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Akira was nine years old when his sister was twelve and she started to gain an interest in astronomy. She learned about all the constellations on the night sky first, and then the planets and their moons and then she started to get more interested in individual stars, being able to rattle off their names, or what phase of their life they were in, or sometimes even the date of when they were first discovered.
The whole thing was a mystery to Akira, whose only hobby was volleyball and even that could hardly be called a hobby. It was okay because he was slightly taller and more strategic than the other kids, so it came easy to him when they played at recess. That would’ve been it but then his mother insisted on him having an after-school activity and based on his previous experiences, volleyball seemed like the most fun for the least work put in. To spend his free time at home researching something so meaningless as the name of individual tiny dots in the sky was not something he could ever even imagine.
Why did they name stars anyway? Constellations he understood, they at least had somewhat recognizable shapes but individual stars? You can’t even reliably find one when looking for it unless you really know your way around the night sky.
“What’s the point in naming them?” he asked his sister once, unsure of what answer to look for. She pursed her lips at the question, like this was all so bothersome to her when it was her who had been talking his ears off about planets and stars and moons and galaxies for what felt like hours.
Eventually, she dropped the act and answered. “All cultures named stars, the oldest names belonging to the brightest ones, that used to guide sailors all over the world. Nowadays, when a scientist discovers a new star, they get to name it. Even you have to admit that’s exciting!”
“How would that be exciting? They’re just tiny dots in the sky.”
“I told you a million times before that they’re not, they’re—” Akira tuned her out again, having no desire to hear the rest of it.
He wouldn’t understand the whole naming stars thing for another few years. Not until Kageyama Tobio.
His talent is evident and it’s the first thing Akira notes too. He gets lost in the swarm of kids— who look pretty much the same—until Akira sees him play. And he doesn’t care much for stars or volleyball but volleyball stars, apparently, are something that make his heart beat just a little faster.
There is something intoxicating about it, even at twelve years old, maybe especially at twelve years old. He never had something that made him excited or passionate or even very entertained at all. Most kids had fun at the playground or watching cartoons or something and Akira had to be dragged along, no matter what was promised at the end of the path. He hated museum visits just as much as amusement park ones because both made him bored just the same.
And there Kageyama is, like a tiny dot on Akira’s endlessly dark sky, shining oh so bright as he hits volleyball after volleyball, already lined up for the setter position but enjoying every other role just the same. Because to Kageyama all that matters is that he’s playing volleyball, and he gets those sparkles in his eyes that makes Akira’s mind draw the connection between him and the stars in the first place.
This time, when his sister starts bothering him about her stupid astronomy special interest—because this is what they call it now, according to his mom—Akira actually listens. He even asks her about the brightest stars in the sky and upon hearing an unnecessarily long list, he concludes that Kageyama must be Sirius itself—the brightest of them all.
At first, Akira is content watching him play. He feels his heartbeat in his chest every time and that makes him lightheaded, not knowing what to do with the feeling at all. He never even ran fast enough for his heart to beat like this and there Kageyama is, and just watching him play makes Akira feel stupid.
But then they get slightly older and Akira has more chances to play with Kageyama and that’s a whole new can of worms. Every time he hits one of Kageyama’s sets, his palm aches and his heart beats and he wonders if he actually likes volleyball too because it just feels so good.
One time, he does a really good one. His technique is perfect and he slams the ball right into the middle of the court where no one is standing. His palm is so red, and Akira can feel his heartbeat in the middle of it and he turns to Kageyama, his lips involuntarily pulling into a smile.
Kageyama doesn’t smile back. Instead, he frowns and says, “You can be faster than that.”
Akira watches the brightest star in the sky stand only a few feet away from him and he suddenly realizes that he can’t reach far enough to touch. Because stars weren’t meant to be touched, they would only burn and at Kageyama’s dismissive comment, Akira feels like he burns accordingly.
But then here is the thing about burns: they hurt. And being hurt is still better than not feeling at all, Akira realizes. Being hurt still makes his heart beat faster, it still makes him feel alive and if that’s the price of closeness then maybe Akira wouldn’t mind a few burn marks plastering his skin.
So he tries. He tries until his heart beats so fast, it burns too and then he hates himself for it because Kunimi Akira is not one who tries, he is not one who puts in effort. He likes Kageyama’s eyes on him, he likes the feeling of burning when he reaches close enough but he doesn’t like the after affects, he doesn’t like the bruises and the soreness in his muscles from the hard work as he lays awake in his bed, not feeling comfortable enough to sleep.
Kageyama starts asking for more and more and Akira is empty, deep inside, no matter how much he tries to fill himself up with the shine of the one star in the sky he ever cared about.
He gives up eventually. They all do. Kageyama gets benched and although it feels like the universe is laughing at him, Akira stays on the court and plays without his star guiding him and he fails and they lose and middle school ends with burn marks that don’t make his heart beat fast anymore—that only make him ache in the night, dark sky and all.
High school starts without Kageyama and Akira considers not continuing his volleyball career at all but Kindaichi and a few others drag him along and he honestly finds it more work to say no so there he is, at one of the biggest volleyball teams in the prefecture: Aoba Johsai.
Volleyball makes him feel nothing, like most things in life. Still, he plays; still, he hopes; still, he aches. For a while, he looks for the same brightness in Oikawa that he found in Kageyama but he gives up on that soon enough. Even if Oikawa is also a star, the title of the brightest one is taken.
That’s what Akira thinks, anyway. Up until they play a match against Karasuno and Akira has to realize that the sun is a star too and from the Earth, it burns the brightest.
Fuck Karasuno, Akira thinks bitterly. Fuck number ten and fuck Kageyama too because it’s not fair, it’s not fucking fair that burning himself up wouldn’t have been enough when what Kageyama needed was another star by his side, who burned on its own, not vulnerable to burn marks from someone else.
And the worst part is that now that he’s not burned anymore, he misses it more than anything, he wants to see the red marks on his skin again, he wants to feel his heart beat in his ears again and he wants, want, wants and it’s maddening.
“I heard Kageyama is with the big sharks,” Kindaichi says to Karasuno’s number eleven, Tsukishima conversationally while they have their water break, drinking from bottles number ten is handing out. Akira tenses at Kageyama’s name and gulps down a few sips of water to not have to talk.
“Yeah. He made it to the big leagues already, the bastard,” Tsukishima shakes his head but there is a fondness to his words, something that is entirely foreign to Akira. He doesn’t think he’s ever been fond of anything. He doesn’t know if he can be fond of anything.
“It’s so unfair!” Number ten joins the conversation with a pout. “Kageyama always gets all of the praise and the attention.”
“Maybe because he’s a better player than you, pipsqueak,” the words leave Akira’s mouth without his consent. Number ten sends a betrayed look his way, as if they’re friends, but Tsukishima only scoffs.
“Also, with the attention seeking behaviour you put on it’s no wonder people don’t actually want to give it to you. You’re sweating with it and it’s pathetic.”
“Bite me, Suckishima,” number ten grumbles, yanking the water bottle from Tsukishima’s hands and then stomping off. Tsukishima only rolls his eyes and Akira loathes to note the fondness this time around too.
He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get it at all and it feels like it’s ruining him. The softening of Tsukishima’s usually sharp features is a complete mystery in the face of Akira’s indifference.
All he knows about love—because that is what he calls it now, at age fifteen, having experienced a bit more about the world—is that it feels good when his heart beats really fast and it feels even better when he’s close enough to burn. He doesn’t understand the soft bits or the fondness—he doesn’t understand a lot of things.
But there is one thing he knows: watching Kageyama play still makes him feel a tug at his heart.
A few of them agree to watch Karasuno play at the Nationals and Akira goes too because Kindaichi does. It’s easy to follow him around, it means that Akira doesn’t have to make the decisions himself, he can just hide in the other’s shadow, for as long as he lets him.
Kageyama plays just like always—shining maybe even brighter now, with his sun at his side. Akira feels sick with jealousy, he realizes and there is something nice about that too—maybe he still doesn’t know fondness but he knows jealousy now. And it’s not just about how Kageyama looks at number ten, compared to the way he looked at Akira, it’s also about him getting to play by his side, him getting to reach out; it’s about Karasuno getting to be there and prove themselves against a team like Inarizaki, while Akira sits in a chair next to the boy who’s shadow he’s still hiding in, his jacket zipped up to his nose so all anyone could see when looking at him are his scrunched up eyebrows.
A part of him, a really small part of him calls, and says, I want to play too and the worst part is that he can’t even be delighted about it because he can’t play, he has to stay in his chair and watch.
And watching Kageyama play still makes his heart beat faster but it only makes him ache harder with the want to play too, to play by his side, to reach out and burn and maybe touch too, properly and leave bruises and softness at the same time.
Kageyama lands one of his killer serves and Akira wants to receive it and then he sets at a perfect angle and Akira wants to slam it to the ground and then he grins at number ten and Akira wishes it was him the grin was directed at and he wonders if he’ll ever want anything or anyone this much and he knows with perfect clarity that he needs to say it out loud, preferably to the star himself.
So he does. When Kageyama and his team get home and when the excitement dies down, they arrange a practice match, this time with Yahaba as their captain and Akira spends the whole time messing up because he can’t focus and it’s ridiculous but it also makes his heart race even faster.
And then he runs for a ball, one that he didn’t think anyone could save and he reaches it and he tosses it back up in the air and he can see Kageyama’s hawk-like eyes on him and his heart beats so fast, it almost beats out of his chest and he thinks, How do you like me now, Sirius?
They play multiple sets until they’re all worn out and then,
And then,
“Nice job today,” Akira says, after finding Kageyama at the corridors.
“Oh. You too. Had a really good save there.”
“Thanks,” Akira shrugs, realizing that despite all his emotional preparation, he has no idea what to say. “I know it’s hard to believe but, I always admired you, you know?”
“You did?” Kageyama asks, sounding genuinely perplexed—well as much as Kageyama can sound perplexed. He’s not one to express many emotions besides anger. Akira stares at his expression, wondering and wanting and then he thinks, fuck it.
“I think I’m kind of in love with you,” he admits, shrugging again, like it’s not a big deal when it’s the biggest deal of Akira’s entire sixteen years of existence.
“That…doesn’t make a lot of sense,” is Kageyama’s reaction, which, fair but also ouch.
“It doesn’t, does it?”
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Kageyama tells him after a beat of silence. “I feel like I hardly even know you anymore. I don’t know if I’ve ever really known you. I was such a bad teammate to you and Kindaichi and the others. I don’t know how you could possibly like me.”
“You burn,” Akira admits softly and ah, there’s the softness. He’s been looking for it in Kageyama but it’s been inside him all along. Darkness is soft, light is sharp, “but you burn bright. It’s enticing.”
“That’s very…poetic.”
“Thanks. I’ve had years to find the right metaphors.”
Kageyama doesn’t get the joke but it doesn’t matter. Akira lets the truth linger between them for a few more seconds before he raises his hand in a half-hearted wave.
“Well, anyway. Figured I should tell you.”
“Wait,” Kageyama grabs his wrist, to hold him back. “I don’t know about love but I feel sorry for how I’ve treated you. I want to make it up.”
“How?” Akira asks carefully, his heart going faster than ever, now that he knows what it’s like to be touched by his brightest star. It burns, like he knew it would and Akira knows it’ll leave a wound and he can’t wait for it to scab over so he can pick at it for the rest of his life.
“I don’t know. I’m not good at this.”
“How about we just, try to get to know each other? Properly, this time.”
“Ok,” Kageyama agrees, letting go of his wrist and Akira tries not to miss the contact. “I think I’d like that.”
And maybe Akira will never get to play with Kageyama again but maybe he’ll get to kiss him instead, one day and that won’t erase the jealousy over the knowledge that number ten is exactly what he couldn’t be but it can maybe burn him just the same.
Until then, he’ll try to find more fondness and learn all there is to know about one Kageyama Tobio, the brightest star on Akira’s dark dark sky.