Chapter Text
The sounds of printers, keyboards, and hurried footsteps were the most common sounds Akaashi heard, and in a way, they were wearing him out. Even though he finally had the job he wanted in the literature department, he felt it still wasn’t enough; he didn’t have enough money and was still living on onigiri and instant ramen, though that was mostly to make his life easier.
He shifted his gaze from his computer to the large window next to his cubicle, looking out at the surrounding buildings—all teeming with workers—and sighed.
“All the things I could, do if I had a little money,” he thought as he tapped his pen rhythmically against the wood of his desk; he was interrupted only by the sound of his phone notifying him of a work email.
The streets of Tokyo had always been nostalgic and, somewhat, overwhelming, but after working overtime, they became tedious and exhausting. Akaashi walked with his backpack full of papers, thinking only of getting to his apartment, drinking a beer, and continuing to watch his show. Stepping into his building, he felt the full weight of the day’s fatigue, and his head was spinning as he thought about what he’d have to do that night.
“Everything’s more fun in the rich men’s world…” he thought as he hung up his jacket and took off his shoes. Out of habit, he headed for the shower and changed into comfortable clothes, then turned on the TV to keep him company while he cooked.
“Today, the MSBY Black Jackals clinched their second consecutive championship title after an intense match against the Red Falcons, winning 3 of the 5 sets.”
“That’s right, Hima-san. The winning point came from Sakusa Kiyoomi, following a well-executed set by Bokuto Kotaro after a forced reception to Miya Atsumu—truly a play worthy of two-time champions.”
The knife struck the wood with a loud thud. Akaashi stared blankly for a second—a reaction he often had whenever he heard Bokuto’s name. He knew he shouldn’t feel anything; it had already been seven years since they’d broken up, since he’d decided to end things with Bokuto—a decision he didn’t regret.
Right?
He looked back at the TV and, realizing that the news segment had already changed, continued cooking—not that his mind had stopped thinking about him, but at least the kitchen gave his racing mind a break, and inside his lonely apartment, he was finally able to end the day thinking about what his life might have been like with a little more money—perhaps strolling through Las Vegas or Monaco, where it’s always sunny for the rich, whereas in Akaashi’s mind, it had been cloudy for so long.
He fell asleep listening to the rain pounding against the window and the city lights peeking through the curtains.
Saturday morning offered a brief respite; the scent of rain left over from the night before was revitalizing. Akaashi went downstairs hoping to find some mail, and sure enough, there it was—among the household bills, a more elegant envelope addressed to him. He glanced at it briefly before heading back up to his apartment.
As he sat down on the couch, he opened the envelope and was surprised by its contents; before he could fully react, his cell phone rang, and he answered after seeing who it was.
“Hello.”
“Hi, did you get the invitation?”
“I just opened it, but how am I supposed to get to Rio de Janeiro, Kenma? I barely have enough money for myself, and I have to figure out where I’m going to sleep and where I’m going to stay.”
“You’re driving me crazy with all these unnecessary problems—you know that?” Kenma replied, cutting him off in an impatient tone. “I’ll pay.”
“You’re crazy.”
“It’s six months from now. Just make sure to pack clothes and sunscreen, okay?”
Clothes and sunscreen—it sounds so simple, yet it carries such a huge burden. Going to the wedding in Rio meant taking a week off from work, and he hadn’t taken a vacation in years. He could ask his mother to come over to water his plants and do a little cleaning, but he’d have to coordinate with Oikawa, Sugawara, and Kenma so they could all take the same flight and
“Keiji”
“I’m listening,” he replied, running his hand over his face.
“I know, but I also know you’re thinking about everything you’ll have to leave behind in six months.”
“Well, yeah, it’s no small thing—it’s not like a wedding in Osaka or Sendai; we’re talking about another continent.”
“And I’m your solution.”
“You always are.”
“Let’s go. You’ll fly with Kuroo and me in first class. You’ll relax, and you’ll take your desire to celebrate Shoyo and Kageyama, who pulled this off against all odds. Besides, Brazil is better than Italy.”
“You convinced me with the first-class part.”
“I know. Don’t overthink it.”
He pulled the phone away from his ear when he realized Kenma had hung up. He bit his lip as he looked at the invitation and then at his phone; he didn’t know where to start thinking. Everything was all jumbled up—what to wear, is it cold or hot in October? Brazil is tropical—there are better times to go. He’d have to save more money than he’d planned. How would he tell his boss?
He shook his head, trying to push those unnecessary thoughts aside for now, but was interrupted by the sound of a notification on his cell phone.
Pretty Setters!!
Kawa!:
So…
Are we going to coordinate our outfits for the wedding or what?
OCTOBER
“Don’t wear that.”
Akaashi let his arms drop in defeat, still holding the garment, he was on a video call with Oikawa, his suitcase open and a pile of clothes scattered across the bed and the floor. He sighed wearily—this was the fifth item of clothing his friend had rejected.
“I’m telling you, you’re going to get too hot.”
“Oikawa, I have to bring a sweatshirt, besides, it’s not that warm.”
“Hey, I’ve been to Brazil, and trust me, it’s really not necessary,” Oikawa replied as he zipped up his bag. “But if you say it’s not that warm, then take it.”
He sighed and carefully folded the clothes he’d chosen. He glanced sideways at his phone and realized Oikawa was watching him.
“What?”
“Nothing. Is Kenma coming to pick you up?”
“Yeah, in about three more hours. Why?”
“I’m glad you took some time off. This vacation will do you good—it’ll help you clear your head.”
“Everyone tells me that…”
“Do you think there’s a reason for that?”
“You guys just want to see me in a suit,” Akaashi told him, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head while smiling.
“AH! You think we’re perverts!”
“Yeah.”
“See you in Rio!”
After hanging up, he turned off his phone. He felt like he was forgetting something but didn’t know what it was. It wasn’t that he had a bad memory, but something didn’t quite add up. He didn’t think much of it, though, since just the thought of the 23-hour trip ahead of him was consuming his mind and wearing his body out.
“Akaashi!”
He looked up over his glasses at Kuroo, who made a face as if he’d been shot, causing Kenma to roll his eyes and ignore him.
“Ouch, if you didn’t want to see me, you could’ve just told me, you know?”
“I don’t have much of a choice either, Kuroo-san. How are you?”
“Drop the ‘san.’ You’re talking to me as if we hadn’t known each other for over 10 years. I’m fine—excited about the trip,” he said as he picked up the suitcase and put it in the trunk of the car. “Get in. I want us to grab a bite to eat at the airport.”
“Why is the wedding in Rio?” Akaashi asked as he buckled his seatbelt.
“No idea,” Kuroo replied, glancing at Kenma. “Let it go.”
“…They played a match, and whoever won got to choose the location. Kageyama lost, obviously.”
“That doesn’t surprise me at all.”
That feeling that he’d forgotten something wouldn’t go away—not when he arrived at the airport, not when they went to eat, and certainly not when he sat down in his seat. He looked at his phone, checking the list he’d made, but nothing came to mind. Kenma looked at him and tapped his arm.
“Everything okay?”
“I feel like I forgot something…”
“If you don’t know what it is, it’s probably not important,” Kuroo replied as he took out his headphones.
“Kuroo’s right—it’s probably not important. Get some rest.”
Akaashi sighed and smiled slightly at his friend, settling in to sleep as he gazed out the window at the night sky over Japan, hoping to wake up at their destination.
.
.
.
“There they are!”
The three looked up and saw Iwaizumi, Sawamura, Sugawara, and Oikawa waving at them; they walked over, exhausted, to greet their friends.
“You’ll see, you’ll get used to it,” Iwaizumi told them, greeting them with a hug. “Where did you stop over?”
“California, we were there for about five hours,” Kuroo replied, stepping away from Sugawara.
“You look way too calm,” Oikawa remarked, pointing at Akaashi, who was putting away his passport.
“Is that a bad thing? I’ve always been calm…”
Everyone looked at each other and changed the subject, which unsettled Akaashi. He clutched his bag and walked behind Kenma and Kuroo. What was that? Could it have something to do with that feeling he couldn’t quite identify? The humid air hit his face, the heat began to take its toll, and that only made the sensations worse.
“This was a bad idea…” he said as he clasped his hands together to try to calm his anxiety.
“It wasn’t.”
He looked up and saw Sugawara, who stood beside him, took his arm, and smiled.
“Everyone tells me to relax, but I don’t get it, I feel fine.”
“You haven’t replied to our messages in weeks, you barely eat, and those habits end here in Brazil. Let’s go out to eat, check out some clothes, go to the beach, and celebrate love.”
He looked ahead and saw his friends staring at him, waiting for him to leave. He sighed and smiled.
“All right, let’s go.”