Archive of Our Own ^beta

Strictly speaking, Akagi and Gin are just friends. Akagi would entrust Gin with anything ranging from taking care of his plants to filing his taxes. Gin is one of his more reliable friends—at least, he’s more reliable than the other boys whom he graduated high school with. 

So it’s not a surprise that they’ve kept in touch even in the years after Akagi left and went to college and got a job. Atsumu and Suna are busy establishing their professional volleyball careers, Osamu’s growing business keeps him traveling across the country, and the lab Kosaku works for has taken over his free time. Gin’s the one who responds to his messages every day and picks up his calls every week, and when Akagi arrives at Osaka on a Saturday morning, Gin is the first one he sees.

“Don’tcha think it’s about time you throw out that t-shirt, Akagi?” Gin doesn’t even greet him. He merely steps out of the way to let Akagi into his apartment as he eyes him carefully. “Ain’t that the one with the giant hole in the armpit?”

“Shut up.”

“I even gotcha a new shirt for yer birthday, and you’re still wearin’ that?”

Akagi rolls his eyes. He kicks off his shoes and slings his bag off his shoulder, shoving it along the side of the hallway. “Good to see you, too.”

Gin shakes his head, but his face relaxes into a warm smile. He looks like he’s just rolled out of bed, with the unmistakable red imprint of a pillowcase on his left cheek. “Train ride was okay?”

“Yeah. I almost missed it.”

“I don’t remember the last time you didn’t almost miss it.”

“It wasn’t even my fault! Taxi got stuck in traffic.”

“Mhm,” Gin hums in a tone that says, it’s definitely yer fault. Akagi thinks there’s a distinct possibility that Gin knows him too well, unwilling to entertain Akagi’s bullshit. “Coffee machine’s on if you want. And yer disgustin’ creamer from last time’s still in the fridge.”

Akagi half-heartedly kicks at Gin’s ankle, who snorts as he dodges it with ease, ambling back down the hall. “Lemme change, and I’ll give you another shirt to wear. I’m not about to show up somewhere where Kita-san is with you lookin’ like that. You know we’ll never hear the end of it.”

“After all this time, you’re still afraid of Shinsuke?”

“Fuck off.”

Akagi laughs, rolling out his neck as Gin disappears. Gin’s apartment in Osaka is cramped and old, with tiny windows and creaky appliances that always seem to malfunction whenever Akagi comes and visits. There’s a constant hum of plug-in fans that Gin keeps on nonstop to encourage airflow, and even now, Akagi slips out of his sweatshirt to relieve himself of the stifling warmth.

He hums to himself absentmindedly while fixing himself a cup of coffee, stomach rumbling from an early morning without breakfast. Akagi doesn’t visit Osaka frequently, but he makes an effort to visit when there’s reason to. He made the trip for Atsumu’s debut match three years ago, and he came back months later when Onigiri Miya opened its doors for the first time. He’ll pop in every so often, especially when other Inarizaki alumni are around, like this weekend, for the MSBY Black Jackals and EJP Raijin match that Atsumu can’t stop talking about on social media.

Akagi likes Osaka. It’s vibrant and bustling and always full of new things to do, although Akagi’s sure that part of the reason why he enjoys Osaka so much is the nostalgia that hits him every time he sees his friends. 

And, yeah—he likes visiting Osaka because there’s something comfortable about sitting back in the wobbly chair in Gin’s kitchen, drinking coffee and waiting patiently as Gin gets ready for the day. Akagi has several options for housing whenever he’s in town, and he’s tried them out. Hotels are too expensive for his slim paychecks, Atsumu’s place in the Jackals-sponsored apartment complex is messy and rowdy as fuck, and Osamu’s apartment is at the intersection of one of the busiest streets, which makes it difficult to sleep.

So, as with most things, Gin is an easy choice to make. Akagi hates to impose, but Gin never makes him feel like he’s imposing, and his apartment, while small, is homey. 

“Y’know you got a carton of expired milk, right?” Akagi teases when Gin reappears. Gin tosses him a spare shirt, and Akagi catches it. “I almost poured it in my coffee.”

“I was plannin’ on throwin’ that away.”

“Yeah? When? Next week?”

“I leave it there to remind myself that I need more milk. Fuckin’ hell, Akagi, who are you, my mom?” Gin huffs a laugh and rummages through a cupboard for a mug. Akagi sips at his coffee and tries not to ogle at how the muscles peeking out of the sleeves of his shirt flex with every movement. “I feel like you started to nag me ever since you started teachin’ the high schoolers. I ain’t yer student.”

Akagi laughs. “I can’t help it. It’s instinct now.”

“You can shut off yer teacher-instinct this weekend.” Gin rubs at the back of his neck and rolls his eyes. “You’re the one wearin’ a shirt with a hole in the armpit.”

When Gin sits at the seat beside him, Akagi’s shoulders drop as he sighs. Gin doesn’t seem to notice—he’s too preoccupied trying to catch up with the mass influx of messages sent to a group chat containing their high school volleyball club. It’s mostly Atsumu shit talking Suna and Suna pointedly talking to anyone but Atsumu in the chat. Gin mutters under his breath and rubs at his eyes, and Akagi picks off a stray fuzz ball stuck to the sleeve of Gin’s shirt.

“So the game doesn’t start until later in the afternoon.” Gin breaks the silence as he sets down his phone. “Maiko-kun has been dyin’ to meetcha and wanted to know if you’d be okay with havin’ lunch with him and his girlfriend.”

Maiko—Gin’s coworker. Akagi remembers hearing about him and how he always took smoke breaks right before it was time for cleaning rounds in the gym. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” 

“There’s this new yakitori place I’ve been wantin’ to try. That sound okay?”

“Mhm.” Akagi chews his lip and convinces himself that there’s nothing unusual about going out to eat lunch with Gin’s coworker and Gin’s coworker’s girlfriend. He and Gin are close friends, if not best friends, and it’s not really Akagi’s fault if other people misinterpret it for being something more than that.

Well—Akagi does feel partially responsible about allowing the misconception to fester. After all, it’s been a while, give or take five years. But it’s not Akagi’s fault that being in a fake relationship with Gin rather than finding someone else happens to work for the two of them. Gin doesn’t mind, and Akagi doesn’t mind, and it gives Gin an out every time someone hits on him at the gym, so letting people think they’re dating, right now, is for the best. 

And it’s not like Akagi has other prospects, either. It’s convenient, too, to not have to worry about who to bring as a plus one to events or to make up excuses about why he doesn’t want to suffer through awkward blind dates.

“Sounds like a plan.” Akagi drains the last of his coffee, the liquid scalding the inside of his throat, and Gin throws him a look of disapproval before shaking his head. “Don’t worry. I’ll clean up real nice so I won’t embarrass you in front of yer coworker.”

“You don’t gotta clean up or anythin’. Just change outta that goddamn t-shirt, Akagi.”

Akagi looks down at his shirt, at the frayed embroidered fox on the left side of his chest, and tugs at the hole under his left armpit. “Look who’s doin’ the naggin’ now, Ginjima.”

Gin snorts, but his mouth ticks upwards while Akagi stands to wiggle out of his shirt. He pulls Gin’s shirt over his head—pressed, clean, smelling like detergent thatAkagi associates with Gin—and folds the shirt with the hole, setting it on the table. “Are you ready? I’m ready to get the day started.”

“Lemme finish my coffee. I’m still wakin’ up.” Gin lifts his mug towards the hall. “You should move yer stuff to my room. I cleared out yer corner for you.”

Akagi nods. He slips out of the kitchen to pick up his bag. It doesn’t matter that he’s been here a million and one times—being around Gin in his otherwise empty apartment somehow puts him on edge while simultaneously offering comfort.

While Akagi drops his belongings in the corner of Gin’s room—the corner he always places his things every time he visits, where he keeps spare toiletries and extra clothes in case he needs it the next time he comes—he tells himself that there’s nothing unusual about two good friends pretending to date since high school. People had assumed their close friendship was romantic, anyway, so it’s fine to let people continue thinking that.

It’s not weird. It’s not dangerous. And it’s certainly not bad. If Akagi were going to maintain a fake relationship with anyone in the world, it would definitely be Gin. He is ideal fake-dating material. His apartment is a little cluttered, but it’s tidy and Akagi knows precisely where to find things. He’s always checking in to make sure Akagi got on the train alright and that he arrived home safely. He comes to visit Akagi, too, every time he makes the trip to Hyogo, and whenever they’re around others, Gin is always kind and thoughtful and respectful, both to Akagi and everyone else around him.

Gin is, after all, an easy choice to make. Akagi’s go-to person is Gin, and Gin’s go-to person is Akagi. Nothing can ruin that.

Sure, if Akagi were going to maintain a real relationship with anyone in the world, it would be Gin as well, but that’s an entirely different can of worms. And as he lingers at the edge of Gin’s bed, smoothing out the ruffled sheets before leaving the room, Akagi tells himself, above everything else, that he doesn’t need to think about that—not now, and hopefully not ever.

And definitely not today.

Gin is the first of Akagi’s kouhai at Inarizaki that he meets. It’s a hot day, and Akagi is eating an ice pop before practice, legs outstretched on the steps in front of the gym.

“Um, excuse me?”

Akagi glances up. The boy in front of him has frizzy hair the color of beach sand, and he clutches a sheet of paper to his chest. He wears the standard Inarizaki High School tracksuit with the hems of his pants rolled up, jacket tied around his waist. 

“Hi,” Akagi says. He catches a drip of the ice pop on his chin with the back of his hand. 

“I’m here to submit my application for the volleyball club.” He straightens. “My name is Ginjima Hitoshi, and I’m in class 1-2. I was the ace in middle school.” Ginjima fumbles through his words before bowing abruptly. 

Akagi stares at the paper that Ginjima clutches between his fingers and holds out to him. “Uh,” he says. “I’m not the captain’, or anythin’. You don’t gotta be too formal.”

Ginjima lifts his head slightly, and Akagi stands to brush off the seat of his pants. He scowls when melted bits of his ice pop drip onto his hand, sticky and cold. “Oh.”

“Ace, huh?” Akagi takes the paper from him anyway, seeing the familiar form that Akagi had used to apply to the club, nearly one year ago to-date. “You’re early.”

“Ah. Yeah. I don’t have chores today.” Ginjima rubs the back of his neck. Akagi gets a better look at him as he shakes off his ice pop for stray drops. 

Ginjima is a little stiff in the shoulders, spine incredibly straight in a way that can’t possibly be comfortable. He’s a few centimeters taller than Akagi, with a determined set of his eyebrows that only ace-like players carry. Akagi skims through Ginjima’s application form, the scrawled kanji barely legible, and his mouth twists up in a smile. “Ginjima, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Think you got what it takes to be the ace?”

“Yes. I mean. Maybe later.” Ginjima’s face reddens. “I mean—”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. I know whatcha mean.” Akagi hands the page back to Ginjima and pats him on the shoulder. He notices Ginjima eyeing the half-eaten ice pop in Akagi’s hand. “Uh. You want some?”

“No, thank you.”

“Well. I’m Akagi Michinari. I’m a second year, so believe me when I say you really don’t hafta act all polite and stuff to me. Maybe to Kita you should, since he’s—” Akagi offers a vague wave of his ice pop. “Y’know.” Ginjima’s brow furrows. “You’ll see when you meet him.”

“Kita?”

“Yeah. I think he’s talkin’ to Coach Kurosu right now.” Akagi pops his snack in his mouth before withdrawing to continue speaking. “Usually everyone’s at the clubroom before practice. Do you know where the clubroom is?”

Ginjima shakes his head.

“I’ll show you if you want.”

“It’s okay. I’ll see it later. You seem, uh, busy.”

Akagi lifts an eyebrow, but Ginjima doesn’t comment anything further, and it takes a moment for Akagi to realize that Ginjima isn’t being facetious. “It ain’t a hassle. I swear it.”

“Akagi-san—”

“Senpai,” Akagi corrects. “‘San’ makes me feel old.”

Ginjima nods. “Uh, Akagi-senpai. Sorry if I have you mistaken, but what’s yer position?” Akagi opens his mouth to respond, only to be thrown for a loop when Ginjima plows on. “Cuz I think I remember you? I watched Inarizaki’s final matches during the spring tournament. You’re the libero, right?”

Akagi blinks. “Uh, yeah. That’s me.”

He’s surprised, of course. Hardly anyone notices a libero’s presence on the court. Everyone notices setters for their perfect tosses despite imperfect passes, and everyone notices spikers, whose mere presence can make or break a match. Everyone notices servers, too, who send volleyballs hurtling at speeds that most human brains can’t keep up with.

In Akagi’s opinion, the best liberos are the ones who are reliable and consistent enough to go unnoticed. So people not noticing him—that’s a compliment. Yet, somehow, Ginjima noticing him makes him swell with uncharacteristic pride. “Are you interested in bein’ a libero?” Akagi asks. 

“Not really.” Ginjima wrinkles his nose. “I suck at receivin’.”

“Lucky for you, you’re lookin’ at the best receiver on the team.” Akagi shoots him a thumbs up. He can’t help but want to offer Ginjima a head pat, even though it feels sort of inappropriate considering they’ve just met. “You’ll be a pro in no time.”

Ginjima huffs. “I doubt it.” He moves to sit on the steps to the right of where Akagi had been sitting when he’d arrived. Akagi watches as the tension slowly unwinds from his body, beginning with how his shoulders relax and he stretches out his legs, ankles cracking. “But I’ll try anyway.”

“That’s the spirit.” Akagi takes the seat next to him, muttering curses under his breath when the remainder of his ice pop plops onto the dirt. “Damn it.”

Ginjima glances over and lets out a snort of laughter. Akagi’s eyes immediately lock onto him, narrowed playfully, and Ginjima glances away as he rummages through his pockets. “Here.”

Akagi stares at his outstretched hand, a crumpled napkin with a few notes scrawled on it. “You sure you don’t need that?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.” 

Akagi takes the napkin from Ginjima’s hand and wipes away the sticky residue on his fingers. He decides, in that moment, that he likes Ginjima Hitoshi. He seems like an honest kid with genuine kindness that’s hard to come by. If the rest of the first years are like Ginjima, then this year will go better than Akagi originally expected.

“I mean it,” Akagi says. He’s careful to keep his tone light and casual. The other second-years are serious enough for him, and Akagi has already made up his mind to take his kouhai under his wing. “I’ll teach you how to receive real good, if that’s somethin’ you’re lookin’ to get better in.”

Gin nods enthusiastically. His eyes widen, and his face breaks out into a wide smile. It throws Akagi for a loop, and he blinks, slightly taken aback, because Ginijima looks completely different like that. “Yeah! Absolutely.”

“Huh.” Akagi clears his throat. He sets his popsicle stick on the step beside him, leaning back on his palms as the sun warms his skin from above. “Well, then. Even though it ain’t official and all yet, I guess you can consider this yer informal welcome. Welcome to the Inarizaki Volleyball Club, Gin.”

“Thank you,” Gin says, and he sounds like he really means it.

Akagi means it, too, and he returns Gin’s shy smile with a grin of his own, looking forward to the start of another year.

Going out with Gin’s friends is always a bit awkward, in a sense that Akagi spends his entire work week catering to his students’ conversations. He enjoys what he does for a living, and he likes meeting new people, but it’s a bit more of a strain on him than it used to be, back before Akagi had to worry about paying bills and maintaining his ‘professionalism’, or whatever.

But Gin carries conversations well. He bridges the gap between Akagi and Maiko and Maiko’s girlfriend, Suzuki, and in moments where Akagi’s silent, too focused on eating the skewered meats set in front of him, Gin fills in the empty pockets of conversation that Akagi would otherwise fill.

This, too, is one example of how Gin-the-fake-boyfriend would make a pretty damn good Gin-the-real-boyfriend. Akagi never thought he’d need someone to provide support in conversations where Akagi contributes little, but Gin does it easily. 

Years ago, it might’ve been the other way around. Akagi pops a piece of grilled chicken in his mouth and studies Gin from the side, who listens intently to his coworker complaining about one of his regular clients. Gin doesn’t even notice that Akagi’s staring at him—that’s how attentive he is.

At the end of lunch, he and Gin part ways, and Akagi yawns as they begin the trek back to Gin’s apartment.

“I smell like meat,” Akagi comments. He tugs at Gin’s shirt and wrinkles his nose when he sniffs at it. “I needa shower.”

“Uh. My hot water hasn’t been workin’ the past week.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that.” Gin smiles sheepishly at him. His cheeks have taken on a soft flush from the warmth of the grill at the restaurant they’d eaten in. “I’ve been showerin’ at the gym. I’ve been meanin’ to get it fixed, but…” Gin shrugs. “Y’know. Just another thing to think about.”

Akagi nods. He understands it. He’s got a completely different work schedule than Gin. Akagi’s schedule is more consistent: he wakes up at six and he has back-to-back PE lessons with his high school students every day. Afterwards, he volunteers as the coach for the volleyball team, then he goes home, eats dinner, and passes out usually well before he means to.

In contrast, Gin’s personal training job means that he’ll be up at four some mornings, and other times he’ll squeeze in late-night clients right before the gym closes. It was worse, before, when Gin worked in one of those gyms open all hours of the day, and some crazy clients requested sessions close to midnight. So it makes sense that Gin—despite being generally responsible and cautious—would forget the little things like fixing a broken shower. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure? We can swing by the gym, and you can shower there.”

“I ain’t showerin’ in the gym, Ginjima.”

“Alright, alright. Just don’t complain to me when you’re freezin’ yer ass off. It’s fuckin’ cold.”

Akagi laughs. They’ve got a couple of hours to kill before the volleyball match, and a tight swirl of anticipation has him bouncing on his heels on the way back to his apartment. Watching games is something he’s always looked forward to. He’d already promised to grab autographs for some of his volleyball team players from Atsumu and Suna.

It’s funny, thinking about Atsumu and Suna and how they were merely snot-nosed brats the first time Akagi met them. Akagi had taken an instant liking to Gin, but was a bit miffed by the brash Miya twins and the lazy and snide middle blocker who was as unmotivated as he was mischievous. His students are enamored with Atsumu and Suna. Have you heard about Miya-senshu’s new serve? They’ll ask him during practice. Didja see Suna-senshu’s final point against Green Rockets?

They’re something of a walking folklore to Akagi’s students. It can be a bit exhausting keeping up with them, but also fun, because Akagi can share unheard stories about how Atsumu once lost a bet and had to dye his hair pink for a month in high school. His students talk about Aran, too, and about Osamu, whom they know as the onigiri man that has done catering for Inarizaki High School events. 

They don’t talk about Ginjima Hitoshi, which is a bit of a shame. Even now, Akagi can remember how he used to position himself behind Gin, watching him sprint and leap into the air to nail a spike. There’s no way Gin wouldn’t have been good, and he’s worth talking about, too. 

Gin is one of those people who loved volleyball and was committed to it during high school, only to forge his own path once he’d graduated. Akagi’s like that, too. His students ask him about what it was like playing in nationals, and some of them ask why he hadn’t continued playing volleyball once he went to college. Akagi without fail, shrugs and answers, I kept playin’, just not for anythin’ special. Stuck with it for fun, y’know?

Sometimes Akagi does wonder if he should’ve continued playing. Akagi had briefly considered trying out for the university volleyball team. Although Akagi was an excellent libero in high school, it took a lot more than being ‘excellent’ to be offered positions on a team right off the bat. So Akagi had opted not to, deciding that he needed to focus on his coursework, and furthermore, he wanted to provide himself with ample free time to have a normal uni student life. 

Still, it’s nice to be able to return to his first love at games like this, where he can look forward to seeing Gin and Kita and Oomimi and everyone else that shows up to watch old teammates face off. It reminds Akagi that, although he’s the only one that stuck around Hyogo, his friends are still around.

They return to Gin’s apartment, and immediately, Akagi snatches his clothes and jumps in the shower. There’s a nearly empty bottle of shampoo he’d left behind a few visits ago in the shower caddy hanging on the wall. His face wash is there, too, and Akagi is surprised Gin hasn’t made an effort to toss it out yet.

Gin hadn’t been lying—the shower is cold. So cold, in fact, that within thirty seconds, Akagi’s teeth are chattering and his skin feels like it’s tightening. He scrambles through his movements in between taking breaks where he turns the shower off. It’s impossible to tell whether standing under the running stream of cold water is better than standing, sopping wet, with the showerhead off. Akagi decides both options suck. He’s in and out of the shower in record time. He wraps a towel around his shoulders and dries himself off before yanking on his clothes.

By the time he returns to the room, Gin is already undressed, towel wrapped around his waist, scrolling through his phone. Akagi’s face heats, and he pointedly looks away from Gin’s admittedly impressive physique. Neither of them are gangly teenagers anymore, especially Gin, who spends more time in the gym than in his apartment, most likely. “Oh. You’re done already. That was fast.”

“Uh-huh. It was cold.”

“I toldja.”

“I think I just caught pneumonia.”

“Hey. I offered to take you to the gym.” Gin rolls his eyes and swats at Akagi with a spare towel. Akagi giggles, stepping out of the way to dive under the covers on Gin’s bed as Gin leaves to shower. He cocoons himself in the blankets and rubs his hands together in an effort to warm them up, flipping onto his stomach.

There isn’t much to Gin’s room. There’s enough space for a cramped desk and a haphazard bookshelf they’d run into on the street. He has a marked up calendar tacked to the wall, scrawled with notes and corrections. Akagi smiles to himself as he slims through it. There are a series of appointments, like dentist or haircut or dinner with Kosaku. And personal reminders, too, things like grocery shopping and Akagi’s visit and EJP/MSBY.

Akagi folds one arm under his head as he lifts the page to steal a peek at the next month. It’s significantly more barren, but something catches his eye. 

Hyogo, it says, two weekends from now.

Akagi raises an eyebrow, rubbing at his eye with a hand. It surprises him. Gin tells Akagi about his travel plans back home as soon as he makes them, and Akagi puts it in his phone right away. Akagi can’t remember the last time Gin planned on coming to Hyogo without sharing, because he always does. 

Akagi’s fingers release the page, and it drifts back into place. He’s intrigued by this secret visit. He’s even more intrigued by why Gin hasn’t told him yet. It’s possible that Gin has a strict family-only visit, but even so, he always lets Akagi know when he’s in town. Akagi folds his hands on his stomach as he kicks off the covers, already warmed up. There’s also a possibility that Gin will tell him later today. Akagi isn’t sure if he should bring it up or not, but before he can think too much about it, Gin returns.

“Fuck.” Gin shudders. “It’s cold.”

“I toldja it’s cold.”

“Can it.” Gin snorts a laugh as he sits on the edge of the bed, ruffling his hair with his towel. He wears an old pair of athletic shorts Akagi recognizes from high school and a thin sleeveless top. “Move over.”

Akagi scoots further onto the bed, hip thudding against the wall as he makes room for Gin. They’re long past the point of bed-sharing, so when Gin’s chilled body slips under the covers, Akagi has no problem pressing himself right up against him. Gin immediately relaxes, sighing as he pulls the covers up to his chin.

“We should get goin’ soon,” he says. “Kita-san said he and Kosaku are at the coffee shop near the stadium, so they’re waitin’ for us. And I think Oomimi is almost there.”

“Mm. Okay.”

Gin pauses. He has a focused look on his face, mouth turned down into a tight pout, and Akagi pokes at the stubble growing in on his chin. Gin swats his hand away—or tries to—but his expression immediately melts into a laugh. “Thanks for comin’,” Gin says. “Maiko-kun really liked you.”

“I barely said anythin’.”

“Yeah. I noticed you were really goin’ hard on the tsukune.”

Akagi sticks his tongue out before his mind goes blank when Gin maneuvers his arm underneath Akagi’s head. He turns to his side, and Akagi’s tucked under his chin, forehead resting against Gin’s chest. It’s not the first time they’ve been this close, and it certainly won’t be the last, but it sets off butterflies in Akagi’s stomach all the same.

“Thanks for comin’,” Gin says.

“You don’t hafta thank me for that. Yer coworkers were nice.”

“That ain’t what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Huh?”

Gin hums. One hand presses into the back of Akagi’s head. “Thanks for comin’ to Osaka. It’s always nice havin’ you around.”

Akagi licks his lips and swallows.

It’s silent aside from the desk fan spinning next to the bed. Gin’s breathing is quiet, too, but Akagi can feel it tickling the hairs on his head. Gin says this every time Akagi’s in town. It’s always, Thanks for comin’. He never says more or less than that, and he never asks Akagi to visit more frequently, either. When Gin says thank you, he means it, and Akagi, as always, fails to respond. There are only so many ways to say, It’s no problem. I missed you, without really saying it.

Akagi breaks the silence. “Guess we should get goin’ now.”

“Mm. Yeah. I’m gettin’ hot anyway. You’re a fuckin’ radiator.”

Akagi snorts and shoves Gin off the bed. Gin elicits a startled yelp as he goes tumbling to the floor. Akagi breaks out into laughter, jumping out of the way before Gin can make an attempt to wrangle him. 

Gin comes up to a sitting position on the floor. He scrunches his nose and flips Akagi off, but the playful smile shows easily on his mouth—the same one Akagi grew to care for and nurture during their years of friendship together.

“C’mon.” Akagi holds out a hand to help Gin off the floor. “Our friends are waitin’.”

Gin accepts his hand even though he doesn’t really need it. Gin’s hand is still cold to the touch and chapped from hours clocked lifting weights. They’re not the same hands that Akagi first held when it was dark and they were running through muddy streets on the way back home. But they’re comforting, all the same.

It’s so comforting, in fact, that even once Gin is upright again, Akagi doesn’t want to let go. He does, of course, and tries not to dwell on the way his fingers itch to reach out to Gin. Trying not to dwell on it makes Akagi completely forget about asking Gin about his upcoming trip to Hyogo—which makes him forget that Gin doesn’t bring it up, either.

Akagi’s in the middle of doing the dishes when Gin asks him about the whole fake-dating thing for the first time, voice crackling through the speakers. “There’s somethin’ I gotta ask you.”

They talk over the phone like this once every couple of weeks as an attempt to close the gap between Hyogo and Osaka. The calls are about anything and everything, usually in between Gin’s client appointments and after Akagi finishes running errands after work. It’s a tether that ties Akagi to life outside of work, and it’s a tether that ties him to Gin.

“Gimme a sec.” Akagi rinses off the remainder of the suds on the pan and sets it to the side, shutting off the water. “Sorry. I’m done now. What’s up?”

Gin pauses and clears his throat. “Uh. This is gonna sound kinda weird.”

“Just say it.”

“Remember how people thought we were datin’ in high school?”

“Oh.” Akagi dries his hands, picks up the phone, and ambles over to his couch, plopping down and propping his feet up beside him. “Yeah, ‘course I remember that. Atsumu even gave us fuckin’ anniversary cards one year.”

Gin snorts a laugh. “Didja ever tell anyone we weren’t actually datin’?”

“Uh.” There hadn’t been any reason to. Akagi wound up going to university and staying friends with Gin, and no one had really asked. “Not really.”

“This is gonna sound weird.”

“You’re already bein’ weird. What is it?”

“Hear me out, okay?” Gin sighs. Akagi can picture him now, rubbing at the left side of his temple with his free hand, pinched expression between his brows. “There’s this guy at work who keeps on hittin’ on me.”

Akagi laughs. “Well, duh. You’re hot.”

“Shut up.”

“Why is this a problem again?”

“Because. I just don’t like it. Y’know how I get about that sort of thing.”

Akagi nods even though Gin can’t see him. He remembers those days when confessions were a big deal in high school. Akagi didn’t mind them, but most of the people he tends to attract never have expectations on him about returning feelings, so it’s never awkward. And he didn’t receive an influx of confessions, either, like the Miyas or Aran, so it was easier to manage.

Gin, though—for whatever reason, Gin seems to attract people who genuinely and really like him and hope for feelings in return. It stresses him out to no end. “So yer coworker’s hittin’ on you, and you don’t like it. So ask him to stop.”

“It ain’t my coworker. It’s one of my clients.”

Akagi winces. “Ah.”

“Yeah. So I can’t just, like, tell him to fuck off. Otherwise I woulda done it.”

“Nah. You wouldn’t have.” Akagi snorts when Gin lets out a strangled noise of protest. “C’mon, Ginjima. You’re too nice. You and I both know it.” He picks at a stray thread on the hem of his shirt. “How’s this related to how everyone thought we were datin’?”

“I may have—shit.” Gin groans. “Okay, well, he kept askin’ for my number, and I kept turnin’ him down, cuz I thought maybe if I turned him down over and over again he’d finally back off or request a different trainer.”

“Can’t you ask yer manager to give you a different client?”

“They’re entitled to ask a specific trainer. It’s in their membership and stuff. Same thing happened to Mika-chan last year, and she ended up quittin’ cuz of it. Pain in the ass.”

Akagi frowns. “That ain’t cool.”

“I know. It ain’t. And it ain’t workin’, either, cuz he doesn’t seem to care that I keep sayin’ no. So finally I kinda caved and told him I wasn’t interested, and I wasn’t gonna be cuz I was already datin’ someone, and the first person that came to mind was you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Akagi releases the loose thread and scratches his head. If he needed to get out of a bind and come up with a fake-boyfriend on the spot, he would’ve thought of Gin, too, so he shouldn’t be surprised. “I don’t mind, then. Has he left you alone?”

“Yeah, finally. I think he actually got kinda embarrassed when I told him.”

“I don’t like that you gotta pretend you’re already seein’ someone for someone to leave you alone.”

“Me neither. But it got him to stop hittin’ on me, so it’s—whatever. That ain’t the problem.”

“That ain’t the problem?”

Gin lets out a huff of laughter, strained and thin, and Akagi wants more than anything to let him know he doesn’t have to get worked up while on the phone with him. He can sense Gin trying his best not to fumble through his words—that Gin is on the verge of having an outburst. You don’t stay friends with someone this long and miss the telltale signs of ballooning distress. “The problem is that one of my coworkers overheard, and then they started askin’ aboutcha, since I never brought it up, and now they think we’re datin’, and I sorta just...let them think that.”

“What?” As a high school teacher, Akagi’s working environment is one where employees are expected to maintain professionalism and boundaries. He knows Gin’s workplace is completely different from a high school, but he’d expected there to be at least some semblance of distance between them. “I mean, I don’t really care, but that ain’t their business.”

“I know. They’re all nosy assholes.” Despite his irritation, affection flickers in Gin’s voice. “So they keep askin’ who you are and what you’re doin’ and how we met and all that, and I don’t need to lie about anythin’ since we’ve been friends forever.”

“Okay.”

“What I’m tryin’ to say is—wouldja mind if we kept up the whole let-people-think-we’re-datin’ thing? It wouldn’t cost you too much time except for occasionally seein’ my coworkers, I guess.”

If Akagi were to be honest, he never bothered explicitly stating that all of it had been a charade. Whenever he had calls with Kita and Aran and Oomimi while in university, they always asked how Gin was doing, and Akagi had always been truthful. Gin’s great, he’d answer. Or, Gin’s stressed. The answer would be honest whether he and Gin were dating or not, so there’s no reason to answer with anything else.

He doesn’t know if lies of omission count as lying, so Akagi merely shrugged it off for a few years and went on with his day-to-day life.

“I don’t care,” Akagi says. His heart squeezes for reasons unbeknownst to him. High school was ages ago, yet whenever he speaks with Gin, he always feels like a seventeen-year-old again. “As in—I don’t mind, Gin. I’m glad the other asshole is leavin’ you alone now.”

Gin breathes a heavy sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

“It ain’t a huge deal. I’m not even around Osaka that much, anyway, so I guess it’ll gimme an excuse to visit.” Akagi pauses. “Didja ever tell our friends we weren’t datin’, either? Should I expect to act like we’ve been datin’ this whole time to them?”

The silence on the other end of the line is deafening. Akagi wishes he could see Gin’s face. Gin was never good at hiding his emotions, no matter how hard he tried. “Um.” A smack of the lips. “Not really.”

“Even Suna and Atsumu and Osamu and Kosaku?”

“Yeah…” Gin clears his throat again. “They just assumed we stayed together when you left for uni. And I didn’t wanna explain the whole thing to them since it—y’know. I just didn’t wanna explain. So every time they asked about you—”

“Hm.” That explains some things. Like how, a year after Akagi had graduated, his kouhai pointedly left Akagi and Gin alone when Akagi had gone to watch the final match of their spring tournament. Or how Suna would randomly send unflattering pictures of Gin to Akagi. “Okay. Then the story is we never broke up.”

“The story is we never broke up,” Gin repeats, and it sounds absolutely ridiculous.

“You’re lucky I never told anyone about my uni nights,” Akagi jokes. “Otherwise things would get real weird real fast.”

“You told me.”

“That’s different.”

“Mhm. Next time you get dicked down, kindly spare me the details.” Gin makes a vague gagging noise. “Okay?”

“I ain’t gettin’ dicked down by anyone anymore. I mean, not that I was before. But I got a hot trainer fake-boyfriend now.”

“Shut up, Akagi.”

Akagi laughs, and within moments, Gin is laughing over the phone, too. It doesn’t matter that Gin isn’t his real boyfriend or fake boyfriend or whatever growing crush Akagi has harbored since high school. Gin is still his best friend, and Akagi would do anything for him just short of donating a vital organ. “Lucky for you, you got a hot teacher fake-boyfriend, too.”

“I am fuckin’ gonna end this call right now.”

Gin doesn’t end the call, and he and Akagi resume gossiping about their friends and whether or not Osamu and Suna are finally going to get engaged. Things are natural and easy with them, as always. A few fake-labels don’t change that. Akagi figures the ruse will last a few months—until Gin’s coworkers and any persistent clients hitting on him—lost interest.

But it’s Gin, and Akagi knows full well that people don’t just ‘lose interest’ in him. Akagi certainly hasn’t, which he knows from how his fingers itch to dial Gin’s number the moment they hang up. If this goes on for a few weeks or a few months or a few years, Akagi wouldn’t mind, so long as it makes Gin’s life a little easier. It isn’t like it’d be a burden for Akagi, either—nothing with Gin could ever be a burden.

Saying Gin isn’t anything like the other underclassmen at Inarizaki is a massive understatement. Akagi has heard about the infamous Miya twins and how they took their middle school volleyball team by storm. They take the Inarizaki volleyball clubroom by storm, too, knocking over a bookcase when Osamu ‘accidentally’ trips Atsumu. 

Aran is vaguely annoyed by it, but Akagi laughs it off, helping Atsumu put the shelf back in place. Suna, too, is as strange as it gets, with horrible posture and a slyly indifferent attitude to match. At least Kosaku seems fairly normal, and Akagi decides to take him under his wing, too, leaving the chaotic twins to Kita.

It’s always a challenging experience when a new cohort of players arrive on the scene. Akagi loves it. He loves seeing the first years slowly acclimate to playing with the current roster. They are aggressive and enthusiastic in all the ways Akagi’s peers aren’t, and he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t get a bit of a thrill out of it.

All—except one.

“Ginjima.” Akagi sticks his head into the clubroom. “Everyone else is warmin’ up already. Is everythin’ okay—”

Akagi cuts himself off abruptly when he notices Gin lying on his back in the middle of the floor. Gin turns his head and looks at Akagi. His face flushes pink as he stammers through his words, “Oh. Sorry, I—musta lost track of time. I’m comin’.”

But Gin doesn’t make any move to sit up. He’s wearing his practice shorts but still has on his uniform dress shirt, tie half undone. Akagi steps into the club room and crouches by his head, peering down at Gin’s face. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Gin raises an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You ain’t movin’.”

“I’m gonna.”

“Uh-huh.” Akagi pokes at Gin’s shoulder. “C’mon.”

Gin sighs as he slowly sits up. The back of his hair sticks up from being mushed against the floor. Akagi brushes off lint from his shoulder and resists the urge to pat down Gin’s hair. “Sorry.”

“You don’t hafta apologize. Everyone’s just wonderin’ where you are.”

Akagi collapses onto his ass as Gin undoes his tie and reaches for his workout t-shirt. “You doin’ okay, Gin?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’.”

“Usually when people are lyin’ on the floor—” Akagi gestures with his hand. “—that means somethin’ ain’t right.”

“’S nothin’. I’ll get over it.” Gin pulls his shirt over his head and stands. “I’m just tired, is all. I think it’s a bit of a curve, havin’ to keep up with practice and all that.”

Akagi nods as Gin rummages through his locker for his sneakers. He’s familiar with the feeling. “You’re doin’ great,” Akagi says.

Gin shrugs. He’s still a stranger to Akagi—he keeps himself at arm’s distance, not yet speaking his mind. That’s normal, considering it’s only been a couple of weeks since the start of the school year. Akagi doesn’t talk too much to Gin—not yet—preferring to study him from afar instead. 

That, Akagi supposes, isn’t sort of his thing. He’s gradually begun to observe the dynamics of his kouhai and notice patterns. Like how Suna constantly slacks off during warmups and how Atsumu runs his mouth when he’s nervous. Gin rarely says more than necessary. Akagi knows that’s bound to change over the year; he just needs to be patient. 

“Somethin’ botherin’ you, Gin?” Akagi tests. “Y’know you can always tell me, right?” 

Gin stills. He glances over towards Akagi only to avert his gaze as he tugs on his shoes. He mumbles something under his breath, which Akagi doesn’t quite catch.

“Huh?”

“I said—it’s just—” Gin huffs a frustrated breath. His throat tightens as he struggles to put together the words, but Akagi places one encouraging hand on his shoulder to push him to continue. “You’ve seen the rest of my class, Akagi-san—”

“Senpai,” Akagi corrects.

“Senpai.” Gin sighs. He hesitates again. Akagi tilts his head and gives him a reassuring smile, which is all he can really offer. There are some people like Aran and Ginjima who tend to get in their heads too much, and Akagi can never say for sure how to handle them perfectly. All he has is a smile, a thumbs up, and a guarantee that he’ll wait patiently until they figure it out.

“Yeah?”

“You see them. They’re really good.”

“Mm. Yeah.” Akagi nods. He’s known, of course, that any first-year who comes to Inarizaki’s Volleyball Club has to be good. No one in their right mind enrolls to their school—and the volleyball club—if they aren’t one-hundred percent confident in their skill. “I’m aware.”

“I forgot what it was like to not be the best,” Gin admits. “Kinda sucks.”

Akagi laughs in surprise, which makes Gin scrunch his nose in confusion. “Well, duh. You ain’t gonna be the best everywhere you go. It’s not somethin’ you should be lyin’ on the floor and mopin’ about.”

“I know. I was just thinkin’.”

“About?”

Gin shrugs. He pushes the door open, Akagi following closely on his heels. “I don’t wanna sound cocky or nothin’ like that. It’s just not a great feelin’, when you feel like you’re so behind yer classmates. I mean, yeah, the Miyas are nuts, and I already knew that, since I played against them in middle school. But even Sunarin is some kinda monster.” Gin chews his lip before continuing, his steps slowing down. Akagi tugs his elbow to keep him moving forward. “I’ve never seen any person hittin’ spikes the way he does, and he could prolly do it in his sleep.”

“So?”

“So. Even Kosaku got a jump serve. I feel like I’m behind.”

Akagi blinks. “It’s been two weeks.”

“And?”

“You can’t expect to magically be the best of the best in two weeks.”

“I know that. I’m just—ugh.” Gin rubs his face with his hands, and Akagi suppresses the urge to snort out another laugh. It isn’t that Gin is wrong, and Akagi can kind of see where he’s coming from. “Sorry. I’m just gettin’ too into my head, I guess.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. And stop apologizin’, alright? I think everyone on this team knows what you’re goin’ through.” Akagi pauses. “Except maybe the Miyas. But they’re, like, the exception. It’s normal especially when you’re playin’ with new people and tryin’ to learn new things, right?” Gin nods, almost painfully, rubbing at his forearms. Akagi has seen him run receiving drills nearly every day, and although Gin’s thoughts are valid, Akagi can’t see why Gin is so worried about falling behind.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re not that late. C’mon.” Akagi picks up his pace into a light jog, Gin keeping stride with him. “I’m just glad I didn’t walk in on you dead or somethin’. Though you kinda looked like it.”

Gin snorts, but when Akagi glances over, his mouth is ticked upward in a soft smile. There’s still a tinge of exhaustion and defeat, but with every step closer to the gym, it slips away. “Didja ever feel like that?” Gin asks, almost tentatively, like he’s worried about offending Akagi. 

“Like I wasn’t as good as anyone else?”

Gin nods.

“Uh, yeah. Every day.” They come to a stop in front of the gym, and Akagi kicks his shoes against the steps at the entrance to knock off the dirt caking the soles. He can hear Kurosu’s voice echoing in the gymnasium, and the hissing murmurs of Atsumu picking fights with Osamu while Kurosu is talking.

“Really?” Gin imitates him, reaching down to brush the dust off of his shoes. “You do?”

“Yeah.”

“I never woulda thought that.”

“Why not?”

Gin shrugs as Akagi takes slow steps up to the gym, raising his hand in greeting when Kurosu glances over towards him. “You don’t seem like it at all.”

“It’s kinda fun not bein’ the best,” Akagi replies. His gym shoes are by the doorway, and he kicks off his sneakers to slip on his gym shoes, not even bothering to put them on properly. He gestures for Gin to follow. A few of their teammates glance over—mostly the other first years and Kita—but Akagi pays them no mind.

He sits at the back of the semi-circle while Kurosu maps out the rest of practice, patting the ground next to him. Gin sits slowly, drawing his knees to his chest. They’re quiet for a few minutes, listening obediently as Kurosu speaks, but Gin leans over to whisper. His voice is so soft that Akagi has to tilt his head to the side to catch it. “How is it fun not bein’ the best?”

Akagi grins. “No one got expectations for you. So you can do whatever you want.”

He’s half-joking when he says it, but a strange look crosses over Gin’s features. It’s a mix of confusion and amusement and surprise, but if he has any response to that, he doesn’t say it. Akagi sits cross-legged on the floor and leans back on the palms of his hands, every so often glancing over at Gin to see if there’s anything worth looking at.

At the end of Kurosu’s talk, the rest of their team breaks out into chatter to prepare for serving practice. Akagi stands and places his hands on his hips, waving over at Aran and Oomimi.

Gin stands beside him, arms crossed. “Thanks,” he says quietly, although Akagi isn’t really sure what he’s thanking him for. 

“Hm.” Akagi opens his mouth to add that Gin has nothing to thank him for, but he’s stopped by Gin breaking into a small smile.

“You ain’t half-bad, Akagi-senpai.”

Akagi blinks. “Huh?”

It’s the first incident Akagi can remember where Gin catches him off guard. He can’t tell if not being half-bad meant he was more than half-good, but Gin doesn’t offer further elaboration. He merely jogs towards his peers, significantly more upbeat than he was not long before, when Akagi had walked in on him lying on the floor. 

“Huh,” Akagi repeats. 

After shaking himself out a daze, Akagi joins Oomimi on the other side of the court—with a lingering feeling that he’s curious to see all the other ways Gin could catch him off guard.

It’s been a while since Akagi met up with his high school friends. He sees Kita every so often, when Kita manages to find time in between the odd working hours of a farmer. And he watches every single one of Aran and Suna and Atsumu’s games, even if it winds up being after the live matches are aired on television. Sometimes, when Oomimi’s at home in Hyogo for work, Akagi will grab a few drinks with him, but for the most part, Akagi doesn’t get a chance to see everyone in person.

If Akagi had to guess, long ago, who would be the most likely to leave Hyogo, he would’ve thought he’d have been the one to do so. He’d left for university, but found himself back after graduating. If Akagi had to guess who would be the most likely to fall out of touch, he wouldn’t have thought it’d be him. But he’s tried to do what he can to keep up, whether it’s texting his friends before each of their games or staying up to date with their social media.

It’s natural, he tells himself, that Gin is the person he remained closest to. They were so close in high school that it would be weird if they hadn’t. Akagi never feels like he’s missing out on anything else because of it, but when he sees Kita, Oomimi, and Kosaku for the first time in nearly a year, he realizes how much he missed them, too.

“You picked up any onigiri yet?” Akagi asks. “Gin and I wanted to get some, but the line in front is packed as hell.”

Kosaku holds up a bag with the signature Onigiri Miya logo on it, and Akagi instantly brightens.

Gin eyes him as he rummages through, pulling out a few to read the labels. “After all that yakitori, you’re still hungry?”

“I always have room for Osamu’s onigiri.”

Gin rolls his eyes but neglects to comment further. Akagi hears Gin and Oomimi fall into casual conversation, and when Akagi feels a presence come up to him, he’s startled to see Kita looming over his shoulder.

“Didja happen to get any of the umeboshi?” Kita drawls. Sometimes it startles Akagi how much Kita has changed, at least appearances-wise. His hair, although trimmed, is a bit more ruffled, and his skin has taken on a deeper tone from hours clocked away outdoors tending to his crops. He looks stronger, too. 

“Yeah.” Akagi pulls one out and hands it over. “Here.”

Kita nods in acknowledgement as he carefully peels away the plastic wrapper. “How’ve you been, Akagi?”

“I’m alright. Y’know how it is. Same old, day in and day out.”

Kita glances over at him in between bites of onigiri. Akagi selects one with tuna mayo and hands the bag back to Kosaku as they begin filing towards their seats, Oomimi leading the way. “You don’t really mean that.”

“Hah. Yeah. Never bored at my job, I guess. At least my company talks.” Akagi considers the wide fields that Kita’s surrounded by day in and day out. He thinks he’d go insane if that was his primary working environment. “And you? How’s...yer rice?”

Kita shoots him a look, and Akagi giggles. “It’s been busy. Close of the season.”

“Ah, that.”

“But it’s rewardin’. I’m lookin’ forward to takin’ some time off after the last of them have been harvested. Thinkin’ about goin’ somewhere for a vacation.”

“You? A vacation?”

“I take vacations,” Kita says, but Akagi raises his eyebrows, doubtful. “I just haven’t taken one in a while.”

“Yeah. Cuz you don’t take ‘em.”

Kita sends him a flat gaze, which only makes Akagi break out into laughter. He interrupts his laughter to take a generous bite of the onigiri, still warm, and steps around a few kids bolting past them. 

The stadium is busy today, and Akagi carefully sticks behind Gin. He has an onigiri in one hand and tugs at the back of Gin’s shirt with the other, right at the hem, trying not to let himself get too distracted by food. “I swear, Shinsuke. The day I see you in a tropical island shirt wearin’ nothin’ but swimmin’ trunks and flip flops is the day I know you’ve really changed since high school.”

“I was thinkin’ about goin’ to Korea, actually. Maybe Jeju.” 

“Jeju’s nice.”

“My family’s thinkin’ of doin’ a trip, so I’ll prolly tag along with them. But that won’t be for a while. I hafta see how things wrap up for me first.” Kita’s eyes flicker towards the court, and Akagi inadvertently follows the movement with his own. In the far distance, crouched by a large MSBY Black Jackals sign, is a flash of platinum blonde hair that Akagi knows all too well.

He smiles fondly, even if some of his earliest memories of Atsumu involve Akagi getting vaguely annoyed with him but forcing himself not to say it. 

He’s so distracted by it that when Gin stops abruptly, Akagi bumps into his back. 

“Watch where you’re goin’, Akagi.” Gin snorts and steps to the side. Kita nods as he steps up the staircase towards their seats.

“Sorry.”

“You’re gettin’ distracted by Samu’s onigiri again, ain’tcha?”

Akagi shakes his head, gesturing towards Atsumu across the court. “I feel like his hair gets shinier every time I see him.”

“Ah.” Gin cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of Atsumu, and Akagi experiences a flash of indulgence when he eyes the sharp angle of Gin’s jaw. “It’s better than when we were in high school.”

Akagi swallows a mouthful of rice and pointedly looks away. Sure, he and Gin are supposed to be dating, but something about checking out Gin so publicly feels wrong. “I guess.”

“C’mon, slow poke.”

Gin reaches for his hand and tugs him along. Akagi follows obediently, careful not to trip over the steps. Gin’s hand is warm, and if he’s bothered by how sweaty Akagi’s palms are, he doesn’t say anything. 

“What’s this I hear about Kita wearin’ tropical t-shirts?” Gin asks. “Or was I imaginin’ that?”

“I was the one imaginin’ Shinsuke in tropical t-shirts.”

“Uh. Why?”

“Cuz he said he’s goin’ on a vacation. Y’know. The thing you don’t do.”

“Uh-huh. Neither do you.”

“Neither do you.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Gin lets out a sigh, and it’s truly amazing how—over years of knowing each other—it’s identical to the one he’d release whenever Akagi pushed his buttons. “You’re here now, I guess. And that counts as a vacation.”

Akagi’s lips quirk up. “Does it?”

Gin scoots into his seat, right next to Kita, and releases Akagi’s hand to allow him to sit. The chairs are close together, and Akagi’s thigh presses against his. “Well, you’re relaxin’, ain’tcha?”

“I just know watchin’ this game is gonna make my blood boil.”

“Cuz of Suna? Or cuz of Atsumu?”

Akagi laughs, and Gin cracks a smile. His arm slides across the back of Akagi’s chair, fingers moving up to curl at the back of his head, and Akagi leans back against it, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Which it is, of course, because—it’s Gin, they’re with their friends, and everything about where they are and who they’re with is easy.

But what’s not easy is how, as Akagi leans his head back and watches Gin’s eyes flicker across the court, Akagi can only fix his eyes on him. There are few things harder than dealing with feelings for a close—no, best friend. Akagi is familiar with it. He has to be, after several years of holding onto them. 

Akagi’s feelings for Gin hit him in waves, or maybe it’s more like a truck, or some bizarre hybrid of the two. He’s gotten used to surges of affection so strong that Akagi collapses into uncharacteristic silence. It’s a fact by now, a law of the universe that Akagi’s a part of. The sky is blue. The summers in Osaka are hot. Akagi has feelings for Gin.

But when Gin glances over, almost absentmindedly, and Akagi doesn’t bother looking away, he knows, for sure, Gin has to know about them. He’s had a feeling Gin has known since they were in high school. How could he not? They’d played along with a fake relationship because everyone assumed they were in a real relationship—and everyone assumed they were in a real relationship because Akagi is incapable of keeping his real feelings at bay.

Knowing Gin, he’s too nice to say anything when Akagi stands a little too close and stares a little too long. He goes along with it and tolerates it, because that’s how he is. And that’s how he has been since day one. 

When the speakers crackle to life to announce the Jackals’ starting roster, and Gin’s eyes light up and he turns to Akagi with excitement, and Akagi takes Gin’s hand in his and presses closer—Akagi knows he’s too selfish and too head over heels for Gin to say anything, either. Because he likes where they are and he likes holding Gin’s hand and he likes when Gin lets him press closer, and there’s no way he’d do anything to ruin it.

Kita’s the first one to say anything about it.  Of course he’d notice—Kita notices everything. What embarrasses Akagi at the time is that he hasn’t even been aware of it. Akagi considers himself fairly self-aware, always quick to pick up on other people’s body language, always able to take a step back and assess how he’s feeling and what he’s feeling and why he’s feeling that way.

“You’ve been spendin’ a lot of time with Ginjima-kun these days,” Kita mentions one day as they’re taking down the nets after practice. He says it almost in passing, but with Kita, Akagi knows there’s no such thing as small talk.

Akagi pauses, net dangling between his fingertips. “Wadaya mean?”

Kita folds his side of the net methodically. Akagi tries to mimic the movement, but ends up cursing under his breath, anyway, when he realizes the net is twisted. “I ain’t accusin’ you of anythin’. Just makin’ an observation.”

Akagi’s eyes wander over towards Gin, who’s in the middle of wiping down the floors with Suna. It’s mostly Gin doing the work, with Suna pushing his mop about a meter every minute. “Oh. I guess.”

“It’s nice of you to take care of him.”

“Well, yeah.”

“I’m sure he appreciates it.”

Akagi places his hands on his hips. “Anythin you tryin’ to say to me, Shinsuke?”

Kita lifts his head, almost startled. Akagi has long since gotten used to Kita’s personality. Sure, he’d been intimidated at first, and he spent the better part of the first year of their friendship coming to terms with Kita’s direct mannerisms. “Not really.”

“Are you sure?”

“I just noticed it. That’s all.” Akagi narrows his eyes, but Kita takes the net from his hands and folds it gently against the ground, crouching into a squat to do so. For all the ways Kita is direct, he’s indirect as well.

They’re preparing for their first preliminary qualifiers for the Interhigh Tournament, and Akagi spends his waking hours playing volleyball and thinking about volleyball in between classes and eating and sleeping. 

Sometimes he’ll pop his head into the first year classrooms for lunch. Suna and Osamu are in the same class, as are Atsumu and Gin. Akagi secretly prefers having lunch with Atsumu and Gin, since Suna and Osamu are so quiet Akagi often does most—if not all—of the talking. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just limit the distractions, Akagi,” Kita says, like he’s a teacher and not his classmate. Sometimes Akagi forgets he’s older than Kita. “We got a lot of work to do if we want a shot at nationals this year.”

“I ain’t gettin’ distracted,” Akagi mumbles. 

Is he getting distracted? Akagi doesn’t think so. It’s not like he’s doing particularly poorly in practice. In fact, he feels as though he’s playing better than ever these days. 

“It ain’t just you I’m talkin’ about.”

“What?”

Kita doesn’t elaborate more than a noncommittal shrug, but his eyes track over to where Gin stands. Kita’s thoughts often don’t require words, at least not for Akagi, and Akagi can hear his commentary, loud and clear. 

Kita nods curtly as he begins walking towards the storage closet housing all their equipment, net gathered in his arms. Akagi grabs one of the carts of volleyballs and pushes it towards stray balls, pausing every so often to pick them up and plop them in.

“Hey.”

Gin materializes beside him, a pile of volleyballs in his arms. The tip of his tongue sticks out of the corner of his mouth as he focuses on balancing them, but the mound tucked against his body nearly topples over.

Akagi laughs and says, “Hey, lemme help you with that.”

Gin holds still as Akagi carefully grabs each ball one by one, depositing them in the cart. His forehead is shiny with sweat and his cheeks are flushed, and Akagi knows he must be exhausted. But Gin’s eyes look more alive than ever. It’s such a strong contrast to the first few weeks he spent on the team, struggling to keep up. Gin looks like he’s ready to plow on ahead.

“Couldja teach me how to do better on my rollin’ receives?” Gin asks excitedly. Akagi has been working with the first years—namely, Kosaku, Osamu, and Suna—on their bumps. Kosaku and Gin are progressing just fine, at least faster than Akagi expected, but Akagi has lower expectations for the other first-years. I’m a middle blocker, Suna would say in that monotonous, sardonic tone of his. Why do I have to receive?

Gin, though—he’s getting there. Less afraid of the pain that inevitably comes with receiving spikes and serves. “I keep messin’ them up.”

“You gotta perfect yer regular receive first.”

Gin frowns. “But I wanna get better at the other stuff, too.”

“You will.”

“I wish I was just good at it already.”

Akagi laughs again, lifting a hand to drop it on Gin’s shoulder. When Gin turns to him with a sheepish smile, there’s a flash of—something. If Kita is right—which he always is—then there’s a good chance that Akagi does see something else in Gin’s eyes, wide and sincere and always glancing over at Akagi.

It isn’t just Akagi who’s latched onto Gin. Gin has latched onto him, too, and although they’re still only friends, Akagi knows that it has to mean something.

The MSBY Black Jackals beat EJP Raijin in an upset, one that Akagi celebrates alongside his former teammates. He watches Atsumu nail service aces back to back, raising his fist in victory, and he sees Suna’s nose scrunch before settling into a neutral expression. Though one of them lost and one of them won, Akagi can’t help but feel a swell of pride for both of them.

Atsumu had pitched the idea of meeting up at a nearby bar after the volleyball game rather than Onigiri Miya. It’s one of the rare occasions Atsumu doesn’t stick around with his teammates post-victory, and it’s one of the rare occasions Suna actually goes out after a game. Akagi falls into step with Kosaku on the way over, listening to him rant about his office coworkers causing more trouble than they do actual work.

“Why don’tcha just quit yer job?” Akagi asks as they settle into their seats. 

Kosaku frowns. “It ain’t that simple. I can’t just quit.”

Akagi shrugs, letting the subject drop as his eyes peruse the menu. Down the length of the table, he can hear Atsumu picking a fight with Suna and Suna pointedly ignoring him, and he hears Kita admonishing Atsumu for doing so. “You ain’t in high school anymore, Atsumu-kun,” Kita says, and it’s enough to get Atsumu to shut up, at least for now. 

“That’s Kita-san’s way of tellin’ you to fuck off.”

“Oh, shut up, Samu. Just cuz Sunarin’s yer boyfriend—”

“Mhm. So shut it.”

There’s a screech of a chair against the floor as Atsumu huffs and mutters under his breath. He snatches the menu from the table and collapses into the vacant seat across from Akagi. “You’re always nicer than those assholes,” he says. His eyes brighten. “Long time no see, Akagi.”

“You played great today,” Akagi says. He lifts a hand to wave down a server. “Yer whole team did, actually. I can’t believe that kid from Karasuno got that good.”

“Yeah, I know, right? We didn’t even get to try out some of our newer plays.” Atsumu settles into his chair, propping his elbows on the table. He’s a walking advertisement for some brand Akagi doesn’t know, and Akagi wonders when Atsumu started wearing more than just sweatpants and t-shirts. “I wanted to try the reverse minus tempo attack with him settin’, but we keep fuckin’ it up in practice, so Coach says we gotta wait till we get at least a ninety-percent success rate.”

Gin snorts. “My god, you two. Can’t you catch a fuckin’ break? Just hearin’ that exhausted me.”

Atsumu laughs, and Akagi briefly wonders if he’d be this optimistic if he’d lost the game. He smiles in amusement at the memory of Atsumu’s various moods as a server comes over to help them.

While Atsumu and Gin go off in discussion about training regiments and macronutrients and fuck knows what else, Akagi helps himself to a generous serving of beer. He’s still full from the onigiri earlier and the yakitori from lunch, which Gin definitely notices because he mouths, I toldja so, when Akagi turns down some appetizers.

“So, Akagi. Whatcha up to nowadays? Got anythin’ special on the horizon?”

Akagi shakes his head. “Same old, same old—wait, my students wanted yer autographs. Think you can get me a few before we leave for the night?” Akagi sticks his head past Gin to raise his voice down the table. “Suna, I need yer autographs for my students.”

“Hm. Maybe I should head home to Hyogo for a bit.” Atsumu’s eyes soften. “It’s been a while since I’ve been back. I can drop by yer team practice or somethin’.”

Gin snorts a laugh. “I think you’d be more distractin’ than helpful.”

“Oh, you’re just jealous no one’s askin’ for yer autograph.”

“Mhm.” Akagi feels Gin’s legs bump against his under the table, and moments later, Akagi can feel his hand squeeze gently on Akagi’s kneecap. “In all seriousness, you should, Tsumu. You and Suna and Aran. I’m sure Akagi’s kids would love it.”

“Aw, you’re flatterin’ me.”

“I’m serious.”

“Lemme think about it. It ain’t too far. I’m just—y’know. I’m busy.” Atsumu sighs. He doesn’t say more—he doesn’t have to. Akagi’s heard the gossip to spill through their high school alumni group about Atsumu supposedly dating one of his teammates. Perhaps ‘courting’ is a better word, since Akagi isn’t sure if they’re technically together or not. “Somethin’ always comes up, y’know?”

Gin nods, and Akagi slips his hand under the table to rest his palm on top of Gin’s hand.

“Are you plannin’ on goin’ back anytime soon?” Atsumu asks. “I know you said you were thinkin’ of goin’ for a bit at the end of the summer, but I don’t remember you not bein’ around Osaka, Ginjima.”

Gin shakes his head and winces. “No. I’m not.”

Akagi frowns. This isn’t what he’d been expecting.

He tries for casual, though the growing sense of confusion continues to bother him. “Oh, you’re not gonna, Gin? I woulda thought you’d make plans for holidays.”

“Nope.” Gin sips tentatively from his beer. Gin has never been a good liar, so Akagi knows he’s probably telling the truth, but he can’t help but feel like he’s missing something. Because—as Akagi knows—Gin only writes down final, final plans on his calendar. That’s how he is.

“Huh.” 

Akagi tries not to let it bother him that much. It’s possible that there’s something private going on in Gin’s life that he doesn’t want to disclose to Atsumu or to Akagi, and even though it’s a total violation of respect and boundaries, Akagi’s itching to know, anyway. “Well, Atsumu-kun’s right. You should try and come home. It’s been a while since you’ve been around.”

Gin turns his head, eyes crinkling. His response is a gentle sweep of his eyes across Akagi’s face, and Akagi’s lungs constrict. 

The best part about a fake-relationship, Akagi decides, is that he doesn’t have to hide the affection that causes him to feel like he’s bursting at the seams. Akagi can wear it on his sleeve, and no one will call him out on it. Not Gin, and not Atsumu.

“Ugh,” Atsumu comments. He makes a distinct gagging noise. “Yuck. Pack it up, lovebirds.”

Still, Gin’s mysterious trip to Hyogo continues to prod at the back of Akagi’s mind. Even when food starts coming out and drinks continue being poured and Akagi starts getting distracted by the flush rising on Gin’s neck, he can’t help but think about it. He thinks about the reasons why Gin could potentially come to Hyogo and why he’s not telling anyone. Despite the contentment he feels with Gin’s thumb brushing against his hand, Akagi desperately wants to know more. After all, fake-boyfriends who are actually real-best-friends tell each other everything. 

Atsumu is the first of the first-years to bring it up. “So,” he says.

Akagi raises an eyebrow. “What?”

It isn’t that he doesn’t like Atsumu. He likes Atsumu plenty. He’s a damn good volleyball player, he has a sense of humor, and he’s to-the-point and honest. He’s a bit rough around the edges and often oversteps boundaries, but Akagi isn’t the type of person to get upset by his lack of tact. But Atsumu definitely wouldn’t be Akagi’s primary nomination for best first year award.

“Wadaya want, Tsumu?” Gin asks through mouthfuls of curry. They’re sitting in class 1-2 during lunch. Akagi has a half-empty juice box that he fiddles with as Atsumu tips back in his chair. “You’re gonna fall, moron.”

“When were you plannin’ on tellin’ me that you two were together?”

Gin pauses, spoonful of curry halfway to his mouth. Akagi tilts his head to the side. “What?”

“You two are so obvious that it’s kinda painful.” Atsumu taps his chopsticks against the edge of his bento box as he brushes his hair away from his forehead. Akagi yanks at the back of Atsumu’s seat to force him to sit down properly, and Atsumu grunts in response when the legs of the chair slam against the floor.

“We’re obvious?” Akagi asks, because he can sense Gin’s mind going into overdrive. He sees it in Gin’s eyes first, then in his rigid posture, then in the painful stillness that he works himself into. Akagi kicks at Gin’s chair under the table, and Gin flinches, finally shoving the spoonful of curry into his mouth.

“Yeah. It’s kinda painful. You’re even more obvious than Rin and my idiot brother.”

Akagi didn’t think he was more obvious than Suna and Osamu at all. “I see.”

“We’re wonderin’ about it, me and Kosaku. But Samu and Rin say you’re prolly just close friends. Which—I mean—” Atsumu gestures vaguely. The point is driven home. “They ain’t the best people to judge this kinda thing.”

“What’s it matter to you?” Akagi asks, almost defensively. “It ain’t yer business.”

“Yeah, but you’re both my teammates. So—yer business is kinda my business.” Atsumu eyes Akagi’s bento box, half-eaten on the desk in front of him, and frowns. “I mean, I figured as much, considerin’ you come to eat lunch with us, like, every fuckin’ day.”

Akagi knows he can’t deny any of Atsumu’s commentary, because it’s not like Akagi was seeking out Atsumu to just talk. Nor was he walking home with him after practice. Atsumu, for all his impulsive brattiness, is fairly observant—or maybe Akagi is just that blatantly obvious.

“So?” Akagi asks coolly. He can be cool. If he stays cool, then it’ll take the pressure off of him and, subsequently, Gin. “What about it?”

Atsumu shrugs as he tugs at the tie around his neck, loosening it a hair. He always gets more rumpled after lunch, and even now, he looks like he’s ready for a nap. “I was just wonderin’. Nothin’ wrong with it. Must be nice to have someone.” Atsumu sighs, and Akagi would almost feel bad if it weren’t a tad bit amusing.

“You got volleyball. Ain’t that enough?” Gin says, a teasing lilt to his voice, and Akagi exhales a sigh of relief. If Gin acts normal, then Akagi can totally be normal. 

“Yeah. It’s enough, but then it’s not.” Atsumu frowns. “Whatever. I’m on the startin’ lineup. That’s more important to me.”

Gin rolls his eyes.

Akagi winces at Atsumu’s comment, but Gin doesn’t appear bothered by it. “You keep tellin’ yourself that, Atsumu-kun.”

“Fuck off, Akagi-san.” Atsumu mumbles something about third-wheeling under his breath, and Akagi laughs.  He exchanges a glance with Gin, whose eyes sparkle with amusement as Atsumu continues to bemoan being alone, or whatever.

Looking back on it, Akagi thinks maybe he could’ve said something. But he realizes that—he didn’t want to. If it gives him an excuse to seek out Gin during the in-betweens, then so be it. People can think what they want, but all that matters is how, at the end of the day, Akagi and Gin are close friends, and nothing—not even blossoming feelings—can get in the way of it.

It doesn’t take long for Akagi’s friends to loosen. Akagi remembers the rush of adrenaline after an exhilarating match, and even though he’s not the one playing anymore, he can still feel the come down as easy as the last time he felt it for real. In between bottles of sake and beer passed around the table, Akagi picks at the side dishes and appetizers. For the most part, he tunes out Atsumu and Gin talking, listening in every so often when something catches his attention.

Akagi pokes his head around Gin, glancing down the table, and sees the empty seat previously vacated by Atsumu. He decides that he’s had enough of Atsumu, and he’ll have more of Gin later, so he might as well mingle with his other friends.

“Akagi.” Suna draws out his name like it’s a melody. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes look even lazier than usual. Akagi notices this and snatches the mostly empty bottle of beer away from him. Suna doesn’t seem to care as he slouches to the side, one arm around Osamu, the other tossed unceremoniously over the back of his chair. “How’s my favorite libero doin’?”

“I dunno if Komori-kun would be happy aboutcha callin’ Akagi yer favorite libero.” Osamu tries to hand Suna a cup of water, but Suna waves it away, nearly knocking it out of Osamu’s hand in the process. Osamu curses under his breath and sets the cup on the table.

“I feel like I never see you anymore.” Suna jabs a finger in Akagi’s direction. “I don’t remember the last time I saw you at a game.”

“I came to yer match against the Adlers last season.”

“That was last season, Akagi.”

“So?”

“So it’s not fair you’re watching more of Atsumu’s games than mine.”

Akagi rolls his eyes as he slouches back in his seat. Osamu huffs a quiet laugh, affectionately running his fingers through the crown of Suna’s head. Akagi watches as he absentmindedly twirls strands of Suna’s hair between his fingertips. “You’re farther away than he is.”

“And that’s gonna stop you?”

“Yeah.”

Suna frowns, uncharacteristic of his non-inebriated self, and Akagi laughs. “You’re drunk, Suna. You don’t give a damn if I show up to yer games so long as yer dumb boyfriend is there.”

“He’s got a point,” Osamu says at the same time Suna bites back, “He’s not dumb.”

“Uh-huh.” Akagi pushes the glass of water closer to Suna. “I think you should drink some water, Suna. You’re drunk.”

“I hate when Atsumu wins,” Suna mumbles, but he picks up the glass anyway. Osamu rolls his eyes, and when Akagi makes eye contact with him, Akagi knows this isn’t an unusual occurrence. He’s always gotten a kick out of former teammates facing off, especially when it’s someone like Suna, who’s not easily bothered by that sort of thing—at least not outwardly. Akagi knows better. He can see the streak of competition in Suna’s eyes every time someone brings up rankings in the V. League, and he can see the scowl that refuses to budge from Suna’s face as he begrudgingly sips at the water.

“I hate when he wins, too,” Osamu says empathetically. “He’s so insufferable when he beats you.”

“I coulda won.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Akagi snorts, but his chest blooms with nostalgia. They’ve come a long way, Suna and Osamu. Akagi finds it hard to believe the affectionate couple sitting across from him are the same clueless morons that were practically dating in high school without actually ‘dating.’ “Do you think you’re gonna stick around with EJP, Suna? I know yer contract’s expirin’ soon.”

Suna shrugs. When his shoulders drop, he hunches over, head swinging to the side and making contact with Osamu’s shoulder. Osamu flinches, and he gently adjusts Suna’s head in a vain attempt to mitigate the uncomfortable angle of Suna’s neck. “I dunno yet. I like EJP.”

“Don’tcha wanna…” Akagi’s voice trails off. He traces the condensation gathered on the bottle of beer in his hand and glances up towards Osamu. Osamu is too preoccupied fussing with Suna’s head position to spare Akagi a look, so Akagi plows on ahead. “Don’tcha wanna be closer to Osaka?”

“And play on MSBY with Atsumu? No, thanks. I hear enough of him every day. There’s no way in fuck I’d ever willingly play on the same team as him again.”

Akagi snorts. “Didn’t you say last time you wanted to join the Olympic team?”

Suna scowls. “Whatever.”

“Uh-huh. So maybe you should think about it.”

“Nope. No way. I’m not joining. I can deal with Atsumu, maybe. But I don’t know if I could be on the same team as Bokuto. Or Hinata.” Suna purses his lips. “Meian’s pretty okay. And I like Sakusa. But the rest—nah. I’m not going to.”

“But it’s closer to Osamu, ain’t it?”

Osamu almost chokes on water as he says, “Uh.”

Suna’s eyes narrow. It would be intimidating if they weren’t stuck under a haze of drunken sleepiness, and Akagi suppresses a smile. He lifts his cup to his mouth to hide his lips, and when he steals a look down the table, he’s surprised to see Gin watching the scene unfold in front of him. When Gin catches his eye and smiles back, Akagi is caught between the urge to look away and the urge to keep staring. 

“I ain’t tellin’ you what you should or shouldn’t do. I’m just sayin’—might be one worth thinkin’ about.”

“You’re one to talk,” Suna mutters. “Aren’t you the one that’s still in Hyogo?”

“I like Hyogo,” Akagi says, shifting in his seat. It’s not a complete lie. He enjoys it. It’s comfortable. It’s his home. “There’s nothin’ that could drag me outta there. Not yet.”

Suna raises an eyebrow, lids heavy as he attempts to hold his eyes open. “Nothing?”

Akagi merely shrugs. He downs the rest of the beer and suppresses a disgusting burp, only to be filled with a swarm of jitters deep in his gut. “Mind yer business, Sunarin.”

“You’re the one telling me to move closer to Osamu in the first place.”

“Uh, I didn’t say that at all.”

“Yes, you did.”

“No. You just heard it.”

“I heard you telling me—”

“Suna.” Osamu’s tone is cut with exasperation. “You barely drank any water. C’mon. I ain’t takin’ care of yer hungover ass tomorrow, and you got a train to catch.”

Suna, as usual, complies with Osamu. Akagi lets the topic go, only because he’s sure Suna would find a way to get back at him, somehow. He asks Osamu about Onigiri Miya, and he carefully monitors Suna’s head as it bobs forward. Before he knows it, Osamu has to hold Suna up by the shoulders.

“He’s still such a fuckin’ lightweight,” Osamu says. He grits his teeth as Suna dozes off, head resting on Osamu’s torso once again. As uncomfortable as it might look for Suna, it must be even more uncomfortable for Osmau. “I can’t believe this guy.”

“Eh. He deserves to let loose once in a while.” Akagi rearranges some of the glassware further away from the table’s edge. 

“He had, like...two drinks.”

“You’re the one that let him drink it.”

Osamu frowns. His hair, thick and dark and slightly longer than usual, is disheveled, probably because Suna is the kind of boyfriend who constantly runs his fingers through it. “So it’s my fault?”

“Nah. Suna should know better.” Akagi tries to kick at Suna’s legs under the table, but Suna doesn’t even stir. 

Osamu pauses. He has an almost guilty look flash across his face. “Akagi.”

“What?”

“The thing you said—about Suna movin’.”

“Oh. What about it?”

“Don’t push him too much, is all. I know you mean it all in good fun, but—” Osamu shrugs. “I’ve been tryin’ to get him to come to Osaka for a while now, cuz it ain’t like he’s too far, but it’d be nice to see him every day instead of the weekend. And he’s thinkin’ about it. But I think other people tellin’ him advice and stuff makes him only wanna do it less.”

Akagi winces. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Nah, it’s fine. No way you coulda known.” Osamu readjusts his shoulder, pushing Suna’s head a little further back. “Everyone keeps askin’ him about it. That’s all. And I’ve already hinted at it. But he’s stubborn.”

‘Stubborn ’ is an understatement. “Got it.”

“Thanks.” Osamu sighs a breath of relief. “I really mean it.”

Akagi hums absentmindedly. If he’s being honest, he only brought it up because it’s fun to tease Suna every once in a while, especially when he’s a little drunk and uncharacteristically expressive. “I hope he does,” he adds. “I think it’d be nice for you to be closer.”

Osamu’s expression softens. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

They’re not his kouhai anymore—not exactly. But fondness for them sticks around all the same. 

“What about you?” Osamu asks. “Are you plannin’ on relocatin’ anytime soon?”

Akagi gives a noncommittal shrug. “I thought about movin’ out, but I dunno. I like my job. And I like teachin’. So even if I move out, I’ll just move back anyway, I think.”

“Hm.” Osamu, as usual, is a man of few words, but his ‘hm’ says more than paragraphs ever could. 

“What?”

“I didn’t say nothin’.”

“You didn’t, but you did.”

“It’s just surprisin’. That’s all.” Osamu slings one arm across Suna’s waist, holding him in place. “Of all people movin’ outta Hyogo, I woulda thought it woulda been you.”

Akagi had thought that, too, at one point. After all, he’d booked it straight to Tokyo after graduating high school. He spent four glorious years in university, weaving in and out of Tokyo’s bustling streets. It was wonderful and exhausting, and afterwards, Akagi wanted nothing more than to return back to Hyogo. “It’s home for me. Right now, anyway.”

“Mhm,” Osamu says, but Akagi catches how his eyes veer to the side. He catches how Osamu’s lips press together, and he catches how Osamu opens his mouth to say more before promptly shutting it.

“Don’t even try me, Osamu,” Akagi warns. He tries to keep it lighthearted and casual, much like most of his conversations, and if Osamu catches the edge to his voice, he doesn’t say anything. “Figure out yer shit first.”

“I’m tryin’,” Osamu mutters, sighing again as he scrunches his nose at Suna’s dozing figure. Akagi shakes his head. He rests his elbow on the table, propping his head up, and wonders for a moment if things could be different if he had the guts to take the dive and move out of Hyogo.

He wonders, for a moment, if things could be different if he had the guts to take the dive and push things forward with Gin.

Which—Akagi doesn’t. Because Gin isn’t his boyfriend, Osaka isn’t his home, and everything away from Hyogo is—of course—temporary. The prospect of moving for a significant other is exciting and terrifying, which is how Suna must be feeling right now. It’s crazy enough doing that when you’re in your twenties and in a long term relationship, so trying to relocate for someone who’s not even a real significant other is outright batshit.

Still, Akagi can’t help but think about how nice it would be to have daily meet ups instead of biweekly calls, to talk face-to-face with Gin more frequently than conversing over text messages.

It must be nice, he thinks. Having that. If the opportunity were available to him, then maybe he’d take it.

Actually, no—Akagi knows he would. He’d gladly take it, if it meant having more of Gin.

And that is the problem.

Akagi loves Nationals. He loves the anticipation that coils in his stomach and spurs his heart into motion. Even if he doesn’t plan on continuing volleyball after high school, Akagi knows he’ll remember this feeling forever.

It’s the night before their first game in the bracket at the Interhigh tournament of his third year. By now, Akagi is a seasoned veteran—he’s been to more National tournaments than most people attend their entire high school career, and he’s won games and lost games and messed up during games. Nothing can shake him—not in the way things used to.

The terror that once used to set off his nerves is now replaced with excitement, which makes it a bit more difficult to fall asleep.

His roommates snore in the room around him. There’s something both uncomfortable and comforting about having a sea of futons surrounding him. He can hear Atsumu tossing and turning every minute and Osamu mumbling under his breath. Otherwise, it’s completely silent, as ordered by Kita no more than an hour ago.

Akagi lays on his back and stares at the ceiling. It’s his last year of high school and his last year with this team. He wants to see how far they can go, and he wants to watch his teammates get there. But Akagi also feels a little nostalgic already, knowing full well that once it’s over this year—it’s over.

Akagi shakes his head. He refuses to be a downer. Because he is excited, and he itches to play against high-level teams and pick apart how to stop them from scoring points. As he flips onto his stomach, scratching at his head, Akagi tells himself that he’ll have positive thoughts, and positive thoughts only.

“Akagi?”

Akagi picks up his head at the whisper. He realizes that Gin is still awake, too, head peeking out from a thick pile of blankets. 

“You ain’t sleepin’?” Akagi asks, even though it’s obvious.

Gin shakes his head slowly. 

“Can’t sleep? Or not tired?”

“Both.”

“Too nervous?”

Gin shrugs.

“Ugh.” Akagi groans silently as he kicks off his blankets. “C’mon. Let’s go on a walk.”

“What? Right now?”

“Well, yeah.”

Gin eyes Kita’s futon, where he sleeps like a corpse in a coffin, unmoving.

“Don’t worry. If Shinsuke wakes up, you can tell him you tried to stop me, but I didn’t listen.”

Gin frowns, but he gets up anyway. Both boys rummage through their belongings—as quiet as they can—to pull out socks. Akagi snatches a blanket for good measure; although the Tokyo air is warm, a chilly and damp breeze creeps through the rickety window panes of the inn they’re staying in.

Once they slip out of the room, Gin lets out a sigh. “Sorry I made you get outta bed.”

Akagi frowns. He tugs Gin by the wrist. “Wadaya talkin’ about? It ain’t like I was sleepin’ anyway.”

Gin follows without a word as Akagi leads the way out of the inn. They step out into the still night air, Akagi’s blanket around his shoulders, and he’s careful not to let a single centimeter of it drag along the ground. 

They’re silent at first, and Akagi kicks at the dirt with his well-worn shoes. He glances over at Gin, who has a funny, distant look in his eyes. He’s grown in the time Akagi has known him. It’s been over a year since their first meeting on the steps, and Gin no longer looks like the awkward, shy first-year Akagi once knew. He’s taller, for one thing. And his face has started to shed some of its fullness, body replaced by lean muscle carved from hours of volleyball practice.

His maturity shows in his personality now, too—Akagi has begun to lose track of the number of times Gin intervenes between the twins or pushes Suna and Kosaku to step up beyond the bare minimum. He’s quicker to speak his mind now, less likely to falter when making decisions, even if that means he sometimes misjudges and miscalculates and makes mistakes.

But Akagi likes that about him. Sometimes, fragments of his first-year self creeps through the cracks, and Akagi likes that, too. Akagi isn’t sure if other people catch it, or if he’s the only one.

They step outside of the inn and down a narrow sidewalk. Akagi has done this walk several times before, each night when they traveled to Tokyo for Nationals. The familiar cracked pavement, the yellow hue of the street lamps—Akagi knows the route like the back of his hand, and Gin follows without hesitation.

This is Akagi’s first time doing the walk with someone else, and he realizes that he doesn’t mind it at all. He uses it as a mechanism to clear his head, but with Gin beside him, things get a little fuzzier—not necessarily in a bad way. Akagi breaks the silence with quiet words, trying to keep things light. That’s what he’s good at, anyway, and that’s what he presumed Gin needed. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?” 

Gin stuffs his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, shoulders hunched, eyebrows pinched as he thinks carefully about it. “This is gonna sound stupid.”

“Nah. Nothin’ is stupid, Ginjima.”

“It’s my first national game on the startin’ line up,” Gin says with reluctant words, and Akagi nods. He knows the feeling. “Even though I’ve been startin’ since—for a while now—it feels so much bigger, I guess. I’m just feelin’ nervous.”

“Nervous in a bad way?”

“Nervous in a bad way.”

“Hm.” Akagi shivers as a breeze brushes against his bare skin, and he readjusts the blanket so it fits better over his shoulders, covering where his arms are left barren outside of the hem of his sleeves. “It ain’t stupid. But you don’t got anythin’ to worry about. You know that.”

“I know. But still. It’s—I mean, it’s so much bigger than back home.” Gin lifts his eyes and stares at the silhouette of the buildings outlined by the moon. Tokyo is bigger, alright. Although Akagi doesn’t consider himself a suburban or country boy by any means, there’s a certain vibrancy to Tokyo that he still hasn’t fully acclimated to. He prefers it at night, like this, when the hum of cars has dwindled and the tall buildings and sidewalks are reduced to silent shadows. “The game, I mean. I’m just—nervous.”

“That’s normal.”

“I know it is. It just feels stupid.”

Akagi notices Gin stiffen again when a particularly long gust of wind whispers past them. He offers Gin half of his blanket, which Gin accepts. Akagi takes half a step closer, just enough that there’s plenty of blanket to spare, and as he clutches it around him, his arm brushing against Gin’s. Despite the cold air, Gin is warm. “Is there anythin’ in particular you’re nervous about?”

Gin chews his lip. “Servin’, for one thing. My jump serve still ain’t that great.”

“It’s better than it was before.”

“Yeah, but it ain’t great. And also, I know I’m bound to get in my head at one point—”

“Which is normal.”

“And I’m just worried—what if I don’t pull myself outta it? I don’t wanna be benched durin’ my first game at Nationals.” Gin’s lips turn down in a tight pout, and if Akagi weren’t the responsible, sensitive senpai, he would easily kiss them into a smile. “That would kinda suck.”

“Hm.” Akagi threads his arm into Gin’s, elbow to elbow, and pulls him gently to the side so Gin can sidestep the streetlamp he’s moments away from walking right into. Gin stiffens a bit, muscles flexing against Akagi’s arm, before relaxing as he exhales a steady sigh. “If you get benched, you get benched. If you don’t, you don’t. It ain’t the end of the world.”

“I know. I just—I don’t wanna mess up, okay? I’m worried I’m gonna mess up.”

“Yeah.” Akagi pulls his arm away and tugs at the blanket again, which has begun to slip off his shoulder. “I get that.”

“Don’tcha get nervous, Akagi?” There’s a thin trail of wistfulness at Gin’s voice. “I mean, you’ve been startin’ libero since yer first year.”

Akagi opens his mouth, slowing down as they round the corner of the street.  “I do,” he says quietly. “I get nervous all the time.”

“Really?” Gin’s eyes widen in surprise. “I never woulda thought that.”

“Yeah. I get nervous when I gotta take a test, and I know I shoulda studied more.”

Gin snorts, but the frown ticks up into a gentle smile. 

“I get nervous when I wake up and I notice that I overslept the five different alarms I set and my mom comes yellin’ to wake me up. Also, I get nervous when it’s late at night and my parents ain’t home and I’m convinced a boogeyman is gonna come in and steal all my snacks.”

Gin breaks out into a fit of laughter, shaking beside Akagi, and Akagi’s heart clenches. Sure, they’ve been friends for over a year now, but Akagi still hasn’t gotten used to the way Gin’s presence and bright laughter makes Akagi’s chest seize.

“I get nervous all the time. Just cuz you don’t see it don’t mean I don’t.” Akagi kicks at the ground. He wants to add that he gets nervous whenever Gin is around, too—but that’s a different kind of nervous. Most of his nerves erupt because of something bad that’s going to happen. But with Gin, his nerves erupt because of something good.

Because—it’s Gin. And he’s the greatest good Akagi has experienced thus far in his eighteen years of existence.

“Akagi?”

“Yeah?”

Gin pauses. “How do you deal with it?”

“Bein’ nervous?”

“Yeah, that.”

Akagi thinks about it. “I ask myself, ‘what’s there to be nervous for?’ And I think about all the things that prove I don’t gotta be nervous for anythin’.”

“Like?”

“Like, when I go to take a test I didn’t study for, I remind myself of all the tests I didn’t study for but somehow still passed.”

Gin snorts. “You’re a turd, y’know that?”

Akagi grins. “I’m a lucky turd.”

“And it works?”

“For the most part, I guess it does. So you can just think about all the games you kicked ass in and all the practice you put into it. You don’t hafta worry about anythin’.”

This time, it’s Gin who slowed down. They’re at the corner of the street, rounding back towards the entrance of the inn. Akagi starts to become more aware of the warmth clinging to the blanket, from his body and from Gin’s, and he tries not to think too much about Gin’s arm pressed against his. “Akagi.”

“Huh?”

“I’m nervous about somethin’, but I dunno what to do about it yet. Cuz I dunno if there’s somethin’ I should be nervous for.”

“What?”

Gin turns towards him, blanket tightening around Akagi’s shoulder as he tries to hold it in place. The nervous sleeplessness has fallen away from Gin’s eyes, leaving him only with something both terrifying and exhilarating. It slams into Akagi’s gut, knocking the wind and some sense straight out of him, and suddenly, a year’s worth of emotions and affection bubbles to the surface as all ambiguity evaporates.

“Akagi.”

Mild panic begins to surge under Akagi’s skin. He’s already been accused of showing favoritism towards Gin. Everyone on their team has asked him about it already, save for Gin himself. Although both of them are fully aware about how others perceive them—as a couple rather than friends—neither make a move to correct it. And neither make a move to address it with each other, either.

“You got nothin’ to be worried about.” Akagi, like a coward, takes a step closer, tucking his chin against Gin’s shoulder, a last resort to hide his face and subsequently the turmoil stirring inside him. He doesn’t move to hug him, necessarily, but if the physical touch is anything near as comforting for Gin as it is for Akagi, then Akagi figures this is enough.

Gin stiffens before relaxing. He presses his chin against Akagi’s head, sighing gently.

Akagi swallows.

It isn’t that he’s afraid of broaching the topic with Gin. Gin is special to him, and nothing can compare to saying that out loud—and for Gin to finally hear it. But Akagi is happy with how they are. He enjoys Gin’s company, whether it’s practicing volleyball or swinging by the convenience store to pick up steamed buns on the way home, whether he’s heckling Gin into playing card games with the other third-years or watching Gin grow as a player and subsequently as a person. Akagi feels wholly and completely satisfied by their friendship, and he never wants to ask for more, especially when it runs the risk of things turning south.

“You’re kinda cool, y’know that, Akagi?” Gin says. The words hum in his throat and buzz against Akagi’s cheek. “Even though you still never have matchin’ socks.”

“Fuck off. Matchin’ them is is a waste of time.”

Gin breaks into a fit of giggles, and Akagi sighs in relief. He pulls away, instantly missing Gin’s body heat, but sticks close as they take slow steps back to the inn.

“You’re cool, too,” Akagi says. “Even though you’re kinda not cool at the same time.”

Gin rolls his eyes and snorts. He hesitates, as if to say more, caught in between his lips as he presses them into a hard and thin line. 

Whatever Gin has on his mind, he shoves it aside. He reaches forward and slides his hand down the length of Akagi’s arm, gripping at his forearm. It startles Akagi, because so far, usually it’s Akagi initiating the physical touches—not Gin. “I wanna win a lot,” Gin saiy. “I want us to win.”

Akagi grins to hide the erratic heart rate in his chest. “Me, too,” he says, and he takes Gin’s hand in his and motions for him to follow him back into the inn for a full night’s rest. “And y’know what? I think we will.”

They say farewell to their friends after a couple too many drinks. Akagi’s belly is warm with alcohol and food, and his chest swells with the satisfaction he hadn’t felt in a while. He’d forgotten how easy it was to click into place with his former teammates. It’s like his heart doesn’t realize what’s missing until it’s already been fulfilled.

“You good, Akagi?” Gin asks, eyeing how Akagi drifts back and forth. 

“I’m good.”

Gin grabs his elbow as Akagi giggles. He’s a little bit lightheaded and his tongue feels dry as sandpaper, but he’s happy. “I’m glad I came. It was nice seein’ everyone.”

“I woulda liked it more if you hadn’t ditched me and left me stranded with Atsumu.”

“Hey, now. He wanted to talk to you.”

“You realize I talk to him, like, every fuckin’ day, right?” Gin sighs. He doesn’t get as red in the face as Suna does when he drinks, but the typical stiff shoulders are gone. Akagi brushes his fingers against the fabric of Gin’s sweatshirt. “So thanks for that, by the way. I woulda much rather talked to Suna or Kita-san or Kosaku, or somethin’.”

“And not me?” Akagi teases, because teasing is easy. 

“You know that ain’t true.” Gin makes another grab for him, a breathy laugh escaping from his lips as he straightens Akagi on the sidewalk. Akagi tries not to think too much about Gin’s palm, warm and steady, right in between his shoulder blades. 

“Yeah,” Akagi says. “I know.”

“Didja eat enough tonight?”

“Yeah. I think I drank enough, too.”

“No shit.” Gin slowly guides Akagi back towards his apartment. Akagi follows, half a step behind. “Don’t think I missed you rilin’ up Suna.”

“Rilin’? Me?” Akagi grins. “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”

Gin’s hand slips from Akagi’s shoulders down to the small of his back. Akagi swallows and turns away. This—whatever this is—isn’t the sort of thing Gin has to do. No one else is around, and Akagi’s walking mostly straight. Akagi knows he should say something, but he doesn’t, because he’s selfish enough to want to indulge in it a little while longer. “He deserves it. So it’s okay, I guess.”

“He deserves what, exactly?” Akagi raises an eyebrow. “Cuz I was just buggin’ him about  movin’ closer to be with Osamu-kun.”

“Oh? And what’d he say to that?”

“Osamu told me to drop the topic.”

Gin barks a laugh. “Yeah, I’ve been on Suna’s ass for the past year, Akagi. That asshole’s as stubborn as he was back in high school, I swear. I’ve even considered tellin’ him it’s a bad idea to move to Osaka cuz I know he’d prolly do what I tell him not to just outta spite.”

“Sounds like Suna.”

“No kiddin’. I know he likes EJP and all, even if he bitches about his teammates.” Gin scrunches his nose. “But he bitches about all his teammates, y’know? So I can’t tell him to give it up just to be closer to Osamu. ‘Specially when things are goin’ good for them right now.”

Akagi nods slowly as he considers this. “But Osamu wants him closer.”

“Well, yeah. Wouldn’t you if you were in Osamu’s shoes?”

Akagi licks his lips, Gin’s question hanging in the chilly air. He knows his answer, of course, and he knows the intricacies that come with a seemingly straightforward response. Because he’s in Osamu’s shoes, but he also isn’t, and he’s not sure if Gin is asking him a hypothetical or if Gin’s asking him for real. He settles for a vague response. “Mm.”

“Ah. Well. I guess they’ll figure it out.” Gin sighs. His eyes lift as he fiddles with the zippers on his jacket. It’s a good time to finally ask Gin about the mysterious Hyogo trip, but Akagi’s distracted. Distracted, because Gin’s fingers drift from his back to Akagi’s arm to Akagi’s hand, and Akagi thinks, well, maybe it’s because Gin also had alcohol to drink. But that doesn’t excuse all the other moments where they toe the line between best friends and more-than-friends. And maybe Akagi’s had too much to drink, because he’s struck by the sudden recognition that this is a perfect time to kiss him.

“Gin,” Akagi says at the same time Gin says, “Akagi.”

Both of them pause, footsteps crunching on the pavement. The sun has dipped low on the horizon, but it’s impossible to miss the sheen in Gin’s eyes as he looks at Akagi—really, really looks.

“Let’s getcha home,” Gin says.

Akagi wants to laugh at himself. Home is Hyogo. Home isn’t Osaka.

But Gin is here, and Akagi thinks: maybe it could be.

The loss against Karasuno is surprising yet reinvigorating. Akagi didn’t think they’d get knocked out in the first round, but he kind of likes that he can still be surprised like that. It’s a tough reminder to expect the unexpected.

His teammates are far more upset about it. Sometimes the tinge of sadness stains his chest, too, especially when he hears Kita’s words echoing. Akagi doesn’t have the same pull as Kita did, nor does he have the same authority or presence. But he feels that, too—he feels how he wants to say how proud he is of his teammates, even if it’s for just a little while longer.

It’s the quietest Akagi has ever seen his teammates. Even Atsumu, mouthy as hell with a track record to prove it, doesn’t say much. They slip into bed one by one, knowing that—although the tournament is going to continue tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day—Inarizaki is done.

“Akagi.”

This time, it’s Gin who pokes at Akagi’s shoulder. He whispers somewhere above him. Akagi tilts his head further back. Gin is upside down in his field of vision, propped up on his elbows, blanket pulled over his head. His eyes shine wide under the dim moonlight streaming through the windows.

“Hm?” Akagi stretches out his body like a cat. 

“Wanna go on a walk?”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s cold as hell.”

Gin pauses. He looks like he wants to say more, pressing against the seam of his lips. “Okay.”

Akagi sighs. It is cold outside, and his body has created a cocoon of warmth under his blanket. But he can’t say no to Gin. The moments they have now are fleeting, and Akagi wants to grab hold of them while he still can. “Do you got an extra sweatshirt? I leant mine to Kosaku.”

Gin’s sheets rustle as he slips out from under them. “Yeah. I got one. Gimme a sec.”

Akagi pushes himself off his futon and stands. His teammates are passed out around him. There’s something endearing about how they manage to cram all of them in a tiny room. Akagi has a sudden urge to cry. He isn’t sad, but affection and nostalgia hit him in waves. Akagi inhales deeply, holding it until his lungs burn, begging for air. He exhales right as Gin returns with an extra sweatshirt, blanket around his shoulders, socks on his feet.

“Thanks.”

Akagi pulls the hoodie over his head, rummaging for a spare pair of socks. Gin waits patiently by the door, and when Akagi joins him, he gives one last glance over his shoulder. 

“You can’t sleep?” Gin asks.

“I was tryin’ to.”

“Sorry—”

“But I couldn’t. So don’t worry about it.”

This time, it’s Gin who leads the way. They’ve done this walk several times now—every night before games during the Interhigh Tournament, and last night, before their first game for the Spring Tournament. Akagi isn’t sure what Gin gets out of them, but Akagi enjoys the company.

“You don’t hafta feel guilty, y’know,” Akagi says. He shivers as they step out of the inn. The air is less forgiving during this time of year, biting at the small bits of skin exposed on Akagi’s body. His face. His neck. His ankles. His hands. Akagi tucks his hands into the pocket of Gin’s sweatshirt, soft and thick and well-worn. “I know you’re prolly feelin’ like—”

“I don’t feel guilty,” Gin says quietly. He offers Akagi some of his blanket, which Akagi gladly accepts. “I’m just—yeah. I don’t feel guilty. Just wish there was more time for us. I hate thinkin’ that it’s over for you guys.”

The sting hits Akagi’s chest more suddenly than he’d expected. “I guess it is.”

“C’mon.” In a surprising move, Gin wraps his fingers around Akagi’s wrist and tugs him along with ease. Akagi startles a bit, not quite sure when timid, shy Gin became the person who reaches first rather than waiting for others to reach him. 

“Huh?”

“You’re walkin’ too slow.”

“You’re the one that woke me up.”

“You were already awake.”

“I was just about to fall asleep.”

“Mhm. I’m sure you were.” Despite the somber atmosphere of their team, Gin cracks a smile. His skin is soft, fingers delicately tracing the vein on the underside of Akagi’s wrist. 

Akagi swallows.

Yeah. No wonder people think he and Gin are together. Not when he—when they act like that.

“What are you gonna do from now on?” Gin asks. “I mean, you’re still gonna come to practice, right?”

“Prolly. I know Shinsuke talked about transitionin’ the captainship duties to Atsumu, and if I’m bein’ honest, I dunno if I’d trust Atsumu fully yet with the rest of the team.” At this, Gin snorts. “I got nothin’ better to do, anyway, besides studyin’. But I always got time for that outside of practice.”

Gin nods. His face no longer harbors the inexplicable distress of defeat. Akagi allows himself, just this once, to take all the time in the world drinking in Gin’s presence. Next year—hell, even next week—is going to be different, and if there’s one person he wants to have as a constant in and out of his life, Akagi knows he wants it to be Gin.

“I know you ain’t graduatin’ yet…” Gin starts slowly, but as his words continue, he begins stumbling through them once more, like he’s an awkward fifteen-year-old meeting Akagi on the steps again. “But I just wanted to letcha know. I woulda quit if it weren’t for you.”

“What?”

“My first year. When you saw me in the clubroom, and I was layin’ on the floor.” Gin glances away, and under the dim lights of the streetlamp, Akagi swears he sees him blushing. “This sounds lame as hell and overdramatic, too. But I was late to practice cuz I was lyin’ there, thinkin’ of quittin’.”

“Oh.” Akagi moves his hand into Gin’s and tightens his grip. “I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah. I never toldja. I told Coach Kurosu at the end of practice. But I didn’t tell anyone else. Not even Osamu or Atsumu or Suna or Kosaku.”

When Akagi raises his eyes from the cracked pavement towards Gin’s face, he’s startled by what he sees.

Gin stands with his back straight, eyes serious, strong and confident and self-assured. “It sounds ridiculous now that I’m sayin’ it out loud. You remember? It was literally two weeks into the school year.”

“Everythin’ seems so much longer first year,” Akagi assures him, because he remembers the feeling well. It wasn’t just trying to keep up with intense practices—it was growing comfortable around your teammates while simultaneous trying to make friends with new classmates. It was settling into a rhythm that felt natural, aligned perfectly with one’s routine, and it took Akagi more than a couple of weeks to establish that when he was a first-year. “It ain’t lame or ridiculous.”

“Whether it was ridiculous or not, I was really thinkin’ of quittin’.” Gin kicks at the ground, and Akagi has a bit of a difficult time accepting his words. 

“Gin—”

“Cuz I thought—what’s the point of playin’ on a team if you ain’t the best? That ain’t fun.” Gin pauses. “But I remember you tellin’ me that you felt like that all the time.”

“Did I?” Akagi’s heart stutters in his chest. He remembers their conversation bright as day. 

“Yeah.” Gin slows. Akagi bumps into his shoulder, and he clutches the blanket to him to give his free hand something to do. “I thought you were lyin’ to me at the time. To make me feel better.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Yeah. I know you weren’t.”

Akagi’s breath catches. There’s so much he wants to say. He’s known that Gin’s the best of his peers in other ways, even if it has nothing to do with volleyball. Like his persistent consideration and his strong sense of responsibility and his willingness to intervene when the twins get out of control. How his eyebrows scrunch in concentration every time someone’s speaking to him and how he leans in when Akagi wants to tell him something.

Or times like now, when Gin wears his heart on his sleeve, and Akagi wants to look away but he can’t. Gin slips his hand out of Akagi’s grip and settles both palms on Akagi’s shoulders. The blanket begins to fall off his frame, but Akagi makes a grab for it and holds it in place, face heating when he realizes how close they are.

It doesn’t matter if Gin is the best or the worst or anything in between. Akagi would choose him each and every single time.

“It was a privilege,” Gin says quietly, “gettin’ to play with you. And everyone else, of course. But I never woulda even played with them if you didn’t tell me to.”

“I ain’t dyin’, Gin.” Akagi breathes a laugh. “Stop actin’ like it’s my final days on earth.”

“I mean it.” Gin’s fingers grip his shoulders a little tighter. “Thank you.”

Akagi steps into his arms, terrified of saying what’s truly on his mind but unable to contain it. This time, he winds his arms fully around Gin’s waist, pressing his forehead against the expanse of his chest. He is, as always, warm to the touch, and if Akagi remembers nothing else from his time in high school, he hopes he’ll—at the very least—remember this.

“I’m glad you stuck with it. And I look forward to watchin’ you kick ass next year. Ace-san.”

“You really mean that?”

“What, that I’m gonna watch you play next year?”

Akagi feels Gin nodding against him.

“‘Course I mean that.”

Gin pulls back, eyes searching for—something, though Akagi doesn’t know what. By now, Akagi has long since gotten used to the push and pull between them. He wonders what it will take to finally send them toppling over the edge, but Akagi thinks that he enjoys exploring the cracks between less and more with Gin.

“Don’t be a stranger, Akagi,” Gin finally says. If he’d meant to say something else, he doesn’t show it. “I’ll kick yer ass if you are.”

Akagi laughs, effectively breaking whatever tension crackles between the two of them. “I won’t be.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah.” Akagi holds up a pinky finger. Gin narrows his eyes at the childish gesture, mouthing, seriously? But he smiles and hooks his pinky with Akagi’s, anyway. “Promise.”

The thing about platonic bed sharing is that it’s only weird if someone makes it weird. Akagi has made a conscientious effort to not make it weird, since the first time they shared a bed when Akagi was in university and Gin came to visit him. Akagi remembers how uncomfortable it was at the time, because he didn’t have a spare futon and he wasn’t about to let Gin sleep on the floor, but his bed wasn’t nearly big enough to fit two people. 

He barely slept at all that night. Even though Gin dozed off curled on his side, back facing towards Akagi, Akagi felt like he was about to burst from being so physically close to him. 

Akagi has gotten used to it now. In fact, he’s probably a little too comfortable, a little too eager, a little too non-platonic every time he settles into the bed beside Gin. Gin’s squinting up at his phone, scrolling as his eyes track back and forth, when Akagi returns from the bathroom. Akagi kicks off his slippers and sits at the edge of the bed, swatting at Gin’s elbow. “Hey. Move over.”

Gin’s eyes drift towards him. “Hey.”

“Move over, Ginjima. You’re takin’ up more than half the bed.”

“It’s my bed,” Gin says, but he inches closer to the wall, anyway. He clicks off his phone and leans over to slide it onto his desk before returning to his spot on the far side of the bed. A lazy smile crawls across his lips. “You always end up hoggin’ most of it, anyway.”

Akagi sticks his tongue out as he slides under the covers. The bed’s already warm from Gin’s body heat, and Akagi tries not to let his heart stutter too much when Gin adjusts the blanket, pulling it over Akagi’s shoulders, before his arm slips around Akagi’s waist to tug him closer. He’s not really sure when Gin got this comfortable around him. It feels like, just yesterday, Gin was always eyeing Akagi carefully before responding, always speaking slowly and standing up straight and using honorifics and keeping himself at a distance. 

There isn’t any sound besides the whir of the desk fan, which Akagi reaches over to shut off. Gin doesn’t protest, but he sighs, digging his face into the pillow, eyelids fluttering shut. When Akagi turns his head towards Gin, he sees the calendar tacked on the wall, and he remembers the note about Hyogo.

Akagi clears his throat. “Gin?”

“Hm?”

“When are you comin’ to Hyogo next?” 

Gin’s eyes open instantly, widened as he stares at Akagi without wavering. There are a few beats between them, then: “Oh. You know about it.”

Akagi shifts to his side, one arm folded beneath his head. “When were you plannin’ on tellin’ me you’re comin’ to Hyogo in a couple weeks?”

“How didja find out?” Gin squints. “I don’t think I let it slip or anythin’.”

“It’s on yer calendar, Gin.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Gin smiles sheepishly. His fingers fiddle with the hem of Akagi’s shirt as he purses his lips. Every so often, there’s the slightest brush of his fingertips against the bare skin of Akagi’s back. It’s enough to give Akagi goosebumps. “I didn’t wanna say anythin’ yet, in case it fell through.”

“Yer trip?”

“Nah. I got a job interview.”

Akagi’s jaw drops open in surprise. He’s known Gin isn’t necessarily tied to Osaka. They’ve talked about this time and time again. But Gin never mentioned anything about moving—nor had he mentioned anything about moving back. “You didn’t tell me you were lookin’ for a new job.”

“My lease ends in two months. I gotta start thinkin’ about if I wanna renew it or not.” Gin shrugs. “I started applyin’ to a some jobs a few weeks ago, not really expectin’ anythin’ out of it. A couple in the area, a couple in Tokyo. And I found a job back home. So far I only interviewed in Osaka, and I haven’t heard from the Tokyo jobs yet.”

“I see.” 

“I only told my parents, cuz I’m stayin’ at their place for the weekend. Sorry I didn’t tell you.”

Akagi shakes his head. “No, don’t apologize. I get it.”

“I was gonna tell you if I get an offer.”

“Y’know you don’t hafta tell me everythin’, right?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Akagi refuses to let himself hope that Gin’s coming back to Hyogo. Because it’s not official—Gin hasn’t even interviewed yet, and he hasn’t gotten a job offer, and he hasn’t accepted a job offer. But the prospect of Gin being nearby entices him, because it’s been years since they were in the same city, let alone the same prefecture. “I guess you would,” Akagi says in a small voice.

Gin laughs quietly. When it fans across Akagi’s face, he’s struck by how close they are. “‘Course I would. It’s you.”

It knocks the air out of Akagi’s lungs. Akagi, always the laid-back, easygoing senpai to his juniors, knows that there’s only ever been one person in the world who gives him such visceral reactions that his mind gets jerked around with emotional whiplash. It suddenly becomes too much—his heart whirs so fast it suffocates him, and Akagi stiffens a bit, especially when Gin slips his hand under the bottom of Akagi’s shirt, pressing his palm flat against the small of his back.

“Well. Since you know now, I guess we can hang out.” Gin’s thumb moves back and forth in soft strokes, and Akagi thinks he might have a heart attack.

“That’d be nice,” he says, trying to keep an even tone. “I’d like that.”

“Hopefully you can make time for me.”

“You know I always do.”

“Yeah.” Gin’s voice is a hair above a whisper. “You do.”

It takes two seconds. In one second, Gin’s eyes flicker down to Akagi’s lips before moving back up, then in the next, Gin’s surging forward to kiss him.

Akagi responds almost reflexively. It’s like he’s been ready this whole time—for Gin to finally do something about the lingering looks between them and everything that’s left unsaid. Gin kisses him with urgency he’s never known before. He tastes like toothpaste, and his lips are cold, but his tongue is warm, and he wastes no time tugging Akagi closer until their legs are tangled together and now that Akagi has kissed him once, twice, he wants even more.

He’s never wanted more with Gin. He’s always been satisfied with their friendship, the steady constant in Akagi’s life since high school. But now that he’s sliding his palms along the curve of Gin’s jaw, an insatiable ache ignites in his chest. 

“Fuckin’ finally,” Gin gasps as he breaks away, laughing to himself. His hands settle themselves on Akagi’s hips, and he looks as bewildered as Akagi feels. Somehow, despite how new this is for them, it feels like the most natural thing in the world. 

“You’re the one sayin’ that?” Akagi playfully pats Gin’s cheek, but Gin snatches his wrist with a snort, and then Akagi’s on his back, and Gin’s hovering above him, and Akagi has no idea why he’s agreed to fake-date him this entire time when they’ve practically been real-dating all along.

Gin gazes down at him and runs his fingers through Akagi’s hair. “Y’know I’ve had feelings for you forever, don’tcha?”

Akagi’s lower lip trembles, and he takes a shaky breath. “You’ve known, too,” Akagi says, and Gin nods.

“You coulda said somethin’.”

Akagi opens his mouth to protest even though Gin’s right. But Gin is also wrong, because Akagi has said plenty. And when Akagi thinks about all the different times he could’ve said something but didn’t, this is what comes to mind:

He’s a third year, and it’s the night after their first game at the Interhigh Tournament. Adrenaline pumps through his veins and he’s too jittery to fall asleep, so he lies in his futon staring up at the ceiling, fingers tapping on his blanket. He hears Gin say, “Akagi,” and he all but leaps off the futon without a word. Gin stands in the hallway by the door, silhouette illuminated by the moonlight, standing taller than Akagi has ever seen before.

He’s fresh out of high school, trying to settle into uni, and crippling defeat has begun to sink into his bones. He’s never felt so alone. Without even thinking, he calls Gin, whom he hasn’t spoken to in two months, and all it takes is for Gin’s bright voice to say, “Akagi! Long time no talk!” for Akagi to burst into tears.

He’s in uni, watching Gin, recognized ace at Inarizaki, racking up points as sure and steady as the best players in the country. He’s not Atsumu, with flashy moves on the court, and he’s not Suna, who has blockers tearing their hairs in frustration. But he’s Gin, and as Akagi munches on potato chips beside Aran and Kita and Oomimi, he thinks that—Gin isn’t the best, maybe, but there’s no denying that there’s something special about him. And Gin knows it, too: he lines up at the end of the match, bowing at the spectators, and when his eyes find Akagi immediately in the front of the audience, Gin’s face breaks into a smile, and Akagi’s heart swells.

He’s at his first job, and he’s feeling left behind. Because after the marvel of Tokyo and staying out late and going to parties at university, his hometown feels slow, and Akagi feels slower. He hears about Aran getting signed onto the Falcons and he hears about Oomimi traveling abroad for work and he hears about Kita’s rice farm taking off and providing for some of the finest restaurants in three different prefectures. His kouhai are thriving, too, and Akagi begins to doubt that he’s getting where he wants to go—even though he’s not entirely sure where that is. And Akagi, still, calls Gin, and Gin, still, picks up, and the binds around Akagi’s chest begin to loosen with every hum of Gin’s voice, warm and full against his ear.

Akagi realizes that he did say something. Maybe not explicitly, but the feelings he’s harbored for Gin have always made themselves known. He’d shown them even back when he sat on the steps of the gym, heels digging into the dirt, ice pop melting in his hands as he squinted up at Gin before practice. There were no grand gestures, nothing to write home about, but—it was there.

It’s still here, even as Akagi presses his lips against Gin’s forehead, the soft underside of his jaw, the corner of Gin’s mouth. It’s still here, in the sound of Gin’s breathless laughter when Akagi fits his hands against the ticklish part of his waist. It’s still here, tucked into the warmth of their bodies as Gin moves even closer, sighing as he closes his eyes.

Akagi’s said—a lot. He’s said enough that everyone noticed, and it’s built the solid and reliable hearth of friendship upon which Akagi knows he can rest his head and lay for a while.

“Gin,” Akagi murmurs. The words tighten in his throat, and he finds himself unable to say it. But that doesn’t deter Gin from listening. He pauses just long enough, peering down at him with charged eyes that refuse to release Akagi from the hold they’ve bound him in.

Gin has said a lot, too, and Akagi has always heard him.

“I know,” Gin breathes. “I know.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” Gin presses a gentle kiss at the corner of Akagi’s mouth. Akagi’s mouth curves into a smile, nostalgia and anticipation slamming into him all at once, but nothing strikes him more than Gin whispering along the length of his neck with the kindness and sincerity he’s always carried. It’s Gin, after all. It’s always been him. “I do.”