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Aone feels guilty. He really, honestly, from the bottom of his heart, does.
He knows that this is the last thing people expect out of him. It's even the last thing he expects out of himself: to enjoy Futakuchi's suffering. He's ashamed as ashamed can be. But he cannot help it.
There's just something oddly charming about watching Futakuchi Kenji lose his composure. Something oddly amusing about seeing that smug face go red, and words spill a mile a minute from a usually dry mouth. Aone finds it interesting. Intriguing. He likes seeing the rug being pulled out from under the brunet's feet.
He's still so, so ashamed of the thought.
Noticing this has thankfully only been a recent development though - spurred by the time Futakuchi yelled at their underclassman Koganegawa for ten minutes straight, no less - but since then Aone's been trying to see what buttons can be pressed with minimal damage ever since. He doesn't want to hurt Futakuchi, certainly not, and he doesn't want to cause any major trouble either.
He just, for some reason he cannot pinpoint himself, really wants to see Futakuchi scream.
Of course, Aone isn't proud of this at all. He'd much rather go back to their first year, when it was the other way around. Futakuchi would constantly urge him to speak, and he would keep his mouth stubbornly closed. That was a good dynamic. Their dynamic.
But now, Futakuchi has finally learnt to mostly let him and his quiet stoic self be - it comes with the set package of being captain, Aone supposes - and Aone is stuck wanting to see his best friend explode. Life really has strange and bizarre ways of exacting irony, it seems.
"Hey, what are you thinking about?" Futakuchi's voice cuts in from his right, and Aone feels guilty all over again. There's no way he can even fathom telling the other boy he wants to see him get mad. To see him get flustered and blush to the tips of his ears. He entertains the thought of Futakuchi being a full-body blusher too, if only for the tiniest of seconds.
Entirely unaware of the thoughts circling around him, a smile crosses the brunet's lips, as he accepts the silence as an answer. "The usual, I see. I can never get into that big head of yours." He huffs in a teasing manner, "Makes me wonder if you're just thinking about dirty things all the time - ow!"
Aone bumps him, a little roughly, to cover his embarrassment. He doesn't want anyone, especially his best friend, to be assuming the worst out of him. Futakuchi, probably knowing this, just rubs his shoulder and laughs.
"Okay, okay, I get it. I was just joking," the brunet grins. "Big, good, pure Aone." He amends. "Always thinking of wise and intelligent things. That sound better to you?"
Aone inclines his head; a half-nod. It's the best response he's gonna get. Futakuchi rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, okay, come on, oh wise one! We're gonna be late for practice. Us!" He shakes his head, sounding disgusted. "The co-captains! Late! Absolutely disgraceful."
Aone walks a little faster, just to appease him. Futakuchi falls in step with him easily. The hallways are empty except for the distant wail of instruments - and Aone decides it sounds like the Koto club hard at work again. He always had a soft spot for traditional instruments.
"Hey, race you to the gym?" Due to his momentary distraction, the question isn't registered until a few seconds too late. The words barely leave Futakuchi's mouth before the brunet starts sprinting down the hallway and Aone frowns deeply. What a cheater. He takes a breath. Waits for Futakuchi to disappear from sight.
And takes a shortcut to practice.
He greets the underclassman at the gym doors with a curt bow. They're just in time to hear their captain coming up behind him.
"What the hell!?" He hears Futakuchi exclaim, a sudden force slamming into Aone's back. "I got a head start! How did you beat me?"
Aone shrugs, but there's the smallest hint of a smile creeping onto his face.
"Damn you," Futakuchi complains, but he's grinning anyway. "I'm the captain, so if I say I won, I still won, okay?"
Aone rolls his eyes this time, but lets it go.
"Futakuchi - 17, Aone - 15." The brunet nods proudly to himself. "Looks like I'm still in the lead."
Aone pushes past him, letting him try and make himself feel better by creating these lies. He wonders why Futakuchi even bothers. It's not like he hasn't beaten Aone at a whole range of other things already.
(He's so talented, so talkative, so straightforward, so entertaining, just to name a few...)
His curiosity gets the better of him when he finds out that Futakuchi is ticklish. It's a chance discovery, something that he would have to thank Koganegawa for later. The first year setter had mistakenly tried to lift their captain into the air after a particularly well-timed toss, and Futakuchi had shrieked before demanding to be put down immediately.
Before his feet reached the ground though, Aone caught the telltale wheeze of Futakuchi trying to hold in laughter - only because it's a best friend thing to do. He has a knack for pinpointing voices and sounds as a whole anyway. It's a bonus for being silent and observant.
Nevertheless, the captain being ticklish is a theory Aone wants to test. So later, when Futakuchi's taking his sweet time getting changed, Aone pokes him gently in the side. Just for kicks.
Out of pure reflex alone, Futakuchi squeaks, embarrassing high-pitched, and recoils into the corner. "What do you think you're doing?" He hisses.
Aone pokes him again.
"Stop!" The brunet starts to squirm, but doesn't move away completely. It's probably his confusion that keeps him there. "Okay, what? What is it? Why are you poking me?"
Aone wriggles his fingers, and Futakuchi immediately looks horrified. "Not more fingers! Don't. Don't tickle me. Don't you dare." He scrunches his nose. "Not that I'm ticklish or anything! Not really. Just. Don't do it if you value your limbs. And me."
Aone does value his limbs, and he does value Futakuchi, but he also has the sneaking suspicion that Futakuchi is lying. He has an emergency bag of sour gummies in his bag just in case he ever needs to bribe Futakuchi for forgiveness, so he figures it's about time he puts that bag to use.
He attacks.
Futakuchi screams.
"Fuck!" He starts laughing uncontrollably, somehow managing to sound put off at the same time, "No, urk, screw you, Aone, you're the worst friend," he is definitely ticklish, "Fuck, stop, Aone, oh my god," he's still laughing and he's just so cute, wait hang on a second, "I'm gonna kill you after this," Futakuchi is legitimately seething now, so Aone retreats.
Well. That was an experience.
Futakuchi, bent over on the bench, pants trying to catch his breath. "Screw you," he says for the final time, hands grasping at his sides protectively. "At least I can trust you to tell no-one."
Aone shrugs, trying to look as nonchalant as usual. For once, he thanks his face for being perpetually stuck in blank-stare-mode, so nothing betrays his tiny sense of lingering guilt. His hands inch towards the candy in his bag. He's armed with his peace offering now. He holds it out cautiously, like he's offering food to a wild animal, and Futakuchi looks at the packet and snorts.
Nevertheless, he snatches the bag and it seems all is forgiven. Too easy.
"I trust you, y'know?" Futakuchi says this again, with surprising seriousness considering the situation, but a smirk is playing in the corners of his mouth like he's already plotting to reap vengeance. It breaks, however, with him popping a few gummies in his mouth and lighting up like a child. It's kind of adorable.
It is at this moment in time that Aone thinks his heart is beating just a tad too fast. He might have to go get that checked out.
So Aone apparently has a new problem. Or it's his old problem, but now it's even worse. And it may or may not involve seeing Futakuchi losing his cool more often, as well as various other things, such as his clothes, for example.
Wait, no, hold up. Dial that thought back a bit. What was that? Delete it. Erase. Disappear.
Um. Aone doesn't. Really. Want to think about that. At all. He really doesn't. He knows things, at least as much as guys his age should, but on the inside still feels as innocent as a young polar bear cub leaving its den for the first time and he's a little scared.
Fact check:
He knows Futakuchi is attractive - has known since first year when, even with Futakuchi's terrible personality, a whole stack of chocolates made it to his locker on Valentine's Day. Futakuchi had laughed for weeks and stuffed himself sick, but the fact still remains: he's a pretty boy, and he knows it. Everyone knows it. Even Aone knows it.
Yet he's never really thought too hard about it until now. It was just a fact, like how the sky is blue and how grass is green and how Aone is tall: Futakuchi is pretty.
And now it suddenly occurs to him that this could be an issue.
But what kind?
His best friend is attractive. So what?
So now he thinks about holding Futakuchi's hand sometimes. He thinks about how easy it would be, when they're walking side by side, to just grab hold of one while it's swinging and hold on tight.
He thinks about picking fallen leaves and petals out of Futakuchi's pretty chestnut hair, and maybe he thinks about having the other's arms around him too; smile wide and genuine. He thinks about a sharp gaze softening, and a strong grip on his shoulders. He thinks about an all too familiar head gently resting against his collarbones. Breathing in, breathing out.
He thinks about how moody Futakuchi can get too, and thinks about being the one to brighten his day. He thinks about his own big hands, working out the knots in his captain's back, after the stress of added responsibility finally catches up with his weary soul.
He thinks and wonders: he's really never had a friend quite this close before. It's nice. It's really nice.
He wonders why these are just thoughts occurring now, and why he's never considered them before.
Next time, on the way to practice, he quietly takes hold of Futakuchi's hand.
Futakuchi smiles, and squeezes his hand in response. "Something wrong?" He asks.
Aone shakes his head.
"Kay," the other sings. "If you say so. But if something's the matter, tell me, okay? I'll only make fun of you a little, I promise."
Aone huffs, a tiny breath of laughter.
Yeah, this is nice. He can get used to this.
So back to the topic of Futakuchi screaming.
Aone is still guilty, still ashamed to admit, but he wants to see Futakuchi completely lose it. He wonders if this train of thought is synonymous to seeing Futakuchi get wrecked, though. Koganegawa seems to be making a habit of getting at his captain's weak spots as often as he can, and frankly, the rest of the team is just waiting for Futakuchi to snap.
And for Koganegawa, who is oblivious to all that is happening around him, his days are numbered.
At least, it's what Aone thinks, but --
"Yo Kogane, you need to chill with the tosses." Futakuchi is saying with a wave of his arm, as the fourth volleyball falls from just narrowly missing the ceiling lights, to be neatly saved by Sakunami behind them. "You can't keep tossing at the ceiling. We're the iron wall, not the iron sky dome. Did you get the memo or what?"
"I'm sorry, Futakuchi-senpai!" Koganegawa shouts, bowing almost 90 degrees. "I understand, Futakuchi-senpai! I'll toss it right at the net instead!"
"Ughh, no!" Futakuchi sighs, bringing his palm to his forehead. "We already went through this - you just toss it somewhere where you know one of us will get to it. Over the net, mind you. And by 'one of us', I don't mean Sakunami. Stop trying to knock the kid out. He's already gotten the height knocked out of him, poor thing."
"Toss it to everyone except Sakunami!" Koganegawa reiterates with vigor, punching a fist into the air. He completely ignores his upperclassman's jab at little Sakunami, who is shaking his head in disbelief. "I've got it this time, senpai!"
"You better." Futakuchi grates, but he reaches up to pat the first year on the head. Koganegawa lets him, eyes wide and imploring like an overgrown puppy. Aone feels his stomach twist the slightest bit at the sight. Maybe he really is getting sick.
Futakuchi catches his eye mere moments later and sticks his tongue out. D ammit Koganegawa , is what his expression seems to say. But Aone knows his best friend and he knows what he really wants to say.
"We're getting there," he mouths silently, the words Futakuchi would surely say to him if he wasn't so intent on being the tough love kind of captain. "He's shaping up and we're getting there."
The sick feeling is gone. Aone is just proud. He's really proud of how far they've come, and in such a short time. And somewhere, he hopes Moniwa, their retired captain, is proud of them too.
It fully registers in Aone's mind what's been happening to him, regarding problem 'feeling sick around Futakuchi', when he consults the internet for the first time. He knows the internet should be written in bright red with a blaring DANGER sign on it, but he very well realizes now that he can't waltz up to his doctor saying "I feel sick around my friend sometimes. Just him. Just my friend. Nobody else. My chest pounds, my face grows warm, my stomach churns... the usual." So doctor Google, it is.
Aone isn't a big fan of computers - his clunky fingers don't mesh well with keyboards in general - but he figures he should find out somehow, lest drive himself nuts trying to raise a scream out of his best friend. Just because he's weird and guilty and whatever else comes to mind. He's curious anyway, and he's been holding it off for far too long. Besides, Nametsu, the team manager, had called the internet a bottomless well of knowledge, and he trusts Nametsu, which is why he is here.
Diagnosis?
So he's apparently in love with his best friend.
It sounds cliché, and probably is, but facts are facts. Truth is truth. Belatedly, he figures that he's probably been in love with Futakuchi Kenji for a while, too. He's the only one he knows that can stand being around the brunet 24/7 - if anyone says 'training camp' to Moniwa, the third year will pale and shake his head over and over - and ever since they met in first year, they've always kind of just clicked.
Futakuchi's his unmute button, his annoyingly talkative best friend, his stupidly pretty companion that never left a space between them on the train. He's like one of those things that are so bad that they're good, and Aone thinks that he wouldn't rather be anything than in love with his dumb face. Honest.
He thanks the internet with a soft nod of his head. Case closed. That's a wrap.
His counsellor, so to speak, ends up being Nametsu by pure chance. She notices something, later calls it a mother's intuition - which doesn't make sense because she's not a mother, but Aone doesn't question it. She sidles up to him after practice one day, bottles and towels in hand, and asks, "So, Aone. You and Futakuchi, huh?"
Aone looks at her and tips his head, gingerly accepting the bottle that she shakes at him.
"You don't know what I'm talking about?" Nametsu tries to decipher his gesture, luckily correct, as Aone nods his head. "I mean, you're together, right?"
Aone gestures the negative, no.
"No?" Nametsu repeats out loud, looking surprised. "Then, what are you waiting for?"
Aone clears his throat, takes a long swig of water, and sighs. Nametsu's tiny hands reach for the bottle again, which he relinquishes with a sturdy bow. She has no hope of translating that, but her brows furrow with the effort anyway.
"You should let him know," she finally decides to say. "He acts like he's got it all together, but I'm pretty sure he's scared of rejection. I'll tell him the same, and you guys can probably work it out."
Aone considers this, then gestures 'no' again.
"You want to work it out yourself?" She inquires, getting onto her tiptoes to throw a towel around his neck. "I mean, if you're sure..."
He mumbles, low enough so only she can hear, "I'm sure. Don't worry about it."
And so she smiles, and sends him off with a wink. "Knock him dead, darling."
It's almost like magic how Nametsu's words give him confidence. Aone is happy to wait as long as it takes, for his feelings to be returned or otherwise - he's apparently been waiting for almost two years, without even noticing - but the true sense of urgency in his manager's voice has spurred him on. Aone tries not to stereotype by appearance, ever, but something about having such a small girl supporting his back seems so much more gratifying.
He's only going to confess, but he feels like he's heading off to do greater things. Though, in the case that Futakuchi doesn't laugh at him and call him silly, Futakuchi would probably make a bad joke about him being the greatest thing Aone has ever had happen to him.
He wouldn't be wrong, either.
But there's no need to unnecessarily fuel the brunet's ego. He does enough of that on his own.
Aone decides on time and location easily - the two of them have made a habit out of walking home together after practice, so he might as well take advantage of that.
As usual, Futakuchi is prattling away when they're trudging down the empty hallway, the setting sun filtering through the windows of the school building. It's all nonsense, mostly, because the brunet is a big gossip and likes telling Aone everything he hears like it's the truth. He never runs out of things to talk about, either, so Aone has to physically try and stop him if he wants to get a word in anywhere. Though... it's not often that he does, admittedly.
He stops in his tracks when he thinks he's ready. It's an action that he knows will catch the other's attention, because he usually follows along without any resistance.
As predicted, Futakuchi takes a couple more steps, then pauses mid-sentence, turning around to face him, "You stopped walking." He states obviously.
Aone nods, and waits for the other to walk back over to him.
"So, what's up?" Futakuchi asks, "Did you forget something?"
Now, Aone knows what he would like to say, but that's far too many words than he's comfortable with saying. Especially with the way his heart is thundering in his chest. The fading sunlight is a good look on Futakuchi, he thinks. Too bad he keeps ruining it by pulling odd faces.
"Oi, are you spacing out or what?" The brunet waves a hand in front of his face, steadily growing impatient. "Hellooo? Anybody in there?"
He smacks the hand away and then bows, quiet and respectful. He has to use his voice for this, and he will. He just has to find the words --
"Can I," he starts a little hoarsely, then stops to try again. Can I ...what?
Futakuchi frowns. "Can you ...?"
"May I kiss you?" He blurts, the most tactlessly he's ever found himself. He falls back a little, embarrassed. He didn't mean to be so forward about it, but the words just spilled out, and god, Futakuchi is just staring at him, what should he do? Aone's no good at calling things off as a joke. That's what his friend is for. Abort, abort --
"E-er," Futakuchi stammers, breaking the silence almost habitually, though completely dumbfounded and taken entirely by surprise. His face is rising rapidly in color. "Ah, huh, eh, wh-" he fumbles, "What?"
Aone looks away, wondering if it would be too rude to just start running off. He's not opposed to the idea...
"... you're not gonna say anything, are you," the brunet sighs, but his voice is thin. He's looking at the ground when he mumbles, "What if I say yes?"
That's all the incentive needed, Aone thinks, and he presses their foreheads together ever-so-gently, to guide the brunet into a kiss. It wasn't his first plan, but it's a plan, and as long as it looks like this is what he was after, surely nobody can question it. In response, Futakuchi shuts his eyes quickly, expression entirely betraying his embarrassment.
Aone keeps the exchange brief, not wanting Futakuchi to actually explode, and after pulling away, can't help but smile at how the usually confident wing spiker has turned into a flustered mess.
"Um, whoa," Futakuchi says, voice reeking with uncertainty. "Am I - are you - ugh, wait," he bites his bottom lip, trying to string together a coherent sentence. He eventually decides to go with, "Are you for real?"
"Completely." He replies. He lets his hands fall back to his sides, being careful not to overstep his bounds.
"You're for real." Futakuchi breathes. "This is real life? You're not kidding me?"
Aone shakes his head.
Futakuchi starts making this long, drawn out wailing noise, that sounds half in agony, half in hysteria.
Aone rolls his eyes, and claps his hand over the brunet's mouth to make him stop.
"Oh my god," he ceases the wailing to say, muffled against Aone's hand. "I owe Sasaya like 500 yen. I can't believe you made the first move. What the fuck, Aone?"
"500 yen is nothing," Aone chooses to reply, ignoring the good majority of Futakuchi's words. He wouldn't put a bet past him - and Futakuchi is probably the type to bet on his own love life, because he's an idiot.
Futakuchi peels his hand away from his mouth and retorts, "Does my pride mean nothing to you? What happened to your kind and pure soul?"
Aone shrugs.
"Damn you, Aone!" is what leaves Futakuchi's mouth, but the red in his cheeks persists, painting his face a rosy pink. "Goddammit, Aone! I wasn't ready!"
"You said yes." Aone reasons quietly.
"And I meant it! I did!" the brunet blusters, "I'm just -- argh! I don't know, okay, kiss me again?!"
Aone blinks. Once, twice, and one more time for good measure. "Okay," he assents, moving forward slightly, only for Futakuchi to grab hold of the sides of his face and pull him straight down into the lip locking that he'd probably recount for days afterwards. If not weeks.
What? He's a sentimental sort of guy.
Also, Futakuchi is warm and sweet - adjectives that nobody has described him with after knowing him, but here it is. Heat radiates between them, and they break apart for a breath of air, and for Futakuchi to open his damn mouth again and speak, clearly having regained his confidence.
"Don't you love how we're just doing this in the middle of the hallway?" He asks cheekily. "Anyone could walk by and be like 'oh would you look at that. The gay agenda. Amaz-'"
Aone shuts him up with another kiss.
They don't really say "I love you". It's too soon for that. They don't really say anything of that nature at all.
Instead, Aone shows it through the way he carries Futakuchi's stuff sometimes, and through the way he presses his fingers against tense back muscles and whispers, "Don't overwork yourself. Your responsibilities are not your burden alone."
Futakuchi shows it in the way he grins at him, like he's the most precious treasure in the world. He shows it in the way he flops down next to Aone in every possible instance, sneaking quick pecks to the cheek and saying, "You're amazing. Never forget it. Oh, and smile more. You're happy, aren't you? Don't be afraid to smile. You make the world a better place."
Aone shows it in the way he tries to smile, too; a feat he'd been scared of since he'd been told his smile was unsettling. He's doing his best, and being rewarded for it.
Futakuchi shows it in the way he defends Aone, if anyone anywhere has anything to say about him. He picks fights just to redirect attention, and though it's not ideal, Aone can usually pluck him out of it before any fight gets physical.
And they're happy, like that.
So maybe Aone still thinks about the screaming sometimes.
Well, he doesn't have to tell Futakuchi about that one just yet.