Work Text:
Akaashi’s graduation ceremony was quiet. He posed for some pictures, smile appearing and disappearing with the shutter click. His friends congratulated him and his underclassmen promised to carry on the school legacy. Onaga clapped his hand on his shoulder, and he understood. The students laughed and cried. Akaashi slipped away to the unlocked gym. The volleyball equipment had been pulled down, but he knew where to stand. He could imagine the net. The positions were engraved in his mind.
He turned to face the empty space beside him. Slowly, he bowed his head.
Akaashi had been accepted into a prestigious academic university. He chose one with a better volleyball team instead, and didn’t make a starting position. He practiced setting the ball until his fingers bruised. His days were the same. Study. Practice. Sleep. As long as he was tired, by practice or studying, then he could sleep peacefully. Sleep was safe. Lying awake in bed, letting the quiet sink into his ears, was dangerous.
The days seeped together, the seasons in a blend. When he next looked up, the snow fell lightly on his nose. The campus had somehow been blanketed in a frost.
He hated winters.
Fortunately, winter slipped into warmer spring. Akaashi played in a few official matches. He was stronger now. He had always been a skilled setter, but he could still improve.
“Good work,” the middle blocker told him. “Don’t you get hot in those kneepads?”
“They help,” Akaashi said.
Komi called. They all called, leaving a few voice messages, but Komi was firm this time. He really needed Akaashi’s help. Someone needed to look after his niece, and Akaashi lived in the area, didn’t he. No, no, it had to be Akaashi. Washio was the only other one living nearby, and Akaashi knew how that’d turn out. Just do him a solid, he would owe Akaashi. Finally, Akaashi agreed.
“Yo, Akaashi.” Komi waved from the street. “Thanks for coming. How’ve you been?”
“Everything’s been fine,” Akaashi said. They entered the house where he could see a little girl doodling in the living room.
“Good, good. Have you been eating?”
“Yes,” Akaashi said, but he couldn’t remember if he ate that morning. The days seemed alike. His refrigerator was empty.
“Good. Hey, so, my appointment got pushed back, so let me make something for you. For my niece too, of course, so let’s all eat.” Komi cooked a big lunch. He decorated the omelets with ketchup, and he made a smiley face on Akaashi’s plate of eggs. For once, he could taste the food. It was a bigger meal than he’d eaten for a long time. Komi watched him eat under the guise of encouraging his niece.
“So you still play volleyball, right? Getting along with your team?”
“Yes,” Akaashi said.
“What are they like?”
He couldn’t remember. He tried to explain that he only recently started playing in official games, so he didn’t know, yet, and Komi nodded slowly. Though Komi had asked him to baby-sit for five hours, Komi only left three hours later. Komi insisted Akaashi take some vegetables back to his apartment when he left. No, really, he had generous relatives. They always sent so much food. Couldn’t possibly eat it all. In the remaining two hours alone with him, Komi’s niece was calm and drew with her crayons.
“We learned a lot in school,” she said. “About walking home from school.”
“Did they tell you to look both ways when you cross the street?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“It can be hard to see cars coming.”
Akaashi returned to his apartment with two bags of food. He hadn’t realized his apartment had become so messy. He started to clean it, but the quiet unsettled him. Finally, he found some music on his phone. His finger slid along the volume until the song felt unreasonably loud.
He tried to get along with his teammates with renewed vigor. As the setter, he had an obligation to know his team members and their quirks. When he saw the libero staring at the vending machine, he pulled out enough coins to treat him.
“The exact amount,” the libero said, bending to take his drink. “Do you usually buy stuff from vending machines?”
“No,” Akaashi said, staring at his hand. “Just a bad habit.”
His teammates were a quiet bunch. He suspected they found him a little meddlesome, but they liked him all the same.
He did the same daily tasks, but they took upon new clarity and details. The teacher at the lecture paced the width of the room, and a classmate checked their phone in the front. Practice filled with squeaking shoes and the thud of volleyballs hitting the court. When he biked home at night, crickets chirped in the bushes.
For running drills, he was usually first. He didn’t think he was the fastest on the team, but he tried the hardest. His legs ached and his lungs burned, the sweat dripping off his chin.
“So fast,” his running partner said, leaning against the wall.
“I just don’t want anyone to run faster than me,” Akaashi told his sneakers.
“That’s impossible!”
Akaashi knew that. His shadow stretched across the tar, melding into other endless shadows. Even at dusk, the day smoldered. He turned to run back down the street.
His days passed peacefully until he broke his ankle in a game. His team carried on and won the match. The doctor carried on and told him that he shouldn’t play sports again. In the white hallway, beside the bulletin board covered in flyers, the coach told him that he was sorry. Akaashi stared at a drawing of a child smiling and holding a balloon. The child drifted upwards to the clouds.
“Worse has happened,” he said simply. He took the crutches and limped home. He couldn’t say he was sad, but he was afraid. Something heavy sank inside his gut. The neighborhood was quiet while he clicked and dragged himself to his apartment. On the gated outskirts, he let his shoulder fall against the brick wall and stared at the stars above him. He had taken to stargazing lately. The stars shone in distant lights, far away from his feelings.
“Is this okay?” Akaashi asked.
He took to studying and graduated from university. Without good credentials, he dismally flipped through job advertisements on websites. One day, Saru called. His uncle had a sporting goods store, and he could really use the extra help. Akaashi must be busy, but if he could help out, that would be great. Really, it would do him a big favor. Akaashi finally accepted and moved to another apartment closer to the sports store. His tasks were mostly menial, but he was grateful. Music blared over the speakers, and Saru’s uncle took to him kindly.
“You should rest if you need to rest,” Saru’s uncle said. “That’s my saying.”
He usually avoided certain streets, but he was running an errand and passed by a forbidden street. The residential area was quiet. He could see his warped reflection in a mirror by the bus stop. When he heard the gentle clang of the gate, he only glanced out of idle obligation. Though Tsukishima had grown impossibly taller, Akaashi could still recognize him. He was exiting a house that wasn’t his own.
“Hello,” Tsukishima mumbled politely.
“It’s good to see you again,” Akaashi said. He had heard Tsukishima had gone to a far-off university, but he must have returned on holiday. His shirt smelled smoky and woody. Tsukishima nodded to him and passed by, steps slow and careful.
He began dating his first serious girlfriend. He had dated in university, through distracted restaurants and half-concentrated movies. She was the first one who he thought he could marry. Sometimes she stayed over at his apartment, so he bought some things for her stay. The toothbrush, she could understand, but she said she didn’t use gel in her hair. For a date, he took her to a barbecue place. Akaashi didn’t particularly like the food. He still ordered a big plate, and asked her about her day.
They broke up when she left the city, but Akaashi had learned to sleep without the loud music. He passed his days by polishing stands in the store and counting dollars at the cash register.
One night, he couldn’t sleep. The time slipped through the late night into the early morning. The thoughts pervaded through his mind. He couldn’t breathe. Finally, he called Kenma.
“I wasn’t sleeping,” Kenma murmured. “What do you need?”
“I can’t remember how he sounded,” Akaashi said. “He—There were things, he said. He used to say. I’m sorry for bothering you.”
“I wasn’t sleeping.”
Akaashi ran his fingers through his hair, staring at his bare feet on the ground. His toes seemed distant and blue, the moonlight flooding the carpet. The apartment was quiet, a suffocating silence. The creak of the building offered small relief. He couldn’t remember the tenor of his voice. He couldn’t remember his little phrases. He couldn’t remember the way he smelled or the way he laughed. He couldn’t remember him. Akaashi pressed his burning hand over his eyes. Kenma was talking about a project, his voice small and shuffling across his phone. Akaashi tried to focus on him. Kenma talked about parts and pieces, circuits perfectly fitting together, coils winding forever, the lines of letters and numbers and code, one following another. He didn’t understand, but he listened to Kenma until he fell asleep.
The next day, Kuroo arrived with a USB drive.
“You’re a selfish bastard,” Kuroo said.
“Good morning.”
“We were his friends, too. Nobody blames you, and you don’t have to suffer alone. It pisses me off. Call us sooner.”
Kuroo had been woken up in the early morning, given train fare, and pushed by Kenma to deliver the USB by the end of the day. He snored loudly on Akaashi’s bed. It was comforting. The USB had Fukurodani’s old games in the files. Kenma had separated them by date and year. Akaashi stared at the folders, knees curled against his chest. His cursor hovered over the video file. He closed the folder.
He took Kuroo out for drinks at a nearby bar.
“I meant maybe half of what I said earlier,” Kuroo said, drinking up his beer. “Sixty percent. You shouldn’t blame yourself. No, I don’t want to talk about that. Let’s talk about—training camp. Remember that? Lo-o-ong time ago.”
They talked about training camp and about high school, about days dedicated to volleyball. Their drinks were refilled and emptied in tempo to wandering down the days past. Akaashi dragged the drunken Kuroo back to his apartment, trying to remember what he had in his medicine cabinet for tomorrow’s hangover. Kuroo slumped in Akaashi’s bed, still mumbling in slow words. Akaashi leaned against his table, facing him.
“I can run faster now,” Akaashi said, staring at his empty hands.
“No. No! No, none of that.” Kuroo raised his hand. “None. He’d sock you one if he heard you talking that way. No, I’d sock you one. But I—am—drunk.”
“I know you’re right,” Akaashi said. “But I just don’t know what to do without him.”
“You’re doing okay. It’d be worse, him without you. Just imagine it. Wailing all the time. Nobody would stop his stupid ideas.”
“As if you’re one to talk.” Akaashi smiled faintly. “Who was the one who encouraged him?”
“Okay, maybe, but he started it.” Kuroo laughed, flinging an arm over his eyes. His laughter sounded like crying after a while. Akaashi sat in the dark.
In the morning, Kuroo took an early train. He accepted Akaashi’s hangover cure gratefully, gulping down the offered glass of water. At the station, before the train arrived, he pulled Akaashi into a deep hug. Akaashi couldn’t remember the last time he’d been hugged. Kuroo’s arms felt strong around him. Akaashi raised his hands and let them linger on Kuroo’s back. When the train arrived, Kuroo still stood by the open doors, leaning inside. He had grown taller and lankier, smiling with all his teeth. His eyes were heavy and red, but when Akaashi looked at him, really looked, he thought Kuroo had grown into a fine adult.
“Don’t be a stranger, Akaashi. Call me too or I’ll get jealous of Kenma. Hey hey hey, right?” The doors closed with a hiss. Kuroo waved through the foggy window as the train pulled away.
The store had a shipment problem on some sports equipment. The price was high, but Saru’s uncle said his back was against the wall. If he didn’t purchase the shipment, then he would be in deep trouble for the next fiscal year. Akaashi read his book in the backroom.
“I understand,” he said. “Though I’d ignore them.” After all, they needed the store to purchase the shipment and they didn’t know about the shop being in the red. In his opinion, the big company was just throwing a tantrum. Cooler heads would prevail. Saru’s uncle tentatively tried his method. They responded back with a reasonable offer. Rumors spread quickly in the small shopping district, and Akaashi found himself being called upon by different stores to settle matters. The more offers he accepted, the more offers he received.
“It’s a good company, though you’d have to move into the city,” Konoha said over drinks. “They really want you. When they heard that we used to go to the same high school, they sent me over to recruit you.”
“I’ll have to think about it.”
“That’s what I told them, too, that you’d need time. You’re a reasonable guy.” Konoha loosened his tie. “How have you been, Akaashi? I mean, really?”
“My upperclassmen really look out for me,” Akaashi said, slight smile gracing his face.
“It’s what he would have done. I bet he’d get on our cases about it, too.” Konoha grinned. “What a troublesome guy.”
He had only meant to walk Konoha to the station and leave for his apartment, but he lingered in front of the train station map. He knew he should return home and consider the offer, researching similar positions and average salaries, the cost of living, open apartments near the area. The map stretched out in front of him, each location a different dot along the line. He should go home.
He bought a ticket to a random stop.
It was stupid. He knew this even as he boarded and left a voice message with Saru’s uncle, telling him that he would call in sick. He leaned against the train window and watched the world run backwards. The fields of green flew past him, dizzying straight rows of leafy green. The snow settled over the top of the mournful blue mountain. The hum of the train passed through his heels. Beyond the row of white and brown houses, the sun pulled down the sky. When Akaashi finally left the train, night had already fallen. It was stupid, but he walked down the dirt path through delicate grass. Something salty wafted in the air. He slipped once, fingers grasping loose sand. He walked over the dunes. A row of buildings lit up on the distant shore. The beach tumbled out before him, the moon scattering soft over the constantly moving waves.
He was alone on the beach. It was a calming quiet, accompanied by the soft roar of the ocean. The waves rocked up against the beach, white marbling stretching across the water. Shards of moonlight twisted in the tide.
“Is this what you see?” he asked. The wind carried his soft voice away.
He accepted the job at Konoha’s company. The hours were long and the work was difficult, but he enjoyed solving problems. He liked trying his best at something. Sometimes he worked weekends, but he had mostly taken to travelling, picking small dots on the train station map.
He hiked through mountains with dark green trees, billowing out above him. He bought sweets beside a bus stop with a rattling tin roof, surrounded by red bushes. He walked through fields of flowers and took pictures of tall castles. He travelled through the city of neon lights, swaying paper lanterns, the ponds filled with fishes darting between the weeds. He took souvenirs, sometimes. On a mountain, he found a smooth round rock, the color of gunmetal gray. In a small store, tucked away by an inn, he bought a gold coin, the depth of color changing at every angle of light. Near an airport, he bought a tacky t-shirt he’d never wear.
On one trip, he bumped into Hinata. Akaashi was still taller, but Hinata had grown, too.
“Are you doing okay?” Hinata asked anxiously.
“I think I will be,” Akaashi said. Neither of them had much time before leaving, but Akaashi still bought a quick meal for them. Hinata ate his food quickly and complained that he was still hungry, and Akaashi pushed over his spare portion over to him. He usually bought extra.
“That’s lucky for me,” Hinata said, devouring the noodles.
“It’s just my habit.” Akaashi finished his meal.
On the ride back, he thought about Hinata’s excited conversation. When the train jostled, he looked up and saw himself in the window. His ethereal reflection stared back at him. Somehow, he had become an adult.
In the winter, he climbed stone steps. The snow had been swept away, but flakes still fell over his hair and clung to his eyelashes. He stopped at the top, tying his scarf around his neck, when he saw the child. He didn’t recognize him at first, since the child had grown taller and his features had changed, but he recognized the same eyes from that day.
“Ah,” he said. The child turned curiously.
“I’m sorry,” he said, heart beating. “You might not recognize me. From that day. I’m the one who was running behind him.”
“Oh,” the child said, “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I was just—paying thanks—”
“No,” Akaashi said, flustered. “No, don’t say sorry for that.”
The child had grown up considerably. He had entered school. The leg injury hadn’t been serious. He played piano and volleyball. He was doing well in school. He lived at the end of the road, if Akaashi ever wanted to talk more, but his mother was waiting for him in the car. He always came this day of the year. Akaashi watched him bow and trot down the steps. His hands felt strange and cold, shaking in his pockets.
Snow had piled on some of the stone graves. One had been noticeably cleaned. Akaashi poured water over the stone. He set down his flowers and a box of sweets. His fingers felt numb, but he lit the incense sticks and knelt down in front of the grave. The smoky and woody smell wafted in the air. He pressed his hands together.
“I’m sorry for being late. It’d be strange I brought meat here, but you liked this type of candy, didn’t you?”
The incense burned orange. Down the row of graves, the snow landed in silent grace.
“He’s a good kid,” Akaashi said. “He came to visit you. I almost didn’t recognize him, but I didn’t see him very much. At the time—at the time, you were covering most of him. I was mostly looking at you. It was so loud, the tires and the honking. And then it was so quiet. I wasn’t used to you being so quiet.”
Even clasped together, his hands felt cold.
“I haven’t talked to your parents. I’m afraid they’ll hate me, but I should visit them. I last saw them at your funeral. I thought it was unfair that you were smiling in all your pictures.” Akaashi looked at the grave. “You already know this, but without you, I don’t know what to do. I need someone to lead me astray. Well, I’ve been trying to be more impulsive. It’s nothing like what you would do, but I want to try to be spontaneous. It reminds me of you.”
“It’s been a few years. Is it wrong to keep you with me for so long? I don’t know. It might be unfair to drag you behind me. But a life with you must be better than a life without you.”
“I’ve been doing fine. Things have been well. I might get married one day. Before I do, I’ll take them to visit you. But I wonder if it’s okay like that. If it’s fine if I’m happy. Maybe you’d be angry. Maybe you’d be jealous. You’ve been so quiet. I can’t hear you at all.”
“But our friends say you’d be happy if I was happy. I think so, too. Somehow, you made many good friends. After all these years, they still think about you and take care of me. I should return the favor, too. And maybe that’s how you’re talking to me. Through them. In which case, you’re very loud when you’re being quiet.” Akaashi looked down at his fingers. “But thanks to them, I think one day I’ll be okay. For now, I’ll need more time. Will you forgive me?”
His fingers were rosy red at the tips. The snow fell on the bright flowers, melting in rivulets down the thin veins.
He touched the stone, brittle against his fingertips, and swiped his thumb across the engraved name. His finger traced along the dip in the rough stone, following the endless straight lines. Finally, he rose and tidied the grave, precise and neat. From where he stood, the snow wrapped the rows of graves in muffled white blankets. The world looked beautiful and distant, far away from trembling hands and lingering warmth. Everything was quiet and new.
He bowed at his waist, stiff and formal.
“I miss you.”
The hot tears formed behind his eyelids, a familiar sensation.
“I’m sorry.”
They dripped into the snow.
“Thank you, Bokuto-san.”