Chapter Text
.December 2016.
When you come back to Japan, you should come to Tokyo.
Asahi sends the message before he can talk himself out of it. Instantly, he regrets it. Is he being too forward? Too weird? Presumptuous of him to think that anyone would want to come see him anyway — and to see him instead of seeing their family or other, closer friends? He's an idiot. Grade-A stupid. He's ruined the bit of joy he's had riding on this relationship.
He's not sure what time it is in Singapore, but he's ridiculously hoping against hope that it's some God awful time in the night, and then, if he's really lucky, he'll be asleep before he gets a response. Then he'll have an excuse to just cry over the response and not ever answer. Time zones, you know? Wouldn't want to be an inconvenience to anyone and answer a text a whole day late and therefore just never address an issue of his own creation, right? No, never. Nuh uh.
His phone buzzes. Oh god.
NISHINOYA YUU [7:46 PM]: oh?? anything in particular i should be seeing??
Asahi stutters in a breath. He immediately wants to send an apology or, worse, write out a list of sights to see. Give Noya and himself an out from this conversation. He's being rude and selfish, and he is not going to entertain the idea that the response he got was anything more than blunt, not playful. No sir. He's looking into it because he wants Noya to be flirting with him. He’s seeing what he wants to see, nothing is ever that easy—
His fingers hesitate over the keyboard. He takes a steadying inhale. He thinks to himself, you planned this out, remember? You text Noya all the time.
He thinks, I'm going to flirt with this boy I like.
He thinks Suga's firm and pointed mantra, I deserve to be happy.
He thinks, in a voice strangely like the recipient of this text, Shoot your shot.
He types. He breathes. He presses send.
The inside of my apartment is quite festive this time of year.
He phone buzzes almost instantly. He opens an indiscernible string of emojis.
NISHINOYA YUU [7:59 PM]: omg that was SMOOTH asahi !!!
NISHINOYA YUU [7:59 PM]: when do you have time off work/class??
NISHINOYA YUU [8:00 PM]: thinkin about coming back in march for gramps b day and going on some hikes for some mountain photos
NISHINOYA YUU [8:00 PM]: maybe takao???? havent decided
NISHINOYA YUU [8:02 PM]: im thinking of staying a few weeks tho
NISHINOYA YUU [8:02 PM]: lets do it (:
Asahi lets himself think, briefly, of a high school Noya, bundled up in a coat and scarf and beanie, flushed in the bitter evening wind of early March. He thinks of, once, Noya leaning into him while they waited for their friends outside of the convenience store, body shivering in the cold, saying, “Oh my god, Asahi, will you just hold me forever? You’re so warm” and Asahi biting down the I’d like to at least hold your hand first, if that’s okay that wanted to come tumbling out of his mouth.
He leans back in his chair, smiles up at his ceiling, and takes one deep breath before typing his reply.
March sounds great. Can’t come soon enough. (:
He presses send and turns back to his desk where his schoolwork sits. He can’t get the grin off his face.
Bravery, he decides, has never been his strong suit.
But.
But Noya admires forwardness, and confidence, and strength, and is also maybe the slightest bit dense. And if Asahi wants, he has to ask for it. And he wants. He really, really does.
Asahi stretches his arms. Breathes in and out once through the chest. Lets his impending graduation, his upcoming serious internship, his rocky and terrifying job opportunities, all of it, wash over him and feel absolutely terrifying and overwhelming and big, for a moment. Even with all of this, he wants. He’s certain Nishinoya Yuu is what makes this picture better.
And, God help him, he’s come to think that Noya feels the same.
.
.March 2017.
A delay has Noya’s flight touching down at Haneda just after 10 PM. Asahi — who has at least been allowed to wait for Noya at Shinagawa Station, despite his insistence that he could take the train and meet him at the airport, Noya, really, it wouldn’t be a bother, wouldn’t it be worse if I wasn’t there to meet you? — is now regretting his second Stay Awake Latte that he’s halfway through. The warmth of the coffee seeps through his gloves, but now he worries he might never sleep. The coffee anxiety is amplifying the Haven’t Seen Noya In Years Jitters so it may or may not be the cold he’s shaking from, at this point.
His phone buzzes. Noya is on the airport transit; ETA is twenty minutes. Great.
Asahi does his best not to tug at this coat or, worse, mess with his hair again. He’s got it up tonight so his earmuffs won’t get tangled in it, but his fingers itch to take out the hairband and retie his bun even though he knows it will look worse the second time. He braided a lock and touched up his undercut and everything before he left, and he needs to stop.
The amount of time he spent over-scrutinizing his outfit – which he picked out last week – in the mirror is something Noya never needs to know but was something Suga laughed at for the better part of five minutes when Asahi panic-called him at 7:30.
Asahi, this is Noya we’re talking about. Aside from him thinking you hung the moon—
No, what –
ASIDE from him thinking you hung the moon, he’s not about to think you look anything other than hot. I promise. Like, really, I promise.
Asahi knows that Suga, at that very moment, had been hunched over his student-teacher elementary 3 students’ grades on their most recent math assignment. He’s thankful Suga was patient in talking him down, even if he didn’t have to be. He has good friends, he knows this, but they continue to prove it to him.
His phone buzzes again. Asahi looks up at train arrivals screen and swallows down his butterflies. He reminds himself for the tenth time today that Noya is here, for all intents and purposes, to visit Asahi as a friend, to see his friend’s apartment and life in Tokyo that he’s heard so much about, to stop by before heading down to see his family and his best friend. He’s only in town for a little over thirty-six hours. Asahi reminds himself that they’ve never said anything confirming anything about anything, ever; Asahi could be reading into things, finding texts more playful than they were intended.
But Asahi is going to tell Noya how he feels during this visit. That’s the plan.
His phone buzzes a second time. Asahi jumps.
NISHINOYA YUU [10:29 PM]: headed towards the konan exit (: (: (:
NISHINOYA YUU [10:30 PM]: you here??
The station is full of the late-night Friday crowd. Asahi stands up from the wall he’s pressed himself into to attempt to see around the many heads for a short, spikey-haired one. He looks down to his phone again, pulling up a new message to Noya. He looks up to note the signs around him. God, he’s so nervous. What if he ruins everything? What if he psyches himself out and he can’t say the words? What if Noya hates him? Everything is so overwhelming, suddenly, the noise of the station, his own beating heart.
“Asahi!”
Asahi quickly turns back, and there he is. Nishinoya Yuu.
His brain goes silent. Only one thought: Noya, Noya, Noya.
Noya’s head appears between two passerby and briefly disappears behind another. He’s tucked into a winter coat with a colorful scarf tightly wrapped around his neck. His hair is shaved closer on the sides and the spikes tamed backwards in a stylish way, but the ever-prominent blonde streak in the front catches his eye, as always. Asahi already knows these things; Noya sends pictures of his adventures at least once a week. Seeing him in person, though, has Asahi’s heart beating his ribcage.
He worries, briefly, how he should interact. How do you greet someone you text twice a week but haven’t seen physically in two years? How is this the interaction Asahi forgot to worry over?
Noya, being Noya, solves this problem before Asahi gets himself spinning. He steps into Asahi’s space and hugs him.
“I’ve missed you, Asahi,” Noya says into Asahi’s chest, and he squeezes the arms wrapped around Asahi’s lower back. What else is Asahi to do but lean down and hug him right back?
He pulls Noya closer by the shoulders and says, quietly, almost into Noya’s hair, “It’s really good to see you.”
Noya pulls back and looks up at him, still in Asahi’s personal space, eyes alight. “Can’t wait for you to show me what a city slicker you’ve become.”
Asahi laughs aloud and pulls fully away, tugging at his coat a bit, face a little warm. “I could say the same to you. Four months in Singapore, huh?”
Noya heaves out a heavy, melodramatic breath and shoulders his duffle a little higher. “Pretty sure I was the scrub down the block the whole time I was there, don’t you worry. Everything is so expensive.”
“Tokyo is no Miyagi cost-of-living either, but we’ll make do,” he says with a soft laugh. “Are you hungry? I’m sure you must be tired; we can head straight to my apartment or grab something here quickly. There’s a ramen shop just down the road that should be open. It’s small, but everything I’ve ever eaten there is really good.”
Noya groans. “I haven’t had someone else’s Japanese food in so long. I’m starving, let’s go!”
Asahi holds out a hand, first. “Let me take your other bag for the walk.”
Noya’s eyebrows do a tiny, half-dance before he smiles in a way that Asahi can’t really read. “Yeah, sure, thanks.” He hands the duffle over and readjusts his backpack. “I’ve gotten used to lugging everything around myself, I guess.”
Asahi leads them out of the station and onto the sidewalk. The noise density immediately shoots up, cars driving by and people moving in and out of the station. The night air is crisp, sharp. He leads them out to the main road and to the nearest cross-walk. “Have you really managed to travel for so long with only two bags?”
“Yeah!” Noya answers brightly, following along beside him. “I’ve worked out a hell of a system, by now. Besides, if I buy anything, I just mail it home. Gramps has had a great time unboxing things.” He laughs a little. “I’ve gotten way better at packing a bag, though. Nothing like the overnight trips we took in high school.”
“I can imagine.” Asahi laughs, too. “I think I’d want to bring too many clothes with me.”
“Spoken like a true fashion student.” Noya grins. “Almost a fashion graduate now, though! How’s that final project coming along?”
Asahi’s shoulders hike up a little, a nervous sound piping out of him. Noya immediately slaps a hand between his shoulder blades. “Hey! You sent me pictures; you’re doing great. Your professors are gonna love your work!”
Asahi lets his shoulders drop with a sigh. “It’s just – a lot, you know? It feels like I, uh, I have to prove that I should actually be graduating. That I’m good enough. Or, uh, that’s what I’m trying to do. Prove it, I mean.”
Noya hums. “You’ve been proving yourself every day, Asahi! Don’t sell yourself short! You said it yourself that you’re going to keep learning how to make new cool shit even after graduation.”
Asahi can’t help but feel a little warmer at the thought of Noya remembering minor details in a conversation that happened many months ago. He smiles, small, a little shy. “That’s true. Mostly, I’m just nervous.”
Noya grins, all teeth, up at him. “You’ve got this. You’re awesome. Can I see the pieces in person? Are they in your apartment?”
“Currently all over my bedroom.”
Noya laughs. “I’d love to see them sometime, then.”
Asahi agrees faster than he usually ever would. “Yeah, of course, I’ll show you.”
They turn down an alley not too far from Shinagawa Station, but the path itself is foot traffic only and feels much quieter almost immediately. “Here we are,” Asahi says, stopping in front of an outdoor shop front. The eatery is a single, lovingly worn bar with a few stools. An older, salt-and-pepper man stands behind the counter, dressed casually. The heat from stoves immediately warms Noya’s face, and he gravitates forward on instinct.
“Hello, welcome! Ah, Azumane! Welcome back, I haven’t seen you in a while! Has that boss of yours been working you hard?”
Noya’s eyebrows shoot up and he turns to Asahi, who is grinning sheepishly, bowing slightly. “Good evening, Mr. Kobayashi. I hope you’re staying warm tonight.”
“Of course, of course,” Mr. Kobayashi says, waving a wrinkled hand. “Come, come, sit down. Who is your friend?”
“Ah, this is Nishinoya Yuu. He’s back in Japan from traveling around southeast Asia for the last two years. He’s a photographer.”
“I’m an amateur, at best, Asahi, don’t hype me up,” Noya chides, flushing a little. “I’m learning as I go right now, as a side gig while I travel.” He bows to Mr. Kobayashi. “It’s nice to meet you.”
“Oh, this is the Nishinoya? I’ve seen your pictures, you’re very good.” Mr. Kobayashi nods. “Singapore during Christmas, yes? The lights were beautiful. You’ve got a good eye.”
Noya’s eyebrows move up again. “Oh? You’ve seen them?”
Asahi rubs his neck anxiously. “I have dinner here when I really want to get out of my apartment. Depending on where you are, I’ve been texting with you when I’m here. I’m sorry, I hope that’s not too –”
Noya waves his hand before Asahi can finish. That smile from the train station is back. “No no no, it’s fine. Talking about me, huh?”
Asahi’s face flushes instantly. “Uh, uhm —” No more words come. Oh god.
Noya is already settling into one of the barstools. “Have you ever been? To Singapore?”
“No, no,” Mr. Kobayashi says. “I’ve been in Japan my whole life – my great travel was moving to Tokyo.” He laughs in a good-natured way. “That’s what I’ve got people like you for, to show me all the wonders of the world.”
Noya laughs along with the old man. Asahi settles into the stool beside Noya, carefully tucking the duffle bag at his feet. They order, and Mr. Kobayashi turns and gets to work.
Noya nudges Asahi. “You’ve never told me about this place.”
“Uh, yeah,” Asahi says, trying to swallow his anxiety down. “It’s just – it’s been a thing I’ve done to, uhm, have somewhere to go alone, you know? My classmates and coworkers ask me to eat out sometimes, but it’s nice to, uhm. You know.”
“Have a place that’s yours?”
“Yeah.”
Noya gives him that soft, soft smile again. “Thanks for bringing me.” He bites his lip, shakes his head a little, and pulls out his phone. “Want to see some of the ridiculous shit inside the Singapore airport?”
When their food is ready, Mr. Kobayashi turns and sets their bowls down with little flourish. He excuses himself to the back. They eat in silence, for a moment.
“Oh my god,” Noya exclaims, loudly enough to startle Asahi a bit. “This is so good, what the hell.”
Asahi huffs out a laugh. “I’m lucky this is enough of a commute I can’t come all of the time. Otherwise, I think I’d spend more money than I really should at this shop alone.”
“Me too, oh man,” Noya groans. “I’m coming back here tomorrow. Next week. Every day. I’m spending my whole life’s savings.” A beat. “Not that I’ve got a savings, but I’m gonna start one, so I can eat here every day.”
Asahi laughs again. He swallows. “Guess I’ll be seeing more of you, then.”
Noya grins, cheeky. “Sounds good to me.”
Asahi insists on paying for Noya’s dinner – you traveled all this way, the least I can do is feed you, please, I insist – but Noya gets in the last word with an overzealous “oh, my, such a gentleman” that leaves Asahi red-faced as he pays. Mr. Kobayashi waves them goodbye as they leave.
Noya updates him on the final shenanigans of his Singapore neighbors as they head back to the station, complete with pictures of the old couple none-too-enthused to have a “hooligan” living next to them.
As they’re getting on the Yamanote line: “I’m lucky that Gramps had an old friend in Singapore in the first place – I would have starved to death if I’d had to pay for a place to stay. Oh, and I did find out, yes, the old friend was, in fact, an old lady-friend, just like I figured she’d be. She’s super badass, though. A sculptor. What the hell. Apparently they met in a supermarket?”
When the train hits Yoyogi station, Asahi gets them out and onto the street. He glances at the station clock as they exit. He tugs at a sleeve. “Sorry it’s so late, you must be tired. My apartment’s just down this way.”
Noya shakes his head, keeping pace. “It’s good. Thanks for feeding me; I’d be a hangry guest to have around by now.”
Asahi lives in an older, low-rise building an easy ten-minute walk from the station. The warm tones of the stone siding and dark-framed pivot windows let the building sink backwards behind the barren trees and power lines, shying away from the looks of passersby.
The late-night patrons of the restaurant next door chatter quietly. A bus’s suspension releases somewhere in the direction they came from. Asahi lets them in the main door.
Noya pulls his backpack up higher on his shoulders as they make the three-flight trip up the narrow stairs. The landing is small but has a cozy grouping of leafy plants in the window.
“Those plants belong to Ms. Mei,” Asahi says as he fumbles with the key to his door. “She lives next door – I’m afraid of what she’ll do if I accidentally killed one of them that she’s given me. She’s very sweet. Ah, there we go. Please make yourself at home.”
The front door opens immediately into a small, tidy living room and kitchen. More big, leafy plants dot the floors and shelves in hand-painted pots. A small two-person dining room set sits in the far corner near the kitchen, up against one of the large windows along the back wall. A sofa faces the windows with an antique-looking chair paired at its side. The coffee table has several books stacked on it, and the couch-table is dotted with trinkets. Noya, grinning, spots a small Korean wooden figurine he’d mailed back months ago. It’s a crow.
It’s small, but warm. Cozy.
Noya whistles. “Moves to the big city and has a place of his own. Way to go, city-slicker. If any of us could have done it, I knew it’d be you.”
“Oh, no no no,” Asahi says quickly, waving his hands. “Please, the only reason I have this apartment is good fortune.” He grins a little. “This belonged to my great aunt, before she died. She lived here with her partner for a long time. She worked in fashion, too. Oh, uhm, actually, she was a photographer.”
Noya drops his bags off at the door and shucks off his shoes. “Really? That’s so cool!”
“Yeah,” Asahi says, heat playing at his cheeks. He does his best not to avert his gaze from Noya’s overly intense stare. “She worked for a small publication most of the time, but sometimes she traveled to big runway shows. Uhm, I can show you her work sometime. If you want.”
“For sure! That’d be awesome.” Noya takes in the rest of the apartment. “How’d you end up with her place, then?”
Asahi tugs at some of the loose strands of his hair. “She, uh, left it to me, actually.”
“What? Really?”
“I spent a lot of time up here when I was young, with her. After my dad left, I spent summers here with them. I think it gave Mom sort of a break? My older sister was a handful enough.” Asahi laughs a bit. “My aunt didn’t have any children, and she willed this to me after her partner passed. My aunt died, uhm, almost six years ago now.” Asahi plows on ahead. “Anyway, let’s get you set up. Is the couch okay? I’d offer you the bed, but my room is covered in clothes.” Not to mention, his bed? Noya in his bed? Asahi might combust.
Noya, blessedly, doesn’t comment on the quick shift in subject. “Hell no, the couch is great. Better than great. I can’t wait to pass the hell out.” He laughs that big, boisterous laugh of his. “Thanks for letting me stay.”
Asahi colors for what feels like the hundredth time that night. “Of course. Thank you for coming to visit.”
Asahi fishes out his spare bedsheets and pointedly does not acknowledge the feeling of Noya watching him from across the room. He sets up the couch, gives Noya the WiFi password, and awkwardly hovers at his bedroom door.
“Well, uhm. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Noya grins. “Sleep well, Asahi.”
Asahi closes his bedroom door. Leans against it. Breathes.
Tomorrow, he’ll say the words.
But as for today, he smiles. Smiles, smiles, smiles.
.
When Asahi’s phone pings right as the sun is rising, he most assuredly does not get up to check his messages.
Sometime later, when he hears a rather loud bang and a curse coming from his living room, however, he’s up. He’s up, and he’s panicking, and he’s way too young to get murdered this early in the morning.
He listens to the muted grumbles from the other side of his door. Oh god. Right.
Noya.
A new sort of panic sets in, but it’s more manageable, more familiar. Noya is in his home. He stayed the night. Jesus, what time is it?
Asahi grabs at his phone, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. 8:35 AM. He has several messages from Noya sitting in his inbox.
NISHINOYA YUU [6:47 AM]: going on a run !! be back soon !! (:
NISHINOYA YUU [6:47 AM]: fished out your spare key so i could lock up !! hope thats ok
NISHINOYA YUU [7:32 AM]: back ! theres breakfast on the counter (:
NISHINOYA YUU [7:43 AM]: am i stupid ?? is your bathroom door broken ?? uh ???
NISHINOYA YUU [7:49 AM]: asahi im gonna need you to wake up or im taking matters into my own hands
NISHINOYA YUU [7:50 AM]: and showering with the door open idk what to tell you
Asahi takes a moment to tie up his hair and send out a tiny prayer that Noya is not naked in his living room, because he just might not survive it, sharing locker rooms be damned. He opens his bedroom door slowly. He immediately zeroes in on Noya, precarious across the room.
“Uhh—” Asahi sleepily slides into the living room, eyes on Noya’s current situation. He’s got both hands on either side of the bathroom door, balancing on one of Asahi’s kitchen chairs, eyes narrowed in concentration. He immediately perks up to the sound of Asahi’s voice. He grins and looks over his shoulder.
“Oh, good morning, Asahi! Give me a hand, will ya? Hold this here,” Noya says, gesturing to the door with his head. Asahi does as he’s bid. When he takes the weight of the door, Noya stands fully and adjusts it to rest on the tracks as it’s supposed to. He tightens the screws on the wheels down with a pocket-sized red multitool that looks worn with use.
Noya gets down off the chair and pushes the door. It slides with ease.
“Great!” He crows, and he turns to Asahi, hands on his hips. “How long has this been broken?”
Asahi, drowsy but still with enough awareness to feel ashamed, shrinks a bit under Noya’s gaze. “Uhm, about a month now?”
“Asahi! You’ve been just picking up the door to get in here for a month?”
“Uhhh – yes?”
Noya throws his head back, heaving a melodramatic sigh. “You deserve to live better than that, Asahi!”
Asahi tugs at a loose strand of hair, bashful. “Sorry I didn’t tell you about it last night, Noya.”
“Don’t be sorry to me!” Noya squawks. “Be sorry for you! You’re the one who lives here!” He shakes his head, exasperated, but his smile is fond.
Asahi smiles back. “Sorry.” His eyes drift over to the kitchen counter. “Did you say something about breakfast?”
“Oh yeah!” Noya points to the paper bag on the counter. “There’s a Polish bakery, like, ten blocks from here, I saw it on my run. Bagels! Score!” He tugs at his own t-shirt. “Speaking of running, I’m gonna shower. You mind?”
Asahi quickly shakes his head. “No, no, go ahead. Towels are in the closet when you first walk in.”
Noya grabs his duffle and, with a quick grin, slides the door closed behind him.
Asahi stares after him and then takes in a monstrous yawn. Too much before coffee. Too much before being awake for over an hour. Noya is very, very cute. And awake. Very awake. But cute.
He makes his coffee.
Asahi sits at the dining table with his coffee (dark roast, nutmeg, salt, and the only thing he’s willing to be particular about this early in the morning). He pulls his current novel and glasses out from their place behind the napkins and settles in.
.
Noya, for his part, is quiet when he leaves the bathroom, a towel hanging from his neck, hair down and cheeks pink. He shuffles into kitchen and stops. Takes stock of the cabinet doors. “Uhhhh—”
Asahi pushes his glasses up into his hair and closes his book, stashing it away. “Anything I can help you find?”
“Cups? Water? Please?”
“Bottom left. There’s ice in the freezer, if you need it.”
Asahi keeps his eyes on him as Noya busies himself with his task, somewhat trying not to seem like he’s staring. “Where did you learn to fix doors? I don’t remember you ever talking about home projects.”
Noya barks out a laugh. “I definitely broke more of Gramps’ house than I fixed as a kid.” He pauses, glass hovering above the sink he hasn’t turned on yet. “I learned a lot at the hostels I’ve stayed at. Lots of seasonal workers that do maintenance and farming year-round to send money home. Cheap housing breaks, like, a shitton, with landlords that don’t give a fuck. It’s easier to fix things yourself.” He grins over his shoulder at Asahi and turns on the water. “I’ve picked up a few things. Gramps says I might turn out to be a capable homemaker, after all.”
Asahi hums, eyes tracking Noya as he fishes himself out a bagel from the bag on the counter, pausing to shake the bag in Asahi’s direction in question. “Oh, yeah, please, I forgot all about them.” He huffs out a self-deprecating laugh. “Plates are on the shelf above the glasses.”
“Already? Asahi. We talked about eating, like, fifteen minutes ago.”
Asahi shrugs and laughs, holding up his coffee cup. “Had to feed the caffeine addiction first.”
“Asahi!” Noya scolds with a deep frown, hands immediately on his hips. Asahi can’t help but grin, if a bit sheepish. Some things never change. He waves Noya’s grumbles away. “I know, I know, sorry!”
Noya sets their breakfast down on the table and turns back for the cups on the counter. Asahi props his chin in his hand. “You must have met a lot of amazing people, already.”
“Hell yeah, I have. Remember the old woman I told you about? From Kuala Lumpur?”
“That brought dinner to her other elderly neighbors once a week?”
“Yes! Hold on, I’ve got photos of her, she let me take a few portraits for practice. Let me grab – uhh –” Noya jostles the cups in his hands, caught between his two tasks. He finally settles on setting them down on the table and half-vaulting over the couch, digging through his backpack. “Ha! Here we go.”
Noya produces a slender laptop covered in a rainbow of stickers. Asahi’s eye immediately gravitates to a cartoonish orange ninja sticker that appears to be spiking a volleyball, near the top corner. It feels strangely familiar. As Noya trots back over to the table, Asahi points to it. “Is that for something in particular?”
Noya glances down. “Oh! Yeah. Kenma – you remember, Nekoma’s setter your third year? Cool hair, bored as hell? – he’s sponsoring Shouyou’s training in Brazil. Shouyou sent me this merch link – I really think Kenma made these stickers as a joke, but they’re cool as shit, so I bought one anyway. Apparently he’s really making a name of himself over there and made the mistake of telling Kenma some people have been calling him a ninja.” Noya laughs. “He’s been bugging the hell out of me to make South America my next stop – I’ve got a plane ticket booked for two weeks from now.”
Asahi’s eyebrows raise. “To Brazil?”
“Yeah!” Noya laughs. “Why not? I’ll only have a free place to stay there for a little while longer, anyway, might as well make the most of it. And I’ll get to spend some time on the beach! Honestly, the more Shouyou talks about Brazilian food the more I can’t wait to go.” Noya sets the laptop down, pushing his temporarily forgotten breakfast to the side. “Anyway! Minah binti Ahmad is a very caring and very terrifying old woman who regularly threatened to kick my ass and did several times at dum, which, big surprise, I fucking hate checkers, anyway – she was kind enough to let me take her photo before I left Malaysia, even though she was super embarrassed about it.” He clicks through some folders. “Here she is.”
Noya rotates the screen. Asahi’s eyes widen.
“There’s a few of them,” Noya is saying, and Asahi leans in to better study the screen. The wrinkled old woman does look like someone who’d regularly threaten to end Noya’s obnoxious shenanigans, but –
She also looks wise. Cunning. Weathered in a way that earns respect upon the first glance. The glint in her eye makes him wonder if Noya cracked a joke moments before snapping the shot.
Asahi flips through the other photos, and then he levels his gaze back on Noya. “These are really good, Noya.”
Noya’s cheeks color. “Oh – oh, yeah? You think so?” He runs a hand through his damp hair, bashful in a way Asahi pegs as endearing but surprising. Asahi realizes, with a start, that Noya must have been nervous to show these to him. Has he shown them to anyone else? “I’ve been practicing – uhm – editing, posing, and everything, Youtube videos and all that – I never really considered myself an artsy person, yaknow, but – I really want portraits to show the, like, soul of someone. Does that make sense?”
Asahi’s looking at the photos again. “That’s exactly what you did here, I think.” He clicks back to the first image. “This is in your portfolio, right?”
“Uhhh—” Noya fidgets a little. “I’ve only ever managed to sell landscapes, Asahi, no one is looking to hire me for –”
“I would,” Asahi blurts out, and then he plows ahead quickly before he can choke on his own anxiety and the embarrassment that claws up his throat. “Or, uh, I know people would pay for this quality of work. Really, Noya.” He swallows and decides he can risk being a little braver. “I wish you’d treat your photography with your usual confidence, you know. You’re working really hard, no matter what you say – it shows. You should be proud of the progress you’ve made. I think, if you’re really enjoying this, taking photos of people, you should go for it. If you want to.”
Noya grins, spine straightening with the praise. The flush across his cheeks burns. “Thanks, Asahi.”
They stare at each other for a beat. Two. Asahi looks away quickly with a flush of his own. “Yeah—yeah, of course.”
Noya grabs his laptop and moves it to the couch. He sits back down at the table and rearranges his breakfast. “She – Minah, I mean – told me about a tea shop in Tokyo she visited once when she was very young – traveling with the rich son-of-a-bitch-ex-husband, I’ve told you about him before, the piece of shit – that she swore had the best Hōjicha she’s ever had.”
“Where is it?”
“Uhhhh – Yanaka, I think she said? I’ve got the name written down somewhere.”
“Do you want to go?”
“Wait, what? Like right now?”
“Sure.” Asahi grins. “Or some other time when you’re here, if you want.”
Noya lights up. “That sounds great! I was gonna say I can’t believe you want to go hunt down this shop with me, but I feel like getting fancy, old-timey tea is exactly the sort of thing you’d love to do. A historic tea shop. Very classic.”
Asahi stutters out a few indignant sounds. “Hey! I’m very modern!”
“The long hair isn’t fooling me, dude, you’d have this apartment full of old books and ancient artwork in a heartbeat if you could. Or maybe the long hair actually represents that part of you – you could tie it up with one of those cool wraps like a samurai! Very classic.”
Asahi hates that he considers it. But with a scarf, something floral maybe, silk? God, he doesn’t have room in his head for some artsy feudal-modern line of clothes right now. “No! I have an undercut, it’s trendy!”
Noya bursts with a loud, long laugh. “That’s just queer signaling and you and I both know it, Asahi. C’mon, the undercut, the ponytail, the jewelry, the mascara? You know exactly what you’re doing.”
Asahi stutters out a laugh, suddenly feeling very seen. Intimately so. How many times has he blushed today? Fuck, did Noya just admit he noticed his eyelashes? “Well, you’ve got me there.”
“You’re doing way better than me on that front, anyway. Not that I can say I’m trying that hard. Not lately, anyway.” Noya takes a big bite of his bagel. “Holy fuck, this is so good, what are you doing? Eat, oh my God, Asahi—”
.
They settle on finding the tea shop and exploring some along the way. Asahi pauses to stroke each and every sunbathing cat along the walls lining the walkways of Yanaka, stepping out of the way of passersby to admire the tiny ears with severe attention. If Noya takes several Snapchats, Asahi is none the wiser.
Minah’s tea shop ends up being easier to find than they expected. They’re in and out with steaming Hōjicha, searching for a sunny spot to sit and people-watch while they drink. They each take a sip and Asahi hums, content, face towards the warmth of the sun. “This is so good. Thank you to Minah for the recommendation. I’d forgotten how much I like Hōjicha.”
Noya contemplates the lid of his cup for a moment. “It figures you really like old people tea.”
Asahi chokes, coughs around his failed swallow. Noya, ever the good friend, hits his back a few times. “That’s the second time you’ve called me old today, Noya.”
Noya reaches out and gently tugs on one of Asahi’s loose locks of hair, teasing. “And I wouldn’t have you any other way. Besides! I didn’t say you were old. Only that you and the elderly have interests in common, that’s all!” Noya says, brightly. Asahi scrunches up his nose in response; Noya makes the face right back at him, punctuating by sticking his tongue out.
Noya takes another sip and then pats the tiny bag of tea leaves he bought while they were inside. “I’ll have to nab some of Gramps’ packing stuff while I’m home, he always has that sort of shit lying around. I can’t wait to get these in the mail, she’s going to be so surprised!” He pauses. “I just realized I have no idea how to write anything in Malay. And my English writing is garbage.” He laughs, loud enough for Asahi to shrink a little as passersby glance over to them. “I guess I’ll have to keep the note brief. Sorry, Minah.”
“Did you learn how to speak Malay? Weren’t you only there for a few months?” Asahi asks.
“Mostly really, really basic conversational – I’ve been doing my best to not expect the locals to speak English. Not to mention my English is fucky and two people trying to speak the same language badly is – not the best way to get to know someone. Most of the people I’ve met speak English way better than I do, anyway. And you’ll love to know that I haven’t gotten any better at reading it since you last tried to study with me, what, four years ago? My vocabulary sucks.” He laughs at himself. “Minah speaks Cantonese, though – neither of us learned how to write it, how awful is that? – so we fucking loved talking. I only ever speak it with Gramps so it was really, I don’t know, nice?”
“Your grandfather immigrated here from Hong Kong – am I remembering that right?”
“The rest of that story is him swearing a beautiful woman from Tokyo convinced him to travel here with her and then he never bothered to go back.” Noya rolls his eyes, fond. “When he’s feeling really sentimental, he’ll tell you it’s because he fell in love.” He takes a long sip, squints his eyes at the thought. “Not that you’d ever know it. I think I’ve seen him keep up with the same relationship for, like, two months, tops.”
Asahi laughs. “Well, your dad had to get here somehow.”
Noya rolls his eyes, shifts a little in the way he always does when people around him start talking about parents. Not really discomfort, but something close to it. “A miracle, really.”
Asahi falls back onto the previous conversation with the ease he sometimes feels he only has with Noya, taking Noya’s body language in stride. “Learning a little of the language wherever you go is a pretty big commitment. I don’t know if I could keep everything straight in my brain.”
Noya leans forward and forces eye contact, eyebrows up. “Straight, huh?” Asahi rolls his eyes. Noya chuckles. “Trust me, I’m fucking it up, like, a lot, but a lot of people are super chill about it. I’m sure I’ll forget a lot of it way sooner than I mean to.”
Asahi smiles at him. Swallows his entire goddamn heart to stop himself from saying something stupid, like how are you so beautiful? or please for the love of God will you just kiss me or reject me and put me out of my misery. “You’re always inspiring me, Noya.”
Noya lights up, sits a little taller under the compliment. “Yeah, well, somebody’s gotta convince you to live up to your potential. You’re gonna do big things, Asahi.”
Asahi smiles into his cup, happy butterflies springing up in his chest. “I’ll do my best.”
Unbidden, Asahi thinks, today’s the day. You have to tell him.
They finish their tea, and Asahi glances at his watch. “Are you hungry? We could get lunch soon. I could, uh – you said you wanted to see ‘my side of Tokyo,’ right? I could show you my campus, around that part of the city, if you – uh – if you want to. That might be boring, though? We can do more touristy stuff, if you’d rather—”
“Hey, Asahi,” Noya says, putting a hand on Asahi’s arm and effectively saving Asahi from any further rambling that threatens to spill out of his anxious, anxious mouth. Asahi stops talking. He glances down at Noya’s hand, back to his face. Noya grins. “I’m here to see you. Like, don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled to be in Tokyo, but it’s not like I’ve never been before. I want to see your life here.” Noya’s smile turns a little cheesy. “I’ll just plan for you to escort me around all the tourist traps next time, huh? I expect a full day in Odaiba so I can ride that big ass Ferris Wheel.”
Asahi smiles. Warmth floods all over him. “Next time. Of course.”
“So!” Noya hops to his feet. “I definitely want to see your campus. How long will it take to get there? Is there a time we need to be back? Do you have homework or anything you need to do tonight?” Noya’s face inadvertently crinkles up at the concept. Homework. Gross.
“No, no, I prepped all of my assignments ahead of time for today. But, uh, actually,” Asahi says, smiling, a little bashful. “I was thinking – the community team is playing tonight, and I thought you might like to join in?”
This is the part of the Reveal Your Feelings Plan Suga had called “Make Him Remember How Hot You Are When You Play Volleyball – ohmygod Yes Asahi, You Idiot, You’re Hot When You Play Volleyball what”.
Noya’s eyes widen. “Your volleyball team?”
“I can also call out tonight, it’s not a big deal—”
“No, no no no – you mean they’d be okay if I played too?” Noya bounces onto his toes and rocks back onto his heels, back and forth. He smile grows with every oscillation. “I could play? With you? Seriously?”
“Yeah,” Asahi says, his grin full-on now. “I asked a few weeks ago if they’d be alright with you coming in just for the night. Our libero moved to America two months ago so we’ve just been making do, anyway—”
Noya explodes, limbs outstretched. “Yes! Yesyesyes, holy shit, I want to play. Tonight? For real? Why didn’t you tell me? Oh my god, Asahi, I really fucking do want to play volleyball with you.”
Asahi stutters out a laugh, his cheeks warming up. “I want to play with you, too, Noya.”
“Great!” Noya shouts, eyes alight. “What time is practice? Is it a game?”
“We’ve got a game lined up at 7:30; everything is really casual, we don’t have a, uh, community team playoff to keep score during seasons or anything, we just schedule around when everyone’s available. We play all year for fun.”
Noya breathes out in satisfaction. “That sounds perfect. Hell yeah, I can’t wait! Thanks for inviting me! Dude!” He’s glowing. Vibrating. Asahi can’t look away, even if he wants to try. The heat in his cheeks escalates to embarrassing levels almost instantly. They’re staring at each other.
Asahi’s brain kicks back into gear, hiccupping a little on the shift up. “Uh – uhm – ah, of course, I was hoping you’d want to play, I know you said you try to practice when you meet people who play, I thought it’d be nice—”
“It’s awesome, Asahi! Will your friends be there? The ones you’ve told me about? I really will be getting the full tour of your life up here, huh?”
“They’ll be there, yes,” Asahi says, trying not to shy away from the fullness of Noya’s attention and questions. “I’m sure you’ll like them – you get along with everybody, but they’re good people. The whole team is, really.”
Noya guffaws. “You seem to forget how many fights I picked in high school.” He tosses his cup in the garbage and whirls around, energy-riddled and all serious business. “Come on! Let’s go, Tour Guide, I’ve got a fashion school to see! Food to eat! Volleyball to play! Comeoncomeoncomeoooooon—”
Asahi leads the way.
.
By the time Noya greets the plants in Asahi’s apartment again, it’s approaching evening and they’ve collected a bag of ingredients for dinner. Asahi unearths a tin of soup broth from his freezer, citing his mother’s fretting over him potentially starving to death.
“To be fair,” Noya notes from where he’s planted himself on the countertop, “you did eat the two months’ worth of instant noodles she bought when you first moved here.”
“I’m not saying her worrying is misplaced,” Asahi chuckles out. “I just got really sick of instant noodles faster than some others.”
“You won’t hear me complain, I’m benefiting from it as we speak.” Noya takes a beat, puffs up a little bit in mock confidence. “I’ll have you know I make a mean side of rice. So if you want my help, I will happily give it.”
Asahi waves him off, chopping vegetables. “Rice, huh?”
“It’s the only thing I wasn’t banned from doing as a kid.”
Asahi laughs at that, turning to check the stove. “Does your grandfather cook?”
“Luckily.” Noya barks out a laugh. “It was a little touch-and-go when I first moved in with him, yaknow? He hadn’t taken care of a little kid alone ever – my grandma didn’t pass until after all of their kids were already adults, but I never met her – anyway, yaknow, most ten-year-olds aren’t huge fans of super spicy food and new textures, which seemed to be all he ate, to me, not that he realized until we were at a standoff over the kitchen table. I was a bitch of a picky eater – I think at one point I was eating almost exclusively pineapple bread because he knew I’d eat it without a fuss. I don’t think I branched out at all until high school.” Noya huffs a laugh at the memory. “He put up with my bullshit way better than anyone else did, though. He definitely let me skip school more than I should have, but that just proves he’s a way bigger softie than he’ll ever admit.”
“But clearly he tried to teach you some things in the kitchen if you were banned from everything but the rice cooker.”
“Yeah, well, he tried, but, in case you haven’t noticed, patience and I aren’t friends, so it seems like things just burn if I’m even in the room. Except rice. I can do rice.” Noya huffs. “We ate a lot of eggs.”
Noya swings his socked feet, his heels lightly knocking the cabinet under him. “I’ve gotten a little better this past year, but street food is really cheap, hostels like to do group meals, I’m not exactly carrying cooking stuff around with me, yaknow.”
Asahi steps into Noya’s space to grab bowls from the shelf running over the top of the counter. “I’m really glad traveling has been going so well. I can’t help but worry about you.”
Noya grins at him. “Hey, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” He thinks. “Traveling hasn’t been anything like I planned when I first decided I’d take a shot at seeing everything I could see, but it’s been – really good. I can’t wait to get back to it.” He pauses for a moment, leans back on his hands. “It’s nice to be back, though. I’m stupid excited to see Gramps, and Ryuu – and Kiyoko, too, Ryuu’s been talking up their new apartment for damn months now – and,” Noya takes a moment to look directly into Asahi’s eyes, “I’m really glad it worked out that I got to see you, too, Asahi.”
Asahi leans his weight onto his hip against the counter and pulls the bowls in his hands close to his chest, just near his fluttering heart. “I’m glad, too. I – I would’ve done anything to make sure I had time off that overlapped with while you were back.”
“Yeah?” Noya’s back to that soft smile again. Asahi’s brain hasn’t dared to make an assumption on what it means, even as his heart climbs up his throat.
They are so incredibly close together. Asahi’s sure Noya can hear his heartbeat. “Yeah,” he whispers.
The kitchen timer goes off.
Asahi yelps and they both scramble to keep the bowls in his hands from tumbling to the ground. They end up in a precarious fold of arms, with Noya’s small hands wrapped around the bottom bowl, Asahi’s partially on top of them where he’d reacted a second later. They’re even closer than before.
The timer beeps on, indignant.
They laugh, Asahi pulling away to tend to their dinner. He looks over his shoulder. “Ready to eat? It’ll be about time for us to head to the gym once we’re finished.”
“Hell yeah,” Noya enthuses and jumps off the counter, sliding up next to Asahi to prep their bowls. He walks right into Asahi’s space like he belongs there. “Let’s get to it.”
.
The gym is small. It’s a standalone building, across the street from the community center where, Asahi explains, there’s a pool and university resource library. Mainly it’s a set of conference rooms for local club events, frequented most often by the elderly in the neighborhood.
“So,” Noya says, seriously, just before they enter the gym, “when’s the knitting club and how often do you attend?”
Asahi sputters. “I don’t! ”A beat. Quieter, “it meets while I’m in class.”
Noya laughs good-naturedly. “You’ll have to tell me when you start going, I’ll commission some socks for when I go someplace cold.”
They arrive just as the net is being strung across the court. Noya sucks in a lungful of musty, sneaker-sweat air and lights up. “Fuck, I missed this.”
The doors bang closed behind them and a few heads across the gym turn. Then, “Ay, Azumane!” A middle-aged buzzcut is yelling from clear across the court. “Glad you made it!”
Asahi grins but withers a little at the chuckles from the others around him, seemingly used to the noise from Buzzcut, now jogging across the gym. “Hello, Nakamura, how are you? How’s Himari?”
Nakamura reaches them and throws a hand behind his head. “Ah, we’re alright, we’re alright. It’s been a quiet week; I’m pumped to finally have a chance to come play again. You know she’s officially in her third trimester?”
“Already? Time sure flies,” Asahi says, delighted. He turns to Noya. “Nakamura’s wife is pregnant.” And then, conspiratorially, “He’s terrified, but he’s going to be a great dad.”
Nakamura squawks but Noya’s eyes widen. “That’s amazing! Congratulations!”
“Well, thanks,” Nakamura says with a wide, genuine smile. Noya immediately likes him. “Sorry,” Nakamura says, “where are my manners? I’m Nakamura Ren. Setter, most weeks, when I’m not desperately trying to take care of my wife.”
“As if she needs you to take care of her,” Asahi says.
“As if she needs me to take care of her,” Nakamura confirms.
Noya laughs. “Nishinoya Yuu. Libero.”
“Oooooh!” Nakamura’s eyes widen. “The famous Noya!”
Noya throws a sly grin at Asahi, who flushes instantly.
Nakamura continues. “He finally convinced you to join us, huh? I’m betting on you being as good as the Big Guy says you are.”
Noya’s grin turns wolfish, body settling into the familiar talented-enough-to-back-it-up posturing he hasn’t had much use for without sports. “Guess I’ll just have to prove him right, huh?” He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s just for today, though – I’m leaving Tokyo tomorrow. Thank you for having me.”
“Don’t worry,” Nakamura says, dropping his voice into a stage whisper. “We’ll just bully Asahi into paying dues for you, and then you can come by whenever you’re in town.” He pauses. “If you’re good.”
Asahi sputters. Noya laughs. “Deal.”
The rest of the neighborhood association trails in, some clearly coming straight from work, others with older kids who settle into the bleachers with practiced ease. Nakamura gestures to the court. “C’mon, let’s go warm up. I’ll introduce you.”
By the time the other team has arrived, Noya learns that this team has been a consistent group of guys for about a year now, but some players drop in and out with obligations. The neighboring women’s team—who’ve been playing together for almost ten years— absolutely rocks their shit every time they play against each other. And, most importantly, Noya is delighted to discover, everyone is friendly and loves volleyball and they actively bring Asahi out of his shell, despite most of them being an easy decade older than him.
As they step onto the court, Noya locks eyes with Asahi one last time. Asahi feels that warm tug in his chest. Noya winks. “I’ve got your back, Ace.”
Asahi’s face crinkles up with a smile. “I know.”
.
God, volleyball is awesome.
Asahi remembers to love it every time he gets the chance to step on court again – remembers why it was so important to him to keep playing, keep pushing himself, when he was a teenager. He also distinctly remembers this feeling: standing left court, or center, hands braced on his knees, waiting for the serve, and feeling the scorching heat of a pair of eyes on him. From the back row. From the sidelines, waiting on the next rotation. When he jumps for a spike, when his hand connects with the ball, when he’s running the few steps for his jump serve. That intense focus directly on him, for a moment, for an entire play.
Right now, though, he’s remembering how he was never brave enough to look back. Never brave enough to try to meet that gaze. A timid teenager, afraid of his own feelings and terrified of screwing everything up in one fell swoop.
But Noya admires forwardness. And confidence. And strength. And is also maybe the slightest bit dense. If Asahi wants, he has to ask for it. And he wants.
He really, really does.
Asahi takes a deep breath. He looks to his left.
He immediately finds that burning, burning stare. He meets it. He thinks a thought that he’s thought many times before, those eyes. He thinks, how lucky to be the subject of that focus. How fortunate. He admires the glisten of the sweat on Noya’s skin, the definition of the muscle under his t-shirt, the way he stands like he’s meant to be wherever he’s put himself. The slight pink on his cheeks he gets whenever he exerts himself.
Asahi bites his lip. He watches Noya’s eyes widen, just the slightest amount.
The serve goes. Asahi turns back to the game, grinning.
.
They win.
Noya is bombarded by his teammates, the packing up completely forgotten to the attempts of convincing Noya he really wants to stay and play for them fulltime. Like, wouldn’t it be so fun? And great? And they’d probably win, like, all the time?
The team has Noya cracking up and cracking jokes right back at them, and Asahi can’t help but notice how perfectly Noya seems to slot into his life. Asahi feels a light elbow to his side, and he turns just in time to see Nakamura’s knowing eyebrows. Asahi huffs, too happy to be embarrassed. “Stop it,” he grumbles, no malice, and Nakamura laughs right in his face.
Asahi finally moves to collect Noya from his new group of friends and admirers. The rest of the guys bid goodbye and head for the exit, everyone trickling out into the night. Nakamura shoots Asahi a glance but bids Noya a very warm goodbye and request to see him again, himself.
Finally, they’re out on the street. Noya hasn’t stopped talking about how much fun that was and god I missed playing volleyball, dude! and your team is super cool, you know? Noya stops ahead of Asahi just shy of the main door to Asahi’s apartment building, turns, and sprouts a thousand-megawatt smile. “Thank you for inviting me.”
Asahi, warm, says, “Thank you for coming.” Which also is to say, thank you for coming to visit me. Thank you for finding me important enough to keep in contact, to still think I’m incredible, to want to spend time with me.
Asahi stops walking when he’s right in front of Noya, towering over him. Noya’s head is tilted to keep looking at Asahi’s face. Asahi breathes. Noya waits a beat. Two. Three.
Noya breathes out. He moves to turn away. “Are you hungry? We could grab—”
Asahi reaches out, grabs Noya’s shoulder. Noya turns back, eyebrows questioning. The street is quiet.
“Actually,” Asahi says, swallowing his heart. Here goes nothing. “I’d really like to kiss you.”
Noya inhales, short, quick. His eyes widen, then soften, and his lips curl into a playful, happy little grin. He tilts his head up and meets Asahi’s eyes fully. “So why don’t you?”
It’s warm, soft. Easy. Asahi really doesn’t have much experience but enough to know Noya is good at this, leaning up on his tiptoes and sneaking his fingers into the front of Asahi’s hoodie. Asahi leans back, can’t help but say, “Sorry, I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
Noya hums, tugs on Asahi’s hoodie a little. “Mmm, maybe you should try again, make sure you’ve got it right.”
Asahi’s hand finds its way to back of Noya’s neck, fingers brushing the soft fuzz of his hairline, tucking under the edge of his beanie. The other stays on Noya’s shoulder, pulling him centimeters closer.
They break apart. It’s been seconds, minutes, hours. Asahi wants to do this forever. Their breaths puff out in cumulous clouds, intermingling, rising around their noses where their faces are still close.
Noya’s eyes slip open.
Asahi can’t help but note the obvious lack of disgust, shock, or regret—Noya’s happy; he’s always been easy to read when he is. His eyes crinkle, shine. Asahi slides his hand up to cup Noya’s cheek, running a thumb along his cheekbone.
Which is incredibly cold to the touch.
“Oh my God,” Asahi startles, “You’re freezing! Come on, let’s go inside, I’d never forgive myself if you came all the way here just to catch a cold.” And he’s dragging Noya up the stairs, who is stifling his laughter into his own shoulder but takes the moment to lace their fingers together where Asahi’s grabbed ahold of him.
.
The front door closes. They’ve taken off their shoes. Noya steps right into Asahi’s space, crowds him against the door.
“I know we need to talk,” Noya says, looking straight into Asahi’s eyes. “We should, and we will, but I’ve wanted to kiss you all day, and yesterday, and I’d really like to do it again.”
Asahi realizes, with a jolt, that Noya – who never stops himself from doing anything – has been holding back this whole time. For him. Maybe dense was the incorrect description for Noya about all of this, after all.
For all of his worrying, all of his planning, he probably could have just said his first intrusive thought of the morning aloud and he would have gotten the same result.
I could wake up to you every morning.
Asahi leans forward, takes Noya’s face in his hands, and kisses him. Once. Twice. God.
Asahi stoops low enough that Noya can wrap his arms behind his neck.
Noya, seemingly without thought, tugs him forward just slightly, and suddenly Asahi’s gasping, trying not to pitch forward and knock the both of them over. Noya yelps, hands flying to Asahi’s shoulders as they stumble farther backward into Asahi’s small apartment. They stop just shy of Asahi’s couch table, the trinkles on top rattling a little with their stampede of clumsy footsteps, Asahi practically holding Noya up as they both wide-eyed stare at each other.
Noya’s laughing. Asahi eats his own embarrassment in an instant and laughs, too, hard, heavy. Cheeks aching and tears in his eyes.
Why was he ever so nervous? How had he forgotten how anything goes with Noya, with someone who cares so much and loves so hard? Effortless. That is the best way to describe how today felt.
Asahi rights the two of them. Noya’s hands slide back down to the front of his chest. He digs his fingers into the soft fabric and slides his eyes to the side, almost shyly. Asahi decides for the second time today he can be brave.
“You know,” Asahi says, right there in front of Noya and his plants and the dog on the street below, “I’m happiest when I’m with you.”
Noya’s face goes hot and he whips his head up back towards Asahi and beats a fist into Asahi’s chest. “You sap—ugh—” He groans, steps back, shoves the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I have liked you for so long, Asahi, you don’t even know.”
Asahi steps forward and tugs, gently, at Noya’s wrists. Quietly, “How long?”
Noya lets his hands be pulled down. Bites his lip. “Like, a long time. High school. I mean, I thought you were hot the moment I laid eyes on you, have you seen you, what the fuck? But. Being honest? Around the middle of first year.”
Asahi isn’t flattered, per say, but something light and tingly moves around in his chest. He smiles, gentle, and says, “Me too.”
“What?” Noya yells, then he autocorrects to a lower volume when Asahi jumps. “What? You mean we could have made out behind the gym for two years? What the hell were we thinking?”
Asahi laughs, startled. “I wasn’t really confident enough to do something like that, Noya, I hate to say.”
Noya raises his eyebrows to a combo of devilish and teasing. “Are you now?”
Asahi sputters. “I just kissed you in the street!”
“So you are? Next time I come play a game with you? Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Asahi, that’s rude.”
Asahi, suddenly, feels himself deflate. “Noya…”
Noya sighs, “Right, right, not in school anymore, have to have big talks about it when we kiss people in the street.” He whines, “If you’re not going to frantically make out with me, though, can we at least shower first?”
Asahi laughs, leans forward, and kisses him one more time (because, at least for the moment, he can do that now, hey). “Of course.”
.
They end up on the couch, legs tangled together in the center, each with a mug of tea and twiddling thumbs.
Noya breaks first. “Fuck, I hate this,” he groans. “I’m just going to tell you what I want, and if that doesn’t work, or whatever, you can just – say so, okay? Don’t you dare agree to something you don’t like, alright?”
Asahi, who also hates this, nods.
“I like you so goddamn much,” Noya says, maybe a little aggressive, but he manages to hold Asahi’s gaze even though it clearly embarrasses him still to say it. “But I get it – I’m never here. I don’t even know when I’ll be back in Japan, after this trip, it could be another year, I don’t really know. I’m not ready to come back yet, I don’t even know what I’d do if I came back for good.” He breathes, deep. “And I know you’re about to start your career, and I’m leaving to-fucking-morrow, and the timing sucks, but – I also want this, if I can have it. You. Us, I guess, I don’t know – I’m saying I’m willing to, to, try doing distance, even though it’s supposed to be really hard, I don’t care. We’ve managed this long, haven’t we? Is it really that different, except now I can tell you how stupidly hot you are in those shirts you made last Fall instead of just thinking it really, really hard?”
Asahi takes in his own deep breath. “I can’t—” Noya’s eyes widen, so Asahi hurries on, “I can’t do casual, Noya. I’m not – in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not built for casual. I thought, maybe, I could try being, uhm, label-less, or open-but-committed, or – I don’t want to hold you back from experiencing the world, but I can’t be anything other than monogamous.”
“Hold me back?” Noya throws his hands up. “You’re about to enter the fashion world, Asahi! How many hot dudes are going to be grappling for your attention while you’re waiting for someone halfway across the world? What if I can’t make it to one of your shows? What if I disappoint you?”
“You could never disappoint me, Noya—”
“I might! And I’d be sorry about it but I might, God, Asahi, you’re the only thing I’ve ever been committed to in my life. I stopped thinking about volleyball as a future but kept thinking about a life with you – you want monogamy? You’ve got it; every single dream circles back to convincing you that you think it’s a good idea to, to, to – God, I don’t know! Figure things out! With me!”
“I want to.”
“What?”
“Figure things out with you – I want to. More than anything.” Asahi pushes Noya’s hip with his foot. “And that’s enough for me. That this is what you want. We can figure everything else out as we go.”
Noya put his tea down, scrambles across the couch right into Asahi’s lap, and kisses him. Over and over.
Asahi grabs at the back of Noya’s t-shirt, leans into his touch, and thinks, I deserve to be happy.
And this is it, he thinks. This is it.
.