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“Then let’s get started.”
“Wait, you can’t do that! You need an introduction!” Bokuto slammed his fist on the low table. “Isn’t it kinda cheap to just start with dialogue? You’re just hoping the audience will be interested in conversation! Nobody is interested in conversation, Akaashi. If a story is just dialogue, then what’s the point!”
“Then how would you like us to start this meeting, Bokuto-san.”
“Listen, a good hook starts with one thing.” Bokuto leaned back, arms crossed over his chest. “With fists.”
“This is a meeting about your shoujo manga.”
“Fists.”
“Then let’s get started.” Akaashi pushed his glasses up with a finger, spreading the manuscript and notes across the table. “I have some concerns about your suggested directions for the manga.”
Bokuto had formerly been a mildly successful shonen manga artist, but he was now a wildly popular shoujo manga artist. His manga, formerly titled ‘Fight! The Exciting Adventures of a High School Girl! The Fire Will Never Die!’ and now titled ‘Love Love’ at Akaashi’s hard suggestion, garnered much acclaim with his audience. Reviews said the author truly knew the meaning of a girl’s heart. Akaashi had said the popularity, in consideration with Bokuto's personality, was astounding. Bokuto, picking his nose, had asked Akaashi to repeat what he said because he'd been too busy with a motherlode.
“I see that you’d like to introduce another transfer student.”
“That’s a real heartthrob moment, right?”
“It is rather classic,” Akaashi said. “But this is your fifth transfer student.”
“It’s a popular school!”
“No school is that popular. Furthermore, under character traits, you only wrote down that he’s ‘good at volleyball.’ You’ve written nothing else about him.”
“What else do you need? Listen, Akaashi, you might not know about what people want in their lover. They just like a guy who’s good at volleyball. The better he is at volleyball, the better he is at love. That’s just a fact, Akaashi.”
“So I’m axing this transfer student. Moving on, I see you’ve planned a fight between the main character and the love rival. I feel that’s a good move. It showcases the character growth and determination in the main character, and advances the plot with the rival.” Akaashi took a sip of tea, his eyebrows knotted. “But why does the fight stretch out over a hundred chapters.”
“Because there’s a tournament!”
“Why is there a tournament arc in a shoujo manga.”
“It’s a hot-blooded love, Akaashi. But don’t worry! All the volleyball moves are realistic! Except for that one that destroys the court, but that happens really late in the game. And they fix the court. Someone dies, but they come back. It’s all really down-to-earth.”
“There will be no tournament arc.”
“Come on, Akaashi! I already designed three opposing teams! And the rival’s kinda like the final boss!”
“So the rival doesn’t even show up until the end of a hundred chapters.”
“Urp.”
“In the meanwhile, I have some concerns about the third transfer student. If you have him move across the street from the main character, you do realize that she’ll be surrounded by her love interests. They live on all sides of her house. One lives in her house.”
“Akaashi,” Bokuto said seriously. “I forgot all about that.”
“Please treat your characters with more care, Bokuto-san.”
“I do treat them with care! Especially that one with the cool hair! What’s his name.”
“In this suggested scene, where the protagonist and what's-his-name reach for the same book and their hands touch, I’d like to know why the main character starts arm wrestling with him.”
“Isn’t that normal? It’s like holding hands.” Bokuto clenched his fist. “With hot-blooded love.”
“Is that why she spikes the book onto the ground after she wins.”
“Well, that’s just natural.”
“Bokuto-san, do you really feel that it’s natural for her love interest to congratulate her on a nice kill.”
“It’s hot-blooded romance, I’m telling you!”
“Cool-blooded love will do just fine. Revise your planning and fax your new ideas to me.” Akaashi pushed his glasses up again. “Is there anything you need from me?”
“I was hoping to do a sailor uniform cover.” Bokuto placed his hands on his thighs. “Please model that for me!”
“Sure.”
“I’ll do anything—wait, really?”
“You might not remember, but I tried to model that for you last year.” Akaashi thoughtfully sipped his tea. “Didn’t you fall on the floor, crying about how it was unfair that I looked so good in it.”
“I’ll have more dignity this time!”
“I won’t ask that from you,” Akaashi said kindly. “But your manga is really doing well. And for almost a year, you haven’t tried to write Ayaka into another dimension where everything is the same, but no backgrounds exist. I feel this is great improvement.”
“Thanks! I really like Ayaka.” Bokuto beamed down at his main character. She was blunt, honest, and thoughtful. He liked the kind side of her especially. He liked everything about her. She was the ideal main character protagonist, especially because she was extremely good at volleyball. Akaashi had repeatedly axed that back story, too. He claimed there was no need for anybody to know how well she spiked the ball, but what Akaashi didn’t know was that Ayaka was actually a setter, so her offense was particularly outstanding in that regard. One day, Akaashi would surely allow him to draw that omake.
“The occasional addition of her glasses is also popular with your audience.”
“Yeah! I don’t know, I guess I sometimes feel like drawing them and sometimes I don’t. I mean, it’s kinda hard to draw, but sometimes I just feel like it.” Bokuto tried to think about what could have possibly influenced him. Maybe he passed a glasses shop down the street.
“I wonder,” Akaashi said, adjusting his glasses. “I mean this without disrespect, or respect, but you are rather transparent about your influences.”
“Kuroo said it was okay to base Ayaka’s pet off him!” Bokuto said defensively.
“I didn’t expect him to be a dog,” Akaashi said, “but that’s not what I was talking about.”
“Then what?”
“There are quite a lot of scenes of Ayaka and a love interest having tea at her house.”
“You said Pocari Sweat was weirdly specific. Tea’s not weird, right!”
“I’m not saying it’s a problem, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi leaned his elbow on the table, pushing aside the manuscript. “But you do invite me out more than any other manga artist that I manage.”
“You’re my editor! You’re contractually obligated to help me!”
“I am not.”
“You’re ethically obligated to help me! Are you telling me that you didn’t enjoy going to the amusement park together?”
“It was fun,” Akaashi said, “I hoped the hand holding helped you greatly.”
“Yeah,” Bokuto said, rubbing the back of his neck and flushing. “I mean, yeah, it did. A lot. Wasn’t that chapter really popular? So I mean. Mathematicallys speaking. You going with me to do things help a lot.”
“You also invited me to movies, dinners, shopping visits, rock climbing, skydiving, arcades, gyms, and several volleyball games. Some of which have never appeared in your manga.”
“It’s for inspiration! The atmosphere!”
“You aren’t without other friends,” Akaashi said, “So why does it have to be me?”
“Are you complaining?” Bokuto squinted at him. “You’re my editor! You can’t do that! You’re morally obligated not do that!”
“I’m not complaining, Bokuto-san. I have a fun time with you.”
Bokuto grinned. He had a fun time with Akaashi, too. It was different from hanging out with his other friends. Even if it was just sitting around in a movie theater, knowing Akaashi was watching the same movie next to him made it much better. And dinner was always great, watching Akaashi firmly flip through the menu. He cut his food so neatly with a knife and usually stuffed his mouth with his favorites. Akaashi was cute. Whenever Bokuto returned home, for some reason, he felt revitalized about drawing his shoujo manga. The characters seemed to spring to life. It was very curious.
“Hey, Akaashi. Who do you think Ayaka would choose?” Bokuto pushed the character designs towards him.
“Ayaka, huh.” Akaashi flipped through the designs, separating out the ones with wilder hairstyles and more muscular builds. “I suppose she’d be reluctantly interested in someone excitable with bluster. Temperamental, a little childish, but very friendly and playful. Someone like that.”
“Akaashi,” Bokuto said, awed. “That describes none of my characters.”
Akaashi ruffled through the papers, sorting them again. When he placed them down, Bokuto realized Akaashi had been hiding a slight blush. It was interesting. It was very interesting, and Bokuto’s hand was drawn towards his pencil to try and sketch Ayaka. He felt compelled, but managed to stop himself.
“That’s all for today,” Akaashi said. “You have my number. Please call if you need anything else.”
“We’ll schedule the sailor uniform,” Bokuto said, scrambling up to grab Akaashi’s coat. Akaashi slipped on his shoes.
“Certainly.” Akaashi hesitated. Bokuto handed him his coat. Their hands brushed against each other, and for a moment, Bokuto wanted to grab his hand, drag him to a table, and start arm wrestling with him. But Akaashi only rubbed his fingers together.
“Bokuto-san, please don’t take offense at this. Or do, I don’t really care. But when I first read your name, I thought you’d be a complete failure at writing shoujo manga.”
“No offense taken! I’m a real hidden talent!”
“It pains me to agree with you.” Akaashi made a face. “Your manga has been very popular, and despite your wayward wanderings, you truly do write ingenious scenarios. I look forward to working with you in the future.”
“Thanks, Akaashi! Out of all my editors, you’re my favorite.”
“I’m your only editor.”
Akaashi nodded to him, leaving and closing the door behind him. Bokuto thought Akaashi had wanted to say something, but nothing happened. But meeting with Akaashi was always fun. Sometimes a few of Bokuto’s ideas would even survive. He should take Akaashi out to dinner again, and maybe get him a gift, and practice holding hands. Or even kissing. Maybe kissing. It was good to have a reference for the future, and that was the only reason, and he wasn’t blushing or anything. He was a professional. If he was blushing at the thought, this was professional blushing. Bokuto wandered back to his table to gather the empty cups, casually glancing through the papers. Akaashi’s words echoed in his head. Friendly and playful. Transparent about his influences. Glasses.
The sailor suit unform.
He suddenly dropped the cups onto the carpet, grabbing a handful of papers and sprinting out the door. Akaashi would surely be far ahead, but Bokuto played volleyball and he was experienced with running. Like he said, a man who played volleyball was a man who was good at love. Fortunately, Akaashi actually had only taken a few steps down the hallway and was leaning against the railing, looking like he was thinking very hard about something. Bokuto almost ran into him.
“Akaashi!”
“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi stood up. The wind tugged at the tendrils of his hair. He looked incredibly handsome, blinking with his long eyelashes. His casual white jacket spread behind him like he was a two-winged angel, dark blue t-shirt fitting to his form. The sun was newly setting, painting both of them in gold. In that moment, there were only the two of them in the world. Bokuto’s heart pounded loud in his ears. His grip on the papers loosened, and they cascaded around them like feathers. Akaashi stood in front of him, close enough to touch.
“Akaashi,” Bokuto said, “I’m… I’m… I’m your fan!”
“I don’t draw manga, Bokuto-san.”