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He met Osamu in their first and only match against Inarizaki. It’s their first Nationals after Bokuto left, his first as a captain.
“We don’t need the memories. Pompous bitches” Wataru snaps.
“No fighting.” Akaashi chides, grabbing a water bottle.
“Hey! Hey! Hey! Y’all aren’t slacking off are ya?”
“Ayyyy! Bokuto-San!” The rest of the team cheers while Akaashi is frozen to the floor, still turned away. How is he supposed to play now.
“Akaashi! Not gonna say ‘hi’! You’re all high-and mighty man, as the captain, now?”
“Shut up!” Akaashi says turning around. “That shirt does not fit you anymore.” He comments, an old Fukurodani jersey stretching for dear life across his chest.
“Hey! Can’t cheer you on in an MSBY one! Now you all better beat them!” He commands.
“Yes sir!” Everybody cheers.
“You can do this, Akaashi!” Bokuto says as the coach calls them over for the huddle. The team rushes over. Akaashi stays back, water bottle in-hand staring back.
“Good luck!” Bokuto says before leaving
It’s all he remembers from the match. Has no recollection of Osamu looking at him, of the man staring at him, of meeting the man he’ll be with for the first four years of his adult life.
His first memory of Osamu is a year later. It’s at an MSBY meet. He hands him an onigiri, Akaashi smiles and takes it.
“Heard a lot about these Myaa-Sam.” Akaashi says, Bokuto is in the back, sandwiched between Atsumu and Hinata. They are flirting over Boluto who absentmindedly scrolls on his phone. He hadn’t talked to him at all, today.
“Heard a lot about you too,” he says, looking up from over the rice ball. He’s flirting, it’s kind of gross.
Osamu smirks, a slight tilt of his lips as he organizes the onigiri on the table.
“All good things, I hope.” He asks, not looking up.
“Not all,” he muses, “but enough.”
Osamu’s hands pause with the fiddling, and he looks up, “Enough to have your curiosity?”
“Maybe.” Akaashi laughs.
Osamu gave him his number that day. They talked all night.
Now, with his chin hooked over Osamu’s shoulder, chest-to-chest, Akaashi decides that western wedding ceremonies are too cumbersome. They have far too much space for contemplation. He is going to stick to a traditional Japanese ceremony that only allows for familial stress and polite laughter. That is, if he ever marries.
“Are you having a good time?” Osamu asks, parting through the thick haze of his own thoughts. There’s a soft kiss pressed to the side of his head, and he’s so fucking selfish. He wants to dissolve into thin air, let Osamu believe that there was something worth salvaging between them.
“Yeah.” He whispers back.
He should be happy for this moment. For not having to be one of the sad loners on the sidelines watching live action love bloom. Akaashi isn’t meant for the single life. He enjoys attaching himself to someone’s side. So the dull ache of his chest, the fatigue of a relationship he doesn’t enjoy anymore deep in his bones, is plain unfair. Osamu is handsome, he reasons, he treats him well, he chides himself, he holds him like he means it, he tells himself. Osamu is tangible, close, within reach. He’s dancing with him, at someone else’s wedding, under dim lights. He smells like the cologne Akaashi gifted him six months ago, at the opening of a new branch. Osamu is an ideal man. He may share faces with the most insufferable human being he’s had the displeasure of encountering but he’s ideal nonetheless. So why does he feel so distant?
His eyes give him the answer. White hair streaked with black, not the other way round as had been confided in him, blue tie loose around his neck, white shirt with two buttons undone, eyes crinkled in laughter snorting into his best friend’s shoulder.
It’s always him, isn’t it.
Bokuto catches his eye and waves. He sends a small smile over Osamu’s shoulder. It’s unfair really. Someone so close, yet so far. He’d hoped for out of sight out of mind once Bokuto had graduated, once he had moved far enough to pursue his own dreams. He had hoped for a lot, to have truly fallen for Osamu, to forget Koutaro but Akaashi has never lived up to his own expectations. So he stills himself, arms around Osamu’s neck, dancing at someone else’s wedding. There’s another peal of laughter and it’s Bokuto again and, god, does it hurt.
“Your mind’s somewhere else.” Osamu muses.
“Yeah - weddings, you know.”
There’s a knot in his throat. Osamu sways with him and unfortunately for his heart, they come full circle so he’s back to starting as Kuroo holds Kenma's phone up in the air. Kenma is borderline growling and Bokuto is rubbing the back of his head. Their eyes lock again, and Bokuto mouths help.
Akaashi chuckles, Osamu’s grip on his waist gets firmer.
“Akaashi.” He says, voice choked out, forced from the knot tied in his throat. “Keiji.” He says again.
“Osamu.” He says back playful, caution in his heart.
“Tell me if I’m competing against him.” He whispers in his ear, with Akaashi’s arms around his neck. “Tell me now if it’s always going to be him.” He pulls back, fear in his eyes. “I can’t - I’m not good at competing with volleyball players.” He smiles weakly. Akaashi stares, keeps staring until his feet are on the dance floor and head on a court back at Fukurodani, fingers struggling to tape his fingers. They hurt, they sting and he can’t keep hitting the ball anymore.
He’s struggling with the bandages and doesn’t want to look stupid in front of the others. God dammit, he can do this. Vacuum sealed into the moment, peripheral vision gone, he keeps struggling with the roll of bandage until someone grabs onto his fingers, holding them close to his chest.
“That’s not how you do it, silly. Just ask!”
He looks up at a handsome face, all smiles and hair with enough gel to withstand the most violent of breezes. He’s blushing, god he’s blushing like a schoolgirl. Bokuto takes the bandage from his hand, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. His tongue slips out and Akaashi giggles.
“Something funny?” Bokuto asks, gazing up at him.
“Your tongue pokes out when you concentrate too hard.” He says. He shakes his head and laughs, soft and small so unlike him before adept fingers finally tie the bandages around his fingers.
“Ta-da!”
“Thank you Bokuto-San. I-I’m really bad at this. My previous coach always had to do it for me.” He explains
“Well, I can do it for you now.” He opens his mouth to say something, to tell him that he doesn’t have to, but the warmth of strong fingers around his, the closeness between them, the allure of being so close to the boy you have an undying crush on fails to let those words spill.
“I’d like that.”
Weddings are hard, he realizes. Too many dreams all in one place staring at the ones who get to fulfill them. He could have been happy with Osamu if he didn’t want so much all at once.
“I-“
“Don’t. Don’t patronize me with excuses. If it’s him, then that’s it.”
Arms around his neck, Osamu leans in to kiss him one last time before pulling away. He stares, out of the spotlight and in the dark, at his retreating figure before turning sideways to look at Bokuto. He looks back, concern all over his face. Akaashi turns around and makes his way to the exit. He knows Bokuto will follow, he always does
“Akaashi! It’s raining! Where are you going? ‘Kaashi! Wait!”
He fucking lost the game, god what a fucking loser. One of the best aces in the nation and he couldn’t give him a worthy toss. What is wrong with him?
“ ‘kaashi!”
He keeps walking, can’t turn around and face Bokuto, look at him and see the disappointment of a loss, of his last fucking game in high school. He couldn’t give him a farewell, couldn’t set him a toss that said everything Akaashi failed to. He let down his seniors, let down his parents who came to watch, let everyone down, himself included.
“Akaashi! Jeez stop!”
“Wha-“ The hand on his bicep is strong enough to turn him around.
It’s raining. He realizes for once, doesn’t know when he made his way out of the court, how far he’s walked to reach the infamous confession spot. It’s kind of ugly, he realizes. The trash can is right there, it’s muddy as all hell and its only saving grace is the big tree. He realizes it’s raining because Bokuto’s hair falls flat against his forehead, white shirt soaked through, sticking to his body, shoes lined with mud. The itch of being in wet clothes suddenly starts settling in as he looks up into gold eyes staring intently back.
“I am sad, too. But this is not how you take a loss.”
“You’re telling me how to deal with a loss, Bokuto-San. You? You were ready to cry. I-it was my fault-“
“It’s-“ Bokuto starts, “I am sad. And-I-I wanted to win my last game. But-I-I-“ his voice quivers and he feels a shiver run down his spine, hates seeing Bokuto sad.
“It’s okay. It’s fine. It-it happens!” He says hurriedly. Bokuto keeps looking at him as Akaashi scrambles for the words that’ll push that spontaneous button of positivity when Bokuto pulls him forward and hugs him. He’s not small by any means, Bokuto is just huge, he’s squished against his shoulder, and his clothes are still sticky, the nape of his neck itches and he feels the splash of mud on his ankles. But he finds his arms around Bokuto’s back and leans into the hug.
“We’ll be fine, it’s just a game.” Akaashi whispers.
“It’s never just a game but we’ll be fine.”
“Akaashi-what happened? Why did ‘Samu-“
“He broke up with me! Okay? He broke up with me!” He said looking back, eyes crazed. It’s the hallway to the exit. Ugly white lights flicker, Bokuto’s hair looks like it’s glowing. He looks so incredibly handsome, well-tailored suit accentuating the breadth of his shoulders, he’s so close, so far, he can touch him and he’s untouchable.
“He broke up with me.” He says softly. There’s a door that slams behind him but he doesn’t turn back
“Let’s go out. It’s too hot in here.”
Bokuto takes his hand, and he bites back on tears, hot and fresh underneath his eyes willing to spill at the first sign of weakness. It’s unfortunate that he’s on the brink of breaking. Bokuto takes his hand, firm around his wrist. He lets himself be dragged alone weakly.
The venue is truly gorgeous. Unlike the back of their school with the eyesore of a trash can, the back here has cobblestone on the ground, an ornate fountain with a naked figure in the center. The air is cold and it’d be perfect for a cigarette right now but Bokuto hates it when he smokes.
“Why did he break up with you?”
“I-I don’t know,” he chokes out.
“I can’t believe he would do this.” Bokuto says. “Here and now? What even happened-“ he starts, getting progressively angry.
“Bokuto-San.” Akaashi interrupts.
“I told you not to call me that when it’s just us.” He snaps back.
Akaashi smiles, and that’s it isn’t it. Osamu isn’t wrong. It’s always Bokuto isn’t it.
“Bokuto-San.” He says
“ ‘Kaaaashi!” Bokuto pouts.
“Sorry, sorry. I meant Koutaro.” He says, pressing his lips. Akaashi looks up, eyes warm, bites his lip. He’s not going to have the luxury to see him everyday so he makes sure to take everything in.
“Congrats on graduating.”
“‘Kaashi.” Bokuto says, mischief in his voice, butter melting on warm toast.
“Yeeeeees?” He sings back.
“Just-” he starts, hard blush high on his cheeks. “No teasing. But-but-here. It’s my-um-my second button, keep it safe?” He asks, putting his palm forward, opening it to reveal a black button Akaashi stares up, slack jawed, unmoving.
“Right, I can-I can keep it to myself. Um-you know.” He starts after a minute, scratching the back of his head. “I just-I wanted to give it to my best friend.”
Akaashi puts his palm forward, head still reeling. Bokuto beams and places the button in the center. He fists his palm and raises his pinkie. Bokuto laughs and intertwines his own pinkie finger around Akaashi’s.
“Best friends forever.”
“Akaashi. Why did he do this?” Bokuto whispers as they take their seat on a concrete bench. Akaashi has his head in his hands, unwaveringly still.
“It’s my fault.” He whispers, hopes that it reaches Bokuto’s ears without him having to repeat.
Bokuto is muttering something but his ears have cotton in them, and nothing is getting through. So he doesn’t know if it’s a soft whisper or a loud scream when he looks up, tears streaking down his face, palms wet with his own regret.
“Bokuto-San!”
“Akaashi,” Bokuto pulls him into a hug, head lolled over onto his chest as he cries.
“Can we stay like this for a while?” He sobs.
“As long as you wish.” He whispers back