Chapter Text
Akiteru wakes to a pounding headache the next morning.
His clothing sticks to his skin, and he finds that despite the breeze that's coming in through his open window, he's still too warm. Akiteru squirms and fidgets in bed until he eventually gives up on falling back asleep, instead opting to get up and shower. There's a pulse ringing behind his eyes, and even though he rubs and rubs he can't get rid of it.
There's something he should be feeling, but he can't seem to recall just what it is.
Like the cold water that jutters from the shower head as he turns the tap, his memory returns in fits and starts. His drinking, the cab ride home, the distinct feeling of humiliation, the rise and fall of a great joy that he cannot seem to completely remember.
Akiteru climbs under the icy water and shakes his head. He can recall the events of last night just fine. He just doesn't want to revisit those feelings of longing. He instead chooses to drown himself in the cold water, as if that will ease the stinging behind his eyelids.
There's something inside of him that screams at him when he thinks of Kei beneath him, remembers the feeling of his flesh, hot and slick. It's an uncanny feeling that marks the swoop and sway of his stomach, fingers brushing against his navel teasingly, cock perking up at the memories.
He scratches his arm instead, digging his nails in with a biting fury, as if in place of an anger that Kei could never have directed toward him. Undeserving of the supposed love Akiteru had felt so intent on smothering him in.
Akiteru feels sick. His headache is getting worse.
He doesn't bother washing his hair, just scrubs down his body in the cold water, sneezing meekly when he steps out of the shower, the cool morning air warm in comparison. Is torturing himself with a cold shower enough? If it were, maybe he'd feel a little less nauseated, less sickened by things he doesn't want to recall.
He puts on clean clothes and makes his bed, taking a second to stare at the covers blankly, wondering if it wasn't just a dream. He rips them off after a second of contemplation, judging them dirty, whether or not it was all just another fantasy of his, desperate and rushed. He knows it happened. The sight and sounds of last night won't leave him that easily.
He cannot think straight. He wants to see Kei, wants to hold his brother and apologize, knows that if he remembers, then so does Kei. Akiteru blindly runs his hands through his damp hair, mussing it up further. He feels stuck in place, timeless, aching, so unable to chase down the sinking feeling in his stomach and hold it down.
A bang downstairs makes him jump, and he flies out of his room, pausing in the hallway to listen. There's the sound of the door being locked, shuffling of a jacket, sniffs, and the jingle of keys. Akiteru's heart stops in his chest, and he wonders if his parents are home. He wonders if he left something, evidence of his shame, some sort of smudge on the wall that would tell them everything.
He takes the stairs two at a time, and the second he comes into view of the person in the hallway, they freeze.
It's Kei, cheeks flushed from the cold, bags of groceries slung over his arms. He looks up with a sniff, glasses fogging over from the warmth inside the house. Akiteru expects a word of anger, some look of disgust, but Kei just blinks idly, pulling off his shoes and exchanging them for slippers. He holds his arms out, and Akiteru stares.
"Help me with these, won't you?" He asks, not even bothering to look Akiteru in the eye.
"Oh! Yeah, uh, of course!" He blurts, rushing to take the bags from Kei's tired arms. "Where... where did you go?" He asks, peeking inside one of the grocery bags. There's bread on top, obscuring Akiteru's view of the rest of the contents.
"To the store," Kei answers, quirking a brow, speaking like it's obvious. "We needed some stuff, and I don't know when mom and dad will be back."
"Oh. I... I could have gone, you know," Akiteru says, unsure.
"I wasn't about to wake you up," Kei says, hanging up his jacket with a sigh. "People with hangovers need as much rest as they can get, anyway," He says, half shrugging, picking up the rest of the bags. "And they probably need food, too," He adds, heading into the kitchen.
Akiteru watches his back retreat almost blankly, mind screeching to a halt. He'd expected fists, fury, heated words and unmasked disgust. He hadn't expected this, a normalcy that makes him feel almost dizzy.
Was he just ignoring it? Or was this his acceptance?
"Are you coming?" Kei calls from the kitchen, the clunk of glass and crinkle of plastic bags following his voice.
"Yeah!" Akiteru says, chest throbbing, turning the corner with a grin. "Geez, you're so responsible now. You make me feel like the younger brother sometimes, you know? It kind of worries me," He laughs, setting the bag down with the rest of them, pulling it open to peer at the contents.
"It worries me sometimes too," Kei mumbles half-heartedly, pulling out eggs and milk.
"Did you pay for this stuff with your own money, too?" Akiteru blinks stupidly, eyeing a jar of strawberry jam. "Hmm... I must say, you're more an adult than I am."
"Don't say that, brother," Kei scoffs. "That"s not much better than being a toddler."
"What?" Akiteru fakes hurt, propping his hand on his hip. "Are you implying I'm not even a little more responsible than a baby?"
"I guess that's just what you are to me," Kei shrugs, hiding a smile, opening the fridge and sliding the cold foods inside. "You could probably use a nanny. If someone were to breathe down your neck, maybe you'd become a bit more diligent."
"I'm hurt!" Akiteru roars, flinging his hands up. "Man, isn't this just another part of being an adult, though? Drinking with co-workers may as well be a part of the job description these days," he insists.
"I'm sure," Kei says, nose crinkling in disgust. "At least you don't smell like alcohol anymore."
"I do know how to shower." Akiteru bites, poking Kei in the ribs. "And I know how to cook, too. Should I? Let me guess... d'you want something sweet?" He asks, tilting his head.
"Why not," Kei shrugs again, sliding past Akiteru like a ghost. "Only if you clean up after, too, though."
Akiteru and he bicker a little more like that, the air insufferably normal. It should feel right, but it's not what he wants, even after the previous night. If this is his acceptance, is it enough? Akiteru cannot allow himself to think any further. If Kei does not hate him, then that is all that matters.
There is an off-beat sensation in the back of his mind that makes the throb in his head all the worse, but he ignores it the same way he ignores the feelings he knows he'll have to face eventually.
Akiteru cooks breakfast and he makes french toast, tells Kei to close his eyes when he swings around with the plate of it, setting it down with a bravado only he could manage. Kei looks disgusted, but he's handed syrup and a knife and fork and his expression melts into one of vacant pleasure upon actually tasting it. It's stereotypical American food, Akiteru notes, and Kei nods, like he knew all along.
They're half-way through cleaning up when their parents arrive home, looking brighter than ever. Akiteru tells his mother she's practically glowing, and she laughs and slaps his arm, asking how thing's had gone with his co-workers last night, and if he'd had enough time to do anything with Kei. They dissolve into meaningless chatter and Kei finishes up the dishes, slinking upstairs without another word.
Akiteru doesn't miss the sound of the door slamming upstairs.
He decides to stay another night, wishing his father farewell and good luck with his work overseas.
His mother makes curry for dinner. Akiteru washes vegetables and cuts them up with her, eyes watering painfully upon contact with the waves of onion juice that slick up his knife. Kei walks by and she unsuccessfully tries to coax him into joining them, but Kei just shrugs like he couldn't care less, mentioning a walk. Akiteru tells him they'll have dinner ready for him by the time he's home.
Dinner is ready long before Kei gets back, however.
His mother sets aside a plate for her youngest, fretting here and there, delaying their meal until it's too late to continue waiting. Akiteru calls him, naturally, receives no answer and worries, but eventually reassures his mother and forces them to settle down and eat. It's not like Kei to pass up a good meal, even if he's in one of his worse moods.
Akiteru wonders if it's his fault.
It's seven o'clock when his mother insists on calling the police. Akiteru actually laughs at that, forces a strained chuckle, even slaps his knee. It doesn't take much convincing that he'll go out and look for him until his mother calms down and sits down with a cup of tea, but her own anxiety is nothing in comparison to the throb of guilt inside Akiteru's chest. What if he's running away because of me? He thinks, a thought laid to rest in the back of his mind, not touched, left alone, because Akiteru loves his brother, and his brother loves him.
Akiteru puts on his own shoes, his jacket, and takes a set of house keys, as well as the keys to his own apartment. He heads out with conviction, intent on finding Kei.
He looks. He goes to the nearby park, the one Kei used to love, peeks inside the dome in which children crawl and hide, and even sits on the swing set for a minute or two, looking around and just thinking. He discards the park, crosses it out in his mental map, and continues searching. There's another park, and no, Kei isn't there, either. There's a convenience store, and further, a real grocery store, and Kei isn't in either of those, missing from any and all immediate places that his big brother could think of.
It takes Akiteru an hour before he phones Kei's cellphone again, greeted with not two rings, not even one; instead, a monotone, robotic answering machine greets him, the default standard for their cell operator. Kei's phone is not even on.
Worry, Akiteru thinks, is not for those hung over. His head is pounding incessantly, and while he knows he deserves it for what he'd consumed last night, it makes the sensation no less unpleasant. He thinks hard and long and then looks up the bus and train schedules for the area nearby. He wonders which, out of his friends in Karasuno, would Kei take solace in.
Akiteru becomes less and less sure of how well he knows his brother the longer he looks for him.
He calls his mother and asks her, instead. He's given several names and phone numbers, things he scrawls on the back of a receipt he'd found in his pocket, pressed against the glass wall of a bus shelter. His hands are quickly turning numb from the cold air outside, night time temperature ever dropping. He fumbles with his phone and the numbers, calls Sugawara and then Daichi, both of who sound equally worried and give him another name: Yamaguchi.
Akiteru calls Yamaguchi, a boy he'd known to have dark brown hair, freckles, and a nervous air about him. There's three rings and Akiteru bites his tongue, prays, and gets an answer.
"...Hello? Who is this?"
"Ah, Yamaguchi?" Akiteru stutters.
"Er, yes. Um, who's calling?"
"Yes! Sorry, sorry. It's Tsukishima Akiteru calling. I was just wondering if you'd heard from Kei? The thing is--"
"Oh, you?" The voice on the other end, previously confused but pleasant enough twists, his displeasure clear. "You're his brother, right? How long did it take for you to notice?"
Akiteru goes cold. It's not the cool autumn air that chills him, nor the wind, that sends a shiver down his back. "I... I'm sorry?"
"How long did it take for you to notice he left?"
"I..." Akiteru is speechless. "I knew immediately. He told us. We were waiting for him. It's not just me," Akiteru feels his face grow hot, like he's been caught in the middle of something he'd been told not to do. "Our mother is worried as well."
"He isn't coming home tonight," Yamaguchi snaps. "Tell your mother that he's safe where he is. But he's not coming home tonight."
"Why... why not?" Akiteru feels a finger of flame lick against his spine, feels the heat in his cheeks expand, recognizes the rising wave of fury that he smothers with a forced, but polite laugh. "I'm sorry - who are you to Kei, exactly?" He pauses, sighing for effect. "Oh, wow. Just please let me speak to him. You know, I am his brother," He adds with a simper. "And I have every right to know where he is and how he's doing. He'll have to come home tonight, since--"
"He's not," Yamaguchi insists again, apparently unaware of Akiteru's growing anger. "What did I just say?"
"You disrespectful little..." Akiteru bites his tongue. "I'm... I'm not putting up with this. Let me talk to my brother," He commands, dropping the warmth he'd previously held so close.
"What makes you think you have the right?" Yamaguchi hisses. Akiteru can't reply, too surprised to say anything at all. It's a second before that feeling of surprise turns into one equal parts disgust and anger.
"Excuse me...? What about you? He's my brother, my family. I think I have the right to at least speak to him. You can't tell him it's me?"
"What, so you can bully him some more?" Akiteru can hear the sneer in his voice, and he's suddenly so sure that if Yamaguchi were in front of him now, he'd be tempted to take a swing at him. "No."
"Excuse me? Bully him? Who..." Akiteru's rage surfaces, reaches its peak. He knows he needs to bite it back, but indignation mixed with his frustration and a pounding headache leads to a limited sense of coherence, of good sense. Akiteru blurts out the first thing that he can think of. "Who the fuck do you think you are, huh? Do you get off on this, acting like some kind of knight in shining armor? Stop sticking your nose in other people's business. I'm coming to get Kei," He says.
The line is quiet, and there's the solemn, distinct sound of sniffing in the background. It is not Yamaguchi.
"I wish I could say sorry," He finally speaks, the tremble in his voice obvious. "But I'm not. He's not coming home until you leave. If you come here, I'll call the police."
Click.
Akiteru goes home without Kei and tells his mother that he's staying over at a friends, to her relief. It's not half an hour later that his overnight bag is packed and he's excusing himself as well, making his regret clear. His mother frets, but she relents and accepts his excuses, telling him to just make sure to come home and visit again. Akiteru kisses her cheek goodbye, squeezes her small frame in a hug, and leaves.
It's five miles down the road, twisted into a dark spot in a parking lot, where he breaks down.
His fists meet with the console of his car repeatedly, the cute good luck charm Kei had given him when he was younger bouncing, swaying, and finally slipping free from the hook attached to the mirror. Akiteru wants to wail, to cry and to mourn, act like he's lost his sibling, but the burn in his throat isn't regret, isn't born from the lack of love he's received.
He's just irritated.
It's irritation that makes him dig his nails into his palm, makes him run his hands through his hair again and again, gritting his teeth all the while. Helplessness, desperation, all of it swirls into one sickly sweet venom that drives Akiteru crazy.
He wishes he could punch that stupid prick in his arrogant face.
Akiteru has to wonder what Kei had told him. Was it just enough to get the point across, or was it descriptive, overflowing detail, waxed poetic in order to incite disgust, perhaps? He's not coming home until you leave? What kind of excuse could make an outsider act so arrogant, so confident?
Akiteru does not face the facts. He does not think rationally, in one, two, three steps of logic that sets him on a straight path. He takes the winding high road, puts on heels instead of hikers, and treks backwards in his own sort of mental maze, because he loves his brother and he fucked up, but he can't quite come to terms with it.
This is his fault. He knows as much. He just doesn't understand why.