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For someone who’s never run on a track team, Akira’s sure got a knack for it.
From the way he warms up to his actual running posture, posture straight and arms pumping, Akira looks like a damn natural. His eyes narrow and his lips part in a concentrated grimace and Ryuji can just tell that he’s gotten into it, that he’s not thinking of anything but the track, but the act of running in itself—and damn if that isn’t familiar.
Ryuji adjusts his hold on the fence, leaning his forehead between his arms as he watches Akira go around for another lap. He hadn’t actually realised Akira was on the field today. He’d just been walking by, maybe feeling a little nostalgic, maybe a little sad, when he heard the familiar pounding of sneakers on rubber—and, well, he got curious. He’d been expecting it to be one of his old teammates, and he’d wanted to come by just to look a little while. Not that any of them would want to see him here, or that Ryuji would be particularly keen on seeing them, either, but, you know. Curiosity and all that. Missing the past.
Instead, it’s Akira. They’ve ran together a bit, the two of them, so it makes sense for Akira to continue honing that skill. Morgana is hanging out by the track too, jogging lightly whenever Akira passes where he’s standing, doubtlessly keeping up a running commentary. It’s silly, because clearly neither of them have actually realised that Ryuji is here watching, but once he came down and saw his friend running laps, he hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away. Like he just got rooted in place, unable to keep moving forward now that he’s seen Akira so hard at work.
Ryuji adjusts his stance, wondering if he should head around to the other side of the fence and lean against it that way. It does mean Akira has a higher chance of noticing him here, but it’s not like Ryuji is trying to avoid that. They’re friends, and Akira wouldn’t mind it if he spotted Ryuji nearby, even if he is gawking shamelessly. It would mean time taken away from watching Akira’s run, though, and as silly as it is to admit, even in his head… Ryuji just doesn’t want to do that.
It makes him… itchy, he thinks, to watch this. It’s not about Akira. As previously stated, Akira’s running posture is absolutely flawless. He’s flawless, in other ways as well, the way his black curls are swept back by the wind, the focused determination in his eyes, as hard as it is for Ryuji to make them out at this distance—there’s nothing wrong with this routine, no possible points of criticism Ryuji could give…
But he’s itchy. Right around his knee on the old bum leg. In fact, it aches a little as he shifts his weight, and as he reaches down to massage the muscle, it occurs to Ryuji that the itch and the ache and the peculiar throbbing in his chest is want, pure and simple, and intense enough to bowl him over.
Ryuji straightens up, using the hand he’d been rubbing his knee with to sweep through his hair. It’s not a good idea, not today, but more than anything Ryuji wants to be on the other side of that fence—running with Akira, not just loitering around and watching him. A part of Ryuji has always wanted to return to the field, no matter how illogical it’s seemed, but right now it feels like Ryuji’s got to do it. And it’s not just one of those things where you desperately want something so bad you can barely breathe for it but it’s just not going to happen. Right now, it feels like…
It feels like Ryuji has to—no, is going to get out there. Is going to be out there at Akira’s side, pushing him harder, getting pushed forward in return. Ryuji was always passionate about track, but this feels intense in a way that is heady, almost gratifying, so much so he just has to smile about it, shaking his head at the wishful thinking. Man, the face Akira would make at him if he could hear what’s on Ryuji’s mind.
Speaking of… Out on the field, Akira’s slowly come to a stop. Morgana jogs over to match pace with him as Akira wanders back towards his belongings, pulling up his shirt and dabbing sweat from his forehead. When he lifts his head, he just so happens to look in Ryuji’s direction, and their eyes meet through the fence. Even from this distance, Ryuji can see the way Akira’s eyebrows shoot up on his face, and the grin he’s already wearing splits even wider.
“Hey man!” Ryuji calls, raising a hand over his head and waving. “Nice moves, I couldn’t look away!”
Akira laughs, and it’s loud enough that Ryuji can hear it, not just see the way he tosses his head back. He jogs on over, coming to a stop when they’re face to face, only a foot of distance between them now. Well, that and the fence. Akira is drenched in sweat, and his shirt sticks to his torso a bit. It should be gross—and really, objectively, it is—but Ryuji can’t take his eyes off him, can’t stop smiling. It reminds him too much of hours at practice, time spent with the team—and also, he’s pretty sure Akira couldn’t look really disgusting even if he tried. He cuts a striking figure with his hair slicked back like that.
“How long have you been watching?” Akira asks, sweeping his hair from his eyes.
“Not too long. You about wrapped up?” Ryuji shifts his weight. “I was about to head home, but you’ve been workin’ so hard out here, I figure… Maybe I could put together a little treat for you over at the boss’s place?”
Akira raises an eyebrow. His face is a bit flushed still with exertion, but he looks remarkably composed, and the raised brow look flatters him, admittedly.
“What did you have in mind?”
“I’ll… let it be a surprise,” Ryuji says, unable to keep a bit of bashfulness from creeping into his town. “But it’s somethin’ my mom used to whip up for me—you’ll like it, I promise.”
And because it’s Akira, the only reaction he gets to that is a softer smile, accompanied by a little nod. “Sounds great. Lemme grab my bag and we’ll get outta here.”
Ryuji nods, waving him off. He leans himself back up against the fence while he waits, and because there’s not really much else for him to do, he settles back in and watches shamelessly as Akira packs up his things. No harm in looking, and all that.