling out of his eyes. Akagi’s never been a noisy crier, even as a kid, and this is no exception.

He doesn’t have it in him to look Gin in the eye. Gin pulls at him anyway, and Akagi lets him—only because it’s easier when he can bury his face against Gin’s chest and hide the fact that, no, things are not okay.

Gin doesn’t ask for an explanation. He doesn’t ask for clarification or elaboration, which Akagi knows Gin is probably hoping for. Instead, he tucks Akagi against his body and runs his fingers through Akagi’s hair.

He doesn’t say anything, either, and Akagi closes his eyes and tries to calm himself down. It’s hard to do when every inhale feels like he’s being jabbed in the throat and his nose gets clogged and runny so it’s impossible to breathe. But it helps to feel Gin’s arms around him, and his silence is the permission Akagi has needed all along.

They stay like that a while, the silent hum of the room only occasionally being cut by Akagi’s erratic sniffles. Once Akagi settles himself enough that he no longer has to think about breathing, Gin says, “Better?”

For some reason, this elicits some mix of a laugh and a sob from Akagi’s throat, and Gin squeezes him in response. “Sorry.”

“Why the hell are you apologizing?”

“I dunno.” Akagi rubs his face against Gin’s shirt. “I just feel like I need to.”

“Don’t be stupid. You don’t have to apologize for being upset.” Gin gently guides Akagi further up on the bed and maneuvers a pillow underneath his head. Akagi pointedly ignores eye contact with him.

“I’m sorry for getting snot on your shirt then, I guess.”

Gin snorts as he runs his fingertips gently along the curve of Akagi’s eyelids, wiping away the wetness there. “It’s fine. I can just wash it.” He pauses. “Akagi.”

“Yeah?”

There’s a thick silence that’s been brewing over the past several weeks. The same kind of silence that Gin always gets stuck in whenever he’s about to leave the room, and Akagi pretends he doesn’t notice the silent questions hanging in the air. It threatens to cage Akagi in another bout of insecurities, but Gin slowly slides his hands around Akagi’s jaw and says, “Hey. Look at me.”

Akagi resists, keeping his eyes shut, and the words jump off his lips before he can stop it. “There was never a job, Gin. I lied about it.”

“Akagi—”

“I lied cuz I felt so stupid and helpless and I was tired of people always asking me about it, and I wanted to believe that I had things set up for me after I left uni, and I didn’t even mean to say it; it just jumped off before I thought about it. And then everyone knew about it and everyone was so happy for me and so I just let it go on cuz I thought—y’know, I thought I’d have it all figured out by now and that I’d have a real job and I could cover my own ass from lying about it. But the truth is, I don’t got one. I don’t got a plan, either.” When Akagi swallows down the dry spit gathered in his mouth, it almost hurts to do so. “I don’t got anything lined up.”

There’s a deafening silence. Akagi braces himself, fully prepared for Gin to be pissed about Akagi lying. His chest feels cramped, and he suddenly begins to feel suffocated with a panicked series of possibilities.

One possibility is that Gin is pissed about Akagi lying. Another possibility is that Gin is disappointed about Akagi not having a job. And the third possibility is that Gin is both angry and disappointed, which is probably the worst.

“I see,” Gin finally says.

Akagi wants to cry all over again, but his eyes have gone dry and he has nothing left to offer. He tilts his head back against the pillow as far as it’ll go and lets out an exhausted exhale. “Yeah. I mean. I’m stressed about graduating. But I’m more stressed about all of—all of that.”

“You still ain’t looking at me, y’know.”

“I—” Akagi stiffens at the sudden contact of Gin’s hands against his bare arms. “I’m embarrassed.”

“Why the hell are you embarrassed? You ain’t the only one without a job.”

“I’m the only one that lied about it. To you. And Osamu. And Kosaku. And everyone.”

“Akagi.”

“What?”

Before Akagi can crack open his eyes, Gin presses his lips against his. It’s chaste and comforting, and when he pulls back a few centimeters, he pokes at Akagi’s forehead with his fingers. “Open your eyes, stupid. They get all swollen shut if you cry too much.”

Akagi huffs a stubborn breath and opens his eyes, only to find Gin looking down on him with enough tenderness that makes him want to start crying all over again. Gin presses a kiss against the tip of Akagi’s nose and presses his face into the crook of Akagi’s neck. “You didn’t have to hide anything from me cuz you’re embarrassed. I’m your boyfriend. I don’t take you at face value.”

“Gin—”

“I don’t care if you don’t got a job or if you don’t know what you’re doing after you graduate. It don’t matter to me.” Akagi swallows down another cry, one of relief. “It’s not like you’re trying to prove your worth in our relationship, anyway. I mean, you were the one boinking me before even asking me out on a proper date.”

“Hey.”

“I’m just saying. I dunno why you’re thinking yourself into tunnels. Usually I’m the one doing the thinking, not you.”

Akagi snorts a laugh, and at the sound, Gin picks up his head and gives him a crooked smile. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“‘Course I’m right. I couldn’t give a shit if you were making a bajillion yen a year or if you weren’t making any. It’s a stupid job. You’ll get one eventually.” Gin sighs, warm breath tickling the bare skin of Akagi’s neck. “Obviously everyone wants their shit sorted out after uni, and I prolly will, too. But not having your shit together—that ain’t anything to be ashamed of.”

Akagi’s throat jumps again, threatening to coax a new set of fresh tears, but Akagi distracts himself from it by tugging Gin by the neck of his shirt. He yanks Gin right against him, savoring the weight pressed to his body. “I’m trying,” he mumbles, “to get my shit together.”

“Yeah. I know the feeling. Next time I’m over here flipping out over my stupid physiology courses, I don’t wanna hear it from you.” Gin pinches Akagi’s side, and Akagi squirms and lets out a strangled yelp. “Mister ‘I’m-too-cool-to-get-stressed,’ my ass. You’re just as distressed as everyone else. I knew you were being too cool over graduating. I knew it.”

Akagi rubs at his eyes, tender to the touch, and when he opens his mouth to protest, Gin cuts him off with a wry smile. “I don’t care, though. How stressed you are. I’m just happy you’re not the one trying to dump me after you leave uni.”

“Dump you?” Akagi wrinkles his nose. He’s never thought once about dumping Gin, not even the days when they’ve gotten into arguments so bad that Osamu and Kosaku avoid the apartment. “You ain’t the one who’s gonna be the deadbeat, unemployed boyfriend.”

“Eh. You don’t know that yet. Maybe a year from now I’ll be in the same shoes as you are.” Gin laughs and he flips onto his back, pulls Akagi by the wrist to guide him on top of him. “I can tell you all about how you should chill the fuck out now, but I’ll prolly have it just as bad as you next year. Maybe even worse.”

“I don’t know if I should be comforted or concerned by that.”

“The two ain’t mutually exclusive.”

Akagi braces himself up by the elbows, and when he looks down at Gin, a different surge of emotion courses through him. He’s caught at the crux of bawling and laughing all over again.

It’s not clear, exactly, how things got to be this way. How Akagi’s source of unease and affection can be found in Gin’s gentle smiles. He’s uneasy because he feels so affectionate towards him, and all he can think about is how Gin traces Akagi’s hairline with ghosting fingertips that tickle his skin. 

“I just hope you’re around for that, that’s all,” Gin says quietly. “Next year.”

Akagi bites his bottom lip. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I plan on staying around. If you’ll have me.”

“Don’t I already have you?”

“Well, duh. But. Y’know. Graduation and all.”

Akagi shakes his head, and when he finally gives Gin a smile, Gin returns it without hesitation. “You’re an idiot. As if I’m planning on ditching you now that I know you’re willing to stick with me even when I don’t got a job.”

“Good. You’d better not.”

When Gin kisses him this time, Akagi feels the knots deep in his belly begin to unscrew. He feels it every time Gin moves his hands from his face to his shoulders to his waist to his hips, and he feels it when Gin pulls back to catch his breath, trying to suppress a smile that even he’s incapable of hiding. “You taste like cheap sake,” Gin says, and Akagi jabs him in the ribs, which makes Gin choke out in laughter as he retaliates.

They’re caught in a wrestling match, and the despair Akagi had worked himself into slowly begins to give way to a warmth that Akagi has only ever experienced with Gin. It’s not like things are different from before. Akagi doesn’t magically have a job, and he can’t magically undo the stupid lies he’s told. Maybe he does deserve Gin and maybe he doesn’t, but as Gin dips his head to kiss Akagi again, sloppy and with enough force that Akagi’s lips feel like they’re bruising, he realizes that maybe ‘deserving’ has nothing to do with it.

“Akagi,” Gin says, voice thin and pleading at the end as Akagi slips his hands up the hem of his shirt. “Wait. Akagi.”

Akagi stills. His mouth feels as dry as sandpaper, and his lips feel puffy from kissing, but nothing can compare to the warmth that spreads along his chest as Gin peels away from him momentarily. “Yeah?”

Gin gets silent again. His thumb strokes back and forth on Akagi’s cheekbone, and Akagi trails the movement of his throat bobbing as he swallows before speaking. “I love you,” Gin says, and there’s a thread of vulnerability that works its way into Akagi’s lungs, making him catch his breath. “Even though you prolly already know that.”

“I don’t. Say it again.”

“Fuck off.”

“I mean it.” Akagi turns his face and presses his lips against the palm of Gin’s hand. “Say it again.”

Gin rolls his eyes, but he breaks out into a smile. “I love you.”

“Even if I don’t got a job?”

“Even if you don’t got a job.”

“You’re crazy for that.” Akagi sighs, content, and he snuggles into the crook of Gin’s arm. “But I guess I love you back, or whatever.”

Gin huffs out a laugh. “It’s gonna be alright, Akagi. Even if you got nothing lined up after graduating or you’re stuck feeling like nothing is working anymore. Just cuz you’re leaving uni— that doesn’t mean all of us are suddenly gonna go ‘poof’ and disappear on you. We’re with you.”

“We?”

“Of fucking course, ‘we’. Me and Osamu and Kosaku are all part of your life now, whether you like it or not. I can guarantee you’ll be getting all our annoying group messages even when you’re working your adult job and living your adult life.” Gin pauses. “I won’t tell ‘em about your whole not-job thing, by the way. If you wanna keep that from them. It doesn’t really matter to me. They’re just worried about you.”

Akagi nods, and it hits him all of a sudden—how tired he is. With Gin’s body warm against him and his hand rubbing gentle circles against his back, Akagi wants nothing more than to sleep. “You think they’ll judge me for it?”

“Are you kidding? They didn’t judge us for dating each other, did they?”

Akagi’s subsequent laugh melts into another yawn, and before he knows it, he’s drifting to sleep. The taste of sake hasn’t quite left his mouth yet and his eyes are probably going to look swollen tomorrow when he wakes up, but Akagi can’t help it—Gin murmurs gentle good nights to him while pressing his lips against his forehead, and Akagi is reassured, finally, that things will be okay.

Akagi wakes up the next morning with disgusting morning breath and wincing at the light shining through Gin’s window. His mouth is dry as sandpaper, and his head hurts a bit. At least he doesn’t feel nauseous.

He picks his head off the pillow and turns, suddenly aware that the bed is empty beside him. It takes a few blinks, but his vision clears as he squints against the harsh lighting of the room. Gin is nowhere to be found, although the smell of him lingers in his bedsheets, and it’s almost tempting enough for Akagi to slip right back into sleep.

But—something urges him to get up. Akagi picks up his head and sniffs at the air. On cue, his stomach growls, and it’s compelling enough for Akagi to push himself off the bed and shuffle towards the door.

“Gin?” Akagi calls out as he opens the door to Gin’s bedroom. He pokes his head out and the smell of batter and butter becomes stronger, but when he looks past the bend of the hallway, he’s surprised by what he sees.

“Oh. You’re awake.” Osamu waves a spatula at him. His apron is stained with powder, and there’s a smudge of batter stuck to the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “Sorry if we woke you up. Gin was gonna come get you in, like, ten minutes anyway.”

Akagi rubs the crust out of his eyes as he steps forward towards the kitchen. “What is that?”

“Akagi!” Akagi jumps at Kosaku’s sudden outburst, and he offers a broad smile. “G’mornin’!”

“Uh.” Akagi blinks. “Morning.”

“Gin went to the store to grab some juice. He should be back...any second now.” Kosaku pulls out one of the chairs at the table and motions for Akagi to sit. Akagi takes it, hesitantly, sleep clinging to the corners of his thoughts and making it impossible for him to process what’s going on in the kitchen. “Make sure you tell him we didn’t spoil the surprise.”

“Surprise?”

Kosaku carefully sets utensils and plates on the table. At the center, there’s a small crusty jug of maple syrup, a suspiciously squishy lump of butter, and a flimsy sign that reads: congratulations Akagi Michinari for graduating from being a cool senpai. 

“The fuck is this?” Akagi runs a hand through his hair, which is a complete rat’s nest. “Are you saying I ain’t a cool senpai anymore?”

“You were never a cool senpai,” Kosaku reassures him, and he hands him a fork. “You have officially moved on from ‘cool’ senpai to just senpai.”

“What?”

“I betcha thought you were all cool, acting so easygoing all the time. But we all know now.” Kosaku waves a finger at him. He’s strangely alert given the current time, especially considering that Kosaku is usually the last one awake on the weekends. “You’re as much of a mess as the rest of us.”

“Is that supposed to be a good thing?”

Kosaku shrugs just as Osamu cuts in with a pointed glare at him. “Yes. Kinda refreshing, actually.”

“Huh.”

“Stop giving me that look.”

“Will you just shut up and accept the damn pancakes?” Kosaku snatches a plate of pancakes and hauls it over, pushing them onto Akagi’s plate with a fork. “For fuck’s sake. Stop trying to act all cool and all that.”

“Osamu cooked these, right?” Akagi pokes at them with his finger. “Not Yuto?”

“As if I’d let him anywhere near my pancakes,” Osamu answers as Kosaku narrows his eyes in accusation.

Akagi stares down at the plate in front of him. It’s funny how, sometimes, it feels like his soul is dissociating from his body. He sees the pancakes, and he smells them, and he hears Osamu and Kosaku arguing over ‘burnt’ versus ‘crispy’ in the background, but his mind almost refuses to believe it.

His mind refuses to believe that his roommates, as stupid as they are, has done this for him.

“It looks good,” Akagi says, quietly, and even though the sound is swallowed by the whir of the fan over the stovetop, Osamu and Kosaku exchange a glance before whipping their heads in Akagi’s direction.

He doesn’t know if they know about his lie. He doesn’t know if they know about his unemployment, or about the breakdown he’d admitted to Gin last night. Osamu had witnessed some of the ramifications when he’d come home to Akagi, drunk and alone, on the couch, but Akagi isn’t sure if Osamu knows about the details.

But that doesn’t matter. Akagi can see what they’re trying to say without saying it. The pancakes and the old maple syrup reassure him of the fact that he’d overlooked for the past couple of months as he allowed himself to be consumed by his anxieties.

Akagi isn’t alone. He’s not alone because he has Gin. And he’s not alone, because he has his friends. Even in his unemployment. Even in his uncertainty.

Akagi is not alone.

“Guys…” Akagi can’t find the words to express his gratitude. He’s at risk of crying all over again, but he takes a deep breath and forces himself to think straight. “I—”

“One other thing,” Kosaku blurts. He pushes the syrup across the table in front of Akagi as he takes the seat beside him. “I, uh…okay. Don’t get mad.”

Akagi sighs. The nervousness in Kosaku’s voice is enough to distract him for the time being. “What is it, Yuto?”

Kosaku pauses, and he presses his lips into a thin time before responding. “Promise me you won’t get mad.”

“I won’t get mad.”

“Are you sure?”

“Fucking hell, Yuto. You and Samu just made me a gourmet breakfast. I ain’t gonna be mad.”

“It was just me,” Osamu interrupts, and Kosaku flips him off.

“I may have—sorta—okay. I snooped around in your room a bit. With Gin. To clean.” Kosaku gives him a guilty look. “It was a mess. Don’t get mad. We didn’t mess up your stuff or steal anything, I promise.”

Of all news to drop, that certainly hadn’t been something Akagi was expecting.

“We just saw how messy it’s been, and Gin says that it would be a good idea to clean out at least the garbage and do your laundry and all that shit. I didn’t touch your personal stuff. Gin’s the one who went through those. So, uh, if anything is misplaced or something, ask him.”

Akagi bites down another wave of an outburst of tears. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”

“Well, duh. Of course we didn’t.”

“They did it while I was cooking,” Osamu adds, as if he needs more reason to rub in Kosaku’s face that Kosaku doesn’t know how to cook at all. “So breakfast is from me. But all the other stuff is from them.”

“But—”

“If you ask why, I’m gonna kick your ass to Korea.” Osamu sets down his spatula and raises an eyebrow. “Just accept the damn breakfast, Akagi. Okay?”

Akagi picks up his fork and tries not to let his overwhelming feelings get the better of him. He’s not used to being the center of attention, especially the sort where people are giving him things. But Osamu gives him a pointed stare and Kosaku shoots him a thumbs up, and Gin has given, time and time again, reassurance that Akagi doesn’t have to put up a front around any of them.

Funny enough, with his roommates looking at him expectantly, Akagi can guess that they know the entire employment thing was a lie—but he doesn’t exactly care. Because as he cuts into the pancakes on his plate, amber syrup spilling over them, all Akagi can think about is the fact that it’s not even nine in the morning and there’s a full serving of breakfast in front of him.

“Itadakimasu,” Akagi murmurs, same as the night before, but this time, there’s no bottle of sake calling to him, and this time, his friends are within arm’s reach, shirts stained with flour. Akagi cuts into the squishy pancake and pops a bite-sized piece into his mouth.

“D’ya like it?” Osamu asks, eagerly. “I separated the egg whites this time—”

“No one cares.”

“Shut up, Kosaku.”

“It’s delicious,” Akagi says through a mouthful, and he swallows it as Osamu beams. “Don’t worry.”

The door swings open, and Akagi immediately turns his head to see Gin hauling a plastic bag from the market. “Oh. Good. You’re awake.” Gin sets the bag down and pulls off his jacket, hanging it on the hooks in the hall. “Didja have any water? You must be pretty thirsty.”

Gin sets the plastic bag on the table and pulls out a large bottle of orange juice, pausing momentarily to give Akagi a kiss on his forehead. “Next time you decide to get shit-faced, at least invite one of us.”

Akagi offers a sheepish smile. He watches Gin scoot into the chair beside him, Kosaku and Osamu joining with the rest of the pancakes. It’s hard to think about more than the smell of batter and syrup that lingers in the air or the sound of Gin laughing at Osamu and Kosaku bickering over which pancake they want.

“Hey,” Akagi says, and the table elapses in silence. 

Gin reaches for him then, palm sliding over the back of Akagi’s hand as Akagi clutches his fork, trying to ground himself enough to express what he’s feeling. He can’t find the words, other than, “Thank you.”

“Congratulations,” Kosaku says, “for no longer being a cool senpai.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Akagi laughs along with his friends, swallowing down the swell of emotions that stings his eyes. He blinks rapidly and takes a deep breath, and when he looks up at Osamu and Kosaku passing syrup and juice, he catches Gin watching him with a thoughtful scrunch between his eyebrows. When Akagi’s lip twitches up, small but genuine, Gin squeezes his hand and breaks out into a smile that promises—uncertain or not—Akagi isn’t and won’t be alone.