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For a year and five months, Akaashi has been lucky enough to call Osamu his.
And for just over a year and five months, not a soul has known that fact except for himself, Osamu, and the blank-eyed stare of his beagle, Ume.
After officially meeting at a training camp in their second year, he and Osamu quickly found themselves drawn to each other. Wry humor wrapped in a thin sheet of cordial politeness. Even deeper, a distinct indifference towards the rowdy nature of the rest of their teams. Akaashi felt an unexpected sense of solace in Osamu’s presence. A calm, seemingly aloof stanger that somehow wriggled close enough to get snagged on every pause between Akaashi’s words. Every greeting that turned into a conversation without him realizing it. Every farewell that lagged and lingered until they stopped saying goodbye at all.
It was only a few months of games and texts and phone calls taken from empty streets and behind closed doors before the inevitable happened. Leaning against the diamonds of a fragile chain link fence, he watched Osamu stare at the ground while their teammates were packing up and wandering towards their buses. There, Akaashi waited. Kept himself quiet through the fidgeting and false starts until it all came out.
A bumbling confession. A stuttered question. The relief and laughter that followed as soon as the delighted answer slipped from his mouth.
Osamu kissed him for the first time on a warm evening in August and he hasn’t dared to stop since.
They considered telling everyone; but knowing the subjective scrutiny that would immediately follow, the risks outweighed the desire to share anything at all. It was easier to avoid people trying to convince them it wasn’t a good idea. The questions about why? who? how? The teasing and the jokes. The pity for being so far apart.
Akaashi has never been good at keeping secrets. He doesn’t care for them. Doesn’t see the need. He’s always carried himself with a reliable sense of candor and integrity. It’s easier to be straightforward and finding those same qualities in Osamu is arguably one of the reasons he’s come to like him so much.
But there are things they appreciate even more than honesty. Privacy. Respect. Keeping this budding, delicate relationship as something all their own.
At least until they graduate. At least until they can move to the same city and be together without a worry for distance or parents or volleyball.
Akaashi had gotten over the urge to tell anyone months ago. He could hardly admit it to himself— let alone Osamu— but somewhere along the way, the thrill of a secret became fun.
Sneaking around, stealing moments wherever they can, hiding around corners, in storage closets and old locker rooms— there’s something special about it.
✷
Their final spring tournament has come sooner than he was ready for and going by even faster. With the semifinals hanging over his head, Akaashi can’t decide if he just wants it to be done or continue on forever in some exhausting, exhilarating loop.
Knowing they’re up against Inarizaki next, it feels almost like a fated last match. Not quite as climactic as if they were battling for the final win; but it’s a wonder they’re able to play against each other at all.
Akaashi managed to slip away from the team with a few minutes to spare before warm-up starts. He’d rushed out of the main gym, shooting off a few texts as he went in search of a good place.
Now, tucked against the indented wall of an empty hallway, he waits just as he has time and time before. He chews idly at his cheek. Picks over and over again at a stray bit of his cuticle that’s begging to be ripped away.
In between his shallow breaths, hurried steps begin faintly down the hall.
Akaashi keeps himself pressed into the corner, eyes on the ground just in case it’s anyone else.
The sound comes closer— louder— sped up with every anxious kick of his heart. Just as they’re about to pass by, Akaashi tips his head back and closes his eyes.
They’ll ignore him.
They’ll just keep going if he—
“There ya are.”
Eyes opening to the familiar voice, Akaashi nearly slumps to the floor with the weight of his relief.
Osamu comes toe to toe with him quickly, crowding him against the wall without another thought of glancing around. Hands meet Akaashi’s sides and crumple the slick fabric of his jacket as he drops his chin.
“Sorry,” Akaashi starts with the barest breath of a laugh. It’d been so pointless to get worked up. To think of all the ways someone would catch him when he wasn’t doing anything at all. Just waiting. Hoping. Slightly obsessing over the anticipation of a single moment alone. “I know this is out of the way— and the match starts soon— but this was the only place I—”
The impact of a chest hitting Akaashi’s own knocks out the rest of his excuse. His jacket is stretched taut against his back as he’s pulled forward into an eager kiss. Firm but uncoordinated, just on the edge of frantic.
When Osamu leans back, that comfortable, lazy amusement takes over his expression. Akaashi can’t help but return it, if only faintly while his head rests against the wall.
“Was that for good luck?”
“Nah,” Growing even wider than his own, Osamu’s grin curls at the edges and scrunches his eyes up. “To throw ya off yer game.”
“I’d argue it’ll throw us both off.”
With a quiet hum, Osamu ducks closer again. “Worth it, though. Ain’t it?” He tucks his face beside the high collar of Akaashi’s jacket until he can mutter and tickle at the skin beneath it. “Missed ya.”
“You saw me yesterday.”
“Barely.” Nose pressed just behind Akaashi’s ear, Osamu takes a deep breath only to nuzzle closer, hug tighter. “Not nearly long enough.”
“Don’t get too comfortable. We need to go soon.” Instead of space, Akaashi gets a kiss to his throat. Then, one after the other, peppered up his neck and along his jaw. Never hard enough to leave any evidence behind but just ticklish enough to make shoulders bunch and pull a sigh from the knots in his chest. It takes Akaashi a full shake of his head and a weak shove to create any sort of distance. “Stop— stop — no more.”
Taking half a step back, Osamu huffs while feigning focus on straightening out Akaashi’s jacket. “Make a deal with me, ‘Ji.”
“A what?”
“A deal.” The jacket gets roughly zipped halfway up Akaashi’s front before Osamu’s staring him down. “My team wins, no more rushin’ around right before we got shit to do. I get t’spend some time with ya. And get as many kisses as I want.”
“You’re ridiculous.” Akaashi tries to brush it off like a joke, but that gaze— Unwavering— Holding the subtle burn of sheer intent— The follow-up of snide remarks dies on his tongue. “And if mine wins?”
As fast as it had come, the little bit of seriousness is broken by the split of a smile and warm wash of boyish charm. “You get as many kisses as ya want.”
“That doesn’t seem very—”
“Got another idea?”
“We sneak out to the Family Mart down the street and you buy me whatever and however much I want.”
It seems to take a handful of seconds for the words to process, but then Osamu rolls his head back with a too-loud groan through the empty hall. “ Gah, that’s it? I’d give ya anything, and yer still always thinkin’ ‘bout food—”
“As if you aren’t.”
“Yeah, yeah, well— whatever ya want, I guess.”
At least it’s a quieter grumble, directed down between them while lightly kicking their sneakers together.
“And?”
“And however much. Greedy.”
Fiddling with the flappy collar of Osamu’s jacket, Akaashi smiles and hums in the patronizing way he knows gets on Osamu’s nerves. “That makes two of us.”
“Mm, sure. Get a move on. The sooner I win, the sooner I get t’see this pretty face up close again.”
“Hopefully the prospect is distracting enough that my win will come easily.” This time when he pushes against Osamu’s shoulder, Osamu willingly moves. Akaashi slips from the wall, turning and stepping backwards. “Give my early condolences to your wallet.”
Arms crossed and eyes closed, Osamu’s taken his place against the wall. Pursed lips and knitted brows smooth out with a sigh through his nose. “Yer gonna end up eatin’ those words and nothin’ else, so good luck out there, Captain.”
✷
Somehow, Akaashi feels calmer stepping into the gym than he had when he was hidden away from all the crowd and his opponents' wandering eyes.
Seeing Osamu usually had that effect on him. It leveled him out a bit. Like muscles relaxed by a hot bath, the tension was unwound and stretched out enough that he could sneak up to the team with a clearer head. Jacket shed to the back of a chair along the edge of the court, he’s immediately pulled aside by Coach Takeyuki. Despite his focus on the coach’s quiet words, the diagrams scribbled down into the notebook in his hands, there’s still the lingering image of a kind face easing him through the pre-match nerves.
Osamu’s work is undone as soon as the warm-up ends and Akaashi stands in place for the coin toss. All comfort lost when the soothing grey from their secret moments is gilded and lit ablaze into a fiery hazel. The shape of these eyes, so familiar— but the fight behind them, so different.
If Osamu levels things, Atsumu unsettles them.
And Atsumu’s certainly aware of it. No doubt he tries to use it to his advantage every time they meet. His smile is sincere in the sense that he’s truly pleased about the chance of running Akaashi’s pride into the ground. The cheery tone coating his greeting is both saccharine in its delivery and riddled with the stench of venom.
“Keiji-kun. So nice to see ya again.”
The hand extended out to Akaashi comes with a lopsided grin that furiously belies the true blood-thirsty intent beneath it. Akaashi takes it without scorn or scoff because he has to. Because, that’s how being captain works. Because, unfortunately, Atsumu has always been a player he could look up to. Because, whether he likes it or not, Atsumu is important to Osamu which means he deserves Akaashi’s respect at the bare minimum.
“Miya-san.”
Their hands move up, down, apart.
The coin is tossed.
The match begins.
After half a decade of playing, it should all be muscle memory; but every whistle strikes Akaashi to the core. Sending the ball through the air feels natural to his hands, but his mind still flies too fast trying to figure out the best place for it, the right person, the smartest play. Akaashi’s managed to lead the team well through the season considering the loss of the past third-years and the fact that leading was never really something he’d call a strong suit. That doesn’t mean he’s any more confident playing against a team like this on the national stage.
It’s going about how he expected. Difficult. Frustrating. Exhilarating. In came the highs and lows of winning the first set then losing the second once Inarizaki found their way around every offensive strategy. Atsumu’s calls for spikers, his rumbling jeers, his cheers and hollering— they rattle around in Akaashi’s head between plays. The weight of Akaashi’s responsibility has gotten heavier with each game. For many of them, this could be their last. He knows they wouldn’t blame a loss on him, but he also knows he’d blame himself anyway. Captain. Setter. Who else outranks him to take the brunt of the guilt? No one.
Half-way through the third set, he can feel himself fraying a bit. His legs are burning more and more after every pass of the ball. His left elbow has been acting up all day and there’s a crack of the joint when he moves it too fast. His head’s starting to hurt. Overthinking round after round until he’s losing track of the points and where everyone is.
At least he can count on the quick smiles and winks from the other side of the net each time their rotations bring both Osamu and him to the front line. It helps. A little. Akaashi does his best to return them without anyone noticing.
Next rotation has him in the right back of the court. His serve is reliable at best— nothing showy— but it gets the ball over. There’s barely enough time to think in these matches. Only a few moments pass between his feet spreading and planting for a receive and a step forward sending him towards the net. Onaga’s receive comes smoothly to the front, high enough that Akaashi has plenty of time to plan his jump set to the outside.
When his feet land on the waxed floor, the sounds filling his ears are nothing new. Shouting. Shoes squeaking. Skin hitting the ball. The scream of a whistle signifying a point being won.
What’s unusual is the immediate silence that follows. The tail end of a crowd’s worth of gasps that abruptly dissipate into nothing. There’s faint noise coming from the match at the other end of the gym, but surrounding him is a growing bubble of heavy quiet.
Staring at the rest of the team, they’re all looking past him. Down. Peeking around each other with their mouths slack and their eyes wide.
Turning to look across the opposite side of the court, Akaashi’s gaze quickly falls just beyond his feet. Two of Inarizaki’s players are sprawled across the floor. One, sitting and rubbing his shoulder while blinking through the shock of whatever had happened behind Akaashi’s back. The other— Osamu — laying on his back, eyes shut and face lax despite the high probability that these two had either collided mid-block or ran straight into each other on their approach. Neither possibility was very good. The outcome, even worse.
As soon as the shock takes hold of him, an intense burn of worry seeps into Akaashi’s limbs. It bites at his muscles, twists and contracts them until he’s moving without thought. Osamu’s a few steps away, but there’s a net in between. One that Akaashi can easily duck under before slipping to his knees.
He’s beaten anyone else to looming over Osamu’s body, his hands reaching up to pat his sweaty cheeks. No change comes and all the air stuffed into Akaashi’s lungs leaves as he crumples over further.
It takes a few more light taps to Osamu’s face to get even a twitch of a reaction. Akaashi’s near frantic with the way his hands are shaking and his jaw is clenched so tight.
There’s so many people around—
They’re probably all gawking at him—
Certainly, gawking at him—
He can feel the pressure of them crushing down onto the curve of his back as he strokes Osamu’s cheeks.
“Samu,” There’s a touch to Akaashi’s shoulder, but he shrugs it off. Doesn’t know— doesn’t want to know— who it came from. They leave him alone and that’s all that matters to him at the moment. That, and getting Osamu to open his eyes. “Come on now.”
He freezes when there’s a subtle scrunch to Osamu’s brow before it smoothes out again. Holding his breath, Akaashi watches Osamu’s forehead wrinkle, his chest rise sharply, his eyes slip open. Only barely at first, then blinking wider until he’s staring at the high ceiling of the gym. Another blink and his gaze flicks over to Akaashi. Almost immediately, a smile spreads over Osamu’s face, peaceful and clear as if he’d merely woken up from an afternoon nap.
“Hey there, angel.” Osamu’s voice is quiet, fond, the way he speaks when they’re alone.
Hot distress prickles at the back of Akaashi’s neck. He can feel it bleeding into his cheeks while the rest of his body runs frigid from cooling sweat and the drop of adrenaline.
Pushing a hand up through Osamu’s damp fringe, Akaashi pets the hair away from his face. “Are you okay?”
“Think so.” Osamu shifts a little but then one eye squints and he settles on just lifting a hand to rub at the top of his hair. “Head hurts like a bitch.”
“Probably hit it pretty hard.”
“Yeah—? Hey, what’re ya doin’ over here? Yer gonna get yerself in trouble.”
“It’s not considered a fault to cross the centerline after the ball is out of play.”
Even like this, Osamu huffs a laugh at his seriousness. “That so?”
“You have to be more careful.”
“Ain’t all my fault— hey, stop givin’ me yer mean look. Y’need to calm down too. Been watchin’ and yer all over the place.”
“Are you forgetting where we are?”
“Are you?”
Lips pursed, Akaashi swallows hard around the lump clogging up his throat. There’s still stunned quiet around them, but for the moment, he still refuses to acknowledge the move he’s made.
“Don’t critique me when you were just unconscious.”
“Was I?” Osamu sucks some air through his teeth before rubbing over his eyes. “Well shit, feelin’ fine now. But I doubt they’re gonna let me keep goin’, are they?”
Two black shoes step closer to Osamu’s head before Atsumu’s daunting shadow covers them both. “Definitely not, idiot.” Atsumu doesn’t sound too concerned, but when Akaashi looks up, there’s a wobble to the pinch in Atsumu’s brows and a frown set deep into the line of his mouth. “The fuck’s goin’ on here?”
“Later.” Osamu shoots back at him. He then takes a swift hold of Akaashi’s jersey and tugs until Akaashi’s dropping his eyes again. “Don’t let this mess ya up. M’all good, so go win this thing in my place, ‘kay?”
A stomp of a shoe makes them both flinch just as Atsumu’s shrill voice cuts in. “Ya can’t say that when yer on our team!”
Sighing, Osamu tips his head toward the ceiling to grouse up at him . “Don’t yell at me, I’ve suffered an injury.”
“Yer fuckin’ fine. Let’s getcha up.”
It’s suddenly not Akaashi’s place to be lingering around anymore.
As soon as Atsumu crouches, Akaashi stands. Steps back. His shoulders hit the net and he stops.
He’d moved without thinking. And now, the consequences of that are falling around them. While Atsumu helps Osamu up off the floor and gym staff jogs toward them to lead him off, Akaashi tries not to panic under the scrutiny of an entire court.
In spite of the shake to his vision and the anxious flop of his stomach with every breath, he lifts his chin a little higher and turns without a single word spoken to the prying glow of five vulpine stares.
Ducking back under the net brings its own problems. If the looks from a crowd of strangers felt uncomfortable, his own teams’ were even worse. He knew this would happen eventually, their secret becoming known. But he wasn’t prepared for the guilt of keeping something from them for so long to feel quite this isolating.
It’s fine.
He can compartmentalize this like anything else. Tuck it away to fret about later. There’s people depending on him here. Focusing on the game is much more important.
It’ll be fine.
“My serve again?” He asks as a feeble way to break the tension and cut off anyone’s attempt at questioning him.
Following a few nods, he steps quickly and steadily toward the back line.
“Let’s keep going, then.”
It’s more so spoken to himself, but there’s a quiet chorus of assent that comes just as the ball is being tossed into his hands.
When he pivots to look across the court, Osamu’s nowhere in sight and his place has been taken by a player Akaashi doesn’t know.
Deep breath in, he focuses on an empty spot between two of Inarizaki’s receivers.
Whistle blown, deep breath out, he smacks the ball one time before tossing it into the air.
He’ll win this for them both.
✷
He does. It takes five full sets, but when the final whistle is blown, Akaashi’s watching the ball roll across the other side of the court.
The handshake he shares with Atsumu beneath the net is firm. A strangle of his thinner fingers, hard enough that he almost tries to pull back early.
“Good game.” Atsumu says it calm enough, but his stare is wide and clearly trying to pull any information he can off Akaashi’s face.
There’s not only the normal pain of losing in the crease of Atsumu’s forehead— or even the shocking awareness of knowing it’s all over for him— there’s also concern as much as there is bewildered skepticism.
Akaashi’s first thought is that it’s startling how expressive someone can be with just their eyes and the tense shift of their mouth. Part of him feels the need to apologize. He knows Atsumu doesn’t need it and wouldn’t accept it, but what else is there for Akaashi to offer?
Atsumu drops his hand first, but it takes a guiding touch on Akaashi’s shoulder to move him from the net.
Their post-match huddle is noticeably charged— always is after a win. Especially when the stakes are this high. They’ll have a break until tomorrow— and while the most important thing to all of them is most likely another celebratory meal— Akaashi feels himself start to fidget while he stands in place listening to Coach Takeyuki rattle off his usual speech.
Scratching at the underside of his palm just to keep from leaping off the bench, Akaashi keeps his head low until the team gives a final cheer and starts to leave the court.
He should follow them— continue discussing the list of notes Coach always has for him specifically— but as soon as he stands, he’s inserting himself into the middle of a conversation.
“May I be excused?” The curious look he gets from both Coach and their manager is almost too unnerving to continue, but Akaashi keeps his head high as their steps slow. “I assure you I’ll be back shortly, but I—”
“Go on.” Coach cuts him off like he was expecting it, nodding toward the set of doors across the gym. “Come speak with me when you’re done.”
“Thank you.” With a shallow dip of his head, Akaashi turns and hurries through the crowd at the edge of each courtside.
He has but a vague idea of where he’s heading. He’s been to the nurse’s room here once, and a long time ago at that. During Nationals his first year, he’d walked with Konoha to the room in search of some tape after he’d jammed his finger. He wasn’t very confident in three year old memories coming through a slightly frantic brain, but after a few turned corners and backtracking, he slows while approaching the open door.
It’s quieter here, the hall filled with the sound of his shoes against tile but nothing else. Only his head peeks through the doorway first, then the rest of him once he sees no more than a pair of legs stretched out on a bed and extending from behind a half-drawn curtain at the other end of the room. He knows those shoes. Knows the mismatched socks— one white, one black. The coordinating sock to both of them, off wherever Atsumu is. Some ritual the twins started during a long winning streak early in the season.
The other beds are empty as Akaashi passes them. When he draws back the curtain covering the upper part of the last bed, he finds Osamu lounging against a stack of pillows and typing away on his phone.
Looking up, Osamu lets the phone fall against his chest with an instant smile. “So? Did ya win? Couldn’t manage to find a livestream and Tsumu and Rin haven’t answered my texts yet.”
“Are you supposed to be looking at your phone?”
“Are you supposed to be checking up on a rival team member?”
Akaashi crumples a bit of the curtain in his fist before letting it go and sighing. “Right now, you’re just my boyfriend. How do you feel?”
“Head still hurts. Got this gnarly knot back there now. Besides that, not anything I haven’t felt before.”
Stepping up to the top of the bed, Akaashi reaches slowly before his hand stills in the air. “Can I?”
“You can do whatever ya want, y’know that.”
On a different day, Akaashi may have chided him after saying something like that. Today, he bites his tongue in turn for gently carding through Osamu’s hair. First over the top, then down the back to the small bump on the crown. When his fingers brush over it, Osamu winces enough for Akaashi to pull his hand away.
“And the nurse looked at it?”
“Yeah. Said it’s fine, but m’under a strict no leavin’ rule till they’re sure I don’t have a concussion or nothin’.”
The remark twists Akaashi’s face into an exasperated expression, head tilted, lips pursed. “So the answer to my earlier question was no . You shouldn’t be looking at your phone.”
“You become some sorta doctor without me knowin’?” When Akaashi doesn’t soften, Osamu just carries on like he hadn’t tried to make a joke at all. “Hey, you got yer answer, now I get mine— did ya win?”
Despite acting contrary, the phone gets tucked away under his leg. Osamu tries to make it subtle but even if Akaashi doesn’t look down at the movement, he nods along with his silent victory.
“Yes. Somehow.”
“It’s ‘cause I wasn’t there, and ‘cause my good luck kiss worked.”
“Wasn’t it a distraction?”
Eyes flitting away, Osamu shifts on the bed with a forced out, little chuckle. “Well, I dunno about all that— but I do know I’m proud of ya, Keiji.”
“Thank you.” He says it quickly before moving on. It may sound no more than compulsory but Osamu will know he means it. They’ve known each other long enough, gotten used to looking past words and tone without having to stop and ask. “You’re not upset.”
“Should I be?”
“Being bereft of the chance to play out your last game is a perfectly acceptable reason to feel bitter.”
A passive shrug is all Akaashi gets at first. Then a lofty sigh. More shifting. Avoiding any eye contact. “I mean, how could I be anything but happy when I got to play against you again?”
“Osamu—”
Osamu’s smile falls as soon as he waves a hand between them. “‘Course I’m not thrilled I couldn’t finish, but s’not like I haven’t already accepted my time playin’ is over. At least I can blame the loss on Tsumu.”
“He’ll probably do the same to you.”
“So this way it’s fair. Did he keep playin’ alright?”
“Terrifying as always.”
“Good. Didn’t wanna hafta kick his ass for gettin’ thrown off.”
Only after seeing the slight lift of Osamu’s mouth does Akaashi ease himself down onto the bed. Lifting one leg up and tucking it under the other, he sits and reaches out.
“You’re sure everything’s alright?”
Fingertips brushing lightly down the back of Osamu’s hand, they reach the ridges of his knuckles before being caught up and held.
“With my head or with losin’?”
“Both.”
“Yeah.”
The souring of Akaashi’s face is all too clear. He’s not keen to believe anything despite Osamu saying it. Not after seeing him spread out over the floor. Not when he knows how much time and dedication he’s put into something that seems to be just a silly game to him now.
“I’m tellin’ the truth.” Akaashi’s fingers get a squeeze before Osamu rubs his thumb over them. “Head doesn’t hurt too bad anymore, and it’s okay that I didn’t get to play. Don’t feel like ya gotta be sad for me. I’ve got better things to be doing now that it’s over. And soon, you will too. Ya won’t be upset even if ya don’t win the whole thing, will ya?”
“No. Not really.” Chin tucked down toward his chest, Akaashi hopes his frown is coming across more like a scowl than a pout. “Even if it doesn’t hurt… Promise you won’t scare me like that again.”
“Ya got scared ‘cause of that?” Osamu’s voice is so much louder than his own, bouncing off the wall as if the request is somehow unprompted. Akaashi can feel Osamu’s laugh all the way from the fingers wrapped up in his grasp to the way it shakes the bed. He can only frown at the glaring white of the sheets while Osamu tips his head back. “Ah jeez, I hate to tell ya this, but I’ve conked my head plenty of times— some harder than that, so I don’t really know if I—” Looking back down, Osamu cuts himself off and sits up a little. His hand shifts higher to Akaashi’s wrist, tightening there for a second before slipping up to his arm and settling warm just beneath the end of his sleeve. “Okay, okay, cut it out with the sad eyes— I promise.”
“And no more secrets. I’m tired of coming up with excuses.”
“Kinda late for that, ain’t it? Pretty sure everybody knows now.” This time, Akaashi’s sure when his eyes cut up, they’re narrowed and sharp. “Alright, yeah, no more secrets and no more scarin’.”
“Thank you.”
He wants to be stern, scold Osamu a bit more; but he always feels himself become too soft when they’re together. He can’t keep the front up for very long. In its place comes the downward slip of his gaze. The slow shift until his knee is pressed into the side of Osmau’s thigh.
Being nervous around Osamu isn’t something he’s felt in months. Any inkling of that is swept away as soon as he breathes in the familiar scents or hears the low gruff to his voice. But even if it isn’t genuine nerves, a little coyness never seems to hurt.
His fingers find the wrinkled edge of Osamu’s shorts and begin to fiddle with the fabric. He keeps his voice soft, unassuming. “Can I claim my winning kiss now?”
Osamu stills until a quiet hum verges as close to a question as it can get before it breaks into words. “I thoughtcha wanted food?”
“I can’t change my mind?”
“We’ll have to amend the rules of our deal—”
“Samu.” Akaashi gives a tug to the hem of Osamu’s shorts to draw out his laugh.
“I already said you can have as many as ya want— and we can still getcha that food too. Plus, we don’t even gotta sneak out now that—”
“Please don’t remind me again.”
Another tug has Osamu sitting up further and leaning forward.
Osamu grins all the way into the kiss. Something he does often. It’s goofy , rather inconvenient— Akaashi doesn’t really like the fact that a lot of the time he ends up with his lips against Osamu’s teeth— but it’s equally as charming, regardless of how much Akaashi would refuse to admit it. Smiles, laughs, taunts— he feels lucky to be the one to receive them. To cause them. Akaashi pushes in harder at the thought, too serious for the occasion, too firm a grip on the rough bedsheets.
He’s so, so lucky.
“Oi.”
Or, maybe not.
Because that sound was loud.
Displeased.
Far too close to them to be directed anywhere else.
Akaashi pulls back, eyes flicking wide to meet Osamu’s heavy-lidded stare.
There’s barely enough time to breathe before the voice starts up again and Akaashi realizes with agonizing clarity who it belongs to. He twists around against his better judgement, ogling Atsumu’s glare with what is surely shock and just a tinge of embarrassment.
“I figured this could count as later. And looks like yer not hurtin’ too bad, so ya wanna tell me what’s been goin’ on?”
Osamu’s hand on him doesn’t move. He merely clutches Akaashi’s arm harder, but it’s barely reassuring under such a murderous shadow. There’s no fear necessarily. Not for him. Just the nauseating awareness that they’re going to have to explain themselves to a whole gaggle of people. Exhausting. Invasive. Necessary.
Turning back around, Akaashi feels his brows dip in at the blatant lethargy shared across Osamu’s face.
“I should get back to the team.” Akaashi speaks quietly but it still brings Osamu’s eyes down.
“Sure ya don’t wanna stay for this?”
“Extremely sure.” He’s close to prying himself from Osamu’s hold but the hand on his arm releases him just as Atsumu starts to walk closer. “Just don’t leave without saying goodbye.”
“Wouldn’t dare to.”
Atsumu is waiting for him when he gets to his feet, standing as tall as he can just to try and look down at him.
“Atsumu-san—”
“Eh?” Atsumu cuts him off with a noisy interjection, immediately bending forward into his space. “No more Miya-san ?” When all Akaashi can think to do is stare back at him and try to inch around toward the door, Atsumu backs himself up just as fast. “Listen, whatever— good job today. Ya beat me. That’s worth somethin’. Don’t ruin the blessin’ I’ve given ya by losin’ the next match.”
“Thank you. I’ll try my best, and I hope you have a safe trip home.”
“Oh no,” Akaashi glances back as Atsumu passes him. Atsumu’s moving closer to the bed, seemingly ignoring the harsh roll of Osamu’s eyes. “We’re gonna have a chat later. I’ll find ya no matter what. Won’t be able to hide from me anymore, Keiji-kun.”
Osamu’s leg stretches out over the side of the bed, kicking at the air near Atsumu’s knee. “Stop tryin’ to be intimidating. Yer actin’ like such an ass.”
“What?” Hands propped up on his hips, Atsumu leans away from the kicks just to bark at him. “Afraid I’m gonna scare off yer boyfriend?”
“Nah, I’m scared for yer sake, not his.”
Akaashi attempts to pinch lips and keep his smile from being too wide. It’s still caught by the quick dart of Osamu’s eyes over toward him just as Atsumu starts up again.
Osamu makes sure to give him a wink before tipping his head back and grinning at the irate rambling falling rapidly from Atsumu’s mouth.
Akaashi doesn’t try to consume any more of Osamu’s time or attention. He’s taken his fill for the moment and there’s room to bask in the swelling feeling until the next time they meet, be it mere minutes or hours into the evening.
Stepping into the hall, he’s nearly overcome with the need to laugh. Possibly at the absurdity of it all, possibly at his own foolishness.
For as long as he could think, there has been a silly part of him that feared something would feel off once people knew. Like some spark to their relationship would fizzle.
But coming out of the room, that worry feels almost entirely daft. Because in the space left behind by the secret forcefully dragged out into the light, is a glowing pride. Confidence and delight in knowing he is adored and cared for.
And now, they can show anyone who dares to look just how fortunate they are.