Chapter 1: the park - 1
Summary:
Keiji wants to be like the birds. He wants to sprout wings from his back, leap off from the balcony, and fly far, far away. If he had wings, he could go anywhere. He could soar above the clouds, and he could look down at all the people, and they would be the ones who were small, not him.
Akaashi Keiji wonders, and Akaashi Keiji dreams.
He wonders what his wings would be like if he had them. His favorite birds are blue jays, but their wings are too bright, too vivid of a blue. He doesn’t think they would match with everything else about him. His hair is dark, his eyes are dark—his wings should be dark as well.
Ravens’ wings are dark. His mama’s favorite birds are ravens. He thinks that—maybe, the wings of a raven would fit him well.
Notes:
well folks. here we are again. another multichapter character study. honestly I should be going to therapy but no I'm just here writing fanfiction about volleyball guys. I haven't written this much fanfiction since my freshman year of high school.
much love once again to my beta reader radio, i want to offer an immense thank you for putting up with my shenanigans. <333
title from i, carrion (icarian) by hozier
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Akaashi Keiji is five years old when he gets lost for the first time.
His mama takes him to a playground, one that stands in the center of the neighborhood they live in. She sets him down on the pavement, pats his head encouragingly, tells him to go run around, be a kid. She normally never takes him to playgrounds, and so he is a bit nervous about the new environment.
He’s never been in a place with so many kids—so many people—around before. They shout. They run. He feels so small in comparison as he takes tentative steps towards the brightly colored playground equipment.
He makes his way up to the slide. A kid pushes past him to get to the slide first. All he can do is step back and let the kid go first.
And then another. And then another. And then another.
It seems like forever until he can go on the slide. But when he looks down, he finds that the slide—it's so tall. He had gone on the slides at his daycare before, but those were smaller, and everybody waited in an orderly line to go on them.
This slide is one long tube, and it twists and turns, and it's so high.
He looks down, into the slide, and he feels that he might be swallowed whole by the darkness if he tries to go down. He just sits there, gripping the edges of the slide tightly, not feeling brave enough to go down it, but not feeling brave enough to step away from it either.
"Hi!" he hears behind him, and he turns to look at the new voice. "What're you doing?"
It's a boy with spiky white hair, one that seems to be around Keiji's age. He’s tall and big, and he has eyes that seem to shine golden in the light.
They remind Keiji of stars. Burning, bright, and beautiful.
Keiji opens his mouth, but no words come out. He closes it, and just shakes his head.
"Are you scared to go down the slide by yourself?" the boy asks, and Keiji slowly nods his head. The strange boy breaks out into a grin, and he sits down next to Keiji. "Don't worry! It's kinda scary at first, but if you do it enough times, then it becomes less scary."
He gestures for Keiji to crawl out of the slide space, and Keiji suddenly finds that he can move his legs again. In his place, the boy crawls into the slide space, turning his head to throw a grin at Keiji.
"I can go first, and then when I'm down there, I can catch you! That okay?"
All Keiji can do is nod, hesitantly. The boy laughs one more time, before kicking his legs and disappearing. Keiji leans over to watch the boy sliding down, throwing his hands up and whooping. Eventually, he emerges at the bottom of the slide, waving his hands.
"See!" the kid jumps up, once, twice, clapping his hands together. "Not scary at all! Come down! I'll catch you, I promise!"
Keiji scooches closer into the slide. He stares down into the unforgiving maw of darkness, and he can't help but think that it would be so easy to just slide down into eternal dark.
"If you're scared, close your eyes!" the kid shouts from below.
Keiji closes his eyes. He kicks off the slide. He feels his body twist and turn, moving with the motions of the slide.
His heart feels weightless as he seems to fall down for eternity.
And then he stops. He opens his eyes.
Two burning, bright, beautiful stars are staring back at him.
"See!" the boy says cheerfully. "You made it down! That was fun, right?"
Keiji just shrugs. The boy is—he's loud, but he doesn't seem like he's trying to be mean. His loudness must just be his default volume. Keiji nods towards the boy, then stands up and begins walking off.
"Hey, don't leave me!" the boy with stars for eyes protests, running over to him. Now that they're standing side-by-side, Keiji can see just how much bigger and taller the boy is compared to him. He seems like a giant. "I didn't even get your name! We're friends now, friends are supposed to know each others' names!"
We're friends?
He wants to be my friend?
Why does...why does someone like him want to be my friend?
"Akaashi," Keiji says softly. He's not sure if it's appropriate to tell a boy he just met his given name. He's not sure if the boy will demand his given name as well.
But the boy just nods. "Aghaashi!" he shouts, immediately butchering the pronunciation. "That's cool! I'm Koutarou!"
That must be his given name, Keiji thinks to himself as he turns to look up at Koutarou. Wait, so we're friends now...what do friends do with each other?
"Let's go on the swings!" Koutarou shouts, and then he runs off. Keiji really has no choice but to follow him. There's a row of swing sets, all occupied by other kids. There's only one free swing left.
The boy gestures to the one free swing, as if asking for Keiji to climb on. "Go on the swing! I'll push you!"
So Keiji climbs onto the swing. He has to jump a bit to get onto it. As soon as he's situated, Koutarou gives him one big push.
The ground seems so far down, it almost knocks the breath out of Keiji's chest. But despite the height, as Keiji holds onto the swing chains—he's not scared. He's not scared at all.
It feels like floating. It feels like flying.
This must be what birds feel like, Keiji thinks as he soars high above the ground. Everybody seems so small up here.
Eventually, Koutarou gets tired of pushing him. He doesn't say it, but Keiji can just tell, so he digs his feet into the ground and stands up.
"Koutarou-san," he whispers, stepping out of the way. "Your turn now. I can...I can push you."
"Wahhh, so polite, Aghaashi!" Koutarou says as he sits down in the swing. "And don't worry! I can push myself!"
"It's Akaashi," Keiji says quietly, but Koutarou has already kicked his feet off the ground, and he's flying up, up, up into the sky. The light of the sun seems to reflect off his eyes, making them shine even more brightly.
Stars, Keiji thinks distantly. Despite how strange and how loud this boy is, he feels like he can't look away. Like he's a planet drawn into a star's orbit.
Koutarou laughs, and for a second, everything is right with the world.
—
They run around for a little while longer, before Keiji begins to feel tired.
"I should go," Keiji says, and Koutarou pouts.
"Aww, but we were having so much fun!" They were having a competition to see who could climb up this rope obstacle course the fastest. Obviously, Koutarou won every time, because he's just bigger and faster.
"Sorry," Keiji whispers. He looks around for his mama—
Where is his mama?
He turns and turns his head, searching for his mama. His mama has long, thick hair that reaches her waist, his mama is wearing a white dress, his mama is—
His mama is not here.
Where is his mama?
He tries to pick out his mama from the dozens of other women with long hair and wearing white clothing, but he can't find her anywhere. He takes a couple steps forward, turning and twisting his head. Everybody's faces seem to blend together, all of them looking so similar to his mama, and yet none of them are his mama.
"Akaashi, don't cry!" Koutarou shouts, and Keiji feels him grabbing on tightly to his hand. It's then that he notices that he's shaking, trembling like a tree branch swaying in the wind. There's tears making his way down his face.
He cries silently, his tears almost unnoticeable. He always has.
"We'll find your mom!" Koutarou declares, and then the boy is cupping his hands around his mouth and screaming, "AKAASHI-SAN! AKAASHI-SAN!"
The commotion he causes is enough to draw the attention of a couple of other kids. Keiji is still crying, sniffling lamely as he tries to wipe away his tears. Koutarou explains that he's trying to look for his new friend's mama, and then the gaggle of kids also immediately begin shouting, "AKAASHI-SAN! AKAASHI-SAN!"
And finally, finally—
"Keiji, Keiji," his mama is calling, and he turns his head, searching out his mama's voice. He finds her, all ebony-black hair and pale skin and snowy-white fabric. He cries into his mama's arms as she lifts him up, wiping the tears from his face. "Aegiya, mama's here. Don't worry."
"Bye-bye, Akaashi!" Koutarou shouts happily as he waves goodbye. "I'm happy you found your mom!" Keiji turns his head, giving the boy a timid goodbye as well.
Stars, Keiji thinks as his mama hefts him in her arms and carries him back to the car.
"Who was your new friend, Aegiya?" his mama asks as she buckles him into his car seat.
"His name was Koutarou," he whispers as he stares out the window. He's not supposed to stare directly at the sun, or he'll go blind, but he thinks that he could stare at Koutarou's eyes, and that would be close enough.
"He had stars for eyes, mama."
—
Akaashi Keiji loves his mama. He loves her more than anything else in the world.
His mama tells him stories. She lived in a country called Korea, a country that’s to the west of Japan. It’s connected to the rest of Asia through China—it’s not an island like Japan, but a peninsula. She lived there before she came here when she was twenty and married his papa. His favorite story of hers is the story of how she met his papa.
"He was there on a vacation with his friends," his mama would say, combing her pale fingers through his hair. "I was there on business. I worked in a library. I dropped the stack of books I was holding, and his friends helped me pick them up."
"He didn't help you pick them up?" Keiji would ask, and his mama would shake her head in amusement. "Why not?"
"He just stood there," his mama would laugh. "Mouth wide open. And afterward, he came up to me, and asked for my phone number. Your father was so shy. But somehow, I knew it was meant to be."
He loves his papa too, but his papa works long hours, and sometimes Keiji will go days without seeing him. He'll hear him, sometimes, his mama wishing his papa a good day and kissing him on the cheek before he goes. His mama used to work, but she says that she got sick a long time ago, and now she can't go to work anymore.
He stays at home with his mama. His mama cooks, mostly Korean food, and they're the tastiest things Keiji has ever eaten. His favorite food is budae jjigae, because he likes how the spices dance on his tongue. She cooks Japanese food as well, but his papa cooks it better, so she rarely ever makes Japanese food. But Keiji's favorite Japanese food that his mama makes are nanohana blossoms. He likes how they crunch underneath his teeth.
"You're a strange child, Keiji," his mama laughs as he helps her with the laundry. "I don't know of any child who eats his vegetables or helps his mama with the chores."
"I wanna help you," Keiji says, clutching the white sheets to his chest. "Because you're sick."
His mother smiles, smoothing his hair across his forehead. "Thank you, Keiji. That's very sweet of you. But don't worry about me. That's my job, alright?"
Keiji just nods, and his mother smiles again.
He thinks that his mother's smile is beautiful. Even though she seems so tired all the time, she smiles all the time. And then she kisses Keiji on the forehead, and picks him up in her arms.
"Tell me more about Korea," he would say, and his mother would tell him stories about Korea.
She tells him stories of her time in private school, where every girl wore crisp, perfect skirts, and their hair had to be cut short at the shoulders. She tells him stories of her time in Seoul, a living city that seemed to move and breathe, a city that seemed to have a soul of its own. She tells him stories of how she would go out with her friends every weekend, to shop and eat and have fun.
"Why did you leave?" Keiji asks. His mama seemed to have a good life in Korea, so why did she leave it? "Why did you come here? Do you miss Korea?"
"So perceptive for a five-year-old," his mama hums, patting his cheek. "I left because of love, Aegiya. You'll understand when you're older."
He'll understand when he's older. But he understands some things now. He's a perceptive five year old, among other things.
Akaashi Keiji is a wonderer, and Akaashi Keiji is a dreamer.
—
His mama teaches him Korean, because she says that it's always important to remember one's roots. Keiji learns how to say dog, cat, bird: gae, goyangi, sae. Keiji learns how to say apple, pear, peach: sagwa, bae, bogsunga.
He learns how to say mama and papa in Korean. Eomma. Appa.
"Eomma," he says to his mama one day, and a look of pain flashes across his mama’s face. He feels a sudden stab of guilt, that he made his mother make that face. But it disappears quickly enough, replaced by her smile.
"Just mama is fine," she whispers. Keiji wonders how, if she was born in Korea, how his mother's Japanese got so good. How much practice did she have to do? Could he get as good at Korean?
He learns how to say grandma and grandpa in Korean. Halmeoni. Halabeoji.
There are some things that his mama doesn't say. She never talks about her family back in Korea, although Keiji's certain that she must have family back in Korea. He wonders about his grandparents. Does his mama have siblings? Does he have cousins and aunts and uncles in Korea that don't even know he exists?
"Do you miss your family?" Keiji asks, one snowy morning. "Do you miss your home?" He is six now, and he has gotten far too big to sit in his mama's lap. So he sits next to her, leaning into her touch as she puts her arm around his shoulders.
"You are my family, Aegiya," his mama says softly. "My home is here."
She's gotten thinner over the past year, and weaker too. She trips and she stumbles, and Keiji has to help her out even more. He doesn't mind it. He hates seeing her in pain. She sleeps more and more, and she gets tired more and more. So he fluffs her pillows, draws the blanket over her, kisses her on the cheek to send her to sleep.
His mama's skin is as pale as paper, and her hair is as dark as ink. He looks more like his father than he does his mother—his skin is slightly tanner, his hands bigger. But his mama tells him that he inherited her eyes—green like emeralds, green like moss.
"Evergreen," his mother says to him one day, as they're lying in bed together. She smoothes his hair away from his face. "Aegiya, do you know what an evergreen tree is?" Keiji shakes his head, and so she smiles and continues on.
"Evergreen trees grow in the mountains. They stay green throughout the entire year, which is why they're called evergreen. They're some of the strongest trees, because they can survive through the cold winter. They're strong. Be strong, Keiji, alright?"
"Okay," Keiji whispers, nodding his head. Though he is perceptive for his age, he does not really understand this.
Maybe he'll understand when he's older.
—
His mother sings him to sleep. He sleeps in her bed more and more, because he worries about her, even though she told him not to. She doesn't have the strength to pick him up and put him into his room, and so she holds him closer and sings him to sleep.
"Saeya, saeya, parang saeya," she sings, stroking his hair. Keiji has learned enough Korean to know that this means birds, birds, blue birds.
Sometimes, he will wake up during the middle of the night, in his mother's arms. He will be in between his mother and his father, wrapped in both their arms. His parents look younger when they sleep, like their adult worries fade away in the night.
He feels safe, nestled in between his parents' arms. It feels warm, and soft, and it feels like home. So it doesn't take long for him to shut his eyes, roll over, and go back to sleep.
This is his home.
—
His father gets a raise at work. They throw a party in their small apartment, and they order food in—something that they have rarely ever gotten to do.
"Sing," his mama says to his papa, as she puts a karaoke track onto the TV. His papa laughs, shaking his head, but his mama insists. Keiji is sitting at the table in the living room, methodically eating fried chicken off the bone and staring up at his parents.
His papa gives in, and he stands up, pulling his wife to his feet. He sings along to the music, his voice low and soothing. He sways his wife from side to side, and they begin to step to the beat of the song. His mama joins in a bit later, her voice high and beautiful. Keiji is mesmerized. The song sounds familiar, like a lullaby, something he might have listened to as a baby. He finds himself swaying to the beat of the song as he watches his parents.
"This is called a waltz, Kei-chan," his papa says as he and his mama begin dancing around the table. "It has six steps repeated in counts of three. Can you count with me?"
Keiji counts "one-two-three, one-two-three," as best as he can, trying to keep up with his papa and his parents' movements. They move so gracefully, as though they are two parts of one whole.
"It's a Western dance," his mama says, letting her husband guide her around their tiny apartment. "The movements of the dance represent freedom, and personal connection. It's a very intimate dance. You do it with people you're close with, like at your wedding."
"Did you do it at your wedding?" Keiji asks, sitting criss-cross-applesauce. The song ends, and his parents break apart. They look at each other, and then both of them smile. His papa goes into their room, returning with a thick white book.
"This is a wedding album, Kei-chan," his papa says, sitting down next to him. "It’s full of pictures taken during your mama and I's wedding."
"Whoa..."
The three of them flick through the album together. There are pictures upon pictures of people, and his papa tells him that those are his extended relatives, on his side. His Obachan and his Ojichan, his papa's parents, his papa's brother and sisters, his papa's friends from college.
He doesn't see a single picture of his mama's family.
But he does see pictures of his mama. His mama, dressed up in a beautiful flowing white dress, with shimmery fabric that drapes behind her. In some of the pictures, she's wearing a lace veil over her face, and there's a beautifully shot picture of her pulling the veil away from her face. There's pictures of her holding a large bouquet, pictures of her standing on a balcony, pictures of her hands and the diamond ring that sits on her finger. She's smiling, the one smile that she always has around Keiji.
Keiji thinks that his mama is the most beautiful girl in the whole world.
He also sees pictures of his papa—there's less pictures of his papa by himself than there are pictures of his mama by herself, but there's still a lot. He's wearing a shiny black tuxedo, with flowers tucked into the pocket on his chest. He's smiling as well—Keiji hasn't seen him smile for a long time.
Keiji thinks that his papa is the most handsome boy in the whole world.
There's pictures of his mama and his papa dancing, under golden lights. Keiji can see snapshots of his parents doing what must have been the waltz, holding each other close. There's pictures of his parents feeding each other pieces of cake. There's pictures of his parents standing by the altar, hand in hand.
“Will I have a wedding when I’m older?” Keiji asks, smoothing his hand over the pictures. “Will you come to my wedding?”
“Of course, Aegiya,” his mama says. “Both of us will be there to see you get married.”
“You’ll make me your best man, won’t you, Keiji?” his papa jokes.
"Was that the happiest day of your life, Mama, Papa?" Keiji asks, looking up at them. His papa wraps an arm around his mama, and his mama wraps her arms around Keiji. She pulls him in close, kissing him on the forehead.
"It was one of the happiest days of our lives," his mama says, picking him up and scooping him into her lap. "But not the happiest."
"Why not?"
His papa speaks up next. "Because we didn't have you yet, Keiji."
And then his papa kisses his mama on the cheek, and then his mama kisses his papa on the lips, and then the two of them kiss him on the forehead.
It's cold outside, on the evening of his birthday, but nestled in his parents' arms, Akaashi Keiji has never felt so warm.
—
His mama's health begins to get worse over the next year. She tries to hide it, but Keiji is a very perceptive six-year-old. Late at night, when he can't sleep, he hears the whispers from the living room. He hears his papa talking about a place called a hospital, he hears his mama talking about money, and he hears the both of them cry.
He tried going out of his room to them once, to hug them, but they only seemed to cry more when he showed up. He doesn't know why, but he doesn't do it again.
He goes with his papa to work every day now. His papa works in an office, and he sits in the lobby and reads books. When they walk to his work, his papa holds onto his hand tightly, as though he's afraid Keiji will float away if he lets go. He doesn't want to float away, so Keiji clutches his hand tight as well.
"Mama might have to go to a hospital," his papa whispers to him one day as they're walking to work. "Because she's sick, Kei-chan. Very sick."
Keiji nods. "What's a hospital?"
There's a pained look on his papa's face as he looks up to the sky. "It's a place where sick people go to get better, Keiji. But mama will have to be away from us. She'll have to...sleep at the hospital, live at the hospital. We won't be able to see her every day anymore."
"Oh." The very thought of not being able to see his mother every day scares Keiji. "But she'll get better?"
His papa looks like he's about to cry as he says, "Yes. She'll get better."
Keiji nods resolutely. He'll miss his mama, if she goes to the hospital, but he wants her to get better. More than anything, he wants his mama to get better.
It's summer now, but Keiji inexplicably feels cold as he thinks about the possibility of his mama being away from him.
—
"What's a hospital?" he whispers to his mama later that day, after work. He's had to do more and more of his chores by himself, because his mama has been too tired to do them. He doesn't mind. After he's done, he gets to crawl into bed with his mama and she will hold him.
There's a haunted, bitter look in his mama's eyes as she stares at him. Her evergreen eyes seem hollow, like a twisting, neverending forest.
"It's where sick people go to die, Aegiya," she whispers, and then she closes her eyes. "I'm not going to go there. I'll die as well."
Die?
—
"What does die mean?" he asks his papa, later that night. "Mama doesn't want to go to the hospital, because she says she'll die."
His papa does not respond. He only cries.
—
"You know that it can't be cured," Keiji hears his mother whispering, late at night. "You know that we don't have the money for it. We're only delaying the inevitable. I want to die in my own home, with my family with me."
"I love you," his papa whispers back. "Please don't leave me."
There's the sound of crying—a sound that Keiji's getting all too familiar with.
And then his mama saying: "I love you too."
—
I love you, I love you, I love you, is what his mama whispers to him as they go to sleep.
I love you, I love you, I love you, is what his papa whispers to him before he goes to school.
I love you, I love you, I love you, is what Keiji says back to them.
—
He learns what death is, one autumn day, as he's walking back from work with his father.
There is a black bird lying on the sidewalk in front of them. It’s not moving. Aren’t birds supposed to fly?
“Papa,” Keiji says, tugging at his papa’s hand. He points towards the bird, just lying there on the sidewalk. There’s a stain of red behind the bird’s body. It looks wet. It shines in the light. “What’s that bird doing on the sidewalk?”
His papa places both of his hands on Keiji’s shoulders, steering him away from the bird.
“It’s dead, Kei-chan,” his papa murmurs as they walk around the bird. “Don’t look too closely at it.”
“What does dead mean?” Keiji whispers as he clings to his papa’s arm. “Papa?”
Normally, his papa answers all of his questions with clarity, but he seems hesitant to answer this one. His papa sighs, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes.
“Death means,” his papa says in a bare whisper. “It means that bird is never going to fly again.”
That’s sad, Keiji thinks as he’s led away. Because all birds are meant to fly.
—
“Mama, what’s your favorite bird?” Keiji asks that night, as he’s lying in bed with his mama. "Papa and I saw a bird on the sidewalk today. Papa said it was dead."
His mama hums, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "I think that ravens are very pretty birds, Keiji. Do you know what ravens look like?"
Keiji shakes his head. He does not know what ravens look like, but its name sounds pretty. "What is it called in Korean?"
"Galgamagwi," his mama whispers. "Not as beautiful-sounding as karasu, but still beautiful. They have pitch-black feathers, and they go 'ca-caw' to speak to one another." His mother shifts around in her bed, closing her eyes. "They used to say that ravens were omens for death."
"Omen?" Keiji asks. He's never heard that word before. "What does that mean?"
"There's a famous English author named Edgar Allan Poe," his mama says. "One of his poems is called 'The Raven'. In the story, there is a man who is mourning the death of his lover. A raven shows up, repeating the same word again: 'nevermore'."
"Nevermore?" Keiji asks. He's learning all kinds of new words today. "What does that mean?"
"The man's grief will continue on for the rest of his life. It's never-ending." His mama shifts again, burying her face in Keiji's hair. "That is what happens when a person's loved ones die."
"What does death mean?" Keiji whispers. He's asked this question before, but he's still lost on what exactly it means. "Mama, you said you would die if you went to the hospital, what does that mean?"
His mama's voice is soft and cold, like snow, when she says:
"It means I'll go to heaven, Aegiya. Or perhaps I'll go to hell. I'm not sure. But when I die, I'll go on a long journey that'll take me far, far away from you."
That scares Keiji. Far, far away from him? He doesn't want to imagine a world where his mama is far, far away from him. It's too scary to think about. Who will cook him budae jjigae, who will sing him to sleep, who will kiss his tears away?
"I don't want you to die, mama," he whispers, and he doesn't fully understand what death means, but he fears it all the same.
—
"Papa," he asks later that night, when his papa is making dinner. "What is your favorite bird?"
His papa hums as he rolls up the tamagoyaki omelet he's making. They've been having Japanese food more and more, because his papa is the one cooking. It's good, but Keiji occasionally misses the taste of kimchi. "Doves are very beautiful birds. I believe they are my favorite. Why?"
"Mama's favorite bird is a raven," Keiji says, fidgeting with his fingers. "I wanted to see what yours was."
“I like doves the best.” His papa hums as he puts the egg on a plate. "Ravens are birds with black wings. Doves are birds with white wings. I think your mama always thought that was poetic. She had a knack for that kind of thing."
"Poetic?" Keiji asks. His papa nods.
"Your mama is what they call a poet. She sees...something beyond, when she looks at the world. She sees the beauty in everything."
Keiji nods, slowly. He does not understand what that means, but he's sure that he'll learn in the future.
"What is your favorite bird, Keiji?" his papa asks, setting the table.
Keiji has to think about it, because there are a lot of birds that he sees that he thinks are pretty. Red birds, yellow birds, blue birds.
"The blue birds," he finally decides. "Like...from the lullaby Mama sings to me." He likes blue birds, how they're hard to spot amongst the blue of the sky. They hide in plain sight. But when you do find them, they turn towards you and they chirp. Almost as though they're saying, you found me.
Saeya, saeya, parang saeya.
—
His mama seems to get better in the summer. She's able to sit up in bed more easily, Keiji is able to stay home with her, and then she teaches him how to write in Korean.
"Korean characters are called hangul," she says as she writes. Her handwriting is graceful, elegant, like everything about her. Her hand moves slowly, delicately and deliberately. "But the original Korean characters were called hanja, and they came from China. Just like how kanji came from China as well, but katakana and hiragana were Japanese creations."
"Will I learn how to write kanji?" Keiji asks, staring down at the stark ink against the paper. "In school?"
His mama had written a simple phrase in Korean: hello, how are you? Hangul is similar to kanji, but there's more curvy lines and circles in the characters. Keiji can read in Japanese, but not in Korean. But he'll learn. He's sure of it.
His mama chuckles, ruffling his hair. "I think you will. I had to learn how to write in hanja, back in Korea, but I didn't like it very much. Now all I remember is how to write in hangul."
His mama takes up her pen and begins writing again. She writes the characters: 영 하늘. "This is my name, Aegiya. Yeong Haneul."
"Your name isn't mama?" Keiji asks, confused. That is what he called her, that is what his papa called her. His mama just laughs and shakes her head.
"No, of course not. Just like how your name is Akaashi Keiji, I too have a name. Someday, when you have children of your own, they will call you papa. And my name—before I got married—was Yeong Haneul."
"Yeong Haneul," Keiji whispers, before he realizes that it's rude to call his own mama by her given name. "Oops. Sorry, mama. It's a very pretty name, mama."
His mama laughs again. "Thank you, Keiji. Would you like to learn how to write your name in Korean?" To that, Keiji eagerly nods yes.
She guides his hand across the paper in smooth strokes, and he watches in interest as neat circles and lines bloom under his hand. He's practiced his handwriting in the past, and both of his parents have commented about how his handwriting is so very neat for a boy his age.
"A-ka-si Kyo-ji." His mama sounds out the characters individually. "The Korean and Japanese alphabets are different, so it's not an exact match. But here is your name in Korean, Aegiya."
아카시 쿄지.
"What's your name in kanji, mama?" Keiji asks in interest. He knows how to write his name in kanji: 赤葦 京治. His papa and him have the same kanji for their surnames, because he inherited his papa's surname. But his mama has a different surname, so she must have different characters in her name.
His mama only smiles a sad smile, before writing her name in straight, brisk strokes.
赤葦 ハヌル.
"Isn't that papa's surname?" Keiji asks, confused. "But when you wrote your name in Korean, you had a different surname." Yeong.
"I changed my surname when I got married, Keiji," his mama whispers. "I don't know what the kanji for Yeong is."
"And then...why's your name in katakana?" Keiji knows that kanji is meant for important things, and nothing is more important than names—most of all, his mama's name.
"Because I'm a foreigner, Keiji." His mama's words are clipped, bitter in a way that Keiji has never heard before. "And in Japan...foreigners' names are spelled out in katakana, not kanji."
"Oh..." That may be one of the saddest things that Keiji has ever heard. "But...mama, how long have you lived in Japan?"
His mama's face seems so much older as she smoothes back her hair and says, "Ten years, Keiji."
"Then you're not a foreigner, mama," Keiji reasons. "You've lived in Japan for...a long time, mama. And you speak Japanese good, and you write Japanese good."
His mama's smile is weary as she says, "That's what your papa always says."
—
Winter brings with it the worsening of his mama's condition. She coughs more frequently, she gets paler and paler, and she's no longer able to get out of her bed without help. Keiji's papa stays home all the time now, tending to her in bed. Keiji hears papa talking to his sister on the phone, talking about money and bills and family. He doesn't understand any of it.
He spends most of his time wrapped up in his mama's and papa's arms, listening to the sound of his mama's breaths.
His mama no longer sings. In fact, she's barely able to talk anymore.
"Keiji," she rasps out, one cold December day. "Be a good boy and go play with your toys in the living room, okay?"
Keiji wants to stay with his mama, but her skin has become colder and colder as of late. She speaks less and less, and she sleeps more and more. His papa worries about her, and he tells Keiji to make it easy on her and do whatever she says.
So Keiji kisses his mother on the cheek, takes his picture books, and goes out to the living room to look at them.
He doesn't know when he falls asleep, but he does. When he wakes up, it's to the sounds of his papa screaming. He jolts awake, and all of the lights in the apartment are off, with his mama's and papa's room being the only one on.
"Papa...?" he asks, his voice soft and small. He tiptoes into his parents' room, turning the doorknob and making his way in.
His mama is lying face up on the bed, her eyes closed. She's sleeping, but his papa is kneeling on the floor beside the bed, with his mama's hand clasped in between his fingers. His papa turns to look at him, and Keiji can see how his papa's face is red and blotchy, how there's so many tears making their way down his papa's cheeks.
His papa holds his arms out, and Keiji falls into them. His papa wraps his arms tightly around his shoulders, so much so that Keiji feels like he cannot breathe.
"Kei-chan," his papa sobs. "Your mama's gone."
—
Akaashi Haneul dies, on the tenth of December, 2002, at 9:47 PM. It has been a week since she died in her small apartment in Kamakura, Japan, her only family being her husband and seven-year-old son. Cause of death: heart failure.
Akaashi Keiji spends every single day crying.
He now understands what death means, when the paramedics and the policemen come to take his mama's cold, limp body away.
He now understands what death means, when he wakes up in the mornings and his mama is not there in her bed, not there to greet him with her soft, cold smile.
He now understands what death means, when he's standing before his mama's body during her funeral.
"It's okay, Kei-chan," his papa says in a soft whisper, his hand on Keiji's back. Keiji is holding a small fistful of white flower petals, and he's clutching them like his life depends on it as he walks up to the open casket. He feels like he could climb a mountain with the amount of effort it takes to put one foot in front of the other.
His mama is lying there, her face pale and white. She's wearing a white dress, her hands folded over her stomach. Her hair is braided in a crown, like a halo. Keiji drops the flower petals onto her body, then walks to look at his mama's face.
She looks so peaceful. She looks like she could just be sleeping.
But she's not sleeping.
She's gone.
She's gone, on a long journey that'll take her far, far away from me.
Where did mama go?
Can I follow her there?
Can I ever see her again?
Keiji is so tired of crying. He doesn't understand any of this. Why did his mama have to leave him? She didn't seem like she wanted to leave, so why did she? What made her leave?
I don't understand.
But he cries all the same. He reaches over, to hold his mama's hand one more time, and—
It's cold.
And then Keiji is being lifted up into the air, with the lingering feeling of his mama's touch on his fingertips.
No—
No, not yet—
Mama—
MAMA—!
"MAMA!" Keiji shrieks, and he has always been an obedient, quiet child, but it feels as though there is a whole ocean's worth of emotions welling up inside of his chest. He cries, and he screams, and he sobs, but nothing he does will make his mama come back to him. Nothing he does will make his mama come back from her long journey far, far from home, nothing he does will make his mama come back from death.
"Kei-chan," his papa whispers, and Keiji turns to look up at him. There are a thousand eyes looking upon him, strangers that he does not know the names to. "Kei-chan, I'm so sorry."
"Where is she?" Keiji demands, because his mama is right there, in eternal slumber. "Why can't she wake up?"
"You'll understand when you're older," his papa says, clutching him tightly. "You'll understand all of this when you're older."
Keiji wails, because he does not want to understand when he is older. He wants to understand now, and he wants to understand why it feels like there's a gaping hole in his chest, where his heart should be.
—
Everything changes after that.
He and his papa both stop smiling. Stop laughing. Stop talking. Stop doing anything besides going through the motions: sleeping and eating and drinking.
His papa begins drinking more and more. Bottles that smell gross when Keiji sniffs them up close. Sometimes his papa falls asleep on the couch, and Keiji can't get him to wake up to go to his bed. So he drapes a blanket over his papa and crawls in next to him.
His family members drop by occasionally. His aunt takes him out to get groceries, and though spring is coming, and the sun shines on his skin, he does not feel warm.
Keiji misses the warmth of a home.
His papa cries in his sleep. He calls out to his wife—"Haneul, Haneul, Haneul."
Keiji has become too numb to cry.
One day, his aunt and him are walking home. His aunt does not talk much, which Keiji appreciates. He does not want to talk to anybody. He feels as though his throat might close up from so little use.
There is a black bird standing on the branches of a tree, staring down at him. He remembers what his mama said about her favorite bird—ravens—and how they had black feathers, and how they were—
Omens of death.
"Go away!" Keiji shouts up at the bird, and his aunt startles from beside him. This might have been the first thing he's spoken in a long time, and it's to shout at a bird that is doing nothing wrong.
But Keiji feels an uneasy fear gnawing away at his stomach, at the sight of the bird.
"Go away!" he shouts again, crying now, waving his hand, and the raven takes to the sky.
The raven screams to the sky: ca-caw, ca-caw, ca-caw!
—
"You have a son," his aunt says to his papa, behind the door of his parents'—his papa's—bedroom. "And he needs you. I know that Haneul was—she was important to you—"
"She was everything to me," Keiji can hear his papa say. "Everything."
"And you are everything to your son," his aunt says. "Kyouji. You need to pull it together for your son."
His papa takes a deep, shuddering breath.
"I don't know if I can."
A long, long pause. Then, words from his aunt:
"Then I will."
—
Keiji is moving away in the summer. From Kamakura to Tokyo, where his aunt Amane lives.
"Why do I have to go?" he asks his papa, who is not drinking, for once. His papa just smiles, sadly, the warmth of it never even reaching his eyes. "Papa, why do I have to leave you?"
"This is for the better, Keiji," his papa whispers. "You'll understand when you're older, Keiji."
Keiji doesn't even bother crying. But he wants to understand now, not later.
"What about school?" he asks, looking up at his papa. "What about..."
Keiji doesn't have many friends at school. He's quiet, and shy, and he prefers reading books during recess and lunch. He will not be leaving behind many people if he moves to Tokyo.
But he will be leaving his papa behind.
"I don't want to leave you," Keiji mumbles, clinging onto his papa's hands. "I don't want to leave you, papa."
If he is going on a long journey far, far away, then does that mean—
"Am I going to die, papa?" he asks, and his papa begins to cry once more. He wraps Keiji in his arms, so tightly that Keiji feels as though he might shatter into pieces. But if he were to shatter into pieces, then his papa would be there to put him all back together.
"You're not going to die, Keiji," his papa whispers. "I promise. Now be a good boy for me and do what I say, okay?"
Keiji looks up at his distraught papa, tears sparkling in his eyes. He doesn't like seeing his papa sad, and if this will make him happy again…
Then he'll leave. Leave on the long journey far, far away.
"Okay," Keiji whispers, and even though his papa is telling him to leave, he holds Keiji even closer.
—
His aunt's apartment in Tokyo is cleaner. Tokyo is loud and bright, all honking horns and flashing lights and Keiji can never sleep at night. But his aunt told him that he's not allowed in her room, so all he can do is curl up in his new bed and try to sleep.
He thinks about what his mama said about Seoul. About how it moved and breathed, and it seemed to live. He wonders if Tokyo is any similar.
There are a lot less trees in Tokyo. There are also a lot less animals—a lot less birds, a lot less squirrels. There are a lot more cars, and there are so many more buildings.
Tokyo scares Keiji. It seems so big. Kamakura was big as well, but Tokyo makes Keiji feel so small, so insignificant.
He misses the songs of the birds. He misses the songs his mama used to sing.
His aunt Amane doesn’t sing. She does talk—a lot. She tells Keiji to talk more, speak his mind, but all it does is make Keiji want to withdraw into himself, curl up into a ball and shut everything out.
He wants familiarity. He wants to wake up in a bed that feels like his own, not one that feels cold and foreign.
It’s so cold.
Sometimes he stays up late to watch the moon rise. Back in Kamakura, the lights weren’t bright enough to block out the moon. Here in Tokyo, there are so many streetlights and building lights that Keiji can’t even see the moon.
He thinks about his papa, back in Kamakura. He wonders if he can see the same moon, see the moon go through the same phases. He thinks about his mama, who is dead and on a long journey far, far away. Wherever she is, Keiji hopes that she can still see the same beautiful moon.
Sometimes he wakes up early, staring out at the window. Sometimes—a bird lands on the railing of the balcony before flying away again. Sometimes Keiji stares at it, moving as slowly and as silently as he can so he doesn’t scare it away.
It always flies away, though. No matter how much Keiji wishes it to stay, it always flies away eventually.
Keiji wants to be like the birds. He wants to sprout wings from his back, leap off from the balcony, and fly far, far away. If he had wings, he could go anywhere. He could soar above the clouds, and he could look down at all the people, and they would be the ones who were small, not him.
Akaashi Keiji wonders, and Akaashi Keiji dreams.
He wonders what his wings would be like if he had them. His favorite birds are blue jays, but their wings are too bright, too vivid of a blue. He doesn’t think they would match with everything else about him. His hair is dark, his eyes are dark—his wings should be dark as well.
Ravens’ wings are dark. His mama’s favorite birds are ravens. He thinks that—maybe, the wings of a raven would fit him well.
He dreams about flying, high above the clouds. Maybe he’d sit on one, and it would be soft underneath him. Maybe he would lie down and take a nap, far away from everything below.
And maybe when he opened his eyes, he would see his mama lying by his side. She would brush the hair out of his eyes, and her smile would be soft like snow.
“Mama,” he would say. “I found you.”
And his mama would laugh, kiss him on the forehead, and say, “Aegiya. You found me.”
Notes:
— akaashi haneul in kanji: 赤葦 ハヌル
- 赤 means "red."
- 葦 means "reed, bulrush."
- ハヌル is a katakana translation of the korean word "haneul" and therefore does not have a meaning in japanese.
— yeong haneul in hangul: 영 하늘
- 영 means "spirit, zero."
- 하 means "under"
- 늘 means "always"
- 하늘 combined means "heaven"
— and this is entirely too much information about a character who died in the first chapter. yes this is going to set the tone for the rest of the fic. prepare for enormous amounts of akaashi just. suffering.
— yes that was an in another life reference. many more of those to come.
— yes this is yet again me projecting. can we tell that I have mommy issues given how my mothers are either shit or dead. pay it no mind.
— next chapter update: November 23rd
— scream at me for making akaashi suffer on Tumblr
Chapter 2: the school - 2
Summary:
He recalls that childish dream of his. To have inky black wings sprout from his back, so he can jump off the balcony, feel the wind through his wings, and fly. To go on a long journey far, far away.
But there are dreams, and then there is reality. And Akaashi Keiji can dream and wonder all he wants, but there is no denying the reality.
Notes:
I love akaashi keiji so much. I just want to squeeze him like a stress ball.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Akaashi Keiji is seven years old when he gets lost for the second time.
Nobody in his family wanted to move him in the middle of the school year, but Keiji understood that it had to happen. After all—his mama had said that school was important, and that it was the key to living a good life.
But school is scary, and his new Tokyo elementary school is so big, and he does not have his papa's hand to hold as he walks in. He only has his Amane-obasan, who does not hold his hand because he says that he's growing into a big boy, and he doesn't need to hold onto anyone's hand anymore.
"You need to make some new friends," his aunt says, and Keiji folds in on himself.
Keiji does not make friends easily. Back in Kamakura, he had no friends, and he was fine with that. He didn't need friends, because he had his mama and his papa, but he does not have either of them anymore.
He only has his Amane-obasan, who is dropping him off at the entrance of the school and patting his back and walking away into the sea of adults. Keiji is left clutching his backpack, turning and turning and looking around for help. He has a paper that has his classroom—classroom 02-05, but he doesn't know where that is.
Everybody seems so much bigger than him. He trips, and he stumbles, and he tries to ask for help, but the words never manage to leave his mouth.
He is a small fish among a sea of people, and he is fighting to swim against the current.
"Hey! You!"
Keiji doesn't know where the voice is coming from, but he spins around and searches for it anyway. He finds a small girl, with her long hair tied in pigtails, clutching a woman's hand.
"Are you lost?" the girl asks, and Keiji slowly nods his head. "Where's your mom?"
"She's..." What does Keiji say? That she's dead? His aunt had told him not to tell any of his new classmates that she's dead. "Not here."
"Where's your dad?"
"Also...not here."
The girl tugs at the woman's hand. "Mama, he doesn't know where he is. His parents aren't here."
"What kind of parents would leave their kid all alone on his first day of school?" her mother asks with concerned eyes. She kneels down, getting on Keiji's eye level. "Sweetheart, what's your name?"
"Akaashi..." Keiji murmurs. "Keiji."
"Can I see your class schedule?"
Keiji pulls out his slip of paper, handing it over to the woman. She scans it, and her face seems to brighten up.
"Look, Momoko," she says to the girl, who looks up. "He's in your class. Maybe we could help walk him there?"
"Ooh, yeah!" the girl nods excitedly. She turns to Keiji, holding out her hand. "I'm Hatoba Momoko!"
"Akaashi Keiji," Keiji mutters, allowing the girl to shake his hand. "It's nice to meet you, Hatoba-san."
Hatoba laughs. "You're really polite, Akaashi! You don't hafta be so cold, we're in the same class!"
"Sorry. My aunt told me it's polite," Keiji mumbles. His aunt had told him that he should defer to last names and honorifics for everybody he meets in his new school.
"This is Tokyo," his aunt had told him. "Not everybody is going to be so casual, like back in Kamakura. Everybody is going to expect that you put your best foot forward."
"Do you live with your aunt?" Hatoba asks, skipping as she holds her mother's hand. Keiji watches on with envy—he used to be able to hold his mama's hand like that. He used to be able to intertwine his fingers with his mama's, feel the cold of her palms. It would give him comfort.
But he remembers her cold fingers, and how she lay there in her casket at her funeral.
She's dead, and she's gone, and she's not coming back.
"Yes," Keiji says.
"What happened to your parents?"
My mama's dead and my papa's in Kamakura, and my papa said it would be for the better if I came here, and he said I would understand everything when I'm older, but I want to understand now.
"Momoko!" the girl's mother scolds. "It's rude to ask that about people's parents!"
"Sorry, Akaashi," Hatoba says, bowing her head. "Didn't mean to be rude."
"It's alright," Keiji says.
His aunt must have been wrong—not all people in Tokyo talked so formally like her. Hatoba seems just like the kids back in Kamakura. She smiles as her mother kisses her goodbye on the forehead, and then she turns to Keiji and holds out her hand.
"Let's go," she says, and so Keiji has no other choice but to take her hand and allow her to lead him in.
Their classroom is bustling with movement and sound, and Keiji resists the urge to crawl under a desk and curl up into a little ball. Hatoba clutches Keiji's hand tightly, resolutely nodding her head.
"First day of school," she says with wonder. She turns to Keiji, smiling so widely, she has to close her eyes. "Let's have a lot of fun, 'kay, Akaashi?"
—
That is how Hatoba Momoko becomes Akaashi Keiji's first friend. Keiji does not fall into friendship so much as he is dragged into friendship.
He sits in the corner during recess, reading whichever book he decided to bring with him that day. Hatoba will run around with the other kids for a little bit, playing tag and basketball and volleyball and whatever other things the other kids do. Keiji will watch her, and envy her for being able to talk to people so easily.
But ten minutes later, she will come over to Keiji, stretch her arms above her head, and plop down beside him. She'll claim that she is tired, even though Keiji knows she can run around for a lot longer, and then she'll lean over and ask Keiji what he's reading. Keiji will tell her what his book of the day is about, and then she'll nod and smile and say: "You're so smart, Akaashi!"
He doesn't think he's all that smart. He just reads a lot, and his aunt makes him do his homework in front of her every night. All of it is just practice. He is not naturally gifted, like how some of their other classmates are.
"Why do you hang out with me?" he mumbles one day, while Momoko is carefully splitting her packet of strawberry pocky between the two of them. She looks up from where she's laying out pocky sticks in orderly rows. She can be very gentle when she wants to be.
"Hm?" she asks, and then goes back to sorting out her pocky. "Because you know a lotta things, Akaashi. And I don't, but you teach me. Like the other day! You told me that ravens and crows and magpies are related! I didn't even think about that, but it makes so much sense! They all look so similar."
"I..." Keiji trails off, because just repeating a fact that he read in a book didn't make him smart. It just made him good at remembering things. Things that aren't even useful for school, as his aunt said. His aunt says a lot of things, but she likes to say that if his activities don't go towards school, he shouldn't bother with them. "I'm not that smart."
"What?!" This causes Hatoba to snap one of her pocky sticks in half. She looks down in dismay. "Aww, man, Akaashi, look! You said something super stupid, and now it's broken!"
"It's true, though..."
"Nuh-uh!" Hatoba shakes her head vigorously. "You're, like, the smartest in our class, Akaashi! You got a perfect grade on our math test the other day!"
"That's not because I'm smart. My aunt just makes me study. A really smart person could have done that without studying."
Hatoba scrunches her eyebrows together. It reminds Keiji of a very angry bird contemplating a worm crawling out onto the grass. "Y'know, for a really smart person, you say a lotta stupid stuff, Akaashi."
And then she pushes half of her pocky sticks towards Keiji, nodding her head. "Now eat your pocky. Your aunt doesn't let you have any snacks, and she's a meanie for that. So eat up!"
Keiji dutifully eats his pocky. Hatoba giggles as he eats his pocky sticks two at a time. "Why're you eating it like that, Akaashi?"
He just shrugs, snapping his pocky sticks with his teeth. "More efficient this way."
"Ooh, efficient? That’s a big word, what’s that mean?"
And then Keiji explains to Hatoba the dictionary definition of efficient: achieving maximum productivity with minimum wasted effort or expense. It's something that his aunt has explained to him countless times: if he has a minute of free time, he should put that minute to good use.
Every part of his day is structured around routine, all nice boxes and neat lines. He likes it that way; less about things that are unimportant.
He stays so busy, he doesn't have time to think about his mama or his papa.
—
Akaashi Keiji becomes best friends with Hatoba Momoko, and they stay that way all throughout elementary school. Hatoba is there every day at the entrance of the school, waving hello to him, and she is there every day at the exit of the school, waving goodbye to him. Although—he would like to point out that the entrance and the exit of the school are through the same doorway, but whether or not it is an entrance or exit depends entirely on where he is going. That's interesting to think about.
"You think about a lotta things, Akaashi," Hatoba says, trying her best to balance on the curb without falling. "My mommy says I should be more like you. Think more. Read more."
"You are fine just the way you are," Keiji says as he slides his bookmark in between the pages of his book. They're in third grade now, but some lady came into his class one day and called him out. He did a bunch of tests for her, and she said that he was what she called gifted.
What does that mean? He doesn't really know. But she said that he reads at a higher level, is able to solve problems at a higher level. Functionally, his mind is like that of a middle schooler's, or even a high schooler's.
That's nice, he thinks. But I don't really do anything different. I just study.
So while the kids in his class are reading chapter books, Keiji is reading novels. While the kids in his class are doing multiplication and division, Keiji is doing algebra. Next school year, he will be put into the highest class, for the most advanced kids.
He will not be in the same class as Hatoba anymore. He will not be the 'smartest kid' in his class anymore. Despite how much he says that he is not the smartest, the facts do not lie.
"Kishi-sensei likes you the best," Hatoba says, referring to their teacher. She kicks a pebble across the sidewalk, hands held glumly behind her back.
"He does not," Keiji says, because teachers are not supposed to have biases. His aunt told him so. It's up to him to make the teacher like him, not rely on prejudice and stereotypes.
"Yeah-huh." Hatoba now transitions to hopping on one foot, then the other foot. "You're lucky, Akaashi. You're lucky you're so smart."
Keiji considers this. He is not lucky to be smart—he is only smart because he studies, and he only studies because his aunt makes him study. But then he considers it—maybe he was lucky to get an aunt that makes him study. But he would have never even lived with his aunt if his papa did not send him away, and his papa would have never sent him away if—
When he really thinks about it, he is not lucky. Not in the slightest. He would trade all of his smarts, all of his intelligence, just for an opportunity to see his mama again.
He misses his mama.
—
"Amane-obasan," he says, later that night. "Can we go and...visit mama?"
His aunt sighs as she brings the rice to the table. She sighs a lot, much like his mama and not like his mama at all. When his aunt sighs, it's always accompanied by a frown and a sharp retort. "What brought this on?"
"I just..." Keiji looks down, fidgets with his fingers. "I..."
"Speak up, boy."
"I want to see her again," he says, thinking of his mama's cold body, the peaceful way she was lying down. He wants to see her again, even if it's only once.
His aunt takes a bite of her rice, chews, and swallows. She eats methodically, one piece of food from each area of her plate at a time. "Very well. Would you like me to call your papa while we're at it?"
Keiji perks up. "Papa?"
He hasn't seen his papa in ages either, not since the day he left to live with Amane-obasan. He wants to see how his papa is doing, if he's gotten any happier since he left. "Really?"
And then his aunt does something truly shocking—she smiles down at him. "Of course. You haven't seen him in a while. If you behave extra well for the rest of this week, I'll take you to see him and your mama."
Keiji nods, dutifully finishing the rest of his food. He feels lighter than he has in a long time, as though his heart has taken flight.
Distantly, he wonders if this is what it's like to have wings.
—
"Papa!"
He sees his papa again. His papa's hair has gotten longer, and so has his beard, which Keiji didn't think he had before. But he smiles, if a bit wearily, down at Keiji.
"Kei-chan," his papa whispers, and though he has just turned nine, he lets his papa call him Kei-chan, because he has missed his papa. His papa hugs him tightly, as though he is never going to let him go. "Kei-chan, how are you?"
"Good, papa," Keiji says, clinging onto his papa's hand. "Kishi-san from school says that...I'm gifted."
"Kishi-san is your teacher? Or a friend?"
"Kishi-san is my teacher. But I do have a friend as well."
"Oh?" His papa chuckles softly. "Who is your friend?"
"Her name is Hatoba. Hatoba Momoko." Keiji watches the snow fall from the sky, sticks out his tongue and tries to catch one. His papa ruffles his hair, brushing the soft flakes out as he does. "She's nice. She gets excited really easily."
And Keiji thinks more about his friend, and remembers the day they wrote out all their names in kanji, and they had to research what they meant. "Hatoba's name has the kanji for dove, papa. Isn't that your favorite bird?"
He does not understand why his papa looks so sad as he looks away and says, "Yes. Yes, that is my favorite bird. It's good to hear that you're making friends, Kei-chan."
They continue on the path they're walking along in silence after that. They're approaching what looks like a park, with lots of snowy grass and a lot of stones standing up in the grass. They approach the entrance, and his papa seems to hold his hand tighter as they walk through it.
Keiji does not understand why there are so many stones engraved with what look like the kanji for names in this park, but he's sure that his papa or his aunt will explain eventually. They walk through the rows and rows of neat stones, until they find a stone that reads—
赤葦 ハヌル. Akaashi Haneul. Beneath her name are the numbers 1973-2002. And underneath that are the words, Like heaven on planet Earth.
"There's your mama," Amane-obasan whispers as his papa begins to wipe tears from his eyes. "Haneul."
"Where is she?" Keiji whispers as his papa begins to wipe the snow off of the stone. He sees no sign of his mama, no sign of his mama lying down, sleeping peacefully.
"She's sleeping beneath the ground," Amane-obasan says softly. "Six feet underneath the ground."
"Why's she underneath the ground?" Keiji asks, but he doesn't know if he wants to hear the answer. "Why did they put her under there?"
"She's nothing but a skeleton now, Keiji," she whispers as his papa begins to fully cry now. "Nothing but bones."
Keiji knows what bones are, and he knows what a skeleton is, but—
He doesn't understand why his beautiful mother has been reduced to just that.
And as he wonders, Why did this have to happen to her?, he hears the sound of a bird ca-cawing, and the sound of his papa crying.
—
In fourth grade, he leaves Hatoba behind. But they still see each other during recess and lunch, and she still waits at the entrance for him before school, and she still waits at the exit for him after lunch.
He leaves Hatoba behind, and he meets somebody new.
"My name is Tsurumaki," the boy sitting next to Keiji says when they're being told to introduce themselves. He is sitting in a wheelchair, something that Keiji has only seen in pictures in his books, but never in real life. When the teacher asks him to stand up while introducing himself, Tsurumaki only says, "I unfortunately cannot, Subaru-san. I am paralyzed from the waist down."
Keiji, despite his knowledge that laughing would be rude, giggles softly. Tsurumaki glances towards him, smirking just a little bit.
And that is how Akaashi Keiji and Tsurumaki Yukito become friends.
They do not talk much, like how Keiji did with Hatoba, but they swap books and they help each other on assignments that they do not understand. Keiji prefers fantasy books, while Tsurumaki—or 'Tsuru', as the boy insists Keiji call him—prefers science fiction. They speak less, but they somehow understand more.
Tsuru is sarcastic and biting to anybody that expresses the slightest bit of pity for his situation. When a rather pushy teacher puts her hands on his wheelchair and attempts to direct Tsuru to his next class, he speeds away and informs her that she was going in the wrong direction. Keiji giggles to himself and Tsuru just smirks.
"They don't know what it's like," Tsuru says jokingly, but there's a hint of resentment in his voice. "I can do things by myself. That's why I like you, Akaashi, 'cause you let me do things by myself."
This is true. Keiji hands him things that he drops on the floor, and he asks Tsuru if he'd like him to do small tasks for him, but Keiji does that with other classmates as well. Keiji doesn't treat him any differently because of his disability. If Tsuru says he can do something, Keiji will let him do it. It's really not a hard concept to understand. Keiji doesn't get why other people can't seem to comprehend it.
"I still think that aliens could win against fae," Tsuru says, tapping his papers back into order, sliding his glasses up his nose. "Technologically speaking—"
"Okay, but technology couldn't do anything against literal magic," Keiji argues back, pointing at his book about fae. "When aliens touch base on Earth, they're going to want to do diplomacy first, if they're not stupid. If they get a hold of fae first, then the fae would probably be able to trick them into some contract that would make sure they couldn't do anything."
"They could just shoot the fae in the face. Like, they're allergic to iron, aliens will have all sorts of metals that could hurt the fae."
"Yes, but that's assuming that the new alien metals could hurt the fae—"
"Whatcha guys talkin' about?" a very familiar voice interrupts, and Keiji feels a hand press down on his shoulder.
"Hatoba," Keiji says, turning around, and Hatoba smiles down at him. "Hello. What are you doing in our class?"
"Lunch started!" Hatoba says, tugging Keiji up and out of his seat. "I was waiting for you, c'mon!"
"Oh..." Keiji looks back at Tsuru, hesitant to leave his new friend. Tsuru is smiling, but it begins to fade as he turns away from Keiji. Keiji remembers that Tsuru normally just eats lunch in the classroom—Tsuru insists every time that Keiji is free to go. "Well—uh, could Tsuru-san join?"
Hatoba's gaze shifts from Keiji to Tsuru, and then Tsuru to Tsuru's wheelchair. Keiji wonders for a moment if Hatoba will ask some loud question that will come off as insensitive, before she smiles and says, "Okay! Can—uh, Tsuru-san—get there okay?"
"Yes," Tsuru says, nodding his head and wheeling himself out from underneath his desk. He grabs his lunchbox, dropping it into his lap and nodding towards Hatoba. "Where to?"
Hatoba grins, taking Keiji by the hand and pointing with her other hand. "I'll lead the way!"
—
The three of them become fast friends—Hatoba is extremely delighted to pick up a new friend that's very similar to Keiji but not quite. Tsuru, as Keiji comes to find out, enjoys bragging about his abilities quite a bit. He shows off how fast he can do the algebra problems they're given in class, how fast he can read a book, how fast he can list off the names of different rocks.
Keiji has a nagging feeling that it's to make up for how distinctly un-fast he is in real life. Tsuru has told him that he has a congenital disability, meaning that he has never been able to walk since birth. He has never been able to walk or run or stand. Keiji wonders if he talks so fast, thinks so fast, to compensate for this.
He never brings this up to Tsuru.
"Wow," Hatoba says in amazement as Tsuru lists off all twelve zodiac signs and their dates in order. "That's so cool, Tsuru! Akaashi, why don't you show off all the cool stuff you can do, like Tsuru?"
"Tsuru is much cooler than me," Keiji says as he flicks through his fantasy book. It's a bit disconcerting, having someone that can argue back all his points about his hypothetical fantasy scenarios, someone who can match him in intelligence in almost every way. It's disconcerting, but it's to be expected. Tsuru is naturally gifted—Keiji is only gifted because he studies and practices.
If Tsuru were to actually put in the amount of effort into studying that Keiji does, Keiji has no doubt that he would be leagues smarter than him. Without a doubt.
"You're cool, Keiji," Tsuru says, poking at Keiji's arm with a pencil. "You have...all those big thoughts in your head. About the world and stuff."
Sometimes, Keiji's head feels like it's too small for all the thoughts he has. He thinks far too much—there's always something crossing his mind, something he notices about the world. He wonders about the world's workings, what drives his classmates to act the way they do, why they say the things they do.
He wonders about his mama. He wonders what she's doing now, now that she's dead and on her long journey far, far away. He wonders about his papa, if he's any happier now that Keiji's in Tokyo.
He wonders if it's normal for an eleven-year-old to think this much.
"Akaaaaashi," Tsuru says, waving her hand in front of his face. "Snap outta it, 'Kaashi! You gonna eat your Pocky or what?"
Keiji snaps back to reality, dutifully picking up a Pocky stick and nibbling at two of them at a time. All of them eat Pocky differently—Keiji eats them two sticks at a time, while Tsuru snaps a stick in half and shoves the two pieces into his mouth. Hatoba just takes bites of her sticks, "like a normal person, 'Kaashi, Tsuru, what are you two doing?"
Tsuru shrugs, snapping another stick into pieces and shoving them into his mouth. "More efficient this way."
Hatoba lights up, shaking Keiji by the shoulders. "'Kaashi, you said that once! It was more efficient!"
Keiji knows that he and Tsuru think differently from Hatoba—they are gifted, whatever that means. It seems that both of them prioritize efficiency in everything that they do, but in different ways. Keiji does multiple things at the same time, while Tsuru just powers through whatever assignment he's given.
One of his sticks of Pocky falls to the floor, and Hatoba looks at it in dismay. "Aww, that sucks for you, 'Kaashi."
"Sorry, Hatoba-san," Keiji says, picking the now-dirty stick up and placing it on a napkin. Wasting food is something that should always be avoided, according to his aunt, which he understands. He should be more careful next time.
Tsuru pushes his glasses up his nose, tilting his head, as though he's making a careful decision. Then he snaps his last stick of Pocky in half, handing the half with more chocolate over to Keiji.
"Here," Tsuru says, shaking his hand towards Keiji. Keiji looks down at the melting Pocky stick in his friend's hand. "We can share."
"Oh." Keiji shakes his head, pushing his friend's hand back. "No, it's okay, Tsuru-san." He shouldn't be rewarded for his negligence—and not being able to eat his Pocky is punishment enough.
"Take the stupid thing," Tsuru insists, dropping the stick into Keiji's open hand. The boy huffs, turning his nose up. "For someone who's so smart, you can be really stupid when it comes to people trying to be nice to you."
Keiji hesitates, but the chocolate is melting on his fingers, and it would be a waste of food if his friend is refusing to eat it. Tsuru is staring resolutely out through the window, but Keiji notices him glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.
So he takes a bite, and the chocolate somehow tastes sweeter than usual.
—
"Akaashi-san," one of the girls in his class says to him one day. Keiji glances up from his work. Tsuru is teaching him to fold origami out of normal notebook paper. "Are you dating Hatoba? From class three?"
"Dating?" Keiji asks as he sets down his shoddily-made paper crane. "What exactly does that mean?"
He knows what dating is—it's when two people become romantically involved. His mama had told him that she and his papa dated for two years before they got married and had him. But he is under the impression that dating is for adults. He is currently eleven years old. He doesn't really know how he could date Hatoba.
"Huh?" the girl asks, evidently confused. She waves her hands around vaguely. "Like—y'know! Like you like-like each other. I always see you two hanging out during recess and lunch, so...I just thought..."
"I am not dating Hatoba-san," Keiji says quietly. Frankly, the idea of dating Hatoba irks him in ways he doesn't really know how to express. "We are just friends."
"Ohh," the girl—Nimura, he remembers her name now—nods and smiles. "Okay then. Thanks, Akaashi."
She walks away, and Keiji looks over at Tsuru, who is just as confused as he is.
"Does hanging out with someone frequently mean that you are...in love with them?" Tsuru asks, turning his nose up. "That's pretty shallow."
"I think spending time with someone increases the chances you'll love them," Keiji says, trying his best to fold his crane's wing over properly. He fails. "But I don't think it's a guarantee."
"Hm." Tsuru flips his work over, displaying a perfectly made paper crane. "What do you think about love, Akaashi? There's gotta be some thoughts of it rattling around in that head of yours."
Keiji thinks.
He thinks about his mama. He thinks about his papa. He thinks about the wedding they had, of his mama dressed up in a beautiful white dress and his papa twirling her around under glowing lights. He thinks about how sad his papa was when his mama died, like he would never be happy again.
"I think..." Keiji mutters as Tsuru slides another piece of notebook paper over to him, so he can try folding another crane. Keiji picks up the paper, going through the motions of folding it once again. "I think love is something you feel deep in your soul. Like, once you love someone, you'll never be able to live without them ever again. It's a huge risk. Love can hurt you if you're not careful."
He thinks about his mama and his papa saying, I love you, I love you, I love you in tandem, like the melody and the harmony of a song. He thinks about his mama and his papa, two halves of one whole.
He knows that they were happy with each other. And he knows that he was happy with them. But he doesn't know if the happiness was worth all of the pain that his papa felt after his mama died.
"I don't know if I want to ever fall in love," Keiji says with finality, folding his last fold. He turns the crane over in his hands, scrutinizing it from every angle. It looks better than his last one, but it still doesn't look as good as Tsuru's.
Tsuru has an odd look on his face. He tilts his head, reaching forward to make some minor adjustments to Keiji's crane. With a couple of tugs of paper, the crane already looks much better.
"My mom says it's better to have loved and lost," Tsuru says slowly, looking directly into Keiji's eyes, amber to evergreen. "Than to have never loved at all.
And as Keiji stares at the row of neat paper cranes sitting along their desk, he's left to wonder if his mama would have said the same thing if she weren't dead.
—
A week later, Keiji's walking into class to find a different girl—Karube—talking to Tsuru. It's rude to eavesdrop, Keiji knows this, but Tsuru looks a lot more annoyed than he usually does. He wonders what could have gotten Tsuru so irritated.
"I am not dating Hatoba," Tsuru says flatly, crossing his arms. "And I don't need your pity either."
"But, Tsuru, I—"
"Only my friends call me Tsuru." Tsuru's tone turns snide as he jerks his head towards her. "And I don't think you're one of them. Now go away."
Karube scoffs, staring down at his wheelchair. "Just 'cause you're a cripple doesn't mean you can be rude to other people, y'know." And with that, she stomps off, pushing past Keiji as she does. When Keiji sits down, Tsuru glances over at her before rolling his eyes.
"What's her problem?" he mutters, but Keiji can see him blinking furiously behind his glasses. "I didn't ask for this."
Keiji's not sure what to say to his friend—cripple isn't the word that he would have used to describe Tsuru's plight, but he doesn't know any better words. So he just says, "Ignore her. She's just being stupid."
Tsuru laughs hollowly. "She can't be that stupid if she's in our class, 'Kaashi. She's kinda got a point. I mean...we're all supposed to be…crushing on each other, right?"
Keiji shrugs. Valentine's Day is next week, and Keiji has been hearing more and more about crushes and love and gifts and whatnot. In his opinion, these shows of love seem so much more...superficial than what he's seen with his mama and his papa. His mama and his papa never needed gifts to express their love—they spoke it through words and actions.
"I don't have a crush on anyone right now," Keiji says, taking out his pencil and jotting down the words on the board. "I don't think I ever will have a crush."
He glances over at Tsuru, whose mouth is pressed into a thin line. He wonders why Tsuru looks so distinctly sad at his words.
—
"People are wondering if we're dating you," Tsuru says, days later as they're opening their lunch boxes. "Because we hang out with you so often."
Valentine's Day is in two days, and Keiji is already dreading it. Every year, some girl gives him a box of chocolate, and then his aunt says that he has to get her a gift on White Day, which is a bit of a waste of time, but it's the polite thing to do. And so that means that Keiji must remember the girl's name, the girl's face, and he must properly rehearse what he will say when he declines the girl's advances. And then he will have to console the girl, as though he is supposed to return her feelings solely because she had them first. Even though he does not owe her anything, even though he knows that her feelings are so fleeting, she will go on to crush on somebody else within days.
Keiji does not like Valentine's Day.
Keiji likes the idea of love more than he likes love itself.
"What?" Hatoba asks, crinkling her nose as she dishes out their servings of pocky. "Ew. That's gross. Why would I be dating either of you?"
Tsuru throws his hands up in exasperation. "I don't know! I don't wanna date you!"
"Neither do I," Keiji says, and he would normally be more aware of how his words affect Hatoba, but Hatoba's making a scrunched up face, like she's disgusted at the very idea of dating either of them.
"I wouldn't date either of you anyway," Hatoba declares, crossing her arms. "Boys are gross. Cooties."
Keiji's and Tsuru's response to that is to slap Hatoba on both of her arms, in perfect sync. Hatoba shrieks in dismay, swatting at both of them. "Hey! You both just said you didn't wanna date me!"
"Who would you date, though?" Tsuru asks, now leaning back in his wheelchair. There's a glimmer of mischief in his eyes, Keiji can see it behind his glasses. "If you had to pick from all the boys in our grade, who would you pick?"
"None!" Hatoba says with her entire chest. "I wouldn't date any boy! I would date Shimamoyo from class three!"
There's a pause after Hatoba's words, long enough that Hatoba begins to look back and forth between them in confusion. "What? What'd I say wrong?"
"Aren't both of you girls, though?" Tsuru asks, and his words are not derogatory, just confused. "I thought...only girls and boys were allowed to...date."
"That's dumb." Hatoba rolls her eyes, punching Tsuru in the arm. "Shimamoyo’s pretty, and she thinks I'm pretty too! And boys are stinky, so it's perfect! I don't have to date any boy, and I can date Shimamoyo instead!" She looks so smug, so proud of herself.
Keiji had never thought of it that way—he had never even considered the possibility of having a crush on another boy.
Whenever he thought about himself falling in love, he was always reminded of the love his papa and his mama had for each other. He thought he would find a nice girl, one that complemented him like his mama did for his papa. He thought he would get married to her, this nameless and faceless girl, in a wedding ceremony like his mama's and papa's. And it would be one of the happiest days of his life, but not the happiest, because he wouldn't have his son or daughter yet. And his parents would be there at his wedding…
His mama's dead, and his papa's all the way in Kamakura. He doesn't know much about what the future holds in store for him, but he's sure that his papa won't be able to make it to his wedding if he's so far away.
He doesn't understand a lot of things, but he hopes that he'll understand when he's older.
—
"'Kaashi," Tsuru says as Keiji comes into the classroom. It's Valentine's Day, and Keiji has already been accosted by a girl with chocolates and a card, and Keiji had to very politely accept the chocolates and decline her confession. He doesn't really understand why so many girls always confess to him, every year, but it's getting somewhat exhausting. At least it will be over after today, at least for a little while.
"Tsuru," Keiji says, nodding his head and sitting down. He fidgets with his fingers as he sits down, glancing around at their classmates. They're all milling around, talking about who they're going to confess to. Keiji sighs, pulling out his notebook and writing down the title on the board.
There's a small tap at his arm, and then Keiji looks to the side.
Tsuru is blushing, from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He slowly pushes a small mesh bag of chocolate towards Keiji, then withdraws his hand as quickly as possible. There is no card attached to it, not even a note.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Keiji," Tsuru whispers, and then he snaps his head to stare out the window.
There is no explanation. Tsuru is blushing, but Keiji's not sure if it's from embarrassment or if he genuinely likes Keiji. He has never seen any indication from Tsuru in the past that he likes Keiji like that. He has no reason to believe that Tsuru has a crush on him.
Tsuru refuses to talk any more during class. Keiji lets him sit there in silence as he stares at the small bag of chocolates that Tsuru gave to him. After a while, when the teacher isn't looking, Keiji unties the white ribbon and opens the bag. There are six vaguely square chocolates in the bag. They look homemade.
Did Tsuru make these for me?
Keiji looks up at the teacher, then sneaks a chocolate. He bites it in half to find that there's strawberry jam inside. It tastes good. His aunt doesn't let him have sweets like these very often, saying that they were only for special occasions. But this is a special occasion, is it not? Tsuru did not do things like these often.
Keiji flips to the back of his notebook, carefully ripping out a page of paper.
Thank you for the chocolates, he writes, his strokes deliberate and straight. I'm grateful to have someone like you in my life, Tsuru.
He taps his pencil against his chin and wonders if he should write anything else.
Are you in love with me? Do you mean what you say? You did not actually say anything, so do your actions speak louder than words? Are we too young to be dating?
Are you actually in love with me, or is this just a stupid crush?
Keiji quickly writes the rest of the notes that the teacher has on the board, before setting his pencil down and placing his hands in his lap. He begins to fold the paper over and over, in motions that have become familiar to him.
Bend this here...fold this here...follow the creases…
It's harder, doing this without Tsuru's help. But his efforts are rewarded when he slides the crane across the desk to Tsuru, and the boy’s face lights up with unfiltered joy. Tsuru takes it, delicately running his fingertip along the edges of the paper.
"Unfold it," Keiji whispers, nudging Tsuru. Tsuru just shakes his head, placing the crane down on the desk and patting its tiny head.
"I can't," Tsuru whispers back, a soft smile on his face. "This is the best one you've made yet."
—
"'Kaashi," Tsuru mumbles later that day, after school. Hatoba is running around, skipping hand-in-hand with a girl that Keiji recognizes as Shimamoyo. "I think I like you."
The wording of his statement is ambiguous, Keiji notices. He thinks that he likes Keiji, not that he knows he likes Keiji. And he said I like you, not I love you. These two facts combined makes one thing clear to Keiji: this is not love. This is merely just a crush. Temporary infatuation. Something sweet, but not something that will last.
"Okay," Keiji says softly, slowly. Tsuru's ears have gone completely red, and he's pointedly avoiding Keiji's gaze. "I don't...I don't know if I feel the same way. What about me makes you—makes you think you like me?"
Keiji doesn't think he has any particularly amazing attributes. He is not loud and extroverted like Hatoba, he is not smart and refined like Tsuru, he is not even wealthy like Shimamoyo. He has gotten many confessions over the years, but he has never gotten a substantial answer.
All of the girls fall back on a singular answer: "It's because you're pretty."
He knows that he's attractive enough—his mama and his papa said that he inherited the best of their genetics, and he can see it when he looks in the mirror. He inherited his papa's tan skin, thick hair, and large hands, and he inherited his mama's evergreen eyes and lithe stature. But that cannot be the sole reason that people seem to be infatuated with him. Just looks, and nothing more?
Is there anybody willing to look past the surface, past his pretty face?
"There's something about you," Tsuru murmurs, hands twisting in his lap. Keiji remembers that everything that Tsuru does, he does fast. It's likely that the chocolates were a spur-of-the-moment decision, a decision that Tsuru made on a whim.
Tsuru likely does not love him, and Keiji…
Does Keiji feel the same way towards Tsuru? Whatever it is that Tsuru is feeling for him, does Keiji feel the same?
"You're more than a friend, Keiji," Tsuru eventually says. His hands are braced on his wheelchair, like he's ready to make a run for it at any moment. "At least, to me. I don't...I'm not sure why I feel this way. Maybe it's something different about me, maybe it's something different about you. I think..."
Tsuru closes his eyes, taking his glasses off and wiping his eyes. "I think I could fall in love with you, and I think you could fall in love with me, if you just...gave it time. I don't know. I don't—"
"Yukito," Keiji says quietly, reaching forward to take one of Tsuru's hands. He does not normally touch Tsuru—he does not normally touch any of his peers besides Hatoba, and that is because Hatoba touches him first. He also normally does not address any of his peers by their given name, but Tsuru did just now, so he supposes he should too. "It's okay."
Keiji adjusts Tsuru's hand so that they're clasping each other's hands, and Tsuru's face seems to be reaching a dangerous level of red at this simple action.
"Give me until White Day," Keiji says, his voice as steady as ever. "Please. I'll tell you how I feel then."
And all Tsuru does is stare at Hatoba, who is running around with Shimamoyo Mitsuki without a care in the world.
"Okay," Tsuru whispers, so soft that Keiji can barely hear it. "Okay."
—
"Tsuru likes me," Keiji tells Hatoba a couple days later, when they're having a playdate at her house. Well—Hatoba insists that they're eleven years old now, and so they shouldn't call them 'playdates', they should call them 'hang-outs'. "Like, like-likes me."
"Ooh!" Hatoba says excitedly, clapping her hands together. She leans forward, no longer paying attention to the anime that's playing on her TV. "Is it like me and Shimamoyo?"
"I mean, I guess," Keiji mutters, picking at his curry rice. "But I don't know if I like him back like that."
"Oh," Hatoba says thoughtfully, then shrugs. "Well, that's not gonna stop you from being friends with him, right?"
Keiji hadn't thought about that. He supposes that this confession from Tsuru does not mean that their friendship has to change. It is, after all, a shallow infatuation, a mere childish crush. It's times like these that Keiji is thankful for Hatoba's straightforwardness, and her more simplistic thoughts.
"What'd you tell him?" Hatoba asks, now unwrapping the chocolates she got from Shimamoyo. "You didn't just leave him hanging, right?"
"No. I told him to give me until White Day, and I would tell him then."
Hatoba nods, mouth bulging with chocolate. "That's smart! You're smart, 'Kaashi, and so's Tsuru! You two will figure it out!"
"Hatoba," Keiji begins, and then he pauses. How should he phrase this? He doesn't want to offend his friend, but he doesn't know how else to put it. What's the point of thinking about all of these grand thoughts, but not being able to properly express them? "Do you think you and Shimamoyo will last after elementary school?"
His friend shrugs, as cheerful as ever. "I dunno! But she makes me happy right now, and I wanna be happy right now."
"You don't...worry if she'll...stop liking you?"
"If she doesn't like me anymore, then she'll tell me," Hatoba says matter-of-factly. "And if she doesn't like me anymore, then we'll just go back to being friends! Simple as that!"
The way she says it makes this childish kind of love sound so easy. Like it doesn't matter that it's impermanent and fleeting, just that it was there.
"What if you...stop liking her?"
And this makes Hatoba pause, scrunching her face together in thought. "Hmm. Dunno. Haven't thought that far yet. I mean, I probably won't ever stop liking her. Shimamoyo's so interesting! Y'know that she sees colors when I talk? She told me that it's called...syn...syne..."
"Synesthesia?" Keiji asks. He read about it in a book once, and the concept fascinates him. Where the stimulation of one sense leads to an involuntary stimulation of a different sense. Where you seem to hear colors.
"Mhm! Mhm!" Hatoba nods her head up and down vigorously. "She says that I'm pink and purple! Like pale pink and purple, like the sunrise, or the sunset!"
"I could see that," Keiji murmurs, scooping up the rest of his curry. "What color am I?"
"Oh, she's never heard you speak before. So she doesn't know."
Keiji nods. That's reasonable. "Should I speak to Shimamoyo?"
"Ooh, you should! I should invite her over during lunch!"
Hatoba then goes on to ramble about how it would be great if her two best friends could get along with Shimamoyo, because that would mean she would have three best friends, and the more friends the merrier. She goes on and on about every characteristic of Shimamoyo's, until Keiji's sure that Hatoba thinks that she's the most amazing girl in the universe.
Keiji, meanwhile, is wondering and dreaming about what it would be like to hear Tsuru describe him in painstaking detail, just like this.
—
Keiji looks in the mirror. Mirrors fascinate him. Before they were invented, people had to bend down to look at themselves in the mirror, in rivers and ponds. And even then, the reflection they would see was warped, imperfect.
Here, with modern technology, he can see himself in clear, painstaking detail.
He moves his hand, and the boy in the mirror moves his as well. He moves his head, and the boy in the mirror moves his as well. But their movements are flipped—Keiji moves his right hand, but the mirror boy moves his left. They are near identical, save for this one flaw.
When Keiji looks at himself in the mirror, he sees fragments of both his mama and his papa.
He thinks as he gazes at his reflection. He picks out what he can see of his papa. Tan skin. Thick hair. Large hands. He picks out what he can see of his mama. Evergreen eyes. Small shoulders. The same smile.
He wonders who he looks more like. He asked this question to his aunt once, and she told him to not waste time asking such foolish questions. Children contain fifty percent of their father's DNA and fifty percent of their mother's DNA. He is perfectly half his papa and half his mama.
But Keiji doesn't think that's quite right. He thinks that sometimes when he looks in the mirror, he looks more like his papa. And sometimes when he looks in the mirror, he looks more like his mama. He can't quite explain it.
He wonders if this is what his friends see when they look at him. A small boy that's made up of bits and pieces of his mama and his papa. And maybe—maybe he's made up of bits and pieces of his friends as well. He has begun to laugh like Hatoba, make clicking noises with his tongue like Tsuru. And some of his traits are all his own, like the way he fidgets with his fingers.
There's no way a simple mirror could capture all of this. He wonders if there is anything that could ever capture all of it—the way Keiji is like a mosaic, made up of shiny pieces of glass and stone, pieces of everybody he has ever known.
He wonders if Tsuru—brilliant, clever Tsuru—would be able to do such a thing.
He wonders if Tsuru would be able to see everything that lies beneath him.
—
He dreams of Tsuru, in the weeks leading up to White Day. He dreams that they are together, staring up at the vast night sky. There are stars shining high above them, tiny pinpricks of light.
The stars in the city never do shine as brightly as the ones in Keiji's dreams.
In his dreams, they are always doing something different. Maybe they are sitting next to each other, maybe they are lying down beside each other, but they are always together.
Tsuru talks, and Keiji listens. Listens to the sounds of his friend's voice, how they wash over him like a melody. Tsuru talks, and Keiji watches the curve of his friend's jaw, and how the light of the stars seems to sparkle in his eyes.
"I think I could fall in love with you, and I think you could fall in love with me, if you just gave it time."
"Yukito," Keiji says to the boy in his dreams. Tsuru turns around with curious eyes. And he is smart enough to know that this is a dream and not reality, and so none of what he is saying to this dream Tsuru will matter. Neither his words nor Tsuru's words are true.
So he asks his question anyway: "Did you mean it when you said you could fall in love with me?"
And the boy in his dreams smiles and takes his hand, holding him close.
"Yeah, Keiji. Of course I could. But the real question is if you could fall in love with me."
And Keiji looks to the sky in his dreams, wondering this very same question. He feels Tsuru sigh, leaning against him.
I think I could, Yukito. I think I could fall in love with you, with enough time.
—
"Tsuru," Keiji says on White Day. He's holding a small bag of candy, one that he got from Hatoba. He didn't want to tell his aunt about his White Day plans, and Hataoba was more than happy to help him out. "I think I could fall in love with you, with enough time. I accept your confession."
Tsuru blushes bright red, from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. He accepts the bag of candy with a mumbled ‘thank you’ and Keiji responds with a ‘you're welcome’, like always. The teacher comes in, and she starts the class.
Nothing changes between them. They still help each other out with their schoolwork, and they still fold cranes and pass them to each other. Keiji wonders if crushing on somebody is supposed to feel like this—just normal.
"I don't know what you're supposed to do when you're dating someone," Tsuru confesses later that day during lunch. It's strange, hearing Tsuru admit he doesn't know something. Tsuru is always so sure of himself, so confident that he is right even when he is wrong. Keiji wishes he could have some of that confidence. Maybe then, he would spend less time thinking and more time acting.
But it seems that now, Tsuru is the one doing the thinking. He hunches in over on himself, pressing his lips together in a tight line. His hands stay firmly planted in his lap, fidgeting in a way that Keiji recognizes as familiar. It's what he does whenever he is anxious.
"I think..." Keiji looks up at Hatoba and Shimamoyo, who are making their way over to them. They are holding hands, swinging their hands back and forth as they do. "We are supposed to hold hands?"
It seems that Keiji is now the one acting, as he slowly reaches his hand over to Tsuru, palm up. He does not take Tsuru's hand, because that would be rude, and he wants Tsuru to make the decision for himself.
He knows how little autonomy Tsuru has over the decisions he makes for himself. Over the course of their fifth grade year, Keiji has noticed that Tsuru has been pulled out of classes more and more, always for health reasons. There are more and more teachers insisting that they accompany him everywhere, even when he does not need it. Keiji has seen Tsuru become more frustrated, wanting to do something but ultimately being unable to do anything.
Keiji wants Tsuru to make his own decisions. This is one of them.
Slowly—slowly—Tsuru reaches his hand over to Keiji's. His hand hovers over Keiji's own for a second, before he drops it into Keiji's palm. Tsuru's hand feels smooth, and Keiji stays still, not wanting to scare Tsuru off. Tsuru drops his face into his other hand, mumbling something to himself and flushing red all the while.
Hatoba and Shimamoyo make their way over, Hatoba leading the way. She brightens as she sees the two of them holding hands, waving her hand towards them. "'Kaashi! Tsuru!"
"Hello," Keiji says as the two girls sit down at their table. He holds up his hand and Tsuru's hand. "We are...dating?"
"Yay!" Hatoba cheers, clapping her hands. Shimamoyo merely looks towards the two of them with mild disinterest bordering on disgust, then turns to Hatoba and looks at her as though she's hung the moon and stars. "We're all dating now! Shimamoyo, meet Tsuru and 'Kaashi! Tsuru, 'Kaashi, meet Shimamoyo!"
Shimamoyo gives them a smile that looks more like a sneer, then returns to smiling pleasantly at Hatoba.
"Shimamoyo, these two have been my friends for a long time! Tsuru since fourth grade, and 'Kaashi since first!"
"I see," Shimamoyo says, her voice measured and steady. It's similar to Keiji's own voice, but slightly less monotone and slightly more pleasant. Now that Keiji has an opportunity to see her up close, he can see how every detail of her is pristine. Her hair is cut at chin-length, perfectly straight, and her bangs stop right above her eyebrows in a perfect line.
Shimamoyo smiles again, and this time, it looks a bit more genuine. "Thanks for taking care of Momoko."
"First-name basis, huh?" Tsuru asks, raising an eyebrow. He still has not let go of Keiji's hand. Keiji would point out how Tsuru is being a hypocrite, with how they once referred to each other with their given names, but he is too distracted by the fact that Tsuru has decided that he will still hold onto his hand.
"Mhm!" Hatoba nods her head happily. "But I like calling her Shimamoyo, because her name sounds so pretty! Shi-ma-mo-yo!"
Shimamoyo Mitsuki smiles down at Hatoba, and Keiji vaguely feels like he's intruded on something, something private and intimate that is not for his eyes. This is something between Shimamoyo and Hatoba, something special meant only for them.
Tsuru clutches Keiji's hand tighter, and Keiji wonders if Tsuru is thinking the same thing.
—
They make their way into their last year of elementary school, the four of them. They are an odd quartet, and they are told as much by the people around them. No matter how you slice it, somebody always seems to be the odd one out in their group.
The most obvious oddball of their group is Tsuru, who sticks out in his wheelchair like a sore thumb. Kids also wonder why Hatoba hangs out with them, because Hatoba has dozens of other friends, so why hang out with those three freaks? Keiji thought Shimamoyo would be well-liked by the other kids in their grade, but it turns out that she's not. She's too blunt and too honest for most of them.
And Keiji? Kids don't even notice Keiji slinking behind his friends like a living shadow, constantly following in their wake. They don't notice that there's a fourth person in their quartet until they get too close. And then Tsuru will snap at them to go away, or Hatoba will cheerfully say that she'll play some other time, or Shimamoyo will tell them to stop bothering them.
"I don't know why you hang out with me," Keiji, newly twelve years old, says one December afternoon. All three of his friends turn to him, confusion written across their faces. "There's...I don't know, there's a lot cooler people for you to hang out with."
"That's dumb," Tsuru says, rolling his eyes. It has been many months since the two of them officially started 'dating', whatever that means. Truly, nothing really changed between the two of them. Sometimes, Keiji wonders if Tsuru forgot they're 'dating', but then Tsuru reaches for his hand and refuses to let go. "You're the coolest, 'Kaashi. I don't think we could put up with anyone else."
Tsuru has been saying this for a long time, but it's only until recently that Keiji has begun to doubt his words. Is Tsuru just saying these things because he has a crush on Keiji? Are his words true? Can Keiji trust that his words aren't affected by emotion?
"You're super smart!" Hatoba pipes up, but her words no longer comfort him in the way they used to. Far too many people say that he's smart, just by looking at his accomplishments. They just assume that he is naturally gifted, without looking at the effort he puts into his work. He feels like a fraud every time it's said.
And then the two of them look towards Shimamoyo, as though they're expecting her to say something nice as well. Shimamoyo looks up from her bento, merely shrugging her shoulders in one small motion.
"You tell interesting stories," is all she says before going back to eating.
Hatoba shouts in surprise, shaking Shimamoyo by the shoulders. "What kinda answer was that?! Say something else! Say something nice!"
Shimamoyo shrugs again, and Keiji can see so many of his own traits reflected back at him. Her eyes are pools of darkness, shining like black diamonds as she looks over at him. "That's all I like about him. He tells interesting stories."
And then Hatoba continues scolding her, and Tsuru joins in after a moment. Shimamoyo just rolls her eyes and keeps eating her bento.
To any other person, Shimamoyo's words would come off as cruel, but to him, there's an odd sort of comfort in them. Shimamoyo is not trying to sugarcoat anything about him—she is just saying what she finds intriguing about him. It is one specific thing, nothing vague or nebulous like 'you're the coolest', or 'you're super smart'. And they barely know each other, but the fact that Shimamoyo even says it at all is—
It makes him feel better about himself. Paradoxically, he knows it shouldn't be true, but it is true.
"Thank you, Shimamoyo-san," Keiji says, nodding his head and stopping the argument. All of his friends look towards him. "That means...a lot to me."
Shimamoyo shrugs once more. "You tell stories about fantasy lands. You tell stories about Korea. Places I've never gone to before. They're interesting. I want to know where you got them from, so I can hear more of them."
Keiji nods, making a mental note to possibly find some stories set in a fantasy version of Korea in order to entertain Shimamoyo. "Very well."
Shimamoyo Mitsuki is as pragmatic and utilitarian as always, and it's her brutal honesty and bluntness that deters most other kids. But there are people that have managed to break through to her—Hatoba Momoko, her words of sunshine able to melt her cold exterior, and Tsurumaki Yukito, his sharp words able to pierce her hard shell.
But it's Akaashi Keiji who just sits by her, watching her and waiting for her to come out on her own.
"You know what color you are?" Shimamoyo asks as Tsuru rolls off to get extra pudding, and Hatoba tags along with him.
"My color for what?" Keiji asks, confused. He finishes up the rest of his lunch and goes about packing up his containers. Across from him, Shimamoyo does the same.
Shimamoyo taps the side of her head. "Hatoba told you about my synesthesia, didn't she? How I see certain colors when I hear certain noises?"
Ah. This makes much more sense. Keiji nods, standing up in anticipation of the bell.
"Hatoba is pale pink and pale purple," Shimamoyo continues. "Tsuru is white, and sometimes gold. And you..."
Shimamoyo gestures around Keiji's face. "You are green. Emerald green. Jade green. Phthalo green—"
"Phthalo?" Keiji asks, his mouth tripping up on the unfamiliar English word. "What is that?"
The girl clicks her tongue, tilting her head and pointing directly at his face. "It's the color of your eyes, Akaashi. The exact color."
"Ah." Keiji wonders what that must look like, whenever he speaks, to see such a rich and vibrant color. Is it overwhelming? He'll never know, because he is not Shimamoyo and he can never be Shimamoyo. "I see. Thank you, Shimamoyo-san."
"Don't be so formal," Shimamoyo says, and it's an order. "Shima is fine, if I can call you...Aka-chan, maybe?"
"Tsuru and Hatoba call me 'Kaashi," Keiji says, and Shima shakes her head.
"Too juvenile," the girl says, wrinkling her nose. "But 'Aka' means red, which goes against the colors I've associated with you in my mind."
"Maybe I am just contradictory." It's funny how things work like that. The 'aka' in his surname means red, but his identifying color is green. His papa gave him his surname, and his mama gave him her eye color. Two contradictory and yet complementary things combined together.
"'Kaashi, then, I suppose," Shima says, making her decision. She presses her lips into a thin as she watches Hatoba and Tsuru get accosted by one of their classmates.
For some reason, everybody still thinks that Hatoba and Tsuru are dating, though they vehemently deny it every time. Nobody ever thinks that Shima and Keiji are dating, even though they spend a lot of time with each other as well. Perhaps it's because they're too similar—a kid did ask him if Shima was his cousin.
And now that Keiji looks at the girl's face up close, he can see that Shima is contradictory as well, just like him. Because 'shima' means stripes, but there are two tiny moles dotting Shima's cheek, and a few more along her arms. Shima absent-mindedly brushes her thumb against one of the moles on her wrist as she holds her hand out for Hatoba to take.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then, Shima."
"You too, 'Kaashi."
—
It's on a cold January evening that Keiji comes home to find his aunt on the floor of the living room, sobbing with her hand pressed to her mouth.
"What has—" Keiji begins to say, but his aunt is already cutting him off, without even turning her head to look up at him.
"Your father has passed, Keiji," she says in a strangled whisper. "He's dead. He's gone."
Amane-obasan does not cry for anything, and she does not touch Keiji, but she makes her way over to him now and wraps her arms around his shoulders. Keiji can feel her tears making their way into his shirt, and her touch is unfamiliar and cold.
For once, his aunt sounds terrified, and the shock of it all is crashing down upon Keiji, and he is only left to wonder what will happen now.
But his one thought of relief is this:
Papa. If you're dead now, I hope you're able to find Mama. I hope the two of you will be happy, wherever you are.
—
Akaashi Kyouji dies on the tenth of January, 2008, at an unknown time. It has been a week since he died in his small apartment in Kamakura, Japan, his only family being his aging mother, his two elder sisters and one younger brother, and his twelve-year-old son.
Keiji does not cry this time, in the week leading up to his papa's funeral. His aunt Amane cries enough for the both of them, and so do his aunt Minako, his uncle Ryouta, and his aunt Amane. They come over every day, fill out paperwork that Keiji doesn't understand. Every time he comes over to ask a question, his relatives snap at him and tell him to do his homework.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Tsuru says when Keiji tells his friends. He puts his hand on Keiji's hand, running his thumb over Keiji's fingers. Tsuru's hand is smaller than his, and paler as well, Keiji notices. Such a stupid thing to waste his thoughts on, when his papa is dead.
"That's so sad, 'Kaashi!" Hatoba wails, already crying for Keiji. "I didn't know that's why you were gone on Friday!"
"When is the funeral?" Shima asks, handing a tissue to Hatoba and handing a tissue to Keiji as well. He is not crying, but he dabs at his eyes with it anyway. "I will ask my mother to send you care packages."
"This Saturday," Keiji says, feeling Tsuru squeeze his hand. "Thank you. Amane-obasan will appreciate it."
"You can cry, Keiji," Tsuru whispers as he puts both of his hands in between Keiji's one hand. "It's okay."
Keiji just shrugs. He hasn't seen his papa in a very long time, and there's a sudden rush of guilt as he realizes that he hasn't thought about his papa in a very long time.
"I don't know what there is to cry about," Keiji whispers, and his throat feels like it's closing up. He only saw his papa once in the last six years, and that was to visit his mama's grave. His papa never once asked to see him again, and Keiji's not sure how to feel about that.
He forgot about his papa, but his papa forgot about him as well.
"I never really knew him, anyways."
—
On the day of the funeral, Keiji wakes up early. He sits by the glass door that leads to the balcony connected to his room. From this angle, he's sure that he can't see the actual sun rise, but he can see the sky become twinged with a hint of pink. He would be able to get a better view if he actually went out onto the balcony, but it's January, and it's cold outside.
He wonders if he'll be able to see any birds today, if any of them will be brave enough to make their way through the howling winds and the cold snow. He doesn't really care. He just wants a moment of peace before his papa's funeral.
He stares up at the sky, and remembers some words that his mama said to him, a long time ago. He had asked what death means, and his mama said this:
"It means I'll go to heaven, Aegiya. Or perhaps I'll go to hell. I'm not sure. But when I die, I'll go on a long journey that'll take me far, far away from you."
Where was heaven? Where was hell? What exactly did going to either of those places mean? He now knows what heaven and hell mean—heaven is the place where all the good souls go after death, and hell is the place where all the bad souls go after death. Those in heaven would be rewarded, and those in hell would be punished.
However—what dictated a good soul, and what dictated a bad soul? What was the judgment process behind such a decision? Who decides who is good and who is bad? In the books that Keiji has read, God is mentioned, being more like a title than just a noun. But that's the Christian God, and though Christianity is practiced in Japan, it is not a predominant religion. Before God, there were kami, and before them, there were—well, nothing. So what happened to dead people then?
Akaashi Keiji wonders, and Akaashi Keiji dreams. So he wonders which version of which religion is true, and what truly happens to people when they die.
If there is a heaven, he knows his mama's already up there. He hopes his papa's up there as well, but he's starting to find out that maybe his papa wasn't such a good person after all. He's heard from his aunts, his uncle, his grandmother, about how his papa spent the last few years drinking himself to death, how he wasted his money on gambling and booze, and how he wasn't there for Keiji.
Did it matter? Did it really matter? Sure, Keiji missed his papa dearly, but he was...fine. He met Hatoba and Tsuru and Shima, and they did not cure his loneliness, but they diminished it. He thought less about his mama and papa when they were around. It's not like some horrible thing happened to him, or anything like that.
And besides. Keiji remembers the way his papa laughed around his family, the way he smiled at his family, the way he took care of them when they were together. He was good to Keiji, and that's all that mattered, right?
Keiji sighs, fogging up the glass with his breath. He used to draw things in the mist with Tsuru, and Tsuru would write cuss words and Hatoba would laugh and Keiji would scold him. He never got the opportunity to introduce his parents to any of his friends in Tokyo. He wonders what they would have thought of them.
A sudden movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. He turns his head to find two birds sitting on the balcony railing.
A black bird, and a white bird. A raven, and a dove.
Ravens were Mama's favorite bird. Doves were Papa's favorite bird.
He remembers what his mama said about omens. He's learned many things about literature, about symbols and metaphors. His mama was the yin to his papa's yang, the black to his white, the moon to his sun. They complemented each other perfectly. And now—
Reincarnation is a part of Buddhism. He doesn't know which religion holds the truth to what happens after death, but if it were possible for the love between souls to transcend time and space, then it was certainly possible for Keiji's parents to find each other again. In every life, in every timeline.
"Mama?" he whispers, hardly daring to breathe. "Papa?"
The two birds turn their heads towards him, almost exactly as he speaks these words. First the raven, then the dove.
And then the two of them take to the skies together, flying away until they're nothing but specks amongst the rising pink of the dawn sky. Keiji doesn't even realize he's reaching his hand out to them until his arm begins to ache from the exertion.
He recalls that childish dream of his. To have inky black wings sprout from his back, so he can jump off the balcony, feel the wind through his wings, and fly. To go on a long journey far, far away. To follow his parents to wherever one goes after death.
But there are dreams, and then there is reality. And Akaashi Keiji can dream and wonder all he wants, but there is no denying the reality.
Both of his parents are dead, gone, and never coming back. At twelve years old, Akaashi Keiji is an orphan.
—
The funeral is a somber affair. Keiji understands more of it now as he watches the casket containing his papa's body be carried into the room and set on a platform. There is a large picture of his papa's face standing on an easel near the entrance.
Keiji stares at the picture for a long time. His papa looks happy in the photo, but Keiji knows that it is an old photo, taken before his mama died. His papa's hair is short, and he is clean-shaven, and his smile holds a warmth that Keiji did not see the last time they met. And now—
He's gone. He's gone forever. Gone on a long journey far, far away. He's gone, and I'll never be able to speak to him again.
He can feel tears pricking up at the corners of his eyes, and his uncle puts a steadying hand on his shoulder and turns him into the ceremony room.
He has a somewhat better understanding of what it means to die, now that he's twelve years old and not six. They talked about death in science class, what it means when organisms' bodies stop working. When they die, their bodies slowly decay, all of the flesh is eaten by decomposers, until the only thing that's left are their bones.
But it's only when he's face to face with his papa's body, dropping white flower petals onto his neatly pressed tuxedo, does he realize—
Papa is going to be like that as well.
Papa is not sleeping.
Papa is dead.
There is a difference, because he is never going to come back. He cannot wake up.
Once the ending of a story is written, it can never be erased.
"Papa..." he whispers, and this is the first time he has spoken all day. Two tears roll down his cheeks and splatter onto his shirt sleeve. He can't even see it, because the fabric is black, absorbing the liquid easily. "Papa."
His knees feel weak, like he's about to collapse at any moment. He didn't get long with his mama, and he didn't get long with his papa. Seven years with the two of them, and then he had to go to Tokyo while his papa did—did what? What was so important to him that he couldn't raise Keiji as his own?
"Papa!" And in front of all the guests, obedient, quiet Akaashi Keiji sinks to his knees, burying his face in his hands, crying for a man that was less a father and more of a living ghost. It's as though a dam has finally broken in his chest, and a whole ocean's worth of emotions come flooding through, violent and terrible and entirely too much.
"Shh," his Minako-obasan whispers as she helps him pick himself off the ground, leading him out of the ceremony room. "Kei-chan. Kei-chan, it's alright."
His papa called him Kei-chan. His mama called him Aegiya. Keiji will never be able to hear either of them call him that ever again. Nothing is alright.
He hears the whispers of the guests as he passes them.
"Poor boy," he hears. "His mother died, and now his father as well. So young to be suffering so much misfortune."
"Perhaps it's the boy that's cursed. Something about him invites evil spirits, invites death. Both of his parents never stood a chance because of that."
"Ignore them," his Ryouta-ojisan says, placing a hand on Keiji's other shoulder, rubbing soothing circles into his back. Keiji watches Minako-obasan shoot the person who said that a nasty glare. "Just ignore them, Kei-chan."
"That poor boy. What will happen to him?"
"I hear his aunt is raising him here in Tokyo. She has been for a while now, for the past six years."
"Six years? That poor, poor boy. His father was living in his apartment by himself for all that time?"
"That poor boy no longer has a home."
Now that his papa is dead, Keiji can never go back to his home in Kamakura. He'll have to stay with Amane-obasan in Tokyo, and he'll never be able to return to his childhood home. His aunt's apartment, with all the hustle and bustle of Tokyo traffic, serves as a house, but it is not home.
Keiji thought that home was with his mama and his papa. He thought that home was in his parents' arms, watching them dance a waltz, listening to the sound of his mama's singing and laughing, eating the food that his papa made for them. He thought that nothing bad could ever happen to him so long as he had a home with them.
His mama and his papa were his home, but now they're dead and gone, and they took Akaashi Keiji's home along with them.
Notes:
— Hatoba Momoko in kanji: 鳩場 喪々子
- 鳩: "pigeon, dove."
- 場: "place, location, scene, setting."
- 喪 means "mourning, grief, bereavement."
- 々 means "a repetition kanji or ideographic iteration mark."
- 子 means "child, offspring, young, junior, small thing."
— Tsurumaki Yukito in kanji: 鶴巻 千翔
- 鶴 means "crane."
- 巻 means "roll, volume, scroll, bookbinding."
- 千 means "thousand."
- 翔 means "soar, fly, glide."
— Shimamoyo Mitsuki in kanji: 縞模様 美月姫
- 縞模様: "striped pattern", a reference to the striped owl
- 美 means "beauty, beautiful, pretty."
- 月 means "moon, month."
- 姫 means "princess, noblewoman."
— Akaashi Kyouji in kanji: 赤葦 亨治
- 亨 means "prosperity, success, smooth sailing."
- 治 means "govern, manage, cure."
— I do not know how gifted and talented programs work in Japan. I do not know if such programs even exist. I am just projecting my pains as a GT kid onto akaashi.
— if the way I'm portraying a disabled person is off or offensive in any way, please correct me!
— yeah I orphaned akaashi. whoops. sorry akaashi.
— scream at me about making akaashi an orphan on Tumblr
Chapter 3: the church (pt. 1) - 3
Summary:
They talked about fate, the last time they went to Sunday school. They talked about how God has a plan for everybody, and how they should not be afraid to face life's challenges, because it was all part of God's plan. Every trial they face is meant to make them stronger. Fate is predestined. The paths they walk are set in stone.
How could somebody make their own decisions if they had a fate set in stone? Did that mean that certain people were destined to go to heaven, and others were destined to go to hell? Who made that decision? God? Why would God do such a thing? Maybe it's to punish evil people, but nobody is ever born evil. It's their actions that make someone evil—they learnt that at Sunday school as well. Is there something fundamental in a person that determines if they are evil or not? Is it their soul? Is it—
"Whatever you're thinking about," Shima says from right next to him. "It certainly isn't volleyball, because those last few sets were crap."
Notes:
if you've noticed the chapter count has gone up to 10: yeah this fic is. long. way longer than I thought. anyway enjoy
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Akaashi Keiji is twelve years old when he gets lost for the third time.
His aunt has become more superstitious since his papa's passing. Apparently, she has become more religious as well, because she now takes Keiji to church on Sundays.
Keiji is not inclined to believe in one single god. There is so much that makes up their vast world—why should there be one god that maintains all of it? If divine intervention really did exist, he's more inclined to believe that there are multiple gods maintaining the world's delicate balance. He doesn't particularly want to believe in anything, but he also sort of wants to believe in something.
And yet, no matter how many times his Amane-obasan says that God will be their salvation, Keiji can't really bring himself to believe her words. But it's no good to argue against her—she's grieving, in her own way. Keiji figures that if it makes her feel better, he will go along with it.
So he spends three hours every Sunday, getting dressed in formal clothes, sitting on a church pew, and listening to the pastor sing hymns and quote lines from the Bible. He thinks he might have enjoyed the stories told in the Bible if he were allowed to read them himself, without somebody standing over him and telling him what each word and each line meant. The joy of literature is that the reader is supposed to come to their own conclusions about the work. The reader is supposed to interpret the text according to their own opinions, not anybody else's.
So as it stands, Keiji is rather bored by church. He finds out that he's about to become quite a bit more bored on one April evening, when his aunt tells him:
"You'll be going to Sunday school every Sunday as well, Keiji."
"Why?" Keiji asks, finishing the rest of his dinner and carrying his plates to the sink.
His aunt just sighs. Her temper has gotten shorter as well, ever since his papa died. She speaks less, eats less, and does less. Still, she never breaks down fully. Not like how his papa did when his mama died.
"Because it will be good for you, Keiji. You'll understand when you're older."
He learns that this will lead to him sitting through only one hour of the sermons, but two hours of him sitting in a classroom and filling out worksheets about God and Jesus.
There's only one problem: the church that he goes to is larger than he thought it was. When he gets to church the next day, his aunt tells him to go along with the rest of the children, and so he gets up and follows the rest of the kids that attend church. But the church is big, and there are a lot of people, and so Keiji gets lost.
He wanders around for a little bit, unsure of where he is supposed to go. He peeks into the rooms that are not being used. There is one large room with colorful stained glass windows, and he marvels at the sight. It depicts Jesus Christ with a lamb in one hand, a shepherd's crook in the other. He does wonder why Jesus' skin is so pale, if he was born in the Middle East, but he supposes every artist has to take creative liberties.
He takes another step, but before he can, he hears—
"Akaashi?"
Keiji recognizes that voice. He spins around, coming face-to-face with Shimamoyo Mitsuki. She's wearing a simple white dress, her hands folded over her chest. A silver cross necklace gleams around her throat.
"Shimamoyo," Keiji says, nodding his head towards her.
"What are you doing here?" Shima asks, completely and utterly confused. "I...didn't know you went to my church."
"Your church?"
Shima waves her hand, casting a sullen glance down to the ground. "My uncle is the pastor. My aunt is the choir director. My parents fund the church."
"Ah. I am here for Sunday school."
Shima tuts, then she reaches her hand out for Keiji to take. Keiji takes it, and allows himself to be guided towards where he assumes the classroom for Sunday school is supposed to be.
"How are you enjoying church so far?" Shima asks, seemingly walking as slow as she can. She drags her feet as she walks, so different from the prim and proper way she normally walks while at school.
Keiji just shrugs. "It's..."
What should he say? He doesn't want to offend Shima, but she doesn't seem to particularly enjoy church. He doesn't...mind church, but it's beginning to grate on him, everybody insisting that God is the answer for everything, like He's the end-all, be-all destination.
"Fine, I suppose."
"No need to lie to me, 'Kaashi," Shima says bitterly as she tugs at her cross necklace. "You can say that you like it here. I know you like stories about the divine and whatnot, and there's certainly enough stories in the Bible about that. Turning water into wine. Walking on water. Floods. There's a lot of things about water, actually—"
"I do not like how everybody keeps insisting that fantasy is reality," Keiji says quietly, cutting his friend off. "There's stories, but there's also the real world, and I don't know if...I don't know if there is actually some immortal being up in the sky, watching us. I think the likelihood of such a thing is really low."
It almost gives Keiji whiplash, how quickly Shima's face goes from irritated to relieved.
"You don't believe in him either," she says slowly, running a hand through her perfectly straight hair. Keiji shakes his head, shrugging.
"I only go here because my aunt insists that I go. I was supposed to start my first day of Sunday school as well. Actually—how come I have never seen you around before?"
"I don't attend any of the sermons. I only help out with Sunday school," Shima says, her lips curling into a sneer. "I do it for volunteer hours. My mother insists that if I get paid, I would be doing the church a disservice. Not like this stupid church is running out of money any time soon."
"Hypocrites, all of them," Keiji says in a deadpan voice, and Shima bursts out laughing. "The rich are supposed to give unto the poor. Actually—you are already the rich. You should be giving money to me. I am an orphan."
Shima abruptly stops laughing. Keiji hesitates, wondering if he's said or done something wrong. His friend sets a hand on his shoulder, asking, "Are you okay? It's been...a while since he died. I know you didn't like us coddling you, but..."
"Everything is fine," Keiji says. "Why wouldn't it be?"
He did not like being coddled, those first few weeks after his papa died. The constant asking from his friends, his family, his teachers. It was the worst coming from Tsuru or Hatoba, people who had treated him normally now treating him like glass. Like he'd shatter at the slightest touch.
Are you okay? As if he had a choice in the matter. As if he could afford to just completely break down, let his world collapse around him. He couldn't do that. Middle school was right around the corner, and he had to keep his grades up if he wanted to get into a good middle school.
Life is unfair. Either you lie down and die, or you get over it.
"Everything is fine," he repeats again, but Shima looks even less convinced. "Really. I've been so busy with school, and you all, and now this, I haven't even had time to think about..."
Papa. Mama. How they're gone. How I'll never see them ever again. How I got so little time with them. How they'll never get to see my friends. How they'll never get to see me graduate high school. How they'll never get to see me get married.
"I haven't even had time to think about them," Keiji chokes out, and it feels like there's a whole ocean's worth of emotions crashing around inside his chest. At any moment, it could all flood out, destroying everyone and everything around him.
His aunt grieves by finding someone to believe in, and Keiji grieves by forgetting what he lost.
Shima surges forward, grabbing him by the shoulders, holding him steady. Keiji suddenly feels so feeble, so frail, like he could be knocked over by a particularly strong breeze. He's gasping for breath, a drowning man trying to reach air.
"Shh," Shima whispers, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, pressing his face into her shoulder. Keiji wails, his voice echoing off of the church's walls. She doesn't even care that he's getting snot and tears on her pristine white dress—normally, she'd yell at him for it. "Shh. Akaashi. Akaashi, I've got you."
Keiji doesn't believe in God or any such thing. But in this moment, he can believe that Shimamoyo Mitsuki, with her pristine white dress and her perfectly straight black hair, could be a guardian angel sent for him in his hour of need.
—
"You excited for middle school?" Tsuru asks on Monday, as he's folding a paper heart from his gum wrapper. Tsuru's branched out, ever since fourth grade, into other origami shapes. Hearts, butterflies, turtles. Keiji admires his ingenuity.
Keiji just shrugs, folding his gum wrapper into geometric shapes. "I don't know. Which one are you going to?"
"My parents want me to go to Mori," Tsuru says absentmindedly. He stretches his arms over his head, cracking his knuckles. Keiji taught him how to crack every single one of his knuckles, solely because the sound of it disgusts Hatoba. "So I guess that's where I'm going."
Keiji nods. He'll keep Mori Junior High as an option for where he should attend middle school. Hatoba mentioned that among her options for middle school as well. Ideally, he'd like to go to a middle school that has his friends, so that he can stay with them.
"Did you take your medication today?" Keiji asks, and Tsuru grumbles.
"I forgot," Tsuru says, rummaging around in his bag for the pills that he has to take daily. Something for his legs, but neither of them really know what they do.
Both of them know that Tsuru doesn't 'forget' anything. Tsuru's memory is excellent. But Tsuru doesn't like being told to do something, from adults, whether they be parents or teachers or doctors. So if he doesn't want to do something, he just won't do it.
In Keiji's opinion, this is very counterintuitive. Tsuru is very smart, but he can also be very dumb when he wants to. The medication will help him get better, so why doesn't he take it?
He told Tsuru as much one time, and Tsuru had just snorted and said, "You think they've made any medicine that can make me walk, 'Kaashi?"
So he doesn't say anything this time, just watches Tsuru like a hawk while he takes out the bottle of pills, stares at it, and then shrugs and puts it back into his bag. "I'll remember later at home." Keiji figures there's no use pressing the issue, but he does sigh in Tsuru's general direction.
"Oh, shut up," Tsuru says, flicking the heart he made out of a gum wrapper towards Keiji. He nods towards it as it lands on Keji's notebook. "That's for you, by the way. 'Cause I'm such a good boyfriend."
Boyfriend.
They have been dating for a long time now, ever since that day in fourth grade. If it were anyone else besides Tsuru, Keiji would have assumed that their childish relationship had fizzled out a long time ago. Tsuru rarely ever brings the topic of romance up, so much so that Keiji sometimes goes days forgetting that they're 'dating'.
But it's Tsuru. Tsuru's memory is impeccable, and so Keiji knows that he never forgets anything. And yet, they haven't really...progressed in their relationship. Keiji is older now, and he knows how the stages of a relationship are supposed to progress. They're supposed to work their way up from hand-holding, to hugging, to kissing.
They've been stuck at hand-holding for a very long time now. Keiji doesn't particularly care if they stay at hand-holding, because he likes it somewhat. He's happy with it, and if Tsuru doesn't want to do anything more than that, then he's fine with that.
He doesn't wonder what it would be like to hold Tsuru, because Tsuru can't really get out of his wheelchair. He doesn't wonder what it would be like to kiss Tsuru, because they're far too young for kissing.
But as he slips the gum wrapper heart into his pencil case, he does wonder if Tsuru ever wonders what it would be like to kiss him.
—
"What are you doing?" Keiji asks one day in March, as he and Tsuru make their way onto the concrete during recess. Shima is spinning a volleyball around in her hands, and Hatoba is kneeling on the concrete, with clear bruises on her knees and arms.
"Shimamoyo's trying to teach me how to play volleyball!" Hatoba says cheerfully, hopping back up to a standing position. "It's not going very well!"
"You just need practice," Shima says, bouncing the volleyball on the ground multiple times. "It's only your first day doing it, after all."
"Hey, hey, 'Kaashi!" Hatoba runs over to Keiji, grabbing him by the hands and dragging him over. "You try!"
"Try what?" Keiji asks as Hatoba puts her hands out in front of her. Tsuru wheels himself closer, crossing his arms and already snickering at what is sure to be a trainwreck.
"Shimamoyo says that this is called a receive," Hatoba says, holding out one fist and wrapping her other palm around it. "And you're supposed to get the ball to hit you on—on the wrists, and it's supposed to go where you wanna go!"
"The key word being supposed to," Tsuru says, and Shima visibly represses a laugh.
"So try it!" Hatoba says, and so Keiji reluctantly puts his hands out in the same way. Shima throws the ball up into the air before quickly putting her hands into position and bumping the ball towards Keiji.
Keiji is not a very athletic boy. He is decently tall, but skinny, and he doesn't particularly hate sports, but he doesn't love them either. So that is why everybody is surprised when he receives the ball, sending it right back to Shima—and he is the most surprised out of all of them.
Shima, meanwhile, is the least surprised, and immediately readjusts herself to send the ball back to him.
"I bet on him lasting fifteen more seconds," Tsuru whispers loudly, leaning over to Hatoba.
"Hey! Be nice!" Hatoba whispers back, just as loudly. "I bet on thirty seconds!"
The two of them then surreptitiously begin looking through their pockets for any loose change to bet. Keiji can't really focus on them, because he's too busy stepping around, doing his best to keep up with Shima.
He has no doubt that Shima's going easy on him, probably because she just wants a playmate and is willing to go easy on him just so she can play. He appreciates it somewhat, but he does feel like he could do this better, faster.
As if she's reading his mind, Shima increases the speed of how she's bumping the ball, and it moves slightly faster. She's definitely more practiced, barely having to move to hit his receives, even though they start getting a bit all over the place. She's able to redirect all of them back to him easily, in tight, controlled arcs.
It takes a talented person to do something good for the first time, but it takes even more talent to make someone think they're doing something good for the first time.
Eventually, though, he fails at a receive, and the ball ends up hitting him in the face. He shouts, stumbling back, and Tsuru laughs at his expense.
"That was way longer than thirty seconds," Hatoba says in awe. Shima nods, spinning the volleyball around in her hands again.
"You're pretty good, 'Kaashi," Shima says, tossing the volleyball towards him. It bounces off the ground once before he catches it. "I'm gonna teach you how to play volleyball."
"Thank you, Shima, but I—"
"I'm going to teach you how to play volleyball," Shima repeats herself, and her tone suggests that there's no room for argument.
—
"Volleyball practice, huh?" Tsuru asks the next day as he wheels himself out to watch Keiji practice volleyball with Shima. "Sounds fun."
"She thinks I will be able to become a good player, if I give it time," Keiji says, kicking at a pebble and watching it skitter along the pavement. He knows that all good skills get better with time, but he has doubts about his volleyball skills. He had never even touched a volleyball before yesterday. Skills could only be cultivated if there was talent behind them, and he's unsure if he has the natural talent suited for volleyball.
"Have fun," Tsuru says idly as he turns around to head back inside.
Keiji startles. "Where are you going?"
"Back inside?" Tsuru scoffs. "I can't play volleyball, what with these useless things." He then gestures to his legs before turning to go back inside.
Keiji's heart drops. He hadn't taken into account how Tsuru wouldn't be able to play with him—Tsuru has never been able to play any sport before. He can't run. It's just another reminder of how he'll never be able to have a normal life.
What kind of friend—what kind of boyfriend—would Keiji be if he didn't figure out a way to make Tsuru feel like he belonged?
"I'll figure out a way for you to play," Keiji blurts out, and Tsuru stops. "I'll...figure out a way for you to play with us. Please. Yukito."
He feels guilt when he knows he shouldn't really feel it. Tsuru being paralyzed isn't his fault—it isn't anyone's fault. It's just how the world is.
But he feels the guilt being alleviated when Tsuru turns back around and says, slowly, "Okay, Keiji."
And he wheels himself forward, taking Keiji's hand and pulling him along. Keiji walks at the pace that Tsuru sets, reminding himself that it was just a stroke of luck that made him the way he is.
Just a stroke of luck that allowed him to be able to stand, to walk, to run.
—
"There are five major positions in volleyball," Shima says as she tosses the volleyball towards Tsuru. Tsuru catches it, immediately bringing it up to his face to observe the ball's stitching. "Do not sniff my volleyball."
"I'm not sniffing anything," Tsuru shoots back. He knocks the ball in between his knuckles, watching as Shima lectures Keiji.
"There are five major positions in volleyball," Shima repeats herself, standing in front of Keiji while Hatoba watches in interest. She ticks her fingers off as she speaks. "There's outside hitter, or left-side hitter, opposite hitter, or right-side hitter, middle blocker, or middle hitter—"
"A lot of hitting in this game," Tsuru interrupts, and Shima's normally monotonous face morphs into a scowl. "How violent."
"It's a glorified game of 'don't let the balloon touch the ground', and if you don't like it, go away," Shima snaps, and everyone startles back. She then seems to realize that she's overstepped, takes a deep breath, and calms down.
"Apologies," she says, schooling her face back into a neutral expression. "There are two other roles, in addition to all of the hitters. There's the setter, and there's the libero. Now..."
She walks around Keiji, presumably assessing his build and potential as a player. "You're tall, but not tall enough to be a hitter. You'll probably grow, but right now, I think you'll be good as a setter. Maybe a libero, but you're not small enough for that."
"What does the setter do?" Keiji asks. He understands none of the words that have come out of Shima's mouth.
"Throw the ball up!" Shima calls to Tsuru. "In an arc, if you can!"
Tsuru shrugs, but tosses the ball up. It curves in a high arc, coming down right above Shima's head. Shima shifts her feet, then puts her palms up to the sky, and bumps the ball with her hands. She directs the ball back towards Tsuru, and the ball lands directly in his hands.
"That's a set," Shima announces, while Tsuru's staring down at the ball in his hands, awe-struck. Hatoba lets out a triumphant whoop, even though she didn't do anything. "The setter puts the ball up for their hitters so that they can hit it over the net. They're the control tower. The strategist."
Keiji nods. He now vaguely remembers a two week period in third grade where they had to play volleyball, and that there was a person who put up the ball for the other people to hit. He supposes that was the setter.
He likes the sound of being a strategist, but it also sounds kind of daunting. The kind of title that implies that there are a lot of people depending on you.
"You think you can try that?" Shima asks, and she doesn't even let Keiji respond before she's barking out an order for Tsuru to "throw it again!"
Tsuru throws the ball again, this time over to Keiji. Keiji shuffles around, hurriedly putting his hands up, and manages to flub the ball over to Shima. It soars high enough that he thinks it's passable, but even he can tell that it's sloppier than Shima's work.
Shima backs up a couple of steps, then takes a running start. She takes one large stomp, jumping into the air, lifting her arms up, and Keiji thinks—
Oh.
Maybe humans really can fly after all.
The girl raises her right hand above her head, and her palm comes up to meet the ball with a satisfying SMACK! The ball bounces onto the concrete, right in front of Hatoba's face. She jumps back with a startled squeal, and the ball tumbles lamely at her feet.
Keiji turns his head to look over at Shima, gauging the expression that she's making. He's pleased to see that it's one of satisfaction, as she dusts her hands off and runs over to retrieve the ball.
"That's good," Shima announces, dribbling the ball onto the pavement as she walks, as though it's a basketball and not a volleyball. "Bit low, but it's a good start, 'Kaashi. Really good."
"Heck yeah, 'Kaashi!" Hatoba shouts, running forward and grabbing Keiji by the shoulders. She holds up her hand in a high-five, and Keiji reluctantly slaps his palm against hers. Tsuru gives Keiji a slow clap as he wheels himself over to them.
"It'd be cooler if you could be like Shima-san," Tsuru says, nodding over to Shima. The girl just smiles, somehow looking unbelievably smug without even trying. "Players like her get all the glory."
"I don't really want glory," Keiji mutters as Shima tosses the volleyball towards him. "That's...a lot of pressure, isn't it? I don't mind being in the background."
Tsuru thinks about this, and then shrugs a bit.
"Well. Don't stars shine brighter in the darkness?"
—
Keiji goes into middle school. Remarkably, he gets to take his friends along with him.
"Same school!" Hatoba says cheerfully as the four of them all make their way into the halls of their new middle school. "We're really lucky, you guys!"
"First day of middle school, and they're already shoving clubs into our faces?" Tsuru mutters as he looks at a flyer for an arts and crafts club. "'Kaashi. Join this arts and crafts club with me, we need to work on your origami skills."
"My origami skills are perfectly fine," Keiji mutters as he walks besides Tsuru. His friend scoffs, taking one hand off his wheel to bump it against Keiji's arm.
"You joining any clubs, Shimamoyo?" Hatoba asks, bumping her knuckles against Shima's. Shima just smiles and takes Hatoba's hand in her own, intertwining their fingers together.
"Volleyball club," Shima says decisively, nodding her head. "My mother's not too happy with it, but..."
"But you'll do it anyway," Hatoba says, stars in her eyes. "You're so brave, Shimamoyo."
"Nothing brave about it," Shima scoffs, but she clutches Hatoba's hand even tighter. "Just...me being a stubborn idiot, that's all."
"You gonna join the volleyball team too?" Tsuru asks, nudging Keiji in the side with his elbow. "Shimamoyo's been training you, hasn't she?"
"Mm." Keiji shrugs. Shima has been training him every day during recess and lunch, occasionally threatening him with throwing her volleyball at his head. He has gotten better, and he has been considering joining the volleyball club, but—
"I don't think I'm good enough to join," Keiji says as they make their way through the hallways. "Perhaps later on in the year, when I improve."
"It's better to join early," Shima insists. "And besides, they'll teach you. They'll have actual coaches, and they'll be better teachers than I am."
"You're a very good teacher."
"Don't lie to me, 'Kaashi."
Keiji hums as he waves goodbye to his friends, stepping into his class with Tsuru.
What constitutes telling the truth? What constitutes telling a lie? Keiji honestly believes that Shima is a good volleyball teacher, but does that matter when Shima doesn't think that she's good at teaching? What's the truth then? Is Shima good or is she bad? Everyone at church tells him that lying is a sin, but he hadn't meant to lie, so what then—
"'Kaashi," Tsuru says, snapping his fingers in front of Keiji's face. "Snap out of it. You're, like, overthinking something again. Stop doing it. You look...you look dumb."
Keiji blinks, shaking his head. "Sorry."
Tsuru just sighs, his hands working at a piece of paper. Right as the bell rings, Tsuru pushes the origami crane across the table.
"You're really good at everything that you try to do," Tsuru says decisively as he stares straight ahead. "So stop being an idiot and doubting yourself. 'Kay?"
Keiji fidgets with his fingers, then with the crane. It's as pristinely made as always, not a single fold out of place. Keiji has never been able to make a crane as well as him. He tries anyway, hands working under the desk while the teacher talks.
He doesn't believe it when Tsuru says that he's good at everything that he tries, because he's obviously still not as good as Tsuru when it comes to origami. He tries anyway, and he slides the result of his hurried work over to Tsuru. Anyone with functioning eyes can tell that it's less well-made than Tsuru's, despite him trying to do it for so many years.
"You're so good at this, Keiji," Tsuru whispers as he takes his crane and turns it over in his fingers. Tsuru's words fill him with warmth, warmth that he's not sure that he deserves.
Is it a sin if he doesn't lie, but if he believes a lie? Even if it makes him feel better?
After all, the road to hell is paved with good intentions.
—
"I'm joining the volleyball club," Keiji announces to his aunt later that night at dinner. His aunt startles, looking up from her plate. Their dinners are normally silent, and they now normally never really eat with each other.
"Oh," Amane-obasan says after a bit. "That's...that's good, Keiji, that's good. Do you know how to play?"
"My friend has been teaching me how to play."
"Who is your friend?"
"Shimamoyo Mitsuki."
"Who is that?"
"She goes to our church."
"I've never seen her with you."
"She helps out with Sunday school, but she doesn't go to the sermons."
"You've never mentioned her before."
Keiji sighs. This is why they do not talk much. His aunt is overprotective at some times, but negligent at others, and it's a gamble as to which side she will take. A similar conversation to this happened when he got his flip phone, but she gave him it eventually. Will she give him this? It is a sport, and he's never shown much interest in sports, and he could get hurt if he's not careful—
"When is the first meeting?" his aunt eventually asks, and Keiji can feel the tension fading from his shoulders.
"This Thursday," Keiji says, and his aunt nods. "Thank you, Amane-obasan."
"Well," his aunt sighs as she stands up to clear the table. "You'll need some good extracurriculars for high school. Even if you're nothing but a benchwarmer, you can still put that as something you did. Good on you for thinking ahead about that."
Keiji pauses, then gets up to take his plates to the sink. He doesn't want to play volleyball just as an extracurricular—he wants to see if he's any good at the sport. But his aunt said that he'll be nothing but a benchwarmer. That's a thing that's likely to happen, but—
Does she really have no faith in my abilities?
Is she lying to me? Or is she being honest with me?
Keiji finds it odd that, when people compliment him, his Amane-obasan will tell him that he shouldn't take it all to heart. He should assume that the person is lying, or at the very least, not being completely genuine. And when he messes up on a homework assignment, his Amane-obasan will tell him that he'll never get anywhere with an attitude like that, and that she's only telling him the truth.
Why should he assume that every good thing spoken to him is a lie? Why should he assume that every bad thing spoken to him is the truth?
Is he really such a bad person if he just wants to feel better about himself?
Is that really such a sinful thing to want?
—
"My name is Akaashi Keiji," Keiji announces to his new teammates, fidgeting with his hands behind his back. "I came from Tanashi Elementary. I am excited to be playing with you all."
"Nice to meet you, Akaashi," the rest of his new teammates drone. Keiji nods, stepping back. Good, he didn't mess up his introduction, and he'll have made a good impression on his teammates and coach.
Many of the kids have never played volleyball before, so the coaches teach them all to do basic receiving drills and passing drills and various other drills. Keiji may have learned the bare basics from Shima, but he's still got a long way to go.
Keiji wonders if he is a bad person for being grateful that everybody else sucks at the sport just as much as he does.
—
"How was club practice?" Shima asks as she meets Keiji at the front of the school. Hatoba and Tsuru had already gone home when school ended, and Keiji is kind of sad that he didn't get to say goodbye to Tsuru like he normally does.
"Fine." Keiji shrugs. "You lied to me. I'm very behind in terms of skill."
"Well, yeah, you've never actually played the sport with anyone besides me."
"I assume that you blew everybody away with your amazing volleyball skills."
Shima breathes out, making her bangs float up. They're getting longer—Keiji assumes that she'll have to cut them soon. "Actually, I was about on the same level as everyone else. There's a couple girls that are way better than me. I think that they'll make the starting lineup."
"I believe in you."
His friend sighs again. "Don't lie to me, Keiji. If you saw me during practice, you wouldn't be saying that."
It seems that Shimamoyo suffers from the same plight as Keiji does. She's unable to determine lies from flattery, authenticity from deceit.
"Lying's a sin, y'know," she says mockingly as she flicks the cross necklace hanging around her neck. It's the one she's been wearing more and more, like it's a ball and chain.
—
Life continues on. Keiji spends his spare time practicing math problems, practicing volleyball, practicing origami.
"You free this weekend?" Hatoba asks, running up to Keiji and tapping him on the shoulder. Her books are nearly falling out of her backpack, and so Keiji pauses to zip it up for her.
"Maybe." Between classes, volleyball, and church, Keiji has not had much free time. Middle school is much more demanding than elementary school ever was. "I might have to check with my aunt."
Hatoba pouts, in the same way she did when they met five years ago. "Your aunt's no fun, 'Kaashi! She never lets you do anything besides study!"
"That's not true," Keiji mutters. His Amane-obasan allows him to do volleyball practice, if only for the sake of having an extracurricular to talk about when he's in high school. She even lets him attend the arts and crafts club meetings—though she says it's so she can learn how to socialize with his senpai.
She always commends him for wanting to go a step above, go the extra mile to prepare for his future. Keiji never corrects her on his real intentions: he just wants to go to these clubs just to enjoy himself.
He wonders if that could be considered lying as well, if he just never corrects her and lets her believe what she wants to believe.
"My mom says all work and no play makes you boring," Hatoba says, planting her hands on her hips. "She wants you to come over for dinner on Friday! Nobody else, just us two! We can watch Totoro!"
"We've already watched Totoro," Keiji says, but he's smiling nonetheless. "I'll ask her. Okay?"
Hatoba squeals, clapping her hands together. "Okay!"
But he has so much to do—he has to worry about the math test next week, he has to worry about working on his receives, he has to worry about—
"You're thinkin' too hard again, 'Kaashi!" Hatoba raps her knuckles against the side of Keiji's head. "That's not good for you! Look, just one day, 'kay? Just one day to relax."
Keiji inhales, exhales. Though he has so much to worry about, he feels an eerie sense of calm wash over him. Like the eye in the center of a hurricane, the calm before the storm.
"Okay."
—
"Totoro," Hatoba coos as she opens the front door. A fat gray cat makes his way over to her as she bends down to pet him. "Didja miss me, Totoro?"
"You've been spoiling him," says Keiji as he leans down to pet the cat as well. "Hello, Totoro. Do you recognize me? It's been a while since I last came here."
Totoro mewls, running away and into the kitchen. Somebody—probably Hatoba's mother—is opening a can of cat food. Keiji shakes his head. "See? I told you, you've been spoiling him. His greed sickens me."
"He's just a little cat, 'Kaashi!" Hatoba chases after her cat, but despite his increased size, he still manages to get away. "Well, I mean, he's not that little anymore. But you get my point, right!"
"I do get your point." Keiji takes off his shoes, placing his backpack beside Hatoba's. Hatoba's mother comes into view, holding Totoro, and Keiji bows respectfully. "Hatoba-san. Thank you for having me over for tonight."
"It's no problem at all, Akaashi-kun!" Hatoba-san says, allowing Totoro to jump onto the ground. She ruffles Keiji's hair, then places a hand on his shoulder and guides him into the living room. "Now, we're having katsudon for dinner, if that's alright with you?"
"Of course." Keiji nods his head once more, following Hatoba-san. He watches Hatoba chase Totoro around some more, trying her best to pick him up and carry him around.
He remembers that Hatoba had found the kitten as a stray, half-drowned in a rain gutter, with a chunk missing from both of his ears. No family or a home to speak of, so Hatoba gave him a family and a home.
"Watcha thinkin' about, 'Kaashi?" Hatoba asks, now tired of chasing her cat around. She bumps her shoulder against his and laughs, in the same way she used to do when they were children.
Keiji opens his mouth, then closes it and shakes his head. He's not sure if he could properly articulate all the thoughts swirling around in his head. Hatoba tilts her head curiously, then shrugs and goes off to turn the DVD player on and pop in her DVD of My Neighbor Totoro.
It's only after she comes back does Keiji figure out what to say. "I was thinking about my mama and my papa. I was thinking about how they would have liked to meet you."
Hatoba's mouth falls open, and she lets out the tiniest of gasps. She looks like she's about to say something after that, but then she shuts her mouth and shakes her head as well. She grabs Keiji by the shoulders, pulling him closer to her.
"I would have really liked to meet your parents too," Hatoba whispers as she hugs Keiji. "They were probably really nice, just like you, 'Kaashi."
It's been six years since his mama died, and nearly one since his papa died. All that time, and he has had barely any time to remember them. Remembering only hurts, only makes the loneliness in his chest grow more and more.
"I don't want to think about it," Keiji whispers, pulling his legs up to his chest as he watches the opening scenes of Totoro play. "Forget I said anything."
Hatoba nods as her mother sets two bowls of katsudon down in front of them. Neither of them say anything as they eat and watch Satsuki and Mei have adventures in the forest behind their house.
Keiji watches the girls visit their mother in the hospital, and try as he might, he can't stop himself from thinking about his mama. Their mother sits in the hospital all day, in a clean white bed, doing nothing but sleep and eat.
Keiji wonders if that would have been what happened to his mama if she went to the hospital. He wouldn't be able to see her every day, and he might have worried every day if she was alright, but—
Satsuki's and Mei's mother got better. Could his mama have gotten better if she went to the hospital? Would she still be here? And his papa—the only reason his papa fell into depression was because his mama died.
If his mama lived, could his papa lived as well? Would he have been able to stay in his home in Kamakura? Would he have gone his entire life without meeting or knowing Hatoba, Tsuru, Shima?
"But I think..." Keiji says, an hour later, as the end credits of the movie are rolling. Hatoba turns towards him, intrigued. "I think I'm glad I came here. Because I met you. And Tsuru, and Shima."
And Hatoba nods, grabbing him in a tight hug once more. He thinks she's starting to cry, but that would be silly. There's nothing to cry over.
"I'm really glad I met you too, Keiji!"
—
"That's a beautiful crane, Akaashi-kun," the third year girl who's running the arts and crafts club says as she walks by Keiji and Tsuru. "Do you mind if I could use your crane as an example for the other kids?"
Keiji startles, looking up at her. Tsuru startles as well, looking between Keiji and his crane. Keiji looks over at the half-finished crane in Tsuru's hands. Normally, Tsuru would have finished already, but he's working a lot slower for some reason.
"Of course," Keiji tells the third year girl, who smiles and gently takes the crane from him to show to the rest of the kids. He looks back towards Tsuru, who's now fumbling with his paper crane.
If it were any other person, Keiji would have offered to help. But it's Tsuru. Tsuru never needs help. And even if he did offer, Tsuru would just refuse and insist that he's fine.
"If you had finished it, she would have used yours as the example," Keiji says as Tsuru finishes folding his crane. It's as pristine as ever. "Yours is better."
"Nah," Tsuru says, flicking the crane across the table. "Yours is better. You've gotten even better than me, 'Kaashi."
Keiji thinks about him and Shima, and how the two of them never seem to know how to accept a compliment, because they don't know if it's genuine or not. He thinks about what Shima would do, which would be to immediately deny Tsuru's compliment. Keiji doesn't really want to be so mean to Tsuru, so he just shrugs and nods and starts trying to fold a heart out of paper.
"Are you alright?" Keiji asks, now looking at his friend more closely. Tsuru seems a lot more tired than he normally is. There seems to be dark shadows underneath his eyes, and his fingers are moving a lot more slowly than they normally do. "You seem...fatigued."
"I am fatigued," Tsuru mumbles, nodding his head. He pushes his glasses up his nose with a tired hand, rubbing his hand over his face. "I couldn't sleep last night."
"Do you know why?"
"Insomnia." Tsuru's eyes blink slowly, and his head snaps upright suddenly, as though he's trying to keep himself awake. "My mom had issues sleeping. It's probably genetic."
He laughs hollowly, shaking his head. "Just my luck, huh, 'Kaashi?"
Keiji hums thoughtfully as he folds the paper over onto itself. His aunt had struggles with insomnia, but she took medication for that. Something called melatonin. If she had insomnia, and if insomnia was genetic, would he get insomnia someday as well?
"Here," Keiji says, pushing the paper heart towards Tsuru. He remembers when Tsuru made a heart out of a gum wrapper, some time ago, and he remembers how Tsuru had said he did it because he was a good boyfriend.
He doesn't know if he's fallen in love with Tsuru yet. But he'll keep waiting. And in the meantime, he'll return all of Tsuru's gifts.
Tsuru's face immediately lights up as he takes the heart and runs his thumb over the heart's edge. Keiji has found that he's much better at the hearts than he is at the cranes, for some odd reason. "I love it. Thank you, Keiji."
His friend looks far too happy for it just being an origami heart, but Keiji's glad that he's happy.
"Hey, lean over here, Keiji."
The club meeting is mostly over, and the kids around them are packing up and starting to leave. Despite this, Keiji moves his chair closer to Tsuru's wheelchair, leaning in. "Yes?"
The tips of Tsuru's ears have gone bright red, and he quickly moves his face towards Keiji's. He plants a very brief, very quick kiss on Keiji's cheek, before clapping his hands over his mouth and turning his head away.
Keiji, a bit awestruck, raises his hand to brush it over his cheek.
Tsuru just kissed me.
My...boyfriend just...kissed me?
"Sorry," Tsuru immediately blurts out, which takes Keiji by surprise. Tsuru is always far too prideful to apologize for any of his actions. "Sorry, I just...we've been...dating since fourth grade, and I thought..."
"Thank you, Yukito," Keiji says, as formal as ever. Then he internally slaps himself—surely he should say something better than just thank you after being kissed. "I..."
What he should say is I love you, but he fears that when the words leave his mouth, they will be lies. And he doesn't want to lie to Tsuru—he'd rather do anything than lie to Tsuru.
Somehow, he gets the thought that lying is a sin, but lying to Tsuru is an even graver sin.
"I'm grateful that you've stayed with me," Keiji says instead, and it's not I love you, but he hopes that it can be a good enough replacement.
The look on Tsuru's face tells him that it's more than good enough.
—
He doesn't become starting setter, no matter how hard he trains. That's fine—he expected as much. He's only a first year player, and there's lots of other older, talented players on the team.
Shima doesn't get on the starting lineup on the girls' team either. But unlike Keiji's resignation, she is instead filled with a kind of hopeful delusion.
"Practice with me," she orders him one day after school. Their caretakers are both working late that night, and Keiji figures that he doesn't really have anything else better to do. So he shrugs and dumps his backpack on the gym's sidelines, and he runs after Shima and her volleyball.
They talked about fate, the last time they went to Sunday school. They talked about how God has a plan for everybody, and how they should not be afraid to face life's challenges, because it was all part of God's plan. Every trial they face is meant to make them stronger. Fate is predestined. The paths they walk are set in stone.
Keiji did not bother to point out how, in the class before that, they talked about how the decisions they made in their life could make them go to heaven or hell. If they made mostly good decisions, they'd go to heaven, and if they made mostly bad decisions, they'd go to hell. These two lessons directly contradict each other.
How could somebody make their own decisions if they had a fate set in stone? Did that mean that certain people were destined to go to heaven, and others were destined to go to hell? Who made that decision? God? Why would God do such a thing? Maybe it's to punish evil people, but nobody is ever born evil. It's their actions that make someone evil—they learnt that at Sunday school as well. Is there something fundamental in a person that determines if they are evil or not? Is it their soul? Is it—
"Whatever you're thinking about," Shima says from right next to him. "It certainly isn't volleyball, because those last few sets were crap."
"Shima-san," Keiji says, crouching down to pick up his volleyball. "Do you believe in fate?"
A beat of silence passes as Shima sighs and chews on her lip. She's the first one out of their friend group to hit a growth spurt, and she's taller than Keiji for the first time, by a substantial amount. She taps her foot against the gymnasium floor as she thinks.
"I don't," she says eventually. "But I believe in luck, and that...could be something similar."
Keiji nods. "I see."
"Just luck of the draw that I met you, and Momoko, and Tsuru," Shima says, blowing a piece of her bangs out of her eyes. "It doesn't mean that I'm not grateful for it."
He nods once more, and then he returns to setting balls for Shima. Shima's spikes have gotten more and more accurate, and she's learnt new strategies for playing. Cross shots, where she hits the ball diagonally across the net. Line shots, where she hits the ball straight across the net. The things that she does certainly attract more glory than Keiji's mediocre setting.
He thinks, distantly, that his friends are distant stars, and he is a lonely planet. All that he can do is watch their glory from further away than he would like. He can reach for the stars all he wants, but he can never truly touch them.
"My mother's here," Shima says, checking her phone. She waves Keiji over, beckoning him to follow her as she picks up her backpack. "C'mon. Walk me to the car like a gentleman."
"What will your mother think," Keiji deadpans as he picks up his backpack as well. "What if she gets worried about her poor, innocent daughter, dating someone like me?"
Shima scoffs. "I think she'd prefer I date you over the person I'm dating right now."
They fall into silence after that, the sounds of their matching footsteps reverberating through the mostly empty school hallways.
"Do you ever wish you were..." How does he say this? How does he say this in a way that doesn't come off as rude or condescending or pitying? What good is all his thinking if he can't articulate them properly? "Normal?"
"Define normal," Shima says, her voice uncharacteristically bitter. "I don't care if the world thinks I'm not normal. I'm happy like this."
"You don't look very happy." Whenever he sees Shima and Hatoba together, he gets the feeling that Shima is...always on edge. Hatoba is a very affectionate person, and though Shima never stops her from hugging her, it always looks as though Shima is constantly watching. Waiting to see if anyone else sees.
Shima shrugs ruefully. "I'm happy with her around. I wouldn't give that up for anything. Certainly not to conform to what the world expects of me."
She looks back at Keiji, crossing her arms. "Are you happy with Tsuru around?"
Keiji thinks.
He said that he could fall in love with Tsuru, if given enough time. He doesn't know what love feels like, so he doesn't know if, right now, he's in love with Tsuru.
But he kissed you, Keiji's mind whispers to him. He kissed you, and shouldn't that mean something?
Keiji's heart doesn't beat any faster at the thought of Tsurumaki Yukito. Instead, when he thinks about the boy who supposedly loves him, his heart beats slower. More like he's...at peace when he thinks about him.
What is he supposed to feel when he loves someone?
What did his mama feel when she thought about his papa?
What did his papa feel when he thought about his mama?
He can't ask either of them, because both of them are—
Dead and gone and never coming back.
And suddenly, Keiji feels a spike of fear shoot through him, as he wonders what his parents would say if he ever fell in love with a boy. Shima said her parents would never approve, but she also said they had a warped perception of love. To Keiji, his parents were the epitome of romance. They knew what love was.
What would they say?
"I'm happy with him," Keiji decides eventually, staring down at the ground. Shima doesn't say anything, only nodding and waving goodbye to him. Keiji waves his hand as well, watching her run into her car.
The pastors at church said that when their loved ones die, and if they go to heaven, they will watch over the ones who still live. One day, by fate or by his own decisions, Keiji may be lucky enough to join them in paradise.
"Mama, Papa," he murmurs as he begins walking down the sidewalk. "Are you watching me now?"
He gets no response except for the crowing of birds in the distance.
—
Keiji looks down at his shadow. Shadows fascinate him. Something that always stays attached to him, never leaving his side as long as there's a light to give it life. It's always there, and in a way, Keiji is never truly alone.
Since the dawn of time, humans have always run alongside their own shadows.
He moves his hand, and the shadow boy moves his as well. He moves his head, and the shadow boy moves his as well. They move exactly the same, but his shadow warps and changes depending on the strength of the light, and the proximity of the light. They are near identical, save for this one flaw.
When Keiji looks down at his shadow, he realizes that it is one of the few things that he can truly call his own.
It changes from day to day. It's always changing, no matter if Keiji stops to watch it do it or not. It's constantly shifting, constantly moving, constantly changing. It follows Keiji wherever he goes, whether he wants it to or not. There might come a day where he wishes he could be rid of it forever, but right now, he rather likes it.
"You won't leave me, will you?" Keiji asks as he stares down at the shadow boy, the question rhetorical. The shadow boy does not respond, as expected. Keiji already knows the answer.
His parents have already left him at such a young age. His aunt always tells him that he cannot rely on anybody but himself. He knows that this is for his own good, but he does not fully understand it yet. Maybe he'll understand it when he's older.
He's not alone. He has his friends, he has Hatoba, Tsuru, Shima, to rely on. He doesn't understand why his aunt insists that he face all of his battles alone.
Because to rely on just yourself is the loneliest of all fates.
—
"Where's Tsuru?" Keiji asks one day.
They're in their second year of middle school now, and his little friend group has established a routine that they follow every day. Keiji and Shima meet up after their morning practices and then go to meet Hatoba and Tsuru at the front doors. They all find each other in the cafeteria during lunch, and then they roam around the school, eating their lunch and chatting. At the end of the day, Keiji and Shima spend a bit of time with them at the doors before going off to afternoon practice.
It's a routine that works well for all of them.
So where was Tsuru?
"Maybe he's sick or something," Hatoba suggests, which could be viable. He has been looking rather haggard lately—the shadows under his eyes have begun to look more like bruises.
"We should stop by his house later on," Shima says as she loops her arm through Hatoba's. "And see if he is alright. I will see if I can bring some snacks."
Keiji nods and waves goodbye to the two girls. He thinks about what he should tell Tsuru later, when they're gathered in his room and telling him about all the things that he missed that day.
It's lonelier, making his way to class without Tsuru by his side, but Keiji can manage for one day.
—
"I regret to inform you all that your classmate Tsurumaki Yukito has been hospitalized due to health concerns," is the first thing his teacher announces when Keiji sits down at his desk. "As of right now, I cannot give out any more information, due to privacy, but you are welcome to reach out to him on your own time. Now, about your reports..."
It's as though Keiji's heart has been plunged into frigid ice.
How can she just stand there and speak like nothing is wrong? Keiji wonders as his teacher begins writing dates and assignments on the board. My friend is in the hospital. He is sick, sicker than I thought. Will he get better? He has to get better, right?
He remembers, distantly, what his mama said about hospitals.
"It's where sick people go to die, Keiji."
And then Keiji thinks, almost reflexively—
Tsuru is going to die as well.
—
"It's called Fatal Familial Insomnia," Tsuru tells them that Saturday as they're gathered in his hospital room. He's wearing normal clothes, and he's sitting in his normal wheelchair. He wheels himself around as he speaks, staring out the window. "It's genetic. It starts out as insomnia, and then eventually, all of my body is going to break down."
"There's some sort of treatment, though, isn't there?" Shima asks, pragmatic and practical as ever. "I can ask my parents to—to donate to your family—"
"I don't want your goddamn charity," Tsuru snaps, uncharacteristically scornful. "And...it wouldn't matter anyway."
"What do you mean?" Hatoba asks, her voice high and frightened. "Tsuru, what do you mean by that?"
Tsuru doesn't even turn around to look any of them in the eye as he speaks his next words.
"There is no cure. I'm just going to get worse and worse, until I..."
There's a heavy silence after that. Nobody wants to speak it, but they all know how that sentence will be completed.
"Until you die," Keiji whispers, and Hatoba immediately slaps him on the arm.
"Don't say that!" Hatoba nearly shouts, her voice defiant even in the face of hopelessness. "Don't—it's not guaranteed! Mom said that—"
"Stop it!" Tsuru turns himself around, and his eyes are brimming with tears. "You're so naive, Hatoba. There's no cure, there's no getting better, and I'm just going to—spend the rest of my stupidly short life in a hospital room until I wither away and die!"
There is bitterness coating every single word Tsuru speaks, and his fists are clenched so tightly, they're turning white. And with a sob, he lets go, dropping his face into his hands.
"I'm going to die," Tsuru whispers, like he can't really believe it himself, and in the blink of an eye, Keiji is there by his side. "I'm really going to die."
"How long do you have left?" Keiji asks. Because Keiji knows Tsuru, and he knows that Tsuru will not enjoy being treated like glass, fragile, breakable, doomed to shatter into pieces on an unforgiving floor.
Tsuru exhales a shaky breath, looking up. He doesn't look at any of their faces, staring ahead at a point on the wall. He's too prideful to look his friends in the eye as he declares how long he has left on this mortal coil. A dying boy, still wanting to hold his head up high even as death tries to drag him down.
Keiji wishes he wasn't. He so badly wishes that his friend was more afraid of death.
"The doctors say eighteen months, at best."
—
"Did they really say eighteen months?" Keiji asks, after Hatoba and Shima have left. "Tell me you're lying. Yukito, tell me you're lying."
Keiji knows Tsuru, and he knows that, surely, Tsuru would be lowballing the amount of time he has left. Surely, Tsuru would only lie in order to prepare his friends for the worst-case scenario. Surely, Tsuru would have more time than eighteen months.
That's not long at all, that's a year and a half, and if that's the best estimate, then—
Tsuru's not going to live to graduate high school. Tsuru may not even live to graduate middle school. Tsuru's really going to…
Tsuru's going to die.
"Not lying," Tsuru mutters, and in the cold light of the hospital, the shadows underneath his eyes are more pronounced than ever. Keiji doesn't like it. Tsuru shouldn't be looking like he's halfway to death's door.
But isn't that what he is?
"Eighteen months, at the best. Probably less than that, if I'm being honest, because I'm immunocompromised." Tsuru gestures around at his legs. He has never walked a step in his life, and he will always be a step behind everybody else because of that. Tsuru sighs, clicks his tongue, and it's like the world could end with that one sound. "Nothing I can do about it."
It's so unlike Tsuru to admit defeat. The Tsuru that Keiji knows would fight tooth and nail, reject his fate and mold it into something better. Always, always, Tsuru would figure out a way to beat the odds. He's clever and brilliant and he is better than this.
Fate. Is this Tsuru's fate? Is this Tsuru's fate, to live a life where he was bound to a chair, never able to stand, walk, or run? Is this Tsuru's fate, to not live to see his eighteenth birthday?
Why did it have to be like this? What did Tsuru ever do to deserve such a thing? Tsuru is not—he is not evil, he is not a sinner, he has not done anything wrong besides merely existing. Did he do something awful in his past life? What horrible decisions could he have possibly done to deserve this?
"Don't cry for me, Keiji," Tsuru says as he reaches forward and begins wiping Keiji's tears away with his thumb. "You're not going to be the one who's dying."
But I've seen this before, Keiji thinks as he allows Tsuru to cup his face in his hands and wipe his tears away. He's seen this before, with his mama and his papa. He knows what is about to come. I'm already grieving you, even though you're still living. It's like you're a living ghost.
I know how this is going to end. I'm already borrowing grief from the future, and it's only going to grow over time.
—
Akaashi Keiji doesn't believe in God. He may join along with prayer in church, but he does not believe in a single word that he says. It's all empty words—he knows better than anyone how the vast majority of literature is all lies.
But now, he kneels at the edge of his bed, his hands clasped together.
Please, God, if you're real. Don't let him die. Don't let Tsuru die. I want him to live. I want him to live for as long as he can. He can't die. He's too young.
I've already lost two people, and that's two people too many. I can't lose another one.
Please. God. Kami. Mama, Papa. Anyone at all. Hear me. Grant me this—it's a miracle, but it's all I ask for. I'll never ask for anything ever again if it's granted.
Please don't let him die.
I don't know what I'll do.
Notes:
— and here is the start of akaashi's religious trauma speedrun
— on that note, I am not christian, nor have I ever suffered through any sort of religious trauma. please let me know if any of what I have written is inaccurate or offensive.
— yes the entire tsuru FFI subplot is a 'in another life' reference. what kind of fool do you think I am.
— next update is November 29th
— scream at me about haikyuu on Tumblr
Chapter 4: the church (pt. 2) - 3
Summary:
I can’t follow you wherever you go. Because you’re going to heaven, and I’ll go to hell when I eventually die.
But while I’m alive, I’ll do what you told me to. I’ll fall in love with someone else. It’ll be a girl. And we’ll get married, and we’ll have children, and I’ll love her just like I loved you.
This time, I’ll do it right. Nobody will get hurt because of me. My thoughts, my feelings, my words.
Notes:
heehoo *squishes akaashi like a stress ball* I'm having soooo much fun with this
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They settle into a new routine, their second year of middle school. After school, immediately after practice, Keiji and Shima pack up their belongings and head to the hospital to keep Tsuru company. Sometimes, Hatoba will still be there, and the four of them will not get any of their schoolwork done.
"Keiji," his aunt says one day as she picks him up from the hospital. "I do not think all of this is necessary."
"What do you mean?" Keiji asks as he slides into the front seat. It's already dark outside—they stayed longer tonight, because Tsuru was in a better mood, and he was willing to play a game of cards with them.
"He is your friend," his aunt begins as she pulls out of the hospital parking lot. "But he will not be getting any better. I do not think it is...wise to be spending so much time with him. It will not change anything. And you will only be hurting yourself, seeing him in so much pain. Let his family take care of him."
"If he's going to be dying soon, I want to spend as much time as I can with him," Keiji says firmly. "I want...I don't want him to die, and I want him to...live on. In my memories."
His aunt opens her mouth, as if to say something, but she closes it. She sighs and shakes her head, continuing down the road.
"You're a very wise child, Keiji. You're more perceptive than other kids your age. Perhaps it's because you had to experience grief at such an early age."
There's a heavy silence between him and his aunt after that. They both lost someone close to them—his father and her brother, gone, just like that in one fell swoop.
"What was Papa like?" he asks quietly, and his aunt brakes abruptly. "When he was a child?"
Amane-obasan exhales a long breath, tapping her nail against the steering wheel.
"He was quiet, like you. He loved reading, like you. He...wondered and dreamed too much for his own good. Always had his head in the clouds. Our town was too small for him. He wanted to travel. Wanted to explore. And then he went to Korea, and..."
She exhales another long breath, shaking her head. Keiji doesn't need her to finish. He knows how the story ends.
Papa met Mama. Mama moved to Japan with him. They had me.
"I believe he had a good life," Amane-obasan says as the car begins to move again. "I'm sorry that he couldn't be there for you longer."
Was he ever there at all? Keiji wonders as he stares up at the sky.
A bird flies past, and Keiji wonders if his father ever dreamt of sprouting wings and flying away as well.
—
"You've been making a lot of paper cranes lately," Tsuru remarks one late autumn day, as the four of them are all gathered in his hospital room. Hatoba stares down at the paper in her hands, intently folding it into the shape of a crane.
"Dontcha know the legend?" Hatoba asks, presenting the crown to Tsuru. "Senbazuru! Fold a thousand paper cranes, and you get a wish. And if all three of us fold a thousand paper cranes, and if we all wish...well, you could get better!"
"Of course I know the legend," Tsuru scoffs. "My mom taught it to me. Before she..."
His eyes drift over to a spot in the corner of his hospital room. Keiji follows his gaze, finding nothing. Hatoba and Shima do the same. They all look back towards Tsuru, who shakes his head and mumbles to himself.
"Nothing," he says. "Sorry. Just—she's not really there, is she? She's not really there, I'm just seeing things, right?"
"Who are you seeing?" Shima asks worriedly. "Should we go get the nurse?"
"No, no, it's...just another symptom." Tsuru presses a hand to his forehead. "Hallucinations. I saw my mom again. Tell me she's not actually there."
"She's not there," Keiji says, but the words feel heavy in his mouth. He knows enough about Tsuru's family to know that his mother died when he was young, probably from the same ailment Tsuru's suffering from. The likelihood that Tsuru saw his mother having these very same hallucinations is high.
It's horrible, but Keiji wishes he could see his mama just like Tsuru is right now. The memory of his mama has faded over the years, all of the jagged edges smoothed over like sea glass. He barely remembers all of the nights with his mama struggling to breathe, only the vague outline of her face as she slept.
His mind's eye isn't enough to capture all of the splendor of his mama. Nothing—no photograph, no video—none of it will be enough to capture the light she brought into Keiji's life.
"I wish she were really there," Tsuru whispers as Keiji pulls his chair closer to his bed. Tsuru holds out a shaky hand, and Keiji takes it in his own. "I wish she were really here, Keiji."
Keiji has no words for him. He can only nod, swallowing the lump in his throat as he thinks the very same thing.
Tsuru's hand is cold—it's gotten so much colder over the months. Keiji runs cold as well, so he's not really doing anything to help Tsuru. And yet—when he tries to pull his hand away, Tsuru pulls it back.
"Don't go," the boy whispers. So Keiji doesn't.
"I think that the crane idea is a good one," Shima says as she leans over to take a piece of paper for herself. "I think...it's a good goal for all of us."
"You think every idea of Hatoba's is a good idea," Tsuru sighs as Shima begins to fold her own crane. "Fine, do whatever you want."
"If each of us fold one crane every day, we'll reach one thousand cranes in under a year," Keiji says, setting his own crane next to Hatoba's crane. A couple seconds later, Shima's crane joins the group.
Keiji thinks about how Tsuru said that he had eighteen months to live, at the very best. Two of those eighteen months have already passed. Sixteen months—nearly five hundred days—left to fold a thousand paper cranes.
It seems like more than enough time, but Keiji knows better. Tsuru's days are numbered, like the sands falling to the bottom of an hourglass. They have no time to waste.
"We could hang them up when we start getting a lot of them," Hatoba says as she carefully arranges the cranes on the lone shelf in Tsuru's hospital room. "Make your hospital room feel more like home."
"I don't need a thousand paper cranes to make it feel like home," Tsuru mutters. "Just having you guys is enough."
And Keiji once thought that his mama and his papa were his home, but he realizes now—
His friends can be his home as well.
—
"Give Tsuru some kisses today or something like that," Hatoba says as she exits the hospital room. Keiji stops, confused. He automatically turns to ask Shima what his friend means, but then he remembers that her family's on holiday in Okinawa. She is not here.
"He's really sad," Hatoba clarifies. "And he was really sleepy while I was talking to him. I think he might be completely asleep now, or at least—he’s trying to sleep. So just—I dunno. 'Kaashi, he's getting worse. It's scaring me."
All of them know that Tsuru's illness is debilitating. That doesn’t mean that seeing it in action made it any less scary. Tsuru has slowly been getting more and more tired as the months went by. It becomes even more evident during the winter season, what with the chill settling into everybody's bones.
"Thank you for letting me know," Keiji says, and Hatoba hurriedly nods. "I'll...see if I can lift his spirits."
"He said he wanted you," Hatoba says before she turns to go. "He said he loves you."
He loves me?
Keiji has nothing to say to that, so he just exhales a shaky breath, turning the handle and opening the hospital door.
Tsuru is lying in his bed today, his blanket covering every part of his body except for his face. Keiji sets his backpack down, laying out all of his homework on the desk, before pulling up a chair and sitting at Tsuru's side.
"Tsuru," Keiji says, clasping his hands together. "Hatoba tells me that you have been...feeling...worse."
"Hm..." Tsuru mutters back, opening his eyes. He looks horrible, and his lack of ability to sleep is becoming more and more apparent. In any other situation, Keiji would tell him to get a good night's sleep, but to say that would be to mock Tsuru's plight.
"She said to...give you a kiss or something like that," Keiji mutters, staring down at Tsuru. He reaches for Tsuru's hand, and Tsuru clutches it like a lifeline. "Make you feel better. Would you like that...?"
Keiji believes he has not yet fallen in love with Tsuru. But it seems that Tsuru has already fallen for him, and it is sad that he cannot yet return his feelings.
"You don't have to do it if you don't want to," Tsuru mumbles. "It was...just something I said to Hatoba. It's stupid. Forget I even said it."
None of Tsuru's requests are stupid, not if it will make him feel better.
So Keiji leans forward, closes his eyes, and presses a soft kiss to Tsuru's forehead.
It's not as though they haven't done this already. Tsuru kissed Keiji, once, on the cheek, but that was the one time. Tsuru had flinched away after he did it, almost fearful of what he had done.
Keiji doesn't flinch away. He only raises his head, slowly, assessing Tsuru's reaction.
There's a soft, sleepy smile on Tsuru's face. His glasses are off, and so he looks up at Keiji with bleary eyes.
"Thanks, Keiji," Tsuru whispers, clutching Keiji's hand tighter. "Are you gonna be really busy tonight?"
Keiji shakes his head. The things he brought with him were the last of his winter break homework, and he can finish them easily, another day. Whatever Tsuru wants for tonight, he'll do it.
Tsuru waves his hand feebly towards the window. "Can you open the curtains? I wanna see if...I wanna see if the stars are out."
Keiji has a curious sense of deja vu as he opens the curtains. He thinks of a dream he once had, when he was ten years old, a dream he had of him and Tsuru staring up at the stars.
"Can you lie next to me?" Tsuru asks as Keiji stands by his bed. "I'm...cold."
Maybe dreams really do come true, Keiji thinks as he nods, slipping off his shoes and climbing into the hospital bed. Tsuru's body is cold, underneath his hospital gown. Keiji has never been one for physical affection, but he wraps his arms around Tsuru, burying his face in Tsuru's shoulder and breathing in his scent.
Tsuru has a distinct scent to him—everybody does. Keiji can't quite put a name for it; it's just Tsuru. It's comforting, and it's familiar. Keiji closes his eyes and breathes it in, because—
He's going to die. The days I have left with him—and the days I have left to fall in love with him—are running out.
"Stop thinking," Tsuru mumbles, turning his body over as best as he can. He's now face-to-face with Keiji, and he cups Keiji's face with one hand. "I can hear you thinking. It's too loud."
"What am I thinking?" Keiji asks as he gently places his hand on Tsuru's. Tsuru's touch is cold against his skin, and he hopes that his face is warm. "What am I thinking, Yukito?"
"That I'm gonna die soon," Tsuru guesses correctly. "That I should be happy in the last few months of my miserable life."
"You should be happy, always."
"Don't treat me like glass, Keiji," Tsuru sighs, and he turns around to stare up at the sky outside. The sky is completely dark, with the lights of Tokyo illuminating it. There are no stars to be seen. And yet, Tsuru hums in appreciation.
"Pretty. Everything looks prettier with my glasses off. Like I can only make out the faintest of outlines of everything. Like...like it's all a dream."
He turns back to Keiji. Keiji's not sure if he should be moving so much with his condition. He does not mean to treat Tsuru like glass, but he cannot help himself. He should stop, but he fears that if he turns away for a second, Tsuru could be gone. Shattered. Dead.
Forever.
"You look like a dream, Keiji."
"Do you dream of me?" Keiji whispers. In the distance, he can hear a nurse's footsteps, and he knows he's about to get kicked out.
Tsuru closes his eyes, and for a second, he looks like he could close his eyes and fall asleep.
"I can't dream anymore, Keiji. But I wish I could. If I could, I'd dream of you every night."
—
"And this week's lesson will be covering the topic of marriage," the Sunday school teacher says as Shima helps to pass out this class's materials. Keiji has already begun tuning the teacher out, as he and Shima do every class.
What color is she? Keiji scribbles a note in the margins of his paper as Shima sits back down. What color do you see when she speaks?
Shima rolls her eyes, scribbling back, Gray. And brown if I listen really closely. Cause she's full of shit.
Keiji has to actively remind himself that he cannot laugh in the middle of Sunday school. The sound he ends up making is akin to a snort and a cough at the same time.
"Marriage is defined as the union between one man and one woman," their teacher says as she scribbles something on the whiteboard. Keiji raises his head, squinting his eyes.
One man and one woman?
So I guess that means Tsuru and I can never get married.
The thought doesn't bother Keiji too much—because even if he wanted to marry Tsuru, Tsuru has just a little over a year left to live. And Keiji has not yet fallen in love with Tsuru, so he supposes that if they could get married, it would be a loveless marriage, which would be very unfair to Tsuru.
What if you fall in love with another boy?
Keiji doesn't think he'll fall in love with anyone. If he couldn't fall in love with Tsuru, a perfectly good boy who is already in love with him, he probably won't be able to fall in love with anybody.
And then he hears Shima draw in a sharp breath, and he realizes that this also applies to her as well. Shima and Hatoba will never be able to get married, because—because why, exactly? Why can only a man and a woman get married to each other?
"Why can't two men or two women get married?" a younger boy asks, raising his hand. He must be around eight or nine. "Why can't I get married to my best friend when I'm older?"
The teacher's face goes pale, and then she shakes her head. "Oh, dear. I suppose somebody has to teach you about this. Set you on the right path."
She erases the writing on the whiteboard, replacing it with a single word.
Homosexuality.
"This is one of the worst sins one could commit," the teacher says in a grave voice. Keiji can understand the meaning of the word well enough, but he cannot understand why it is a sin. It's infuriating, to understand some parts and not others.
"It goes against the laws of nature. God created Adam and Eve, the first man and the first woman, to be wed in holy matrimony. The rest of us need to follow their example. Marriage is sacred, and a strong family is built on a strong marriage. Children will..."
Keiji would like to point out how Adam had a first wife, Lilith, who was banished for disobeying Adam, while Eve was able to stay because she was obedient towards Adam. That is, until she ate the apple and got them both banished. If this is what the rest of humanity is supposed to base their idea of marriage on, then humanity is...sort of doomed.
Keiji thinks about his parents' wedding, something that he has only seen in photographs. Something sacred, something pure, something straight out of a fairytale. A story that Keiji reads over and over again in his mind, poring over every detail.
The kind of love his parents had for each other is the kind of sweet, heavy love that sits deep in one's bones.
Surely, that kind of love transcends any kind of mortal barrier, right? Something so trivial as assigned sex or race or class couldn't hold that kind of love down.
Right?
The teacher continues speaking, speaking about how all homosexuals will be condemned to hell unless they change their sinful ways, until they accept Jesus in their hearts and absolve their sins.
It's just love, Keiji thinks as the teacher seems to be getting more and more incensed. It's just love, the same as any other.
What makes it so different?
As class lets out, Keiji watches the kid from earlier be stopped by the teacher. The teacher speaks in a low voice, ushering the kid back into the classroom and shutting the door behind her. Before the door closes completely, Keiji can see the look of fear on the boy's face.
"What did you think of today's class?" Keiji asks as Shima shoves all of her papers into her backpack. She punches them down with a force that borders on rage, and Keiji involuntarily takes a step back.
"I think," Shima says, kicking her backpack for good measure. "That nobody in this godforsaken church really knows what it means to love."
Keiji hums in agreement. He waits until Shima has finished venting out all her anger onto her poor backpack before walking alongside her. "I do not believe that love deserves to have limitations."
"This religion likes to lump in homosexuality with...other things." Shima waves her hand around vaguely. "Incest. Pedophilia. Bestiality."
"Those are different," Keiji says immediately. "None of those...none of those are..."
"How are they different?" Shima throws a hand out, thwacking Keiji in the chest. "Okay, for the last one, you could argue that love between a human and an animal does not...exist, at least in the romantic sense. But for the other two—you could say that love, true love, could transcend sibling boundaries and age. What then?"
Shima sighs, a long-suffering sigh. "I have been trying to argue against this for the better part of my life, Keiji. It's a battle you can't ever win."
"Incestual relationships actually go against human nature, they produce biologically weaker offspring," Keiji notes. "And if an adult were to produce kids with another kid, there's a higher chance that their offspring will be born weaker. If we're going off of the reasoning that marriage will eventually lead to children."
"You forget, Keiji, that gay people don't have kids." Shima's nails dig into her skin as she crosses her arms. "And in their eyes, having fucked-up kids is as good as having no kids at all.
"But they still think, that—somehow, they can fix those fucked-up kids. But—Keiji, I don't think they ever can. I don't think there's any saving them."
There's a hidden meaning behind Shima's words, one that makes unease stir in the pit of Keiji's stomach.
I don't think there's any saving us.
—
"How are you?" Keiji asks as he sets his bag down. Shima follows him, setting her bag down as well. Hatoba perks up from where she's sitting, waving towards both of them.
The question is rhetorical in nature—Tsuru does not look very well. His skin is pallid, and he barely opens his eyes as Keiji sits in front of him. Tsuru mumbles something, trying to raise his head before dropping it back onto the bed.
Nine months have passed since Tsuru's admittance to the hospital, and his condition has only worsened. Just like he said it would. Keiji rests his hand on Tsuru's forehead, smoothing back a couple strands of hair.
"I'm…cold," Tsuru murmurs, and Keiji moves closer to him. "And I...I can't keep track of time anymore. How long…has it been since the nurse gave me dinner?"
"It's been, like, half an hour," Hatoba says, looking up at the clock. "Why?”
"It feels like an eternity," Tsuru sighs. "I feel like…I'm losing my mind. I just...lie in here all day, and sometimes the nurses come in to feed me and take me to the bathroom…and then I have to entertain myself for hours on end by myself. And I'm…so tired, but it's getting harder and harder to sleep."
"I'm sorry," Shima says. "It must be hard—"
"Don't pity me," Tsuru snaps, and for a moment, he sounds just like his normal, petulant self again. He then seems to realize what he's done, and he sighs. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that. What happened at school today?"
Apologizing doesn't suit Tsuru.
"We learned about the ecosystem," Keiji says as he picks up a piece of notebook paper, already folding it. Over five hundred cranes sit on the shelves in Tsuru's hospital room. Soon enough, they'll need to start hanging cranes from the ceiling, or invest in another shelf to hold all of them. "We learned about invasive species."
"Fascinating," Tsuru snorts, but there's interest in his eyes as he manages to drag himself up to a sitting position. "Tell me more."
And so the three of them take turns telling Tsuru about their day. Their homework lies to the side, forgotten, while they all fold paper cranes. Even Tsuru tries to fold one, though—
"Goddammit," Tsuru mutters as his fingers on his left hand begin twitching involuntarily. The paper crane drops onto his bed as he grabs his fingers with his right hand, as though willing them to stop moving of their own will. "Stupid—"
Keiji reaches forward, putting both of his hands around Tsuru's own. Years ago—it seems like a lifetime ago—Tsuru did this very same thing for him, when Keiji was mourning his papa. Slowly, Tsuru's hand calms down, enough to clasp Keiji's own hand.
"I think I have to go now," Hatoba says softly, waving to Keiji, ruffling Tsuru's hair, and pressing a kiss to Shima's forehead. "Bye, guys."
"I have to leave soon as well," Shima says, standing up and gathering her belongings. "Take care, all of you."
The two girls depart together, holding hands as they do. Keiji's heart sinks as he remembers what Shima said, days ago.
"I don't think there's any saving them."
Is there any saving me?
"Keiji," Tsuru whispers. "Can you...can you..."
"Yes?" Keiji asks, leaning forward. Tsuru's voice has gotten more and more hoarse over the months—he speaks almost exclusively in whispers now. "What do you need?"
"I..." And then Tsuru's breathing speeds up, and his eyes widen. His breaths come faster and faster, and he clutches his chest. Keiji stands up in alarm, hands outstretched to—do something, do anything.
And as soon as it starts, it stops. Tsuru swallows, breathes out heavily, and then closes his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry—it's another symptom, panic attacks, I—"
"Do they happen frequently?" Keiji asks, taking Tsuru's hands in his. They begin twitching again, but they relax at Keiji's touch. "Tsuru. Do they?"
"They've..." Tsuru looks to the side, never meeting Keiji's eyes. "They've been happening more and more, lately."
And the very thought breaks Keiji's heart—Tsuru, struggling for breath, in a cold, empty room, all by himself. Nobody to take his hands, nobody to brush his hair out of his eyes, nobody to be there for him.
"Don't pity me," Tsuru whispers, reaching out for Keiji. "Please, not you too. Can you...come over here?"
Who is Keiji to refuse a dying boy's wish? Who is Keiji to refuse Tsuru?
And so Keiji crawls into Tsuru's hospital bed, like he did weeks ago, pulling Tsuru in and holding him close. Tsuru feels thinner, all skin and bones, and he's as cold as ice. The boy shudders, clinging onto Keiji like a lifeline.
"Keiji, I want..."
"Yes?" Keiji whispers, leaning back to look Tsuru in the eyes. "What do you want?"
"I wanna leave this place," Tsuru whispers. "I wanna grow wings and fly away. If I had wings, it wouldn't matter if I couldn't walk. I wanna get away from this place."
"I know." That's what I want as well. "I know."
"If I asked you to come with me, would you follow me?"
I'd follow you anywhere.
"Of course I would," Keiji says, intertwining his fingers in Tsuru's own. "Yukito."
Tsuru laughs, a soft and mournful thing. "I like it when you say my name. Say it again."
"Yukito. Tsurumaki Yukito. I—"
Oh.
Oh.
Is this it? Is this finally the time?
Have I…
"I love you."
Yukito chuckles, pulling Keiji in closer, burying his face in Keiji's hair. "I know. I was just waiting for you to realize it."
I kept him waiting, all this time.
"For someone who's really smart, you can be really dumb sometimes."
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize."
"Sorry."
Yukito mumbles something, looking up, into the corner of his hospital room. "She's not there, right? Tell me she's not there."
"Your mother isn't there," Keiji murmurs without needing to look up. "I promise."
There's more mumbling on Yukito's part, and Keiji opens his eyes. Yukito's eyelashes are long, and they're wet—he's crying.
"Promise me something else, Keiji," Yukito whispers. "I'm going to start to get worse. I can feel it. Promise me that...after I die, you'll find somebody else to love. Okay?"
"Don't talk about that," Keiji hisses, blinking back tears of his own. "That's not—you have nine months left, you don't—"
"Nine months of misery. I won't even be able to sleep. I won't be able to keep any food down. I won't be able to talk anymore. I'll...I'll start forgetting everything. You. Momoko. Mitsuki. Everyone. Everything." Yukito's eyes brim with tears as he turns to look up at Keiji. "I might not remember being in love with you."
There's nothing that scares Keiji more. Finally falling in love with Yukito, only to lose him before he truly had him.
If fate is real, it is a cruel, cruel thing.
"I can remember it for you," Keiji whispers, pressing his lips to Yukito's forehead. "I can remember everything for you. I'll remember you after you die."
Yukito only breathes out, a soft and mournful thing. "Keiji."
"Hm?"
"Before everything goes downhill for me. Can you kiss me?"
Who is Keiji to refuse a dying boy's wish?
Who is Keiji to refuse Yukito?
So Keiji leans in, cupping Yukito's face in his hands. He stays there for a moment, watching the way Yukito's eyes dart around, feeling Yukito's hands rest on top of his own. The pink of his blush is even more apparent against his pale skin.
Keiji closes his eyes, leans in even more, and presses his lips against Yukito's. The boy's lips are cold, and he seems to shiver at Keiji's touch. With a sudden surge of strength, Yukito pulls himself even closer to Keiji, wrapping his hands around the back of Keiji's neck, tangling his fingers in Keiji's hair.
"Keiji," Yukito murmurs reverently, against his lips. "Keiji."
"Yukito," Keiji whispers back, trying to burn the feeling of Tsuru's touch into his skin. He may not get another chance. "Yukito."
Outside, the sky is dark, and the lights of Tokyo light up like stars. Keiji stares out the window, and he wonders why falling in love with a boy was supposed to be a sin, if it felt so right.
Temptation drags a man into sin. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.
"Yukito," Keiji whispers, brushing his thumb over Yukito's temple. "Do you believe in God?"
Yukito hums sleepily, squinting up at Keiji. "No. Why?"
"I just..." It seems like fate, doesn't it? Keiji, falling in love with a boy, and having him taken away from him just as he realizes it. Yukito, falling in love with a boy, and living a life cut short before it could ever truly begin.
"Don't be regretting it already," Yukito whispers, like he can read Keiji's mind. "Shima tells me about church. I know that your judgment in...whatever you think of the world is right. There's nothing inherently...sinful about us."
He waves vaguely between him and Keiji, then reaches for him.
"I love you," Yukito whispers once more. "And if I go down to hell, because I fell in love with you, it'll be worth it."
Keiji has never heard anything so awful.
I am not worth going to hell for.
And then Keiji has another horrible thought.
Is Yukito worth going to hell for?
What scares him is that he does not know. He wishes that when he died, he did not need to go to heaven or hell. He wishes that maybe his soul could be reincarnated, turned into a bird.
Maybe then, he could explore the world with Yukito by his side.
—
"There will be a recital at church today," Amane-obasan tells him one Sunday, while Keiji's eating his tamagoyaki. "Make sure that you look your best today."
"Yes," Keiji says dutifully, picking at the last of his breakfast.
"What do you think of doing choir lessons?" his aunt asks. "Or perhaps piano lessons?"
Keiji mulls this over as he washes his dish. Shima has complained vehemently about the horrors of piano and how they make her hands hurt. She's also said that volleyball made her hands hurt even more than piano, but at least volleyball is more fun.
"I believe volleyball takes up all of my spare time," he says carefully. "That, and visiting Yukito. Perhaps when I am older?"
His aunt nods thoughtfully. "As you get older, you should consider hobbies that are not so physically taxing. Volleyball should be the least of your worries when you grow older."
Keiji nods in response. He knows he will have to give up volleyball at some point or another, so he should enjoy it while it lasts. He is unsure what volleyball will be like when he goes to high school, but he'll continue with it if it doesn't take too much of his time.
Maybe I should take up some other hobbies, Keiji thinks on the drive to the church. Hobbies that are not playing volleyball or reading. Neither are very productive. Nobody will be impressed by the fact I can play a sport in a mediocre way, or the fact that I read a lot.
They go into the church. They sit down in the pews. Their pastor greets all of them, then announces that they will be welcoming—
"The NHK Tokyo Children's Choir," the pastor says, and everyone in the audience gives a standing ovation. There are risers set up on the stage, behind the pulpit, where the pastor would normally stand. As the pastor bows his head and walks off the stage, a young woman with braided hair walks on. Roughly thirty children, between the ages of high school to elementary school, file onto the stage in rows. All of them are wearing black choral hats and black tuxedos or dresses.
The choir director bows her head towards the audience, then gives a brief speech about how much of an honor it is to sing for them today. The audience applauds, and then the choir director turns around, raising her hands in the air.
And then the choir begins to sing.
Keiji does not listen to much music of his own free will. But that may just be because he has not found the right music to listen to.
They sound amazing, Keiji thinks vaguely as he watches the choir's mouths move in unison. He does not know much about music—his aunt said she sang in a choir, once, and that there are four types of singers. Girls are sopranos or altos, and boys are either tenors or basses.
He knows that the sopranos get all of the attention, because everyone is always impressed by the limits of the human voice, and how high a girl's voice can get. But Keiji actually finds himself drawn more towards the basses of the choir.
The basses provide—well, they provide the baseline. The foundation for the rest of the choir. Without them, everybody else would begin to fall apart.
There's one voice among the basses that seems to stick out more than the rest—Keiji's not quite sure where it's coming from, or what about it makes it more special than all the others. His eyes wander up and down, searching for the voice's owner. The vast majority of the high school boys seem to be basses, and so Keiji tries to pick out their voices. It's a mostly futile task, but—
Why does he seem familiar? Keiji thinks to himself as he spots a boy standing on the very edge of the risers. The boy has his hair hidden underneath his black hat, like all of the other boys, but he's tall, and his golden eyes seem to shine in the light.
Like stars.
Those golden eyes dart all over the church as the boy sings, only occasionally resting on his choir director. It's almost entertaining, how the boy seems to get so quickly distracted by every small thing in the church. The choir director turns her body towards the basses, and then—
And then that boy's eyes come to rest directly on Keiji, and they stay there and they do not move. Every other child closes their mouths, but he continues singing.
His voice is rich and low, and it projects well throughout the entire church. The boy sings of paradise, and of blessings, and his voice never once wavers. He continues making direct eye contact with Keiji as he sings, and Keiji vaguely thinks—
This is what an angel must sound like. Though you do not sound like my mama in any way, you...remind me of her. You sing like her, and it is familiar, and it is...comforting.
Who are you? And why do I feel as though I have met you before?
—
"Do you think there's a God?" Keiji asks Hatoba one day, while they're walking towards their classes.
"No," Hatoba says, shrugging. "I mean, there could be. It would be cool if there was a god, I guess. But—I dunno. If there is one, I don't think it really cares about us."
It...doesn't care about us?
"What do you mean?" Keiji asks curiously. This is a point of view that he's never considered before—a point of view that most of the books he reads does not even discuss. God is supposed to be omnipotent and almighty—He is supposed to look after His children, He is supposed to guide them on the right path, He is supposed to—
"I think if god exists, he made us, and then he just skedaddled away." Hatoba makes a scooting motion with her hands. "It's all on us to do whatever we want with our lives. Whatever we do, that's up to us. Not it, if it exists."
All of a sudden, Hatoba makes a squeaking noise, clapping her hands to her mouth. "Oh! Sorry! I forgot—you—you go to church now, with Mitsuki, I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—"
"Momoko," Keiji breathes out. Suddenly, it feels as though a weight has been lifted off of his chest. "You have nothing to apologize for."
—
On the day that Keiji's and Shima's volleyball teams win their youth tournaments, they reach one thousand paper cranes.
"And it only took us ten months," Hatoba remarks, nodding her head thoughtfully. Shima sets the celebratory cake down onto the table, and Hatoba eagerly unwraps it. "That took us way less time than I thought it would."
"Don't underestimate the power of friendship," Shima says drily as she begins cutting the cake into four pieces. "Friendship is what carries a volleyball team to victory." Keiji laughs at that.
For a moment, he can fool himself into thinking that everything is normal. That they are just four normal kids, having a party because his team won at a game of glorified keep-the-ball-in-the-air. Nobody is dying. Nobody is sinning.
Everything is good, as it should be.
"Here's to you two winning," Yukito murmurs, holding his hands out for his cake. "To us getting a thousand paper cranes. And...to me getting worse, I guess."
"Don't talk about that," Shima chides, placing the plate of cake into Yukito's hands.
"Don't—pretend like it's somehow going to get better," Yukito shoots back. "Because you know it won't. We all know it—it's just going to get worse from here, and—"
"Do you think we all want to think about you dying?!" Shima's voice builds up to a near shout as she spins around, stomping over to Yukito. There's tears sparkling in her eyes as she clenches her fists, and there's tears already falling down Yukito's face. "I don't—none of us are gonna know what we're gonna do without you! We won't—"
"No fighting!" Hatoba runs in between the two of them, hands outstretched. She looks like she's dangerously close to crying herself. "Guys, we shouldn't..."
"Our game," Keiji interrupts, and all of them look towards him. He takes his piece of cake and walks over to Yukito's bed, sitting down on the mattress and placing his hand on Yukito's hand. "My coach got footage of the game, if you'd like to see it."
Yukito relaxes into his touch, and he picks up his fork and begins eating with his other hand. "Okay."
So Shima pulls out her laptop, and Keiji pulls up the footage of the game he had played earlier that afternoon. Volleyball is one of the few things that Yukito does not understand, no matter how much Keiji and Shima attempt to explain it to him. Keiji settles in next to Yukito, on his hospital bed, and Hatoba settles in on Yukito's other side. Shima leans against the bed, her head resting against Hatoba's, and Keiji does the same with Yukito.
"You're the...setter...right?" Yukito asks, mouth full of cake. Hatoba oohs and aahs as a mini Keiji runs around on screen, putting his hands up for the ball and directing it wherever he chooses.
"Yes," Keiji says, running his thumb over Yukito's. He became the starting setter for his team quite a while ago, but he cringes watching himself run around onscreen, at how sweaty and anxious he looks. He cringes even more as he watches Yukito watch him with pure awe.
I'm not that good of a player. I just do what I'm told to do. I'm not...really exceptional, or anything like that.
I don't deserve to be treated like something exceptional.
"Let's watch Shima's game now," Keiji says decisively, exiting out of the tab and handing it over to Shima. "Shima's the better player anyway. Let's watch her play."
"Ooh, yeah, let's!" Hatoba clasps her hands together and stares up at Shima with her biggest puppy-dog eyes until the girl sighs and pulls up her own volleyball game.
"You cannot compare our playing," Shima says as she pulls up the Mori Junior High women's VBC game. "We play two different positions, and we specialize in different things. I can't set as well as you, and you can't spike as well as me, but that doesn't mean that you're worse than me."
Keiji trusts Shima's judgment, but for some reason, her praise still falls on deaf ears.
Negativity can't affect you if you don't listen to it. I suppose the same goes for praise.
"You're so cool, Mitsuki," Hatoba says in awe as Shima dives across the court in order to receive a ball. Keiji watches her movements, tries to predict where she will be going next. After receiving the ball, she immediately pops back up, already in a defensive stance. The ball goes to one of Mori's other hitters, who slams it over the net.
"I thought you would have wanted to go for the ball yourself," Keiji says as he watches the other team receive the ball and send it back over. Shima chuckles, and Keiji's hunch is immediately proven right as she sprints across the court to jump for the ball. The setter sends the ball over to her, and she delivers a devastating cross shot. "Ah. I see."
"Show-off," Yukito mutters, and Shima leans over to swat him on the shoulder. "Ow!" He then proceeds to punch her in the arm, causing Shima to laugh.
"Hypocrite," she says, and Yukito smiles.
"Let's...go back to 'Kaashi," Yukito says, switching the tab back to Keiji. Keiji protests weakly, but Yukito's smile gets even bigger as he watches him run around on video. Keiji, truly, does not know what's so great about him or his playing, but he lets Yukito have his happiness.
"If...I played," Yukito murmurs, and Keiji clutches onto his hand tighter. "If...I could play. What...would I be?"
"Hm." If Yukito could walk, if Yukito could run, if Yukito could play volleyball, what position would he be? Keiji takes into account everything about his friend: his height, his build, his disposition. "I think you'd be a middle blocker."
"And...which ones are those?"
"The first line of defense. The ones who are responsible for blocking the ball."
"Oh..." Yukito shifts around in the bed, his grip in Keiji's hand slackening. "That's cool. But...I think I'd like...being a spiker."
"Yeah?" Keiji asks softly, brushing the hair out of Yukito's face. It's gotten so long. "Why's that?"
Yukito feebly lifts a finger to tap at the screen. Keiji is putting up a set for one of his hitters, and the hitter sends the ball straight past the opposing team. The whistle blows, and all of the boys cheer, having won set one.
"I'd get to...play with you."
Keiji could say something about how, on a volleyball team, everybody plays together, everybody depends on each other. True, the spikers are the ones who normally get the most attention, because they are the stars of the team, and they make flashy plays, but everybody relies on everybody.
But he gets what Yukito is trying to say. There is something different, the connection between hitter and setter, the knowledge that you must work seamlessly in order to function.
"I'd like to play with you too," Keiji murmurs as he presses a kiss to Yukito's forehead. Hatoba awws and Shima ewws, but the look that Yukito gives Keiji is enough to tune the both of them out.
There's so much love in Yukito's gaze.
Just like how mama and papa used to look at each other.
"Hey, does your dad ever come by here?" Hatoba asks, nudging Yukito with her shoulder. "I've never seen him."
"He's..." Yukito takes a deep shuddering breath, then coughs into his hand. His breaths come ragged, and all three of them lean in closer in concern. "Sorry. He's...busy with his job. He works...almost every day. He comes...on the weekends."
Keiji is struck with a devastating sense of deja vu. A sick mother, a father who worked long hours, a boy dreaming of flying away and exploring the skies.
"But it's...okay," Yukito continues. "I'm...fine without him. I...have you all."
And Yukito laughs, holding his arms out for Keiji. Keiji scooches in closer, wrapping his arms around Yukito's bony shoulders. Hatoba joins in the group hug soon after, pressing her face against Yukito's shoulder. Even Shima joins them, though she only hugs Hatoba.
"You guys...are my family too."
Keiji thinks about that. They are not family in the traditional sense—they are not related by blood, and the dynamics they hold with each other are not that of brothers and sisters. Yet, undoubtedly, the connections they share with each other go beyond simple friendship, and so family is the only word to describe it.
So Keiji lies there with his family, closing his eyes and trying his best to etch every bit of this moment into his memory.
This was a good night.
I hope it won't be the last.
—
"Keiji," Amane-obasan says one weekend, as Keiji is packing up to go to the hospital. "I think...you should stop visiting Tsurumaki."
"Why?" Keiji asks, continuing to pack up his things. He and his aunt have had these conversations numerous times before, but Keiji has managed to win every time, insisting that Yukito needs support in these trying times.
"His condition has become..." Amane-obasan sighs. "His condition will only worsen, and more quickly. I do not...I do not want you to watch your friend deteriorate even further. It is a painful thing, Keiji, to watch someone you love slowly die."
Keiji knows this. Of course he knows this. He had to watch his mama as she slowly faded away, as she spent more and more of her days in bed. Death was inevitable for Yukito, and he knows this, but he doesn't want Yukito to face it alone.
"Obasan," Keiji says quietly. "If you could have seen my papa in the weeks before he died, would you have wanted to?'
His aunt sighs.
"Of course I would have, Keiji," she says as she stands up and grabs the keys to her car. "I would do anything if it meant I could see your father again."
—
There's somebody already in the hospital room when Keiji arrives. The door is ajar, just the tiniest bit, and Keiji can hear murmuring from the inside. He does not eavesdrop, because that is rude, so he just stands outside, hands clasped together.
He thinks about what his obasan said.
Keiji knows that his aunt is right. He knows that Yukito's condition will only get worse and worse, that his condition will worsen exponentially over the next few months. He knows that it will be horrible for him to watch, but it will be even more horrible for Yukito.
Keiji is not the one dying. Yukito is the one dying. He may have to live on and mourn Yukito's memory, but it is a fate far better than death.
So he will remain here, by Yukito's side, and he will watch him slowly wither away, and it will be hard, and it will be painful, but goddammit, he will stay with Yukito.
I love you. I love you, Yukito.
I haven't been saying that enough. I haven't been thinking that enough.
He hears the person inside talking to Yukito. It must be a man, an older one, by the sound of his voice. Whoever it is must be talking very quietly.
And then the talking stops altogether, and Keiji hears the sound of a chair squeaking, and the door opening.
"Oh—" A tall, balding man opens the door, startling Keiji. "Sorry. Are you—are you waiting for Yukito?"
"Yes." Keiji bows his head. "I did not want to interrupt you."
"Ah. Are you—you are Akaashi?" the balding man asks, fidgeting with his glasses. "Yukito talks quite a lot about you."
"Ah." So this is probably Yukito's father. Keiji has never seen him before—Yukito had always said that he worked long hours. "I'm glad to hear that, Tsurumaki-san."
Tsurumaki-san nods, running a hand through what remains of his hair. "I am glad that he has such good friends. I know I have...I have not been there nearly enough for my son. I am grateful to know that there is someone always looking after him."
Keiji bows his head politely. "I care a lot about your son, Tsurumaki-san. I...think that constant support is what he needs right now."
I am in love with your son, and I realized this fact far too late. I can only make up for it in the only way I know how.
The older man chuckles. "You are very wise for your age, Akaashi-kun. Just as Yukito said."
And with that, the man nods his head towards Keiji, walking towards the staircase. Keiji inhales, exhales, and then slowly turns the door handle.
"Yukito," Keiji calls, and he hears a rustling sound from the hospital bed.
He wonders what Yukito told his father about him. What exactly did he tell his father? How much did he tell his father?
Did he tell his father that the two of them were in love?
"Kei...ji," Yukito calls back as Keiji sets his backpack down and sits down in the chair.
Yukito looks awful now. His skin, already pale, has somehow become even paler. He could almost blend into the white of the bedsheets. The only mark of color on his skin are his veins, dark and bulging along his arms. On his left forearm, there is a needle, connected to a thin tube, connected to a bag of IV fluid.
Keiji swallows and tries to hold back a sob.
He knows that Yukito's condition would be getting worse. He knows this. It's what he has been telling himself on the car ride to the hospital, on the walk up to the room, every single day.
But it becomes so much more real—so much more scary, when he's faced with the reality of the situation. He can think and wonder and dream all he wants, he can keep his head up in the clouds, but he will always have to come back down to earth.
Complete inability to sleep is followed by rapid loss of weight. This lasts for about three months. Keiji reminds himself as he puts his hand over Yukito's. Dementia, during which the person becomes unresponsive or mute over the course of six months, is the final stage of the disease, after which death follows.
He will only be getting worse from here. And then he will die.
And there is nothing anybody can do about it.
"How are you?" Keiji asks softly as Yukito turns his head towards him, recognition sparking in his eyes.
"I...missed...you."
Keiji had not been allowed in the hospital room during the past week, but the nurses had been updating him on Yukito's status. It has become harder for Yukito to control his words and movements, and it has become harder for Yukito to swallow and keep food down, hence the IV. In turn, Keiji asked the nurses to pass messages on to Yukito.
It must have seemed like an eternity since Yukito heard Keiji's voice.
"I missed you too," Keiji whispers as he presses a kiss to Yukito's forehead. It is late January now, and the chill of the winter permeates every fiber of Keiji's being. It must be worse for Yukito, because Keiji's lips meet his skin, it's like ice.
"I saw your father outside. He said...he said that you talked a lot about me."
Yukito's lips draw into a thin line. "I...don't want to...talk about him."
"He said that he's...grateful for me, and Hatoba, and Shima. Because we're here, looking after you. And...he said that he's sorry that he's not able to be there for you."
"Akaashi." Yukito's voice turns harsh, and his hand squeezes down on Keiji's. "Don't...I...h—hate...him. I...n—never want to...see h—him. Ever...again."
That statement, coming from Yukito, makes something in Keiji's chest twist.
"You don't mean that," Keiji says quietly. It sounds almost like a warning, and he can see the way Yukito's eyes widen in surprise. "Tell me you don't mean that, Yukito."
Yukito opens his mouth, as if to say something, but abruptly shuts it. He takes in a shuddering breath, inhaling and exhaling rapidly. Keiji sits up, alarmed, moving back in order to give Yukito space. Yukito only makes another strained sound, reaching his hand out to Keiji.
"D—don't...leave..." Yukito rasps out, clutching onto Keiji's sleeve with what little strength he has. "I-I...I know I'm...being a j-jerk...but..."
"It's okay," Keiji whispers, taking Yukito's shaking hand in both of his own. The trembling seems to cease, if only for a little bit. "It's okay. I'm sorry. I won't bring your father up again."
And yet, he has seen this happen before, except with the roles reversed. His own papa, suffering from something Keiji couldn't even begin to understand. Himself, trying to reach out but never quite making it to his papa.
He tries to think about which is worse: a son losing his father, or a father losing his son. He doesn't know the answer.
"When you die," Keiji says quietly, running his thumb over Yukito's trembling fingers. "I am going to miss you. Hatoba is going to miss you. Shima is going to miss you. We are...all going to miss you, very much."
Yukito nods, slowly. Keiji tries not to think about how much his eyes seem to droop nowadays, always searching for sleep and never being able to obtain it. He should be experiencing a complete inability to sleep by now.
"Your father is going to miss you the most," Keiji whispers. "Because you're all he has left. So...be kind to him. Don't die...regretting that you didn't have enough time with him. To know him."
The boy must resent his father. Keiji knows this much. Even the most logical of people are slaves to their own emotions. Even though Yukito knows his father works long and hard to pay the hospital bills, he still hates the fact that this means his father cannot see him as much as he wants.
Yukito shakes his head. The tremors come back, stronger than ever. His head slumps forward, and Keiji rushes to support him.
“I-I don’t…I don’t…w-want t-to…to die…”
And what can Keiji say to that?
There’s still hope? You won’t be dying any time soon? Keiji has always hated lying, and Yukito of all people doesn’t deserve to be lied to on his deathbed. Yukito’s death is fast approaching, unstoppable and inevitable.
I don’t want you to die either? Please don’t leave me? Of course Keiji doesn’t want Yukito to die either, but there’s nothing that he can do. He is fourteen years old, he can only watch as his best friend and boyfriend withers away slowly.
I’m going to miss you when you’re gone? Talk like Yukito’s already dead, when he’s still clinging to whatever life remains nestled inside him? That might be the worst option of all. Keiji does not want to think of another funeral, one with a child-sized coffin and a picture of a smiling Yukito on an easel. He’s sure that Yukito doesn’t want to think of that either.
“I love you,” Keiji whispers, because that is all he can think to say. “I love you very much. I hope you know that.”
His parents were not able to adequately describe what love was like. And yet, he knows what it feels like anyway. Love is slow, golden, saccharine sweet, like honey.
Keiji kicks his shoes off, lifting the bedsheets and crawling in next to Yukito. He wraps his arms around Yukito’s bony shoulders, drawing him close and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
And despite all of the pain that he must be in, Yukito smiles.
“You’re…really smart, Keiji. But you can be…so stupid sometimes.”
“Don’t call me stupid,” Keiji chides. “What stupid thing did I even say?”
“You said…you hoped I…knew you loved…me.” The trembling of Yukito’s shoulders begins to subside. “Of course…I know…you love me. Idiot.”
Yukito takes a deep breath, and Keiji stays silent, letting him recollect himself before speaking again.
“You spent…a long time figuring out…if you were in love with me. But I knew…all that time…you did love me. You thought…a lot…and every time you…looked at me…I could tell you were…thinking about me. Like I was…”
And here, Yukito lifts a shaky hand, bringing it up to cup Keiji’s face. He doesn’t quite make it, so Keiji takes him by the wrist and lifts Yukito’s palm to his cheek.
“Like you were?” Keiji prompts, and Yukito’s hazy eyes refocus. His pupils dilate slightly as he traces Keiji’s features with his eyes.
“Like I was…interesting,” Yukito finishes. “Someone interesting…not something interesting.”
His mind is still brilliant as ever, Keiji thinks as he leans in again, and as Yukito meets him halfway. Still as prideful as ever as well.
My beloved Yukito. You’re going to be leaving me soon.
It took me such a long time to fall in love with you.
It’s going to take me an even longer time to fall out of love with you.
—
Yukito completely loses the ability to speak, two weeks later.
“His last words were to me,” Shima confesses one day during lunch. She stares down at her bento, her hands shaking as she holds the container. “And they weren’t…they weren’t even anything significant. He was just thanking me for getting him a cup of water. That’s it.”
"He's getting closer, isn't he?" Hatoba asks, her voice so very small, so very scared. "He's...he's really going to die soon, isn't he?"
"We knew this was coming." Keiji gently sets down his water bottle, fidgeting with his fingers. "He knows this better than anyone."
He breathes. In, out, in, out.
"It's time to start saying goodbye."
There's a moment of silence, as the three fourteen-year-olds consider what exactly this means. Keiji's words weigh down heavily on all of them. They all knew this was coming, they knew they had to prepare themselves for this moment. But even so, all that preparation didn't make facing the end any easier.
"It's not fair," Shima bursts out, all at once. She stands up abruptly, knocking her lunchbox to the ground, clenching her fists. "It's not—it's not fair. None of it's fair."
Keiji is fully aware that none of this is fair. Lately, his aunt has become fond of saying, "Life isn't fair. Either lay down and die, or get over it."
This is the cold, hard truth, and Keiji knows it. It's not pleasant to hear, but it is necessary.
He's about to open his mouth to parrot this information to Shima, when she cuts him off angrily. "It should've been you, or Hatoba, or his—his dad. Any one of you should've gotten to hear his last words. Not me. I never—I never got along with him as well as you guys did. I wasn't even that important to him. I didn't deserve it."
And with that, Shima runs off, scrubbing at her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Mitsuki!" Hatoba begins to shout, getting up as well, but Keiji quickly stands up to stop her. "'Kaashi, what are you doing—?"
"Let her be," Keiji says softly. "Let her cry for a bit. We'll talk to her once she's calmer. Okay?"
Hatoba looks visibly conflicted between listening to her level-headed friend or running after her very emotional girlfriend. In the end, she chews her bottom lip and sits back down, her brows drawn together.
"...do you think what she said was true?" Hatoba asks quietly, fidgeting with her empty package of Pocky sticks. "About her not deserving to hear Tsuru's last words."
Keiji doesn't think that anyone deserves or doesn't deserve to hear someone's last words. Whether or not you hear somebody's last words is all up to chance, if you are in the right place at the right time. And he doesn't think that Shima meant any less to Yukito. The two of them were more alike than they wanted to admit, stubborn with dry humor and wit.
He thinks about fate, and he thinks about God. Did everything happen for a reason? Was Shima there to hear Yukito's last spoken words for a reason? Did Yukito become terminally ill for a reason? And if so, what were those reasons? What could Yukito possibly have done to deserve such things?
Maybe it's because he fell in love with you. That is the sin that he committed, and now he must pay with his life.
There's a voice in the back of his head. And when he puts a face to the voice, he sees a boy like a shadow, clinging onto his back, whispering things into his ear. The boy is faceless, featureless, but Keiji knows that it's a facet of him.
Or maybe it's because you fell in love with him. That is the sin that you committed, and now your punishment is to see him die. Slowly. Painfully.
Keiji doesn't like this part of himself.
"Tsuru has not said his final words yet," Keiji says with finality. "He is still able to speak...just not verbally. But he is able to talk to us. And I think..."
"I wanna leave this place. I wanna grow wings and fly away. If I had wings, it wouldn't matter if I couldn't walk. I wanna get away from this place."
To Keiji, it doesn't matter what Yukito's last words are. The Yukito that Keiji wants to hold in his memories is loud, stubborn, unafraid to speak his mind. He is not the pale, bony boy withering away in his hospital bed.
Keiji promised to remember everything about Yukito when he passed. History is written by those who remember, and Keiji can write Yukito's history for him. He will write about the way Yukito would debate about aliens and spaceships, about the way Yukito ate Pocky sticks by snapping them in half, about the way the tips of Yukito's ears flushed red whenever he whispered Keiji's name.
"'Kaashi," Hatoba whispers, taking Keiji's hand in hers. "Are you okay? You're crying."
"I'm fine," Keiji says, but when he lifts his hand to his face, it comes back wet. He doesn't know why he's crying—he knows all of this already. He has rationalized everything in his mind, leaving no room for emotion.
Oh, the boy like shadows whispers into his ear. Is it because, despite all of your logical explanations, you wanted to be the one that hears Yukito's last words? You selfish little boy, you, didn't you just say that everything was up to God, and that everything happened for a reason?
Life's not fair? Either you die, or you get over it. That's just how it works.
Life's not fair, Keiji thinks despairingly. But that doesn't mean that Yukito deserves to die. Nobody deserves to die.
Nobody but sinners, the boy like shadows whispers as he crawls around Keiji's shoulders, clinging onto his back, digging his nails into his skin. Nobody but sinners like you and Yukito and Hatoba and Shima, right?
Keiji suddenly becomes acutely aware of the way his shoulders are beginning to shake, of the way more and more tears are running down his face, plopping into his palms. Hatoba makes an alarmed noise of concern, wrapping her hands around his, getting below his eye level.
"Keiji," Hatoba says softly. "It's okay to cry. You know that, right? You said that."
"It's so hard," Keiji whispers, through all of his tears. "I'm...trying so hard not to be selfish. Trying to be strong, for him. But—but I don't want to see him like this any more. I want to see him healthy. I want to see him happy. I don't want him to die. And—and I don't want to see him die."
God, if you're real, Keiji prays as Hatoba wraps her arms around him, pulling him close, allowing him to choke on his sobs. I know I've done something wrong. I know I've...sinned. But please. It's not fair of you to take it out on Yukito.
Give him more time. Please. A handful of days more, like sand in an hourglass. Please.
Please, please, please.
I don't want to see him die.
—
"What color were his last words?" Keiji asks Shima that Sunday, when the two of them are at church. They're the last ones in the classroom, packing up everything and putting them in their proper places. Shima was much more quiet during this class, mostly just staring down at her paper or her hands.
Shima looks up, startled. She sets her stack of papers down on the table, continuing to stare down at them. Her mouth opens, then closes, opens, then closes.
"...gold," she says eventually. "But...not the gold he normally is. It was like...reddish gold. Gold, mixed with...blood. Keiji—he's going to die soon."
"I know," Keiji says quietly. "But knowing it doesn't make it any easier."
He looks up at the various pictures of Jesus Christ plastered across the church's classroom. He scoffs.
"You think he's going to hell?"
"Don't say that," Shima says, her voice sharp as a blade. "That's your boyfriend you're talking about. Don't you want him to rest easy?"
Keiji picks at the loose skin peeling around his fingernails. When he speaks, his voice is cold.
"I shouldn't have fallen in love with him. Maybe I could've...prevented all of this."
That makes Shima pause. She walks over to him, fidgeting with the cross necklace that hangs around her neck. By the way she bends her head, it may as well be a ball and chain.
"What makes you think," she begins, "that you could ever prevented Tsuru from getting sick? It's genetic. It was always going to happen to him."
"The typical age range for fatal familial insomnia is in the fifties to the sixties," Keiji says. "He should have been able to live...a decent chunk of his life. He shouldn't have died so young."
"You act like you can control who lives and who dies," Shima says, tapping her foot against the floor. "You act like this is within anyone's control. It's not. It all just...happened by chance, and it's a tragedy, but that doesn't mean it's your fault, Keiji. None of it was your fault."
"This is..." Keiji's voice begins to break. "God's doing. Him punishing me for falling in love with Yukito."
There's a moment of silence as the two of them stare up at the sky. Keiji wonders if God Himself is listening in on their conversation.
I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken any of this out loud.
I could be dragging Shima down with me as well.
"If God really wanted to punish you," Shima says eventually. "Wouldn't He kill you? Not Tsuru?"
"Which is more painful?" Keiji asks, thinking of his papa. He thinks of the agony his papa had to endure in the weeks after his mama died. Almost as if he was as good as dead himself. "Dying, or living with the knowledge that Hatoba's dead?"
Shima falls silent. She turns around, heading towards the door.
"Your voice isn't green anymore," she says quietly. "It's black, Akaashi."
And as Keiji watches her race out of the classroom, he can only think—
I shouldn't speak these sinful thoughts any more.
—
There is a brief, one day period where Yukito seemingly gets better. Keiji, as much as he knows about how the eighteen months are running out, as much as he knows that terminal lucidity exists, as much as he knows—
He still hopes. He still hopes that a miracle will happen, and he will be granted a couple of days more.
It means I'm going to die soon, Yukito types into Keiji's notes app. People get really well before they get really worse.
"Don't be so pessimistic," Shima whispers as she leans over to read over Keiji's shoulder. "It...we..."
There's little any of them can say to Yukito anymore. Keiji thought that he and Shima would be the ones that would be able to comfort Yukito in the final moments of his life, because they "thought too much", as Yukito once put it. Perhaps it's because they thought too much that they were bad at comforting Yukito. They see things too rationally, too objectively, unable to take into account others' feelings.
Surprising all of them, Hatoba ends up being the one that is the best at comforting Yukito. All she does is distract Yukito with things: stories, videos, snacks. Yukito has always begrudgingly indulged Hatoba, but he does it even more now. It's as though all of the fight has drained out of the boy, being only able to lie there and accept his fate.
Maybe that's where we went wrong, Keiji thinks as Hatoba braids Yukito's hair. He knows that, to any other person, it would look as though Yukito can't even fight against Hatoba's whims. But Yukito has subtle ways of letting his friends know when he's displeased, or tired, or displeased and tired at the same time. He blinks angrily at them, most of the time, but he also makes feeble attempts to flip them the middle finger.
He doesn't do either of those two things as Hatoba fusses over him, pinning several pink hair clips into his hair. He just lies there, the tiniest of smiles on his face, occasionally squeezing Keiji's hand.
This is a nice way to go, Yukito manages to type on Keiji's phone. His fine motor skills have deteriorated, almost to the point that he's unable to use his hands, but Keiji has gotten better at deciphering his jargon. I don't think I'd have it any other way.
I'm honing a useless skill, Keiji thinks as he scrolls through Yukito's notes. I'm honing a very useless skill.
He's going to die. He's going to die, and I will have no use for being able to read a message with so many typos that it's near indecipherable.
Yukito.
I love you. And I'm sorry for that.
There's a gentle knock at the door, and Shima immediately gets up to open it. Yukito stirs, opening his eyes and mumbling something, but Hatoba whispers to him that it's okay, and Keiji squeezes his hand soothingly.
Shima is whispering quietly with the person outside the door. After a moment, she opens the door fully, and a familiar man comes in.
"Yukki," Tsurumaki-san whispers as Keiji and Hatoba scramble to make space for him. "Son. Are you there?"
It looks like it takes an enormous amount of effort for Yukito to open his eyes just the tiniest bit to squint up at his father. He blinks feebly, in the way that suggests he would feign sleep to get out of this situation if he could, but of course he can't.
Tsurumaki-san doesn't say anything else, only smoothing his son's hair back and kissing him on the forehead. Yukito, despite everything, seems to relax into his father's touch.
"Yukki," his father whispers. "I love you. Very much. You are...my pride and joy. Please remember that."
Yukito doesn't respond. He gives no indication that he's even heard what his father's said. But he blinks, slowly, and somehow—somehow, Keiji knows what Yukito is trying to say in response.
I love you too.
“Rest easy,” Keiji murmurs as he smoothes Yukito’s hair back. Hatoba and Shima do the same as they get up to leave. “Yukito.”
—
Tsurumaki Yukito dies, on the twentieth of February, 2010, at 2:14 AM.
Keiji is stopped by a nurse before he can even make it to the elevator. She shakes her head, and something in Keiji’s heart twists.
No.
“Please,” Keiji begs before the nurse can even open her mouth. “Please—let me—“
“I’m sorry for your loss,” the woman says softly. “He…he passed away this morning. They’ve already…begun the necessary preparations.”
No. No. No.
I knew it was coming.
It still hurts all the same.
How was he supposed to tell Hatoba and Shima? It was the weekend, they planned to come by during the evening and visit Yukito, like they always did, but Yukito’s gone now. Was he supposed to break the news to them, now that he’s found out? Would somebody else tell them? Who would tell them?
What would happen to the three of them now?
The nurse gently sits him down in one of the stupid hard plastic chairs in one of the waiting rooms, and all Keiji can do is bury his face in his hands and cry.
This doesn't get any easier. None of this gets any easier.
Mama. Papa. Yukito.
Maybe that person at Papa's funeral was right.
Maybe all I do is invite tragedy to the people I love.
Is this my punishment? My punishment for being a dirty, dirty sinner?
Somehow, his hands work by themselves, pulling his phone out and punching in Shima's number.
"Hello?"
"Mitsuki," Keiji says in a strangled gasp. "Mitsuki. He—he—this morning—"
That's all he gets out before a fresh round of tears make themselves known, and Keiji's body is wracked with sob after sob. There is a whole ocean's worth of emotions slamming against the walls of his chest, and he wraps his arms around himself, fearing that if he were to let go, he would be destroyed in a violent storm of sorrow.
"We'll be right over," Shima says in a curt voice, but she doesn't hang up. Keiji hears her shuffling around, her calling for her mother, her running through the hallways of her house. "Don't hang up, Keiji. I'm coming over there. I'll call Momoko as well.”
Keiji feels guilt devouring him from the inside out. He is supposed to be the rational one, he is supposed to be the level-headed one, he is supposed to be the one who holds everything together. And yet, he is slowly breaking apart, in this stupid hard plastic chair, feeling the weight of his emotions erode away at his soul.
It could be minutes or hours before Keiji hears a whispered—
"Keiji!"
Hatoba's running over to him, her arms outstretched. Shima isn't running—she never runs, except when she's playing volleyball, but she's walking as fast as one possibly can without running. Hatoba crashes into Keiji with all the force of a hurricane, and Keiji—
Keiji breaks down completely.
He shouldn't be doing this—there are so many people in this hospital, and they could all be looking at him, scrutinizing him, judging him.
But Shima stands in front of him, and Hatoba is basically standing on his feet, and so he feels just the tiniest bit safer, with the two of them shielding him.
"He's gone," Keiji manages to gasp out, and Hatoba wails, and Keiji feels teardrops beginning to seep into his hair. Shima sniffles, and Keiji can see her rubbing her eyes through his tears.
He's gone. He really is gone.
He’s dead and gone, and he’s never coming back.
—
The funeral is held a week later. Keiji is beginning to despise this feeling, the feeling of his stiff tuxedo on his body, the feeling of dread as his aunt drives up to the funeral home, the feeling of hollow grief pounding against his chest.
He finds his friends amongst the sea of black and mourning. The two of them are holding hands, and Hatoba reaches out her one free hand for Keiji to take. Together, the three of them make their way towards their friend.
"Tsuru," Hatoba whispers as they stand in front of his picture on the easel. "Hi."
There's nothing any of them can say. Yukito is not there to hear their words, but Keiji wonders if Yukito is listening to them anyway. Up in heaven, because he's sure that Yukito is up there.
Yukito, Keiji thinks as he and his friends find their seats. Their guardians are following behind them, whispering about how tragic this is, how they had to lose their friend so young.
Have you met my mama and papa yet? Up there? I hope they like you. They probably would like you, if they met you. You and Mama would have talked about so many stories together. You and Papa would have talked about exploring the world together.
I wish I could have seen it. I wish I could’ve come along with you.
The three teenagers stand up. They make their way towards Yukito's casket, taking the white flower petals that are offered to them. Shima goes first, neatly dropping the flower petals on top of Yukito's chest. Hatoba goes next, but her hands are shaking so violently that she ends up scattering the petals everywhere.
And then it's Keiji's turn.
He keeps his fingers clenched around the handful of petals in his hand, his fingernails digging into the meat of his palm. The pain keeps him anchored to reality. He feels as though he'll float away, carried by the grief he carries.
"Hello," Keiji whispers as he manages to open his fist. "Yukito."
The petals scatter across Yukito's chest. He's wearing a black suit, and his dark hair is neatly combed. He's not wearing his glasses, and he looks—vastly different. Keiji almost wishes that he was wearing his glasses, if only to make him look more familiar.
Now he's really and truly dead, Keiji thinks as he bows his head in respect. The only version of him that these people will know is him when he's dead. Only me and Hatoba and Shima will know who he was in life, not who he was in death.
He wishes he could stay for ages longer, etch every detail of Yukito's face into his mind. All he has left of Yukito is pictures, snapshots that feebly attempted to capture the life that they lived together. His mind’s eye is slightly better than photographs, but not by much. Nothing will ever be enough to measure up to the Yukito living in his memories.
They will never be enough to capture the light of Tsurumaki Yukito.
He sits down, in between Hatoba and his aunt. Amane-obasan just looks at him, nodding once. He's too weary to decipher the meaning behind it. His aunt raises his hand, as if to comfort him, but Hatoba wraps her arm around Keiji's shoulder before she can. Hatoba hugs both Keiji and Shima close, her face red with tears.
"I hope it didn't hurt," the girl whispers as she holds the two of them even tighter. "I know it probably did...but I hope it didn't."
Shima is murmuring something under her breath. It sounds something vaguely like a prayer. She claims that she does not believe in God, but that she does believe in heaven, and Keiji hopes it will be enough to secure Yukito's place there.
I hope you rest in peace, Yukito. I’m sorry that I fell in love with you. I’m sorry that it may have been the reason why you died. I’m sorry that I sinned, and because of that, I dragged you down as well.
I can’t follow you wherever you go. Because you’re going to heaven, and I’ll go to hell when I eventually die.
But while I’m alive, I’ll do what you told me to. I’ll fall in love with someone else. It’ll be a girl. And we’ll get married, and we’ll have children, and I’ll love her just like I loved you.
This time, I’ll do it right. Nobody will get hurt because of me. My thoughts, my feelings, my words.
Keiji wonders if Yukito got his wish, his wish to grow wings and fly away. He hopes that now, Yukito will be able to explore the world however he wishes.
After all, angels had wings, didn't they?
Notes:
— RIP tsuru. my mutual on Tumblr said, "did you have to give the kid a prion disease" and the answer is yes. yes I did indeed have to give the kid a prion disease.
— I hope we like our bokuto cameos so far, cause he's gonna finally make his appearance in the next chapter!
— next update is December 2nd
— scream at me for making akaashi suffer on Tumblr
Chapter 5: the stadium (pt. 1) - 4
Summary:
"Say, mind practicing spikes with me for a bit?" Bokuto asks, tilting his head. He looks a little like an owl. Everything that he does looks a little bit like an owl. His hair is spiked up like an owl's, his eyes are wide like an owl's.
Keiji remembers his old, childish dream of wanting wings. Wings like a raven's, to match his hair, to match his mama.
He distantly remembers Yukito telling him, once, that ravens are the natural enemy of owls.
Chapter Text
Akaashi Keiji is fourteen years old when he gets lost for the fourth time.
Why are sports stadiums so big? he thinks to himself as he walks through the doorway with his teammates and promptly manages to lose all of them. What reason is there for this?
He wanders around for a bit, trying his best to figure out where his teammates went and why he ever decided to come here.
The stadium is enormous. There are hundreds of people crowding every spare space, pushing and shoving into each other. The shouts of the crowd and the players echo throughout. Keiji can feel the sounds in his bones. He feels so very small, bearing witness to something so much greater than him.
It's an incredible sensation, to stand at the center of so much noise and chaos. That being said, it would feel more incredible if Keiji weren't terribly anxious about getting completely lost.
"Hey, Akaashi. Which high school are you going to?" his teammate, Kaneda, had asked earlier that day.
"Fukuroudani, maybe." Keiji had said. "There or Suzumeoka."
"Just go with Fukuroudani!" Kaneda had encouraged. "I bet you got a scholarship."
"Yeah, I did."
It still boggles his mind how he was able to get a scholarship to Fukuroudani Academy. That school is renowned for producing some of the best high school volleyball players, many of whom go pro straight out of graduation. Shima got a scholarship there as well, which didn't surprise Keiji at all. She said that it wasn't surprising that he got a scholarship as well, but…
In middle school, he worked as hard as he could. He did everything he was told. He played in a way that would upset the fewest of his teammates and coaches. He didn't particularly question it. He didn't particularly like or dislike volleyball either. He joined because a friend asked him to, and he stayed because his teammates eventually came to rely on him.
So he's unsure if he truly deserves to go to Fukuroudani. Regardless, if he has the opportunity, he will probably take it. Suzumeoka is also a very good school, though less well-known than Fukuroudani.
"Hey, isn't there a high school city tournament going on today?" Kaneda had asked earlier that day. "Wanna go watch?"
"Hm?" Keiji had said, considering what he had to do when he got home. Very little, considering that—
Yukito is dead. Yukito is gone.
"Ah. Sure."
He needed to get out of the house, take his mind off of his friend's passing.
The pain is still there, aching and raw. All Keiji can think about is that Yukito would have congratulated him with his whole heart. Yukito would have said that he deserved such a great thing. It might have been a lie, but it would have made Keiji feel good about his potential as a volleyball player.
The letters scouting him out said he had potential, and lots of it. He could be a great asset to their teams.
You don't deserve this, a voice like a shadow whispers into Keiji's ear. You've been given such a great opportunity. There's so many other people that this opportunity could have gone to. Why you, of all people?
You don't deserve this.
Keiji shakes his head. He probably doesn't deserve this, that much is true. He feels like a liar, a phony, every time he thinks about it too hard. But is it lying if other people say this about him? About his skills?
What is true about his abilities, and what is not?
"Akaashi!" he hears, and he finally manages to look around and spot Kaneda. "There you are! C'mon, we found the match that Fukuroudani is playing in!"
"Coming," Keiji calls as he begins to jog over to his teammates.
They push and shove their way through the crowd, until they come up to a set of doors. Kaneda pushes the door open, waving to the rest of their teammates.
The first thing that catches Keiji's eye is the player that is jumping up to spike the ball.
His hair is white, streaked with black, and he's shouting in glee as he stomps on the ground, hands outstretched to slam the ball across the net. His jersey number is twelve.
His eyes are golden, and they seem to be shining in the light of the gymnasium.
Like stars, Keiji thinks distantly. He seems familiar. But I can't put my finger on it.
"And he's still a rookie, right?" Kaneda asks their teammates in awe. "He totally doesn't seem like one! What was his name?"
"Oh, I think his name was...Bokuto, wasn't it?"
He's a first year? Keiji asks himself as the ball slams into an opposing player with so much force that he stumbles back. Him?
Natural talent will get you far, it seems.
He doesn't have natural talent, not in the same way that this boy seems to have. But he's practiced, and he's apparently good enough to get a scholarship to Fukuroudani on his volleyball skills alone, so—
I wonder if I could keep up with him, if I played with him.
He watches the boy for the rest of the match. He watches the boy pump his fists into the air when he scores, watches him nearly tear his hair out when he fails. When the boy scores the winning point of the second set, he bumps chests with his own coach, screaming all the while.
I've never seen someone do anything with so much...passion.
That boy—Bokuto—is so unlike the people that Keiji plays volleyball with. His teammates are good enough, but they view the sport as a sport, and nothing more. In fact, the only person that Keiji can really compare the boy to is Shima, the person who got him into volleyball in the first place.
He seems so familiar, Keiji keeps thinking to himself. He seems larger than life.
Regardless if he seems familiar or not, Keiji feels inexplicably drawn towards the boy. In the same way a planet is drawn into a star's orbit, Keiji thinks—
Fukuroudani. That's where I want to go for high school.
—
"I've made my choice for where I want to go to high school," Keiji announces as he sits down in the grass. "Fukuroudani high school. Amane-obasan was worried about me attending a boarding school, but I got through to her in the end."
"I'll be going there as well," Shima announces as she smoothes out her skirt. "The two of us got there on volleyball scholarships. We'll be playing for the same school again."
"I'll just be going to Mitaka High," Hatoba says cheerfully. "I'm not like these two, I can't play any sport real good. Maybe you would've joined me, Tsuru. Kept me some company."
The three of them bow their heads towards the gravestone in front of them. The engravings of 鶴巻 千翔, Tsurumaki Yukito, 1995-2009, stares back at them. Three sticks of incense are stuck into an incense holder. Next to the holder sit four paper cranes, folded by each of them.
Keiji folded Yukito's for him.
"I'm excited for high school," Hatoba continues. "I'll miss Mitsuki, and I'll miss 'Kaashi, but I'll live. But...I miss you. A lot, Tsuru."
"We all miss you," Shima confirms as she wraps her arm around Hatoba's shoulder, pulling her close. "It's...nothing has been the same since you've left."
It's a week until the new school term starts. All three of them graduated from middle school without Yukito at their side. Bags were packed, plans were made, and their friend was grieved.
And life continues on.
Keiji wonders if he should go back to Kamakura, visit his parents' graves. He visited his mama's grave only once, and he never went back to Kamakura after his papa's death. He wonders if they were buried next to each other. They should have been—they were married.
He wonders, when he dies, if he would be buried with them. Or no—he would probably be buried with his wife, in a graveyard in Tokyo. Would he be buried in the same dirt that now holds Yukito?
He wonders if his children will be buried with him as well.
"'Kaashi," Hatoba whispers, gently taking his hand in her own. "What're you thinking about?"
"I miss him," Keiji whispers. No tears come leaking out, but something in his heart cracks and leaks all the same. "I miss him so much."
Grief is a strange, horrible thing. It feels like a sharp, hot blade being plunged into his heart repeatedly, over and over again.
How long has he been grieving someone? His mama, his papa, his friend. How long has his heart been stabbed, over and over again? Time heals all wounds, but not when the wounds keep getting reopened, over and over again.
How many layers of scar tissue stretch over his heart?
How deep do his wounds run?
—
He moves into Fukuroudani Academy, with Shima by his side. There is no Hatoba, and it's slightly disconcerting to realize how silent both he and Shima tend to be without anyone else to encourage them.
He sets up his dorm. He meets his roommate, a boy named Yukawa Tsuneharu. Yukawa is nice enough, though he doesn't seem to have many interests besides reading webnovels on his phone.
"Akaashi Keiji," Keiji says, and Yukawa nods sleepily at him. "It's nice to meet you."
"You too," Yukawa says idly before rolling over and pulling his covers over his head.
Keiji tries not to think about how Yukawa's name, if he mixes up the syllables, sounds just like Yukito's.
Not everything leads back to Yukito, Keiji reminds himself as he sets his textbooks on the desk. Not everything is about him.
He goes to his first volleyball club meeting, a couple days after the first day of school. Fukuroudani's gymnasium is massive, so much bigger than Mori's gymnasium. Not as big as the stadium that Keiji was in, months ago, but it's a near thing. There's so many more people that have joined the volleyball team as well—Keiji worries about whether he'll ever be able to get a starting position here.
You came here on a volleyball scholarship, Keiji reminds himself. Your skills are...adequate enough. Whether or not you deserve to be in this position, you need to make the most of this opportunity.
Don't fuck this up, a boy in the shadows whispers into his ear. Everyone's watching you.
"I'm Akaashi Keiji from Mori Junior High," Keiji says, keeping his voice even. "I played setter."
Out of the corner of his eye, he can see—
That boy with spiky white hair, with golden eyes that shine like stars.
Bokuto. That's the boy's name.
He's the one that drew me here.
"It's an honor to be here."
—
"Heya!" the boy shouts after practice ends, running over to him. Keiji, as one of the three first-years on the team, has been delegated to cleaning duty. "You're Ah-kashi-kun, right?"
"It's Ah-ka-ah-shi," Keiji says. He's Bokuto Koutarou. He learned the boy's full name today, and he also learned many other things about the boy, like his favorite food and his current concern. His favorite food is yakiniku, and his current concern is that he cannot write "concern" in kanji.
"Say, mind practicing spikes with me for a bit?" Bokuto asks, tilting his head. He looks a little like an owl. Everything that he does looks a little bit like an owl. His hair is spiked up like an owl's, his eyes are wide like an owl's.
Keiji remembers his old, childish dream of wanting wings. Wings like a raven's, to match his hair, to match his mama.
He distantly remembers Yukito telling him, once, that ravens are the natural enemy of owls.
Well, maybe I shouldn't have come to a private academy that has 'owl' in its name, Keiji thinks. He wonders if everybody else on the team could see that he sticks out like a sore thumb.
But this particular owl is looking at him with a certain eagerness in his eyes. Keiji wonders why that is—he's not particularly special, even though he's competed in a lot of tournaments over his junior high career. One of his teammates—Konoha Akinori—shoots Keiji an almost sympathetic gaze as he walks out of the gymnasium. Keiji wonders why that is.
"Alright," Keiji tells the boy, and the boy's eyes shine. "Bokuto-san."
—
It was not just "for a bit."
Keiji now understands why Konoha-san looked at him with pity earlier. It has been an hour, and Keiji vaguely feels like his legs have turned to jello.
"Nice kill..." Keiji manages to gasp out as he doubles over, hands planted on his knees. How was it possible for someone to have so much energy? How was it possible for someone to have so much enthusiasm?
How was it possible for someone to have so much passion?
"AH-KASHI!" Bokuto shouts, and Keiji is barely able to correct him with a feeble "it's Ah-ka-ah-shi" before the boy shouts:
"Your setting is the best! I love the way you put the ball up!"
Ah. Well.
It's actually quite a nice feeling to be complimented that directly.
"Oh," Keiji huffs, finally managing to regain his breath. "Thanks."
"Do you ever get excited about anything?!" Bokuto shouts, picking up one of the stray volleyballs and throwing it into the cart. It lands perfectly inside the cart. Keiji wonders if the boy had ever dabbled in basketball.
"Rarely ever," Keiji informs Bokuto as he helps his senpai pick up all the stray balls.
Bokuto pouts, and it's strangely...endearing. But then he perks up, rushing over to Keiji with the same eager look in his eyes.
"You'll practice with me again, won't you, Akaashi?"
He finally said my name correctly.
"Of course," Keiji says, tilting his head to look up at his teammate. "Bokuto-san."
—
"Whoa, it sounds like you guys are having so much fun over there!" Hatoba's voice rings out through the tinny speakers of Shima's phone. "I hope you guys are doing well in all your classes! High school's so hard, I can't believe we got two more years of this."
"We will have many more years of college as well," Shima reminds her as she rummages through her backpack. "And graduate school, if you decide to go there."
"What are you gonna be after you graduate high school, Shima?"
Shima scoffs. "Professional volleyball player. Easy. What about you?"
"Hmm, I dunno yet! I'll figure that out once I'm older. 'Kaashi, what are you gonna be when you're older?"
Keiji freezes.
He has given his future a lot of thought—his aunt has been texting him quite a lot about considering his options for college, even though he's only a first year. He has already figured out his major—something in finance, with a minor in literature—but he has not given thought to what he will do with that major.
I certainly can't be a professional volleyball player, he thinks. Not like Shima or Bokuto. Amane-obasan will kill me. I don't have the skill for it, either.
I am just painfully average at everything I attempt to do.
"I am not sure yet," Keiji says, and Hatoba makes a sound of assent. "I suppose that the answers will become clearer once I enter college."
"Makes sense!" Hatoba says. "I don't really understand all the college stuff right now, anyway. I'll probably understand when I'm older! That's what my parents say."
Everybody always tells me that I will understand when I am older. At what point will I be old enough to understand everything?
He feels like he is supposed to be getting wiser as the years go by, but he just feels the exact same as he always does. He supposes that he accumulates knowledge as he ages, but it is a slow, slow process.
"I miss you," Shima coos, and Keiji makes a disgusted noise, just to see Shima scrunch her nose up. "Keiji hates gay people, Momoko, can you believe it?"
Hatoba cackles from the other side of the phone, and Keiji feels his heart drop.
He doesn't dislike gay people. His friends are gay, Yukito was gay, he was—
You're a sinner. The boy in the shadows returns, pressing his hands down onto Keiji's back, shoulders, neck. That's what you are. Liking boys is a disease, one that's going to eat you alive, leave you rotting in the depths of hell when you die.
Your friends are all going to hell, too. They're both girls. And girls aren't meant to love each other, now are they?
Yukito is already burning in hell. He's burning in hell because he fell in love with you, and because you did nothing to stop him. You indulged him, and now he's dead and gone, and he's never coming back.
It's all your fault.
My friends are good people, Keiji thinks desperately. They're not going to go to hell. It's only me that's going to go to hell, because…
Because everybody you love dies? the boy in the shadows asks, running a cold finger along Keiji's chin, tilting his head up. Because you're cursed? Because God said that from the moment you were born, Akaashi Keiji was destined to be evil?
I'm not evil, Keiji pleads with his shadow self. His shadow self is faceless, but Keiji swears that its cheeks turn upward in a grin. I know I'm going to hell, but…
But what? the boy in the shadows asks mockingly. There's nothing left for you to think about.
You are going to hell. You are a sinner.
You are a bad person, Akaashi Keiji. There's no denying that.
—
"Yo," Keiji hears one day as his class is ending.
He looks up, to find two second-years from the volleyball club standing in the doorway. One of them has oddly-colored hair—Keiji can't tell if it's blonde or brown or green. Konoha, his brain supplies. The other boy is much shorter than him, with an undercut and brown hair. Komi, his brain tells him.
The second-year wing spiker and libero. What are they doing at Keiji's class?
"If you ever wanna get away from Bokuto, just let me know, 'kay?" Konoha continues, hands on his hips. "I won't trade with you, but I'll definitely help you come up with excuses!"
"Not gonna trade with him, huh?" Komi scoffs, elbowing his friend in the ribs.
Is he...under the impression that I don't want to practice with Bokuto?
It's been a couple weeks into their first term, and Keiji has been practicing extra with Bokuto almost every day. Bokuto is always enthusiastic about it, and Keiji always indulges him.
Is it tiring? Yes.
Is it rewarding? Yes.
Because Bokuto, without fail, every single time, compliments Keiji's sets and demands for another one. Keiji, meanwhile, will compliment Bokuto's spikes when he makes a particularly good one.
Praise can be a dangerous drug, and Keiji knows this.
"Oh, thank you, but I'm okay," Keiji says, bowing his head towards Konoha. "It's actually rather fun to practice with a star player."
Konoha splutters. "A what player?!"
"Whoa," Komi says in awe. "Is this guy actually also a secret weirdo?"
Well, Keiji has begun to keep a running list of all of Bokuto’s weaknesses, all of the things he has observed in practice and out, and it’s not technically weird if he’s doing it so Bokuto can improve. But, yes, maybe he is a bit weird.
The two senpai laugh good-naturedly, Konoha ruffles Keiji's hair, and then they shuffle off. A few moments later, while Keiji is gathering his belongings and making his way out into the hallway, he hears—
"AKAASHI!"
Keiji turns around to find the one and only Bokuto barreling his way towards him, like an overly excited golden retriever.
"Bokuto-san," Keiji says politely. What were so many of his upperclassmen doing in his hallway? "Is there anything I can help you with?"
"It's lunchtime," Bokuto says eagerly, and Keiji wonders for a second if Konoha was trying to warn him. He then resigns himself to practicing during his lunch breaks in the future as well. He should have listened to his senpai.
"Wanna sit with me and my friends?"
Keiji blinks. "I'm sorry?"
Bokuto nods vigorously, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him along to the cafeteria. "You should sit with us! I haven't seen you in the cafeteria at all, like, ever! Aren't you lonely sitting by yourself?"
"I..."
Keiji does not eat lunch by himself—at least, he mostly doesn't. He sits with Shima during lunch, in one of the spare classrooms, but she's been joined by more and more of her friends lately. Of course he understands that Shima would make new friends, but he also feels like he's slowly drifting away from her.
He figures that she wouldn't mind if he didn't show up to lunch for one day.
"Alright," Keiji says, nodding his head towards Bokuto. "Lead the way."
And Bokuto does just that, talking Keiji's ear off while leading him through the crowd of second-years. Keiji now realizes just how popular Bokuto is, as he gets stopped every couple of minutes to say hi to somebody. All Keiji can do is trail behind him, trying not to get swallowed up by the seemingly endless amount of people that want to talk to Bokuto.
"You seem to have quite a lot of people that want to be your friend," Keiji says as they finally walk into the cafeteria. "Why do you not spend your time with some of them?"
Why bother with a first-year that nobody even knows?
What worth do I have?
"But, Akaashi," Bokuto says, with a thoroughly confused look. "You are my friend."
And Keiji does not have much to say to that, so he just nods and follows Bokuto over to a table in the middle of the cafeteria.
Are we friends?
They spend every day together, but only during volleyball practice. They do extra practice together, but that is because Keiji wants to hear Bokuto praise him, day after day. Keiji praises him as well, because he is worthy of praise, but this may have been a mistake. Bokuto has imprinted on him, like a baby bird.
And now he thinks we are friends.
He feels a surge of guilt rise up inside him as he sits down next to Bokuto. There are people on all sides of Bokuto, talking to him, fist-bumping him, wanting to just be in his presence.
There are so many other people that would make a better friend than me.
"Hey, it's Akaashi!" Konoha cheers as he sits down on Keiji's other side. "Bokuto dragged you here as well, huh?"
"He can be a handful," Komi agrees, as though Bokuto isn't right there. Keiji glances over to his left, gauging Bokuto's reaction, but he's not even paying attention. He's talking excitedly about volleyball with one of their third-year teammates.
The other second-year players, Sarukui Yamato and Washio Tatsuki, sit down in front of Keiji, and it's then that Keiji realizes that he may have stepped a bit out of his element. All of his senpai begin talking with each other, and Keiji feels so small. None of his upperclassmen seem to include him in any of their conversations.
So he watches them instead.
And as he watches Bokuto make conversation with their third-year teammates, Keiji realizes something.
None of these people...actually have much respect for Bokuto.
The second-years treat Bokuto like an unruly little brother, and while they're never outright malicious about it, they do seem to respond to any of the boy's concerns with a, "sure, Bokuto". Keiji knows that they've known Bokuto for a year at this point, and he knows that there's sure to be some history with them, some things that they know that he doesn't. But still—Bokuto is a human with human emotions. Keiji thinks that they could stand to be a little more empathetic.
The third-years on the other hand—they are a different matter entirely. Throughout the course of lunch, Keiji witnesses far too many microaggressions made at Bokuto's expense, backhanded compliments that fly over Bokuto's head, and a couple of really mean comments.
"Hey, Bokuto, is all that's in your head volleyball?" Keiji hears a third-year say.
"Yep!" Bokuto says proudly, crossing his arms.
"A single volleyball, rattling around in his head," another third-year snickers. "That's all there is. No wonder he's so..."
So what? Keiji wants to say. Passionate? He wants to rise to Bokuto's defense, but what right does he have? He's just a first-year that barely knows any of them, barely knows the team that he's playing with.
Bokuto-san’s weakness number 33: he often misinterprets questions.
Bokuto might not fully register their insults, but Keiji can tell that he knows something is happening. He can tell by the way Bokuto seems to droop, by the way the second-years quickly strike up a conversation with him to distract him.
He's beginning to realize just why Bokuto imprinted on him like a baby bird.
He wants an actual friend.
—
And from there, there is not a single moment that Keiji spends alone. As soon as Keiji's classes let out, Bokuto is there, right outside his door, to talk his ear off as he heads off to his next class. Never mind the fact that Bokuto most definitely has classes of his own to get to—no, Bokuto always insists that he "has to show Akaashi around our school! So he doesn't get lost!"
Some of the other second-years hang around Keiji as well. Konoha joins in occasionally, and Komi joins if Konoha's there. Shirofuku drifts in and out, often asking Bokuto or Keiji for snacks she can eat. Sarukui joins if Bokuto's whining about his literature homework, and Washio joins if Bokuto's whining about his math homework.
“You do not have the best grades as of late,” Washio informs him as Bokuto whines about having to go to the library to study. “It’s important that you try and fix that.”
“Maybe if you didn’t fall asleep in class every two minutes, you’d do better,” Sarukui muses.
Bokuto-san’s weakness number 14: he’s not a good student academically. Bokuto-san’s weakness number 15: he falls asleep in class super often.
Keiji begins to gain a better understanding of how the Fukuroudani team functions as a unit. On the court, certainly, but off the court as well.
They are not his friends—they are his upperclassmen, and Keiji is sure that the majority of them only hang out with him because he is with Bokuto ninety percent of the time. They take pity on him, a boy with no interests outside of volleyball and reading, a boy with no friends besides a girl on the women's volleyball team and the loudest second-year there ever was.
But he does have to admit that he does feel like they are his friends when Shirofuku Yukie says one day:
"Akaashi, you pick at your nails a lot."
Keiji looks down at his hands, where his index finger is indeed digging at a hangnail on his thumb. He bows his head, apologizes, then hides his hands underneath the table. He'll have to figure out a way to fix that later. Their manager is quite perceptive—well, that’s her job after all.
But then Shirofuku rummages through her bag, pulling a bottle of some black liquid out and sliding it towards Keiji.
"You wanna try using nail polish?" Shirofuku asks, showing her own hand to Keiji. Her nails are painted in matte black, but there are large chunks where the polish has been picked off. "I used to pick at my nails a lot as well. But if you have nail polish on, you pick at that instead. Helps a lot with not damaging your nails."
"I wouldn't want to trouble you," Keiji says, sliding the bottle back over to his senpai, but Shirofuku waves him off and slides the bottle back.
"I got a lot more, so it’s not a problem. And if you don't take good care of your hands, then your playing's going to suffer as a result," Shirofuku says simply, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't think anyone on our team wants that to happen to you."
"I'm not even on the starting lineup yet," Keiji says softly. His voice is soft and cold, like snow, and he has to remind himself that of course Shirofuku would tell him this—it's to maintain his playing, not because he's trying to be friendly.
And then Shirofuku giggles at him, patting his shoulder and standing up.
"Not with that attitude, you won't," the girl says. "But—well, if you get there, I think Bokuto will be really happy hitting your sets. He’s been looking a lot happier as of late."
Keiji can only stare at Shirofuku’s retreating back as he takes the bottle of black nail polish and slips it into his pocket.
Take the opportunities you're given. Do better.
—
"Nice job!" Keiji shouts as Bokuto hits another one of his sets. Bokuto whoops, pumping his fists into the air and running around in a small circle. All of the extra practice the two of them have been putting in has paid off.
"You're the best, Akaashi!" Bokuto shouts, slapping him on the back. Keiji wheezes—it feels as though Bokuto's knocked all the air out of his chest. "Nobody's better than you!"
Keiji smiles weakly, as Bokuto runs towards the locker rooms in victory. All of the practice outside of normal practice certainly tires him out, but it's worth it. It's worth it to see the satisfied smile on Bokuto's face, and it's worth it to see the looks of awe they get from their teammates.
Well. Not all of their teammates look up to them in awe.
"Menjou, you hear that?"
Keiji turns his head to find the starting setter for their team staring down at him.
Takaai Hiroki crosses his arms, smirking. He nudges their current ace, Menjou Shigemi, in the side with his elbow. "Bokuto thinks that Akaashi is the best setter ever, huh? You think that's true?"
Menjou shakes his head, chuckling. "I played with him today, remember? He's not nearly as good as you. Do you think you're as good as Takaai, Akaashi?"
No, Keiji thinks helplessly. No, I don't think that's true at all. I shouldn't have let the praise go to my head. Bokuto gets too excited over the smallest of things.
I never know when praise is genuine or not. I was a fool to think that Bokuto actually meant it. I am just the only person who is willing to help him after practice.
There is a clear divide between us.
"I mean," Takaai continues, shrugging. "Why don't we see who's the better player, yeah? Right here, right now?"
"I wouldn't want to trouble you," Keiji says, and his voice sounds so small. What is the best way to get out of this situation? Appease them. Just do that. Just tell them what they want. "It is obvious that you are the better setter, Takaai-senpai."
The corners of Takaai's lips curve up. "Respectful, aren't you? You're a nice kid, Akaashi. You must be a saint, being able to put up with Bokuto every single damn day. Not a single thought in that guy's head."
Keiji remembers, with a start, what Takaai said weeks ago, during lunch.
"A single volleyball, rattling around in his head. That's all there is. No wonder he's so..."
An unfamiliar anger begins to course through Keiji's veins.
"Bokuto's such a pain in the ass sometimes," Takaai says, and Menjou nods in agreement. "You don't need to be so polite all the time, now do you? You can let him have it every now and then."
Like you? Keiji thinks angrily as he recalls the events that happened during today's practice. They had split off into two teams, playing against each other, and Takaai and Bokuto were on the same side. Never once during the match did Takaai send a set towards Bokuto.
There was one moment where Keiji watched Takaai feign a set towards Bokuto. Bokuto's eyes had lit up with excitement, and Keiji could almost imagine his thought process: finally! I get to hit the ball!
And the ball had sailed past Bokuto, to another third-year hitter. All the excitement left Bokuto's eyes as he fell lamely to the ground.
Keiji looked over at Takaai, and he could tell that it was all intentional.
If I were starting setter, Keiji thinks ruefully. I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't exclude other players just for the hell of it. Nobody deserves that.
"If you don't like him," Takaai says, his mouth still curved up in that same horrible smile. "Just say so, Akaashi. No need to lie. None of us like him much anyway."
I like Bokuto, Keiji thinks. I like him because he is enthusiastic and passionate and he is—
He is my friend.
Bokuto Koutarou is on track to becoming one of the top high school aces in Japan, he loves this sport with his whole heart, and he is my friend.
Why would I ever hate him?
“I must go now,” Keiji says, hurriedly excusing himself from the gym as fast as he can. He doesn’t miss how Takaai and Menjou leer at him as he makes his hasty exit.
Do they have nothing better to do than rag on their underclassmen all the damn time?
Well, they are our senpai. They’re older than us, and…does that make them automatically deserving of respect? Good people give out compassion without judgment, regardless of the other party’s actions.
Life isn't fair. Lie down and die, or get over it. Just…suck it up.
Bokuto has been looking a lot more happy as of late, and logically, it’s because of Keiji. Keiji has been spending more time with him, practicing more with him, and it must be comforting for Bokuto to be able to play with teammates that do not scorn him. It must be nice for Bokuto to be complimented more often, but…
Do I mean it when I compliment Bokuto? Do I truly mean what I say? Bokuto has talent, that much is certain, but…
How much of my praise does Bokuto take to heart?
—
"Hey, Akaashi! What was that you just did?" Bokuto asks after practice one day. "Y'know, the one where the blockers smacked you down?"
"Ah, you mean my attempted rebound?" Keiji asks as he tugs off his practice jersey. "The ball was in a difficult place, so I thought I might reset and try again. I messed it up, though. The blockers got me."
"Ooh!" Bokuto nods his head up and down, nudging Keiji in the shoulder. "That sounds cool! Teach me how to do it!"
Bokuto-san is strange, Keiji thinks as he prepares for another hour of extra practice with the boy. At a glance, he seems like a shallow person, interested only in flashy plays and bored by fussy details. Yet—he's going out of his way to be curious about what a rookie backup had done on a busted play.
So he does his best to teach Bokuto how to do a rebound, with partial sucess—Bokuto becomes able to do it, and Keiji does not.
Hard work can only get you so far. Natural talent will get you farther.
"I must admit, I'm surprised," Keiji says the next day during practice.
Bokuto glances towards him as he gulps down water. "By what?"
"Rebounds seem much too plain to draw your interest, Bokuto-san." Keiji bounces the volleyball in his hands twice, trying his best not to pick at his nails. "From what I can tell, you like to do whatever grabs the most attention. Your thought process is generally, 'gimme the ball so I can smash it!' and 'gimme the triple block! I love challenging myself with triple blocks!'"
Saukui snickers from where he's squatting near them. "For a guy who seems polite and restrained all the time, Akaashi's blunt as a hammer to the face."
I would not have put it like that, but yes. No point in mincing words when it comes to this.
Bokuto ignores his teammate's words, instead fully directing his attention to Keiji.
"Think about what's fun, not what's easy." Bokuto grins, while Keiji wrinkles his brows in confusion. "My old coach from back in my junior league days harped on that allll the dang time. I never really liked having to do things exactly as I was told...but that? That just kinda made sense to be, y'know?"
Bokuto shrugs as he continues listing off some very obvious facts. "Getting blocked is no fun. Botching digs is no fun. Missing serves is no fun. Getting tired is no fun. I wanna score every time. I wanna dig every ball. I wanna win every game."
He stands like that, head held high, for a couple seconds before Konoha cackles and says, "Yeah, it would be fun to win every game, wouldn't it!"
"I've grown bored with winning all the time," Sarukui declares, messing up his hair and making Konoha laugh even more.
"Hah! What, are you the super-genius rival character now?"
"I would think it's close to impossible to win every time," Keiji says, holding a hand to his chin.
"You don't gotta be that conscientious!" Bokuto wails as he waves his hands around.
'Having fun' seems like it should be a simple thing...but the way Bokuto-san said it made it sound like a difficult and arduous task. But it makes sense. You can't have fun at the game unless you're good at the game.
Nobody likes losing.
"Wait, what's 'conscientious' mean again?" Bokuto asks, much to the amusement of his teammates.
Konoha groans, shaking his head. "Dude, why'd you even say it then?"
"I think you used it correctly, though," Sarukui points out before standing up. "'M gonna go practice my jump serve again."
"Again?" Konoha asks in disbelief, watching as Keiji tosses Sarukui the volleyball he's holding. "Haven't you practiced that, like, twenty times already?"
"Hey, it's just like Bokuto said," Sarukui says as he spins the ball in his hands before throwing it up, running towards the end line, jumping up, and serving the ball. Despite the fact that Keiji cannot see any visible fault, Sarukui clicks his tongue and shakes his head. "Think about what's fun, not what's easy."
—
In the coming days, Keiji and the rest of the Fukuroudani team see just how far Sarukui is willing to go in the name of Bokuto's mantra.
"Hey, you should take a break," Konoha calls as, for once, Sarukui stays behind with Bokuto and Keiji to practice even more. He rolls his shoulders back as he heads over to Sarukui, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Before you, like, break something."
It surprises Keiji, just how far Sarukui is willing to go just for this one skill. It could be the fact that more and more people outside of the volleyball club have been gushing about how cool Bokuto was, being the only second-year on a starting lineup full of third-years. Sarukui, though he doesn't show it at all, must feel like he must have to measure up.
His jumping form is off, Keiji thinks as he watches his senpai. He keeps focusing on the timing of the ball. His running approach towards the line is too cautious. I think he's scared that he's going to step on the line and get fouled.
"Yay!" Bokuto slaps Keiji on the back as he watches Sarukui serve yet again. "Someone else joining our practices! The more the merrier, eh, Akaashi?"
"Bokuto-san, I think we should stop him before he injures himself," Keiji blurts out.
Because Sarukui—well, Sarukui is not looking very good. Sarukui, as a matter of fact, looks very exhausted, a far departure from his normally laid-back and easygoing expression.
"Eh, you're probably right," Bokuto says, and Keiji vaguely thinks that Bokuto doesn't really understand why Keiji's said what he said, just that he must be right, probably.
It's foolish of him to place so much trust in my judgment.
—
Sarukui, rather unfortunately, ends up injuring his ankle attempting to perfect his jump serve.
If he wanted to be a member of the starting lineup, he certainly won't be one now, Keiji thinks, surprised at how much scorn colors his thoughts. I shouldn't be thinking like that. He was practicing so hard. I suppose Bokuto-san's words rubbed off on him too much.
Keiji glances over at the bench, where Sarukui is watching them, miserably. His ankle is in a brace, and Keiji's own ankles wince in sympathy. Washio had said that he would be back to playing in a month, which is very lucky for Sarukui, but he still looks dejected regardless.
Is there such a thing where you want to win so badly, you end up losing everything? As a result of too much pride, too much want?
"I dunno," Keiji hears Sarukui telling Konoha later that night. "Even before this, I felt like...it just wasn't fun anymore."
Konoha sighs. "I guess even Bokuto had a point when he said that you could only have fun at the game if you were good at it."
"Who knew Bokuto could actually be right about something?"
Bokuto-san's right about a lot of things, Keiji thinks, his hackles raising. Well—maybe just some things. Maybe if you twist his words around a lot, the nonsense ends up becoming genius, in some sort of way.
"Hey, hey, hey!"
Speak of the devil—actually, no, don't speak of the devil. Keiji nods towards Bokuto as he runs towards him. Sorry. I hope nobody heard that.
"How's the ankle doin', Saru?" Bokuto asks as he stops in front of Sarukui. "You feeling any better?"
Sarukui gives Bokuto a noticeably strained smile. "Yep, doing better."
"That's good! I hope you get better soon, it must suck not being able to play volley—"
"Actually," Sarukui interrupts, staring down at his ankle. "I don't know if I'm going to come back to the team after this."
That makes Bokuto falter. His face screws up in confusion and something bordering on despair. "What do you mean, not coming back? Why not?!"
Sarukui just shrugs, and Keiji thinks that it's a shame that this is the most emotion he's ever seen from his upperclassman. "Not all of us are like you, y'know? Not...all of us can be so good at the game and have fun at it all of the time. It gets tiring, trying to keep up with someone like you."
"What? But—"
"I think I'm going to go now," Sarukui says, and Komi passes him his crutches. He nods to all of them, and then he begins hobbling away. "See you guys later."
Konoha whistles lowly as Sarukui makes his way out of the gymnasium, shaking his head. "Sucks for him. You think if we all help to buy barbeque for him, he'll cheer up?"
"I'm gonna go talk to him," Bokuto declares, turning to head after Sarukui.
That may be one of your worse ideas. I believe he is—he is not jealous of you, per se, but he wants to be more like you. We all want to be more like you, because you are good at this game. You put all your effort into every game we play.
But that's the thing, isn't it? You put all of your effort into volleyball, Bokuto-san, and we don't. Because we have other things we want to focus on, and so our attention is divided elsewhere, and so we can never be as good as you.
I do not think I can ever be as good as you.
"I'm not sure if—" Keiji begins, but Bokuto cuts him off with a glare and a shout.
"I'm gonna go talk to him!" Bokuto shouts, and then stomps out through the doors.
As the gymnasium doors swing open and closed, Konoha lets out a loud, long-suffering sigh.
"Well. That's that."
—
As it turns out, speaking to Sarukui was not one of the worst ideas that Bokuto has had.
"What did you even say to him?" Keiji asks, astonished, as he watches Sarukui pore over diagrams detailing potential plays with Konoha and Washio. There's a renewed vigor in the boy's eyes as he scribbles on the whiteboard with dry erase markers, talking eagerly with his teammates.
"Just encouraged him, y'know?" Bokuto asks, picking up a stray volleyball and whooping when he manages to throw it perfectly into the cart. "I can't believe it worked either! I'm so amazing, aren't I, Akaashi?"
And normally, Keiji would pay more mind to how his words affect Bokuto, if his words were only going to fan the flames of Bokuto's ego, if his words were true or not, if they would mean anything at all to Bokuto. But for now—
"Yes, you're truly amazing."
His words make Bokuto light up, eyes shining as brightly as stars. Bokuto pumps his fist in the air before running around and cheering, "Woo-hoo! Akaashi said I was the best, and that I'm so great, and that I'm the most amazing person ever—"
"I did not say all of that," Keiji interjects, but he thinks—
You really are amazing. How is it possible for someone to devote so much of their energy to a single thing, to be so sure that they will succeed, to be so good at it and have fun at it simultaneously? That is your greatest strength—your love for this sport, and your ability to remind others about their own love for the sport as well.
I sound like I never mean it when I say it, but I do mean it.
You are amazing, Bokuto Koutarou.
—
They go to training camp, on the first day of summer vacation. It would make sense for an elite school like Fukuroudani to not waste a single opportunity to sharpen their skills. Apparently, Fukuroudani and three other Tokyo high schools have been partners for a long time, holding volleyball training camps with each other.
"I gotta introduce you to someone I met last time," Bokuto declares as Keiji follows him through the hallways, towards the entrance of the cafeteria. "His name's Kuroo! I think he's almost here. Any minute now!"
And right as Bokuto says this, Keiji sees a group of students dressed in red jackets making their way towards the cafeteria. Bokuto shouts with glee upon seeing one of them, and he waves towards him. It's a boy with black hair that sticks up, and a coy, catlike smile.
The black-haired boy nudges another boy, this one with long hair that covers his face. Bokuto takes off running, and all Keiji can do is follow him.
"This is Bokuto Koutarou," the black-haired boy says to the long-haired boy, gesturing to Bokuto. Bokuto puffs his chest out with pride. "Bokuto, this is Kozume Kenma. Kenma, this is Bokuto Koutarou. We've been friends since we were—what, eight?"
"You were eight, I was seven," the long-haired boy—Kozume—mutters as the other boy pushes him forward. Bokuto's holding his hand out, and Keiji watches Kozume hesitantly hold his hand out to shake. Bokuto immediately shakes it with both of his hands, and Keiji has to hold back a laugh at his enthusiasm.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Bokuto says, enthusiastically pumping Kozume's hand up and down in a handshake. Keiji has to put a hand on his shoulder to get him to let go of the poor boy's hand. "Nice to meet 'ya, Kozume!"
"Just Kenma," Kozume says tiredly. The poor boy looks extremely tired. It must be his first training camp. "Nice to meet you, Bokuto."
"Kenma!" Bokuto nods his head in determination, planting his hands on his hips. Then he wraps an arm around Keiji, pushing him forward so that he stands right in front of Kenma. "This is Akaashi!" Bokuto says, but it sounds more like "This is Aghkashi!"
If it were any other person butchering his name, Keiji would have been annoyed. But Bokuto's voice is hopelessly endearing, and so Keiji allows it.
"Hello," Keiji says, bowing his head. He doesn't make any moves to put his hand out, and Kenma doesn't either. Kenma just bows his head back, and both Kuroo and Bokuto snicker. He feels like he's being set up on a playdate. “I am Akaashi Keiji.”
"Dinner's about to be served!" Bokuto says, clapping Kuroo on the back. Bokuto and Kuroo then proceed to do a very elaborate handshake. It lasts for a minute, and it involves a lot of fist bumping, palm slapping, and loud sound effects. It ends with the two of them bumping chests and screaming.
"Bokuto-san, not so loud, please," Keiji says, and Bokuto laughs and shuts up for a single minute. He ruffles Keiji's hair before walking off with Kuroo, the two of them talking about...something. In any case, Keiji is glad Bokuto is friends with somebody that seems to match his energy so well.
"You're a first-year as well?" Keiji asks, keeping his voice soft. Kenma's head jerks up all of a sudden, like he wasn't expecting Keiji to talk to him. If this boy is a friend of Bokuto's friend, then he should make an effort to connect with him.
"Yes," Kenma says, shoving his hands in his pockets. Keiji maintains his distance, never once getting too close to Kenma, trying his best to not make him uncomfortable. They must be similar, as neither of them talk much as they keep walking towards the cafeteria.
There's an odd sense of peace washing over Keiji.
"What position do you play?" Kenma asks, and now it's Keiji's turn to be startled.
"Setter," Keiji answers.
Kenma nods. He does not say what position he plays, which is fine. The boy tilts his head, then shakes it—actually shakes his head—and Keiji stares curiously at him.
"Is something the matter?" Keiji asks, keeping his voice neutral. He does not want Kenma to think he is judging him. Kenma looks up at Keiji, and he finds that Kenma's eyes seem to shine golden.
"Nothing," Kenma says, breaking eye contact and staring down at the floor. "Just thinking, that's all."
Keiji hums in acknowledgment, then nods his head towards Kuroo and Bokuto. "So you're friends with Kuroo."
"Yes, I am." Kenma watches Bokuto's and Kuroo's retreating backs, and then asks, "Are you going to ask how that happened?"
Keiji shakes his head. He knows that he and Bokuto make an odd pairing, but he wouldn't trade it for the world. Bokuto is loud, and passionate, and completely unafraid of anything. It's an honor to simply exist near him, never mind being his friend.
"Of course not. After all, Bokuto-san is my only friend." Keiji fiddles with his fingers as he speaks, a bad habit that he's been trying to break. He needs to reapply his nail polish. Shirofuku was right—it did help with his bad habit.
Keiji pushes the cafeteria doors open, and leads Kenma through the crowds and crowds of people. He watches Kenma turn his head around and around, trying his best to take in the entirety of Fukuroudani Academy.
"What made you come to Fukuroudani?" Kenma asks quietly. Keiji turns his head almost at the same time Kenma starts speaking—he really wants to make a good impression on this boy.
I am not close with the other second-years that are on the team. But this boy…
I have a total of two friends, only one of which is my age. I don't think another one would hurt.
Keiji shrugs, bows his head towards the cafeteria lady, and then leads Kenma towards the table where Kuroo and Bokuto are sitting. "I don't know. I just..."
And then his gaze catches on Bokuto, who is trying to shove half of his dinner into his face at once. Bokuto catches sight of Keiji, and he waves cheerfully towards him, face bulging like a chipmunk's. Keiji nods his head, gives him a half-hearted wave back.
It was because of Bokuto. It was because of this boy. It was because I saw him at one game, and I was so immediately awestruck by him that I wanted to play alongside him.
Bokuto is the reason I am here, and I am grateful for that.
"Bokuto-san is the one who drew me in," Keiji says simply, and leaves it at that. "And I believe your friend wants you to sit with him."
Kuroo is vigorously waving his hand towards Kenma. The boy shrugs, sits down across from Kuroo, and Keiji sits down next to him. There's another student sitting on Keiji's left, and so he scooches more to the right.
Evidently, Kenma is suffering from the same predicament, as he does the exact same thing. Their hips bump together, and Keiji's heart freezes, just the tiniest bit.
"My apologies, Kozume-san," Keiji says, and out of the corner of his eye, he watches Kenma turn his head towards him. He stares straight into his rice, hoping he does not come off as standoffish. "I was not watching myself. Do forgive me."
"Not a problem," Kenma mutters, sounding completely unbothered, thank God, and Bokuto laughs.
"So nice, all the time, huh, Akaashi?" he asks. "That's gotta be tiring!" Though Bokuto does not say this unkindly, he says it very bluntly. Any other person could mistake him for being rude, on purpose or on accident.
Luckily, Keiji is not any other person. He just shrugs and says. "I can be mean to you, if you'd like, Bokuto-san."
"What? No! No, don't be mean to me—"
"You missed four sets in a row, after which you spent fifteen minutes sulking, and then I had to buy you a Calpico from the school store in order for you to restore your morale." Keiji eats his food methodically, bit by bit. He laughs a little bit at the pouty face Bokuto makes. "I believe it is the senpai who is supposed to take care of his kouhai, not the other way around."
"Aghashee!" Bokuto exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air. Kuroo laughs at his expense, pointing his fork at him. "You're so cold, Akaashi!"
Cold. What an incredibly correct way to describe me.
But Bokuto's smiling as he reaches over the table and ruffles Keiji's hair. Kuroo takes the opportunity to steal Bokuto's pudding, and Kenma watches them through his curtain of hair, and—
Huh.
Was it that easy to make friends, all this time?
—
He gets to know Kenma better over the course of the week-long training camp. Kenma does not like reading books, but he does like playing video games. Some of their interests intersect, like when Keiji finds out that one of Kenma's current favorite games is based on a web novel he likes.
He's certain that Kenma suffers from some sort of anxiety, just like him. He can tell in the way that Kenma clings to Kuroo, only interacting with either him, Keiji himself, and occasionally Bokuto when prompted. He and Kenma do not talk much, but they do observe each other. He feels a strange sort of kinship with the boy.
"This is a great idea!" Bokuto declares as he leads Keiji to the room where the Nekoma players are staying. "Sleepover on our last night!"
"I've never had a sleepover before," Keiji mutters, and Bokuto turns to look back at him in horror.
"You've never had a sleepover before?" Bokuto asks, turning around to grab Keiji by the shoulders. "Never? Never, Akaashi?"
Keiji just shrugs. His first friend was a girl, and his aunt would have never let him have a sleepover with a girl. His second friend was a boy, but—
I could've had a sleepover with him, if I asked. I could have come over to his house. I could have spent a night with him.
I miss him.
Why is letting go of him so hard?
"Your childhood life must have been so sad," Bokuto says, patting Keiji on the shoulder, not even knowing how true his words are. "Don't worry! I'll show you what a sleepover is supposed to be like!"
"Thank you, Bokuto-san."
Keiji heads towards the darkest corner of the room, depositing his sleeping bag and backpack there. Bokuto immediately gets distracted by some Nekoma kids that want to talk to him, specifically some first-year with a mohawk.
"Yo!" Keiji hears, and he looks up. Bokuto is holding his hands up, and Kuroo slaps them in a double high five. "Kuroo! My man!"
"Hell yeah!" Kuroo shouts back, pumping his fists in the air. "My man!"
Keiji rolls his eyes at his friend's shenanigans, and he can see Kenma doing the same. Kenma makes his way towards the darkest corner of the room, sitting down next to Keiji. Keiji moves his backpack out of the way, some of the things inside jostling as they're moved around, some of them spilling out.
"Oh—" Kenma leans over to help hand some of the objects back to him. His pencil bag, his wallet, his bottle of—
Ah. My nail polish.
"Is this...yours?" Kenma asks, and Keiji watches as the boy curls his fingers protectively around the bottle. He looks down at it like it's something...tempting.
"Yes." Keiji holds his hand out for the bottle, and Kenma—rather reluctantly—hands it over. "Do you have a problem with that, Kozume-san?"
"Just Kenma," Kenma says. "And...no. There's no problem at all, I just thought that..."
"Volleyball players shouldn't be wearing nail polish?" Keiji asks, and he can hear the ice seeping into his voice. "Especially male volleyball players?"
He gets a lot of flack from their upperclassmen—particularly Takaai and Menjou—for wearing nail polish while he plays. He gets called a sissy and whatnot, and Keiji always tries his best to let the comments roll off his back. More than once, Bokuto stands up for him—although this just led to their senpais teasing him.
"I do it as well," Kenma says, and the tension in Keiji's shoulders begins to loosen. The boy stares down at the floor, tracing patterns into the carpet. "I haven't...done it in a while, because I don't have any of my own. But Kuroo's sister once painted my nails, and it was...nice. I want to do it some more, but I...don't have any."
Keiji nods his head, turning the bottle over in his fingers and staring down at it. He suspects that the two of them do this same action for different reasons.
Do you think Kenma is gay? Do you think he is like you?
Do you think the two of you are going to go to hell?
"I do it because I pick at my fingernails frequently," Keiji says, staring down at his own nails. The black has almost completely chipped off. "With this, I pick at the polish, and I don't do so much damage to my nails."
Kenma nods, still staring at the bottle in Keiji's hand.
Being gay is a sin. If men want to do feminine things solely for their enjoyment, is that a sin?
"You can have it, if you'd like," Keiji says, and it startles Kenma into looking up. "I have another one back in my room."
"Oh. No." Kenma pushes Akaashi's hand back, shaking his head. There's a look in his eyes, one that seems eerily familiar to Keiji.
It's the face he sees whenever he looks in the mirror. A look of apprehension, one that says, I am scared of judgment.
Is the face that Keiji sees in the mirror the same one that everybody else sees? What flaws can Keiji see that nobody else can see? What flaws can everybody but Keiji see?
What can Kenma see right now?
"I..." Kenma hesitates, his hand outstretched.
"There's no shame in liking things like these." Keiji does his best to keep his voice as cold and soft and neutral as ever. "Kozume-san."
Ah. You're lying. You're lying to him right now, aren't you?
What is the difference between liking nail polish and liking boys? Don't both go against the status quo? Don't both go against what is normal?
Don't both go against what is right?
"I told you, it's just Kenma," Kenma says, taking the nail polish bottle from Keiji in one decisive swoop.
Keiji smiles, just the tiniest bit. Behind them, there's the sound of something crashing, and both of them turn around to see Bokuto cheering as he perfectly lands a water bottle upright. Kuroo's shouts can also be heard. Kenma turns to Keiji and smiles as well. It vaguely reminds Keiji of a cat, if cats could smile.
"Call me Keiji," Keiji says, all at once. "Kenma-san."
What are you doing? the boy in the shadows whispers into Keiji's ear as he speaks these words. Is this boy not a sinner, just like you? Isn't there something wrong with him, just like you? Do you want to drag him down with you?
Is that why you want to be his friend?
There's nothing wrong with him, Keiji protests weakly. There's nothing wrong with Kenma. There's nothing—nothing that he's said that implies that he's like me.
Nothing that implies that he's a sinner like me.
Oh, a new voice says. But don't you see yourself in him? Is he not what you could be, but just...normal?
I wonder what Kenma sees when he looks at you. Does he see himself in you? Does he see himself in all the lies that you put up?
What a good liar you are. What a good fucking liar you are.
"Okay. Keiji," Kenma says, slouching over and staring down at the floor. "And you can drop the -san, too."
Keiji just shakes his head, zipping up his bag and leaning his head against the wall. "I can't do that, Kenma-san."
I can't let you get too close. Because the last time I let someone get too close, he died. He died, and it was because of me. He died, and it was all my fault, because I fell in love with him and he fell in love with me.
Aren't you worried about Bokuto falling in love with you? the boy in the shadows demands. Hypocrite. Why don't you distance yourself from him?
Because Bokuto-san would never fall in love with a nobody like me, Keiji thinks bitterly, willing his shadow to go away. Now shut up.
Aw, the boy in the mirror whines. But think about how disappointed your precious Bokuto-san must feel when he finds out that you've been holding him at arm's length. He thinks that you're best friends. When he looks at Akaashi Keiji, he only thinks, my best friend, the one that always stays behind after practice to practice even more with me. Surely he cares about me, right?
Right?
Shut up, Keiji thinks despairingly, willing the two facets of himself to go away. Shut up, please. Go away.
The voices stop, but Keiji knows that they'll be back eventually.
After all, he cannot hide from himself.
—
Their last day of training camp comes, and Fukuroudani wins their final practice match, in no small part to Bokuto's contribution. They throw a barbeque outside, taking advantage of the summer heat. Keiji spends most of his time watching Bokuto and keeping Kenma company, as he seems more interested in playing on his PSP and eating rice.
"You gotta eat some more, Kozume!" Bokuto shouts from directly behind him, startling Kenma into nearly dropping his PSP. Bokuto immediately busies himself with piling heaps of grilled meat onto Kenma's paper plate, and Kenma has to put his PSP down and use both hands to support his plate. Keiji laughs to himself, just the tiniest bit.
He cares. He cares about everybody so much.
"Thank you, Bokuto, but I can't eat this much," Kenma tells him, but Bokuto just laughs and claps him on the back.
"You're real nice, Kozume!" Bokuto shouts, ruffling Kenma's hair quite aggressively. Kenma sends Keiji a couple of helpless looks, and Keiji sends Kenma a couple of equally helpless shrugs. "I mean, you gotta be, 'cause you're best buds with Kuroo!"
"What was Kuro like?" Kenma asks as he nibbles on a piece of beef. "I mean, last year. During these training camps."
"Hm? Oh!" Bokuto shoves an entire piece of pork into his mouth, chewing whilst talking. "Well, he—" Then he chokes, and Keiji slaps him on the back with maybe more force than necessary. Oops.
"Bokuto-san, don't talk with food in your mouth," Keiji says, handing him a paper cup of water. Bokuto downs the entire thing in one gulp before continuing on, not a care in the world.
"He was really cool! Pretty good middle blocker!" Bokuto nods his head up and down enthusiastically, like a bobblehead. "He's so smart too! He knows so much about, like, science and stuff, he was telling me cool fun facts about owls all last year. Like, owls can turn their heads a hundred and eighty degrees, look—" And then Bokuto puts down his food, places both hands on his temples, and he—
"Bokuto-san, please do not snap your neck," Keiji deadpans as he places a steady hand on Bokuto's shoulder. Bokuto has been privy to do some stupidly endearing things, and Keiji is unsure if trying to snap his own neck is among them. He does not want to take that risk. "How will you stay our ace with such a horrible injury?"
Bokuto scoffs, gulping down the rest of his food. "I’m one of the top three aces in Japan! A little neck injury ain’t gonna hurt me!"
Keiji shrugs, concedes, and polishes off the remains of his barbeque. Bokuto, in recent months, has skyrocketed to the volleyball world's attention, for his natural skill. He has heard Bokuto be called one of the top three high school aces in Japan, although this information is mostly unofficial.
"Speaking of, where is Kuroo-san?" Keiji asks, looking at Kenma. Normally, the two of them are inseparable, Kuroo hanging off of Kenma like a shadow. Kenma is not looking for Kuroo—he is looking at Keiji's pristine black nails.
He gave Kenma a bottle of black nail polish, his nail file, and he also went out and bought a bottle of nail polish remover for Kenma as well. The look of gratitude on Kenma's face was…
It was nice.
"I'll go find him. He's probably packing up." Kenma tears his eyes away from Keiji's hands, waving goodbye and going off to find Kuroo.
Bokuto returns his attention back to Keiji, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.
"You're happy today," Keiji remarks, and Bokuto nods eagerly.
"We won!" Bokuto looks so happy, over winning a simple game, one that wasn't even a legitimate match. "Akaashi, I got to hit your tosses!"
"That is because Takaai-senpai suffered a ball to the face," Keiji says, repressing a snicker at the thought. "I was only called in as a last resort."
Not because I'm great or anything like that. I just happened to be the only other player who wants to be the setter.
"And we won because I got to hit your tosses!" Bokuto nods, so assured of himself. "Nobody puts the ball up like you, Akaashi!"
How much of Bokuto's praise is genuine? How many of his words are actually true? Does he really mean what he says?
"It was all mostly you," Keiji says, and he does not understand why Bokuto's face seems to droop as he says these words. "You give me far too much credit."
"Akaashi," Bokuto says in a whining voice. "Why aren't you accepting my compliment?! You're supposed to say 'thank you, Bokuto' when I compliment you! And then you're—you're supposed to look happy I compliment you!"
Oh.
I think that he means what he says.
He looks so distraught.
Well. If accepting his compliment will make him happy.
Even if I don't really believe it.
"Okay," Keiji says, nodding his head. "Thank you, Bokuto-san. I'm glad that you think so highly of me."
Bokuto perks up immediately, throwing his arm around Keiji's shoulders and nearly crushing him in a one-armed hug. "You're welcome, Akaashi! I mean it when I say your tosses are the best, y'know! You think too much!"
And you think too little, Keiji thinks as Bokuto ruffles his hair. I will not be the best setter who ever plays with you. You shouldn't make such claims so easily. What if there comes a time when you will have to take your words back?
"Woah, did you paint your nails again?" Bokuto asks, holding Keiji's hand up to his face. "They look so pretty, Akaashi!"
"Thank you, Bokuto-san," Keiji says, trying his best to ignore the spike of fear that has suddenly shot through his chest.
Sin. Sin, sin, sin. Sinner.
He just said that you were pretty, the boy in the mirror jeers. Do you think you are pretty?
He said my nails were pretty, Keiji thinks in response. Not me. Now leave me alone.
Close enough, isn't it?
Go away.
Aw, and he's holding your hand as well, the boy in the shadows taunts. Are you dragging him down into sin with you?
Go away.
"Where's Kuroo?" Bokuto asks eagerly as Kenma returns, letting go of Keiji's hand. Kenma seems to be mildly out of breath—did he sprint all the way back here? For what reason?
"Couldn't find him," Kenma says, staring at a spot directly above Bokuto's head. "He'll turn up later."
For some reason, Keiji gets the distinct feeling that Kenma is lying.
"Aww!" Bokuto pouts and slumps over, crossing his arms. Keiji just sighs and shakes his head. Everyone has begun cleaning up the equipment for the barbeque, saying their goodbyes.
Keiji glances right at Kenma, and Kenma startles back, just the slightest bit.
I know you're lying.
What did you witness Kuroo doing that made you so scared?
"Kenma-san." Keiji holds out his palm. "Your phone."
"Uh..." Kenma blinks, rummaging around in his pockets, before handing his phone over to Keiji.
Keiji enters his phone number and then hands it back. "My phone number. Just in case. Call or text me at any time, and I'll respond as soon as possible."
Are you letting someone in? Don't you remember the last time you did that with someone? Don't you remember what happened to—
Don't say his name, Keiji tells the boy in the shadows. Shut up.
"Oh." Kenma stares down at his phone, looking mildly surprised. Neither of them seem like the type to let people in easily, but here they are.
Keiji doesn't know if that's a good thing or not.
"Thanks, Keiji."
—
"I'm glad you suggested this idea for summer vacation," Hatoba says cheerfully as the three of them walk along the path, the gravel crunching underneath their feet. "I haven't seen you guys in ages!"
Shima laughs, hiding her smile behind her fan. "I'm surprised at all that I managed to convince my parents."
Keiji smoothes down his kimono and picks up his pace, just a little bit faster.
It's the third week of summer break, and Shima's family has taken him and Hatoba, as well as their families, on an all-expenses paid trip to Kyoto. About three hours ago, the three of them had rented out fancy kimonos, and Shima and Hatoba had got their hair done up in fancy braids.
Shima had picked out their kimonos. A pale pink for Hatoba, a dark purple for herself, and a rich green for Keiji.
"Your colors," she had said as she held up the evergreen kimono to Keiji's face. "Matches your eyes."
The kimono looks perfect on him, matching his eyes just like Shima said it would, but Keiji wonders some more as he wanders the temple grounds with his friends.
The traditional form of Korean dress is called hanbok. It looks very different from a kimono. Mama was Korean. I wonder if there are any pictures of her wearing it, for special occasions. She wasn't wearing any for her wedding. I think she would look beautiful wearing it.
I wonder what I would look like wearing it.
"Not here," Shima whispers from behind as Keiji turns to look at them. Hatoba is leaning very close to Shima's face, mouth stretched into an eager smile.
"But you look so pretty," Hatoba whispers back, almost whining. "C'mon. C'mon, please?"
Shima huffs, quickly looking to the left and right of them. Their backs are up against a wall, and they are somewhere near the back of the temple. Keiji turns his back, giving the two of them some privacy.
He looks out of the corner of his eye, and he sees Hatoba and Shima kissing, behind the safety of Shima's fan. It looks agonizingly intimate, and Keiji gets the distinct feeling that he is not supposed to be here.
I wish Yukito were here. We were a quartet. We could pair off into two different pairs and still not feel lonely.
With a trio, somebody is always going to be left out.
I miss Yukito.
I miss him so much.
"Pictures, pictures," Hatoba's mother calls, and the two girls abruptly break apart. Hatoba clears her throat, loudly, while Shima rapidly flaps the fan in front of her face. Keiji turns around and begins making conversation with them about the history of the temple. This is the most inconspicuous thing that they've ever done, but none of the adults seem to notice anything is wrong.
The adults usher all of them to some scenic archway, telling them to stand side-by-side. Hatoba wraps one arm around Keiji's shoulders, then her other arm around Shima's, and smiles as brightly as she can.
"C'mon, smile!" Hatoba whispers, nudging Keiji in the side, and so Keiji smiles as best as he can. Shima cleverly manages to get out of smiling by holding her fan up to her face and obscuring her mouth.
As the adults fuss over their pictures, letting the kids go and continue exploring the temple grounds, Keiji thinks some more.
"Let's go pray," he says, leading the two girls over to the shrine. They wash their hands, clap their hands together, bow their heads, and pray. It's remarkably similar to the prayers in church. Keiji wonders if God responds to all prayers the same way.
He wonders if the kami are hearing his prayers as well. There is nothing saying that kami and God cannot coexist. Well—then again, the Bible says that there is no higher being above God. But kami did not need to be higher than God for them to exist.
But then he thinks about it a bit more. He thinks about the kami, about how they take the forms of foxes and dragons and other creatures. Would the kami then be classified as demons or devils? There is a whole other classification for malevolent creatures in Shintoism—yokai—but would it make a difference to God? Would God be able to tell the difference between the benevolent bakoneko and the malevolent nekomata?
Would all of the mythical creatures in his own culture just be considered demons to God?
He should do more research, he decides. Research about Japanese Shintoist beliefs, about Christianity, maybe even about Korean shamanistic traditions.
He wants—he so desperately wants to understand. Understand fate, understand divine choices, understand why humans felt the innate need to believe in something greater than themselves.
He wants to understand why he has that need as well. He's logical—at least, he thought he was.
He doesn't remember when he started believing in God, when he started thinking that he was a sinner and deserved hell, when he started blurring faith and reality together.
Why can't I remember?
"'Kaashi," Hatoba whines, snapping her fingers in front of his face. "You're thinking too hard again. This is supposed to be a fun trip! Not a trip where you're down in the dumps all the time!"
"I miss him," Keiji says softly, and both girls go silent at that. Keiji feels his shoulders begin to shake, and he holds back tears that he hopes will not fall. "I miss him so much."
Hatoba takes Keiji's hand, rubbing her thumb across his hand. "I miss him too, Keiji."
"Let's go look at the omikuji," Shima says, taking Keiji's other hand. "We'll see if we can get a good fortune, alright?"
"We can get one for Tsuru too," Hatoba says, and Keiji believes that this is supposed to be encouraging, but it sort of has the opposite effect. A single tear rolls down Keiji's cheek and splatters down onto the pavement below.
Don't cry. Don't cry. You're fourteen years old now. It's been months since he died. You can't cry. You'll ruin this expensive kimono that Shima's parents paid for.
You don't deserve to cry. You don't deserve to mourn him.
Not when you were the cause for his death.
"Don't cry," Hatoba whispers, wiping the single tear from his face. "Tsuru...he wouldn't want you to cry, would he?"
Yukito wouldn't want him to cry. Yukito would call him stupid for crying, and he would tell him to waste his tears on something else that was more important. And Keiji has more important things in his life now—he has high school classes, and volleyball, and a brand new team to worry about.
"For someone who's really smart, you can be really dumb sometimes."
Yukito wouldn't want you to mourn him for so long. He wanted you to move on. He wanted you to fall in love with someone else.
Who are you to refuse a dead boy's dying wish?
"Okay," Keiji sniffles, wiping his nose. "Okay. Let's go."
Shima leads them over to where the omikuji are. There are multiple boxes containing strips of paper that will supposedly foretell what lies ahead. To the side, there is a wall of metal wires with paper strips tied to them—bad luck fortunes.
"Okay, here we go," Hatoba says, drawing her strip. Shima draws hers next, and Keiji draws his last. "One, two, three!"
Keiji flips his strip over, staring down at the characters on the paper.
末吉 待人.
Future blessings. Someone is waiting for you.
Huh? Keiji thinks. What does that mean?
Who will be waiting for me?
"Aw!" Hatoba shouts, immediately running over to the wire fence. "I got a bad fortune!"
"What did you get?" Shima asks, and Keiji leans over to see her strip. Small blessing in disputes. "Surely it couldn't have been that bad."
"It was 'misfortune in romance.'" Hatoba knots the paper tightly around the wire, slapping it as she does. "Obviously, I'm not taking any chances with that!"
Shima chuckles, and she reaches for Hatoba's hand. Hatoba gladly takes it, swinging it around. Both of them abruptly stop when they look over at Keiji, and they immediately untangle their fingers.
Yukito.
Everything I see reminds me of you.
How am I supposed to fall out of love with you?
"Obviously, it won't come true," Shima whispers in a low voice. Keiji is almost sure that these words are not for him. "Nothing can stop us from being together. No God or kami. Nothing."
That's not true, Keiji thinks ruefully as the three of them begin to make their way towards their parents and out of the temple. That's not true at all.
After all, God took Yukito away from me.
Pride is a sin, Keiji thinks as Shima flicks her fan in front of her face, staring up at the sun. What will God think? Will God forgive you for saying that so brazenly?
He wonders if there will ever come a day where Shima is forced to eat her words, a day where she flies too close to the sun and pays an unimaginable consequence for it.
—
That day comes far sooner than Keiji ever expected it to.
Just a couple of days after the three of them return from their trip to Kyoto, Keiji gets a phone call from Shima. He's in the middle of finishing up the last of his literature homework, so he puts Shima on speaker.
"Hello?"
"She's gone."
Keiji's heart descends straight into hell.
"What do you mean?" Keiji whispers, his hand clenching around his pencil. "Mitsuki. Mitsuki—Mitsuki, what do you mean?"
There is only one person that Shima could possibly be talking about. And still—Keiji prays that it's not who he thinks it is.
"Momoko," Shima whispers, and Keiji cannot hear her crying, but he can hear the tremor in her voice, and that is essentially the same thing. "Keiji—Keiji, she's gone. It was—it was a car accident, I found out only half an hour ago, and—"
"Tell me you're lying," Keiji says, his voice already beginning to shake.
I don't believe it.
This can't be real. None of this can be real.
I saw Momoko just a few days ago. She was fine. She was perfectly fine. There was nothing wrong with her. She wasn't sick, she wasn't injured. I waved goodbye to her at the airport. I talked to her on the phone two nights ago. We were going to get ice cream this weekend.
She was fine. She wasn't dying like Yukito was.
Nothing was…
Nothing was wrong with her.
"Mitsuki, tell me you're lying."
"DO YOU THINK I WOULD FUCKING LIE ABOUT SOMETHING LIKE THIS?!" Shima's voice climbs up to a shout, and Keiji has to physically hold the phone away from his ear. "SHE'S DEAD, KEIJI. THE LOVE OF MY LIFE IS FUCKING DEAD, AND I DON'T—I DON'T—"
Here, Shima devolves into uncontrollable sobbing and screaming, and Keiji's feet are moving before he can even think. His literature homework lies on his table, forgotten, as he races into the hallway, knocking on his aunt's door.
"What is wrong with you?" his aunt begins to grumble, but she stops when she sees the look on Keiji's face. "Keiji. What has happened?"
"My friend's dead," Keiji breathes out, and of course it's when he decides to speak that the tears begin flowing. An entire ocean's worth of emotions is trying its best to crawl up his chest, out of his eyes, down his face. "Momoko's dead."
—
Hatoba Momoko dies, on the first of August, 2010, at 7:36 PM.
Her funeral—and her parents' funerals—take longer than a week to prepare. Momoko's aunt is the one doing the preparations, and it does not matter that it takes more than a week to coordinate.
There is nothing for them to bury. Their graves will be empty.
Keiji cannot imagine a more horrible cause of death. He cannot imagine a more horrible way to die—it was not Momoko's fault, it was not yet her time to go, she died far too young and far too violently.
Don't think about her body being ripped to pieces, Keiji thinks to himself as he clenches his fists in his lap. Why did this happen to her? She was fine. Nothing was wrong with her. She wasn't…
Why did she have to die as well?
There is no casket to drop flower petals in, and Keiji believes that may be for the better. He does not want to look at his friend's mangled body—stop thinking about that. Stop thinking about that.
He clenches his hands even tighter. To his right, Shima is doing the same. Her face is completely obscured by a black veiled hat, and her dress is too fancy for a funeral. But that is how Shima must be—she must always be perfect, always be pristine.
Even at her lover's funeral.
Keiji thinks about the days leading up to his friend's death. At the very least, those days were happy days—they would have been the happiest days of Momoko's life. They travelled all around Kyoto, they ate good foods, they went to the temple—
They went to the temple.
Momoko's omikuji. Misfortune in romance.
She was going to leave her lover behind. That's what the fortune meant.
But didn't she leave that bad luck behind when she tied it to the fence? Wasn't she supposed to pick another fortune to make up for it? Did she not do that?
Momoko's aunt is now talking about Momoko herself. On Keiji's right, he can hear Shima getting up, moving out of their row with slow, practiced steps.
She doesn't want anyone to see her cry.
He gets up as well, whispering out 'excuse me's' to the adults around him. He follows Shima, out into the corridor outside the room.
They stand right next to the easel with Momoko's picture on it. It's an extremely recent picture, the one they took at the temple. Keiji and Shima were on either side of her, but they have been cropped out of the photo.
Bad luck, Keiji realizes with a start. That photo. It was bad luck. She was in between us.
When you take a picture of three people, the person in the middle will die first.
I should've realized this. I should've told her to switch. I could've prevented this.
Or maybe it was fate. Maybe Momoko was always meant to die, and I couldn't do anything about it.
Shima is not staring at Momoko's picture. She is staring at the pictures of Momoko's parents, hands clasped in front of her.
"I think," she begins to say, clenching her hands so tightly, they begin to whiten. "That God doesn't really exist at all. Momoko was good. She didn't have any...divine reason to die. She didn't deserve to die."
Of course she didn't deserve to die, Keiji wants to say. Of course Momoko was good. She was a good classmate, a good friend, a good daughter. There is no reason at all why she should have died.
But…
I don't believe she died, just because. There were signs. The omiikuji, the photo. Maybe if we had caught them earlier, we could have avoided this.
She didn't die because of the actions that she took. She died because of the actions that we didn't take.
"Everything..." Keiji says quietly, unsure how he's going to finish the thought. How is he supposed to articulate this? How is he supposed to say, Momoko died because of us, because we are sinners, because we were supposed to know better, but we did not. "...happens for a reason."
Keiji doesn't think that he's seen anybody get so furious so quickly.
In just three steps, Shima is on top of him, hand raised above her head. Keiji has seen that very hand spike volleyballs with enough force that they bounce off the floor, the wall, other people. Keiji has always thought about how painful it must be to be hit by one of those volleyballs.
He has never once thought about how painful it must be to be struck by the hand that hits those volleyballs.
It's a single slap, but it's powerful enough that Keiji is sent stumbling a couple steps back. His skin is already stinging, and he raises a hand to feel his cheek.
Shima has always been a bit taller than him, but she seems to tower over him now. Her eyes blaze with a familiar anger, one that Keiji has seen directed towards her parents, her teachers, anybody else who has wronged her.
It has never once been directed towards him.
"The love of my life," Shima says quietly, her voice cold and hard like ice. "Is dead. Your best friend of seven years is dead, Keiji. Don't you fucking dare say that everything happens for a reason."
She breathes heavily, and Keiji can see the face hidden behind the black veil.
There are not enough words in any language to fully capture the despair etched on Shima's face.
"We're never getting her back, Keiji. Just like how we're never getting Tsuru back."
We failed, Keiji thinks as he nods his head towards Shima, turning away and heading back into the ceremony room. We failed the people that we loved the most, and these are the consequences we pay for it.
—
They return back to school, after summer break. Shima refuses to look at him in the hallways, turning her nose up at him as she quickly walks past him. She's expecting him to apologize. Keiji will not apologize.
There is no apology that will be able to make up for what you've said, the boy in the mirror whispers to Keiji. Shima is better off without you in her life. Who would want to stay around such an abhorrent person?
What a liar you are, Akaashi Keiji. Everybody sees such a good person, but they can't see the wickedness that crawls beneath.
What a good fucking liar you are.
Keiji has been excused from volleyball practice for the first two weeks of school, with grief and mourning being cited as his excuses. He knows that the same is true for Shima, because he sees her lurking around the hallways when the two of them would normally be at practice.
This is for the better, the boy in the shadows whispers. Akaashi Keiji is a sinner, a horrible human being, one that is predestined to go down to hell.
Haven't you ruined enough people's lives?
Despite technically being excused from practice, Keiji comes to practice anyway. He does not play, and none of the coaches ask him to. He merely watches his teammates, watches how they play. He leaves before they finish, slipping out of the gymnasium doors as easily as a shadow.
Nobody takes notice. Maybe Keiji's presence in the team really doesn't matter, if they can keep functioning without him.
"Akaashi! Wait up!"
Well. Nobody takes notice—nobody except Bokuto.
"Bokuto-san," Keiji says as he slows his pace and waits for Bokuto to catch up. "Hello."
"Why aren't you playing anymore?" Bokuto whines, wringing his hands together. "I missed playing with you. Takaai doesn't send the ball my way as much as you do. I saw you during practice—but you were just sitting there! What gives, Akaashi?"
"My apologies, Bokuto-san," Keiji says, running a hand over his face. "I have just been...there have been some personal matters that I have had to deal with. I have been excused for the next two weeks. I will return to the team after then."
And here, Bokuto raises an eyebrow, tilting his head. Almost like a curious owl.
"Akaashi, are you alright?" Bokuto asks, voice filled with concern. "You look...really sad."
Are you that obvious? the boy in the mirror jeers. Bokuto is rather simple-minded, isn't he? The fact that he picked up on you being so mopey—what does that say about you?
Are you just milking your friend's death for attention? Is that what you're doing? For shame.
"I am sorry," Keiji whispers, staring down at the floor. He needs somebody to talk to, about all the pain and the grief and the mourning—and he knows this. Shima would have been the ideal candidate, but she refuses to talk to Keiji. "There has...someone I was close to passed away over the summer break."
Bokuto's eyes go wide, and he lifts his hands up to cover his mouth. It's the most subdued that Keiji has ever seen him, less expressive than when he goes into one of his "emo modes" during practice, but somehow even more distraught.
"Akaashi," Bokuto gasps. "I'm so sorry. That's...that's awful, Akaashi."
"It's..."
What could Keiji possibly say in response to that? It's okay? Nothing about this is okay—Momoko is dead. It's my fault? Bokuto wouldn't even understand that. Nobody except Keiji would understand that.
"I miss her," Keiji whispers, and the boy in the shadows is clinging to his back, wrapping his hands around his neck, whispering, don't you cry, don't you dare cry.
Who are you to mourn her?
Hatoba Momoko may have been your first friend, but she was Shima's first love.
Which one of those is more important?
"My grandmother passed away a couple of years ago," Bokuto says softly. "I know it's not the same, Akaashi, but I...I get it, kind of. D'you wanna talk to someone? You wanna talk to me?"
I know what happened the last time I let someone get close.
I don't want what happened with Yukito to happen to Bokuto-san.
But…
I'm so tired of this.
Keiji shakes his head, rubbing his hand against his eyes, and he finds that they come back wet. His shoulders begin to shake, and he wraps his arms around himself, digging his nails into his flesh.
I'm so tired.
"Akaashi," Bokuto says softly, gently putting his hands on Keiji's shoulders and guiding him to the floor. Keiji sits down, the tile cold against his skin. He's shaking so much, and he can't seem to stop. "Akaashi, shh. It's okay. You'll be okay."
How can you sound so sure? Keiji asks himself as Bokuto empties out his bag to see if he has any packets of tissues. How can you say that with such certainty?
I'm going to be okay? When is that going to happen? What is 'okay'?
Four of the people I was close to have already passed away.
Two of my best friends passed in the same year.
My parents died before they could ever see me enter middle school.
Am I ever going to be okay?
"Akaashi?" Bokuto asks softly, and when Keiji opens his eyes, he sees stars. Burning, bright, and beautiful. "Do you want a hug?"
Keiji's throat is all choked up. He finds that he cannot speak.
So all he can do is hold out his arms, and allow Bokuto to wrap his arms around his shoulders. Bokuto hugs him so tightly, Keiji fears that his bones may snap in two. His skin is warm, and he does not complain as Keiji cries and whimpers into his shirt.
Keiji thinks, distantly, that being crushed to death in this boy's warm embrace would not be the worst way to die.
Maybe then, I would be able to see them all again.
—
Keiji walks into practice one crisp autumn day to find that the locker room is...a lot quieter than it normally is.
"Where is Bokuto-san?" he asks Sarukui, who just gives him a lazy smile and shrugs.
"Dunno," Sarukui says as he tugs on his gym clothes. "He'll probably be here in a bit, though."
"He is running a bit late," Washio says, checking the clock on the wall. "Perhaps we should go check up on him—"
Bokuto slams the locker room door open, and everybody turns to look at him. As it turns out, when you speak of the devil, he will appear. Keiji thinks this thought, and then immediately scolds himself for thinking that thought.
"Whoa, easy, boy," Komi says, already teasing him. "What's—"
And then he stops midsentence, cocking his head. Kejii gets up to see what's going on, and he finds—
Bokuto is crying. Not in the way he sometimes does when he gets frustrated and misses a toss, all loud shouts and reddened cheeks. When he cries like that, he always stops a moment later, always bouncing back. No, this time, Bokuto is crying silently, lip trembling as he stares down at the floor.
It almost scares Keiji. Bokuto, the boy who communicates almost exclusively in shouts and large hand gestures, looking so small and feeble and helpless.
"What happened?" Konoha demands as he pushes his way to the front. "Bokuto, what happened to you?"
Bokuto mumbles something quietly, so much so that Konoha has to lean in and ask him to repeat it. Whatever he says, it makes Konoha's eyes snap open, a furious scowl making its way across his face.
"That bastard," he says, offering no other explanation before punching his fist into his palm. "Rejected you? Said that about you?"
Bokuto nods, miserably, and now Keiji is very much scared. Someone rejected Bokuto? Who on earth would do such a thing? Bokuto is so full of passion and excitement and warmth—what fool would reject him?
Keiji hears their coach shout at them to hurry up, and then he hears Konoha whispering to their coach. A couple seconds later, Keiji feels a tap on his shoulder, and he turns to look up at his upperclassmen.
"Skip this practice," Sarukui says quietly. His ever-present smile is still there, but it's noticeably more strained now. "Talk to Bokuto a bit. He'll feel better if it's you talking to him."
"And what will happen after that?" Keiji asks, his voice cold and soft.
"After practice," Washio rumbles, cracking his knuckles. "We go beat Hideyoshi's ass."
And with that, the other members of the Fukuroudani men's VBC march out of the locker room. The sound of the door slamming shut may as well be Keiji's funeral bells ringing.
He turns his attention to the crying boy sitting on the bench, knees tucked up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs. It's as though he's trying to shrink himself, make himself as small and insignificant as possible.
"Bokuto-san," Keiji says, sitting down on the floor below Bokuto. "Would you like to tell me what happened to you?"
Bokuto sniffles, wiping his tears away with his arm. Keiji wants to reach up, wipe away Bokuto's tears with his thumb, but he's unsure if he is allowed to do that. He is Bokuto's underclassman, and he does not know if Bokuto would curl even more into himself at his touch.
"Hideyoshi rejected me," Bokuto whispers. "Captain of the basketball team. Told me that I wasn't his type. Whatever that means."
Oh, the boy in the shadows whispers to Keiji. He's a sinner just like you.
Is this your influence? Did you tempt your precious Bokuto-san to sin without even realizing it?
Shut up, Keiji thinks, pressing his nails into his palm in an attempt to refocus himself.
"I see," Keiji says quietly. "Heartbreak can be a horrible thing, Bokuto-san."
"Have you ever had your heart broken, Akaashi?" Bokuto whispers, his voice catching on Keiji's name.
Keiji thinks about this.
Yukito.
He thinks about falling in love with a boy, too little, too late. He thinks about how that boy's body is now six feet under, how that boy's soul now has the wings of an angel.
He thinks that may be the closest thing he has ever felt to heartbreak.
"I have felt something similar," Keiji says softly. "But I have never actually felt heartbreak, I'm afraid."
Bokuto sniffles a bit more, and Keiji stands up, sitting on the bench next to him. Slowly, tentatively, he wraps his arm around Bokuto's shoulders, squeezing a bit. Bokuto’s breathing has become ragged, uneven, and Keiji thinks—
He’s panicking. Shoot.
“Breathe with me, Bokuto-san,” Keiji says quietly, taking his hand off of Bokuto’s shoulders. But Bokuto immediately grabs at his hand, pulling it back. “Ah. Alright. Now—breathe in for four, hold for four, breathe out for four. Can you do that for me, Bokuto-san?”
Keiji reads a lot about techniques that help fight against anxiety, but he’s a very big hypocrite when it comes to actually doing them. Luckily, that knowledge seems to come in handy right now as Bokuto’s breathing slowly begins to even out.
"We will find you a better boy." Keiji makes sure his voice is cold, soft, detached. "A good boy. One who likes volleyball. One who will hold your hand and tell you that your spikes are the best. One who does not make you cry."
Are you tempting him into sin even more?
Shame.
This is what Bokuto-san needs right now, Keiji thinks in retaliation. So shut up.
And then Bokuto laughs, smiling just the tiniest bit.
There is the Bokuto that I know.
"You promise, Akaashi?" Bokuto asks, and his voice is so full of hope that Keiji doesn't have the heart to deny it.
I don't want to lie to him. But I know that he needs to be encouraged right now.
He doesn't need to face reality just yet.
"Of course, Bokuto-san," Keiji says, ignoring the voices that tell him that these actions are adding an uncountable number of tallies to the list of sins he is committing.
"I promise."
—
Konoha wastes no time after practice in taking Keiji by the arm and dragging him out into the hallway with the rest of the second-years. Keiji doesn't think he's ever seen the boy so furious.
"Who the fuck does Hideyoshi think he is?" Konoha seethes as his stomps reverberate throughout the hallways. Komi gives a vague shout in response, while Sarukui and Washio only nod in agreement.
Keiji gets the distinct feeling that he is not supposed to be here. He is not as built as the second-years, and he is fairly sure that the captain of the basketball team would be able to snap him in half like a twig.
Regardless, he tags along. Nobody is allowed to make Bokuto cry.
He blinks, and he realizes—
Aw, you've let him in already, haven't you?
Shut up.
"You don't have to do any of the fighting," Konoha tells Keiji as they approach the third-years' dormitories. "You can just stay back and shout if you see a teacher coming, or something."
"The first punch is mine," Keiji responds, and there's a moment of silence before Komi slaps him on the back.
"Attaboy, Akaashi!" The rest of the second-years then take their turns slapping Keiji on the back. Keiji vaguely feels like he's sitting through some sort of strange hazing ritual. He finds that he does not mind it.
And then the five boys turn the corner to see—
“HEY, YOU!” Konoha screams, pointing towards a tall, muscular boy with a buzz cut. He’s so ugly, why did Bokuto ever consider him? He’s surrounded by four other members of what must be the boys’ basketball team. The boy squints at the enraged members of the volleyball team, raising an eyebrow.
“Can I help you?” Hideyoshi asks, cracking his knuckles as Komi storms up to him. Washio grabs the libero by the back of the shirt, evidently waiting for Konoha to chew him out.
"What the fuck did you say to Bokuto?" Konoha asks, mirroring the boy’s posture. “‘Cause he was a mess at practice today, and we kind of need our ace to play volleyball.”
"What, that he’s too easy?” The third-year curls his lip as he stares down at Konoha in disdain. The other basketball team members snicker in unison, like brainless idiots. “I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. He’s too clingy and too needy, y'know what I mean? I mean, I considered it, because he's kind of cute if you squint, but then I decided it would be too much of a hassle trying to keep up with him."
Keiji sees red.
How dare you. How dare you say such things about someone that you do not even know. How dare you take advantage of his kindness.
Bokuto-san might not have a vicious bone in his body, but I do.
"Oh, hey, what—"
The sound of Keiji's fist colliding with Hideyoshi's face is cathartic, and it should feel wrong, but it feels so right.
—
Keiji’s four senpai get a one-way ticket to club activity suspension. Konoha ends up with a black eye, Komi gets a nosebleed, Sarukui gets punched in the solar plexus, and Washio is the only one who remains uninjured at the end of the whole debacle. Evidently, Washio also does judo in addition to volleyball.
Keiji ends up with a couple of bruised knuckles, but nothing more. All of the second-years tell him to run away before any teachers get there, and that they'll cover for him.
Keiji runs. Keiji feels guilt crawling up his throat as he does.
Keiji finds that he cannot bring himself to care, because Bokuto is staring down at him with stars in his eyes.
"Akaashi," he says with wonder. "You punched a guy for me?"
Keiji nods, allowing Bokuto to sit him down and clumsily wrap his bruised fingers in athletic tape. "Of course, Bokuto-san."
Bokuto sighs, curling into himself once again. Keiji flexes his fingers, trying not to wince at how much they hurt.
They don’t hurt as much as when Bokuto looks up at Keiji and asks, “Akaashi, do you think I’m too easy? Because…because this keeps happening, and I don’t know…why. Every time someone confesses to me, I get so excited, ‘cause they like me, and then…and then they just…”
Too easy. Right. That boy said you were too easy, but then he also said that you were too much of a hassle to keep up with. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, because anyone with half a brain would be able to see that Bokuto Koutarou is a blessing.
You are easy to love, Bokuto-san. You are passionate and enthusiastic, and you may have your moments where your mood swings, but you deserve to be loved wholly and unconditionally. Not out of convenience. Not because you are easy.
You deserve to be loved, because you are akin to a star. It is impossible to look away from such a radiant thing.
Keiji does not say any of this. Instead, Keiji only says, “I think that boy had no idea what he was talking about, Bokuto-san. And I think that you deserve much better than him, or any of the other people that have rejected you in the past.”
And the small, happy smile that Bokuto gives him is enough that Keiji’s guilt about lying to him begins to abate.
—
Keiji is sick.
Akaashi Keiji is sick, which is absolutely unprecedented, but it has happened nonetheless. It is the autumn season, after all, prime time for sickness. Keiji's meticulousness must be lacking if he allowed himself to neglect his health so badly. He's been swamped with schoolwork lately, and this will set him back even more.
I'm lucky it is a Friday night, Keiji thinks to himself as he makes the torturous trek from the nurse's office to his dorm room. He has a fever, and a scratchy throat, but it is nothing serious. Tomorrow, he will see if one of his teammates can run out and get him medicine from some pharmacy nearby. He'd do it tonight, because he hates waiting time, but it's going to get dark soon. He wouldn't want to inconvenience his teammates.
He gets several texts from Bokuto as he collapses onto his bed, shivering, pulling the covers over his head in a feeble attempt to keep himself warm. When he's safely inside his blanket burrito, he answers the texts with shaky hands.
Bokuto: akaashi!! why weren't you at dinner???
Bokuto: i missed you!!
Bokuto: :(((
me: apologies, bokuto-san. i am ill as of late, and i did not want to risk infecting you or any of our teammates.
Bokuto: AKAASHI YOU'RE SICK???
Bokuto: NOOOOOOO
Keiji groans, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead as he curls up into the fetal position. His phone pings repeatedly with even more messages, but he's too tired to check all of them.
He doesn't know how long he lies there. He doesn't even know when he fell asleep. All he knows is that he's awoken to the feeling of someone shaking him awake.
"Whuh?" Keiji mutters as he flails around, pushing the covers off of his face. He opens his eyelids just a crack, enough to see Bokuto's golden eyes looking at him worriedly. "Bokuto-san, what are you doing here—get out, immediately, you're going to get infected—"
"I'm here to help you feel better, Akaashi!" Bokuto says cheerfully as he steps away from Keiji.
"You mean I'm here to help him feel better," Konoha snarks as he steps forward, shaking a plastic bag full of items. "I'm the one studying pharmaceutical stuff."
"Ooh, that's a big word," Bokuto says as Konoha sets the bag full of stuff down and begins to rummage through it. "What's that mean?"
Keiji opens his mouth to recite the dictionary definition of 'pharmaceutical', but he's cut off by another round of hacking coughs. Konoha answers for him: "Like, related to medicine and shit. That's what I wanna do with my life."
"You do know I can do this by myself, right?" Keiji protests weakly as Konoha pours out a dose of cold medicine. "Konoha-san, there's no need to trouble yourself.”
"I need to practice my bedside manner," Konoha says as he also takes out a bottle of lemon water. "I've been told it's severely lacking." He holds up the cold medicine to Keiji's mouth, cooing, "Now, say ahh."
Keiji has been babied far too much for his liking before. In the periods after his mama died, his papa died, after Yukito and Momoko died, he was treated like glass. Liable to break and shatter to pieces at any moment, as if he couldn't handle the misery life threw at him.
This is just another instance of unavoidable misery. He can either choose to lie down and die, or he can choose to get over it. He will not sit here and be coddled by his upperclassmen.
"I said, I can do it myself," Keiji snaps, swiping at Konoha's hand, and the cold medicine nearly goes dripping all over his bed. Konoha startles back, raising an eyebrow. Bokuto just looks at him with worried eyes.
Shit. I went too far.
"I'm sorry," Keiji says immediately after. "Konoha-san, I am—very sorry. I should not have done that."
Why am I so bad at accepting help from others? What is wrong with me?
I really am just a shitty person.
"Not a problem," Konoha says smoothly, now drawing his hand back and just handing the cup to Keiji. "I get it, I overstepped. Sorry about that. Here."
Keiji takes the cup with trembling hands and swallows the bitterness straight down. The necessary things in life will not come easy, he knows this, and it will often be accompanied by uncomfortable things. He must be able to persevere through it.
"Lemon water," Konoha says, now passing the bottle of the stuff towards him. Keiji takes it and manages a couple of sips. His throat is now significantly much more soothed. "Take it easy, 'kay?"
Bokuto pulls out a bunch of containers from the bag and cheers. "Ooh, pudding!"
"Those aren't for you, idiot!" Konoha scoffs, whirling around and slapping Bokuto's hands. Bokuto whines and drops the pudding on Keiji's desk. "They're for Akaashi, because Akaashi is the one who's sick!"
"You can have one, Bokuto-san," Keiji mutters, because he does not deserve sweets just because he's sick. And sweets will also probably only worsen his condition.
He's now struck by the realization that he has a ludicrous amount of work that he needs to do before he falls too far behind, and he lurches upright.
"Akaashi, don't move so fast!" Bokuto says worriedly, stepping forward. He places a hand on Keiji's forehead, probably trying to gauge his temperature, but Keiji's also unsure if Bokuto knows what he's supposed to be looking for. "You might—I dunno, can you die from moving too fast when you're sick?"
"No," Keiji and Konoha say at the same time. And then his headache returns tenfold, and he groans and collapses back on his bed.
"Bokuto is right, though," Konoha mutters as he peers down at Keiji. "Don't overexert yourself. Whatever you need to do, you can do it tomorrow, when you feel better, yeah?"
"Never put off tomorrow what you can do today," Keiji mumbles deliriously. "I heard that from a TV show once."
"Well, as your doctor—"
"I wouldn't trust you with my life, Konoha-san. No offense."
"As an aspiring medical professional," Konoha corrects himself, standing up straighter and reorganizing the things on Keiji's desks. "I am telling you to get some good rest, and then Bokuto here can go down to the cafeteria tomorrow and get you a hot breakfast—"
"I will?" Bokuto asks, looking up from his sorry attempts to steal Keiji's pudding cups. "I mean—yep! Yep, I will! You can count on me, Akaashi!"
"I'm so glad I have such reliable upperclassmen," Keiji murmurs as he rolls over, pulling the blankets over his head. "That was sarcasm, Konoha-san, please stop laughing."
Konoha just grins, patting Keiji's forehead. "Take your time, Akaashi. No need to worry about anything, 'kay?"
Konoha really is a jack-of-all-trades. Even when he's not playing volleyball. Everything he does, he's able to do slightly well.
And Keiji can't even mutter out a response to his senpai's words before he's drifting off to sleep.
—
December arrives, and with it comes many new changes.
For one, Takaai obtains a rather severe knee injury and has to temporarily leave the team. Everybody is hopeful that he will make a quick enough recovery in time for Nationals. The role of starting setter has been passed onto Keiji.
"Don't fuck this up," Takaai hisses to Keiji one day after practice. He has to hobble around on crutches, and he looks significantly less intimidating without Menjou at his side. Apparently, Menjou also had to drop out of the team due to failing grades. "We've got a ticket to Nationals this year, and it's all because of me and Menjou, you got that? We won't have you letting all our hard work go to waste."
Keiji would like to point out that it was Bokuto who scored the winning point that earned them their ticket to Nationals, but he holds his tongue. "Understood, Takaai-senpai." Takaai just scoffs and hobbles away.
Despite himself—no matter how many times he reminds himself that holding ill will towards others' futures makes him a bad person—Keiji hopes that Takaai will remain out of commission for the rest of the year.
For another, Bokuto somehow manages to figure out when Keiji's birthday is. One day, Keiji opens the door to the locker room after practice, and is immediately greeted with a—
"SURPRISE!"
Keiji lets out a shout of genuine surprise, stumbling backward. His senpai are all beaming down at him—well, four of them anyway. Komi pops a confetti popper into Keiji's face, and Konoha claps excitedly. Washio and Sarukui just nod in tandem.
"Where is Bokuto-san?" Keiji asks as he picks up his bag. "I just saw him—"
"SURPRISE, AKAASHI!"
Keiji turns around, and comes face-to-face with Bokuto himself.
Well—he comes face-to-face with Bokuto's chest, bumping straight into it, and causing Bokuto to shout in surprise. The small white box that he was holding goes crashing down to the floor, and Bokuto goes down with it.
He goes down directly on top of it.
"Bokuto-san." Keiji quickly drops down to the floor to help his senpai up. He mentally curses himself out for being an idiot. "I apologize. I hope there was nothing important in the box."
Bokuto seems to droop, a pout already making its way across his face. Uh-oh. I said something wrong. "It was your birthday cake, Akaashi!"
He got me a cake?
"I'm so sorry, Akaashi!" Bokuto wails, picking the very squished box up and holding it out to Keiji with both hands. "I ruined your birthday! I don't even have the money to buy another birthday cake!"
"Bokuto-san, it's fine," Keiji says, his voice firm but still soft. He takes the box from Bokuto's hands, lifting the lid to see what's inside.
It's a small cake with white frosting and green piping. There are what looks like characters written on the cake in green, and Keiji assumes that they are supposed to say 'happy birthday, Akaashi', but it's so smudged from the fall that the only thing that is visible is the character for 'Aka'. A large chunk of cake has separated from the main cake altogether.
I turn sixteen years old today.
I didn't even realize.
“It’s all squished now,” Bokuto mopes as Konoha pats his shoulder. “You don’t have to eat it, it’s okay, Akaashi. I get it. I’m sorry.”
Keiji swipes his finger across the cake's frosting, licking it from his fingertip. He nods, and then smiles up at Bokuto.
"It's delicious. Thank you very much, Bokuto-san."
The bright smile that Bokuto gives him in return is the greatest birthday gift Keiji could have ever received.
—
Keiji has been talking to Kenma more and more, as summer turned into autumn turned into winter. He learns that Kenma likes videogames, he likes apple pie over any kind of cake, and he's been friends with Kuroo for seven years. They talk about many things, like Kenma's video games and Keiji's various books.
Evidently, they do not talk about important things. Like Keiji's birthday.
kenma: anything else exciting happen today?
me: it is my sixteenth birthday today.
Keiji watches Kenma's text bubble appear, disappear, then reappear as he does his literature homework. I didn't tell him when my birthday was, did I? Oops.
kenma: happy birthday
me: thank you, kenma-san.
kenma: should i get you a birthday present?
me: there is no need. i did not tell you my birthday when we first met, and so you are not obligated to get me anything.
You don't deserve anything for your birthday, the boy in the shadows whispers. Sixteen years old, and what do you have to show for it? Nothing, do you?
What a sad and pathetic waste of space.
kenma: im going to call you
me: go ahead.
A few seconds later, Keiji's phone lights up. He answers almost immediately, hoping that he does not come off as too eager. "Hello, Kenma-san."
"Happy birthday." Kenma sounds tired—it's nearing eleven PM, and Keiji has no idea why either of them are still up. He can hear the clicking of Kenma's computer mouse, and so he can only assume that Kenma is still playing video games at this ungodly hour.
"Thank you," Keiji says, scribbling his annotations in the margins of his book. "Hopefully, I can finish the last of this chapter, with you talking to me."
"You shouldn't be studying on your birthday," Kenma says idly. "Did you at least have a good day today?"
"Yes. My senpai threw me a surprise party during practice." Keiji remembers the cake, and represses a laugh at the memory. "There was a cake, although it got smashed when Bokuto-san fell on it."
"Oh." A possibly judgmental pause from Kenma. "I'm sorry about that."
"Don't be. There's nothing you could have done." Keiji shrugs as he uncaps his highlighter, carefully tracing it over the words in his book. "Besides, it tasted fine."
"Still. I hope you had a good day, Keiji."
Keiji laughs softly, and he shuts his book closed. "This is a nice way to end my day, Kenma-san."
"Go to sleep," Kenma says, like the little hypocrite he is. Keiji has been texting him long enough to know that he stays up into the late hours of the night playing video games. "How are your eyes not tired from all that studying?"
"I should ask how your eyes are not tired from playing video games so late." Keiji smirks to himself as Kenma goes silent on the other end.
A very loaded pause from Kenma. "Are you spying on me?"
"Just an educated guess."
"Okay, well..." Keiji can hear Kenma shuffling around, the sound of bed sheets rustling. "You first, Keiji. Take your own advice."
"No, you first."
"No, you."
"You." Keiji laughs softly as he collapses onto his bed. "Goodnight, Kenma-san."
"Goodnight, Keiji."
And as Keiji ends the call, he thinks about the great birthday he's had today. He thinks about Bokuto's smile, about Kenma's impromptu call, and he has to wonder—
Is letting others in truly worth the risk? Is it worth the risk, when I feel this…
Happy?
Do I deserve to feel this happy?
—
They make it to Nationals, in January. They get to travel to one of Tokyo's biggest stadiums, compete against the most elite of players, represent Tokyo on the national stage.
Keiji gets lost in the stadium yet again.
He tells Bokuto that he was going to the bathroom. He tells Bokuto to wait outside the bathroom for him. Bokuto tells him that he will wait outside the bathroom for him. He goes to the bathroom. He exits the bathroom.
Bokuto is nowhere in sight.
Keiji sighs and pulls out his phone, dialing Bokuto's number. It's a futile hope—whatever's gotten Bokuto distracted, it will probably distract him from this phone call as well. Regardless, he puts the phone to his ear anyway. Predictably enough, Bokuto does not answer. Keiji sighs and tries to stamp down his disappointment.
What, did you think he would be at your every beck and call? Him?
Don't be stupid, Keiji.
So Keiji looks around, a bit helplessly, trying to figure out where he should go. There are dozens of boys wearing volleyball jackets, all in different colors, but there are none with the white and gold of Fukuroudani. Should he call Konoha? That should probably be the next course of action, but what if Konoha doesn't pick up either? Their game starts in thirty minutes, what if he doesn't make it in time? He's the starting setter now, he needs to be on the court. If he doesn't show up, would Fukuroudani be able to play? He needs—
"Ay, Fukuroudani kid!"
Keiji looks to his right, at two boys that are making his way towards him. The boy that called for him is skinny and tall, he has bright red hair done up in spikes, and he's waving cheerfully towards him. Next to him is a taller, more muscular boy with olive hair and a flat expression. Both of them are wearing white jackets with purple detailing, and both of them look about a year older than him.
"Your team's lookin' for ya," the red-haired boy says, pointing over his shoulder. "We passed by a whole group of them."
"Thank you," Keiji says, bowing low. Fortune seems to favor him today. The red-haired boy laughs in surprise, nudging the other boy in the ribs.
"Hey, isn't this the kid that Bokuto keeps going on and on about? Every time I hang out with you guys, he's going on about some kid with 'pretty green eyes' that's really respectful and polite and stuff."
The taller boy turns towards Keiji, nodding his chin towards him. "Are you Akaashi Keiji?"
"Yes." Bokuto said all those things about me? Who are these people anyway? How does Bokuto know them?
The taller boy nods his head, gesturing for Keiji to follow him. "I am Ushijima Wakatoshi. I became acquainted with Bokuto last year during Nationals, during the quarterfinals. We played against each other. He is an excellent player, but we managed to beat him."
"Who is 'we'?" Keiji asks, looking back and forth between the two boys. What school do they play for? What school could possibly beat Bokuto?
The red-haired boy grins, slapping Ushijima on the shoulder. "Shiratorizawa Academy, allll the way in Miyagi Prefecture."
He sticks his hand out to Keiji as they walk. "Tendou Satori, at your service. Middle blocker. Dear Ushiwaka here—" He points across Keiji, at Ushijima. "Is our soon-to-be ace."
"You must be very good," Keiji says, turning to Ushijima. "If you were able to beat Bokuto-san. There's precious few people who can do that. But he's improved since you last met him. You might find that you'll lose this year."
Ushijima blinks, once, and Keiji wonders if he might have gone too far. He gets strangely defensive when it comes to Bokuto, and he does not know why.
Tendou laughs in surprise, slapping Keiji on the back. "Tells it like it is, this kid! I like you already!"
"AKAASHI!"
A sudden shout startles all three of them, and they all squint through the crowd to find Bokuto sprinting towards them at full force.
"AKAASHI!" Bokuto bellows once more, throwing his entire body weight on Keiji as he hugs him. "I'M SO SORRY! I GOT DISTRACTED BY THIS SUPER AWESOME T-SHIRT, AND I HAD TO BUY IT!"
He holds up a blue shirt, one that has writing on the back. Keiji squints at it. It says:
The Way of the Ace:
One: The sight of your back must be an inspiration to your teammates!
Two: Any and all walls are to be crushed!
Three: All balls are to be spiked with full strength and complete confidence!
It looks like a T-shirt that Shima would possibly like.
Keiji blinks, then shakes his head. He has not thought about Shima in a long time. He heard that Fukuroudani’s female volleyball team made it to Nationals as well. Shima must be somewhere around here, in this crowded stadium, breathing the same air as Keiji.
This is the closest they have been in months. Keiji wants to pretend that he has not missed Shima horribly, as though she’s already—
Don’t think about that.
"Bokuto-san," Keiji says flatly. "This is a very stupid shirt."
Tendou snorts into his fist, and Bokuto's face immediately drops into a pout. Yes, he might have gone a little too far with his comment, but Bokuto decided a shirt was more interesting than him, and he also ditched him in the middle of a crowded stadium. He has the right to be at least a little bit angry.
Are you jealous that you can't occupy Bokuto's mind, every hour, every minute, every second of the day?
"Agashee!" Bokuto cries, grabbing Ushijima by the shoulders and shaking him back and forth. Ushijima looks completely unperturbed by Bokuto's actions. "You're so cruel, Akaashi!"
"I believe you are playing soon," Ushijima says as he yanks Bokuto off of him. "It would be wise for you to start heading towards your court."
Bokuto brightens up immediately as soon as volleyball is mentioned. "You're right! I hope we get to play against each other this year again, Ushiwaka!"
"Do your best," Ushijima says as he and Bokuto do a simpler version of Bokuto's and Kuroo's handshake. They slap their palms together, then slap the back of their hands together, then curl their hands into fists and bump them, splaying their fingers out. Bokuto makes an explosion noise. Ushijima does not.
Tendou claps Keiji on the shoulder, slapping a folded piece of paper into his palm. Keiji opens it to find what he assumes is Tendou's phone number. Why is he giving me his phone number?
"Are you hitting on me?" Keiji asks bluntly, and Tendou laughs, making an 'x' across his chest with his arms.
"Nah, nah, you're not really my type. Actually—" Tendou squints his eyes, turning his head to look past Keiji. Keiji follows his gaze to find—
He's looking at Ushijima.
Maybe you're all sinners. Sin attracts sin.
"You kind of are, but you're too young."
"I am a year younger than you."
"Too young." Tendou does a strange two-fingered salute, waving goodbye as he heads after Ushijima. He smirks, the corner of his lip curving up, and Keiji sees a whole world of mischief in the boy's face. "See ya around, 'Kaashi."
"Akaashi!" Bokuto shouts, tugging on Keiji's arm. "We're gonna be late! You don't wanna miss the tournament, do you?! We're gonna be playing together! On national TV!"
And as much Keiji could point out that it was Bokuto's fault for making them late, as much as Keiji could point out that Bokuto left him behind, as much as Keiji could point out that Bokuto got distracted by a T-shirt, he doesn't.
Because, after all, Bokuto came back for him.
"Of course," Keiji says, unable to keep the smile off his face. Bokuto beams down at him, stars in his eyes. "Bokuto-san."
—
Later on that week, they lose in the quarterfinals. Bokuto, rather unfortunately, does not get his wish to play against Ushijima again. Oddly enough, Bokuto isn’t too angry with this outcome.
“We almost got it!” he keeps saying. “We just—gotta practice more, yeah?”
And so practice they do. Practice matches are always somewhat enjoyable for Keiji. Seeing his team work together like a well-oiled machine, running around and doing his best to keep up with them—despite the low stakes, it never fails to get Keiji's heart racing.
Unfortunately, their well-oiled machine cannot function if one of their pieces—one of their most important pieces—is missing.
"Where is Komi-san?" Keiji asks as he walks out into the Fukuroudani parking lot, taking a mental head count of all of their members. They have their spring training camp with Ubagawa tomorrow, and they sort of needed a libero in order to play volleyball properly.
"He's making up for an exam," Konoha calls as he loads his bags onto the bus. "He got sick and missed one of them, so now he has to make up for it. He should...hopefully be back tomorrow, or the next day."
"Aww, that sucks!" Bokuto says as he pulls Keiji onto the bus. "Akaashi, what're you thinking about?"
"Well, the makeup of our team is going to change without our libero," Keiji says, closing his eyes and trying to run through the potential starting lineup for their practice matches for the foreseeable future. "I suppose that we could...substitute Komi-san for another middle blocker, or..."
"You're thinking too much again," Bokuto says cheerfully. "And as the new captain of our volleyball team, I say that we're gonna do just fine!"
Right. He's my new captain now. Okay. It's late. We can figure this out tomorrow—but wait, what if we don't have time to figure this out tomorrow? What if our entire team falls apart because we can't figure it out? Bokuto is our new captain, I am cemented as starting setter, Konoha, Sarukui, and Washio are all on the starting lineup...but this is the first time we are all playing in a practice match with this new lineup, what if we—
"Akaashi, stop thinking."
Keiji huffs, slumping against Bokuto's shoulder as he sits down next to him. "Okay, Bokuto-san."
This is fine. This is fine. Everything is fine.
—
Everything is not fine.
First, Bokuto wakes everybody up an hour early by screaming, "HEY, HEY, HEYYYYY!!" because he misread the clock. This leads to him angering the entire Fukuroudani men's volleyball team, leading to him sulking. Bokuto-san's weakness number 35: his morning greeting of “hey hey hey” at training camps wakes everyone up and infuriates them, making him bashful and embarrassed.
"SOME OF US WANT TO SLEEP AT NORMAL HOURS!" Konoha screeches, throwing a pillow at a miserable Bokuto's face.
After his sulking session, he ends up not having enough time to spike up his hair with hair gel and ends up having to go out with his hair flat. Which—Keiji thinks it's a nice look on him, but Bokuto doesn't seem to think so. Bokuto-san's weakness number 5: a bad hair day (of all things) can ruin his game and make him whiny.
"You look perfectly fine," Washio assures him, patting his shoulder. "Ridiculous as always." Shockingly, this does little to raise Bokuto's spirits. Keiji then has to spend an indeterminable amount of time saying that Bokuto is very handsome, flat hair and all.
And to top it all off, Komi is still not here.
"He's coming tomorrow," Sarukui announces as all of them sit down in the cafeteria to eat breakfast. "Like, after dinner tomorrow. We'll have to survive without him until then."
"Great," Konoha moans, head in his hands. This is the most miserable Keiji has ever seen him. "The question is how we're going to survive."
"We will make do," Keiji says decisively, standing up and gathering everybody's trash into a neat pile. His mind is working overtime to try and figure out how exactly they will be able to survive. "We always do."
For the first time this morning, Bokuto grins, slapping Keiji on the back. "Yeah! Akaashi's smart, so whatever he says is probably right!"
I hope so. God, I hope so.
—
Both Bokuto and Keiji end up eating their words as the day progresses. Keiji has never been more grateful for Komi, a libero who tried to rise to every occasion, one who did his absolute best to save the ball and give his team a second shot, than when Komi was no longer there.
"Bokuto-san, please try to focus," Keiji says, but he knows his words are futile. Bokuto has been attempting to rebound his spikes in order to give his team more chances, but that particular endeavor has been failing. When that keeps failing, Bokuto keeps spiking harder, sending his spikes out of bounds. All of these factors only contribute to him losing focus faster.
Bokuto-san's weakness number 30: if his rebounds keep getting slammed down, he starts to overcompensate and blasts spikes past the end line.
"No fucking use," Konoha mutters, crossing his arms. "Lets just call it quits for this set, take the punishment, and then go eat dinner. I'm starving."
"NO!" Bokuto snaps, whirling around and turning on Konoha. Keiji sighs, pressing his hand against his forehead as Sarukui and Washio rush forward to prevent Konoha from picking a fight with his captain.
Bokuto-san wants to prove that he can do better than this, because he knows he can do better than this. And we all know just what he is capable of, and he is worried that if he does not keep performing at top form, our opinion of him will lower.
Well. We've already seen him at rock bottom, and we're still here, aren't we?
The look in Bokuto's desperate eyes is one that's familiar to Keiji—it's the one that says, give me one more chance, just one more chance.
If only Komi were here right now.
His entire job is to give Bokuto-san second chances.
—
"Akaashi, am I the worst captain in the history of ever?"
"You are not the worst captain in the history of ever," Keiji sighs as he takes his tray of food and sits down next to Bokuto. "You are just barely starting out as our captain. Please cut yourself some slack. Everybody faces difficulties at first, when they are trying something new."
This seems to have the opposite effect of what Keiji intended, as Bokuto only pouts and droops, his flat hair falling around his eyes. "So I am a bad captain right now."
Now I understand why everybody seems to be irritated when Bokuto-san is like this.
The boy in the shadows clears his throat. Well, that's not a very nice thought to have about your beloved Bokuto-san, now is it?
Keiji sighs, picks at his rice, and says, "You will get better, Bokuto-san. Just give it time, and be patient, that's all."
"But I want to get better now," Bokuto whines, and Keiji stares at his chopsticks and wonders how badly it would hurt if he stabbed them into his eyes.
"You will get better with time," Keiji repeats himself. "You will understand when you are older." Now he's just parroting things his aunt has said. Is this what his life has come to?
"But, Akaashi, I'm older than you," Bokuto points out, and Keiji continues to sigh.
"Have you given any thought to who you might want for vice-captain?" Keiji asks, changing the subject.
"You," Bokuto says immediately, and Keiji's heart freezes.
No. The boy in the shadows clicks his tongue. You? Vice-captain, alongside Bokuto-san? Please.
"No," Keiji says with finality, deftly stabbing his piece of grilled meat and shoving it into his mouth. "Someone else, Bokuto-san."
Bokuto opens his mouth, possibly to argue, but also possibly to eat his food, closes it, and then shakes his head. He then goes on to ramble about whether or not Washio or Konoha would make a better vice-captain, or maybe whether he should get Komi to be vice-captain, so he can enable all of his shenanigans. Keiji does not point out about how the third-years typically vote on who will be vice-captain, and it is not all up to Bokuto.
He doesn't point this out, because this is keeping Bokuto distracted, and a distracted Bokuto is much better than a sad Bokuto.
—
Komi joins them on the second day, looking uncharacteristically miserable. Keiji briefly wonders if he will have to take up the mantle of cheering up Komi as well as Bokuto, but he is saved from this fate when Konoha swoops in and drags him to their room. That is the last of Komi that Keiji sees for the evening.
"Let us hope this means that we will be able to win some more practice games," Keiji says to Sarukui conversationally, because he thinks he'd rather set himself on fire than endure any more of Kenma's smug looks. He doesn’t think Nekoma’s beaten Fukuroudani so many consecutive times, ever. Sarukui nods in agreement, but casts a concerned glance over to the hallway that Konoha and Komi disappeared down.
Unfortunately, Komi is still uncharacteristically miserable the next day, for reasons that Keiji cannot quite discern. And though their playing has improved marginally with the return of their libero, it has not returned back to normalcy. Keiji suspects that there must be something underlying Komi's absence, something that is causing a ripple effect and causing them to consistently screw up.
"Komi-san," he asks after they've done their punishment dives. "Is something the matter?"
"No!" Komi laughs nervously as he looks up, startled. "Nothing—nothing's wrong, don't worry. I'm fine. Totally. Just—tired from the exams and shit, y'know?"
"I see," Keiji says in a measured voice. "Well, if you—"
"Komi-yan!" Bokuto half-shouts, half-sings as he runs over to them. "I wanna try out a new spike later, you and Akaashi can help me, yeah?"
And Komi, still with that nervous look in his eyes, looks up, smiles, and nods in rapid succession. "'Course! Anything for you, yeah?"
"Woo-hoo!" Bokuto pumps his fist in the air as Komi heads away, over to Konoha and the other third-years. "Can't wait for tonight, yeah, Akaashi?"
"Bokuto-san," Keiji says, still keeping his voice measured, because Bokuto is not the best at picking up on social cues. Especially not when it comes to Komi, because the two of them seem to be cut from the same cloth—loud and hyper and energetic, feeding off each other's energy and enabling each others' bad habits. "I do not think that Komi-san would...like to practice extra with you tonight."
"But he said he would," Bokuto says, tilting his head owlishly. "And Komi-yan never lies, not to me!"
Bokuto-san's weakness number 8: he's extremely gullible.
"I believe there are some personal things occurring in Komi-san's life, things that he needs to focus on before he can try out new combo attacks with you."
"Ohh." Bokuto considers this, then nods, then slaps Keiji on the back. "You're the smartest, Akaashi."
And as it turns out, Keiji is right, because Komi and Konoha get into a shouting match after dinner later that night. Keiji does not know what the shouting match is about, because he looks at Bokuto, Washio, and Sarukui, and all four of them collectively agree to let the two others hash out whatever they need to do.
But Keiji returns to check up on them later, and he finds Komi sniffling into Konoha's shoulder, Konoha wrapping his arms around Komi's shoulders, and—
Ah, they're kissing. In many places.
This is not something I should be watching.
So Keiji turns away, heart pounding in his chest even though—logically speaking, he has not done anything wrong. It is not as though he meant to eavesdrop on his seniors, but—
Voyeur.
No, Keiji thinks back desperately. I'm not doing it on purpose. I didn't want to see it. I didn't want to…
Fucking freak, the boy in the shadows crows. Freak, freak, fucking freak.
Turn away. Look away. Gouge out your eyes, while you're at it.
They looked happy.
The boy in the shadows just laughs.
At the cost of being happy in this life, they'll be punished in the next.
Do you want that to happen to you as well?
—
Right before his second year of high school, Keiji becomes vice-captain.
"You're making a mistake," Keiji tries to say, but Bokuto waves him off cheerfully. "Bokuto-san, I do not think—"
"You're gonna make a great vice-captain!" Bokuto shouts, slapping Keiji on the back. Keiji can only stare down at his new jersey, number five, in awe. "We're gonna carry this team to victory, I just know it!"
"We all think you're gonna be a great vice-captain," Komi says, slapping Keiji on the back as well. "Hell, you're way more responsible than any of us."
I wonder why I was chosen to be vice-captain, and not Washio-san or Konoha-san. Keiji thinks as all of the second-years—now third-years—come over to congratulate him on his vice-captaincy. As a matter of fact, I wonder why Bokuto-san became captain, and not Washio-san or Konoha-san.
Bokuto-san may have an unlimited amount of enthusiasm and passion for the game, but that is not enough to be a good captain. There are other qualities—keeping calm under pressure, being able to keep your teammates in line. While I'm sure Bokuto-san will be able to develop these qualities, given enough time—Washio-san already exhibits these. I suppose that if he could not be captain, Washio-san would make a good vice-captain.
So then—why is it that I am vice-captain, and not him?
"Washio-san," Keiji says as the older boy passes by him. In many ways, Washio is Bokuto's perfect mirror image—both of them have similar builds, heights, and hairstyles. But Washio is quiet where Bokuto is loud, Washio is logical where Bokuto is emotional. Now that Keiji is looking at the two of them side-by-side, it becomes even more evident that—
I should not be in this role.
"I wonder why you were not made captain," Keiji admits quietly, so much so that Washio has to stoop down and lean his head in to listen better. "Or at the very least, why you were not made vice-captain. I think...I think you would have been a suitable pick for either one."
Washio raises an eyebrow, crosses his arms, and looks over to Bokuto. There's a look of resentment in Washio's eyes as he looks towards his captain, but then he blinks, and it is replaced by fondness.
"Bokuto is an inspiration," Washio says simply. "In all the ways I could never be. That is why he is captain."
An inspiration, Keiji thinks as he watches his captain attempt to chug an entire bottle of water in one go. He supposes that this moment is not the best indication of it, but—
Yes. Yes, he is an inspiration, I know that much. He is the entire reason why I decided to come to Fukuroudani. But can being an inspiration to your teammates—can that really outweigh all of the other requirements needed to be captain? Or is there something else? Did our upperclassmen make Bokuto captain just because they knew that nobody would have wanted to captain him? Just because they knew it was what he wanted?
And me…
"And you are the best strategist out of any of us," Washio says, as though he's reading Keiji's mind. "And you are able to keep Bokuto in line better than any of us can."
I'm vice-captain because I'm the person that can keep Bokuto in line. I am a good setter, but that's not why I'm vice-captain. I am just here because I am the best at calming Bokuto down.
I do not deserve this.
When have you ever deserved this? the boy in the shadows asks. When have you ever deserved anything?
"Thank you," Keiji says, bowing his head towards all his upperclassmen. He may not deserve this, but he will still be grateful. "I will do my best to lead this team along with Bokuto-san."
Bokuto shouts in agreement, thumping his fists against his chest. Keiji squints at his jersey.
"Bokuto-san, why are you four?" Keiji asks curiously. Their previous captain had the number one jersey, and Menjou, as ace, had the number four jersey. Bokuto's jersey is a combination of the two, with a line underneath his number four indicating that he is both ace and captain.
"Because I want the whole world to know that I'm the ace, duh!" Bokuto nods his head in determination. "And this way, I can stand next to you when we line up! We're captain and vice-captain, after all!"
He chose this because he wanted to stand next to me?
No. Don't be stupid. Bokuto just values being the ace more than he values being the captain.
"I see." Keiji nods, folding his jersey into a square, with neat, precise movements. "I look forward to playing with you again this year, Bokuto-san."
Bokuto grins, and his eyes shine like stars. Burning, bright, and beautiful.
I do not think normal people are supposed to think their teammates' eyes are beautiful.
Sinner.
Notes:
— haha did you catch that in the second chapter hatoba's name contained the kanji for mourning and dove and so it's like a mourning dove
— anyway yeah sorry for killing her too
— takaai's and menjou's names are based off of the hawk owl and the barn owl, the takafukurou and the menfukurou respectively.
— scream at me about making people suffer on Tumblr
Chapter 6: the stadium (pt. 2) - 4
Summary:
Keiji thinks of kintsugi, and he thinks of a hold so tight that he may shatter into pieces. Bokuto hugs Keiji so tightly, he fears his spine may break in half. Right now, he wishes Bokuto would do exactly that. He wishes Bokuto would snap his bones in two, grind every muscle and organ down to mush, rebuild him into something better, something good. If anyone could do it, it would be Bokuto.
Akaashi Keiji wants so badly to be good.
Notes:
happy birthday akaashi!! for your birthday gift you get even more suffering
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
As it turns out, Akaashi Keiji and Tendou Satori have more in common than they think.
They talk a lot after their initial meeting, about manga and books and anime. Tendou is the one that gets Keiji into watching anime, and the two of them have very long video calls where Keiji analyzes One Piece and Tendou tells him, "it's not that deep, shut up, I want to hear what Luffy's saying."
tendou: we should meet up!! like this weekend maybe??
me: tendou-san. it is April. it is the first month of school. shouldn't you be focusing on your schoolwork?
tendou: mehhhhh
me: tendou-san.
tendou: ooh I heard that there's a promotion for that manga we both like at a mall in tokyo!! we could go there!!
me: which one?
tendou: black rock shooter
That name sounds vaguely familiar to Keiji. He's pretty sure that Kenma has mentioned liking that game.
me: I have a friend in tokyo that I think might like to come as well. would you mind if I invited him as well?
tendou: sure!! what's his name??
me: kozume kenma. he plays the video game that's based off of black rock shooter.
tendou: sure!! so the mall, this weekend, right?
"Akaashi!" Bokuto shouts from directly behind Keiji, making him jump and drop his phone. "You're going to the mall this weekend?"
"It's rude to read messages over someone else's shoulder," Keiji scolds Bokuto as he picks his phone up. "Yes. Would you like to come along as well?"
"Ooh, sure!" Bokuto claps his hands in delight. "Are you going with Tendou and Kenma? Can you ask them if they can bring Ushiwaka and Kuroo along with them? I haven't seen them in ages, and it'd be really cool if Ushiwaka and Kuroo could meet!"
"I will see what I can do," Keiji says as he types as fast as he possibly can.
me: bokuto-san wants to come along as well. and he wants to see if you can bring ushijima-san.
tendou: of course I can!!
tendou: he needs to get out more anyway
me: excellent, thank you.
Keiji switches to Kenma's contact, sending:
me: hello, kenma-san. bokuto-san and i, as well as bokuto-san's friend, and a friend of bokuto-san's friend, are going to be going to a shopping mall this saturday. there will be a promotion for a manga that the friend of bokuto-san's friend likes at the mall.
He glances at the clock. It's eleven AM on a Saturday. Kenma is probably not even up yet, or he has barely just woken up. He laughs, just a tiny bit, at the face of confusion Kenma must be making at his overly wordy text.
kenma: who's bokuto's friend??
kenma: and bokuto's friend's friend???
me: bokuto-san's friend is ushijima-san. ushijima-san's friend is tendou-san. both are from miyagi prefecture, in sendai.
me: i am also friends with tendou-san, but i believed it would be more amusing to refer to him as a friend of a friend of bokuto-san.
kenma: i forget that you can be funny sometimes
Keiji snickers as he watches Kenma's text bubble appear and disappear and reappear.
kenma: okay so you, bokuto, ushijima, and tendou are going to a mall next saturday
kenma: why are you telling me this?
me: i would like for you to come with us as well.
kenma: why do you want me to come?
me: the manga promotion is for black rock shooter. tendou-san likes the manga, i am fond of the light novel, and i believe you enjoy playing the video game based on it. hence why i am inviting you.
me: bokuto-san wanted to tag along, and then ushijima-san also wanted to tag along, so it really grew out of proportion.
A pause from Kenma, and then:
kenma: sure
me: you can invite kuroo-san as well, if you want to. bokuto-san would be happy to see him again.
kenma: i'll check with him
Another pause from Kenma, presumably while he's texting Kuroo. Keiji distantly thinks that Bokuto might like to have a group chat with all of them in it. He decides that may be a thought for another day.
kenma: kuro can't come
kenma: it'll just be me
me: alright. i look forward to it then.
—
"Akaashi, I see them! I see them!"
Bokuto jumps up and down, waving his hands, and Keiji has to patiently remind him that he is holding a cone of ice cream, and does he want it to go flying everywhere? No, he does not. So Bokuto stands still for a moment more while he hurriedly tries to eat the rest of his ice cream.
Tendou is waving cheerfully as he drags Ushijima by the arm. Ushijima is as stoic as ever, but he seems unbothered by Tendou's touch.
Ah. Right. Tendou mentioned this to me.
They're dating.
He does not know how he manages to find so many people that are like him. He wonders if it was fate, or something of the sort, but he finds that he does not really care.
He thinks about what Shima said, almost a year ago at Momoko's funeral.
"I think that God doesn't really exist at all."
Keiji is starting to believe that more and more. Something—maybe not God, but something—controls his life, and it is a wholly neutral force. No divine punishment has smitten him lately, nothing horrible has happened to him.
Most importantly, nothing bad has happened to Bokuto.
"Hey, hey, hey!" Bokuto shouts happily, running over to Ushijima and bumping shoulders with him. "Ushiwaka!"
"Bokuto." Ushijima indulges Bokuto in their handshake, then grabs Bokuto by the arm. "You are dripping ice cream all over yourself. Wait here. I will get a napkin."
""Kaashi," Tendou says cheerfully, patting Keiji's shoulder. "How've you been?"
"Good, thank you, Tendou-san." Keiji nods his head up at Tendou. Ushijima returns to their group, wiping the ice cream off of Bokuto’s hand, and the four of them begin wandering around aimlessly.
"Heard you became vice-captain," Tendou says as he walks. He walks strangely—with his back slouched over and his hands in his pockets. He looks like a hunchback. "Congratulations! Ushiwaka over there didn't even consider making me vice-captain!"
"I do not trust you in any sort of leadership position," Ushijima says flatly, and Bokuto laughs at Tendou's expense. Tendou flips them the middle finger, then goes back to smiling cheerfully at Keiji.
Keiji's phone rings, and he picks up. It's Kenma.
"Where are you?"
"Second floor, food court," Keiji says, watching as Bokuto breaks his waffle cone into pieces and shoves them all into his mouth. "Because Bokuto-san wanted to get a snack first. Where are you?"
"Uhh..."
There's some shuffling, and then the ding! of an elevator, and then—
"Kenma!" Bokuto shouts, waving his hands above his head. Keiji pokes his head out from behind Bokuto to find—
Oh, did he bleach his hair?
Bokuto runs towards Kenma, grabbing him in what looks like an absolutely bone-crushing hug. "Kenma-san," Keiji says while Kenma's fighting for his life to breathe.
"How've you been, it's been ages!" Bokuto shouts excitedly, ruffling Kenma's hair. "I like the new hair too, it looks sick!"
"You're matching with Bokuto-san," Keiji drones, noting the streaks of black that run through both Kenma’s and Bokuto’s light hair, and Bokuto nods excitedly.
"No, I'm not," Kenma mutters. Ushijima and Tendou come up from behind, looking down curiously at Kenma.
"This is Tendou-san," Keiji says, waving his hand towards Tendou. Tendou waves at Kenma, leaning down to stare at him. "And this is Ushijima-san." Ushijima does not wave, but he does nod his head towards him.
"C'mon, 'Kaashi, introduce us properly," Tendou says, leering down at Kenma with a rather creepy smile. Now that Keiji thinks about it, Tendou looks a disturbing amount like—
"You look like Hisoka." Kenma says Keiji's thoughts exactly. He then seems to realize what he's said, and his eyes go wide, as though he's afraid that Tendou will get mad at him.
But Tendou only tips his head back and laughs, showing off every one of his teeth. “I like this one, ‘Kaashi!”
“This is Kozume Kenma,” Keiji says, and Kenma waves shyly to Tendou. “He does not read much, but he has played the video game inspired by Black Rock Shooter.”
“I read,” Kenma says, mildly offended.
Tendou crosses his arms, grinning and nodding his chin towards the rest of the mall. “Should we be off, then?”
Keiji claps his hands together. "Yes, let's go. I believe the store is to the right. Bokuto-san, you will be fine with Ushijima-san?"
"Yep!" Bokuto bounces up and down on the balls of his feet. "Me and Wakatoshi-kun will be a-okay!" Ushijima nods, and then the two of them march off in the opposite direction.
"How did you two meet?" Kenma asks as Keiji begins to lead them towards what she assumes is the bookstore. "I mean...we're in Tokyo, and you're all the way out in Miyagi..."
"I showed up in 'Kaashi's dreams as his sleep paralysis demon," Tendou says, a lazy smirk playing around his lips. "And I kept bothering him until he became friends with me."
"Tendou-san is the most annoyingly persistent person I know," Keiji says, and Tendou lets out a faux gasp. "Besides Bokuto-san."
"Saying that your beloved Bokuto's annoying? Damn, 'Kaashi!" Tendou laughs, slapping Keiji on the back. "That's cold, even for you!"
"We met through Bokuto-san and Ushijima-san," Keiji continues, as though Tendou never said anything at all. "Bokuto-san and Ushijima-san faced off at Nationals in their first year of high school. They became friends after that. Ushijima-san and Tendou-san are childhood friends, I believe. When I came to Fukuroudani, Bokuto-san introduced me to Ushijima-san, and Tendou-san by proxy."
"You don't gotta be so formal, 'Kaashi! Lighten up!"
They shuffle through the crowd in search of the bookstore, and Keiji takes a moment to reflect on how distinctly dead inside they all look. The woes of high school, he supposes.
"Ahh, there she is," Tendou coos as they approach the entrance of the bookstore. There's a large cardboard cutout of the main character, a girl with black hair and a fiery blue eye. "She's like a daughter to me."
"She's five years younger than you," Keiji says, and Kenma nods in agreement.
They push their way through the bookstore, and a large table of merchandise awaits them. Tendou immediately makes a beeline for the manga piled high on the table, while Keiji moves to the back to search for his light novel. He hears shuffling behind him, and he assumes that Kenma is following him silently.
And then his phone rings.
"Amane-obasan," Keiji says, holding the phone up to his ear while he browses through the light novels. "Hello."
"It has been a while, Keiji."
Keiji considers this. He comes back to his aunt's every other Friday—in his first year, it used to be every Friday. But he's found that, over time, Fukuroudani has felt more like home more than his aunt's apartment ever did. He still goes to his aunt's apartment, and he and his aunt make pleasant conversation, but that's all it is—pleasantries.
"It has, obasan," Keiji agrees as he thumbs through the second edition of the book. "How are you?"
"Well. And you?"
"Well."
"The children at church have missed you."
Keiji hesitates. He has not gone to church in over a year—he has been thinking about God less and less. He has not been punished as badly as he was in his first year. Nothing bad has happened to Bokuto, or Kenma, or Tendou, even though they're all—
Not normal, are they? Sinners, are they?
Is God truly real?
"You should come back and visit sometime. Even if you do not remember them, they remember you."
Does Keiji want to go back to that place? He never felt like belonged there, that no matter how hard he tried his best to acclimate, he would never belong there. Does he want to belong there? He thinks of God, and he thinks of salvation, but he does not know if he will ever find either.
"I am very busy," Keiji says, flipping his light novel over to check the price. "With my studies, and with volleyball. I...am unsure if I will be able to find the time to do so."
"I heard that you became vice-captain of your team. Congratulations." His aunt's voice is flat, uninterested. "I may come to watch one of your games now."
There is no pride in his aunt's voice. Keiji feels a spike of disappointment flare up in his chest.
Why are you disappointed?
You've gotten complacent. Bokuto-san has been spoiling you too much with compliments that you do not deserve. You forget yourself. You did not become vice-captain because you are particularly skilled, you became vice captain because you are the most well-equipped to deal with Bokuto's mood swings and temper tantrums.
You are honing a useless skill. You can't go pro when you graduate, so what's the point of staying here?
Does your presence really matter all that much to your teammates?
Do you really matter at all?
"Thank you," Keiji says, his voice cold as ever. "Tell the children at church I send my best. I must go now. I am at the mall with a couple of friends. Goodbye, Amane-obasan."
A pause from his aunt, and then a curt—
"Goodbye."
Keiji hangs up, turning around to search for the counter and Kenma and—
Where is Kenma?
Keiji turns his head frantically, searching for any sight of Kenma's long bottle-blonde hair. He's shorter than him, and he's small, and Keiji and Tendou left him all alone in a crowded store, and—
What a shitty friend you are.
What a shitty person you are.
He pushes past people in his haste to get to the line at the check-out counter and pay for his book. He stands on tiptoe, trying to catch any sight of Tendou—how hard is it to spot someone who is six feet with spiky bright red hair?
Where are they? Where are they? Where the fuck are they?
Keiji's phone dings while he's in the middle of the line, and his heart nearly jumps out of his throat. He drops his book on the floor while he's digging his phone out of his pocket, holding up the line behind him. Somebody sighs irritably, and something in Keiji's chest squirms, just the tiniest bit.
I am a sad, pathetic waste of space.
tendou: heyooo we left cause poor kenma looked like he was dying lolol
tendou: we're at some boba place near the bookstore
tendou: i got you a matcha!!
They left you behind, didn't they?
Now that he knows where Tendou and Kenma vanished off to, his steps are slower. Dragging. Almost hesitant.
They left without you. Maybe they're getting along better than you thought. Maybe they're going to leave you behind.
He pays for his book, nods politely at the cashier, and then begins making his way towards the boba shop. He tries not to think about how—
Everyone leaves you, one way or another. Always. Isn't that your fate? To wander this world alone, always searching for somewhere to belong?
Pitiful.
Keiji pushes open the door to the boba place. He spots Kenma sitting at a table, with Tendou standing at the counter, grabbing what he assumes are their drinks. He calls out, "Sorry, I got lost in the bookstore."
"It's okay," Kenma says as Keiji sits down next to him. "Tendou got us drinks."
"I need to pay him back, then," Keiji says, immediately taking out his wallet. Tendou tuts as he sits back down, pushing Keiji's hand back.
"Nuh-uh, I'm your senpai, and I'm going to pay for you if I want," Tendou says, planting Keiji's matcha in front of him. "Now be an appreciative kouhai and drink your leaf juice."
Yet another thing that you don't deserve.
Keiji sighs, but knows that there's no point in arguing. He uncaps the lid of his matcha and begins drinking, flicking through his brand new book. Over the pages of his book, he watches Tendou tilt his head until it's parallel to the table, then stab his straw through the plastic with one deft movement. Kenma just sticks the straw into his cup and sips.
Kenma is just sitting there, a blank look on his face as he looks at his phone and sips his tea. He seems completely unbothered by the fact that Keiji just abandoned him in a crowded bookstore, and that Tendou had to be the one to help him escape.
Apologize. Apologize to Kenma.
"I apologize for leaving you in the bookstore," Keiji says suddenly, and Kenma looks up mid-sip. "It was not my intention. I invited you, and I left you behind."
"It's okay," Kenma says, shrugging. "There were a lot of people. Not like I was expecting you to hold my hand during the entire thing. I'm glad you got your book."
"Still. I'm sorry." Keiji snaps his book shut, now uninterested in the book's contents. He closes his eyes and takes a long sip of his matcha.
He feels tired. This was supposed to be a fun day, but lately, he's been feeling so…
I'm so tired. All the time.
I wake up, and I feel just as tired as I did when I went to sleep. I don't even stay up that late. Normally, I sleep at ten, and I wake up at six. Eight hours of sleep. Everything is structured to peak efficiency.
So why do I feel like this? What reason do I have for feeling like this?
He watches Kenma's eyes dart up towards him. Keiji almost thinks that he's looking up at him with concern, but he shakes his head. He's probably imagining it.
And then Tendou stands up, nudging his chair back into place, and he says, "Ushiwaka says he wants lunch. Oh, and he says that he and Bokuto picked up a surprise."
"What sort of surprise?" Keiji asks. Suspicious. What has Bokuto done this time? Ushijima was responsible, surely he would stop Bokuto from doing anything too rash or dangerous.
Tendou grins, mischief written all across his face. "I think you'll like it lots, 'Kaashi."
—
The surprise is a goldfish. Keiji does not, in fact, like it lots.
"Bokuto-san," Keiji says, feeling like he's about to burst a blood vessel or have a heart attack. "Why on earth did you think this was a good idea?"
"Taking care of the goldfish will help train us to be good parents in the future," Ushijima says, and Keiji internally facepalms. No doubt Bokuto told him that, and Ushijima simply went along with his idea.
"I named him Keisuke!" Bokuto says cheerfully. The goldfish is orange, swimming around in a plastic tank that has nothing but water inside of it. It's notably swimming very slowly. It looks like it's about to drop dead, much like how Keiji is currently feeling right now.
"We are going to take turns taking care of him," Ushijima says. He looks down at the goldfish swimming around in slow circles. "We will see if we can nurse him back to health. He looks rather sickly."
"He looked lonely!" Bokuto finishes, crouching down to stare at the goldfish sadly swimming around in its small plastic carrier. "He was the last one in his tank, Akaashi, we had to give him a proper home!"
"What home?" Keiji demands. He feels like he's about to start tearing his hair out. "Both of you live in boarding schools, neither of which allow pets. How were you even going to trade him off? You live in completely different cities—"
He glances over at Tendou, who is doubled over in laughter, and doing absolutely nothing to help the situation. "Tendou, stop laughing!"
"This is the best fuckin' purchase you've ever made, Ushiwaka," Tendou laughs, clapping a hand onto his boyfriend's shoulder. "Oh my god. I can't—" Tendou doubles over in laughter, holding onto Ushijima's shirt for support. Ushijima doesn't make any moves to hold Tendou up, but he does seem to soften at Tendou's touch.
Keiji shakes his head, dropping his head into his hands. This is fine. This is fine. They can figure out a way to remedy this situation. "Oh my god. Oh my god. I can't believe you're my captain."
"Hey!" Bokuto protests, snatching the plastic tank from Ushijima's hands and showing it to him. "I named him after you!"
"You can't keep a plant alive, how were you going to keep a fish alive?!" Keiji shouts back, pacing back and forth as he tries to think.
"Akaashiiiii!" Bokuto whines, trailing after Keiji he paces back and forth. "So mean, Akaashi!"
Kenma is just staring at them with vague curiosity. Ushijima is doing the exact same thing.
"My sisters can take him," Tendou says as he manages to claw himself back up to a standing position. "They came here with my mom. I'm sure they'll be just thrilled."
"Ooh! Okay!" Bokuto excitedly holds the tank above his head. "You hear that, Keisuke? You're getting a home soon!"
"Bokuto-san, please do not drop the fish, you're going to kill him," Keiji mumbles, reaching up to steady his friend's grasp on the tank. "I would prefer for you to not have the blood of an innocent goldfish on your hands."
Not like me. You're not like me.
Bokuto-san, you are too good to have anybody's blood on your hands. You wouldn't be able to hurt a fly, intentionally or otherwise.
"'Kay, Akaashi!" Bokuto shouts, and despite his exhaustion, Keiji lets out a single, soft, laugh.
"For the record, I would have let you take the fish back with us," Tendou says, nudging Ushijima in the side with his elbow. "We could've named it our team's mascot."
"We already have a mascot, and it is an eagle. And I would not trust you with any living organism as of right now," Ushijima tells Tendou matter-of-factly. "You killed one of my succulents with your negligence."
Bokuto laughs at Tendou's crestfallen expression. "Damn! He got you there!"
And then Tendou shoots another comment back, and then Bokuto playfully shoves at him, and then Keiji's trailing after them, trying to make sure they don't start a fight. Then he remembers Kenma and Ushijima exist, and he turns to look behind him. Kenma and Ushijima are talking quietly, and then Kenma lifts up his shopping bag and hands it to Ushijima. They seem to be getting along just fine as well.
Where does that leave Keiji? Stuck in the middle, with nobody to talk to? Wandering around, trying to find somewhere he can settle down and be at peace with?
Is there anywhere where you will feel right?
Is there any place that you can call home?
Is there?
—
It’s an average Saturday morning when Keiji is, for some reason, added to a group chat.
shittykawa: hi there akaashi-kun!!
me: who the fuck are you
It’s an extremely rude response, but in Keiji’s defense, he does not know who this ‘shittykawa’ is or what they want.
shittykawa: i’m friends with tendou!!
shittykawa: from shiratorizawa!!
SEMI-SEMI: shiratorizawa…i haven’t heard that name in ages…
shirabu-bu: asshole you GO to shiratorizawa
shirabu-bu: we BOTH go to shiratorizawa
Keiji decides to screenshot this conversation and send it to Tendou. It is nine in the morning. Surely this is just a figment of his imagination, or he is hallucinating.
me: sent an image!
me: who are these people.
tendou: LMAO
tendou: yeah semi and shirabu are our setters
tendou: oikawa’s this guy from miyagi that has one-sided beef with ushijima
tendou: but for some reason he and i became friends
tendou: and he has a group chat solely for setters so i thought it would be fun to include you!
tendou: get you to make some new friends!
tendou: ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
me: one of these days, i am going to get you.
me: i do not know how or when, but know it is inevitable.
tendou: wahhh so scary kaashi!! (ᗒᗣᗕ)
Keiji curses out Tendou and his love for stupid kaomoji, and returns to the group chat composed entirely of setters.
shittykawa: you’re our first tokyo member, akaashi-kun!!
shittykawa: everybody else is from miyagi!
me: how nice.
Keiji thinks about Kenma, and wonders if adding him to this group chat is a potentially good idea, but decides against it. He’ll save it for if or when Kenma needs to be really punished.
shittykawa: anyway everyone come introduce yourselves!!! @everyone
shittykawa: i’m oikawa tooru and i go to aoba johsai in miyagi!!
yee-ha-ba: oikawa-san i thought we agreed that this was an awful idea
shittykawa: yacchan don’t be so mean!! ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა
Keiji reconsiders his idea of putting Kenma into this group chat, just to make him suffer along with him.
Ah, ah, ah.
Isn’t wanting to make others suffer a sign that you’re a shitty person?
yee-ha-ba: okay whatever
yee-ha-ba: hi i’m yahaba shigeru and i go to aoba johsai and this idiot is my captain
shittykawa: yacchan!!!
SEMI-SEMI: i’m semi eita, i go to shiratorizawa, and i was a setter my first year but i switched to becoming a pinch server in second year
SEMI-SEMI: because i got benched and this charming bastard @shirabu-bu took my spot as starting setter
shirabu-bu: you know what fuck you
SEMI-SEMI: this is shirabu kenjirou he’s an asshole
me: we’ll get along well then.
shirabu-bu: oh thank god at least one of us here has any sense
yee-ha-ba: HEY
suga & spice: FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT
yee-ha-ba: aren’t you supposed to be a responsible third year???
suga & spice: are you kidding me have you seen what i have to deal with on a daily basis
suga & spice: i’m surrounded by idiots 24/7
stupidyama: suga-san i thought you loved us
suga & spice: SHIT
suga & spice: anyway i’m sugawara koushi and that’s kageyama tobio and we’re from karasuno high in miyagi
Karasuno. Didn’t Kenma mention that school once or twice?
me: good to meet you all.
Shittykawa changed Akaashi to ah-KAH-shi
Keiji snickers. The nickname is similar to the name that Bokuto assigned to him when they first met, and he feels almost nostalgic for his first year of high school, before he had all of these doubts about—
Do I really deserve to stand at Fukuroudani’s helm with Bokuto-san? My teammates said I had promise when I was a first-year, and they keep saying I have potential as a captain in my third year, but…
God. I keep running from the past, and I keep running from the future, and I keep running and running, searching for somewhere to belong.
I’m so tired of this.
He remembers a dream he once had, a childish dream to sprout wings and fly, to go on a long journey far, far away. He’s older now. Wiser.
Old enough to know that his back is not weighed down by pitch black feathers and hollow bones, but by worry and shame and ten thousand other horrible things. It will never go away. One day, his back will break in two from all of it.
But for now, as Keiji rolls over in his bed, despite the fact that he should be getting up and studying, he allows himself to dream. He allows himself to close his eyes and see, clear as day, the beautiful jet-black wings that would carry him far, far away from here.
If I had wings, I could fly wherever I wanted. But I would be doomed to wander the world alone. Could I really do that? Abandon everybody else—my entire team—to go on a journey by myself? Could I leave behind Konoha, Komi, Washio, Sarukui?
Could I leave behind Bokuto-san?
Oh, it depends, the boy in the shadows whispers. It depends on how much your precious Bokuto-san means to you.
So tell me, Akaashi Keiji. How much does Bokuto Koutarou mean to you?
—
During their annual two-day training camp, Keiji finds out that a new school will be in attendance.
"Karasuno?" he asks Bokuto as he flips through the papers Shirofuku has given them. "I've heard of them only once. I believe Kenma and Kuroo played against them."
"Oh, so that means they're really good," Bokuto says off-handedly, fidgeting with a pencil. He leaps to his feet, tugging at Keiji's arm. "Speaking of Kenma and Kuroo, I think they're coming soon! C'mon!"
"There is no need to rush," Keiji says irritably, but he gets up all the same. He sets the clipboard down and allows Bokuto to drag him through the hallways, towards the cafeteria. Already, he can see the group of students wearing red jackets—Nekoma has arrived. Among them, he can see a very familiar head of long blonde hair.
"Kenma-san," Keiji says as Bokuto bounds towards Kuroo. He glances fondly at Bokuto, who is greeting Kuroo with enthusiasm. He looks back at Kenma, who is pinning him with a mildly disgusted glare that he chooses to ignore. "How are you?"
"Good," Kenma says. "It's nice to see you again."
Keiji smiles down at him, and Kenma offers him the teeniest of smiles back. "It's very nice to see you again as well. I heard that Karasuno was coming to attend our training camp."
"Yes." Kenma's eyes go wide, just the tiniest bit at the mention of Karasuno. "There's someone I want you to meet," he says as he follows Keiji through the lunch line. "From Karasuno."
"Oh?" Keiji asks, tilting his head. "Who is this someone?"
"His name's Hinata Shouyou. I met him during our last training camp—"
Kenma is speaking far too passionately, and far too quickly, and the next words that come out of Keiji's mouth are—
"Kenma-san, are the next words that are about to come out of your mouth going to be that you have a crush on him?"
Kenma opens his mouth, then closes it.
I've overstepped. I am good at perceiving people's emotions, after so much time spent with Bokuto, but I forget myself. I am not right a hundred percent of the time.
I should just be struck down by lightning, right here, right now.
"Do I?" Kenma asks out loud, and he sounds so confused that Keiji just snickers. "Hey, no, do I?"
"Why are you asking me?" Keiji asks, his voice more smug than he intended. "I haven't met this mysterious Hinata Shouyou yet. I can't tell you for sure."
"I don't..." Kenma mutters to himself, before saying, in a weak attempt to defend himself, "I don't like him like that. He's just...interesting. Fascinating."
"As in, you'd like to study him under a microscope, or as in, you'd like to watch him play volleyball?" It's now that Keiji realizes that he should shut up, but he can't help himself. "Either way implies romantic attraction."
"Speaking from experience?" Kenma shoots back, nodding his head towards Bokuto. Keiji has no response to this. "That's what I thought."
I don't have a crush on Bokuto-san. I can't have a crush on Bokuto-san.
But…
I can't think about this right now.
"I'm going to destroy you in our practice match," Keiji declares as they sit down at the table, across from Bokuto and Kuroo. Kenma rolls his eyes, and Keiji rolls them back.
"Ooh, whatcha guys talkin' about?" Bokuto asks, leaning forward. "We already talking about kicking Nekoma's ass? That's what I like to hear, Akaashi!"
"Yeah, what are we talking about?" Kuroo asks, mischief sparkling in his eyes.
Keiji opens his mouth to respond with, oh, we were just talking about how I may or may not have a crush on Bokuto-san that I was entirely unaware of, here, let me stoke Bokuto's ego even more, but Kenma promptly slaps his hand over the entirety of his face. Kuroo snorts, Keiji yelps, and Bokuto shouts.
"Hey! Sabotage!" Bokuto points directly at Kenma, who is sheepishly taking his hand off of Keiji's face. "Your setter's injuring my vice-captain!"
"Vice-captain?" Kenma asks in interest as Keiji returns to picking at his food. "You didn't tell me you were vice-captain."
"I only got the role due to Bokuto-san's bias towards me," Keiji mutters bitterly. "Nepotism."
"I don't know what that means!" Bokuto says cheerfully.
And so the conversation continues, and Bokuto talks on and on about how ‘Akaashi's the best vice-captain we've ever had’ and ‘Akaashi's tosses are always the best, they're so easy to hit’ and ‘Akaashi, what if you go pro after high school and we play together’—
He favors you.
This has happened before, hasn't it?
Don't you remember what happened to Yukito?
Keiji picks at the rest of his food, his appetite gone. He suddenly feels like he needs to throw up, purge all of this sin from his body, all of his thoughts from his mind.
I can't like Bokuto-san.
I promised Yukito I would find someone else to love after he died. But I meant I would find a girl. A nice girl, one that I would spend the rest of my life with, one that I could be at home with.
Keiji stares down at his food with increasing dread building up in the pit of his stomach. He then makes the mistake of looking up at Bokuto, who is—
Staring at him like he is the greatest thing in the world. He has stars in his eyes—golden stars for eyes, burning, bright, and beautiful.
Nobody should be thinking that their teammates' eyes are beautiful.
Bokuto smiles down at him, blinking those golden eyes of his. "Were you listening, Akaashi? You really are great, y'know!"
It makes Keiji sick to his stomach.
—
He vomits in the bathroom after dinner, then sinks down to the cold tile floor, his shoulders shaking. He wraps his arms around his legs, burying his face and stifling his sobs. His vocal cords do not seem to be working, but he hopes his prayer makes it up to God regardless.
Please let this all end soon.
Please.
If you are up there, God, please.
I am begging you. I don't know what is wrong with me, but I hope you will be able to fix it soon. Who else if not you?
Please.
I do not know how long I can continue on like this.
—
In the morning, Keiji does not get to meet this mysterious Hinata Shouyou. He hears something about how he had to do make-up tests, and then he hears Kuroo say:
"Don't get so down just 'cause shorty's not here." Kuroo claps Kenma on the back, causing the blonde boy to stumble forward irritably. "We'll still have a fun time!"
"Sure, sure," Kenma mutters as Kuroo trails away to talk to Bokuto. Keiji approaches him, smirking just the tiniest bit. It's amusing to watch Kenma care so much about something—he's normally so apathetic to everything besides video games. Kenma sighs and turns around, then startles as he realizes he's being watched.
"Crush," Keiji whispers, and Kenma kicks him in the shins.
"We're going to beat you," Kenma declares as he follows Kuroo over to Nekoma's side of the court. Keiji continues to snicker. It truly is amusing, how any mention of this mysterious Hinata Shouyou is able to rile Kenma up so easily.
He must really like him.
The boy in the shadows speaks up again, gripping onto Keiji's shoulders.
Just like how you really like Bokuto?
Keiji shakes himself out of his thoughts as Fukuroudani pairs up with Karasuno. It's kind of a shame, how Hinata Shouyou isn't here—he does want to see what he's capable of, what caused Kenma to become so smitten with him.
He tells himself that he doesn't want to see if this mysterious boy is any similar to Bokuto. He tamps down the voice that's whispering scornfully—
You just want to see if you and Kenma are in the same situation, don't you?
Kenma probably has a crush on Hinata Shouyou, by the way he talks about him.
And if you act similarly to him when he's around this Hinata Shouyou, then…
Don't you have a crush on Bokuto?
—
Hinata Shouyou ends up showing up around midday, and everybody looks up to see the gymnasium doors being thrown open. There are two boys standing there, one with bright orange hair and one with black hair and blue undertones. Keiji does not know which one is which, but if he had to guess, he'd go with the orange-haired boy that's currently shouting with glee. He thinks that Kenma and him have similar tastes in—
Crushes? Is that what this is? Do you have a crush on Bokuto? You little wretch, you do, don't you?
Keiji's suspicions are confirmed when the orange-haired boy barrels towards Kenma, arms outstretched, shouting, "KENMA!!"
"Shouyou," Kenma says, waving timidly to the boy.
They're on a first-name basis?
Well. Surely I don't have a crush on Bokuto-san, don't I? All I ever call him is Bokuto, and all he ever calls me is Akaashi.
This isn't a crush.
Right?
The other boy—Kageyama Tobio, Keiji hears someone else say—merely scoffs and shouts at Hinata to go put a practice jersey on. Kageyama must be a setter, as he's wearing a shirt that says 'soul of a setter'. It looks stupid. Keiji vaguely thinks that he should get one for himself, despite the fact that he regularly pokes fun at Bokuto's 'way of the ace' T-shirt.
If you had a crush on him, you wouldn't look down on him so much, would you?
I don't look down on him.
He thinks you're so amazing. And all you think of him is that he's got a one-track mind, a one-track heart. You think that all he thinks about is volleyball. You think that he never thinks about you.
What a good liar you are, Akaashi Keiji. What a good fucking liar you are.
Karasuno's performance skyrockets as soon as their newbies join the team. They win a set against Shinzen, their first win of the day. Keiji doesn't get many opportunities to watch them, but he watches Hinata and Kageyama pull off an insane-looking quick set.
"Whoa, that was sick!" Bokuto shouts as Fukuroudani takes a break to watch Karasuno play. "D'you think we can pull that off, Akaashi?"
"I can certainly try, Bokuto-san," Keiji says, but he knows that it's an empty promise as soon as the words leave his mouth. Hinata and Kageyama are the kinds of players that possess an innate talent for the sport—like Bokuto, and not like himself. That quick set is something Keiji will probably never be able to replicate.
He watches Hinata Shouyou high-five his teammates, and he watches Kenma stare at Hinata with stars in his eyes, and he thinks—
You and I are the exact same, Kenma.
All we're doing is chasing shooting stars.
—
Fukuroudani plays Nekoma the next day, and Keiji makes Kenma eat every last one of his words. Their new player, that silver-haired, half-Japanese, half-Russian first-year, has a lot of raw athletic skill, but not much going for him in terms of technique. Bokuto and the rest of Fukuroudani win, easily.
Later that day, Nekoma plays Karasuno. Keiji watches Kenma play against Hinata, and he notes how Kenma almost never seems to take his eyes off of the orange-haired boy while he plays.
He's in so deep.
Nekoma wins the set, and they move on to play against Fukuroudani once more. Keiji smirks as they take their places, on opposite ends of the court.
"Getting tired already?" he asks, cracking every one of his knuckles individually. He watches Kenma wince as he pops his joints, and it amuses him greatly.
"Up yours," Kenma shoots back, because he probably can't think of any other better insults. Keiji merely smirks, then turns away to talk to Bokuto.
"We're gonna win this one, right, Akaashi?!" Bokuto shouts, slapping Keiji on the back. Konoha yells something about how Bokuto can't hurt their setter before the game's even started.
"Of course, Bokuto-san," Keiji says, nodding his head. Bokuto grins, patting his shoulder a couple times more, before heading over to the court.
Why did I want him to stay like that for longer?
Well, he can't think about that too much, because he has to play volleyball. A couple minutes later, Bokuto is slamming the ball into Nekoma's side of the court with a WAM!
Kenma's in the front, on blocking duty, but he winces away from the ball as it comes shooting towards him. That makes sense—Bokuto's spikes could probably take somebody's arm off if they're not careful.
"Whoa..." Nekoma's silver-haired first-year says in amazement as he watches the ball ricochet off the ground. Karasuno's blonde middle blocker—Tsukishima?—happens to be walking behind the court as the ball bounces, and it rebounds off of his arm with enough force that he has to take a step back.
Kenma and his coach engage in a shouting match where his coach shouts at him to not wimp out, and Kenma shouts back that he would lose an arm if he tried to receive it. Keiji finds this deeply hilarious.
Why do I like taking joy in other people's suffering? Isn't there a German word for that? Schadenfreude?
I really am a shitty person.
Bokuto pumps his fist into the air in triumph. "HEY, HEY, HEEEY!!" Behind him, Keiji sighs and shakes his head, but he can't keep the fond smile off of his face.
He always gets so excited, no matter what we do, no matter who we play.
Rather unfortunately for Nekoma, they don't stand a chance against Bokuto and the rest of Fukuroudani's incredible team—Konoha, Washio, Sarukui, Komi. Nekoma loses that set, and then they get to have lunch after their diving drills.
Keiji and Kenma sit down at one of the tables in the corner, and after a bit, Hinata Shouyou joins them.
"You look exhausted!" Hinata says cheerfully as he sits down on Kenma's right side. On Kenma's left side, Keiji raises an eyebrow, nodding his head towards the orange-haired boy.
"Yeah, I am," Kenma murmurs. He vaguely waves his hand towards Keiji, then Hinata. He looks like he's about to pass out, right then and there. "Keiji, meet Shouyou. Shouyou, meet Keiji."
"Nice to meet ya!" Shouyou says, leaning back to properly meet Keiji's gaze. "I'm Hinata Shouyou."
Keiji does the same, leaning his body back so that he and Shouyou can have a conversation behind Kenma's back. "Likewise. I am Akaashi Keiji. Kenma has told me much about you."
"Ooh, really?! Kenma, what'd you tell him?"
"That you're an orange freak of nature that never seems to run out of energy," Kennma mutters over his rice.
"Hey!" Hinata pouts, and Keiji tries very hard not to think about how it reminds him of Bokuto. He tries even harder not to think about how Kenma's smiling fondly at him, and how similar it is to when Keiji smiles at Bokuto. "Kenma!"
"Only good things," Keiji assures him. "Kenma has only told me good things about you."
"Oh, that's good!" Shouyou shovels his rice into his mouth, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk. He and Bokuto would get along well, Keiji thinks. Perhaps I should introduce them.
"Hey, idiot!" Keiji looks up to find Kageyama shouting at Hinata from halfway across the cafeteria. "Hurry up, I need to show you something!"
"'Kay!" Hinata shouts back, eating his food into his mouth at an even faster rate than before. Keiji notes how Kenma looks distinctly disappointed at the prospect of Hinata leaving so suddenly.
"Bye, Kenma!" Hinata jumps up, bumping his fist against Kenma's arm and running away. Keiji watches as Kenma lifts a hand up to rub at his arm, where Shouyou's bare skin touched his. He thinks about the feeling of Bokuto's hand on his back, and he wonders—
Is Kenma thinking something similar?
Don't think about that. Don't think about that. Just think about how happy your friend looks. Doesn't he deserve to be happy?
Kenma turns around, and Keiji smiles gleefully down at him. Kenma's hand is still wrapped around his arm.
"Don't," the blonde warns, but Keiji opens his mouth anyway. "Keiji, don't say anything, I swear—"
"Whipped," Keiji says simply. "Completely and utterly whipped."
Kenma slaps Keiji across the back of the neck, and Keiji can only think—
Yeah, I deserved that.
—
Keiji says goodbye to Kenma and Hinata when the day is over. He says goodbye to Kenma—not for long, which doesn't bother him—but he does see how Kenma talks to Hinata for significantly longer.
me: i called it
me: just saying
kenma: yeah and youve been in love with bokuto since our first year but you dont see me saying anything about it do you
me: im not in love with him
kenma: say it
me: say what
kenma: say "i'm not in love with bokuto"
kenma: those words
kenma: in that order
If I deny it for long enough, maybe my lies will become truth.
I don't know. I don't know.
me: you cant make me do anything
kenma: YOU ARE IN LOVE WITH HIM
me: 🖕🙂🖕
Keiji furiously scrolls through his contacts, clicking on the Pretty Setter Squad group chat, going to the Add Contact button, and clicking on Kozume Kenma.
You have added Kozume Kenma to a new group chat: Pretty Setter Squad!
kozume: wtf
me: this is your punishment
kozume: ????
me: everyone say hi to kozume kenma he's from nekoma and he's being a pain in the ass right now so he's getting added to this trash can fire of a group chat
shittykawa: hi kozume-chan!!!
kozume: just call me kenma
kozume: akaashi who are all of these people??
me: high school setters from all over japan
me: @everyone get on and introduce yourselves
shittykawa: oikawa tooru from aoba johsai in miyagi at your service
yee-ha-ba: hi i'm yahaba shigeru and i'm also from aoba johsai
shirabu-bu: what the FUCK i told you all to stop using this chat
SEMI-SEMI: hi im semi eita and this charming bastard is shirabu kenjirou and we're both from shiratorizawa which is also in miyagi
shirabu-bu: bitch istg stfu
SEMI-SEMI: YOU STFU
suga & spice: oh hi kenma-san!!
suga & spice: i saw you yesterday but i didn't play at all during the practice matches
suga & spice: so i dont think we've ever formally met
suga & spice: i'm sugawara koushi, i'm from karasuno
suga & spice: @stupidyama get on here
stupidyama: what i was practicing
stupidyama: OH YOURE THAT PUDDING HEAD GUY
kozume: and youre kageyama tobio
stupidyama: cool
kozume: cool
Kozume has left Pretty Setter Squad!
shittykawa has added Kozume to Pretty Setter Squad!
shittykawa: no!!
shittykawa: nobody is allowed to leave!!!
kozume: yk what i'm not even going to ask
You changed Kozume to Kozoomie
Kozoomie: what
me: because you run away from social interaction every chance you get
Kozoomie: BITCH SO DO YOU
me: i do it with more elegance
Kozoomie: ELEGANCE MY ASS
shittykawa: wow i like him already
shirabu-bu: of course you do you're both snobs
Keiji actually laughs out loud, an achingly familiar lightness filling his chest.
Oh. That's happiness. I remember what that feels like now.
But happiness is fleeting, and as quick as it came, Keiji can feel it leaving. What Kenma said—"yeah, and you've been in love with bokuto since our first year but you dont see me saying anything about it do you"—it rattles around in his head nonstop, snuffing out even the slightest bit of joy.
Kenma is more observant than the average high school boy. The fact that he said this doesn't necessarily mean I have a crush on Bokuto-san, nor does it mean other people think I have a crush on Bokuto-san.
Because I don't have a crush on Bokuto-san. I had a crush on Yukito, when I was younger, but this doesn't feel anything like that. Right?
Keep lying to yourself, the boy in the shadows murmurs. You seem like you're doing a real good job at it.
—
The week-long training camp at Shinzen rolls around, and Keiji gets the joy of watching Kenma make an absolute fool of himself in front of his crush.
"It's incredible how not subtle you are," Keiji says, and Kenma elbows him in the ribs. "The only reason he hasn't found you out is because he's incredibly young and dense."
"He's a year younger than me." Kenma rolls his eyes so hard, Keiji worries for their wellbeing. "And I could say the same for you, except that Bokuto's incredibly old."
"Don't call Bokuto-san old," Keiji says, hackles raising. "He's not even in the prime of his life yet."
"See, at least I don't get super defensive when it comes to him." Kenma points at Bokuto, who is doing his absurd secret handshake with Kuroo. "I can go five minutes without singing his praises."
"His praises deserve to be sung," Keiji shoots back.
You're not even trying to deny the fact that you have a crush on him now, aren't you?
If I ignore you long enough, you will go away, Keiji thinks. If I ignore you long enough, you will retreat into the recesses of my mind.
Keep lying to yourself, the boy in the shadows says. And see how far it gets you.
—
At the end of the first night of the training camp, Bokuto wants to do additional spiking practice, as always. Keiji acquiesces, like he always does, and Kuroo even volunteers for blocking practice. One of Nekoma's rookies—the half Russian one, Lev—is also with them, having practiced blocking with Kuroo earlier. He is currently lying on the gym floor, in agony.
Kenma is not there. Kenma ran away before Bokuto could even open his mouth to ask.
Keiji scratches at his nail polish while Bokuto waves his hands around at Kuroo. It was a good first day—watching Bokuto do perfect spike after spike was exciting, as always. He didn't slip into any dejected episodes, and he kept his enthusiastic mood throughout the day.
I always like seeing him happy, Keiji thinks to himself as Bokuto beams, reciting all his amazing plays made that day. It's like...I can live vicariously through him.
Like I can be something amazing too.
They're about to head into Shinzen's third gym, when Kuroo shouts:
"Aha! Hey, you there! From Karasuno! With the glasses!"
Kuroo's got that catlike grin, the kind that he uses when he's trying to persuade somebody to do something for him—the kind of smile that almost always works for him.
"Mind coming over here and blocking for us?" Kuroo asks, gesturing towards himself.
"Oh. Sorry, but I'm done for the day." Keiji approaches, peeking his head from behind Kuroo's back. It's Karasuno's tall middle blocker, the blonde first year. Tsukishima. The boy bows, and then says, "Good night!"
"Wha?!" Kuroo splutters, mouth agape.
"C'mon!" Bokuto begs, leaning against the doorway of the gym. "Spike practice doesn't do any good if there isn't anyone trying to block!" He pauses, then adds on a very pitiful-sounding, "Please?"
If Keiji was Tsukishima, he would have stood no chance. Hell, as Akaashi Keiji, he still doesn't stand a chance when Bokuto pulls that voice out.
"Why me?" Tsukishima asks, now taking a step back. "Pick someone from your own team."
"Bokuto-san will practice spiking for forever and a day," Keiji says, stepping out from behind Kuroo. "So everybody ditches as fast as they can."
"And I'm busy trying to hammer this one into shape," Kuroo says, pointing down at Lev.
"I...I told you..." Lev says, trying to pull himself up to a sitting position. Whatever torture Kuroo put Lev through, Keiji does not want to know. "I'd be more than happy to block!"
"Shut up!" Kuroo kicks the first-year in the side, and Keiji's own sides ache in sympathy. Tsukishima is observing the scene with concern. "If you wanna be on Nekoma's active roster, you first gotta be able to actually receive a ball!"
"Ulg...!"
"He may not look like it," Kuroo says, turning his attention back to Tsukishima. "But this guy is one of the top five hitters in the entire nation. He's a good one to practice against."
Bokuto nods his head, smiling smugly, hands on his hips. And all of a sudden, Keiji gets the inexplicable urge to—
"Though he's not good enough to be in the top three," Keiji says, and Bokuto's smile immediately morphs into a pout.
Why did I do that just now?
"Get over it," Kuroo says, slapping Bokuto on the shoulder.
"Don't compliment me if you're just gonna turn it into an insult!!" Bokuto wails, glancing over at Keiji with a distraught face. "Akaashi! You're so mean!"
Oh. That's right.
I was getting sick of Bokuto-san singing my praises.
I wanted him to tell me what I actually am.
A mean person. A lying person.
A shitty person.
"Besides," Kuroo continues. "If you're gonna call yourself a middle blocker, don't you think you should, I dunno...practice blocking?"
That gets Tsukishima to scrunch up his nose in distaste, stepping forward into the gym. Kuroo grins, catlike as ever, and Bokuto gives him an awed thumbs-up. Keiji just follows them, conflicting emotions warring in his chest.
I am a bad person. I said that to Bokuto-san. It was uncalled for. I know how much he values being the ace of our team.
I don't get to feel bad about being a shitty person.
Yes, the boy in the shadows agrees. You don't.
The three of them fall into a rhythm, with Keiji setting the ball, Bokuto spiking it, and Tsukishima blocking it. Kuroo stays behind, observing from the sidelines. Lev dies in the corner, in a puddle of his own sweat.
"ONE! MORE!" Bokuto shouts, raising his arm to slam the ball over the net. "TIIIME!"
Tsukishima tries—and mostly fails—to block Bokuto's spikes, over and over and over again. Keiji gets to watch Tsukishima's eyes flicker back and forth, trying to figure out where Bokuto will hit the ball. There's a moment where he figures out that Bokuto is going to do a line shot, and puts his hands up accordingly. He still doesn't manage to block it, but Bokuto whoops in excitement anyway.
I wonder why Bokuto-san always gets so excited about even the most trivial of things. I wonder how he can always stay so excited about them.
I wish I could be the same.
I wish I could be good like him.
"You are amazing, you beat a single blocker," Keiji says, and he can't keep the wickedness from crawling up his throat as he does.
Bokuto screeches, "Shut up, you buzzkill!"
His friend has never truly gotten angry at him, but Keiji wonders what it would feel like, to face Bokuto Koutarou's wrath. Bokuto sees the world entirely in black and white—everyone is either good or bad.
Keiji is not black or white—he is a thousand swirling shades of gray. He wants to know how long it would take for him to turn black, in Bokuto's eyes.
What is wrong with me?
"Then how about we make it a double block?" Kuroo asks, finally stepping forward.
"Double block? Bring it on!!" Bokuto shouts, pumping both of his fists into the air as Keiji sets the ball. "HERE I COME!!"
"Make sure you pinch off the line shot, four-eyes!" Kuroo shouts, right before the two middle blockers jump up to block the ball.
Keiji is always impressed whenever he sees Kuroo block the ball. His fingers curve downwards, like claws, and the look he gets on his face is always a menacing one. He can see what Kenma means when he calls Kuroo a black cat.
Kuroo whoops, flexing his muscles, and Bokuto shouts in frustration. Tsukishima just stares at the two of them, partly in awe, partly in concern.
"Hmmm...y'know, four-eyes?" Bokuto says, putting his hands on his hips and closing his eyes. "You make some real good reads, but, well...you're a wuss when it comes to blocking."
Tsukishima's soul looks like it is leaving his body as Bokuto continues: "I'm scared I'll snap your twiggy little arms clean off. You gotta put more guts into it—guts!!"
Keiji snickers, remembering how Kenma once went on an impassioned rant about how much he hated the term 'guts'. Apparently, one of his teammates kept using it, and it irritated him.
"I'm young enough that I'm still growing," Tsukishima says, proudly drawing himself up to his full height. It's here that Keiji notices that Tsukishima is just barely taller than Bokuto, even though he's only a first-year. "I'm just starting to put on more muscle and height!"
"You sure you want to be taking the long view like that?" Kuroo asks, planting his hands on his hips. "Won't shorty just come along and grab all the glory instead? You are both the same position, after all."
Tsukishima's face goes blank, and both Bokuto and Kuroo stare at him in confusion.
Kuroo hit a nerve. His provocation went too far.
"Oh, there's not much I can do about that anyway," Tsukishima says, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression carefully schooling itself into a neutral one. He's trying to show that he's unbothered. "Hinata is just on a completely different level than I am, talentwise."
Kuroo's eyes narrow, and he looks like he wants to ask Tsukishima some more questions, but he's cut off by one of the other Nekoma middle blockers shouting and running into the gymnasium, asking to block for him. Nekoma's libero shouts at Lev to get up and practice his receives, and Tsukishima takes that opportunity to escape.
"Well, it looks like you don't need me anymore," Tsukishima says, politely nodding his head, but it's far too aggressive to be genuine. "I'll call it a night. See you."
"Huh?" Kuroo asks, looking incredibly out of his element. He's used to getting his way, as Keiji's heard from Kenma. "Wait—"
But then Tsukishima's running off—or, well, quickly walking away—and all Kuroo can do is shut his mouth.
"Uh-oh," Keiji says flatly. "I think you might've hit a nerve, Kuroo-san."
"Yeah. You ticked him off," Bokuto agrees, his voice uncharacteristically serious. "That was a real big screwup there, Taunt Meister Kuroo."
"Yeah, well, nobody would've expected that," Kuroo says, still staring out the gym's exit.
"Expected what?" Bokuto asks.
"Karasuno's shorty is a threat, yeah," Kuroo explains. "Mostly because he's totally unpredictable. But when it comes to skills and experience, he's a total noob. Plus, he's short."
Kuroo ticks his fingers off as he continues speaking. "On the other hand, four-eyes has both the intelligence and the height that shorty does. Yet, not only does four-eyes not see himself as an equal, he views shorty as someone out of his league."
And then Kuroo chuckles, brushing the hair out of his eyes as he turns to walk over to his team. "Who would've expected that?"
Who, indeed? Keiji wonders as Bokuto begins saying that he's pooped now. He drags Keiji by the arm, back into Shinzen, and Keiji lets him. He's certainly capable, especially considering his age. I wouldn't be surprised if he ends up on track to go pro, like Bokuto-san.
Maybe he's like you, the boy in the mirror muses. When he looks at himself in the mirror, he's fundamentally unable to see anything good.
Sin attracts sin.
—
The second day, they play more volleyball. Keiji can see Bokuto aiming more and more of his spikes at Tsukishima, as though testing his resolve. They receive watermelon slices from the Shinzen PTA, and Keiji gets to sit next to Bokuto and eat watermelon.
He watches as Tsukishima finishes a single slice, then excuses himself. The first-year Karasuno manager girl calls after him, but he politely declines her questions.
That could be an issue, Keiji thinks to himself, remembering that one night during the two-day Fukuroudani training camp where he vomited his dinner, after thinking about the possibility that he could have a crush on Bokuto. Should I ask him about that?
And what could you do about that? the boy in the mirror asks. Sure, you're a somewhat trustworthy senpai, and you give out good advice, but you never follow your own advice. You're a hypocrite. A filthy, lying hypocrite.
Don't even bother. You're not a good person. You can't do any good anyways.
"Man, it's hot outside!" Bokuto shouts, polishing off his third watermelon slice of the day. He throws an arm around Keiji's back, lying his head on Keiji's shoulder. "But I'm gonna miss it when it becomes winter, y'know, Akaashi?"
"I do," Keiji says in agreement. Bokuto's skin is like fire against his own, and he wishes dearly that he would get off—this is not good for his heart. But then Bokuto shifts, briefly, to readjust himself. Keiji finds himself missing Bokuto's warmth in just those couple of seconds.
Humans always want what they can't have. Always chasing something, but becoming unsatisfied the second that they actually get it. Like how we wish for winter in summer, and summer in winter.
We're selfish, needy creatures.
I am a selfish, needy creature.
—
Later that night, Bokuto tries to get Tsukishima to practice with him again. He fails, because although he is extremely endearing, he does not exactly have Kuroo's persuasion skills. He is not like Kuroo at all—Bokuto is wholeheartedly genuine and authentic, while Kuroo's true self is always shifting, always changing.
Kenma and I should have swapped friends, Keiji thinks as he begins to set to Bokuto, like always. Kenma is never hiding himself. He does not talk much, but when he does, he is always straightforward. He's very similar to Bokuto in that way.
He glances over at Kuroo, who is shaking his hair out of his eyes, grinning as he's taunting Bokuto. Keiji knows that Kuroo is not the most morally upright person, that he pokes and prods people just to get a reaction, that he flatters people as easily as he breathes.
It's Kuroo and I who are similar.
Suddenly, Keiji hears the sound of footsteps, and the ball he was about to set falls lamely to the ground. "Oya?" he asks out loud.
"Oya oya?" Bokuto asks immediately after him, probably thinking it would be cool to imitate him.
"Oya oya oya?" Kuroo asks immediately after Bokuto, probably thinking it would be funny to imitate him.
"There's a question that's been bothering me." Tsukishima is standing in the gym's doorway, fists clenched. He stares straight at Bokuto and Kuroo, gaze unwavering. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure thing," both Bokuto and Kuroo say at the exact same time.
"Thank you," Tsukishima says, nodding. "Um, I appreciate it. Both of you are on teams that are half-decent, right?"
Kuroo makes an offended noise. "You could say that!"
"And even if you have made it to Nationals, winning it all is difficult, correct?" Tsukishima continues.
"But not impossible!!" Bokuto protests, crossing his arms.
"How about we call this a theoretical discussion and just listen?" Keiji asks, aiming to stop this train wreck of a conversation before it occurs.
"I am honestly curious about this." Tsukishima takes a deep breath in, as though steeling his nerves. "Volleyball is just a club. In the end, all this gets you is the chance to write 'worked hard in school sports' on your resume in the future. Right?"
"What?!" Bokuto shouts. "'Just a club'? That—sounds like a person's name, actually."
Keiji facepalms.
"Yeah!" Kuroo shouts in agreement. "It really does. 'Justin Klubb'!"
Keiji facepalms again.
"No, wait. That's not right," Kuroo says. "He said, 'just a club'!"
"Augh, that's right!" Bokuto bemoans. "'Just a club' doesn't sound like a name at all!"
Tsukishima looks as bewildered as Keiji feels. "Should I say something?"
"Don't bother," Keiji tells him, resigned. It's like when they get together, they lose all their brain cells. "They'll just keep going."
"Anyways!" Bokuto spins around, punching his fist into his palm. "Hey, four-eyes?"
"It's Tsukishima," says Tsukishima.
"Hey, Tsukishima-kun?" Bokuto corrects himself. "Do you think volleyball is fun?"
"Umm...no?" Tsukishima raises one eyebrow, then tilts his head and raises the other. "Not really."
"Thought not," Bokuto declares confidently. "Isn't that because you suck?"
Keiji’s reminded of last year, when Bokuto told him to think about what’s fun, not what’s easy. He articulated it a lot better last year, it seemed.
Well, there's no need to say it like that, Keiji thinks as Tsukishima's soul begins to exit his body yet again. Poor guy.
"See, I'm a third year." Bokuto plants his hands on his hips, and Keiji can just see the boastful energy radiating off of him. "And I've been to Nationals. So I'm better than you. Way better."
"I'm aware of this," Tsukishima says. Keiji commends his patience. "You don't need to rub it in."
"But it wasn't until recently that I started thinking volleyball was fun."
Tsukishima shoots Bokuto a questioning look, and Keiji does as well.
What does he mean by recently?
"That's when I finally got good enough at line shots to use them consistently in a tournament." Bokuto crosses his arms and looks up at the ceiling, almost as though he's reminiscing. "Cross shots had always been my thing. I was so good at them! But then there was this one game where I got totally stuffed."
Bokuto-san’s weakness number 4: having his spikes blocked makes him dejected. Yes, I remember that.
More specifically, Keiji remembers the look of utter despair Bokuto had on his face after they lost. The way he was gripping the net like it was a lifeline, slumping over. They had lost the third set twenty-five to eighteen, and Bokuto had blamed himself for it.
Keiji also remembers how Bokuto had curled up in a ball underneath the desk in the gymnasium, the one meant to hold the water cooler after practice. Konoha and Komi had chuckled a little bit, and walked away.
Keiji was about to walk away as well, but then Bokuto said–
"Hey, Akaashi."
And Keiji had turned around, almost immediately, to face him. "Yes?"
"Come practise spikes with me for a bit," Bokuto had said, his normally spiky hair squished against the table, his normally loud voice uncharacteristically soft. It was as though most of the fight had left his eyes, like a dying star about to flicker out.
Keiji wanted to keep those stars burning for as long as he possibly could, if only to bask in their radiance for a little while longer.
"Okay," Keiji had said, and some of the light returned to Bokuto's eyes as soon as the word left his mouth.
"That seriously ticked me off, so I practiced line shots like a madman," Bokuto continues in the present. "Then we played that same team in another tournament game, and I smashed a line shot right past those same blockers. They didn't even touch it."
Keiji remembers that as well. He remembers the hours that Bokuto put into his line shots, all the times he made Shirofuku record him doing it so they could go over every single one of his minute movements. He remembers all the times their teammates complained about how he was honing such a trivial skill.
And yet, Bokuto persisted.
Bokuto-san's weakness number 31: if he starts something, he won’t stop until it’s done perfectly—or to his impossible standards of perfection.
"That was the moment, for me," Bokuto says, laughing now. "That one hit felt so good, I was like, 'my time has finally come!'"
Strange, Keiji thinks. He thinks back to the way Bokuto was screaming, pumping his fists into the air after the winning point. Keiji remembers how he was screaming as well, his normally stoic disposition forgotten in the face of such glory. He remembers how he made a set, his hands slick with sweat, hoping, praying, that Bokuto would follow through, and he did.
Bokuto-san is the kind of person who makes those around him feel like they have to answer his passion with passion of their own.
That day, I didn't care what anyone else said. We were the protagonists of the world.
I didn't go to Fukuroudani with any great purpose or goal in mind. But I'm glad I'm here.
You were the one who drew me to here, Bokuto-san.
I think that exact moment was the moment I fell in love with volleyball as well.
I think that was the exact moment I fell in love with—
And then Keiji stops himself, because there's no other way he could have finished that sentence.
You?
In the distance, he can hear the remnants of his two other selves laughing at him.
"That moment," Bokuto says thoughtfully. "It's all about whether you have it, or you don't." He grins, his eyes wide. "What you can put on a future resume...heck, even just winning future games—none of that matters. Proving you're better than the opponent in front of you, and feeling yourself playing at a hundred and twenty percent of your full abilities.
"That's what it's about."
Evidently, Bokuto's words seem to have stunned Tsukishima into silence. They've certainly had that effect on Keiji, but when have they not?
I told you. I told you. You can keep running all you want, but you'll never be able to outrun yourself.
You've been in love with him all this time.
"Well, that's what it's all about for me, anyways," Bokuto says, shrugging. "I'm not sure that's the case for everyone. I'd never call volleyball 'just a club' like you do, but I can't say you're wrong.
"But if—just if—that moment ever comes for you..." Bokuto grins widely. "That will be the moment volleyball hooks you."
And Keiji stands there, staring up at his friend, his captain, his ace, staring up into those glittering golden eyes of his, burning, bright, beautiful, and he realizes—
Oh.
Oh.
Oh no.
—
He throws up again later that night. He wraps his arms around the back of his neck, acutely aware of how fast he is breathing. He gets up with shaky legs, grabbing the bathroom door, making his way out—because this is not his school, and he does not have the luxury of staying for longer than he needs to. He wishes he could stay longer, spend more time purging himself, but he cannot.
Because he runs into Bokuto as he's making his way out of the bathroom.
"Akaashi! There you are!" Bokuto shouts, wrapping his arm around Keiji's shoulders, and Keiji nearly trembles at the warmth and weight of it. "I—"
And then Bokuto pauses and tilts his head, a concerned look on his face.
Why is he making that face at me?
"Akaashi," Bokuto says, more slowly. "Are you okay? You look kinda pale."
"I'm fine," Keiji lies, shamefully. I have just realized that I have been in love with you, possibly ever since we met, definitely at least since that match a couple months ago. The last boy I fell in love with died, possibly because I fell in love with him.
Yukito died, and I cannot allow that to happen to you, but it is too late. Homosexuality is a sin, and I am dragging you down with me.
I am sorry. I am so sorry.
"Everything is fine, Bokuto-san," Keiji lies, slipping out of Bokuto's grasp and down the hall.
All you do is lie.
—
On the third day, Karasuno plays against Fukuroudani, and Keiji gets to see just how much Tsukishima has improved under his tutelage. As Bokuto approaches the net, he can almost see the boy's train of thought, remembering what Kuroo taught him last night.
Sure enough, Tsukishima puts his hands up, fingers curved down like claws. Keiji watches the realization in Bokuto's eyes, watches as he thinks, I'm not going to be able to make it if I spike.
So Bokuto chickens out, and he dinks the ball into the other side of the court. It's effective—Karasuno's libero fails to bump it, but…
"Bokuto-san, you chickened out, didn't you?" Keiji asks.
"I DID NOT CHICKEN OUT!" Bokuto protests, stomping his foot. "I DODGED! I SKILLFULLY DODGED A BLOCKER!"
"You weren't ready," Washio points out.
"YEAH, YEAH, YEAH!" Bokuto waves him off. From across the gym, Keiji can see Kuroo watching with amusement, and Kenma watching with concern. "I'M SORRY, OKAY?! GEEZ!"
But even so, there's a smug smile on Bokuto's face as he turns to watch Tsukishima turn away. Like the knowledge that Bokuto was able to teach Tsukishima how to get better—that's enough for him.
—
Hinata Shouyou comes to visit later that night.
"Hm?" Bokuto asks as he turns to look behind him. "You bring a friend with you today?"
"...what?" Tsukishima asks as he turns to look behind him, almost in horror. Hinata's orange hair pokes out from behind the doorway, and then his face and the rest of his body follows.
"...where's your partner?" Tsukishima adjusts his glasses, staring down at Hinata.
"Kageyama is practicing by himself again," Hinata says, sounding like he just ran a marathon. "I tried to get Kenma to set for me, but he ran away after only five sets!"
"Wow," Kuroo says, impressed. Keiji is impressed as well. Kenma must really like Hinata, if the boy was able to get Kenma to do additional practice. "You got Kenma to do extra practice with you? That on its own is amazing."
Hinata continues, with the same enthusiasm as Bokuto has when he asks Keiji for extra spiking practice. "I don't have anyone to practice with, so—
"Hi!" Lev suddenly shouts as he runs through the doorway as well.
"Lemme join you!" both first-years shout in excitement.
"Lev?!" Hinata asks, staring up at the tall, silver-haired boy. Did he not hear him come up behind him?
"Oh!" Lev says, equally as shocked. "Hi, Hinata!"
"Weren't you supposed to be practicing receiving with Yaku?" Kuroo asks, and his underclassman awkwardly scratches his head.
"Um!" Lev shouts, and Keiji knows the face of a liar when he sees one. "I was doing extra well today, so he let me go early!"
"Uh-huh." Kuroo sounds wholly unimpressed. "You better not have snuck out to come over here."
"W—what?! N—no! I—I'd never, um...!"
"Ah, well." Kuroo shrugs. "Anyways, we've got the right numbers now."
He turns back to the small group, hands outstretched. Keiji hops forward on one foot as he adjusts his shoe. "So how 'bout we play a round of three-on-three?"
"Wha?" Tsukishima asks.
"OOH!" Hinata and Lev shout in unison. "A GAME!!"
"Um." Keiji raises an eyebrow as Kuroo waves Lev and Tsukishima over to his side. "Guys?"
The average height for Kuroo's, Lev's, and Tsukishima's, is somewhere around six foot, three inches. The average height for Bokuto's, Keiji's, and Hinata's group is—
Five foot, ten inches, Keiji thinks as he looks down at Hinata. They could at least give us Lev. His height would make up for the fact that he's a rookie.
"I'm not so sure this is a very balanced matchup," Keiji says, but Kuroo waves him off.
"Oh, c'mon! Don't sweat the small stuff, 'kay?" Kuroo has the smile of a liar as he says this. "Let's try things we can't get away with in regular practice!"
Translation, Keiji thinks. I am going to give myself every possible advantage.
Keiji just sighs, staring straight ahead, hoping to convey to Kuroo how tired he is just with his eyes. Meanwhile, Bokuto and Hinata are running around, whooping at the mere prospect of getting to play with each other.
Let's see how this goes, he thinks to himself as he turns to the whiteboard, writing down OWLS vs CATS.
—
"LEV!! I TOLD YOU TO WATCH WHERE THE SET GOES, THEN JUMP! THAT'S READ BLOCKING!"
Evidently, this is going better than Keiji initially thought. Bokuto-san is a very good hitter, and he is the only setter among them, so he gets the most control over where the ball goes. He looks off Lev easily, and the boy shouts, "Oh, whoops! Yessir!"
Tsukishima, meanwhile, did the wise thing and waited to watch his set before jumping. He runs as fast as he can to the other side of the net, but Bokuto still blasts the ball past him. Kuroo manages to dig it, but just barely.
"WHOA!" Hinata shouts in amazement. "YOU DUG THAT!"
"When you're blocking, avoid jumping on an angle as much as possible!" Kuroo instructs Tsukishima, even though he's on all fours. "When you've got the time, square up, stop, and then jump straight up!"
"Okay," Tsukishima says flatly. Keiji likes him more and more by the day.
"It came back over!" The ball floats back over to their side of the court, and Hinata receives it. "Free ball!" The ball floats over to Keiji, and he sets the ball for Hinata to spike.
Hinata's got a lot of potential. Given the right opportunities, he could become as good as Bokuto-san.
Rather unfortunately, Tsukishima also seems to have improved, as he follows Kuroo's instructions: square up, stop, and jump straight up. Hinata's perfectly good spike falls to the ground, and he screams at his teammate.
Keiji sighs, glancing over at the scoreboard. Set two, the cats have twelve points, and the owls have ten points. Not bad, but not the best either.
Step up. You're surrounded by amazing players.
Answer their passion with your own.
"Um, excuse me?" a new voice calls. Shirofuku pokes her head into the gym, pointing both her index fingers to the left. "If you don't finish up soon, the cafeteria will close, and you'll be stuck with no dinner."
Both Bokuto and Hinata make identical faces of alarm.
"We'll pick up here tomorrow!" Bokuto declares, grabbing Keiji by the wrist and tugging him out of the gym. "Dismissed!"
Keiji feebly waves goodbye to Hinata and the rest of the players as he's dragged out.
"Man, I'm starving," Bokuto says, taking his hand off Keiji's wrist to wrap around his shoulders. "You did really good, Akaashi! Like always!"
"Thank you, Bokuto-san," Keiji says, nodding his head. He played as he always did—not particularly well, but just usefully.
I suppose I understand now why Kenma likes Hinata so much, Keiji thinks as Bokuto begins whistling, heading into the cafeteria. He is very similar to Bokuto. Both are stars in their own right.
But where Bokuto is simply just 'a star'—untouchable, unreachable, Hinata seems...much closer. He is not yet an incredible player like Bokuto, but anyone can see that he is on track to do so.
He's like the sun. Close enough to us normal folk that we can fool ourselves into thinking he's like us.
Lucky you, Kenma. Lucky you.
—
The training camp continues on. They play volleyball. Fukuroudani wins and loses, but mostly wins.
"Oh, by the way," Kuroo says on their fifth night. He wipes his mouth with his arm, instructing the first-year middle blockers on how to center themselves. He can be very helpful when he wants to be.
"By the way, we're all technically opponents when the real games begin, right?" Tsukishima asks. "So why are you giving us all these useful tips and tricks?"
Kuroo grins, placing his hand over his heart. "Because I have always been a kind and generous person."
Keiji snorts into his fist, trying and failing to disguise it as a cough. Tsukishima and Hinata are staring at Kuroo with mild looks of horror.
"Don't look at me like that," Kuroo says, scratching the back of his neck. "Y'know that whole 'dumpster battle' thing? We kinda want to make it happen too."
Both Hinata and Tsukishima perk up. Keiji has heard Kenma talk about that hypothetical match, the one spurred on because of the personal rivalry between the Nekoma and Karasuno coaches.
Keiji had told Kenma about the sins of the father, and how when there's a rivalry between two people, the people they associate with become rivals by proxy—even though they had nothing to do with the original rivalry.
"It's something our coach has been wanting for years. But now he's old. There's no telling how long he'll be able to keep coaching. So if it's ever going to happen, Karasuno has to keep winning too.
"And, well, it's good practice for me too." Kuroo plants his hands on his hips, shaking his head. "Anyway! Don't sweat the small stuff, 'kay? C'mon, let's get back to practicing."
And practice they do. Hinata is good at spiking, but he's lackluster in everything else—this is especially noticeable with his receives. He lets out a shout as he receives the ball, sending it over to Keiji.
"Akaashi!" Bokuto shouts, running around like a madman. "Cover!"
"Sorry!" Keiji shouts as he sets the ball. Too low. Too low. Not good enough. "It's low!"
"SURROUND 'IM!!" Kuroo shouts, and Lev cheers. "MAKE 'IM FEEL THE LENGTH OF THE WALL!!"
Bokuto hesitates as he jumps, staring down the two insanely tall first-years in front of him. "Dammit! Who said you rookies were allowed to be so tall?!”
He rebounds the ball off of Lev's fingertips, passing the ball back to Keiji. "Let's try that again! Put the ball up better this time, Akaashi!"
Do better this time, Akaashi.
Keiji sets the ball, and this time, it is up to Bokuto's standards. Bokuto executes a perfect line shot, and it blasts past Tsukishima and Lev.
"HEY, HEY, HEEEY!!" Bokuto shouts, pumping his fist. "THERE IT IS!!"
That moment. That feeling.
"WOOOW!!" Hinata shouts, jumping up and down. "Did you do that on purpose?! You know, the part where you bounced the ball off the blockers!"
"Oh, that? Yeah." Bokuto nods his head proudly. "It's a 'rebound'."
"A rebound?!" Hinata shouts, and Keiji can practically see the sparkles radiating off of him. "That sounds sooo cooool!!"
"Really?!" Bokuto asks excitedly. "You think so?"
Bokuto-san's weakness number 27: he relies too much on the opinions of others.
Bokuto then proceeds to instruct Hinata on how to do a rebound, most of which Keiji tunes out in favor of looking at the scoreboard.
This is our seventh set. We are losing, sixteen to fifteen. We have a nationally-ranked ace on our side, and yet we are still losing. It is not Bokuto-san's fault—he is playing as well as he ever has. It is not Hinata-kun's fault either—he's doing the best he can.
This is my fault. I must do better.
I must answer their passion with my own.
They continue playing. When Lev goes up to spike, the ball flies off of Keiji's fingertips, and he has to make a mad dash across the court in order to save it.
"Whoa!" Bokuto shouts in awe. "Awesome save, Akaashi!"
Do better. Do better.
"Last one's yours, shorty!" Bokuto shouts, bumping the ball over to Hinata.
"Right!" Hinata shouts in determination, crouching down to jump up.
It's then that Keiji realizes just what's awaiting Hinata on the other side of the net.
"Gah! Hey!!" Bokuto shouts in protest. "No fair, ganging up on the poor guy!"
That's three people, all of which have an average height of six feet, three inches...against someone who's five foot, four inches.
Ouch. That's not a wall so much as it's...an umbrella. No matter which way he tries to direct it, it's going to get blocked, no matter what.
He's got absolutely nowhere he can hit that—
Keiji is immediately proven wrong when Hinata hits the ball up at the ceiling.
Bokuto shouts in amazement, while Hinata is sent flying backward from the force of his stunt. Keiji is just left to stare in shock.
He's got an innate talent for this. Come his third year, he will be a force to rival even Bokuto-san.
"Holy crap. Did you do that on purpose?" Kuroo asks, grabbing onto the net. "That was an almost perfect block out."
"Um, yeah...I did kinda aim for Lev's fingertips a little," Hinata says, while Lev shouts in dismay. "But it was a total fluke. I'm not really good at accuracy."
"YEAH, BUT YOU STILL BEAT A SIX FOOT TRIPLE BLOCK!! OFF THAT BAD SET TOO!" Bokuto ruffles Hinata's hair aggressively. "GREAT HIT, SHORTY! GREAT HIT! I'M IMPRESSED!!"
Hinata chuckles, looking entirely too proud of himself as Bokuto fawns over him. "Man! A little warrior that fights valiantly against a seven-foot brick wall!! That's so cool!!"
"Exaggerating much...?" Keiji asks.
"So..." Kuroo leans forward, grinning his catlike smile. "We're seven feet tall now?"
"Y'know what?!" Bokuto asks, nudging his elbow into Hinata's shoulder. "I'm gonna teach you my special secret technique!!"
"Secret technique?!" Hinata gasps in awe.
Oh no. Oh no.
Bokuto-san, please, no—
"Okay, listen closely, 'cause I'll only explain this once," Bokuto says, completely seriously. "Basically, with this technique, you use the contrast between stillness and motion to mess with your opponent."
"Oooh...!!" Hinata says, before realizing that Bokuto's words make zero sense. "Uh...?"
"There he goes again, trying to make it sound cool," Keiji says, sighing. He's taking my advice about a better vocabulary too close to heart.
"What, you know what it is?" Kuroo asks.
"I have a good guess."
"Lemme make one thing clear," Bokuto says solemnly as Keiji side-eyes him. "This isn't a cop-out. You don't use this technique as an escape route. The perfect timing. The perfect set. The perfect approach. You use it when everybody figures there's a massive, powerful spike incoming."
He's talking about his dink, isn't he?
"But most of all, when you know that you can smash that ball as hard as you want...that's when you use it." Bokuto grins, and Keiji sees stars. "You know how, when they see the ball wiffling down, a whole bunch of guys will dive for it, right?"
"Right," Hinata says, nodding his head, looking completely overwhelmed by all the information.
"Guys as tall as or even taller than you, all diving for the floor, just barely missing the ball." Bokuto nods his head in determination. "Then they turn, and they're all looking up at you."
Bokuto grins widely, and Keiji thinks of an untouchable, unreachable star.
—
"Hey, Akaashi?" Bokuto asks the next day, between practice matches. "Who're we up against next?"
"Karasuno," Keiji tells him as he picks up his water bottle.
"Aww, Karasuno?" all of his other senpai immediately chorus.
"Huh?" Bokuto asks, confused, and Keiji's inclined to agree. There's nothing wrong with Karasuno.
Konoha shrugs. "Well...you know. There's just something hard about playing them."
"Yeah." Komi nods in agreement. "There's no telling what crazy stunt they're gonna pull next."
"True." Sarukui turns to look behind him, at the Karasuno players. "But by this point in the day, even they've got to be pretty beat—dwah?!"
Keiji turns to look behind him as well, to find—
"MEAT, MEAT DINNER! MEATY MEAT DINNER!!"
"MEAT, MEAT, MEAT, WITH A SIDE OF MEAT!!!"
"AND MEAT FOR DESSERT!!!!"
"M-E-A-T! NOW WE GOT SOME EN-ER-GY! YOU AND ME CAN EAT THE MEAT, EAT THE MEAT, YEAH—"
"Okay, now they're freaking me out!" Konoha says as Keiji thinks, they're certainly strange.
They take their positions on the court, and Karasuno serves first. Azumane serves, but the ball goes straight to Komi, who receives it easily. Keiji sets the ball with a shout of, "Bokuto-san!"
"LEFT! LEFT!" someone from Karasuno shouts. "NUMBER FOUR!"
"AWWRIGHT!!" Bokuto swings his arm to spike the ball, and the ball—
Immediately gets deflected off of Tsukishima's fingertips. Luckily, the ball flies out of bounds, and the point goes to Fukuroudani.
"Geez, it's irritating how quickly he's improved," Bokuto says as Tsukishima turns away. Keiji nods in agreement.
It's Washio's turn to serve, and it curves in a nice, beautiful arc that goes…
"THAT'S OUT!"
...immediately out of bounds.
"Sorry!" Washio shouts as Karasuno goes up one point. "My bad!"
"No problem," the other third-years chorus. Bokuto scoffs at all of them, then goes and slams a spike past Hinata and Kageyama.
That's it, Keiji thinks encouragingly. Don't think about anybody else.
You are the brightest star on this court.
Konoha serves, and the ball gets received by Karasuno's libero, going over to Kageyama, who sets to Hinata. Keiji prepares to jump up, and Sarukui and Konoha run over to help him. He squints his eyes, anticipating the feeling of the ball slamming into his fingertips, and—
It never comes.
Hinata lightly pushes the ball over, and Keiji makes a small, strangled sound of surprise. Bokuto, meanwhile, makes a very loud shout of surprise. Konoha, Komi, and Sarukui make a mad dive for the ball, but they're too late.
All three of them stare up at Hinata in shock, and Hinata stares back in awe.
"Holy crap!" Bokuto shouts. "He dinked it?!"
"Because you taught him how to," Keiji says flatly. While he does think that mentoring Hinata is a good idea, he thinks that teaching Hinata tricks that can be used against them is a less good idea.
His senpai seethe at Bokuto silently, while Kageyama says, completely genuinely, "You...actually used your head? No wonder I smell smoke!"
"You are the last person I ever want to hear that from," Hinata tells him. The two of them look like they're five seconds away from fistfighting in the middle of the court.
"Y'know we've done nothing but lose this whole camp," Karasuno's captain—Sawamura—says. "So what say this once, we steal a set from the best team here...and go home with at least one big win!”
The entirety of the Karasuno team shouts in agreement. Bokuto just scoffs.
"Hah! We aren't gonna give you even one more point."
"Actually," Keiji says in exasperation. He always hates to be the one to rain on Bokuto's parade, but he has to keep him tethered to reality before he floats away completely. "It's impossible to totally shut them out—"
"Akaashi, put the logic away for once and get hyped up, 'kay?" Bokuto asks, and Keiji clamps his mouth shut.
Anything for you.
—
Karasuno has proven themselves to be good opponents. Their ace, while nowhere near Bokuto's level, in Keiji's humble opinion, is strong enough that when Konoha digs his spike, it's not as clean as they would have liked. Keiji quickly shifts his position, sending the ball over to Onaga with a quick set. Their first-year spiker slams the ball past Karasuno's defense, easily.
They rotate, and Bokuto comes back to the front. Sarukui serves, the ball gets passed around on Karasuno's end, and Tsukishima spikes the ball past Onaga.
"Niiiice, Saru!" Bokuto shouts, his shoes squeaking on the gym floors. "Now send it my way!!"
Sarukui digs it, passing it over to Bokuto. Bokuto's eyes widen, looking between all of the blockers on Karasuno's side. He executes a truly ridiculous cut shot, and he falls down to the floor, pumping his fists in victory.
"AWWWRIIIIIGHT!!!" He pops back up immediately after, running over to Keiji. "Hey! Didja see that, Akaashi? Didja see my totally awesome uber-cut shot?! Huh? Didja?"
"Yes, I saw it," Keiji says, actively fighting to keep the fondness out of his voice. "It was very amazing."
Bokuto laughs, hands on his hips. "It was a total fluke though!" Keiji just sighs, shaking his head and smiling softly.
You really are amazing.
—
The rest of the game continues on. Kageyama executes a flawless setter dump, right in front of Keiji's nose, and he can't help but be impressed. Kageyama should have come to additional practice with us. Then again, I suppose he doesn't need any additional practice. He's a genius already.
Everybody keeps playing—everybody seems like they're playing to the best of their ability. Has Bokuto-san's enthusiasm rubbed off on all of them as well?
The ball goes over to Kageyama, and—surprisingly enough—Hinata begins approaching the net. Keiji watches the two of them intensely, trying to figure out their next course of action.
What are they trying to do? Are they trying to pull off some sort of new quick set?
The ball flies up into the air, coming towards Hinata. And then—Keiji's eyes must be deceiving him, because—
Did it stop?
Keiji doesn't have much time to ruminate on that, because suddenly, the ball is flying past him, slamming into the ground and rolling out of bounds.
There's a shared moment of silence between all players on the court, before Kageyama and Hinata turn to each other and begin screaming in delight.
"Whoa, whoa," Bokuto says, watching the Kageyama grab Hinata and begin shaking him. "Is that freak-tacular quick set back in action?"
"Not quite." Keiji steps forward, tilting his head. "That was not the same as the crazy quick set they were doing back when we first played them."
At a glance, that looked like any other set. One where the ball would pass through the hitter's contact point. But at the last instant, right when the ball reached Hinata's contact point, it looked like the ball ran out of gas and dropped almost straight down.
Incredible. I've never seen anything like it before.
They're constantly changing. Constantly evolving. Constantly growing.
And you're not quick enough to keep up, are you? the boy in the shadows whispers.
Karasuno goes up to nine points, and Bokuto turns to Keiji excitedly. "Wow! Was that really that amazing?! Is it something we can do too?!"
"No," Keiji says firmly, before Bokuto can get his hopes up. "That is not something anyone should try to copy."
Bokuto makes a confused, almost sad expression, and Keiji explains himself.
"Hinata made hitting that ball look easy, but it isn't. I bet that, without a ton of practice, that set would be really hard to hit well. But more than that..."
I am not nearly talented enough to do that. Kageyama is on a completely different level from me.
I am not as incredible as any of you.
"Making the ball stop where you want it to takes godlike skill. I'm not nearly good enough to pull off what amounts to a miracle."
Not good enough. Not good enough. Not good enough.
There's a lot of shouting on Karasuno's side, mostly an argument between Hinata and Kageyama, before Hinata shouts, "LET'S DO THAT AGAIN!!"
The two second-years on Karasuno's side scream in agreement, and Bokuto takes that as his sign to yell, "HEY, HEY, HEEEEY! Looks like somebody's got their energy back!" He turns to look back at his own team, pumping his fist. "Don't let them overwhelm you, guys!"
Their team shouts in agreement, Keiji included. Bokuto beams down at Keiji, ruffling his hair before running off.
Keiji reaches up to brush his hand through his hair, already missing the warmth of Bokuto's fingertips.
The game continues on, and Karasuno continues to play as chaotically as ever. At one point, their libero sets a back row set for their ace, which Keiji can admit is very impressive. Unfortunately for Karasuno, but fortunately for Fukuroudani, the ball flies out of bounds.
"Geez!" Komi shouts, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Look at how much they've changed in just one week! They're starting to scare me!"
They keep playing, all of Fukuroudani unwilling to lose against Karasuno. All of a sudden, all of Karasuno's players begin rushing towards the net, and Keiji recognizes it as a synchronized attack meant to confuse their team.
Which one is he going to send the ball to? Keiji asks himself as he watches Kageyama's movements. Every single player on Karasuno's side makes their approach with complete faith that the ball is coming towards them.
And that's what gets Keiji.
His focus was set on Tsukishima, gauging his reaction. Too late, he watches the ball fly over to the bald second-year, and the ball sails past his and Onaga's fingers.
The ball bounces to the floor pitifully, and both sides of the court are stunned into silence. Then—
"YEAHHHHHH!!!"
"GREAT ONE, TANAKA!"
"Geez!" Bokuto huffs. "They came at us from everywhere that time!"
Karasuno crawls their way up to eighteen, with Fukuroudani barely managing a one-point lead. Bokuto goes up to serve, and Keiji can immediately tell by the stomping of his feet that—
He's getting wound up.
"With my wicked-awesome serving, I'll put us way ahead!" Bokuto declares, stomping his way to the back of the court.
"Bokuto-san, remember to stay cool and focused," Keiji tells him, praying that his captain keeps his words in mind.
"I am focused!" Bokuto shouts back, like a petulant child.
Uh-oh.
Bokuto makes a jump serve, but the ball is not nearly high enough, and it goes—
"DWAH?!"
—straight into the back of Konoha's head. Komi lets out a shocked laugh at his expense.
"AAAUUGH!!" Bokuto screams, grabbing at his hair and tugging at it. "DAMMIT, I'M SORRY, GUYS! I'M SO SORRY! I TOTALLY SCREWED THAT UP!!"
"Easy, easy," Sarukui says, making some placating motions with his hands.
"Yeah, uh, how 'bout you take a deep breath and relax for a sec," Komi adds. Meanwhile, Konoha looks like he's about to go into cardiac arrest.
"It's alright, Bokuto-san," Keiji says as everybody goes back to their places. "Just breathe. You are not playing alone."
Bokuto takes one heaving breath, and then he nods at Keiji in satisfaction. "You're right, Akaashi! You're so smart."
You always say things you do not mean.
Stop that. Or I might start believing you.
Oh, but you already have, the boy in the shadows whispers.
Tanaka serves, but it curves much too closely to the sideline. Bokuto bumps the ball, shouting, "Not so fast!"
The ball flies over to Keiji, and Bokuto yells, "GIVE IT TO ME!! I'LL STOP 'EM AT ONE!!"
Keiji watches the ball, taking half a second to pore his options over in his mind.
When setting the ball to an overly wound-up Bokuto, there are three options.
A: He makes the point count. Everything is okay.
B: He screws up and/or gets blocked. Probable chance that he will deflate even harder than normal.
C: I set the ball for someone else. High probability he will sulk.
Yeah, C is the biggest pain in the butt, Keiji decides.
"Bokuto-san!" Keiji shouts, setting the ball over to his captain. Bokuto shouts as he hits the ball, but he's stopped by Karasuno's triple block. The ball rebounds off of Azumane's fingers, heading over to Komi.
"Give it to me again, Akaashi!!" Bokuto shouts as he runs around some more. Komi bumps the ball over to Keiji, and Keiji's lips press into a thin line.
Ideally, I should send the ball over to somebody else. You're too worked up right now. You're going to fail.
But…
"Here you go," Keiji says as he sets the ball towards Bokuto. Bokuto's face lights up at the mere opportunity of being given a second chance.
I have a really hard time saying no to you.
"YEAH!!" Bokuto shouts in delight as he hits the ball—
"Huh?" Hinata asks as the ball falls lamely to the ground, down on Fukuroudani's side of the court.
—straight into the net.
Keiji makes a vague noise of disappointment crossed with embarrassment as he watches the ball tumbles away.
I knew that would happen. Crap. Here it comes…
"Akaashi," Bokuto declares solemnly, his voice catching on Keiji’s name. "Don't send it to me any more today!"
Bokuto-san’s weakness number 3: failed spikes crush him.
Now he's in 'emo mode'.
Keiji sighs, running his fingers through his hair as he contemplates the next best course of action.
You were made vice-captain because you know how to deal with Bokuto's mood swings the best. This is the only thing you are good at. You did not become vice-captain because you were a particularly good setter, only because you knew how to handle your captain and your team.
So figure this out for your team.
"Okay," Keiji breathes out, and Bokuto lets out a startled, "huh?"
I know he was expecting me to tell him, "no, Bokuto-san, we need you." We do need him. But we also don't need him a hundred percent of the time. We can function well by ourselves.
Allowing him to take a moment to clear his head and regain his senses is for the better. We'll be able to hold them off for a while without him.
"Since the ball won't be coming back to you, please use this time to pull yourself back together," Keiji tells him as he turns away. Bokuto's making that same exact expression that he was making when he was trying to convince Keiji it was a good idea to bring a fish to his dorm room. Pleading. Begging.
Give me one more chance.
I'm sorry, Keiji thinks to himself as he turns his attention back to the game. You are incredible. I know you are.
Bokuto-san's weakness number 18: when in a depressive state, he becomes very self-doubtful.
You just need to remember that you are amazing. I'll be waiting for you when you do.
The game continues on, with Sarukui, Washio, Konoha, and Onaga filling in for Bokuto. Every time Bokuto attempts to make a half-hearted attempt to get back into the game, one of those four will cut him off.
Fukuroudani continues to not be fazed, even without the strength of their ace. Keiji can see this simple fact get into Kageyama's head, as he assesses who may be the one to hit Keiji's next set.
Nobody, Keiji thinks as he twists his wrists and dumps the ball over the net. They take back the lead, twenty-three to twenty-two.
Without Bokuto, we're still good enough to go toe-to-toe with the best. But when we are with Bokuto, we become a team good enough to beat the best.
That's why we've been coddling him for so long, haven't we?
You mean you, the boy in the shadows taunts. You've been coddling him for so long.
Sarukui gets Fukuroudani to twenty-four points. From the sidelines, Keiji can hear Shirofuku and Suzumeda shout, "One more point!"
Tsukishima executes yet another kill block on Konoha, bringing Karasuno to twenty-three points. One more point, and it'll be deuce. Azumane steps up to serve, and it goes straight to the back, into Komi's hands.
Keiji side-eyes Tsukishima, as the two of them wait to see what will happen.
I think Karasuno has figured out what kind of team we are. A team that doesn't rely solely on Bokuto, but one that guides Bokuto.
And that is about the time when their attention completely veers away from Bokuto.
The ball comes into Keiji's waiting hands, and he can see Tsukishima twitch in anticipation. From beside him, Onaga is waiting to spike the ball.
Now is also the time when Bokuto starts getting fidgety with the need to hit the ball!
Keiji sends the ball past the first-year, all the way to the left side of the court.
We'll let you take the glory. So hurry up...and get back on your feet, ace!
Bokuto's feet slam against the gymnasium floors, and he jumps up high, slamming the ball past Tsukishima and Kageyama. The ball tumbles to the floor, and Keiji sends Tsukishima a very satisfied smirk. The score goes to twenty-five to twenty-three, Fukuroudani win.
That's our ace for you.
Their entire team breathes hard, exhausted from trying to keep up with Karasuno. Keiji sends his senpai a look, silently asking them to sing Bokuto's praises.
"Yo, ace!" Sarukui shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth.
"That was awesome, ace!" Konoha joins in.
"Leave it to the ace to win it all!" Komi finishes.
From the sidelines, Keiji can hear Shirofuku and Suzumeda shout, "What a beast! Go, owl-horns-for-hair!" He's not entirely sure if they're meant to be encouraging, but it seems to work.
Bokuto chuckles, quietly at first. Then, in classic Bokuto fashion, he pumps his fists into the air and shouts—
"YEAH! I AM THE BEST, BABY!! HEY, HEY, HEEEY!!"
You are the best, Keiji thinks as Bokuto grabs Keiji by the shoulders, patting him on the back. You really are the best.
—
They have a barbeque for lunch, just like they did last year. Keiji watches Shirofuku set up the barbeque, and watches as Bokuto attempts to help her.
"I guess even the ever-energetic Bokuto-san can fall into a slump sometimes," Tsukishima says as he walks up next to Keiji.
"Hm?" Keiji mutters as he picks at his nail polish. He gave them a fresh coat after they finished cleaning up, but they're already chipping. "Ah. Yeah, there are times when he'll suddenly implode for who knows what reason."
Keiji watches Bokuto run around with Hinata, fidgeting with his fingers as he does. He looks over at Tsukishima, who seems to be doing something similar. He watches Bokuto, and he has to suppress a fond smile.
"But he never gets down over a team being better than us, so it's not as bad as you'd think. Even when the rest of the team is on the verge of breaking, he's still got enough spirit to keep the rest of us up." Keiji shrugs, cracking his knuckles as he does. "In the end, it all evens out somehow, and makes him pretty dependable."
The coaches announce that the meat is ready, and all of the hungry teenage athletes descend upon it. Keiji hangs back, waiting for all of them to get their fill before he gets any. Kageyama eats too quickly, and he ends up choking on a piece of meat. Keiji hurriedly pushes a cup of water at him before he ends up dying. Bokuto steals five whole pieces of barbeque out from under Kuroo's nose, much to the latter's dismay.
Keiji thinks some more as he watches Bokuto and Kuroo hound Tsukishima to eat more food.
Aww, are you finally thinking about your little crush now? the boy in the shadows asks as Keiji picks at his food. Are you finally going to stop lying to yourself? Are you finally going to admit to yourself that you've been in love with him for God knows how long?
Are you finally going to admit that you are drowning in sin, and there is no way to pull yourself out of it?
I've known that for a long time now, Keiji thinks scathingly. And I think I've...finally stopped caring.
He thinks. He thinks about Shima. He hasn't talked to Shima in a very, very long time. The last time they spoke, it was about God, and Keiji had said "everything happens for a reason", and Shima had slapped him.
I don't think God is worth enough to ruin all the possible joy I could be having.
Fighting words, the boy in the shadows muses. You're gonna get punished in hell when you die, y'know that?
I'm going to hell regardless, Keiji thinks bitterly. Not because I love men, but because I am just a bad person. I don't believe homosexuality is a sin anymore. The actual sins that I have committed far outweigh that.
So you love him.
I love him, Keiji confirms. I realize what Kenma was talking about now. I love him so much, it honestly sort of hurts.
But he could never love you back.
No, Keiji confirms once more. Because Bokuto-san is too good for me. He is everything I am not.
I am not good in the slightest. I do not know what he sees in me.
I hope he never loves me back. He deserves so much better.
—
Their week-long training camp comes to an end. Keiji says goodbye to Kuroo, Kenma, Tsukishima, Hinata. Bokuto goes on and on about how much fun he had during the camp, how he's so proud of Tsukishima and Hinata and the growth they made under his tutelage. Keiji nods, says, "yes, Bokuto-san, you did a very good job."
The Fukuroudani men's volleyball club's next concern is Nationals. Akaashi Keiji's next concern is to try to talk to his childhood friend, the only one that—for some godforsaken reason—hasn't died yet.
That's morbid.
Aren't you the reason the rest died?
Shut up, Keiji thinks, willing the sound of his footsteps to overpower his thoughts. Shut up. I'm going to talk to Shima now. I'm going to—something right. Hopefully.
Shima's as good as dead to you now, isn't she? She doesn't want anything to do with you, does she? No, you've never even thought of her as Mitsuki, she's always just been—
"Shimamoyo."
He hasn't seen her since last year—it's been a little bit over a year since Momoko's funeral. She's gotten taller, and her hair's gotten even longer. At some point, she's gotten another piercing on each of her earlobes, and she's wearing dangly earrings in all four piercings. Keiji hopes she doesn't wear those while she's playing volleyball—they would be wildly impractical.
Keiji hopes that she's still playing volleyball.
"Akaashi," Shima says in the exact same tone, bowing her head. She's dressed in her school uniform, and she looks picture-perfect. Like always.
Perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect.
What I could never be.
"How are you?" Keiji says flatly, before mentally slapping himself in the face. Horrible start. "I know that we left on—bad terms, but—"
"I've been well," Shima interrupts, her voice sharp and precise like a blade. It cuts through all of Keiji's thinly-woven lies and platitudes, going straight to his heart.
She hasn't forgiven you.
"I'm here to apologize," Keiji says bluntly. "For saying that...everything happens for a reason, last year, at Momoko's funeral. And for implying that..."
For implying what?
"Momoko died for a reason. There is no good reason for why Momoko died, and I'm sorry for making it seem that way. I know I hurt you. I am—deeply sorry for that. I don't expect forgiveness from you, but I wanted to set things right."
Shima purses her lips, crosses her arms, stares Keiji down. Her face is carefully neutral. She and Keiji have always been far too alike for their own good.
And then the girl sighs, and all the fight seems to drain out of her.
"I was angry at you for a long time," Shima tells him. "After you told me that. I was—angry for a really long time. Angry at everyone and everything. But...being angry at you won't bring Momoko back. Nothing's going to bring Momoko back."
Keiji just nods, folding his hands in front of him. He picks at a bit of skin that's peeling off, near his fingernail. He picks at it until it falls off, and his finger begins to bleed.
Repentance.
"But I'm going to forgive you. Truth be told, I already forgave you a long time ago. Momoko wouldn't want me to be angry at you forever. And I don't...want to be angry at you forever."
"So," Keiji breathes out, hardly daring to believe it. She forgives me? "We're...good?"
And Shima smiles, nods, and says, "Yeah, Keiji. We're good."
—
They take a long, long walk around the school's grounds. Keiji has a history essay due in two days, but he can put it off. This is more important.
"I fell in love again," Keiji admits quietly, amidst the howling of the autumn winds. It feels like a confession, the kind you only say in the quiet darkness of a booth, the kind you only say while waiting to be absolved of sin. "Like Yukito told me to."
Shima doesn't offer any absolution. She merely nods, pulling her scarf further up her face to shield herself from the chill. "With who?"
Keiji still hesitates, the words barely on the edge of his tongue, even though he now knows the truth.
Bokuto Koutarou. My captain. My ace. The entire reason I came to Fukuroudani was not to follow you, Shima, it was to follow Bokuto-san.
Coward. Can't even say it out loud.
"My captain," Keiji says, and it is not quite the whole truth, but it is, at the very least, not a complete lie. Shima doesn't even look surprised—she just nods in understanding.
"I went to one of your games," Shima says quietly, so quietly that Keiji has to strain to hear it through the wind and her scarf. "The two of you work well together. Though, I am a bit surprised they made him captain. He seems rather...high-strung."
"He has his moments," Keiji says defensively. "I was...made vice-captain because I know how best to keep him in line."
And here, Shima tilts her head in doubt before shaking her head. "That can't be the only reason you were made vice-captain. You keep a level head when you're playing. You've always been a good strategist, even when we were younger. And you're only a second-year."
"And you're the ace," Keiji shoots back. Shima blinks in surprise. "When we become third-years, you will become captain. I...I will have no use after Bokuto-san graduates. I am honing a useless skill."
"It's not entirely useless," Shima argues back. "You are a good communicator. You know how to read other people's emotions. It's almost...it's almost impossible to get mad at you, y'know that? You're so...sincere."
There is not a single sincere bone in your body. Even Shima has fallen for all the lies you've spun.
What a good liar you are, Akaashi Keiji. What a good fucking liar you are.
"And besides." Shima lifts her head up. Her earrings sparkle in the light of the setting sun. "You'll probably become captain as well. If you've shown promise as vice-captain, Bokuto-san will probably pass captaincy onto you as well."
And the very thought of that makes Keiji's skin crawl, because he knows there's a high likelihood that Bokuto will pass captaincy onto him. But it is not because he is particularly skilled or anything like that--no, it will be because Bokuto favors him.
I do not deserve any of the good things I have been given.
"We will see," Keiji says quietly. "God only knows what will come next."
And that makes Shima pause, looking thoughtfully over at him. Her mouth is obscured, but Keiji knows that she's pursing her lips.
"Do you still believe in God?"
Keiji thinks. The last time he fell in love with a boy, he got sick, and he died. But logically—he knows that he couldn't have done anything to stop Yukito from getting sick and hospitalized. But was that fate? Or was it all just mere coincidence?
Bokuto has a good life right now. And Keiji knows that he likes men, and nothing bad has happened to him so far. Then again, he also has not confessed his love to Keiji yet—that must be the catalyst for misfortune. They fall in love with him, and they are punished for it.
There is something wrong with me. Inherently, I must be a bad person.
I don't know. I don't know.
So Keiji just sighs, staring up at the sky. In the distance, there are four birds flying, black blurs against the white of the clouds.
"I don't know. I don't...know if I believe in him anymore, honestly."
Shima, despite all her assertions that God is not real and that he does not exist, does not look happy or relieved in the slightest. She only nods, and says:
"You don't have to know the answer to everything, Keiji."
—
"Akaashi," Bokuto says one day in the locker room, after their extra practice. "Do you have a crush?"
Keiji's heart feels like it's descended straight down to hell.
Well, yes, I actually do, and it's you, and it's been you for God only knows how long, and I think I would rather die than admit this to you out loud, but I also do not want to lie to you, because I can't stand the thought of lying to you—
Have you figured me out?
For one brief, wild moment, Keiji thinks that Bokuto is going to confess his love for him, but then he remembers—
Him? Like you? Sinful and horrible as you are? Him, like you, when he's so good and kind and amazing?
Don't get it twisted, Akaashi Keiji, the boy in the shadows whispers. Nobody could ever love you like that.
"Maybe," Keiji says out loud, just vague enough to satisfy Bokuto's curiosity, but basically confirming: yes, I do have a crush on somebody but I am too embarrassed to admit that it's you.
All this seems to do is make Bokuto more despondent.
"It's the ace from the girls' team," his captain whines, every fiber of him seemingly drooping. "Isn't it? What's her name—Shima-something? You probably think she’s so much cooler than me, you’ve been hanging out a lot more lately—"
Oh my God, he thinks I like Shima.
Absolutely no offense to you, Shima. You're an amazing person. I think I would do many things for you. Dating you is not one of them.
Also, you like girls, and I like guys, so…
"I do not have a crush on Shimamoyo," Keiji says, now feeling significantly more calm. "She has been my friend since we were children. I would not dream of ever dating her—she is not my type."
Bokuto considers this, then tilts his head.
"So then, what is your type, Akaashi?"
Keiji's heart, if it's somehow possible, plunges deeper into the depths of hell.
Oh no. No, no, no.
I could just lie to him. I could just say that I like—what is the most typical type of girl to like? Cheerleaders? They're frequently at our games, aren't they? Oh, but what if he asks me about a specific girl? Or what feature I like specifically about a girl?
I can't lie to him. But I can't tell him straight up, because my type is quite literally him.
"Someone kind," Keiji ends up saying. "I don't...really pay attention to looks. Just as long as they have a kind heart. That's good enough for me."
That's a lie. They'd have to be you in order for me to even like them.
Bokuto blinks, slowly, staring at Keiji as he slowly begins to change out of his gym clothes. Keiji, meanwhile, is rendered completely and utterly useless as he tries not to stare at the defined lines of muscle on his captain's chest, arms—
Okay, the upper part of his body is not safe to look at. Look at his—feet, then. His legs, or something.
That effort proves futile as well. Tendou got him to watch Neon Genesis Evangelion, and then Keiji promptly fell down a very long and convoluted Wikipedia rabbit hole, and so he now knows the existence of—
Zettai ryouiki, Keiji thinks as he stares at the sliver of skin between Bokuto's shorts and kneepads. Absolute territory. It looks so smooth, so soft, and Keiji wonders—
No, the boy in the shadows chastises him. You do not wonder anything. You do not wonder if Bokuto's skin is as soft as it looks, because you barely deserve to be around him, much less touch him. Isn't the meaning of absolute territory something that is sacred, never to be tainted?
Stars are bright, shiny things, but they are unreachable, and they are untouchable.
Bokuto has changed into a clean shirt, and he's got an uncharacteristically thoughtful look on his face. His eyes widen, just the tiniest bit, as he opens his mouth and says, "Akaashi, I—"
Oh, this one's the same as the last one. Doomed himself just because you tempted him into doing it.
Stop him before he does, won't you?
"Would you like to meet Shima-san sometime?" Keiji interrupts, and the look of disappointment on his captain's face is heartbreaking, but—
Hoping only leads to disappointment, Akaashi Keiji.
Save both yourself and himself the heartbreak.
Bokuto considers this for a moment, before nodding and saying, with significantly less enthusiasm, "Okay, Akaashi."
—
"Shima, this is Bokuto Koutarou," Keiji says, gesturing between the two of them. "Bokuto-san, this is Shimamoyo Mitsuki."
"You're the ace of the girls' team!" Bokuto says excitedly. With any luck, Bokuto's already gotten over his disappointment of whatever he was going to ask Keiji yesterday. "The one with the really good cut shot!"
"Yes." Shima's hands are clasped in front of her waist, and she looks as pristine as ever. "And you are the ace with the..."
Keiji sees the minute twitch of Shima's eyes, and he knows what she was about to say—the ace with the mood swings. Bokuto-san’s weakness number 26: his emotional walls are pretty weak. Unfortunately, that’s contributed to his…reputation among the other volleyball players, even the girls. Luckily, she quickly corrects herself by saying, "The ace with the legions of fangirls."
Keiji snickers, and Bokuto makes a face of offense. "Akaashi! I love my fans!"
"Can you name a single one of them?" Keiji asks, and Shima laughs quietly along with him. "I don't think you can."
"Can too!"
"Can't."
"Can too!"
"Can't."
Bokuto shouts in irritation, but he wraps an arm around Keiji's shoulders and digs his knuckles into Keiji's scalp. "Akaashi!" he whines. "You're so mean to me!"
"He's very mean," Shima agrees, nodding sagely, and Keiji glares up at her as best as he can from his new position. "He was like that when we were kids."
"You were meaner," Keiji shoots back, but there's no real heat behind it.
He thinks about him and Shima, just two kids trying their best to make their way through grief and pain and heartbreak. They'd lost two of their best friends, two people that they loved more than anything, but—
"C'mon, 'Kaashi," Shima says, grabbing onto Keiji's other shoulder, tugging him into the school. "It's cold out here. Let's go."
But at least we still have each other.
—
November arrives, and with it comes the qualifiers for Nationals. Keiji spends the vast majority of his free time practicing with Bokuto, but also with Shima. They talk less, but that is fine with Keiji. As expected, both Fukuroudani teams got all the way to the semi-finals with ease.
Fukuroudani plays against Nekoma in the semifinals. Keiji smiles to himself—he gets to play Kenma in a legitimate match this time.
We're going to crush him.
He briefly feels bad for thinking such a thing, but then he remembers that when they step on the court, he and Kenma are enemies, not friends. All is fair in love and war.
As Fukuroudani enters the court, the crowd begins to roar, clapping their hands and stamping their feet. The sound of their band's trombones and trumpets can be heard above all of the noise. Everyone in the stands cheers as Bokuto enters the court, flinging his jacket behind him. Keiji sighs internally, running out and reaching out an arm to catch his captain's jacket before it's lost for good.
Bokuto-san's weakness number 32: he throws his jackets around too much and expects me to catch them.
Keiji catches Kenma's eye and nods, smirking the tiniest bit. We're gonna beat you. Kenma only scowls in response. I'd like to see you try.
Bokuto and Kuroo shake hands, shouting, "Here's to a good game!" Briefly, before they separate and go back to their own teams, they bump chests and shout in unison.
"Hey, Akaashi?" Shirofuku calls to him as she walks over. "We gonna do the usual? You know, the 'Bokuto, I heard that hot girl in row whatever say she thinks you're cool' thing."
Keiji considers this, wondering if that would get Bokuto's hype level to the max. Then he shakes his head, glancing over at his captain. "No. I think today is one of those days when he just doesn't need that."
Everyone lines up to bow to Nekoma. Keiji is right across from Kenma, and the two of them take the opportunity to make more bitchy faces at each other. Keiji supposes that the two of them can be very petty when they want to.
"Thank you for the game!" everybody shouts, before turning into themselves for their pre-game huddle. Keiji goes over potential plans for breaking through Nekoma's defense. Bokuto gets them all hyped up with a, "HEY, HEY, HEYYYY!"
Let's go.
The game starts off strong with Sarukui's jump serve. Bokuto is playing at top form today, even without any encouragement. For every point Nekoma gets past them, they get three more. Bokuto hollers and pumps his fists into the air every time he scores, which only serves to lift everyone's spirits. Kuroo and Bokuto jeer at each other from across the net in between rallies.
It doesn't look like he's going to be slowing down anytime soon.
Good.
Show everyone here just how incredible you can be, Bokuto-san.
Yamamoto from Nekoma serves, and Konoha receives it easily. It goes flying over to Keiji, and though Onaga's jumping at the opportunity to prove himself, Keiji knows just who to send it to.
It's been a long time since I've been so certain about where to put the ball up first.
Bokuto slams the ball straight into Nekoma's court, and it goes flying off into the stands. Someone—the little sister of one of the Nekoma players—manages to catch it in her hands. The crowd—and Bokuto—go absolutely wild.
"HEY, HEY, HEEEEEY!!" Bokuto screams, pumping both his fists in the air, laughing all the while. Sarukui and Komi cheer as well, raising their hands in solidarity.
Keep that up.
Nekoma serves, and the ball comes flying into Keiji's hands. "If you please," he shouts across the court to Bokuto.
"LEFT!" someone from Nekoma shouts.
"BOKUTO! RIGHT!!" Konoha screeches.
Bokuto charges forward, a determined glint in his eyes as he raises his hand. "LET'S GO AGAIN!!"
He spikes the ball, and it blows past the blockers, but—
Ah. Yaku-san. Didn't Bokuto say he was one of the best liberos he's ever played against?
Yaku digs it cleanly, passing the ball over to Kenma. Kenma doesn't move until the last possible second, sending the ball behind him and to their number two.
Another point for Nekoma. Keiji glances behind him worriedly, gauging Bokuto's reaction.
"Man!" Bokuto shouts, not with frustration, but with joy. "Yakkun's digs are freakin' amazing!"
Keiji exhales a sigh of relief as Bokuto turns to face his team. That glint of determination in Bokuto's eyes hasn't gone away—if anything, it's only gotten stronger.
"Now I'm getting really pumped up."
—
The game continues on. Fukuroudani scores, Nekoma scores, etcetera, etcetera. Every time Bokuto scores, he only seems to get more and more invigorated. He shouts and screams and pumps his fists into the air.
From behind Bokuto's immense back, Keiji can see Kenma staring at him, narrowing his eyes. All Keiji does is give him a small smile and wave, and Kenma narrows his eyes even more. He turns away, directing his attention towards their third-year counterparts.
"What's wrong, Kuroo?" Bokuto taunts, raising his eyebrows. "You're being awful quiet today!"
"Hogging the spotlight isn't always the best move," Kuroo shoots back before giving him a tired grin. "But don't worry—I'll shut you down in a sec. Just you wait!"
The two of them make some more faces at each other before the game resumes playing. Bokuto aims a spike at Kuroo, but Yaku digs it, sending it over to Kenma. Kenma puts the ball up for their number six, and Sarukui dives for the ball as it flies into the corner.
The ball comes soaring towards Keiji.
"Bokuto-san!" he shouts as sets the ball towards Bokuto. "Please—"
"I got it!" Bokuto screams with glee, putting his hands up. Keiji observes the blockers, the players on defense, and his gaze lands on Kenma—
Kenma's eyes are wide with realization.
Oh no.
The ball goes past the blockers, but it goes straight to Kenma. Luckily, Bokuto's spike is powerful enough that it just sends Kenma reeling onto his back. The ball flies into the stands, into some hapless audience member's hands.
"YEAH! YEAH!" their cheer squad screams. "NICE KILL!! BO-KU-TO!"
"WOOO!!" Bokuto shouts as he crouches down and pumps his fist in the air.
Nekoma calls their first time out. As Keiji passes the net, he hears Kenma muttering—
"Bokuto-san usually loves hitting cross shots...but it looks like he's doing really well with line shots today."
Oh, shit.
Keiji glances up, startled. Kenma is as perceptive as ever—he's exactly right. Keiji wipes the sweat from his face as the two of them make eye contact.
"Who can say?" Keiji asks, raising an eyebrow. "We all know just how streaky of a player he can be."
Kenma huffs, and Keiji does the same. The two of them turn away, towards their teams. Keiji watches Kenma talk to their team—no doubt instructing them to figure out a way to counteract Bokuto's line shots.
This is going to be a headache.
—
They get back onto the court. The ball goes back and forth over the net, between Nekoma player, Konoha, Kuroo, Nekoma player, Nekoma player, Sarukui, Komi, and then back to Bokuto.
Keiji can see it clear as day—the path that Bokuto needs to take in order to gain another point, right over Kenma.
Rather unfortunately, so can Kuroo.
Keiji moves his feet, far too late. It's not like he can do anything once he's already set the ball. His mouth opens halfway, but the sound he makes is lost among all the noise.
Kuroo's hands move down like claws, slamming the ball down into Fukuroudani's side. The ball bounces off of Bokuto's head before falling lamely to the ground. Bokuto wails in frustration, and Keiji—
Keiji reaaaally hates the look of smug satisfaction on Kenma's face right now.
The blockers switched positions at the last second. Dammit!
Keiji mentally calls Kenma every single curse word he can think of, before realizing that might be going a bit too far.
"YEEAH!!" all the first years on Nekoma’s side shout. "STUFFED!!"
"I'LL TAKE THE SPOTLIGHT EVERY NOW AND AGAIN, THANKS!" Kuroo screams, staring down Bokuto.
"IT'S ONLY BEEN ONCE SO FAR!!" Bokuto shouts back, a manic grin on his face. Calm down there, Bokuto-san. Don't want to tire yourself out too quickly.
Kenma crosses their arms, shooting Keiji a satisfied look from across the net. Keiji whips his head around, looking left, looking right, before he flips Kenma the middle finger. Kuroo and Bokuto continue grinning insanely at each other before Kenma signals Kuroo back to their team.
They keep playing. From then on, Nekoma very deliberately begins to shut down Bokuto's line shot. Nekoma's number six spikes the ball and forces Komi to receive it, which then forces Komi to make a sloppy pass at Keiji. Keiji does what he can to turn it into a good set, but—
It's not enough.
Keiji scans the court, and he doesn't think a group of alley cats could have ever looked so terrifying.
There's nowhere for Bokuto to put the ball.
Bokuto realizes this as well, and he jumps up and very decisively sends the ball over Kenma's head. The ball flies out of bounds, and Bokuto spends a minute begging the ref to say that Kenma's hands brushed the ball.
That's the first time Bokuto has screwed up today. We can't let this stop our momentum.
"Sorry, guys!" Bokuto shouts, waving his hand.
Good. He doesn't look too crestfallen.
We'll get them back.
And get them back they do, because Washio spikes the ball so close to Kuroo's head, Keiji can see it brush his hair. And then Keiji gets the opportunity to deliver a serve that's so forceful, it makes Konoha shake with anxiety.
Score is nineteen to eighteen, with us in the lead. Nekoma's defense has settled into a groove.
We can't let that continue.
Lev gets subbed in for Nekoma's libero. Kuroo steps up to serve. Kuroo has finally managed to perfect his jump serve to get it game-worthy, and both Konoha and Sarukui dive for the ball. The ball floats back over to Nekoma's side, and their number four bumps it. Kenma sets the ball, and then—
Was the set too high? Keiji thinks as he watches Lev's arm flail around. Regardless of what happens, it soars just over Washio's head, and Konoha has to dive to keep it in play. The ball, once again, goes back over to Nekoma, and Lev gets his second attempt to spike.
Keiji glances over at Konoha and Sarukui, noting Konoha's panicked expression. Thankfully, there is nothing to worry about, because the ball ricochets off of Washio's hand, falls onto Lev's head, and then to the ground.
Don't laugh. Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh.
Nekoma calls their second time-out. Bokuto goes up to serve, and Keiji inexplicably feels a sense of pride when the Nekoma players tell each other to take a step back.
That's our ace.
Bokuto delivers a truly wicked serve, but somehow, Nekoma's number two manages to receive it. The ball drifts over to Kenma, who puts it up for Lev, and Keiji can only watch in horror as the ball bounces off Washio's fingers.
Keep it up, keep it up—
"HRAH!" Konoha comes zipping out of nowhere, slapping the ball back over to Nekoma's side of the court. The ball lands in the very corner of Nekoma's court, and none of their players can reach it in time. Konoha, meanwhile, goes flying to the side.
That's our jack of all trades for you.
"Nice one, guys!" Bokuto shouts as Konoha and Washio slap palms. From the stands, Keiji can hear some of their supporters cheering on Konoha.
"Yeah, Konoha! Jack-of-all-trades—master of none—strikes again!"
"Hey!!" Konoha waves his hand at the boy shouting. "You didn't need to add that second part!!"
They keep playing. Lev enters into a standoff with Washio—and loses—and Bokuto jeers, "Heh! Too easy, rookie! Too easy!" They get to set point. This does not matter when, a couple minutes later, Lev gets a spike past Onaga. But then again, that doesn't matter when, a couple minutes later, Lev steps up to serve and immediately flubs it.
Fukuroudani gets handed set point on a silver platter.
It's not over yet.
"It's not over yet!" Bokuto shouts, echoing Keiji's thoughts exactly. "C'mon, c'mon! Let's GOOOO!!"
—
They continue playing. Nekoma's defense only amps up in the second set—they can barely get anything through. Bokuto tries to spike, but gets stuffed by Yaku. Nekoma's number four blasts a spike past Konoha.
Fukuroudani calls their first time-out.
"First things first, get deflections. Don't let free balls happen by lucky accident—make them." Coach Yamiji pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he speaks. "When our offense is running at full speed, even Nekoma can't handle everything we throw at them. Don't give them the time they need to get their defense fully set up."
"YESSIR!"
Keiji turns back to the court, catching Kenma's eye. Kenma's golden eyes widen, and then narrow. The two of them stare at each other for a moment, locked in a silent stand-off.
What are you planning, Kenma?
—
Keiji finds out exactly what Kenma's planning a couple minutes later, when Nekoma begins playing again, faster than ever.
They're targeting me. Keiji has to crouch down low in order to receive the ball as it comes directly to him, and he can only shout, "Cover, please! Sarukui-san!"
"Sure thing," Sarukui says, completely ignoring Bokuto's shouts of, "here! Here!"
Bokuto-san's starting to get stressed. We need to end this as quickly as possible.
"HEY, HEY!!" Konoha shouts, kind of sounding like Bokuto as he gestures aggressively to himself. "GIVE IT RIGHT! GIVE IT RIGHT!"
Sarukui nods, passing the ball over to Konoha. Konoha very deliberately rebounds the ball off of Kuroo's fingertips, and Keiji's pleased to see that Kuroo looks pissed.
"FREE BALL!" Konoha shouts, and so Keiji sets the ball to Sarukui. Yaku digs the ball, and the ball flies into the net. Keiji laughs—just a little—at the surprised sound Kuroo makes.
"Kenma, last hit! Send it over!"
Kenma puts his hands up, makes eye contact with Keiji, and then very deliberately sends the ball over to him.
Asshole, Keiji tries to say to Kenma with just his eyes as he passes the ball. "Konoha-san!"
Konoha makes an emergency set to Saru, who blasts the ball straight past Nekoma's defenders.
"Woo..." Sarukui says, pumping his fist half-heartedly, amidst all the shouts praising him
"You too, Konoha!" Bokuto shouts as he runs by and slaps Konoha on the back. "Nice one!"
"His offensive skill is average. His defensive ability is middling." Komi's voice is solemn as he walks up next to Keiji. "People being nice call him a 'balanced player', while people trying to be mean say he 'doesn't stand out'."
Keiji snorts. Komi just takes that as his cue to continue.
"On this team, Bokuto is going to grab most of the glory. There's no way around that," Komi continues. "But it is fair to say that, without Konoha, this team wouldn't even come together at all."
Komi grins, and Konoha finally turns around to look at him. "That is just how valuable Mr. 'Jack-of-all-trades, master of none' Konoha is!"
"We don't need the voiceover narration, thanks!!" Konoha screams as he stops away. Komi just shoots him a happy thumbs-up.
They resume playing. Bokuto does his best to score more points but—
"DAMMIT!" Bokuto shouts as his spike gets stuffed. Kuroo gives him a satisfied smile as he turns and walks away.
Nekoma's blockers are catching up to us.
They're slowing Bokuto down, little by little. They're closing every single gap in their defense.
How infuriating.
Keiji turns to look at the scoreboard. Sixteen to fourteen, with Nekoma in the lead. At the rate they're going, we might be forced into a third set.
"Bokuto-san, are you sure you aren't letting yourself get too caught up in trying to get around their receivers?" Keiji asks, as delicately as he can. "If they dig your spikes, just let them. We'll dig theirs back and hit again."
"Maaan..." Bokuto whines, wiping the sweat from his head. "I dunno what it is, but cross shots just aren't working for me today. Heck, I even tell myself I'm gonna hit a cross shot, but my body hits a line anyway."
Oh no.
"Wait..." Bokuto says, almost despairingly. "How do I hit a cross shot again...?"
Bokuto-san's weakness number 37: when he’s excelling at a certain aspect of his game, sometimes he’ll completely forget how to do something else.
All of Fukuroudani's members look back and forth between each other, and Keiji can tell that they're all thinking the exact same thing:
Oh nooooooo.
Keiji hurriedly sends a worried glance towards Coach Yamiji, who immediately calls for their second time-out.
"Hm? What's going on?"
"Is Fukuroudani's ace not feeling well?"
"I heard him say something about not knowing how to hit a cross shot?"
"Seriously? Is he joking around?"
Unfortunately, no, Keiji thinks as he bites down on his lip anxiously. He's dead serious.
"Really?" Konoha asks as Komi throws a towel onto his shoulder. "You were nailing them just fine at the beginning of the game."
"Yeah, but the line shot feels super awesome today, so I just started hitting those all the time, and now they're kinda habit..." Bokuto says, flailing his arms around.
Keiji looks back at his teammates, all of whom look like they're internally screaming. Keiji himself would start actually screaming, but that would be inappropriate, and he needs to think.
Calm down. This doesn't qualify as a slump just yet. One good hit can still get him back into form. Their server is...Kenma. That means the rotation is…
Keiji closes his eyes, rubs his fingers against his eyelids until he starts seeing shiny things in the dark. He takes a deep breath, then opens his eyes.
You are the vice-captain. You know how best to manage your captain's mood swings.
You can do this.
"All right," Keiji says, finally opening his eyes. "Then hit a cross shot without thinking about it. Just do what feels right."
Both Bokuto and Konoha send him questioning looks, so he just says, "Don't worry about the rest. I'll open a path."
Bokuto almost immediately perks up. "Whoa! That sounds really cool, Akaashi! Dammit! I'm supposed to say cool stuff like that, I'm the captain!"
"You always say very cool things," Keiji assures him, before he turns to address their entire team. "Their next server up is Kozume. I'm certain he'll aim for the front left, at Bokuto-san. All I ask is that you bump the ball a little closer to the net than usual, if you can."
Bokuto slaps Keiji on the back, nodding his head in determination. Then Konoha does it—and then Komi and Sarukui and Washio do it as well. All of his upperclassmen beam down at him, trusting his words completely.
Keiji inhales, exhales, and then turns back to the court.
"Let's put an end to this."
—
Kenma goes up to serve, and Keiji's guesswork is proven right—it goes straight to Bokuto. But before Bokuto can do anything, Konoha leaps forward, bumping the ball over to Keiji. Keiji jumps up, keenly aware of how perfectly he'll need to time his next movements.
Lev jumps up—he really is stupidly quick to react—no doubt anticipating a setter dump. After all, Keiji is very obviously telegraphing his hand motions. But right at the last minute, when he sees Lev's hands reach over the net, he switches up, setting the ball to Bokuto.
Haiba is inexperienced, but his athletic ability and instincts are enough to make up for it. He can be frightening when he's in a groove. However, he's easier to fool than Kuroo.
One more tick of the rotation and he'll move to the back row, bringing that pain-in-the-ass-Kuroo-san into the front. Knowing Bokuto-san, he really will try to hit without thinking.
If I'm going to dupe their blockers and get him back into shape, it has to be now.
This is the best rotation.
Amidst the shouts of, "ONE BLOCKER!!", Bokuto jumps, his hands raised high. Keiji can see the excitement in his captain's eyes as he sets the ball towards him, and he can feel his heart pounding with anticipation.
You've got this. Come on.
Bokuto spikes the ball, and Yaku realizes where it's about to go too late. He keeps the ball up with his elbow, but sends it flying into the stands.
Bokuto cheers, raising his fist in victory. Much less obviously, Keiji does a little fist pump.
"YEAH! YEAH! NICE KILL!!" their cheerleading squad shouts. "BO-KU-TO!”
"Are you okay now?" Keiji asks, walking over to Bokuto. He should be fine, but just to make sure…
And Bokuto clenches his fist, closing his eyes and raising his head to the ceiling. There's sweat dripping off his brow, and his chest is heaving with exertion, but even so, Keiji thinks—
He's beautiful.
"You're fine," Keiji says with finality, turning away.
They play some more. Somewhere along the line, Washio spikes, but gets blocked by Kuroo. Kuroo spikes, but gets blocked by Washio. The two of them glare at each other silently from across the net. Somewhere along the line, Bokuto hits the ball into the corner of the court, getting them to eighteen points. Somewhere along the line, Kenma does a setter dump, but Keiji digs it. Keiji does the same thing, but Nekoma's number six digs it. Somewhere along the line, Keiji glares at Kenma and Kenma glares at him.
Keep going. Keep going. You're so close. Don't lose hope now.
Nekoma doesn't give them anywhere to hit the ball, but there's still hope yet.
And then Bokuto lands a cut shot, right in front of the ten-foot line. Fukuroudani reaches set and game point. Just one more for Fukuroudani, and then Nekoma will lose.
So close. So close.
Every Fukuroudani member cheers as Bokuto stands resolutely in front of them, and Keiji is reminded of that stupid shirt that his captain bought last year.
The Way of the Ace:
One: The sight of your back must be an inspiration to your teammates!
Nekoma takes a time-out before crawling their way back up to twenty-four points, neck and neck with Fukuroudani. Bokuto slams a spike into Kuroo's fingers, and it goes flying out of bounds. The crowd cheers.
Two: Any and all walls are to be crushed!
Keiji puts the ball up for what seems like the thousandth time. Bokuto runs forward, his golden eyes wide open.
Like stars.
Come on, star.
Shine.
Bokuto spikes the ball over the net. It ricochets off of the arm of Nekoma's number five. Keiji can see Yaku make a final, desperate dive for it, but he's all the way across the court. He will not make it in time. Keiji watches Kenma turn around, but only his torso moves, with his feet rooted in place. His eyes are wide, as though he can't quite believe what's happening.
Three: All balls are to be spiked with full strength and complete confidence!
The ball hits the ground. The whistle blows.
It's over.
"HEY, HEY, HEYYYYYYYY!!!" Bokuto screams, and then every Fukuroudani player is screaming in unison, sprinting towards their captain.
Keiji gets to him first, screaming like the rest of them, punching Bokuto square in the chest. Bokuto wraps his arm around Keiji's shoulders in a one-armed hug, digging his knuckles into his scalp. Everywhere Bokuto's touch reaches feels hot.
The rest of their teammates pile on, merging into one huge mass of black and white and gold. Keiji vaguely feels like he can't breathe, but that doesn't matter, because—
We did it. We did it.
I knew we would do it, with you by our side.
We're going to Nationals.
Coach Yamiji yells at them to line up. They shout, "THANKS FOR THE GAME!" and then they all go up to shake hands. Bokuto shakes Kuroo's hand with vigorous enthusiasm, slapping his shoulder through the net. Kuroo smiles, and they do their handshake before grabbing each other in a very painful-looking hug.
"Kenma-san," Keiji says, reaching his hand under the net. He can't quite keep his smug grin off his face. "Good game. You played well."
"Not well enough," Kenma mutters as Keiji lifts up the net to come face-to-face with him. "I guess nothing can beat you and Bokuto."
Keiji looks over at Bokuto, who is shouting at Konoha and Sarukui. You're wrong. Nothing can beat Bokuto. "Thank you. I mean it."
"Of course you do," Kenma says, scoffing a little bit. But there's fondness in his eyes as even as he rolls them. "Now, excuse me. I have to make sure I don't die before the second match."
Keiji laughs, and Kenma weakly punches him in the shoulder. They raise their hands in farewell, and then they go back towards their teams.
We are the stars of the world, Keiji thinks, rather selfishly, as Bokuto takes him by the wrist and leads him out of the gym. You and I, Bokuto-san.
—
And then they play Itachiyama. And then they lose after three sets, thanks to Itachiyama's ace, Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Well, he is the second-best in the nation for a reason, Keiji thinks to himself as Bokuto screams in frustration.
"I won't ever forget this, Sakusa!!" Bokuto declares, stomping and pointing at Itachiyama's profoundly uninterested ace. "Next time—"
"Bokuto-san, your three missed serves in a row at the end were not acceptable," Keiji says, and he knows his words are harsh, but everybody is tired, and they've already secured their ticket to Nationals, so he thinks he can afford to be a little mean to his captain. "Let's go fix them. Now."
"Akaashi!" Bokuto wails as he flops over onto the gymnasium floor, slamming his fist on the wood. "Watch your timing! Timing is important!"
That was mean, wasn't it? the boy in the shadows asks as Keiji doubles back to drag Bokuto up. Don't you love this boy? Why do you think so poorly of him?
I don't think poorly of him. I just…
You just what? You just what, Akaashi Keiji?
If this is what your idea of love is, I'd hate to see what you think of the people you hate.
There is nobody I hate more than you, Keiji tells the boy in the shadows. Which in turn—that means that there's nobody I hate more than myself.
Keiji sighs, glancing up towards the stands. He can see Kenma, in his alternate jersey, feebly waving hi to him, and so he feebly waves hi back. But there's an exhausted smile on Kenma's face, and so Keiji can only deduce—
Nekoma made it to Nationals as well.
Let's hope that we won't have to play against each other again.
This isn't a sins of the father thing anymore, is it? Keiji wonders to himself as he allows Bokuto to wrap his fingers around his wrist, staring up at Kenma. It's a me and you thing, isn't it?
"Akaashi!"
Keiji, even though he's exhausted, snaps his head up, looking around for the person who said his name. It's not Bokuto—Bokuto's right next to him, so who could it—
Shima.
She's standing at the exit of the gymnasium, still in her jersey. Her dangly earrings are replaced by four simple golden studs. Her arms are crossed, but there's an enormous smile on her face. She glances up and down, eyes going back and forth between Keiji and Bokuto.
"Shimamoyo!" Bokuto shouts with glee, letting go of Keiji's wrist and bounding over to Shima. He sticks his hand out, and Shima shakes it, smiling. "We're gonna both go to Nationals!"
"How'd you know we're going to Nationals?" Shima asks, gesturing to herself, then to the rest of her volleyball team. The question is rhetorical, but Bokuto opens his mouth to answer regardless. Keiji cuts him off before he can.
"Because you're amazing," Keiji says, and the corners of Shima's mouth turn up in a soft smile. "I had no doubts you'd make it through."
"Yeah, well." Shima holds her arms out for a hug, and Keiji gladly steps into them. "I never had any doubts about you, either, 'Kaashi."
—
"AKAASHI, SURPRISE! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
"What the—" Keiji stumbles back as he opens the door to his own dorm to find his entire team in the room, smiling down at him. "Why are you all in here? How did you all get in here?"
"Your roommate let us in," Konoha says cheerfully, and the boy in question lazily waves his hand as he scooches past Keiji to exit his own dorm room. "We got you a cake again this year!"
"And it's not even smushed!" Bokuto puffs his chest out proudly, and Keiji's heart can't take it anymore–
I love you so much, it honestly hurts.
Keiji makes his way into his room, setting his stuff down. Bokuto points at the white box sitting on his desk, urging him to open it. The rest of the team, having literally nowhere to sit, all sit down on the floor.
He opens the box, finding a significantly bigger cake—all of them must have pitched in this year—with dark green frosting and white icing spelling out, unsmudged this time, Happy Birthday, Akaashi!
"We have a knife," Konoha announces, and Keiji feels a brief shock of horror travel up his spine before the boy pulls out a plastic cake knife. "Oh, and candles, too." And then he takes out a legitimate lighter, and Keiji's horror returns.
"Konoha-san, why do you have a lighter?" Keiji asks in exasperation as Konoha stabs the two candles into the cake and lights them.
"None of your concern," Konoha says cheerfully as Anahori hurries to turn out the lights. "Now, everyone! Sing!"
Everybody then breaks into a poorly-sung rendition of the happy birthday song. They all sort of suck at singing, with the most notable exception being Bokuto.
He's a very good singer, Keiji thinks as he listens to his captain sing. His voice is deep and throaty, much different from his speaking voice. I...did not know that about him.
He has the voice of an angel.
"Blow it out, make a wish!" Konoha cheers at the end of the song, and so Keiji leans forward and very quickly blows out his candles.
I wish that…
What should he wish for? Certainly not that Bokuto will love him back--even if there is a high likelihood of it happening, that does not mean Keiji should hope for it.
Hope only leads to disappointment.
I wish that my life will only improve from here.
The candles are blown out, the lights are turned back on, and the cake is cut. Sarukui distributes paper plates out, and all of the rowdy teenage boys settle on the floor in front of Keiji's bed. Keiji sits on his bed, and Bokuto sits next to him.
"Happy birthday, Akaashi," Bokuto says, much more softly than he normally would, and Keiji gets the distinctly foolish thought that his captain's words are just for him.
"Thank you, Bokuto-san." Keiji dutifully finishes the last of his slice. It was chocolate cake, and it tasted good, but every bite just served to remind him that he was getting older.
Not much time left to be a child, right? You're growing up so fast. You'll be an adult soon.
Scary, isn't it?
His teammates didn't bring any other presents—what, were you expecting presents? You think you deserve them, simply for existing? No, of course not—so they leave after an hour or so. Bokuto stays back to 'help him collect all of the trash’.
"Is there something on your mind, Bokuto-san?" Keiji asks as Bokuto ties off the trash bag with almost trembling fingers. Bokuto--he doesn't look scared, because he never truly looks scared, but he does look apprehensive. As though whatever he's going to say, he's been waiting for a long time.
"Akaashi," Bokuto says slowly, his voice almost trembling. He doesn't turn around to face Keiji while he speaks. He stares straight at the wall. "I think I'm in love with you."
Oh.
Oh no.
In the resounding silence that follows, Keiji dissects the meaning of his captain's words.
He still used 'Akaashi'. Even though he says he thinks he loves me, he still holds me far enough away that he feels the need to use only my family name. We are not nearly close enough for this. He thinks that he's in love with me. He's unsure--he does not fully know if he loves me or not.
In love with me. Bokuto Koutarou, shining star that he is, is somehow in love with me.
You saw this coming, and you didn't do anything about it, the boy in the shadows tells him. Lie to yourself all you want, it won't change the outcome.
"Bokuto-san," Keiji says, and he hears how his words are as cold as snow. He barely even registers the shock and sadness spreading across Bokuto's face. "No, Bokuto-san. You're not in love with me."
"What—" Bokuto starts, but Keiji continues.
“You are not in love with me, Bokuto-san. You are merely infatuated with me.” Keiji raises his hand and aimlessly waves it around, listlessly. “You will…you will get over your crush on me once you find somebody better. I—"
“Akaashi, what do you mean?” Bokuto asks, and for the first time in his life, he sounds genuinely horrified. “I don’t…I’ve been in love with you since you first came here!”
Ever since then?
Have you been lying to him for that long?
“Y’know, if you didn’t like me back,” Bokuto says, and Keiji can tell that he’s using the voice he uses when he wants to cry but he can’t. “You could have just said so, Akaashi.”
“It’s not like that,” Keiji says, but he can feel his own voice cracking. “Bokuto-san, you have been…an incredible upperclassman and teammate and friend to me, and…and….”
He can feel it, a pressure building in the deepest recesses of his chest, crawling its way to the back of his throat. Salty water pricks up at the back of his eyes. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries to force the words out of his mouth. They don’t come out.
I love you too. I love you too. I love you so much, it hurts.
But the last time a boy fell in love with me, he died. I don't know if it was because I dragged him into sin, if it was his fate to die young, or if it was simply a coincidence.
But I can't let it happen again.
“Hey, hey—hey, don’t cry.” Bokuto kneels down—when had he collapsed onto the ground? When did it feel like his chest was collapsing in on itself? He cradles Keiji’s face in both his hands, brushing at his eyes with his thumb. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay.”
Bokuto says it with such certainty. Keiji wants so badly to believe Bokuto’s words.
“I don’t…you normally do this for me.” Bokuto’s fingers move from his eyes, to his hair, brushing strands of it from his face. “I don’t know what to say. That’s always you. But…”
Bokuto inhales. Exhales. In for four, out for four. Keiji taught him to breathe like that, to calm himself down.
“You’re so beautiful,” Bokuto says, his voice twinged with something that could be awe. “Like an angel, Akaashi. And I…I don’t know if what you said is true. What you said about me forgetting about you when I find a better person. I don’t think I’ll ever find someone better than you, Akaashi.”
He's put a lot of thought into this. This isn't just some baseless, fleeting crush or anything like that. No, he means it.
He really does love you.
What a horrible thing.
"You're so beautiful. Like an angel, Akaashi."
Keiji thinks of pitch-black wings, of a childhood dream that has long since withered away. He thinks that if he were an angel, he would be Lucifer, the one that fell from grace, the one that was once so, so pure, and now so, so tainted, the one that climbed the highest and fell the hardest.
He loves you, the boy in the mirror says. Do you think he loves you only for your pretty face? Do you think he loves you only for your perfect sets? Do you think he loves you only because you know best how to console him? How to lie to him, so that he feels better about himself?
I do not lie to Bokuto-san about how amazing he is. He is amazing. I mean it every time I say it.
Oh, the boy in the mirror says. But do you think he would love you if he saw just how ugly your soul is?
Do you think your precious Bokuto-san would love you if he saw just how much wickedness crawls inside you? Like an apple rotting from the inside. It looks perfectly fine until you try to taste it for yourself.
Bokuto presses his lips to Keiji’s forehead. It’s a ghost of a kiss, all Keiji feels is a warm huff of breath against his skin. But it's enough. It's enough for Keiji to feel so, so guilty about Bokuto loving him.
I'm not good. I'm not a good person. Not like you. You are passionate, and you are honest, and you are a star. You and I are as different as two people can possibly be.
How could you love someone like me?
“I need…” Keiji rasps out, and Bokuto pulls away immediately. “I need you…”
“What? What do you need me to do, Akaashi?” Bokuto’s words are immediate. “Anything. I’ll do anything.”
“I need you to…” Keiji inhales a shuddering breath, and he knows Bokuto won’t understand his next words. He says them anyway. “I need you to break me apart and put me back together, Bokuto-san.”
Bokuto’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Akaashi, I don’t understand.”
“That’s okay,” Keiji says shakily. Somehow, with a last surge of strength, he manages to stand up from the floor. He inhales. Exhales. “Bokuto-san…you don’t want to love someone like me. I am—whatever image you have built of me in your mind, it is a false one. I'm...not as good as you think I am. So please…”
He can’t make out Bokuto’s face through his tears. Bokuto’s hands raise again, to wipe them away, but Akaashi turns his head.
“Bokuto-san, please stop loving me. Everything will get easier from there.”
And he does not wait for Bokuto’s response. He hears a single, "Akaashi—" before he turns tail and heads straight for the door, running out of his own dorm.
Sometimes, it is ’nobody loves me’. Sometimes, it is ’I am not brave enough to look those who love me in the eye’.
Keiji knows, with his whole heart, that it’s the latter for him.
And he hates himself, with his whole heart, for running away from the boy that loves him.
—
Bokuto is not there when Keiji returns to his room, many hours later. His roommate is, but Yukawa is fast asleep, under his blankets. Or he's just reading webnovels under the blankets, Keiji can never tell.
You love him, the boy in the mirror says to him as he climbs into his own bed and draws the blankets over himself. He's so cold, and the winter chill does nothing to help.
Do you wish that Bokuto-san were beside you to keep you warm? To keep your bed warm?
Do you think you love him only because he makes you feel loved?
I don't know! Keiji screams back as he pulls the blankets over his head. He grabs his phone, and his book, because he needs to finish this chapter before class tomorrow—he doesn't need to do it, but he needs to feel useful right now, and—
I am so tired.
His phone buzzes, and he turns it over to see who's calling him. It's far too late to be talking to anyone, but he doesn't deserve to rest easy right now.
"Do you know any anime that has gay people in them?" Kenma asks, and Keiji immediately regrets everything. What does Kenma need this for? Doesn't matter. Ordinarily, Keiji would help Kenma, so he tries to do that right now.
"Revolutionary Girl Utena," Keiji mumbles into his phone. "It's a masterpiece in storytelling. It's amazing. You should definitely watch it, Kenma."
"Keiji, do I want to know why there are two naked girls kissing on a motorcycle?"
Keiji takes a moment to contemplate every single decision he's ever made. "That's part of the story, I swear on my life, Kenma. What do you even need this for?"
"I need it to see whether or not Shouyou's homophobic, because my cousin told me to show him an anime that has gay people in it to see how he reacts...now that I say it out loud, it sounds kind of ridiculous."
"Very." Keiji curses Tendou out mentally. This sounds like the kind of idea that he would encourage.
"This is important!"
"Kenma," Keiji sighs. "You are one of the most logical people I know. Could you not just ask him, straight up, 'what do you think of gay people?'"
"Who asks that? What normal, sane person asks that?"
"Perhaps you're right."
"You know what," Kenma mutters, and Keiji hears the sound of drawers opening and closing. "I'm just gonna paint my nails and send him a picture and see what he says."
"That could work."
"He said he liked my hair long," Kenma says, and he sounds like he's trying to reassure himself more than anything. "That...could mean something, right?"
"I'm sure it does."
You're being far too obvious. He's going to ask if you're alright, and you're not alright, but you're just being a whiny little bitch about your life. Oh, look at me, I'm Akaashi Keiji, my life is horrible because my volleyball captain confessed to me.
"You're real good at comforting people, y'know that?" Kenma snarks. "Is all your empathy used up on Bokuto?"
"Apologies. I've been tired lately."
"You sound exactly the same as normal."
"I suppose that's a statement on my mental health as of late."
There's a moment of silence, and then Keiji hears:
"Keiji, are you okay? You...genuinely, are you okay?"
Kenma's too clever.
"No," Keiji says, and his voice cracks on that single syllable. "I...god, fuck. Bokuto-san...Bokuto-san told me that he was in love with me."
"Oh." A long, possibly judgmental pause from Kenma. "Isn't...isn't that a good thing?"
He thinks I'm being stupid, and I am. I am being fucking stupid. This should be a good thing. To any normal, sane human being, this would be a good thing.
It's just because I'm a bad person that it doesn't feel that way."
"Bokuto-san does not love me. I'm sure of it."
"What makes you think that? What did he say exactly?"
"Akaashi, I think I'm in love with you."
Yeah, now that he says it out loud, it sounds even more stupid.
Another, definitely judgmental pause. "What about that screams, 'I do not love Akaashi Keiji'?"
"He thinks he's in love with me," Keiji starts, and he does not stop. "And you know how Bokuto-san is. He doesn't think before he acts. It's extremely likely that Bokuto-san is just infatuated with me. This is just a simple crush, and nothing more. He's not...he cannot be in love with me."
"Keiji...are you sure?"
"A hundred percent. There is..." Keiji lets out a very long, very tired sigh. I am so tired. "There is nothing about me worth loving. After all, all I do is shout at him and keep him in check. I don't..."
"Keiji." Kenma's voice is sharp, with no room for argument. "You are being an idiot. Don't you—don't you see how Bokuto looks at you? He looks at you like you're his entire world."
Keiji goes silent at that. He flips the pages of his book aimlessly, trying to find any meaning in the words.
"Go to sleep. You'll be able to think more clearly in the morning. This can't be healthy for you."
"I know," Keiji says softly, and he can hear stupid sobs crawling their way up his throat. You are so pathetic. You are so goddamn pathetic. "God, I know."
You know there's something wrong with you, and you don't do anything to fix it.
You're just content to sit here and stew in your own misery.
Pathetic.
He wipes his tears, shuts his book, and readjusts his blankets. There's a moment of silence before Kenma says:
"Happy birthday, Keiji."
The only response Keiji is able to give him is a broken sob.
—
He wakes up to roughly a million unread texts from Bokuto. He doesn't respond to them. But he does read all of them.
Bokuto: are you doing well
Bokuto: well
Bokuto: i know youre not
Bokuto: i hope youre okay
Bokuto: i hope youll be fine
Bokuto: sorry i was trying not to bother you
Bokuto: oh im bothering you right now by texting you arent i
Bokuto: im sorry about that
Bokuto: but i dunno
Bokuto: anyway
Bokuto: i love you
Bokuto: and
Bokuto: nothing you tell me or tell yourself is gonna change that
Bokuto: and youre perfect
Bokuto: and i wish you would see that
Bokuto: but you cant
Bokuto: so im telling you right now
Bokuto: i think youre perfect
Bokuto: and i dont
Bokuto: i dont think youre broken akaashi
Bokuto: i look at you and i think that
Bokuto: youre whole
Bokuto: youre your own person akaashi
Bokuto: and youre a good person
Bokuto: a really good person
Bokuto: and i dont think you need to break yourself in order to rebuild yourself
Bokuto: but if thats what you want to do
Bokuto: if thats what you think will help make you whole again
Bokuto: ill help you
Bokuto: ill help you with anything you need akaashi
Bokuto: and
Bokuto: i love you
Bokuto: and
Bokuto: have a good night
Bokuto: i hope you dream some nice dreams keiji
Keiji nearly drops his phone. He nearly crushes it in half with his fist. All of these messages were sent around one in the morning. So not only had he rejected the boy he was in love with, but he also caused the boy he was in love with to stay up all night.
He was wondering about you, the boy in the shadows taunts. You made him worry. Isn't that a horrible thing? You're not worth worrying over. You're not worth the energy.
Even through simple text messages, there's something that's so Bokuto about them. He can feel his best friend's sincerity through the screen itself.
It feels warm.
Keiji wants so badly to feel warm.
He doesn't deserve warm. He knows this. The cold and the dark beckon to him. The cold and the dark are familiar. It's in no way comfortable, but every sense numbs when they're exposed to the same stimulus long enough.
All of this is wrong. All of this is wrong.
It feels wrong. The darkness is comforting, but it feels wrong. And what Keiji really wants is to see how bright the light of life is, even though it may hurt his eyes, burn his skin, destroy him eventually. He wants to feel that warmth on his skin, if only for a brief moment, because now he knows what warmth feels like, looks like, sounds like. And now he doesn't ever want to feel cold ever again.
And then he sighs, because he can't think about this. He has to get up, go to classes, go to practice.
He has to confront Bokuto again today, and face the consequences of what he's done.
You can't be in your head forever, y'know?
I'm sure Bokuto won't want to be with you anymore once he realizes just how much time you spend wallowing in misery.
He's good. You don't want to drag him down along with you, do you?
Even the best of men can fall to temptation. To sin.
—
So he goes to class. He goes to practice. The entire day, he pretends like he is not very obviously avoiding Bokuto.
It's incredibly obvious. Bokuto is the person he hangs out with all day, every day, and so Shima obviously takes note of this and storms over to him during lunch.
"Where is he?" she demands, hands on her hips. "What did you do?"
"I fucked up horribly," Keiji mutters as he stares down at his food miserably, and Shima's expression drops immediately. "Like I always do."
"Oh," she says, her long earrings swaying as she moves her head, pulling a chair out and sitting next to him. "Shit. What happened?"
"I do not want to talk about it," Keiji snarks, curling his knees to his chest, trying his best to compress himself into a space small enough to fit his rotten heart. He has never liked small spaces, but right now, he wishes the entire world would crash down on him.
It'd be all he deserves.
And as he lifts his head back up again, to Shima's unsure expression, he feels the sensation of a thousand knives piercing his heart.
All these people want to do is help me. Show that I am loved. Why am I unable to accept any of it?
Duh, both the boys in the shadow and the mirror say simultaneously. You don't deserve any of it.
—
"Bokuto-san," Keiji says, after their official practice ends and their unofficial practice together is about to begin. "I am sorry about last night. Please forgive me for acting in such a rash manner. Rest assured, your confession will not change anything between us."
Bokuto seems to have become very interested in the floor. Keiji picks at a hangnail—his nail polish has long since fallen into a drawer, lost. Keiji makes a mental note to search for it later. Neither of them say anything. And then—
"What if I wanted it to change something?"
Keiji looks up, and Bokuto's fists are clenched as he stares him down. He almost looks angry, and—distantly, Keiji hopes he's angry at him. He deserves to be yelled at, because he's a pathetic fool, and he has had enough of Bokuto's kindness for a lifetime.
"You didn't give me a response, Akaashi," Bokuto says, his voice soft, almost childlike. His captain is begging—pleading–for an answer from him. "Do you...like me back?"
He used 'like' this time. He doesn't think I love him back, but I do. I love him so much, it hurts.
"I..." He doesn't want to lie to Bokuto, but he doesn't want to admit this simple sin of his. So all he does is nod his head, slowly, and Bokuto's eyes light up with that simple motion. But then, as Bokuto stares longer and longer at him, his smile begins to fade.
"Akaashi," Bokuto says slowly. "If you also love me, then...why do you look so sad?"
I can see how this ends. I have been borrowing grief from the future, and all it has been doing is accruing interest.
"I am sorry, Bokuto-san," Keiji mumbles, and he can feel something in his heart beginning to crack, he can feel all of the wickedness seeping out of it. "I think I...need more time before I can..."
Be your boyfriend.
Be kissed by you and not feel so guilty.
Tell you I love you without it hurting so much.
"I have been in love before," Keiji says quietly. "It ended very badly for me, Bokuto-san. I..."
Yukito.
When you told me to fall in love with someone else, I do not think this is what you had in mind. I think you would have wanted me to be excited when someone tells me that they love me. I think you would have wanted me to wake up every morning with lightness in my heart.
I think you would have wanted me to be happy.
Am I disparaging your memory by not feeling happy enough?
I feel as though I should be happy.
Why am I not happy?
"Do you wanna tell me who it was, Akaashi?" Bokuto asks, now climbing onto the singular desk in the gym and dangling his feet. The two of them are the same height, but with Bokuto sitting down, Keiji just has to bend his head over so slightly to meet his eye. "Or—wait, wait, sorry, that's insensitive, isn't it? Sorry! Sorry, Akaashi, you don't need to—"
"It was a boy," Keiji blurts out, and the boy in the shadows slaps his hand over Keiji's mouth.
You really think that Bokuto wants to hear your sob story? You really want to drag him down with the knowledge of what you did? Don't they say that ignorance is bliss?
Bokuto blinks, slowly. "Akaashi," he says, even more slowly, pointing at himself. "I am a boy."
And Keiji lets out a gunshot bark of laughter, because—because it is Bokuto. Trust Bokuto to always figure out a way to cheer anyone up.
"I know you are," Keiji says, voice wavering as he stares down at the boy he's in love with. "This was...this was a boy in fourth grade. His name was Tsurumaki Yukito."
"Oh!" Bokuto nods happily, seemingly pleased that Keiji was only in love with someone years ago. "Okay! What happened to him? Do you still talk to him? Do I hafta fight him to date you?" And Bokuto puts his fists up, doing his best to make a menacing face.
Keiji chuckles at the thought. Yukito. I think you would have liked Bokuto. He tends to have that effect on people.
"No, unfortunately. He's dead."
"Oh—" Bokuto's eyes go wide with shock, and he drops his fists into his lap. "Oh my god. Akaashi—"
"He died from a genetic sickness," Keiji interrupts, staring at a point on the wall behind Bokuto. He can't stop now. If he stops for too long, if he thinks about this too hard, he will begin to cry again. "And...it was slow. I visited him in the hospital every day. And I knew that he would just keep getting worse, but I kept visiting him anyway, because I didn't want him to be alone. And then one day, he just...he just..."
A sob crawls its way up Keiji's throat, and he claps his hands to his mouth. Something in his knees gives out, and he goes down to the floor, and he knows—
I can't say the rest of this story. I can't make it to the end.
God. The rest of this story involves Him, and I don't know if I believe in Him anymore, and I fear that speaking any more will lead to something horrible.
Have I already dragged Bokuto-san down with me by telling him this?
"Akaashi," Bokuto says softly as teardrops begin to splatter onto the gymnasium floor. Keiji hasn't even noticed how he's crumpled into a ball, fists braced against the floor, heart clenched so tightly it hurts to breathe. "Akaashi, it's okay. You don't have to...tell me any more. I understand."
No, you don't understand, Keiji thinks despairingly as he looks up at Bokuto. Bokuto slides off the table, kneeling down to cup Keiji's face, and Keiji has the distinct image of a god lowering themselves down to the level of mortals, just to comfort their most devout believer.
Keiji has not kneeled for anybody besides God, but he thinks that Bokuto Koutarou could be a worthy contender.
"I will wait for you," Bokuto says in a hushed whisper, so unlike the loud shouts and screams that Keiji is accustomed to. But somehow, it fits Bokuto all the same. "For however long you need. Keiji, I promise. I've never met anyone like you, and I know—I know that I don't know a lot of things, but I don't think I'll meet anyone better than you."
And Keiji's throat has completely closed up, his limbs seem completely unwilling to move, so all he can do is just lamely sit there while Bokuto wraps his arms around Keiji's shoulders and holds him close.
His eyes carry all the warmth and splendor of stars, and as Keiji looks into them, he vaguely feels as though he could spend a lifetime without the stars in the sky.
These stars would be all he needed.
—
It has been an entire decade since his mama died.
Keiji tries not to think much about his mama or his papa, and it's gotten easier over the years. But that doesn't mean it hurts any less when he does think about them.
I should visit them, he thinks as he stares out the window. During winter break. I should go back to Kamakura. Visit their resting places.
Yukito. Momoko.
I should visit them as well. Their graves are here, somewhere in Tokyo. I could visit them. With Shima, maybe. Talk to them.
He sighs to himself as he gathers up his supplies for the day. The sky outside is dreary, matching his mood almost perfectly. As he approaches his window, the birds perched on the roof fly away. It looks like it's going to rain.
They died a very long time ago, he reminds himself. Mama died a very long time ago. It's been ten years since she left. She would not want you to mourn her forever.
Do you think your mama would be proud of the person you are today? the boy in the shadows asks. What would you know about what your mama wants and doesn't want? You barely even knew her.
SHUT UP. SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UP—
To say that Keiji is out of it during practice would be a severe understatement. Keiji doesn't think he's ever played so badly in his life. It gets so bad that Coach Yamiji steps forward, genuinely concerned for his mental state of mind.
"Akaashi," Bokuto says after practice once again, approaching him slowly, as though Keiji is a feral animal that will be scared off by any movements that are too fast or too sudden. "Is this...are you...because of me?"
Keiji shakes his head, biting back the venom that threatens to coat his tongue. No. It's not about you. Not everything is about you.
Ah, but you're a liar, the boy in the shadows says. Everything is about Bokuto-san.
"My mother died on this day," Keiji mumbles. "Ten years ago. I apologize. It is—never this bad when it comes to this time, but this year, I suppose the knowledge that it has been—ten years, I suppose it all became too much for me, and I—"
"Akaashi," Bokuto interrupts, horrified. "How many people have you known who have died?"
"Four. Four people whom I loved dearly all died." Keiji exhales a shaky breath, digging his nails into the meat of his palm. "And now you see, Bokuto-san, why I'm so afraid to love you. And I—I am sorry for that."
"Akaashi—"
I've said too much.
I've said far too much.
Keiji turns tail and runs away, as fast as his feet will take him. As he ascends up the stairs, to his dorm, heart pounding in his chest, he vaguely thinks—
I want to grow wings. I want to fly away. I want to go on a long journey far, far away from here.
I will be alone. It does not matter.
It is all I deserve.
Mama. Papa. Yukito. Momoko.
You can be enough to keep me company for the rest of eternity.
—
He doesn't remember stumbling into bed, falling asleep in his still-dirty gym clothes, but all he registers is pain. Physical pain. Like a blunt spike being hammered into his chest, cracking his heart like porcelain.
A long, long time ago, his mama told him about kintsugi. A crafting technique where if a pot is shattered, you could glue it back together with gold. The gold would shine through, would highlight every imperfection, would make it beautiful.
Keiji has always wondered, though. After a pot has gone through kintsugi, the imperfections in the pot would be the most noticeable thing about them. All eyes would be on the imperfections, and how they were fixed, and nobody would care about how the pot originally was. People would see how the flaws were overcome, without seeing what caused them in the first place.
The imperfections became the thing that made the pot beautiful. If the pot broke again, you could glue it back together with gold, again. Again and again and again.
Keiji wonders how long it would take, how many times the pot would have to break, until it was fully made of gold, with no trace of the original pot remaining. None of the original pot would remain, but that's fine, because it would be all gold, and everybody likes gold better. A new form of the ship of Theseus. If you replaced every bit of the pot, would it still be the same?
If I replaced every bit of myself with something better, something brighter, would I still be myself? I guess I wouldn't, because I'd better, I'd be brighter, and I'd be good.
I'd be like Bokuto-san.
Keiji wonders how many times he needs to break himself and put himself back together until he can finally be something good.
He thinks about Bokuto. He thinks about how Bokuto sees the world entirely in black and white, good and bad, how he adorns himself in the two colors, from his hair to his uniform, and how Keiji himself is not either of those, he is a million shades of swirling gray. There is no room for nuance in Bokuto's straightforward, easy way of thinking.
There would be no room for Keiji if Bokuto really knew who he is.
There's a quiet knock at the door, and the sounds of the door opening, and the sounds of the carpet rustling, and then—
"Keiji?"
No.
His bed creaks as a familiar weight sits down on it, gently pulling the blankets away from his face. The light is too bright—Keiji squints his eyes, turns away from it in the way wickedness shrivels at the sight of good.
"Are you okay? No—no, that's stupid. You're not okay, but—I..."
Bokuto sighs, and then Keiji feels the gentlest of touches card through his hair, untangling the knots that he couldn't have been bothered to do that morning.
"Fuck, Akaashi. Why didn't you ever tell anyone about this? I never knew you were hurting so much. If you...if I knew I could've...I don't know what I would've done, actually, I never think these things out properly, but..."
Once, the colors Keiji associated with him were black and white. That was his hair color. That was his uniform. That was his way of thinking: everything is either good or bad.
But Bokuto is not black and white.
His eyes are golden. He is golden.
And everything he sees is tinted a brilliant, brilliant gold. He sees the good in everything. Absolutely everything.
He sees the good in Keiji, and Keiji doesn't have it in him to tell him that he's being tricked, he's being lied to, he's insane for loving him.
And then Bokuto shifts once more, lifting the blanket and crawling underneath it with Keiji. He slowly, slowly wraps his arms around Keiji's shoulders and pulls him close, nuzzling his face into Keiji's hair.
"I don't know what you think of yourself, Keiji," Bokuto whispers. "Because you never talk about yourself. You're always...talking about me. Not that I don't like it when you talk about me, but...you're amazing too, Keiji."
Keiji thinks of kintsugi, and he thinks of a hold so tight that he may shatter into pieces. Bokuto hugs Keiji so tightly, he fears his spine may break in half. Right now, he wishes Bokuto would do exactly that. He wishes Bokuto would snap his bones in two, grind every muscle and organ down to mush, rebuild him into something better, something good. If anyone could do it, it would be Bokuto.
Akaashi Keiji wants so badly to be good.
If Bokuto says I am good, could I believe that he's telling the truth, just this once?
"What time is it?" he asks, suddenly keenly aware of how much time he's wasting just by lying here and allowing himself to be cuddling with Bokuto. He has studying to do, homework to complete, because the world did not stop when his mama died, and it will not stop just so he can grieve for a woman who died an entire decade ago.
"It's late, Keiji," Bokuto whispers, and Keiji finally opens his eyes to see a darkened sky outside his window. There are no stars shining brightly outside his window, but then he turns to face Bokuto, and oh, there are the stars. "Go back to sleep. I'm sorry if I woke you up."
"Don't be sorry," Keiji whispers back, and he wants to raise his hand and intertwine it with Bokuto's, but he is tired, and he is a coward. "I haven't slept well lately, anyway."
Bokuto laughs softly, and then forcibly closes Keiji's eyelids with a gentle pinch of his fingers. Keiji obeys.
And then—Bokuto begins singing.
It's soft, and low, and it's for Keiji's ears only. It sounds like a lullaby, something that Keiji might have heard in his childhood, or in a dream.
You really do have the voice of an angel, Keiji thinks as he drifts off to sleep.
Can you take me to heaven, Bokuto Koutarou? I do not deserve it, of course, but…
You make me feel like I do.
Notes:
— wa ha ha ha akaashi who thinks he doesn't deserve love is my favorite flavor of akaashi. no I'm not projecting at all what do you mean
— I'll put more notes here later when I get the time I have too many fucking school things to do
— scream at me about haikyuu on Tumblr
Chapter 7: the stadium (pt. 3) - 4
Summary:
"I cannot be captain," Keiji says quietly. "I am not nearly skilled enough to do that, Bokuto-san."
"You can call me Koutarou, Keiji."
Keiji's breath hitches in his throat.
"Bokuto-san, I—"
"I still love you, Keiji."
Oh no. Oh no. Ohhhh no.
Notes:
torturing akaashi has become my new favorite hobby lmao
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
They go to Nationals in January. It is day one, and while it should theoretically be the easiest day—
We are losing, ten to seven, Keiji thinks as Fukuroudani takes their first time out of the set. He hasn't been stuffed that badly yet, and he doesn't seem to be doing poorly. What's causing it this time?
In the distance, Keiji can hear the opposing team's cheers—
"Wow, things are going real well so far!"
"Everybody talked up that Bokuto guy, but he really isn't all that much!"
Ah. Perhaps that's why.
Bokuto mopes over to them, and Komi slaps Bokuto on the shoulder. "C'mon, what's wrong? Let's get fired up!"
"It's not fair..." Bokuto mumbles, and Komi's brows wrinkle in confusion. "I wanted to play in the main arena! The main arena is bigger...lots bigger!"
Keiji glances at his upperclassmen, all of whom look like they want to pass away on the spot. He glances back at his captain.
Bokuto-san's weakness number 6: He's a massive attention seeker.
"It's, like, lots and lots bigger, and there's way more people, and it's just not fair!"
Ah. We forgot about that. It was extremely hard to keep him motivated last year, because the majority of the crowd went home when we began playing, at seven in the evening. Bokuto-san’s weakness number 2: if the audience is quieter than he would like, he gets depressed.
But this year, we're playing in the middle of the day. Surely, it would be fine, right? Did letting him watch the Nekoma game come back to bite us?
Coach Yamiji lectures Bokuto, as Konoha says, "Whatever! He'll get back on track at some point, eventually. This happens all the time."
"Bokuto's almost never in top form through a whole game," Komi adds, nodding.
"You're all very assuring, senpais," Keiji says as he nods in agreement. Konoha and Komi squeal in unison: "Ooh! Say that again!"
That being said…
I need to find a way to boost his morale soon.
Behind him, Keiji can hear Washio assuring the first-years.
"Don't worry. We'll be fine. After all, we're the better team."
So they continue playing, with the rest of the team taking the spotlight from Bokuto.
"YEAH! YEAH! NICE KILL! WA-SHI-O!"
"Fukuroudani is slowly but steadily closing in on Eiwa. Even though their much-lauded ace, Bokuto Koutarou, has been almost a nonentity the whole game."
"Considering how much of their strategy was set to focus on stopping Bokuto, I'm sure Eiwa has to be very confused right now."
Keiji digs the other team's spike, passing it over to Konoha. "Konoha-san!"
"You got it!" Konoha jumps up, his hands raised up to spike the ball, and Keiji can see their opponents jump up, hands outstretched, anticipating a spike. At the last minute, Konoha makes an emergency set, sending the ball over to the other side of the court. "Saru!"
Sarukui spikes the ball, blasting it past the single blocker on the left side of the court. The crowd erupts into cheers: "YEAH! YEAH! NICE KILL! SA-RU-KU-I!!!"
"YEEEEEAAH!!" Konoha and Sarukui slap their palms against each other's. From behind them, Bokuto is looking on longingly.
Bokuto-san's starting to get antsy. It's almost time.
Eiwa takes their first time out. They are neck and neck, both at fifteen points.
"Bokuto-san," Keiji says as he steps in front of his captain. "If you think about it...we're playing in center court right now."
Bokuto raises an eyebrow, while Konoha and Sarukui stare at Keiji in confusion.
"Yes, the main arena is larger, and there are more people," Keiji continues. "But with four games going on simultaneously, only a quarter of them would be paying attention to us. However, we are the only ones playing in the sub-arena."
Keiji takes a step closer, staring up into his captain's eyes. "That means everybody here is watching you."
Bokuto perks up, while Konoha and Sarukui behind seem to say with their faces, Whoa, whoa. The number of people watching doesn't really change!
One more push!
Out of the corner of his eye, Keiji spots bright orange.
"Not only that," he declares, pointing over to the sidelines. "Your number one disciple has come to watch you!"
Bokuto turns around in surprise, and he sees—
"Ooh! He looked this way!" Hinata Shouyou is jumping up and down, holding the exact same Way of the Ace shirt Bokuto bought a year ago. "Bokuto-saan!"
To be honest, I don't really understand what goes on in Bokuto-san's head. At a glance, his concerns seem stupid. But to him, they are serious and important.
Akaashi Keiji, I know you're not judging your captain for having stupid concerns right now. You have no room to talk.
Shut up.
The game resumes, Bokuto now rejuvenated. Keiji sets the ball towards him with a shout, and Bokuto goes up against their opponents' triple block. There is a look of utter glee on his face, and Keiji thinks, please. Come on.
Shine.
Bokuto smashes through their defenses with ease. The ball lands right on the line, bouncing past the lone player in the back.
And the crowd goes wild. Bokuto turns to face their supporters, waving his hands and shouting with pure, unadulterated glee.
Only in the sub-arena are the crowds this close and their voices this loud.
"HEY, HEY, HEEEEY!!"
Their teammates echo Bokuto's shouts, and Keiji sighs in relief.
It all gets easier from here.
—
They win against Eiwa in straight sets, moving onto the second round.
"We're lucky Karasuno's squirt showed up when he did," Komi says, hands behind his neck as he walks. "Heck, good job spotting him out there."
"Yeah..." Keiji mutters, wiping the sweat from his brow. He's just grateful that they managed to get through the first round. This isn't the end.
"But even if he hadn't been there, it would've been okay," Sarukui says with a shrug. "All we'd need to do is invent some other catalyst."
"Y'know, Akaashi," Konoha says as he nudges Keiji in the side. "You can just ignore Bokuto's mood swings. Though—yeah, there are times when we do have to slap him back into shape, or we'd be in trouble."
"In the end, all I can do is bring out a small portion of Bokuto-san's potential," Keiji says quietly. "But..."
He glances over at the boy waving to the crowd, a smile of pure delight on his face. Keiji allows himself to smile as well.
"I think watching Bokuto-san when he's in perfect form is really fun."
His upperclassmen immediately break out into giggles.
"How 'bout you tell that to his face?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don't! It'll go straight to his head!"
As if summoned by their words, a heavy weight drops onto Keiji's shoulders, and there's shouts as Bokuto wraps an arm around Konoha's shoulders as well. "We did it, guys!" their captain cheers as they all stumble around, trying their best to find their way out of the gymnasium.
Keiji just laughs softly, allowing Bokuto to brush his palm with his fingertips.
You did it, he thinks through his haze. Bokuto-san.
—
They take round two against Morikawa easily, in back-to-back sets.
"Bokuto Koutarou strikes again from the left! And with that, Fukuroudani Academy advances to round three!"
"Whoa, lookit!" Bokuto shouts, awed, as he points to the tournament bracket. "Karasuno took down the Miya twins!"
Karasuno? Keiji thinks back to Hinata Shouyou, to Kageyama Tobio, their freakish quick attack, and he thinks—Yeah. That makes sense. But that doesn't make it any less of an impressive feat.
Miya Atsumu, number one high school setter. Well, luckily I won't have to go up against him.
"What, didn't you notice?" Konoha jeers, poking Koutarou in the side. "The crowd was going freakin' nuts over at court B."
"Nope!" Bokuto declares. "When I'm out on the court, I dunno and dun'care 'bout what's going on anywhere else."
Bokuto-san's weakness number 19: he gets distracted too easily unless he’s in a rare superfocused state. Well. I suppose that's not really a weakness, not if he was able to do so well today.
True, Bokuto did stay exceptionally focused during the whole of today's game. Though he had trouble getting dialed in for yesterday's game, once he clicked, he's been in excellent form. Perhaps I should—no. Let's not push things.
When I overthink things like this and start to get greedy, it leads to poor results down the road. I must remain methodical. Yes. Methodical.
Sixteen teams remain. Sixteen out of sixteen, where do we stand? Top ten out of sixteen? Top five out of sixteen?
Top one of sixteen?
AGH—I'm starting to think like Bokuto-san now. Keiji shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sarukui snickering at him. Whatever.
They head back to the hotel, but after dinner, Bokuto is nowhere to be found. Keiji wanders all over the hotel before finally walking out back to where the pool is, finding—
"I'm surprised to find you out here, Bokuto-san," Keiji says as he pulls his jacket more closely around him. "Aren't you going to watch the news coverage of our game?"
"Hm?" Bokuto asks as he turns around, hands on his hips. "I already saw it."
"Well, yes," Keiji says bluntly. "But I thought you would rewatch it at least a full hundred times."
"Geez, really?" Bokuto scoffs, a scandalized look on his face. "What kind of guy do you think I am, Akaashi?!"
He shrugs, turning his attention back up to the sky. Keiji looks up there as well. As expected, there are no stars, because Tokyo's light pollution is horrible.
"I mean, they didn't show me all that much anyway. Only twenty times was plenty."
He rewatched it twenty times…
Bokuto-san's weakness number 6: he’s a massive attention seeker.
"See..." Bokuto continues, still staring resolutely up at the sky. "I'm still gonna keep playing volleyball even after I graduate high school. Even though this is my last tournament with this team, nothing feels all that different about this time compared to all the others."
The boy takes one deep breath in, one deep breath out. "But, y'know? Looking back, I wish I'd gotten to play together with you guys a whole lot more."
Keiji can almost see the flashback montage occurring in his captain's head. Then he has a realization—
I wish I'd gotten to play together with you guys a whole lot more.
Wait. Wait, is he—
"Uh—" Keiji says quickly, stuttering over his words. "Bokuto-san? You aren't—going to die anytime soon, are you?"
And this is it. This is when he tells me he has some debilitating chronic illness, like cancer, or heart disease, or fucking Fatal Familial Insomnia.
"Huh?!" Bokuto shouts, aghast. "Heck no! I'm gonna live until I'm at least a hundred and thirty!"
Oh. Oh, thank God.
"Then why are you going on about all this?" Keiji asks. "It's only day two. There's still round three, the quarterfinals, the semi-finals, and then the finals. We have many games in front of us yet."
Bokuto doesn't refute any of this. He only says, with a look of determination—
"Yep. And we're gonna win them all."
He's so…
Amazing.
Answer his passion with your own.
"Let's hurry back inside," Keiji says, just now aware of how cold it is outside—well, no shit, it's January. "And please don't wander around in that thin shirt. You'll catch your death of a cold. The flu is going around. Don't—don't underestimate how vicious January can be."
"Huh?" Bokuto mumbles as Keiji rambles on. "What about January?"
"Nothing," Keiji sighs as he pushes his captain back into the warm hotel. "Don't worry about it, Bokuto-san."
"Okay!" Bokuto continues cheerfully on towards the elevator, before turning around and tilting his head. "Wait—Akaashi, is that my jacket?"
Keiji looks down at himself, startled, as he pushes the elevator button. "Uh—"
Because, yes, this is indeed Bokuto’s volleyball jacket. It is significantly bigger and baggier than his own, and Keiji must have grabbed it accidentally in his haste to get out of their shared hotel room and to wherever the fuck Bokuto wandered off to.
"Apologies," Keiji says, moving to unzip it and shrug it off. "I did not mean to steal it from you. Would you—"
"No, no!" Bokuto says, far too loudly and far too quickly. Behind him, the elevator opens, and the five people that are in the elevator stare at him as the two of them move to get out of their way. Keiji very awkwardly squeezes past them, sliding in his keycard and pressing the button for their floor number.
"You can keep wearing it, Akaashi," Bokuto says, after the elevator doors close, and they begin to rise, up to the third floor. He turns around, and he beams down at Keiji. "It looks cute on you."
Keiji can feel heat travel up his cheeks, his neck. Bokuto laughs a tiny bit before turning away.
He's going to kill me, Keiji thinks distantly as the elevator doors ding open and Koutarou struts out without a care in the world. Keiji is left staring after him, and he has to hurriedly scramble out of the elevator before the doors close on him. He's going to kill me if he keeps saying things like that.
—
Days later, Keiji gets to watch Kenma play against Shouyou.
My god, he thinks as he watches the seemingly never-ending rallies between Nekoma and Karasuno. They're really going at it. Besides him, Bokuto is cheering and whooping, clapping his hands and alternately cheering for Kuroo and Hinata. He goes at that for a little while longer before they have to leave for their own match.
They repeat the entire ordeal from the previous day. Luckily, this time proves to be smoother than the last, as they take their win against Matsuyama in two straight sets. Keiji turns around, facing the audience, and sees—
Nekoma. Karasuno.
"GUYS!!" Bokuto shouts, bounding towards the stands. When he reaches Kuroo, the two of them hug and slap each other on the back. He does the same with Kai, and then vigorously shakes hands with Yaku.
"Y'know, watching your game," Bokuto says, addressing Sawamura and Kuroo. "I told myself there's no way I could let you guys one-up me. I'm gonna play a game that'll make the crowd go even wilder than yours did."
Kuroo smiles grimly, and Sawamura copies him. Hinata, on the other hand, pops up out of nowhere and screeches, "BOKUTO-SAAAN! THAT LINE SHOT WAS SOOO COOOOOL!"
"YOO!" Bokuto screams back. "MY DISCIPLE!"
"I noticed your game went on for a very, very long time," Keiji says as he walks over to a noticeably exhausted Kenma.
"Yeah," Konoha says. "Like, every time I looked over, you guys were in the middle of some stupidly long rally."
"You're telling me," Kenma says flatly. "I wanna sleep."
Konoha just laughs. Keiji turns to Tsukishima, who has a disgruntled expression on his face, and says, "I saw you putting in quite a bit of effort too, Tsukishima. You were really flying."
"Huh?" Tsukishima asks, blinking in surprise. He looks at Keiji before glancing away in embarrassment. "Erm...anyway, I saw you won in straight sets again. I guess that's only to be expected."
"Bokuto-san looks to be in good form," Kenma remarks as they watch Bokuto prance around, trying to lift up Hinata bridal style.
"Yes, he is doing quite well," Keiji says fondly. "Better than I've seen him, actually."
"Ugh...and you guys have another game to play today, Shouyou," Kenma says, as Hinata comes running back over to them. "Why? Just...why?"
"Yeah!" Hinata pumps both his fists in the air. "Isn't it great?"
Kenma just stares at Hinata, while Hinata splutters and says, "Hey! What's with that look?!"
"Well yeah, bro." Karasuno's number five comes up behind them, a somber expression on his face. "Today's day three...hell day."
"What?" Hinata asks, shivering. "Hell day...?!"
"Yep," Keiji confirms. "For most of Nationals, you're only playing one game a day. But on day three, they cram in both round three and the quarterfinals. Right when you're starting to wear out from two days of intense playing, they throw back-to-back games at you. It's the roughest day in the schedule, so they call it hell day."
"Whoa, that's so cooool!" Hinata says in awe.
"Is it?" Keiji asks. "I always thought it sounded rather violent." He turns his head to find Kenma giving him a truly nasty side-eye. You liar, Kenma seems to be saying. You recommended me an anime about a magical girl getting her head eaten by a weird worm creature. Don’t talk about violence.
"They probably call it that because it's the sort of the name that resonates with the kids," Tsukishima snorts.
"Dammit, Tsukishima!" Tanaka yells. "That was uncalled for!"
"Uh, I meant Hinata."
"Two Nationals-level games on the same day," Kenma mutters. "It's insane."
"I agree," Tsukishima agrees.
"So who do you play next?" Kenma asks, turning to Keiji.
"Us? We're up against..." Keiji begins, before he's cut off by Bokuto's shouts of "YO, KIRYUU!!"
"...Mujinazaka," Keiji says as they watch Bokuto accost the team's captain. Keiji nods his head towards the person, a boy with a shaved head and very thick eyebrows. "That is one of Japan's top three high school aces. Kiryuu Wakatsu."
"Bokuto seems excited to play him."
"He's excited by everything," Keiji says, exasperated fondness filling his voice.
His passion never seems to waver. Not for anything.
Bokuto turns back to him and shouts, wrapping his arm around him and pulling him away. "Come on! I wanna eat lunch!"
And Keiji can never say no to Bokuto, so he smiles fondly once more at his captain before waving goodbye to Kenma.
"Woo!" Bokuto says as he slaps Keiji's back. "I'm so pumped for this, aren't you, Akaashi?"
Keiji just nods as their teammates pass them, debating what they should eat for lunch. When Keiji doesn't offer him a verbal response, Bokuto turns to him worriedly.
"Is something wrong, Akaashi?" he asks, hand falling off of his shoulder. "Do you need—"
Keiji shuts him up by grabbing his hand and intertwining their fingers, an uncharacteristic move on his part. He normally never touches anyone, but he's tired, and he's going to be playing another game soon, and so he takes Bokuto's hand. But Bokuto immediately shuts up, staring down at him in surprise.
"Nothing's wrong, Bokuto-san," Keiji says softly. And he looks up at Bokuto, and the stars in his eyes. "I was just thinking about how grateful I am, that I'm here with you."
And Bokuto smiles, ruffling Keiji's hair with his other hand.
"I'm glad I'm here with you too, Akaashi!"
—
Mujinazaka is a force to be reckoned with. Keiji watches their captain and ace, Kiryuu Wakatsu, as he solemnly walks out onto the court. He then looks at his own captain and ace, who is hopping around excitedly.
He is much better than Kiryuu, Keiji thinks as he surveys the scene before him. Despite what he looks like. Despite how Kiryuu-san is the number one high school ace in Japan, and how Bokuto-san is only number five.
Losing your faith? the boy in the shadows asks, crawling out of the darkness. Losing your faith in your precious Bokuto-san? Giving up so easily?
No. Keiji shakes his head as he watches the Mujinazaka players make their way onto the court. I believe in him. If anyone can do this, it will be him.
"AWRIIIGHT!" Bokuto screams as he runs out onto the court, his teammates pushing the ball cart behind him. "LET'S GO, GUYS!" He flings his jacket out behind him, and Keiji doesn't realize this fast enough, so he has to run out and scoop it off the floor. He turns, and he swears that Kenma's laughing down at him in the stands.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the boys' quarterfinal round of day three, here at the National spring tournament. Tokyo's second representative, Fukuroudani Academy, made the top eight at this past Inter-High...while their opponent, Oita's representative, Mujinazaka High School, went all the way to the top four of that tournament."
"We will be getting a clash of powerhouses this game. Both teams boast some of the top aces in the nation—Fukuroudani has Bokuto Koutarou, and Mujinazaka has Kiryuu Wakatsu. It seems likely that this game will treat us to a monumental battle between aces."
The announcers then go on to list out all of Kiryuu's and Bokuto's contrasting characteristics. Keiji can barely hear them over the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.
He thinks. He thinks about all the other setters that he's seen in action during the tournament—Kozume Kenma, Kageyama Tobio, Miya Atsumu. He thinks about Bokuto's words—
"And we're gonna win 'em all."
Keiji grits his teeth.
We can't lose. We are going to get past the quarterfinals. We are going to get past the semifinals. We are going to get past the finals.
We are going to win Nationals.
From beside him, he can hear his captain snickering. "Top five of five. Top three of five." Keiji glances towards him, confused, before he continues.
"That's too many!" Bokuto declares, and players from across the court turn to look at him as he raises his index finger to the sky. "I! AM GOING TO BE THE TOP ONE OF ONE!"
Keiji takes a moment to wonder why the boy he fell in love with is an absolute idiot.
"Top one of one..." Konoha mutters with a bewildered expression. "What? What's he talking about?"
"He's speaking Bokuto-ese," Sarukui snickers.
"He probably just likes the ring of the phrase 'top number of number'." Washio shrugs.
He wants to be number one. The one standing at the top.
They line up. They bow. They shout, "THANK YOU FOR THE GAME!"
"Going into this game, most folks are probably thinkin' Bokuto and Kiryuu are the only ones worth payin' attention to," Coach Yamiji says as they huddle around him. "The rest of you, though...you'd better go out there thinkin', 'I'm gonna play so hard, nobody will give Bokuto a second glance!' Got it? Good!"
"YEAH!" the entire team shouts, pumping their fists in the air.
"Izzat a challenge?!" Bokuto shouts, partly in excitement, partly in contempt. "I smell a challenge! You're on!"
The game starts. Mujinazaka's setter—Usuri—serves first. Konoha bumps it, passing it to Keiji.
Bokuto-san is in better shape than I've ever seen him. Best move is to put it up for him, taking advantage of his good mood while it lasts and giving the team a shot of momentum.
But—while I would normally do that...this is Nationals. Mujinazaka is almost certainly watching for exactly that.
Instead, let me use this opportunity...to catch them by surprise!
Keiji sets the ball for Onaga, allowing Bokuto to be fooled and jump up along with him, but—
"Yikes! Fukuroudani's very first attack is stuffed! All three of Mujinazaka's attacks reacted to the set perfectly!"
"Sorry!" Onaga screeches as his upperclassmen laugh and jeer at him.
"My apologies," Keiji says as he and Bokuto stare across the net. "I got carried away and overthought things."
"Nah!" Bokuto exclaims cheerfully. "When I saw you go over the center, it hit me why, and I was like, 'oh, I get it!'"
All he does is absolve me of guilt when I do not deserve it.
"Man, you can really tell we're in the quarterfinals of Nationals!" his captain shouts happily as he stares up at the ceiling. Keiji sees the stars in his eyes, and he knows—
We'll win this one. We have to.
Usuri serves again, but it goes out of bounds. Onaga goes up to serve next, and Kiryuu receives it. The ball goes over to Usuri, who puts it back up for Kiryuu.
Here he comes... Keiji puts his hands up, jumping along with Onaga and Bokuto.
As the ball bounces off Keiji's fingers, he realizes just why Kiryuu Wakatsu is the number one high school ace in all of Japan.
"Yeowch! What a spike! Kiryuu Wakatsu scores!"
Ow. He just blasted through a triple block like it was nothing. His raw strength is incomparable. Okay, focus. Focus.
You can't let this be the last game your upperclassmen play.
Bokuto screams, while their coach shouts at them to "cool it! Focus on timing!"
He plays with brute force. So does Ushijima-san. So does Bokuto-san. He may be the number one high school ace in Japan, but he is only human.
We'll figure a way around him. We always do.
—
They keep playing. Mujinazaka is always a couple steps ahead, despite Keiji's mind working overtime to figure out a way to catch up. No matter how bad the set he gets, Kiryuu somehow always manages to turn it into points.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—
Kiryuu Wakatsu is a force to be reckoned with—despite his enormous size and his playing style, he is incredibly adept at jumping, analyzing, and spiking. He jumps up to do yet another spike. Keiji watches the ball head for Bokuto, who's crouched down to receive it.
He can't dig it. He can't pass overhand. He can't—
And all of a sudden, Bokuto pops back up, and the ball bounces—
Off his chest?!
"Yeah!" Bokuto shouts in delight. "Good save!"
He said it himself?!
There's no time to ruminate on how the boy he loves may be an idiot but also kind of a genius, because Bokuto's calling for Washio, and Washio slams the ball past Mujinazaka's number two, bringing Fukuroudani's score to ten.
You're amazing, Bokuto-san—
Keiji's thoughts are immediately cut short after Kiryuu slams the ball down in a spike that nearly goes straight down. And then, to add insult to injury, Kiryuu also scores a service ace, aiming it directly at Bokuto. And then, if that wasn't enough—
My God, Keiji thinks as Bokuto receives Kiryuu's serve, sighing a bit as it goes out of bounds. That's a four point lead.
Okay. Bokuto-san has to deal with blockers when he's in the front, and then the servers when he's in the back. Focus. Focus.
How can I prevent him from breaking?
Mujinzaka's number four spikes the ball, and it deflects off of Onaga's fingertips. Sarukui keeps the ball in play with a single hand. Konoha makes an emergency set to Bokuto. Bokuto tries to spike. Bokuto gets blocked by that number four. Keiji tries to save the ball with a single hand, but it falls lamely to the ground. Keiji curses himself out for a good minute.
Mujinzaka is constantly putting one of their middle blockers in position to block Bokuto's line shot. They know his line shots have been good lately. We can't get around them.
What do I do?
No time to think. Onaga bumps the ball. Keiji sets it to Bokuto, calling, "Bokuto-san!"
Cross shot. Maybe if we go to the other side of the net, we can—
Their libero digs Bokuto's spike. Keiji grits his teeth, and he contemplates breaking down, right here, right now, in the middle of the court.
Five point gap. We have to lessen it, somehow, some way.
Sarukui bumps the ball, passing it over to Keiji. On both sides of him, Keiji sees Bokuto and Onaga jumping to spike the ball, and Keiji could put the ball up for either of them, but—
I need to take this into my own hands.
Our opponent has a considerable lead. Our ace's hits don't make it through...but this ace is in perfect form. If we could just get one point past them, one they'd least expect, it would change the momentum and start the counterattack.
His hand curves downward, and he hears—
"DUMP!"
Shit.
The ball, almost in slow motion, falls down at Keiji's feet. The scoreboard proudly displays—
Eighteen to twelve.
I got the opposing team another point.
I have more than one talented hitter on my side...but I took the ball out of their hands. The result? The opponent's point. A setter not just failing to score with a dump, but allowing the opponent to take the point instead?
That...is an unforgivable sin.
Okay. Okay. What am I doing? I need to calm down. Mujinazaka isn't at set point yet. We can still turn the tide.
I won't allow this to be the last game our third years play.
"Sorry. I got ahead of myself." Keiji heaves, shaking his head and turning to look up at his upperclassmen. He expects them to be looking down at him with disappointment—it's all he deserves right now, but—
"It's okay," Komi says cheerfully, clapping his hands. "Let's go get that ball back."
They still have faith in me.
Completely misplaced faith.
Mujinazaka drops the ball into their court, barely crossing the net and forcing Bokuto to bump it. Keiji puts the ball up for Onaga, but—
It's low.
"Hit the tape!" Mujinazaka's number four shouts as the ball bounces off the net. The ball comes back up, and—
It's so high.
Mujinazaka's number four spikes the ball, but Konoha—jack-of-all-trades, indeed—digs it. Keiji puts the ball, up, up, up—
The sound of the ball hitting Mujinazaka's court has never been more welcome.
"NICE KILL!" the crowd screams, and Keiji breathes a sigh of relief.
There's still hope.
They prepare for the next rally. Keiji watches as Mujinazaka's blockers race towards the left side of the court, and he watches as the ball flies towards Bokuto. He raises his arms up, jumps, and Keiji can see the stars in his eyes.
The cut shot is a thing of beauty, landing just next to Mujinazaka's libero. He doesn't even have time to react to it.
"These last three years, I've been the team's ace." Bokuto addresses all of them as he faces the net. "Thanks to all you guys. But in a few days, I'm gonna have to say goodbye to you all."
And then he turns to face all of them, and Keiji sees—
Gratitude.
"So it's about damn time I became the team's ace—period."
Keiji is reminded of why Bokuto became their captain—he is the best player out of all of them, that is an irrefutable fact. But he did not become captain for solely that reason—he became captain because he has an unparalleled and unrivaled love for this game.
I'm grateful I have to have the opportunity to even stand next to you.
"Wow! What a shot! That landed right in front of the attack line!"
And as if Bokuto suddenly remembers who he is, he immediately spins around and screams, "HEY! HEY! HEEEY!! LET'S GO! LET'S GOOOO!!" He gestures to the crowd, then to his teammates, curling his fingers towards himself. "DON'T GET LEFT BEHIND, GUYS!"
Keiji then watches all of his teammates prance around, hooting and hollering along with Bokuto. All he does is chuckle to himself, turning back towards the net.
Well. Perhaps that was a bad idea, because he comes face to face with Usuri and Kiryuu, who are eyeing him, watching his every move.
Watch me, Keiji thinks as he quickly turns away. Watch me, and pay no mind to Bokuto-san.
After that, Fukuroudani begins racking up point after point. They crawl their way up to fifteen, then sixteen, then seventeen. Bokuto's high spirits have infected the other team, and everybody goes wild when he lands a perfect service ace within bounds.
"Ladies and gentlemen! There's just no stopping Bokuto Koutarou today!"
"Amazing," Keiji whispers reverently as he stares at his captain's back. "As always."
The score is twenty to eighteen. Bokuto is on his second serve. There is still hope.
Bokuto serves, but the ball gets received. The ball gets put up for Kiryuu, and Keiji grits his teeth. He's the only player on the right side of the court, and so he's the only one who can dig the spike that's coming towards him—
The ball ricochets off his wrists, leaving them stinging. The shouts of Kiryuu's name reverberate through Keiji's head as he grinds his teeth together.
There is no hope.
Get back up, Keiji thinks as he briefly meets Bokuto's gaze. Get back up. Do better.
Do better.
Don't get left behind.
Despite Keiji's blatant mistake, his teammates keep zipping around the court, as though they've all been infected by Bokuto's enthusiasm. Komi bumps the ball, but it drifts far too close to the net, and Keiji rushes to position himself properly.
Don't get left behind. Keep the ball alive, no matter what.
His hands almost seem to tremble as he sets the ball to Washio, and Keiji's heart lifts in relief as his spike blows past the blockers—
FWEET!
Oh, shit.
The referee makes eye contact with Keiji, moving his hand up and down.
My hand was in contact with the ball for too long.
Mujinazaka is at twenty-two points now.
Bokuto is screaming in frustration. Washio tells Keiji to "shake it off" and Komi tells Keiji, "it's okay!" Keiji apologizes profusely as he curls his hands into fists. He can’t afford to get lost in his thoughts now, not at such an important time. He tries to focus on the sensation of his nails digging into his palm, trying to let the pain anchor him, but—
Crap, this is bad. I have to put it behind me. Shake it off, shake it off, like Washio-san said. Don't let it show. Focus. I can't let my mind keep going in this direction. It's pointless. Stop. Stooooop.
If only I was like Kageyama or Miya Atsumu.
Yeah, the boy in the shadows agrees. If only you were good like them.
I SAID STOP.
Why are you even here? Why are you standing on the court, when all you've done is flub plays and allow the opposing team to score? Hell, you've delivered points to them on a silver platter, multiple times.
SHUT UP. FUCK YOU.
What do you suppose Bokuto-san's thinking of you right now?
SHUT THE FUCK UP SHUT THE FUCK UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP—
"Hey, Akaashi?" Bokuto says, his voice so soft. It's as though those two quiet words are enough to slice through all the chaos and noise racing through Keiji's head. "If you aren't feeling good, go sit for a bit."
I'm getting benched.
My purpose has been exhausted.
"Ah," Bokuto says as Coach Yamiji makes the gesture for player substitution. Besides him, Anahori is holding the sigh, looking as eager as ever. "There. See?"
"I'm sorry..." Keiji tries to say, but Bokuto cuts him off.
"Listen," Bokuto says quietly. "You aren't thinking this is some kind of 'we can't afford to lose it' game, are you?"
Keiji looks up abruptly, meeting Bokuto's gaze. His captain snaps his fingers, and says, "Ooh, bull's-eye!"
Keiji very briefly—very briefly—wonders if he would get benched for the rest of the game if he completely snapped and began screaming at his captain.
Don't you love him? Do you think these are the kinds of thoughts you should be having about the boy you love?
I love him, but that doesn't mean I can't be annoyed with him.
"But y'know?" Bokuto asks, shrugging. "When have we ever played a game we could afford to lose?"
And with that, Bokuto claps Keiji on the back, beaming down at him, and Keiji takes his walk of shame over to the bench.
How can he still smile at me? I lost us so many points. I could've cost us the set, and yet…
He doesn't care.
Distantly, he hears Konoha shouting at Bokuto for being so insensitive, and then he hears Bokuto say—
"He'll get his head straight and be his old self in no time. I mean, this is Akaashi we're talking about."
How can he say such nice things about me?
I don't deserve any of it.
Keiji sits there, hands on his thighs as he stares at his teammates. Keiji lasts a single minute before—
Worthless, pathetic little—
"AAAAAAUGH!"
He can't take this anymore. He should just be struck down by lightning, right here, right now. He drops his face into his hands, screaming into them as he curls into himself. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyelids until he sees colorful, swirly things in the dark.
God's not real, because if He was, He'd just kill me, because that's all I deserve right now. I should just sink down into the ground and just disappear. I should just explode into a thousand tiny little pieces. Ohhhh God.
He stays like that for a minute longer, until Coach Yamiji says, "Akaashi."
Okay. You can't do this right now. You need to pull yourself together. You're not going to spontaneously drop dead, so don't act like it. Respond appropriately to your coach.
So Keiji pops back up, slapping his hands against his thighs, and says, "Sir."
His coach looks at him strangely for a second until he waves his hand towards the enormous banner on Fukuroudani’s side. "Our banner says, 'give each play your all.' What do you think that means?"
It's a no-brainer for Keiji. "I think it means exactly what it says, sir. Every player must give their best effort on every play."
Coach Yamiji nods his head. "Sounds like a muscle-head kind of phrase, doesn't it?"
A muscle-head phrase? Keiji thinks. I mean...I guess? It's a rather simplistic phrase, one that Bokuto-san likes quoting.
"But you know? It actually has a much more rational meaning." Coach Yamiji looks at the court. "Right now we have eighteen points—ah, nineteen. What's the next big thing we have to focus on? Getting twenty points, right?"
Yesterday's game. Today's game. Round one of the preliminaries. Our practice games.
When have we ever played a game we could afford to lose?
Never, right?
From his position on the bench, the only thing Keiji can do is observe. He observes the flow of his teammates' movements. He observes Anahori, and how he looks just as stressed as Keiji felt a couple minutes ago. But Anahori shouts for help—in the way that Keiji almost never does unless he absolutely has to—and Konoha runs to his assistance.
"HEY, HEY!" Bokuto shouts, waving his hand. "GIVE IT HERE!"
And through the chaos of the game, Keiji can very clearly hear Konoha say:
"Nah. Don't wanna."
He then sets the ball to Sarukui, leaving Bokuto to splutter in surprise. Sarukui scores, and he and Konoha slap their palms together. Bokuto comes running towards them, shouting, "YEAH, GREAT KILL!"
"This, folks. This is what makes Fukuroudani so good! They aren't just Bokuto-kun."
We're at twenty points now. We got that point without the help of me or Bokuto-san. Konoha sets well, and Sarukui spikes well.
Sitting here, on the outside of the court...I can see so much more.
Standing out there among them, playing together with them...without even realizing it...I had started to think that I was actually equal to them.
And...perhaps even worse than that...I had believed that I controlled Bokuto-san. That because I was the one who was able to manage his moods the best, I was the one who dictated his actions.
Hah. How utterly presumptuous of me.
Coach Yamiji and Suzumeda begin whispering to each other behind his back after he thinks that. Oops, did I say that part out loud? Whoops.
Keiji stares at Bokuto's as he cheers for their teammates. Me, affect the flow of the game? No. That is far beyond the likes of me.
I am nothing.
The boy in the shadows speaks up. Yeah, you are nothing–
Shut the fuck up. I don't mean it like that—not like that I don't matter. I do matter. I do matter. I matter, but the game's outcome does not rest on my shoulders alone. There are dozens of other factors.
Nobody can play alone. I have an amazing team by my side.
I have Bokuto-san by my side.
Mujinazaka takes the first set, and Yamiji-san glances towards Keiji. "Feeling up to it?"
Keiji hesitates before speaking, trying his best to sort all of his thoughts out. "When going up against stars, all I can do is what I always do. Provide a steady and reliable supply."
Like in yesterday's game. Like in the prelims. Like during practice.
Keiji inexplicably feels himself smiling as he looks back at his coach. Yamiji-san gives him a reassuring smile back. "That much, I am confident I can manage."
As he turns his attention back to his team, he hears—
"Psst! What did any of that mean?"
"Don't ask me! I have no clue!"
Oops. Keiji distantly thinks that he says a lot of weird stuff, just like Bokuto, he's just more quiet about it. He makes his way back onto the court, bowing deeply to his teammates. "Sorry!"
The only response he gets is an enthusiastic whoop. Bokuto slaps him on the back, then Konoha, then the rest of them. Keiji looks up at Bokuto, and Bokuto beams down at him, and he says—
"Knew you'd figure it out real fast!"
Task focus.
The end result of a game. The referees' judgments. The actions of the opponent. These are things outside of any one player's control. What a player can control...is their own thoughts and actions.
The important things to keep in mind...are 'what can I do next?' and 'what should I do next?'
Focus on the play in front of you.
Give each play your all.
The ball gets past his block. Konoha passes it back to him, but it's too long.
Kageyama probably could have set this, Keiji thinks, remembering the Karasuno versus Inarizaki game. But…
Forget the envy. Forget the admiration. Those have no place here in the middle of a game.
Oh, but— the boy in the shadows attempts to speak up, but Keiji shuts it down.
Those thoughts have no place here. You have no place here.
Leave me alone.
Keiji hits the ball into Mujinazaka's number four's hand, sending it into a rebound. He glances back towards Konoha, trying his best to say, easy-to-set passes, please.
I'm not presumptuous for asking this. I'm not, right?
Konoha just nods in determination. Yessir.
"GO AGAIN, GO AGAIN!"
Keiji watches the ball fly back towards him, this time at a much more manageable distance. Onaga is right beside him, and he can see Mujinazaka's blockers crouched in anticipation for his spike.
Sorry, Keiji thinks as he sets the ball. Not for you.
The ball soars towards Bokuto on the left side of the court, and Keiji can see the stars in his eyes shine. Mujinazaka doesn't stand a chance.
"Nice kill," Keiji says, amidst the sound of the ball hitting the ground and the shouting of all of their supporters. Bokuto is crouching down, pumping his fists into the air, but at Keiji's voice, he springs back up.
"Yep!" he shouts in satisfaction. "Your sets are the best!"
Keiji can't quite keep the smile off of his face as he says—
"Thank you."
Less than ten seconds pass between a point and the next serve. There's no time to waste regretting earlier mistakes or lamenting the current score. Analyze the opponent's present rotation and prepare for how they might attack us.
Only think about what I can and should be doing.
Konoha dinks the ball, forcing Kiryuu to dig it. Kiryuu's contained. They can't attack from the left. Given those parameters, the most likely play they'll choose is…
Over the middle!
Keiji quickly gets into position to dig the spike, and sure enough, the ball deflects off of Washio's fingertips before coming straight at him. Washio outclasses the two blockers in height alone, so his spike goes straight over their heads. Their libero has no choice but to send the ball back over, straight into Bokuto's awaiting hands.
"WOOOO!" Bokuto screams as the crowd goes wild. He bumps shoulders with Konoha, then runs over to Coach Yamiji to bump chests with him.
He's so stupid.
I love him so much.
The entire crowd is cheering for him, Keiji thinks as Bokuto goes up to serve. Good.
It's what he deserves.
The entire crowd also then begins clapping a beat for Bokuto. Which is—well—
I really hope they don't do that to me, Keiji thinks, already feeling anxious at the thought. But for Bokuto-san, any cheering at all will have him riding high.
To him, it must feel as though the whole world is cheering him on.
And evidently, all the cheering does help, as Bokuto scores a perfect service ace, granting them set point.
"Well, well! It looks like more than just Fukuroudani's cheering squad is getting in on the act. It's as if the entire crowd has become Fukuroudani fans!"
"YEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHH!!" Bokuto screams as he waves at all of their supporters. From behind him, Keiji can't help but laugh softly. He laughs even more at the slightly panicked look on Kiryuu's face.
Bokuto's second serve is equally as powerful, but Mujinazaka receives it. Kiryuu attempts a spike, but Keiji, Bokuto, and Washio all jump up to block it.
The sound of the ball hitting the ground should not fill Keiji with so much relief, but it does.
Set two taken, twenty-five to twenty-two.
"That will do it for set two. Fukuroudani had some trouble getting going in set one...but it looks like they're warmed up and firing on all cylinders now."
There's still hope.
—
There is no hope. Kiryuu comes out with a spike so powerful, it makes Keiji's fingers hurt and it sends the balls flying over to where the camera crew are.
Bokuto-san just hit that spike into the net. Twelve to twelve, Keiji thinks. Neck and neck. Oh my God, I'm tired.
"Boy, am I tired!" Bokuto shouts, echoing Keiji's thoughts perfectly. "Who knew that volleyball could be tiring?!"
No, duh! Keiji thinks as he stares at his captain. Bokuto-san, I love you, but please do not say such inane things on national television!
They keep playing. Bokuto gets an emergency set from behind him, and a triple block to the front of him. With nowhere to go, he has to rebound it off of their blockers' fingers.
"AGAIN!" Bokuto screams. "GO AGAIN! GIMME A GOOD ONE, AKAASHI!"
I don't think he's thinking 'I want to score' or 'I hope to score'. It's Bokuto we're talking about here.
He's thinking 'I will score'.
And sure enough, Bokuto does score—with a dink.
"A dink!! Bokuto Koutarou tips it just barely over the net!" He caught Mujinazaka completely flat-footed!"
And despite the exhaustion bubbling up inside of him, Keiji lets out a very tired laugh.
"YEAH! YEAH! NICE KILL!" their cheerleaders scream as Bokuto hops around with Konoha and Komi in triumph. "BO! KU! TO!"
You really are amazing, you know that?
Mujinazaka fumbles one of their sets, but Kiryuu still manages to hit it. Komi saves it, and then Sarukui retaliates with a perfect line shot. Fukuroudani is in the lead, twenty-one to nineteen. Mujinazaka takes their second time-out of set three.
"HEY, HEY, HEEEY!" Bokuto shouts as he runs over to their area. "LET'S GO, LET'S GOOO!"
Onaga, it seems, has become the most infected by Bokuto's enthusiasm. He eagerly compliments Komi's save, then Sarukui's line shot.
"The way Akaashi set that ball made it the easiest thing in the world to hit," Sarukui says dismissively as he chugs his water.
"Thank you. I simply did what I always do." Keiji wraps his towel around his neck more tightly. "Do you really gotta brag about it?"
"Man, you sure do put a lot of pressure on a guy, Akaashi!" Bokuto plants his hands on his hips, nodding approvingly at Keiji. "You're like, 'this is as far as I go, dude. I did my best. Now what about you, huh?' Ya know?"
"I can only do what I can do," Keiji says tiredly. "Nothing more."
"Yeah, but y'know?" Bokuto smiles down at him. "Giving a hundred percent of your all in a game is hard. Not everybody can pull it off."
And then Coach Yamiji is giving them directions to be snappier with their blocks, to not back down on serves, and to stay aggressive. Bokuto gives Keiji a slap on the back before running out onto the court.
All Keiji can do is chase after him.
Twenty-two to twenty. We're in the lead. We're so close.
There's still hope.
Bokuto gets knocked flat onto his back by Kiryuu's serve. The ball comes sailing towards Keiji, and he raises his hands in reflex.
Who do I use? I can entrust the ball to anyone. Sarukui, Washio, Konoha.
And then, out of the corner of his eyes, Keiji sees gold. Bokuto, from his position in the back, is jumping up as well, hands outstretched.
Wha?! Bokuto-san is making an approach? But he did a full back roll on that bump. An up tempo...wait, and this would be a back row set! Back row set???
Should I stick with the front left? Maybe the less defended right? Or be bold and go straight up the middle? Should I take advantage of Bokuto-san's momentum? Wouldn't he be more effective as a decoy? What's the possibility of missing? What are the other side's blockers seeing? Does it look like shit to them?
AUUUUUUUUUUGH!!!
I can't overthink this. I need to have faith in Bokuto-san.
I want to try it.
So Keiji sets the ball to Bokuto, and it curves in a perfect arc. Bokuto blasts it past the blockers, but gets bumped by Kiryuu, and the ball flies all the way back across the net. Komi makes a furious dive for it, and Keiji thinks—
I made the wrong decision.
But then the whistle blows, and he hears—
"OUT!"
Oh, thank God.
"YEAH! YEAH! NICE KILL! BO! KU! TO!"
The excitement gets to Keiji as well, and he screams Bokuto's praises along with the rest of his teammates.
So close. So close. Come on. Come on.
Don't get left behind.
Twenty-three to twenty-one, Fukuroudani lead. Twenty-four to twenty-one, Fukuroudani set and game point. Twenty-four to twenty-two, Mujinazaka's creeping up on us.
Usuri serves. Konoha bumps the ball, passes it to Keiji. Keiji sets the ball. Onaga jumps to spike. Out of the corner of his eye, Keiji sees Bokuto jump as well, and—
There's no time to overthink. Focus on what's in front of you.
Give each play your all.
The ball hits the floor. Which side of the floor? Keiji doesn't know, until the whistle blows, and he hears—
"YEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!"
And suddenly, Keiji's running towards Bokuto, crashing into him. Konoha bumps into him after that, then Komi, Sarukui, Washio, Onaga.
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my fucking God.
We won. We won.
Keiji looks up at Bokuto, and he breathes out a sigh of relief.
We won because we all gave our all.
They line up. They shout, 'THANK YOU FOR THE GAME'. They shake hands. They stumble out into the hallway.
The rest of his teammates head towards the locker rooms, but Keiji stumbles, hesitates, and then collapses on a bench. He shuts his eyes closed, clasps his hands together, pressing them into his forehead, breathes heavily. Almost as though he's praying, though he hasn't done that in a very long time.
That terrified me...! Though it wasn't likely I would be the sole cause of our loss, it wasn't unthinkable that...my failures would be the push that started the slide downhill.
"Hey, Akaashi!" Bokuto's voice pierces through all his thoughts, and he looks up in alarm. "You reflecting on the game? Or regretting things? If you're just reflecting, I won't bug ya!"
"I'm only..." Keiji shrugs, but Bokuto walks over to him anyway, jabbering the entire time.
"So yeah!" Bokuto sits down next to him, leaning on his palms. "You rebounded real good there at the end! You were totally flailing like a rookie at the start, though!"
You could say it a little more nicely...!
"I allowed myself to get distracted by unnecessary thoughts," Keiji manages to say. He distantly thinks that he may cry.
"You know what did it?" Bokuto asks. "Great! You'll be fine, then. Now you know how to fix it next time."
He has so much faith in me. Why does he have so much faith in me?
Do I deserve it?
And as Keiji stares up at Bokuto, he thinks—
Yes. Yes, I deserve it.
"Yes...!" And Keiji's actually starting to cry now. Bokuto laughs in satisfaction, clapping Keiji on the back.
Ohhh God, this is embarrassing. Okay. Okay. Stop crying in front of Bokuto-san. Say something constructive.
"Bokuto-san, you said that the Karasuno versus Nekoma game greatly affected you, right?"
"Hm? Yeah!" Bokuto's responses are as simplistic as ever. "Man, that game got me so hyped!"
"It's all right when it's a good game, because it affects you in a good way..." Keiji chokes out. "But what if the game we watched beforehand was a sloppy, slogging mess? What then?"
Bokuto opens his mouth, presumably to ask a question, but Keiji barrels ahead. "You need to fix that habit of letting any little thing sway you...and...and instead set up a solid and reliable pregame routine that will put you in the right frame of mind every time!"
Eesh. You're one to talk, considering your pregame routine is overanalyze everything.
Shut up.
"Um..." Bokuto says, brows scrunching together in worry. "Sure thing." Keiji is now a hundred percent sure Bokuto is going to do the complete opposite of this.
"Anyways!" Bokuto leaps to his feet. "That back row set there at the end sure felt perfect! It was so much fun!" After a brief pause, during which Bokuto cocks his head to the side to think, he adds, "Even though Kiryuu managed to dig it!"
"I'm glad that it worked, yes..." Keiji says, pulling out his travel packet of tissues and blowing his nose. "But during games, I think we need to rely exclusively on plays that we've already tried and mastered in practice."
"But you use what happens in games as feedback to fine-tune and improve practices," Bokuto says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "That's what we do all the time!"
And Keiji finds that he can't quite give a response to that.
Feedback. Using prior play to improve future play. Taking what used to be terrifying and transforming it into something fun.
The boy I love may be an idiot, but he can also say some very smart things sometimes.
"Okay!!" Bokuto says as they head back out to their teammates. "Tomorrow's the day, guys! Tomorrow we are gonna dig every spike and score on every hit!"
"Every one of them is—" Keiji tries to say, but Bokuto spins around in triumph.
"Aha!" Bokuto crouches down, pointing at Keiji in rapid succession. "There it is! I knew you'd say that, Akaashi! But guess what!"
Keiji stares down at his captain, before giving him a slow nod to continue.
"I've thought about it real hard, and today I've got a counter-argument!" Bokuto pops back up, beaming down at him. "It's not impossible, it's just hard!"
And for the second time in five minutes, Keiji finds that he does not have a response to that either. All he can do is chuckle, smile, and say:
"Good point."
Bokuto snaps his fingers, then ruffles Keiji's hair and smiles before running off. "AWWRIIIIGHT! We're gonna keep winning, guys!"
And then he dashes off, leaving his team to try their best to keep up.
Don't fall behind, Keiji thinks as he picks up the pace to catch up to his captain. Bokuto perks up, wrapping his arm around Keiji's shoulders and digging his knuckles into his scalp.
He smiles, and Keiji looks into his eyes and sees that they're burning, bright, and beautiful.
Maybe the brightest of stars aren't so untouchable after all.
—
They win.
They lose.
They get past the semi-finals, past Inubushi. They get to the finals, and they face Ichibayashi. They get all the way to the finals of Nationals, and they lose.
It's a feeling of despair unlike anything that Keiji has ever felt before. Even when they're on the court, on national television, in front of an entire crowd of supporters, accepting the second-place medals, Keiji still has the audacity to think—
It was my fault.
Logically, he knows that it wasn't his fault. It is nobody's fault. Nobody plays volleyball by themselves, and so they all shoulder part of the blame for the failure. Akaashi Keiji overthinks, Bokuto Koutarou has mood swings, and they and the rest of Fukuroudani are only human. They all have their limits, after days of doing nothing but play volleyball and practice.
And yet, the boy in the shadows continues to come back, whispering:
Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.
"I want you all to know that I am immensely proud of you," Coach Yamiji says in their hotel room, Shirofuku and Suzumeda by his side. Both girls are crying, wiping their tearstained cheeks. Coach is not crying, but his face is red. "We came in the top three schools in the nation. That is no easy feat. I want you to look around, at your teammates, and realize just how far you have gotten."
Coach Yamiji continues on, but all of Keiji's thoughts have turned to white fog. All he can do is stare straight ahead, clenching his fists, feeling how his nails dig into his palms. Besides him, Bokuto is staring down at his silver medal, biting at his lip and rubbing his thumb over the metal.
Second place. We are in the top three—the top two—in the nation. We brought home silver for Fukuroudani. We could have brought home gold. If only. If only…
I still have a year to go. I still have a year to get Fukuroudani to first place. But my senpai…
My senpai will have to graduate with the knowledge that they barely missed number one.
Number two. Second place. Silver medal.
That's all they'll think they'll ever be, but that's not true. They're amazing. Every single one of them is.
And that was the last ever high school game they'll ever play.
Coach Yamiji and their managers leave their hotel room, and all of the Fukuroudani men's volleyball club members look around, staring at each other.
Staring at their captain.
Bokuto doesn't say anything as he hefts his silver medal in his hands, standing up and making his way to stand before all of them. After a second, Keiji realizes that all eyes are on him as well, because he is vice captain, and so he follows after his captain on shaky legs.
"Well." Bokuto inhales, then exhales, holding out his medal. "We lost."
Yes, we did, Keiji thinks. You have quite the way with words, Bokuto-san.
"We lost, and there's no other way to say it," Bokuto continues. "But..."
And then Bokuto trails off, and then Keiji almost speaks up, but then Bokuto blinks, and Keiji sees the fire in his eyes.
Like stars.
"We can't sit around feeling sorry for ourselves forever, right? We got a medal." Bokuto holds up his medal, causing everyone else to look down at their own. "We got all this way. And—honestly? Even after all of that, I'm glad I did it all with you guys. Because you guys are the best team ever."
Konoha chokes, whipping his head down towards the floor, and Keiji thinks once again, you have quite the way with words, Bokuto-san.
"We don't suck as a team. We're one of the best goddamn teams in the entire country! So what if we got second place?" He turns around pointing at Keiji, and Keiji startles back. "All that means is that next year, Akaashi and the others can take this team to first. And we'll get to watch them and cheer them on."
And the rest of the team slowly begins to follow Konoha's example. The third-years start first—Komi, then Sarukui, even Washio. Onaga and Anahori and the rest of the first-years follow after.
Keiji stares straight ahead, holds back his tears, and tries not to follow their example.
"So! We get a couple hours left until we gotta go back home!" Bokuto punches his fist into his palm. "We can use it to lie around and cry and feel sorry for ourselves. Or we can use it to hit the streets and celebrate our last high school game ever!"
Silence, at first. And then—
"HELL YEAH!" Konoha shouts, pumping his fist into the air. "Oh—shit, sorry, I didn't mean to scream—"
The rest of the Fukuroudani men's volleyball club let out a shout, and Bokuto startles back. But then he grins, tips his head back, and laughs.
"Hey, hey, HEEEEEEEY!!"
All Keiji can do is laugh quietly along with him, because even in defeat, Bokuto Koutarou still manages to shine.
—
They go out for dinner, and it is great. Never once does Bokuto mope during it, nor does Keiji succumb to his anxious thoughts. It feels too good to be true.
Because it is too good to be true.
"Bokuto-san," Keiji says as they make their way back to their hotel room, the one they've been sharing by themselves for the entire week. Bokuto does not say anything as he jams the key card into the card reader repeatedly. Finally, the door swings open, and Bokuto heads straight for the desk.
He curls into himself, making himself as small as possible. He tucks his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs and burying his face so that Keiji can't see it.
And then Bokuto Koutarou, radiant star that he is, begins crying.
"Bokuto-san," Keiji repeats himself as he slowly begins approaching the desk. He kneels down, placing a hand on Bokuto's shoulder as gently as he can. "It's okay."
"It's not okay, Keiji." Bokuto's voice is shaky, almost a whimper. "I'm our captain. I'm supposed to lead us to victory. And I...let us down."
"This wasn't anyone's fault," Keiji says as he kneels down to sit next to his captain. "We all share responsibility for the blame. All we can do is do better next time."
"But we were close," Bokuto whispers. "We were so close."
"We..."
"It's not fair, Keiji. We—we practiced so hard!" Bokuto is now breaking down into tears, and Keiji leans forward hesitantly. "And we still couldn't do it!" He hiccups, clenching his arms and choking out his words.
“I couldn’t do it.”
Bokuto-san's weakness number 1: he carries the burden of defeat so nobody else on the team has to.
We were. We were so close, but we still weren't able to make it. Was this fate? Was this coincidence?
Life's not fair. Either you lay down and die, or you get over it.
Keiji doesn't know what to say. Maybe there's nothing to say.
"Bokuto-san," Keiji whispers. "Look at me."
And so Bokuto turns his head, revealing his red, tear-streaked face. Keiji presses his hand to his captain's cheek, wiping away his tears with his thumb. He very awkwardly crawls his way underneath the desk—which was definitely not made to accommodate two teenage boys that are six feet tall. This is proven when both of them bump their heads against the desk, and Keiji swears like a sailor in his pain.
"Akaashi!" Bokuto squawks, immediately moving out from under the desk and dragging Keiji along with him. "Are you alright?!"
"I'm perfectly fine," Keiji says, taking very careful note of how Bokuto is now holding onto him, wrapping his arms around Keiji's shoulders and pulling him close to his chest. Keiji stares straight ahead at the wall and attempts to not spontaneously combust on the spot.
"You were an amazing captain," Keiji says to the wall. "And you carried us all the way to the finals of Nationals. That is no easy feat, Bokuto-san."
"I wasn't the best, I know that much," Bokuto says miserably, and Keiji twists his head to look at him. "I think...I think you made a better captain than me."
"That's completely untrue, Bokuto-san. I cannot encourage the team nearly as well as you."
"But you're smart, Akaashi, like, really smart! You're gonna make a really good captain next year!"
He's already decided that...I will be captain?
No. No, I cannot become captain, that is far too much responsibility, everybody will be depending on me, and there is no way I could ever fill Bokuto-san's shoes.
"I cannot be captain," Keiji says quietly. "I am not nearly skilled enough to do that, Bokuto-san."
"You can call me Koutarou, Keiji."
Keiji's breath hitches in his throat.
"Bokuto-san, I—"
"I still love you, Keiji."
Oh no. Oh no. Ohhhh no.
He still loves you, huh? The boy in the shadows makes his appearance once again. He still loves you, and isn't that terrible?
"It's been a month since I told you," Bokuto says triumphantly, smiling through his tears. "And I still love you! See? I told you that it wasn't just a crush!"
"I don't think it's that simple," Keiji tries to argue, but his arguments fall short in the face of Bokuto's smiling face. Because I still love you too, but there are only so many months before you graduate. Once again, I am too little, too late, and now it would be more of a hindrance for us to begin dating than it would be to wait until I graduate. And…
"Bokuto-san, don't you already have offers from volleyball teams?" Keiji asks, and he can see the moment the thought registers in Bokuto's brain, because he immediately droops. "What will happen after you graduate? If you decide to go into the V. League immediately, then..."
Then there is no doubt that you will find someone else. Someone more skilled than me, someone nicer than me, someone better than me.
You don't deserve me, Bokuto-san. You don't deserve to be dragged down by someone so sinful.
And I don't deserve to be around someone so bright.
But to Keiji's eternal surprise, Bokuto merely shakes his head. "Uh-uh. I think I'll go to college. 'Cause, y'know, my mom wants me to go to college, and I think...uh, it honestly seems really boring, but my sisters also told me to go. So I'll go! And I can do volleyball at the same time. It's gonna be like the stuff I've been doing so far, right? How hard can it be?"
Keiji thinks about this for a second, then chuckles. Leave it to Bokuto-san to see a mountain and not think, 'wow, that sure looks tall', but instead, 'how fast can I climb it?'
"Hey, what college are you planning to go to, Akaashi?" Bokuto asks, his eyes widening. "Maybe I could go there! And you could come there as well, and we could spend college together too!"
My God, he really does…
Care about me. Appreciate me.
Love me.
"Bokuto-san, please do not make decisions about your future based on my own decisions," Keiji says patiently. "You decide where you want to go for college. I cannot decide that."
"Hmm, what if you went to the same college that I did? Oh—wait, that's just the same thing, but reversed, and you're smart, you wouldn't make decisions about your own future based off of mine."
"You are a star, Bokuto-san," Keiji whispers as he shifts around in Bokuto's grasp to wrap his arms around his shoulders. "I would follow you anywhere."
"Say my name," Bokuto insists, grabbing Keiji's cheeks and staring at him intently. "Call me by my name, Keiji."
Stars. Stars in his eyes. Burning, bright, beautiful.
"Koutarou," Keiji says in a reverent whisper. And Koutarou chuckles, his touch so warm against Keiji's frigid skin. "I'd follow you anywhere."
You're my polar star. Wherever you guide me, I will go.
—
Valentine's Day comes far more quickly than Keiji would like it.
"AKAASHI!"
Keiji turns around to find Koutarou barreling towards him at top speed, with something clutched in his hands. Keiji stops at the end of the hallway, waiting for Koutarou to catch up. Now that he is closer, Keiji can see that—
Ah. That's a box of chocolate.
That's a Valentine's Day gift, isn't it?
"Bokuto-san," Keiji says as Koutarou comes to a stop in front of him, hands on his thighs and breathing heavily. "You did not need to run so much to catch up to me."
"Yeah, but I wanted to give it to you before you went to practice!" Koutarou holds out his box of chocolate with both hands, bowing deeply. "For you!"
Keiji takes the box of chocolate with both hands. It looks like actual high-quality chocolate, not something from a supermarket aisle. "Thank you very much."
He must really love you, right?
Hey, doesn't he remind you of someone?
Yukito?
"Have fun at practice," Koutarou says cheerfully, ruffling Keiji's hair. Something heavy begins to sink in Keiji's stomach, the same feeling he gets whenever he walks through the gymnasium doors and remembers that—
The third years played their last high school game at Nationals. They are not members of the team anymore. Konoha, Komi, Sarukui, Washio. They are no longer my strong, dependable teammates anymore.
Koutarou is no longer my captain anymore.
True to his word, Koutarou made Keiji captain of the club, with every other third-year in agreement. They made another second-year, Himemiya, vice-captain. Every day, Keiji feels the weight of responsibility bearing down on his shoulders just a little bit harder. He must train the first-years and the players to come, he must figure out a way to restructure the entire team now that their ace is gone, and most importantly of all, he must live up to Koutarou's example as a good leader.
But all he can do is roll his shoulders back and carry it as best as he can.
"Thank you once again," Keiji says, turning away from Koutarou. "We can talk more after I...am done with practice."
For a second, there's a look of disappointment in Koutarou's eyes, as though he's just now remembered that he will no longer be able to play with Keiji, the boy he once hailed as having the best sets ever.
But then Keiji blinks, and then Koutarou's grinning down at him, saying—
"Bye, Keiji!"
And then Koutarou is running away in the other direction, and Keiji's staring down at the expensive chocolates in his hand, and he's thinking—
Yukito. I fell in love with someone new, and it is a slow and agonizing process.
Tell me. I know I am hard to love. I don't know how you managed to do it, all those years ago. How on earth did you do it?
I've spent years believing that love is a luxury I do not deserve, solely because I am a bad person, and that in turn makes me hard to love.
But no matter how hard I am to love, don't I still deserve it?
—
"See?" Koutarou asks as Keiji and Himemiya are cleaning up the gym after practice. Keiji pauses to look up at him, and Himemiya scampers off to give them their privacy. "Isn't being captain super fun?"
The truthful answer would be, no, no, being captain is exhausting and stressful and my God, why did you ever think giving me captaincy was a good idea?
"Yes, it's a joy," Keiji says, lying through his teeth. There's a pang of guilt in his chest as he lies to Koutarou, but he tamps it down at the look of happiness on his former captain's face. "However, it is very tiring."
"You can't think so much, Keiji!" Koutarou places his hands on Keiji's shoulders and shakes him back and forth. "You gotta loosen up a bit! You gotta make important team decisions, and you can't do that if you're overthinking!"
"On the contrary, I believe I need to think twice as hard, now that I'm captain," Keiji mutters as he slips out of Koutarou's grasp. "Would you like to talk? I believe Himemiya's finishing up."
Koutarou eagerly nods, and essentially grabs Keiji by the hand to drag him out of the gym. "Wait—Bokuto-san, I still have to change—"
"So are you in love with me or not?" Koutarou asks, and Keiji's heart nearly stops. "Because—y'know, it's been two months, Akaashi, and...I know I gotta be patient, because it's what you'd do if you were me, 'cause you're smart and perfect and all, but..."
Koutarou takes a breath, and Keiji takes that time to speak up. "Bokuto-san, I can assure you that your feelings for me are reciprocated in their entirety. I..."
I love you.
Why can't I say it, after all this time?
Koutarou's shoulders droop, and his face begins to morph into a pout. "So...when are you gonna date me?"
Ahh, fuck.
"Not that—not that I want you to do anything you're not ready for!" Koutarou hurriedly backpedals, and it must be at the look of despair on Keiji's face. "I get it, I'm gonna be graduating soon, and you still got a whole year of high school left, it wouldn't be good of me to take advantage of you, especially when I'm already an adult and—"
"Bokuto-san," Keiji interrupts. "The age gap between us is one year. I can say for certain that the gap in our maturity is not that wide." If anything, there's a possibility I am more mature than you, he does not say.
"But I have to be the responsible one," Koutarou declares, crossing his arms. "So—y'know what? Forget I said anything, I don't want to date you until you've graduated high school, y'hear, Akaashi?"
All Keiji can do is shake his head at the endearingly stupid boy he has fallen in love with. "Does this mean you would like your Valentine's Day chocolates back as well? I already ate a couple pieces, I hope you don't mind."
This seems to give Koutarou some pause as he ponders whether or not he'd like a half-eaten Valentine's Day gift back. Eventually, he shakes his head resolutely, turning away from Keiji.
"For what it's worth," Keiji laughs softly as he puts a hand on Koutarou's shoulder. "I'm glad that you are so..."
Amazing? Radiant?
Good?
"Considerate. Thank you for not wanting to rush me into anything. Would you be terribly mad if I told you my answer on White Day?"
Koutarou's eyes light up and he nods eagerly. Keiji tries not to think too hard about how—
Too little, too late. I've kept him waiting for so long, and it may be love that makes him stay, but it may also be pure coincidence or luck or a miracle that makes him stay.
I do not know how much longer he will stay, and I'm frankly too scared to find out.
—
So White Day arrives, and Keiji prepares himself with a gift of small cookies and a handwritten note, because he's found that he cannot articulate his words in speech nearly as well as he does in writing. He checks the gift. Checks the note. Ensures that neither will spontaneously combust or otherwise be destroyed. Looks at the clock. Why is the clock moving so slow? Will this be the death of him? To be determined.
"'Kaashi."
He's startled by someone insistently snapping their fingers in front of their face, and he looks around in panic.
It's only Shima, staring down at him in amusement, her four earrings dangling from her ears as she shakes her head. "You've been staring into space for, like, a minute. You good?"
"I..." Keiji stares down at the small bag of cookies on his desk, at the sealed white envelope in his hand. "It's White Day. And..."
He vaguely gestures towards his things. Shima tilts her head, hiking her backpack up her shoulder. "Ah. I see."
"The last time I did this, I was nine," Keiji laughs softly, flicking the corner of the white envelope with his nail. It's painted glossy black, and Keiji resists the urge to peel the polish off. He wants to look his best when he goes to see Koutarou. "I don't know if I remember how to do it."
"You'll be fine," Shima says, but her response is too immediate. A near lie. "You're Akaashi Keiji, you can do anything."
"Liar," Keiji huffs, and Shima gives him a rueful smile.
It's been nearly two years since Hatoba died. As far as Keiji knows, Shima hasn't fallen in love with anyone since then. And as he watches her stare at his gifts for Koutarou, he wonders if she will ever fall in love with someone else.
"I have to go," he says, standing up, and Shima nods. "Have a good day, Shima."
"Good luck, 'Kaashi." Shima slaps Keiji on the back and offers him another smile, a more genuine one this time. Keiji tries to keep it in mind as he heads down the hallway, tries to rearrange his thoughts, tries to keep calm.
"Heyy, loverboy!" As he's pushing his way through the hallway, he hears the voice of one—no, several of his upperclassmen. He looks up to find his senpai pushing Koutarou over to him, not minding how they are completely blocking the hallway.
Koutarou has a look on his face that's completely unlike him—nervous and almost scared.
"Bokuto-san," Keiji says politely. "What is going on?"
"We heard you two finally got your shit together," Konoha says triumphantly. "And so we wanna see how it all goes down."
"We have been suffering," Komi says, gesticulating widely. "For the past two years. You two are so obvious, did you know that? We had to walk into practice every single day and watch you two ogle each other every single day—"
"We are glad that you have finally sorted out your feelings," Washio interrupts, nodding his head. "And we are simply proud of all the progress you have made."
"So congratulations on getting together," Sarukui says, spreading his arms wide. "May you have a long and prosperous relationship."
It is then that Keiji finally realizes what is going on.
"Bokuto-san," Keiji says. "Did you tell our friends that we have already gotten together?"
Koutarou opens his mouth, closes it, and then stares straight down at the floor. Almost in complete sync, the four other third-years turn to stare at the boy.
"You're not...together?" Konoha asks slowly. "Then why the hell did Bokuto make it seem like..."
"Ohhh." Komi nods his head thoughtfully. "He got too excited and jumped the gun."
"Like, really jumped the gun," Sarukui says, and Koutarou seems to droop. He pats Bokuto on the back as he turns to leave, and Washio follows along with him.
"Uh, well...have fun with that?" Komi half-says, half-asks as he shrugs and turns to follow his friends. Konoha lingers behind, glancing between Keiji and Koutarou.
"Don't fuck this up," Konoha says, pointing between both Keiji and Koutarou in rapid succession. "Either of you."
And with that ominous warning, Konoha disappears as well.
"I think we should go somewhere more—" Keiji gestures around to the rapidly growing group of people surrounding them. "Private, Bokuto-san."
Koutarou seems to be blue-screening, so Keiji just sighs, clutching his gifts in one hand and grabbing Koutarou's hand with the other. He drags his captain behind him for what seems like forever, until they reach the—thankfully empty—gym hallway.
"Bokuto-san," Keiji begins, holding his gifts out, but Koutarou cuts him off.
"I'm sorry for getting too overexcited!" Koutarou shouts, wringing his hands. "I just—Shirofuku asked if I was doing anything for White Day, and Konoha apparently was eavesdropping, and then I walked in on Konoha telling Komi about it, and then Washio and Sarukui overheard me, and they all got too excited about it, and I didn't..."
"Bokuto-san." Keiji repeats himself, pressing his gifts into Bokuto's hands. "It's okay. I don't mind. You didn't do anything wrong."
Koutarou looks down at the gifts in his hands, then looks up at Keiji, an unsure expression on his face. It's so unbefitting of him, because everything he does, he always does with a hundred percent certainty.
"If you are willing to wait until after my last year of high school," Keiji says quietly, placing his hand over Koutarou's. "I will date you. I am...I am no good with expressing my feelings, as I'm sure you already know. Frankly, I cannot see why you would...ever want to date a person such as me, but..."
He can't do this. He wrote a note, but Koutarou deserves to hear this from him. He stares straight into Koutarou's eyes, and he finds—
He finds only happiness in Koutarou's eyes.
"Akaashi!" Koutarou shouts in glee, nodding his head vigorously. "Of course! I'd wait for forever to be your boyfriend!"
"Forever is a very long time, Bokuto-san," Keiji mutters. "I doubt there is anyone in this world who would be willing to wait forever for someone."
Koutarou only shakes his head at that. "I'll be the first, then! I'll wait for however long I need to so I can date you!"
"Bokuto-san..."
He's willing to wait for forever, just to even get a chance at dating you. He really loves you, doesn't he?
Do you love him with the same intensity? Do you love him the same way? Would you wait for forever, just so you could be with him?
Of course you wouldn't. You didn't wait for Yukito, did you?
Yukito is dead, Keiji thinks back furiously. Yukito is dead, and he wanted me to find somebody else. I cannot…
Maybe you just don't love him the same way he loves you.
Maybe you just don't deserve to be loved by someone so amazing.
"Of course, Bokuto-san," Keiji says, keeping his voice steady. "Thank you for being so patient with me. I cannot imagine that any of this is easy for you."
And at that, Koutarou's eyes widen. "No, you're wrong, Akaashi! Loving you is, like, the easiest thing in the world!"
The easiest thing in the world?
He's lying to you.
Loving you is a punishment all by itself. There is no life where such a thing could ever be easy.
—
The last few months Keiji has with Bokuto seem to fly by. Bokuto gets calls and emails about colleges that want him to play for their teams, and Keiji has to help him field all the paperwork.
His own aunt comes calling as well, asking—
"Keiji, have you started thinking about where you want to go to college?"
"Yes," Keiji says, because he has thought about it quite a lot, but he has never done any of the proper research for any of them, which is what his aunt wants. Ideally, his aunt would want him to go somewhere in Tokyo, because a college out of the city would be too expensive. If he got a full-ride scholarship, she might let him go, but…
Isn't this what I wanted? Keiji asks himself as he scrolls through the lists of colleges located in Kyoto. Didn't I want to explore the world? Is this not my chance to do so?
Are you too scared, now that you won't have anyone by your side?
Have you ever had anyone by your side?
Keiji smacks his forehead with the back of his hand to ward off all of his thoughts. He closes his laptop, sighing, deciding to revisit the matter at another date. He opens his door, intending to go down to the cafeteria for dinner, when–
"AKAASHI!"
"Fucking Christ—!" Keiji yelps, stumbling back. Why is Koutarou standing at his door like an overeager puppy? "Apologies. Bokuto-san, what are you doing here?"
"I got in!" Bokuto crows triumphantly, grabbing Keiji by the hand and dragging him out of his dorm room, never minding Keiji's protests that he needs to lock his door. "I got in! I got in!"
"That's amazing news, Bokuto-san," Keiji says, deadpan. "It would be even more amazing if you told me what you got into."
"Oh!" Bokuto digs around in his pocket, procuring a piece of paper and proudly showing Keiji. Keiji takes it from him, unfolding it to see—
Division one team in the V. League.
"Oh my God," Keiji whispers as he reads the letter detailing Koutarou's recruitment to the MSBY Black Jackals, located in—
Osaka.
That's so far away from here. Two and a half hours away by train.
He needs to go, obviously. He can't reject an offer from a division one volleyball team. This could make his entire career.
But…
He's going to be so far away.
"That's incredible, Bokuto-san," Keiji says in a hushed whisper as he hands the paper back to Koutarou. "You're going to go, right? This is an amazing opportunity, you can't turn them down."
Bokuto hesitates, and that split second is enough for Keiji's brain to immediately jump to the worst-case scenario.
Oh. Oh no.
He rejected them, didn't he? Because Osaka is so far away, and he wanted to stay in Tokyo, and he wanted to stay—
Close to me. Because he loves me.
He's compromised the start of his potential career just for me.
"I haven't picked any team just yet," Koutarou says and Keiji breathes the biggest sigh of relief. "But—I dunno, Akaashi. Osaka's really far away from Tokyo! And really far away from you too."
"You need to go," Keiji says, more insistently. "Don't throw away your career just for..."
Are you really worth sacrificing such a great opportunity? No. No, you're not. Convince him that staying in Tokyo would be the biggest mistake of his life.
Even if that means he's going to go on a long journey far, far away from you.
"Me. Don't do it just for me."
Koutarou nods vigorously. "I knew you'd say that, Akaashi! And here's my great idea of how I can play D1 volleyball and still date you after high school!"
He gestures between Keiji and the letter. "You're really smart, aren't you? Just go to college in Osaka! I can get my own apartment, and you can live with me, and we can both go to college together! And we can date!"
Me...go to Osaka? With him?
He wants me to come with him?
I want that. I want that more than anything.
The boy in the shadows cackles, and Keiji can hear the boy in the mirror laughing along with him.
What if you only hold him back?
If he wasn't in love with you, this would be the easiest decision in the world for him. He would have already accepted without a second thought. You are already holding him back. You are only to drag him down even more.
"I will..." Keiji tries to raise his voice above the voices of the other two boys that are laughing in his ears. "I will think about it, Bokuto-san. I still have my last year of high school, and there is tuition to think about, and..."
I am given the opportunity to spread my wings and fly, and yet, I am so, so scared to do so.
Funny how once you get the things you want, you suddenly no longer want them anymore.
—
Graduation comes far too quickly for Keiji's liking as well.
Everyone crowds into the enormous auditorium, and Keiji checks his phone again and again, trying to find his friends and his teammates. Somehow, miraculously, he had managed to procure seats for all of them, and he would be damned if he let anyone take them. Kenma and Kuroo show up first, then squabble over who sits where before Kuroo finally sits down next to Keiji and Kenma sits down next to him. Anahori and Onaga make their way over as well, sitting down on Keiji's left. Keiji does not even attempt to introduce the two parties.
Well. This is great. My brain hurts from all this noise.
So he puts in his earbuds, turns his music up as loud as he can without risking deafness, and prays he doesn't miss the ceremony's start. He doesn't miss it, but it's a damn close thing, so he hurriedly shoves his things in his pockets and gives his full attention to the people up there.
Five minutes later, he gives his full attention towards staring at the ceiling and waiting for his upperclassmen to show up. His teachers and principal and every other important adult up there say a lot of pleasant things about this year's graduating class, but Keiji is unsure how much of it they actually mean.
It still hasn't sunk in that Koutarou is actually graduating. He's actually leaving.
Keiji thinks about freedom, and he thinks about wings, inky black ones, and he remembers that he once asked himself the question: could I leave behind Bokuto-san?
Well. It doesn't really matter, because he's the one leaving me first.
"Bokuto Koutarou!"
He's the first to leave, out of everyone else. He's the one that's going to soar to such great heights, I won't be able to reach him anymore.
What a star you are.
From next to him, Onaga and Anahori stand up and begin screaming their captain's praises—funnily enough, Kuroo does this as well. Kenma just looks like he wants to disappear into thin air. Keiji claps as loud as he can as Koutarou crosses the stage, accepts his diploma, and waves enthusiastically to the crowd. He pumps the fist holding his diploma into the air, and then—
And then he's gone.
The names continue on. Keiji does not clap much, but he does clap for his teammates. Komi Haruki. Konoha Akinori. Sarukui Yamato. Shirofuku Yukie. Washio Tatsuki. Keiji claps for all of them, and as each one crosses the stage, Keiji thinks—
We will not have another jack-of-all-trades like Konoha again. We will not have another capable libero like Komi again. We will not have such powerful spikers like Sarukui or Washio again. We will not have another incredible and patient manager like Shirofuku.
We will never have this team ever again.
And then he blinks, and suddenly, all of the third-years are assembling onstage to sing Fukuroudani's school song. He picks out Koutarou easily, and he smiles softly as he watches the boy he loves adjust his cap and straighten out his gown.
I am scared. I am so scared, Koutarou. The entire team is going to rely on me now. I do not know how to deal with that level of responsibility. I do not know how I will be able to do it.
I do not know what I will do without you.
The song reaches its conclusion, and everybody in the audience is rising to give the new Fukuroudani graduates a standing ovation. Keiji looks over to see Kuroo putting two fingers into his mouth and whistling for a very long time. He looks back towards the stage, and Koutarou is squinting for the source of the sound. Kuroo cackles when Koutarou finally notices him, and Koutarou's eyes light up, and he shouts something that Keiji can't hear over the noise of the crowd. Kuroo shouts something back that sounds like, "OWL BASTARD!"
Keiji looks back towards Kenma, and the blonde looks just as apprehensive as he feels right now, fidgeting with the split ends of his hair.
Right. Kuroo is graduating as well. Kuroo is his captain, and now—he told me he's not going to be captain, but vice-captain, but that is still an immense amount of responsibility as well. And he and Kuroo have been friends since childhood. I imagine that this transition will be much more difficult for him.
The graduates then descend upon the crowd, and Keiji and the Fukuroudani volleyball team waste no time in leaving Kenma and Kuroo behind to greet their newly-graduated senpai.
"BRO!" Kuroo shouts, pulling Koutarou into a hug and slapping him on the back aggressively.
"BROOOO!!" Koutarou screams back, thumping Kuroo on the back as well. Keiji stands up, and Koutarou shouts in delight. "Akaashi!"
"Congratulations," Keiji says, producing the bouquet of flowers he made with flowers he ripped from the campus grounds from his bag. It's small, but it is in the colors of Koutarou's hair and eyes—white and gold. "Bokuto-san."
"Akaashi!" Koutarou wails, grabbing Keiji in a hug. The flowers nearly get crushed, and Keiji hurriedly holds them out to his side. "Akaashi, I'm gonna miss you so much!"
"You will be fine," Keiji says softly, but—he's trying to convince himself more than he's trying to convince Koutarou, and he knows this. "You'll be just fine, Bokuto-san."
The entirety of the Fukuroudani men's volleyball team pushes their way through the crowd of people, dragging Kenma and Kuroo behind along with them. Kuroo has pushed his way up to the front, talking with Konoha and Sarukui. Kenma is at the very back, behind Koutarou and Keiji, and unwilling to draw any more attention to himself. He just walks quietly behind them all, observing.
Keiji curses this particular trait of his friend's when Koutarou leans down and whispers, "Did you think about what I asked you?"
It has been all Keiji has been able to think about. He has extensively researched the best colleges in Osaka. He does not think he will attend the same college that Koutarou is attending—with absolutely no offense directed to Koutarou, but his grades are significantly more lacking than Keiji's own. If he continues with the grades he has currently, he would definitely be able to get into any college he wants, but he needs a full-ride scholarship. If he does everything right in his third year of high school, he might be able to get a full-ride scholarship to somewhere in Osaka, but–
"Give me more time," Keiji whispers back, and his voice sounds pained. "I'm sorry. Koutarou."
Koutarou doesn't say anything as he mulls this information over. He only leans in, pressing a ghost of a kiss to Keiji's temple, and even though they said they would not date until after Keiji's graduation, Keiji wishes that—
We could've begun dating, back in December, when you told me you loved me on my birthday. We would not have had to wait a whole year to date, if I were not so…
Stupid.
But Keiji cannot go back in time to change the past, and so he does the only thing he can do: wrap his pinky around Bokuto's and lean in close.
I wish you were not leaving. As selfish as it is, I wish you did not have to leave me.
And yet, I fear that it may be the only option.
—
Washio can drive, Sarukui has money, and Koutarou has the brilliant idea to go out for dinner to celebrate their graduation.
"This is illegal," Keiji informs them as they all stand around Washio's beat-up truck, trying to figure out a way to cram all of them into the car. "We could just take the bus."
"Akaashi, you're so smart," Koutarou says in awe, and everyone nods in agreement. Keiji just rolls his eyes as he helps to count out bus fare. The third-years are going along, and so is Onaga, and Anahori is tagging along with his friend, and Shirofuku and Suzumeda are coming as well, so—
"Akaashi, you coming? Hurry up!"
This is the last good time I'll...probably ever have with my team.
"Coming, Bokuto-san," Keiji says as he follows Koutarou onto the bus. "Sorry. I was just...reminiscing."
Bokuto sits down in the window seat, and Keiji sits down in the aisle. Everybody else pairs off, scattering throughout the bus. Keiji wishes that this dinner wasn't so spontaneous, but everything is spontaneous when it comes to Bokuto Koutarou.
"Bokuto-san, do you mean to lie on my shoulder?" Keiji asks as Koutarou leans on his shoulder. Keiji does not complain, despite feeling like he's getting crushed underneath Koutarou. "I do not mind, of course. Are you tired?"
"Nah, just thinking," Koutarou says brightly. He nuzzles his face into the crook of Keiji's neck, staring up at him. "I wish we could've done this more often, Akaashi."
Koutarou. I wish I could go back to the beginning. I wish I could go all the way back again and take it slower. I wish we could've had more moments like this.
I wish we could've fallen in love the right way. The way my parents did.
"Yes," Keiji says quietly, leaning his head onto Koutarou's. "Me too, Bokuto-san."
"Call me by my name," Koutarou whispers. "Keiji."
Keiji laughs softly, twining their fingers together. "Koutarou."
The bus comes to a stop—not their stop, that's in fifteen minutes—and Koutarou smiles and closes his eyes. Keiji tilts his head around so he can stare at the scenery as the bus passes it by. If he squints, the colors of the city's lights all blur together.
Pretty, he thinks distantly as he stares out the window. Pretty, he thinks distantly as he shifts his gaze down to the boy that's napping on him.
This moment, frozen in time, like a polaroid picture in an album. I wish I could make it last forever.
—
They end up at a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant, and they order far too much food for a group of teenagers to be able to finish. Keiji sighs and wishes they planned this out better.
"Lucky you have me," Shirofuku says as she reaches for yet another helping of gyoza. Suzumeda and the other first-years gape at her, because it seems like Shirofuku's stomach is a bottomless pit. Even Koutarou nods, impressed.
"Speech!" Konoha says midway through their meal, looking towards Koutarou. Komi bangs his chopsticks on his plate, and that only seems to encourage Konoha more. "Speech! Speech! Speech!"
Koutarou shoves the rest of his yakitori into his mouth, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk's. He stands up, and he almost tips over his chair, nearly taking Onaga down with it.
"Fellow teammates!" Koutarou shouts, waving his hand around for something to hold up. Keiji pushes his glass of water towards him, and he snatches it up eagerly. "We're leaving Fukuroudani's volleyball team in the very compatant—competent? Which one is it, Akaashi?"
"Competent," Keiji mutters, trying not to let his embarrassment show on his face. He vaguely thinks that people are staring at them. "Go on, Bokuto-san."
"The competent hands of Akaashi! Akaashi, stand up!"
Kill me now, Keiji thinks as his former and current teammates begin whooping and clapping, shouting at him to get up. Keiji stands up, bows once, and then sits down again. Koutarou ruffles his hair as he does, and Keiji smiles, just a bit.
"We're gonna be leaving, going our separate ways and whatever," Koutarou continues. "Heck, we might never see each other again! That'd be sad, won't it? Well—hopefully, when I'm a super cool volleyball star, all of you will come to every one of my games! I'd play way better knowing my teammates were cheering me on!"
"Get to the point!" Konoha shouts, and the rest of the third-years cheer in unison. Koutarou scowls, waving Keiji's cup and spilling water everywhere. Keiji sighs. Anahori helps to mop it all up with some napkins.
"I had a really fun time being your captain," Koutarou says, his tone softening. "You guys are like a second family to me. Thanks for everything. I'm gonna miss you all."
There's a second of silence, and then—
"To our captain," Washio says, holding up his own glass of water. Konoha follows suit, and then the rest of the third years, and then everybody else. "And to his new career as a division one volleyball player."
"To our captain," Konoha repeats, looking like he's holding back tears—or laughter, Keiji can't tell. "And to all the stupidly endearing things he's done and said over the past three years."
"To our captain," Keiji says, now standing up next to Koutarou. "To all of the amazing achievements he has done, and to all that are yet to come."
He looks over at Koutarou, and the stars in his eyes shine as brightly as ever. Koutarou actually wipes away a tear before smiling, sitting down and leaning in to position his cup in the middle of the table.
"To Fukuroudani!" Koutarou finishes, and everybody hurries to clank their cups together.
"TO FUKUROUDANI!" everyone echoes, their voices ringing throughout the small restaurant. Someone near them whoops and claps.
"Eat more, Akaashi," Koutarou says, scooping more rice and meat into Keiji's bowl. "We're paying for everything, so you don't gotta worry about paying for anything!"
"You're very kind, Bokuto-san," Keiji says as he dutifully takes up his chopsticks and begins eating the rest of his food. "I hope you do not lose that kindness when you go into the real world."
Koutarou blinks, confused. "Why wouldn't I stay this kind?"
Because the real world is cruel. Because life is unfair. Because when either of those two things occur, you simply have to either lay down and die or get over it. And I do not see you ever being able to lay down and die, so I do hope you get over any and all tribulations life throws at you.
"I just hope you do not become cruel," Keiji mutters. As a result of loving me. I hope you do not die as a result of loving me.
Oh, but if he were to become cruel because he loved you, wouldn't it be what you deserve? Don't you deserve cruelty? Don't you deserve to be loved roughly, to be thrown around like a rag doll?
Isn't it all you deserve?
Shut up. I'm having a good time right now.
"To be kind is so much harder than to be cruel, don't you know, Bokuto-san?"
And Koutarou blinks owlishly, once again, even more confused.
"Well, only cruel people think that, don't they, Akaashi?"
And Keiji's entire worldview seems to tilt on its axis.
Oh. Oh, your Bokuto-san has said it already. You're cruel. You think this way, and so you're cruel, aren't you? Everybody can see it. Even Bokuto-san.
You're cruel, through and through. Aren't you? Aren't you, Akaashi Keiji?
You're just a shit person.
"Akaaaaaashi, what are you thinking about?" Koutarou asks, poking him in the side of the head. "You went all quiet all of a sudden."
"Do you think I am a cruel person?" Keiji asks in a strangled whisper.
Koutarou leans in, asking loudly, "What?"
Oh, I don't want to repeat myself. I don't want to say this again.
Saying it out loud so many times might make it real.
"Do you think I am a cruel person, Bokuto-san?"
And Koutarou jerks his head back, eyes even more wide than before. "No? No??? Akaashi, why would you ever think that? Was it something I said? Was it something I did?"
It was not something you said or something you did. It's never something you said or something you did. It's the things I realize about myself, day after day after day.
"Akaashi, you're not cruel! You're the kindest person I've ever met!"
That's a lie. He's lying to you to make you feel better.
"Akaashi," Koutarou says again, leaning in even more closely. "Akaashi, I'm really gonna miss you."
He's going all the way to Osaka. He's going to be so far away. He's going to be leaving me behind.
"I will call you as much as I am able," Keiji says slowly, acutely aware of just how close Koutarou is. He does not think that they are going to have their first kiss here, because Koutarou is thoughtful and considerate like that, and Keiji knows that Koutarou is allowing him to set the pace of their relationship, but—
I do not deserve him. Such a thoughtful and considerate and kind person, and I do not deserve him in the slightest.
"Call me every day," Koutarou insists. "I wanna see you every day."
"Why is that?"
And Koutarou has the nerve to look confused. "Because I wanna see you every day! Because if I have a good day, I'll wanna tell you about it, and if I have a bad day, I'll wanna see you so I can be cheered up!"
My God, he really does love me.
I love him. I love him so much, it hurts.
"I see," Keiji whispers, placing his hand over Koutarou's. "In that case, I'll be sure to call you every day, Bokuto-san."
And Koutarou grins widely, and Keiji can see the stars in his eyes.
Burning. Bright. Beautiful.
I will miss that light. I will miss that warmth.
I will miss you.
Notes:
— no notes to add. too tired. scream at me about haikyuu on Tumblr
Chapter 8: the stadium (pt. 4) - 4
Summary:
Mama. Papa. Are you happy, up there in heaven? I hope you found each other, somehow, after death. I hope that you are living a better life, the one you could not have with me. Or maybe you are reincarnated, into two completely different people. Will you find each other again? Will you find me again? Does heaven exist? Does reincarnation exist? Is there anything after death? Will I be able to find you after I die? Time is supposed to heal all wounds, but this is one wound that will never be able to scar over. I miss you. I got so little time with you, and that is not fair. Life is not fair. I need to either lie down and die or get over it. I have been 'getting over it' for the past decade of my life, but what if I were to just…
Die?
A cold realization drops in Keiji's stomach.
What if I just...died?
Would anyone notice? Would anyone care?
Notes:
mind the new tag y'all. I have not been doing good lately. if I have to suffer, so does akaashi.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
And so Akaashi Keiji goes into his third year of high school. It is mostly uneventful. He does the same things he has always done. He studies. He practices. He calls his best friend every day, at eight in the evening—Bokuto-san’s weakness number 24: he goes to sleep at a strangely early hour, 8:34 to be precise—and he listens to him ramble while he cleans his room.
They talk about their days. Keiji has to persuade Koutarou not to click on suspicious links sent by suspicious people, no matter how much they compliment his volleyball skills—Bokuto-san’s weaknesses numbers 7, 8, 9, 10, and 11: He trusts too easily. He’s extremely gullible. He’s very susceptible to scams or lies. He’d do anything for a compliment. When someone compliments him, he becomes even more gullible. In turn, Koutarou tells Keiji to take care of himself, to have a good night, to remember that he’s the best.
There are some things that stay the same.
And there are some new things that change. Such as talking to Shima, every single day.
"We're captains of the Fukuroudani volleyball teams," Shima declares, raising her hands above her head. "We've made it in life. We've peaked. We will get no better than this."
"Hear, hear," Keiji says as he folds up his captain jersey. Number one, with the line underneath the number. Shima's is different—she is the captain and the ace, so she wears a jersey similar to the one Bokuto wore last year.
"You thought about college?" Shima asks, and Keiji makes an immediate slashing motion across his throat. "Alright. Noted."
"Please do not remind me," Keiji groans. "I already hear enough of it from my aunt."
Because a new thing that has also happened is that he calls his aunt every week, to update her on his journey to get into a good college. She means well, and he knows this but…
I think I will die if I have to hear anything more about my future.
Because his days have gotten undeniably quieter without Koutarou's company, his constant shouting and hand waving and Keiji knew it would be lonely, but—
I didn't think it would be this lonely without you.
Now, his closest friends are Shima, maybe Himemiya, possibly Suzumeda, and he's not sure if Onaga and Anahori count as friends when he only sees them during practice, and he doesn't speak to them unless it's to give them instructions. So that's a grand total of one best friend. Not much different from last year.
I'll have to train Anahori more tonight, he thinks as he runs through the mental and physical checklist of everything that he has to do tonight. He has to fill out the information needed for a scholarship tomorrow night, so he needs to pick up the pace for Anahori, so he can be the starting setter when Keiji is gone. And he needs to make sure the first years are acclimating to the new team, and he needs to make sure Suzumeda has the schedule for the next week…
"Hey, you good?" Shima asks in concern, snapping her fingers in front of his face. "Hey. Hey, earth to 'Kaashi."
"Whuh?" Keiji mutters, shaking his head. "Yeah, fine, why?"
"You don't look very fine."
"It's just..." Keiji rubs his hand over his eyes. "I'm not used to being captain. I don't know how Bokuto-san managed all of this. There is so much to account for, so many things to keep track of."
Shima snorts. "Bokuto didn't think about any of this, and you guys turned out fine. You're overthinking all of it, like you always do."
"I don't know why he thought I was a good pick for this. Vice-captain is fine, because I was merely assisting, but I am not good at...leading."
Shima stops walking, staring at him. She tilts her head, her dangly earrings clinking together as she does. Today, she's wearing two pairs of earrings that look all like swords.
"You really are self-destructive, aren't you?"
Keiji snorts, quickening his pace and walking faster. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Exactly what it sounds like." Shima walks even faster, walking in front of him and cutting him off. She plants her hands on his shoulders and shakes him roughly, like he's a bobblehead. "Look, there's a fine line between being humble and being self-deprecating, and you use it like a jump rope. You need to start believing in your skills a bit more. Otherwise, you're going to think too much, and then you're going to drag your team down."
Shima looks mildly manic as she waves her hands around, and Keiji does not know how to respond. "Please—learn how to take a compliment, Keiji. You get complimented because you deserve it, not because all of us are conspiring to make you feel better about yourself."
Keiji breathes. In, out. Blows a piece of hair out of his eyes.
Where is all of this coming from? Why is she suddenly saying all of this?
Does she actually mean any of what she says, or is she trying to reassure herself by...projecting onto me?
"Speak for yourself," Keiji says, and his voice is as cold when he does. "Are you done soapboxing?"
Shima's mouth draws into a thin line as she scoffs and turns away from him, hands clasped behind her back. "Alright, alright."
The two of them walk together in silence, and Keiji turns his thoughts over and over in his head.
Shima is perfect. Everything about her is pristine. She is the ace of Fukuroudani's women's volleyball team. She deserves the compliments she receives, and she's too stubborn to believe any of them. She and I are one in the same, except I…
Do I deserve any of it? I mean, Shima is the ace of her team, but…
She didn't make it to the finals of Nationals.
The boy in the shadows clears his throat. Yeah, and you—
No. Shut up.
It's unfair of me to hold Shima to such high standards. Nobody is perfect.
And...I suppose that holding myself to such high standards is unfair to myself as well.
"I'm sorry," Keiji says as they approach the staircase leading up to the dorms. Shima startles, turning towards him. "You're just trying to help. And I don't..."
I don't know how to accept your help. I don't know how to accept anyone's help.
Shima sighs, and Keiji notes the exhaustion in her posture, the dark circles under her eyes. She clasps her hands behind her back and leans onto Keiji, her head falling onto his shoulder. She's still taller than him—by a measly inch, but it's still taller. "I know."
"I'm sorry."
"I know." Shima flicks a sword earring and sighs again. "I miss her."
Hatoba Momoko.
It has been almost two years since Momoko's passing, and Keiji has—he has not thought about her in a long time. He has not thought about Yukito in a long time. And he is not sure how fast one is supposed to move through grief, but—
Am I a bad person, for forgetting about them so fast?
"I miss her." Keiji peels at the skin around his fingernails. "And I miss him as well."
Shima looks up, eyebrows raised. "You're not talking about Tsuru, are you?"
I'm not talking about Yukito. Should I be talking about Yukito? I wish he were alive, of course I do, but…
He's gone. He's dead and gone, and he's not coming back, so does it do me any good to continue wishing he were here?
"I'm not talking about Tsuru," Keiji says slowly. "Is that a bad thing?"
Because the boy he misses has white hair streaked with black, eyes that shine like golden stars, a personality and a voice that brighten up any room he enters, and that boy loves him. Would even wait for forever to even get a chance to date him.
Shima shakes her head aggressively, and Keiji's chest lightens, just the tiniest bit of guilty burden sliding off of it.
"I envy you. It hurts every time I think about her," Shima sighs, staring out the window, at the dusky sky. It's painted in shades of rose and lavender, with inky black threatening to obscure it all. "And I want to stop hurting every time I see pink and purple."
—
"And that scholarship essay, how is that going?"
"Good," Keiji says robotically, clicking over to his essay. "It's nearly done. It should be ready for submission next week."
"Excellent. Email it to me when you have the chance, I'd like to look over it."
Keiji represses a sigh. He's very lucky that his aunt has experience with this kind of thing—it would cost so much more to hire a consultant to read his essays and email him scholarships. She's helping him, he knows this.
He has always been very bad at accepting help.
"Keiji."
"Yes, Amane-obasan," Keiji drones. "I'm proofreading it right now."
"That's not what I was going to ask. When are you coming back home?"
Home?
Where is home? Is home his aunt's apartment in Tokyo? Is home his dorm room, here at Fukuroudani Academy? Is home a small apartment in Kamakura?
None of those have felt like home for a very long time. Amane-obasan's apartment is too cold, Fukuroudani is too temporary, and Kamakura…
That place stopped being home when Mama and Papa passed.
"Keiji?"
"Apologies," Keiji says, snapping out of his thoughts. "I can make time. When do you need me back by?"
"I have gotten a promotion at work, and it requires me to travel frequently. If it is not too much to ask, could I have you at home every weekend, to take care of the apartment?"
Keiji thinks about this. Last year, weekends were devoted to spending time with Koutarou, because neither of them were in the same class, and so that was the only way they could see each other outside of practice. Keiji would force Koutarou to study in the library, Koutarou would drag Keiji out to the mall, and…
He's not here anymore.
I miss him.
"Yes," Keiji says, reaching the end of his essay. "Of course, Obasan."
And his aunt does not smile, but she chuckles softly, and Keiji knows that's the closest thing he's going to get.
"Thank you, Keiji. And—on the days where I am absent due to work, would you mind filling in for me at the church? The children there have missed you."
Keiji distantly recognizes this as the 'foot in the door' technique, a psychological tactic where you basically get a person to agree to a large request by having them agree to a small request first. Keiji has also had a very hard time saying 'no' to people. So he sighs, and he says, "Yes, Obasan. I will do that as well. I have to study for a calculus test soon, so—goodnight."
"Study well, Keiji."
Not 'goodnight', not 'good luck', just 'study well'. Keiji huffs at his math textbook, now too annoyed to start. Unfortunately, it's not about what he wants, it's about what he needs, and he needs to get a hundred on this next test.
Okay. Focus. Don't need to think about college right now, you've already done that. You have your homework planned out for the weekend, but you can easily do that at home. Of course, you'll need to plan out what to pack, and what you need to bring with you every weekend, if this is going to become a normal thing, and—
And then his phone lights up with another incoming phone call, and Keiji lets out a very guttural and very much needed scream.
"What," he shouts at his phone as he smashes the answer button without even looking at who's calling him. If it's his aunt, he can deal with the consequences later. If it's a spam caller, he's going to cuss them out so badly, they'll burst into tears on the line. "The fuck do you want?"
There's a moment of silence, during which Keiji cracks open an eye and actually takes the time to look at who's calling him.
Bokuto-san is lit up on his phone, in bold white letters.
Oh, shit.
I should just implode. Right here, right now. I wouldn't have to worry about anything else.
Fuck. Fuuuuuuck.
"Akaashi," Koutarou says, but there's no hint of sadness in his voice. Instead there's only—is that concern? There's nothing to be concerned about, Keiji's just being an idiot. "Are you okay? You never shout at someone unless they deserve it. In fact—well, sometimes you don't even shout at them even if they do deserve it."
"I'm very sorry, Bokuto-san," Keiji says, mentally punching himself in the face. "Extremely sorry. I do not think words can properly convey how sorry I am. I have been...very stressed as of late, and I mistakenly took it out on you, and I—"
"Akaashi, it's okay!" Koutarou says cheerfully. "Don't beat yourself up over it. Honest mistake. Talk about your day, maybe you'll feel better, yeah?"
My God, he's too good for me. He's too good to me, even when I don't deserve it.
"You do not want to hear about my problems," Keiji says dismissively, turning back to start on his calculus homework. "I am just being a fool, that is all, Bokuto-san. Why don't you tell me about your day?"
"Will that make you feel better?"
"You always make me feel better," Keiji says, before he can stop himself.
Fuck. Too forward. We're not even dating yet.
There's another moment of silence from Koutarou before he goes, "Awww, Akaashiiii!" He then proceeds to go on a long ramble about how much fun he's having with the Black Jackals, how much harder he has to work with a division one team, how he saw a really cute dog while on a jog today, how much harder college work is, and how much—
"I miss you loads, Akaashi! I really wish you were here with me!"
Keiji swallows. Stares at his phone. Opens his computer to look up universities in Osaka.
"Me too, Bokuto-san," he whispers, so quietly, his voice could be carried away by the wind. He thinks about childish dreams, he thinks about pitch-black wings, and he thinks of how much easier his life would be if he could soar above the clouds and take Bokuto Koutarou with him. "Me too."
—
"Akaashi-san!"
"Yes, Anahori," Keiji says without even turning around. He flicks through the team's schedule, mentally noting when he'll be out and at his aunt's apartment. "How can I help you?"
"How do I ask a boy out?"
Keiji chokes on air. He slowly looks up from his papers, over to Anahori's completely unashamed face.
"Why do you think," Keiji begins, slowly. "I would be able to help you with such a thing?”
“Because you’re dating Bokuto-san! How’s the long-distance thing going, by the way?”
Kill me now. “Bokuto-san and I are not dating, Anahori.”
Anahori’s brows draw together, confused. “You’re not? What the heck were you doing all of last year, then?”
“That was—“ Keiji sighs, waving his hand. “Irrelevant. Bokuto-san and I are not dating, but I do have—some experience with this. Who are you looking to ask out?”
“Onaga!” Anahori says cheerfully, and Keiji wonders if this is his divine punishment by whatever cruel God is up there. “‘Cause he’s really cute when he gets confused and when he’s focused, and—“
“I see,” Keiji says, cutting him off. “Well, when did you realize your feelings for him?”
“Thirty minutes ago!”
Oh boy. “Perhaps consider waiting for a bit, then. If you confess now, you might be jumping the gun.”
The second-year pouts as he considers this. “But then what if I’m too late? What if I take too long, and then he gets a girlfriend, and then I miss out on my chance with him?”
“That is…certainly a possibility, yes,” Keiji concedes. “However, you do not want to be too hasty with this. Give it some time before you act, alright? Be sure that he feels the same before you throw your heart out to him.”
Anahori then considers this, and then nods in determination. “Okay, Akaashi-san! I’ll wait! Uh—how long should I wait?”
And Keiji does not have a good response to that, considering the fact that there is currently a boy willing to wait for forever to date him, and Keiji is doing nothing about it.
So he just says, “However long until it feels right,” and Anahori nods, salutes him, and then runs away.
I’m not cut out for this, Keiji thinks as he turns his attention back to his papers. I’m not cut out to be in a position where people think the advice I give out is trustworthy.
“Akaashi-san,” another voice says, and Keiji hurries to make himself look busy and not like he’s wallowing in self-pity. “I didn’t realize you were handing out love advice.”
“Suzumeda,” Keiji says in response, and the culprit walks into his field of vision without a care in the world. “Would you like to offer better advice to your peers?”
Suzumeda Kaori just shrugs. “I mean, considering that I’m the one dating someone, and you’re apparently not, I think that I’d have more reliable information than you.”
“Who are you dating?” Keiji asks curiously.
“The captain of the girl’s volleyball team.”
“The captain—?!”
Shima would have told me if she were dating someone, right? Has she finally managed to put the grief of Momoko’s passing to rest? Why wouldn’t she tell me? Well—she doesn’t need to tell me everything that happens in her life, she is not obligated to do so, but—
“Chill,” Suzumeda says, evidently amused at the visible panic that must be on Keiji’s face. “I just wanted to see how you’d react if I told you that. I’m dating Shirofuku.”
“Oh.” Keiji now feels very stupid, and very much feeling like he should punch himself in the face. “Isn’t she a bit too old for you?”
Suzumeda snickers. "Look who's talking."
"Fair enough. I wasn't aware that you were dating Shirofuku at all."
The team's second-year manager just shrugs. "We just started during the break between my first and second year—so, not that long, really."
Keiji thinks of Koutarou, all the way in Osaka, and he asks, "How do you maintain a long-distance relationship? Especially when you take into account the considerable age gap between you two."
"Dunno."
Keiji just stares at her. "What do you mean, 'dunno'?"
"We're kinda just figuring all this out as we go." There’s an easy smile on her face as she pulls her hoodie strings and shoves her hands in her pockets. “Wouldn’t hurt for you to do the same, yeah?”
Keiji continues to stare. Then he blinks, then he nods, and then he turns away.
How does everyone else make this seem so easy?
—
Keiji's suffering as captain, senpai, and third-year continues the next week, when Onaga walks up to him and says:
"Akaashi-san, how do I ask a boy out?"
It's then that Keiji decides that, yes, there is a God, he just really enjoys making Keiji's life miserable for literally no reason.
No, there is a reason, the boy in the shadows points out. It's because—
No, shut up. Go fuck yourself.
"That's a very loaded question, Onaga," Keiji says, sighing and rubbing his hand over his eyes. "Who are you looking to ask out?"
Onaga stares at Keiji, then stares straight ahead, fists clenching as he mutters out, "...Anahori."
Keiji's life has just become one very long and convoluted soap opera. There's something almost tragically poetic and ironic, in both of his kouhai coming to him to figure out a way to ask each other out. This could be a Shakespearean tragedy, if Keiji took some creative liberties here and there.
"I see," Keiji says, trying his best to remember what he told Anahori a week ago. "Well. When did you realize your feelings for him?"
And here, Onaga furrows his brow, looking down at his hands and counting out something on his fingers. "Six months ago?"
Hell. This is hell. Keiji died an indeterminable amount of time ago, and he is currently in hell.
Now, now, this isn't hell. Hell is so much worse. You think you're ready for hell? No, you're not ready for hell.
No matter how many times you tell yourself that you'll be ready for judgment, you won't be.
"That's a rather long time," Keiji says, pushing all thoughts of hell out of his head.
"Not as long as you and Bokuto-san," Onaga says, shrugging. "Konoha-san and the other third-years told me last year that you two have been dancing around each other ever since you were a first-year."
Keiji makes a mental note to yell at Konoha and the rest of his senpai later. The nerve of them—his and Bokuto's business is not petty gossip.
"Are you still dancing around each other—?"
"Unimportant." Keiji cuts him off, and Onaga snaps his mouth shut. "Well, you've certainly been thinking about this for a long time." Unlike the boy you want to confess to, because he realized he liked you last week, but since you both like each other, perhaps you should just cut to the chase. "Do you have an idea of how you would like to confess to him?"
Onaga tilts his head in confusion. "Does a note work?"
Keiji distantly thinks that if Onaga were to write Anahori a handwritten note professing his love for him, it would not work, if only because Onaga's handwriting is akin to chickenscratch. The only two people that Keiji can think of that have worse handwriting are Koutarou and Anahori himself.
"A note works fine," Keiji says instead, because he is supposed to be a good senpai, and he is supposed to encourage his kouhai's romantic endeavors. "I would recommend thinking long and hard about what you would like to put into the note. Additionally, plan on how you are going to deliver the note."
"What do you mean?"
And then Keiji rattles off how important it is to take note of the location, if it's in front of a bunch of other people, if it should be somewhere private, if he's just going to hand the note to Anahori, if he's going to read off the note to Anahori, if he should practice beforehand or if he should wing it, and as Keiji is talking, mouth running on autopilot, he thinks—
Bokuto-san's confession to me did not turn out at all like he had planned. I was probably supposed to say, yes, Bokuto-san, I am in love with you as well. Yes, of course I would like you to be my boyfriend. Yes, of course I would want to spend the rest of my life with you.
I robbed him of that. He could be happy right now, secure in the knowledge that he loves me and is loved right back.
What a cruel person I am.
"Does this make sense?" Keiji asks Onaga, who looks like he checked out of the conversation quite a while ago. He blinks, once, and then he snaps to attention.
"Yes, Akaashi-san!" he says, bowing his head. "Thank you for the advice."
And then he runs off before Keiji can offer a 'you're welcome'. Keiji sighs, turning around and—
Running straight into Suzumeda.
"Why is that wherever I turn, you're there?" Keiji asks as the second-year snickers. "Eavesdropping is a terrible hobby."
"I just happen to always be in the right place at the right time," Suzumeda says with a tiny grin. He's willing to bet that Shirofuku taught her that—it's the same grin that she always did right before she devoured a plateful of onigiri. Except in this case, the onigiri is gossip. Is that a correct analogy? Keiji's too tired to care. "Excellent advice as always, Akaashi-san."
"I do not know why they do not go to you," Keiji sighs. "You are their classmate. You're in their year. You're actually dating someone."
"I'm a girl." Suzumeda's voice is smug as she speaks. "And I'm gay, but in the wrong direction, y'know?"
Keiji does not know, but he shrugs regardless. "I see. And I am older, so I automatically have more experience?"
"Exactly!" Suzumeda claps her hands together before turning around and waving goodbye. "You're so smart, Akaashi-san."
Keiji has heard those exact words said to him so many times before, but for some godforsaken reason, they never seem to feel any more true.
—
Akaashi Keiji is not smart. Akaashi Keiji is not smart at all, because in his attempts to help his kouhai figure out their feelings for one another, he has inadvertently caused them to miscommunicate even more.
It's as though Onaga and Anahori have completely flipped personalities. Anahori, normally very sprightly and eager, becomes subdued around Onaga. Onaga, normally very stoic and as expressive as a rock, has now been reduced to a stammering mess whenever he's with Anahori. Suzumeda is greatly amused. Keiji is not.
It's driving Keiji crazy, and his team's playing is suffering as a result, and he needs to fix this somehow, but—
I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do. There are too many possibilities that could result from this, too many undesirable outcomes that could spring forth as a result of my actions. I could make or break this team with a single decision, and this is entirely too much weight to bear, and—
I want this all to stop.
I want Koutarou with me.
Oh, do you? the boy in the shadows cackles. Anahori thinks that Koutarou and you have been dating, Onaga thinks that Koutarou and you have been skating around the issue of romance, Suzumeda is probably judging you, because she's presumably in a happy relationship with Shirofuku, and—
Bokuto Koutarou deserves so much better than me. Keiji doesn't even give the boy in the shadows a chance to complete his thought—he finishes it for him. I know this. I know. But despite all that, he still loves me. I make him happy. And I want to see him happy.
His thoughts are broken by yet another failed set from Anahori, and yet another failed spike from Onaga, and yet another amused giggle from Suzumeda. Something needs to give. Practice is wrapping up anyway, so Keiji calls both of his underclassmen over. Suzumeda scoots over to watch, and Keiji just lets her.
"Anahori," he says, keeping his voice level, and Anahori startles to attention. "Would you happen to be free to go to the library tomorrow night?"
"Huh?" Anahori asks. He tilts his head to the side before saying, "Uh...sure?"
"Onaga. Are you free as well?"
Onaga blinks in confusion before nodding slowly.
"Excellent, because I'm not." Keiji turns on his heel and begins walking away. "Now, enjoy your date. Please figure out your feelings for each other before next practice; your plays today were especially awful and need remedying."
"HUH?!"
Keiji hears Anahori let out a loud screech, Onaga splutters out a garbled string of words, and Suzumeda laughs like a hyena. He sighs to himself, rubbing his hand over his eyes, picking at a piece of skin that's peeling, and he thinks, bitterly—
At least some of us can get the happy ending we deserve.
"Akaashi!"
Keiji turns around, hands clasped behind his back, as Suzumeda sprints towards him. Her cheeks are flushed red with laughter, and she says:
"You're really smart, Akaashi. That was hilarious. I don't think I've ever seen them look so confused before."
"I am no such thing," Keiji says, turning back around and closing his eyes. "I do not think I am cut out for any of this. I do not think I am wise enough or knowledgeable enough to be considered smart in any of this. I do not think I am making a significant difference in anyone's lives. Frankly, I wonder if everyone's life would be improved if I were to just vanish without a trace, because I don't think my existence is improving anyone's life at all, because I am—"
"Akaashi," Suzumeda says, all traces of mirth gone from her face. Her face is twisted into confusion—and concern. She reaches her hand forward, hesitantly, placing it on Keiji's shoulder. "Are you...okay?"
And when Akaashi Keiji takes a moment to really, really, think about this, he realizes that the answer is—
"If I am being honest, Suzumeda, no."
—
So he's not okay. What else is new? Nothing's new. He'll be fine, he'll get over it, because life is unfair, and all you can do is either lie down and die or get over it.
And then he goes back to his Amane-obasan's apartment, and he stares down at the bedroom that he spent so much of his childhood in, and he sighs.
Right. So I need to look after the apartment, water the plants, go to the church in Amane-obasan's place, do my homework…
He sighs, collapsing on his bed and breathing in the familiar scent of his bedroom. He doesn't think this house is home, but it is familiar and somewhat comforting nonetheless.
He closes his eyes and tries to think about what is missing. What crucial thing is missing, what is preventing this place from feeling like home—
Mama. Papa.
I miss them. I miss them so much.
He has not thought about his deceased parents in a very long time—but once he starts, he's unable to stop.
Mama. Papa. Are you happy, up there in heaven? I hope you found each other, somehow, after death. I hope that you are living a better life, the one you could not have with me. Or maybe you are reincarnated, into two completely different people. Will you find each other again? Will you find me again? Does heaven exist? Does reincarnation exist? Is there anything after death? Will I be able to find you after I die? Time is supposed to heal all wounds, but this is one wound that will never be able to scar over. I miss you. I got so little time with you, and that is not fair. Life is not fair. I need to either lie down and die or get over it. I have been 'getting over it' for the past decade of my life, but what if I were to just…
Die?
A cold realization drops in Keiji's stomach.
What if I just...died?
Would anyone notice? Would anyone care?
Would anyone mourn me? How long would they mourn me for? Would anyone's life be changed by my absence?
Would anyone mourn me like I mourned Yukito and Momoko?
My friends died too young. Why did my friends have to die so young? Yukito was fifteen. Momoko was sixteen. That was two years ago. Yukito never got to enter high school. Momoko barely got to go to high school. My friends died too young, and I blamed myself for it, because I thought some greater, higher being was punishing me. And that might be true, but now I realize that there's nobody who will be able to punish me better than myself.
I am my own worst enemy. When did that happen? Why did that happen? Everybody keeps thinking I am so put-together, but I am slowly fracturing from the inside, and I do not know how to stop it. All of my thoughts are too loud. Ever since I was a child, I have not been able to stop fucking thinking.
Hah, where are the dreadful voices in my head? Where are they now? The ones that constantly shake me back and forth by the shoulders—where are they now? In any case, my own thoughts are loud enough now.
I want all of this to quiet down. I want all of this to stop.
I want to—
Keiji's phone rings. His eyes spring open, and the sky is dark—when did that happen? How long has he just been lying here, doing nothing and wallowing in his thoughts? Who is calling him?
He looks down at the caller ID, squinting against the darkness of the room and the brightness of the phone screen.
Shima?
"Hey, where are you?"
"Watching my aunt's apartment," Keiji mutters as he stands up, rolling off of his bed. "It's going to become a weekly thing. I'm going to the church tomorrow. Would you like me to say hello to anybody?"
"Tell the pastor to take his Bible and shove it up his ass."
"I will not do that," Keiji chuckles as he turns on all the lights and begins rummaging through his aunt's fridge for dinner. "I will just tell them that you are also missing them very much."
"Sure, sure. By the way, how's Bokuto?"
"He's—" And here, Keiji laughs for what feels like the first time in ages. "He called me the other day to make sure he was using a bunch of words correctly in his essay. Because—because he wanted to sound professional, and he couldn't think of anyone else more professional than me."
Shima laughs as well. He can hear cars honking in the background, on her side.
"Are you going somewhere?" Keiji asks. He knows that Shima has a whole posse of friends now, ones from student council, the girls' volleyball team, the orchestra. She must have somebody to spend her Friday night with.
"Not anywhere special." He hears the sound of a gate creaking open, and then footsteps on grass. And then Shima's hushed whisper:
"Momoko, we're here to visit you. Well—I'm here. Keiji's here on the phone."
Oh.
"Hi, Momoko," Keiji whispers through the phone. He feels foolish—but grief does strange things to people. He doesn't even know if he's still grieving. They say that grief has five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Where was he? Where was Shima?
"Y'know I never believed in heaven," Shima says, and then there's the sounds of her sitting down in the grass. "But I think the closest thing I ever got was you, Momoko."
There's a moment of silence from everyone. And then:
"Shima, what would you do if I died as well?"
"I'd kill myself." Shima's answer is immediate, with absolutely no hesitation. "No doubt."
"Really?"
Shima sighs, and Keiji can almost see it: a young woman with hair cut straight at the chin, four earrings glittering, swaying in the air, sitting at her lover's grave, tilting her head up to the sky in thought.
"I'd mourn you. Of course I would. I'd mourn you for the rest of my pathetic, miserable life. But I don't think I'd be able to take it. I mean, three of my friends gone before the age of twenty-one? That's gotta be a new record. So—I'd follow you guys. And I'd hope that wherever I ended up, it'd be with you all again."
"I am sorry for being so morbid," Keiji says, guilt eating away at the pit of his stomach. "I was—just thinking too much."
"You're all I have left, Keiji." Shima's voice cracks as she admits this. "I wouldn't complain about you, even if I wanted to."
And the guilt begins eating away at Keiji's stomach even more, because—
Shima is not all I have left. I have Bokuto-san. I have a team and I have underclassmen to look after. More people than her would mourn me, certainly. I would be missed, probably.
If Shima were to die as well, would my entire life collapse in on itself like she said hers would? Would I follow her to the other side? Or would I just...get over it, like I have been doing this entire time?
What is my breaking point? What would it take for me to be driven mad by grief?
What if your precious Bokuto Koutarou died?
What then, Akaashi Keiji?
Keiji sucks in a deep breath as he picks at his dinner that's long gone cold.
You're fucking cruel, you know that?
—
So he goes to church. It's just like he remembers: tedious and boring.
I do not remember being this cynical about the psalms, Keiji thinks as he's standing next to the pastor. Apparently, this is what his aunt did: stand next to the pastor and hand him his supplies for the service. Tedious. Boring. I think I have become disillusioned, spending so much time wrapped in my own head.
The pastor is telling all of the churchgoers to join hands for a group prayer. There is nobody near Keiji, save for the pastor himself, and the pastor is clasping his own hands together. So Keiji just clasps his hands over his waist, bowing his head and closing his eyes.
Dear God, if you are up there. I have not had faith in you for a very long while. I don't know when my faith in you started, and I don't know when my faith in you ended. I do not know if you are real. There is no concrete proof that you are real, and yet so many of these people believe in you anyway.
Shima does not believe in you. I am unsure if anyone else I know believes in you. I do not know if Bokuto-san believes in you. Would you punish Bokuto-san for not believing in you? Please don't. Bokuto-san is good, and he loves me, and he does not deserve anything bad at all. Please do not punish him for the simple crime of loving me. Bokuto-san only deserves good, because he is a good person. And I...I suppose I deserve only suffering, because I am a bad person, but…
Aren't you supposed to bless those who have suffered in your name? What about me? I know I am being selfish, but…
Haven't I suffered enough?
"And that concludes today's service," the pastor says, and Keiji pushes all thoughts about God out of his mind in favor of finding the quickest exit out of the church. He taps at his phone, pulling up his contacts and calling—
"Akaashi!" Koutarou screams in delight, and Keiji has to pull his phone away from his ear. "You never call me first! What's up?"
"Do you believe in God, Bokuto-san?" Keiji asks as he gets further and further away from the church. There's a heavy pause from the other side, and Keiji wonders if he has completely scared Koutarou away.
"Uh...no?" Koutarou half-says, half-asks. "I dunno. I've never really thought about it too much. Why're you asking, Akaashi?"
"Just..." Keiji breathes in, breathes out. "Thinking. I am sorry if I am bothering you, Bokuto-san. I have been thinking far too much lately." I have been thinking far too much for the entirety of my life.
"You wanna talk about it? Anything worrying you? Anything wrong?" Koutarou asks, and his voice is so earnest that Keiji's immediate response is to insist that no, nothing is wrong, I am just being a fool and an idiot and there is a huge gaping hole where my heart should be.
"I miss you," Keiji blurts out instead. And since today seems like a good day to be making fuckup after fuckup, Keiji continues. "I miss you, more than anything. Practice is entirely too quiet without you and the other third-years picking fights with each other. You are not here to constantly annoy me. I feel as though I have no purpose anymore. Empty. Hollow. Abyssal."
He spits out the last three words like he's sucking the venom out of a snake bite. They taste sour and bitter in his mouth, and Koutarou tries to say something, but Keiji doesn't let him.
"And I'm unsure on what I should be doing now. I do not know where I am going with my life." Keiji laughs, but there's no humor in it. He looks around, and he realizes that he is somehow lost, with the hustle and bustle of Tokyo rushing all around him. "I do not even know where I am going right now. I am lost. I am lost in fucking Tokyo, and you are all the way in Osaka, and you always came to me for advice, so now I am coming to you for advice, but you are not here, and you cannot advise me on what I should do, and—"
"Keiji," Koutarou says softly, and the use of his given name shocks Keiji back to reality. "I miss you too. I really miss you too."
There's the sound of Koutarou shifting papers around, then him sitting down in a chair and sighing to himself.
"I think it was easier when you were here with me. 'Cause, y'know, you'd tell me what to do and you'd tell me how to do it, and now you're...not here."
Because I'm the one who's supposed to know where his life's going to go, and what exact steps I'm going to take to get there. And I don't, and if anyone found out, they'd think I'm a failure.
But with Bokuto-san…
"Did you ever decide on a major?" Keiji asks as he glances around, finally finding a familiar cafe and heading towards it. "I know you were still deciding when you first left, but I hope you've decided now."
And I hope you stick with that decision. Well—I know you'll stick with whatever decision you eventually make, because you might take forever to make a decision, but you will stand by that decision until you die.
I hope you'll be happy with all the decisions you make, Bokuto Koutarou. Not like me. Better than me.
"Oh, yeah!" Koutarou's voice is enthusiastic as Keiji pulls open the cafe doors and sits down at a table by himself. "Education!"
"Education?" Keiji asks, considering if he should buy a drink so he's not just loitering. He'll buy a tiny cake, and he'll give it to Shima. He'd normally give it to Koutarou, but, well…
That just reminds him even more that he just misses him.
"Yeah! Y'know, just in case the volleyball thing doesn't work out, I can be a teacher! I like working with kids, I used to be a junior officer in the choir I sang with when I was in middle school—"
"You were in a choir?"
Keiji thinks back to a night back in his second year of high school, of being sung to sleep by the boy he loves, a boy with the voice of an angel.
And then Koutarou stops talking, the only sound on the other side of the line being the sound of his breathing. Keiji's heart begins to sink, because—
I said something wrong.
"Bokuto-san?"
"I should go, Akaashi."
"Bokuto-san, wait—"
And then Koutarou hangs up, and Keiji's left with an apology on his lips, an apology that he doesn't even know what it's for, but it comes out so easily, because all he knows how to do is apologize.
I said something wrong, I fucked up, but I don't even know how or why, but it's my fault regardless.
It's always your fault, the boy in the shadows tuts, arms crossed. Always, always your fault.
Aren't you supposed to know your precious Bokuto-san best? the boy in the mirror asks, shrugging his shoulders. Aren't you supposed to know better?
Keiji groans, slamming his phone down on the cafe table and hiding his head in his hands.
I am so tired of all of these fucking thoughts in my mind.
—
koutarou: sorry akaashi
koutarou: about hanging up on you earlier
koutarou: it wasn't
koutarou: because of anything you said
koutarou: you didn't do anything wrong
koutarou: because you never do anything wrong
koutarou: i'm just
koutarou: being stupid
Keiji sighs as he rolls over in his bed—his dorm room bed, not his childhood bedroom bed. It's Sunday night, and he should be having a good night's sleep, but instead...
me: you're not being stupid, bokuto-san
me: i apologize if anything i said upset you
koutarou: i didn't like being in that choir when i was younger
koutarou: all the kids said i was too loud and annoying
Keiji supposes that those kids might have had a point, but he also supposes that kids can be needlessly cruel when they want to be. The boy that sang him to sleep was quiet, soft.
me: do you still enjoy singing?
koutarou: i mean
koutarou: only when i'm doing it for fun
koutarou: you know?
Keiji does not know. The only songs he remembers from his childhood are church sermons that burned themselves into his brain, soft lullabies that are all but forgotten. Neither the church nor his mama ever taught him how to sing.
me: i see.
koutarou: like if you give me sheet music and stuff and tell me to look through it and sight read it
koutarou: that's boring!
koutarou: and not fun at all!
koutarou: singing should be like
koutarou: feeling the music in your soul, you know?
Keiji still does not know. Frankly, he's blindsided by the fact that there are still facets of Koutarou he still does not know about, even after two years and some months of knowing him.
Well. How well can you know someone after only two years?
me: you have a very nice singing voice, bokuto-san.
me: i would imagine that it is what angels would sound like, when they sing.
koutarou: ohh do you go to church akaashi?
koutarou: is that why you were asking about god earlier?
me: i used to.
He supposes that there are still things that Koutarou still does not know about him as well.
koutarou: my choir did a recital at a church one time!!
koutarou: which church did you use to go to?
me: tokyo union church
me: how old were you in the recital?
koutarou: i think i was in my first year of high school?
koutarou: i remember it was the last one i did before i quit choir to focus on volleyball
koutarou: but i got a solo!! so that was nice!!
Keiji has a vague memory of a boy wearing a black choral hat, of eyes that shone golden, of a voice so heavenly, for a brief moment, Keiji really did believe in God.
me: i think i saw you sing that day.
koutarou: no way!!
koutarou: did you really??
me: i remember a boy who sang better than every other child. i remember he had eyes that shone golden.
me: i think that was you.
koutarou: AKAASHIIIIIIIIII
Keiji chuckles, curling his knees to his chest. He can almost hear Koutarou's voice screaming his name, and it makes him feel just the tiniest bit less lonely.
me: good night, bokuto-san.
koutarou: goodnight akaashi!!!!
Keiji shuts his phone off, closes his eyes, and tries to think about nothing, nothing at all. Nothing about the heavy stress that's sitting on his shoulders, not the aching loneliness that's making a home in his chest.
Instead, his traitorous mind conjures up images of a boy with eyes like stars and a voice like an angel's.
—
He truly doesn't know what he expects when he opens the gym door on his birthday. However, it is not—
"SURPRISE! SURPRISE, AKAASHI!"
Keiji sighs. Really, he should be used to this by now, because it's happened for the past two years. But that's because they were Koutarou's ideas.
Why again, this year?
"Hello, Anahori, Onaga, Suzumeda." Keiji stares down his juniors, who are staring at him with hopeful expressions. Each of them are holding a different component to his surprise party: Suzumeda is holding a small chocolate cupcake with a single candle, Anahori is holding one of those disposable paper noisemakers that you blow into, and Onaga is holding a piece of paper with a hastily-scribbled, HAPPY EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY, CAPTAIN!
"You did not need to do this," Keiji says as he drops his bag down to his feet and accepts the cupcake. “But thank you all.”
"But it's like tradition now!" Anahori shouts as he passes the noisemaker over to Onaga. Onaga blows into it, once, directly into Suzumeda's ear canal. "Like, every year, we give Akaashi a surprise party! It's a Fukuroudani thing!"
"And what will you do next year?" Keiji asks as he carefully takes the candle out of the cupcake. He sincerely hopes that none of his kouhai brought a lighter with them. If they did, he'll have to yell at them, and he doesn't want to yell at his kouhai. Not on his birthday.
"Break into your college and throw a party for you," Suzumeda suggests, and Onaga nods. "We'll get Bokuto-san, and we'll put him into one of those big fake cakes, and he can jump out for you, and that'll be your birthday gift."
"Like he's a stripper!" Anahori shouts gleefully, and Keiji chokes on his mouthful of cake. Onaga slaps Anahori on the back of the neck for his troubles. The mental image of Bokuto Koutarou doing that—it's not one that Keiji wants to entertain. At least, not here, in public.
"What did you wish for, Akaashi-san?" Onaga asks as Keiji shoves the last of the cupcake into his mouth.
Right. Wishes. What hopeless, fragile little things.
I wish Bokuto Koutarou would come back. I wish I would stop feeling so lonely.
"For a good life," Keiji says simply. "That's not what I actually wished for, but it is close enough."
"Right." Suzumeda nods sagely. "Because if you say your wishes out loud, they don't come true."
Keiji sighs, turning his attention to all of the teammates he's responsible for as captain. It may be his birthday, but nothing about this day is special, save for the fact that it was the day where he happened to be born.
There are many achievements that are worthy of celebration. Being lucky enough to be born is not one of them.
"Akaashi-san," Anahori says, more quietly. "Why d'you look...so..."
"Sad," Onaga says bluntly.
Keiji sighs once more. He looks over at Suzumeda, who raises an eyebrow.
"If I am being honest, Kaori, no."
I am not okay. And I do not know why.
Eighteen years old, and do I have anything to show for it? Captain of the Fukuroudani volleyball team? Exemplary grades? Akaashi Keiji, son of Akaashi Kyoji and Akaashi Haneul, does he have anything to show that he is worthy of living yet another year on this sad, barren world?
Does he? Does he really?
"Perfectly fine, Anahori, Onaga." Keiji shakes his head. "I am sorry that I worried you. I have been tired, as of late."
"Was it the party?" Anahori asks, looking down sadly at the noisemaker in Onaga's hands. "Was it not good enough? It wasn't like the last two, 'cause the cake was bigger, and there were more people, sorry about that."
"The party was perfectly lovely," Keiji says, doing his best to reassure his kouhai. "I am sorry. I am just..."
Missing Bokuto Koutarou. Missing my boy.
Missing my star.
"What if you just skip practice today?" Anahori asks, taking Keiji by the arm and shaking him a little bit. "Himemiya-san can run practice well enough! Just say that you wanna take the day off for your birthday, or something like that."
"I cannot do that." Keiji shakes his head, turning towards the locker rooms to change into his gym clothes. "I am your captain. The team needs me."
His team needs him, and his team depends on him, and who can Akaashi Keiji depend on? Himself?
Your precious Bokuto-san?
—
He misses Bokuto Koutarou, and he does not have any other friends his own age, so he does the only other reasonable thing: text Kozume Kenma.
me: i am so very alone.
kenma: stfu you literally have a boyfriend
kenma: you're just being an idiot about the entire thing for some reason
me: i don't consider him my boyfriend
kenma: bitch and why the fuck not???
tendou: haha can't relate !!!
tendou: sent an image!
tendou: look at my incredibly hot boyfriend!!
kenma: nobody wants to see pictures of ushijima shirtless.
Keiji curses out loud—he put this message into the group chat with Tendou. He's just lucky he didn't put it in that godforsaken group chat with Oikawa and the rest of them.
me: we're not officially together, he's just waiting to date me.
kenma: have i mentioned you're a fucking idiot lately.
tendou: maybe you should mention it more
tendou: you know
tendou: maybe just to hammer it in
kenma: you're a fucking idiot keiji
me: thank you for the insight
Keiji sighs, throwing his phone across his bed and staring up at the ceiling.
I think it would have been easier if I fell in love with someone that was more like me. Someone that is shit through and through, just like me.
It's hard for Keiji to love Bokuto Koutarou, because he's so good. He's had this exact same thought countless times before, over and over and over, but it always keeps resurfacing.
You don't deserve Bokuto-san. But maybe someone more cynical, someone more apathetic.
Maybe someone like Kuroo. Or maybe someone like…
Kenma.
Keiji inhales. Exhales. Doubts the conversation he's having with himself right now. See, the problem with that is—
Yes, I know. But suspend your disbelief, very quickly. What would it be like, to be with Kozume Kenma?
Do you mean romantically? Sexually?
Well, given that you are infatuated with Koutarou, and given that Kenma's hopelessly in love with Hinata, I would assume that the only way to go would be sexually. Hey—do you think that fucking Kenma would be almost the same as fucking a girl? He almost looks like one. Do you think if God was watching, He'd be able to tell the difference?
Get out of my brain. Stop devaluing my friend like this.
I am your brain.
Kenma has a crush on Hinata Shouyou. I am in love with Bokuto Koutarou. Hinata is good, and Kenma deserves good.
Not me. Never me.
Nobody deserves me.
Keiji buries his face in his hands, and he screams.
—
He buys the things needed for sex. He hides them in the bottom drawer of his desk, underneath two textbooks. He doesn't even know why he does it. It's not like he's going to use them—at least, use them with somebody else—anyway. The computer tabs he has on incognito mode, the things that he keeps in his drawer—all of it takes up far too much space in his mind.
But not nearly enough to drown out everything else.
I am so, so lonely. He hugs himself at night, tries to simulate the touch of another person in every possible way he can, but it’s not enough. Never enough, because I can pretend that my own hands are yours, but they are too large, and they are mine, not yours, and I can dream all I want, but there is no denying the reality.
I miss you. I miss you. I miss you so much, it hurts so fucking bad, but I think that—
I don't know. I don't know anything about anything anymore.
And that scares me.
—
It is Fukuroudani's turn to host their annual winter training camp, and with this development comes even more developments about Kozume Kenma's love life. Keiji does not need soap operas when he has his friend's love-related woes to observe. Apparently, Hinata Shouyou kissed him, for training practice, allegedly. And Kenma called him dense for not being able to realize Koutarou was in love with him.
"Rather anxious today, aren't we?" Keiji asks, nudging Kenma with his elbow.
"I think it's time," Kenma mumbles back. "To tell him."
Keiji raises an eyebrow. Frankly, he's impressed that Kenma's making a move—he thought that he would hem and haw over the issue of HInata Shouyou for the rest of high school. Apparently, he was wrong.
"I wish you luck," he says as he turns around to go to the cafeteria.
"How are things with Bokuto?" Kenma asks, and Keiji stops in his tracks.
Oh, everything is just fine with Bokuto-san, I just miss him terribly, and he is in my fantasies every single goddamn night, and I have just been stringing him along for the past God knows how long, and he is not making a fuss, and he is far too good to me, even though I am not able to give him anything he deserves.
"He's waiting for me," Keiji says hollowly, coldly. "He's gone off to college, and he's been offered numerous deals by teams...but he's still waiting for me. I warned him against it, but he insisted."
I am not good enough to be Koutarou's first choice. I do not understand why he would prioritize me over all of the other important things he has in his life. I do not know why he would put me first, and I do not know why he values me so much.
"Are you going to wait for him?" Kenma asks while Keiji rubs at his eyes tiredly. He sighs. He feels so tired, all the time, every day, now. Being lonely takes more out of him than he thought, and he wishes it didn’t have to be that way.
"Of course," Keiji whispers reverently, his voice almost like prayer. "It's Bokuto-san."
He said he would wait forever for me.
I am starting to think I would wait forever for him as well.
Kenma shrugs, nodding his head, tugging at his split ends. "Figures. You two are good for each other."
Keiji wonders if Kenma is—well, if he is something else besides a boy. He knows that such people exist, and Kenma's characteristics certainly seem to fit that of a woman's: his long hair, his painted nails, his eyeliner that he's begun to wear more and more.
Ah, he's definitely going to hell, just like you, right?
Shut up, Keiji thinks. Nobody's going to hell.
I'm not going to go to hell because I like guys. Kenma's not going to hell because he may be a girl—if my guess is true. Shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP—
—
On the last day of training camp—the last full day, at least—Kenma finally works up the nerve to tell Shouyou. Keiji doesn't think he's ever seen his friend so nervous.
"You'll be fine," Keiji says soothingly. From either side of him, Kenma's friends—Yamamoto and Fukunaga—nod like bobbleheads. "He kissed you, for heaven's sake. You will be fine."
"Kissing is probably a sign that he likes you," Yamamoto says confidently. Fukunaga nods in agreement. "It happened to me!"
"Yes, I know," Kenma mutters as he runs a hand through his long hair. "I was there. I was the one who caused it, actually."
"Po-tay-to, po-tah-to," Fukunaga says, and Yamamoto snickers.
"You'll be fine," Keiji repeats himself, and Kenma glances towards the cafeteria, his eyes always searching for Hinata.
It reminds him far too much of how he has spent his days searching for Koutarou in everything he sees, everything he does.
Keiji doesn't like that.
Though there is no concrete evidence to back it up, I feel that your relationship will be far easier than my own—if you can even call our poor excuses for a courtship that. Hinata Shouyou is passionate in everything he does, and I have no doubt that his love for you will be the same.
I am cruel for saying this, but you are just as much of a lovesick fool as I am, if not more, Kozume Kenma.
—
Half an hour later, Keiji's astonished to find that his guess was wrong.
"It's alright," Keiji says as Kenma sobs into his arms. His teammates had tried to comfort him as well, but they couldn't do it very well, and so Keiji had to step in and drag Kenma to his dorm room. He had to kick out his roommate, but it was worth it. "Kenma. Look at me."
Kenma looks miserable. He's curling in on himself as Keiji holds onto him, sobbing sobs that seem to rack his entire body. Keiji's voice is soft, and cold as he does his best to soothe Kenma. "This pain will pass. Everything does, Kenma. It'll be okay. Eventually."
He doesn't believe any of the words he's currently saying—at least, he doesn't believe that any of the words he's currently saying applies to him. It's hard to believe that the pain will pass, or that anything will be okay eventually. He doesn't like lying to Kenma, but if it makes him feel better—
Fucking sinner.
"Take your own advice," Kenma whispers back. "You hypocrite."
See? Even Kenma sees it. Even Kenma sees that you're a fucking liar and a fucking hypocrite. Kenma is more perceptive than most people. If he can see it, then—
"When are you going to start thinking that you're gonna be okay too, Keiji?"
Who is supposed to be comforting who, again? Keiji thinks as Kenma sniffles and wipes his face with the back of his hand.
"Kenma," Keiji says tiredly, not even bothered to tack on the honorific at the end. "Nothing is okay, as long as Bokuto-san is in love with me. I'm only holding him behind, and I feel...so, so guilty every time he tells me he loves me."
"There's nothing about it that isn't true. You deserve to be loved, more than anything. Not all of us are lucky enough to have somebody that loves us like that, so just be grateful for it."
There's nothing that Kenma's saying that isn't true. Keiji should be convinced by Kenma's words, but if he doesn't want to believe it, he won't believe it.
Why are you like this? Why do you think so much? Why don't you—
"Why don't you love him?"
"I'm not good enough for him."
"I need you to realize how stupid what you just said was. And—wait, how am I the one comforting you, you're supposed to be the one comforting me."
"You were the one who brought Bokuto-san up, Kenma."
And here, Keiji lets out a shuddering breath, wrapping his arms around Kenma's shoulders, and they cry into each others' arms.
I miss him. I miss him. I miss him so much, it fucking hurts, and I don't know if anything will make it stop. If he were here, would it stop hurting?
"Screw love," Kenma mutters. "What did it ever do for us?" Keiji's only response is to make a small, weak noise of assent.
They stay there for a moment more, wrapped up in Keiji's blankets. Keiji stares out the window, and Kenma stares around his room. "Your room is really clean," the boy remarks.
"I assume that if I ever stayed with you, this would be a good representation of what it would look like," Keiji says, nodding his head towards his roommate's side of the room. "Kenma-san. I've been thinking about something for a while. And I understand that, due to recent events, it might not be a good idea, but—"
"I don't think anything could be more of a bad idea than what I did half an hour ago," Kenma mutters. Keiji is very sure that Kenma is about to eat his words.
"Have sex with me."
Oh, there's no turning back now, is there?
A moment of silence, before:
"Sorry...?" Kenma asks, slowly. His face is scrunched up, confused, which Keiji supposes is the most appropriate response. "Would you like to...explain yourself?"
"It's...unfortunately similar to the principle of what you did with Hinata-kun," Keiji mumbles. "And I understand completely if you refuse. In fact, I never expected you to accept. You can go back to your room, and we can pretend like this conversation never happened."
He's going to spit in my face and say, no, Keiji, you're a fucking idiot and you're just taking advantage of the fact I just got rejected. You're a shitty friend. You're a shitty person.
As a matter of fact, I hope he does that. It's all I deserve.
I am so lonely. I want to feel someone's arms around me again. I am filthy and disgusting and I want to feel whole again. I think I want Bokuto-san again, but I cannot trust what I want, and I don't know if having him here will automatically make everything better. I think I am slowly losing my mind.
"You're offering to be the next best thing I have to Shouyou," Kenma says slowly. "And that means I'm going to be the next best thing you have to Bokuto. Because you don't think you're good enough for Bokuto, because you're...you're being an idiot."
"That is the essence of it, yes," Keiji sighs, wondering how his life has come to this point, where he's propositioning his best friend to have sex with him, just so he can feel less alone. "Look, considering what just happened to you, it's a bad idea, so—"
"I'll do it," Kenma says resolutely, surprising Keiji. "But...I want you to know."
Kenma stares Keiji straight in the eyes, gold piercing through the darkness. Keiji feels a pit open in his stomach, and he's reminded of—
Koutarou.
I'm so sorry.
You're waiting for me, all the way in Osaka, and I'm here doing...this.
"Normally, you wouldn't be my first choice for any of this. No offense."
You don't mean anything to him. Not like this. He's just as desperate to feel love, like you are. He got rejected, you are a fool, and the two of you want to feel loved.
Maybe if things had worked out differently, the two of you could be miserable together.
“I know,” Keiji says, lowering his head in shame. “I’m sorry.”
"Can we...do it tonight?" Kenma asks, and Keiji's taken aback at how eager Kenma seems. "I mean, knowing you, you probably have...a whole flow chart of what to do if I said yes or no."
Keiji snorts. How kind of Kenma, to think that he's so prepared for this, when all he has been doing as of late is question what everything he's doing. "I do have the supplies. And you're right, I did do some research on this—"
"What a way to say 'I watched a lot of porn', Keiji," Kenma snorts, and it's the first time he's laughed since everything that's happened tonight. Keiji laughs along with him, quietly.
"I'd like to...take the lead, if you don't mind. I'm not going to do anything you're not comfortable with," Keiji says as he stands up, nearly stumbling over his feet to get to his bottom desk drawer. "Tell me to stop at any point, and I will stop immediately."
"Sure," Kenma agrees, lying back on Keiji's bed. Keiji's breaths are shallow as he takes out his textbooks and places them on his desk.
Wonderful. In his mind's eye, Keiji can see the boy in the shadows clap his hands together. You're about to lose your virginity not to the boy you love, but your friend that's just as miserable as you.
This isn't fair to your precious Bokuto-san, is it? Not when he's all the way in Osaka, waiting for you to graduate so he can date you. I suppose that everybody needs to do some exploration, to be sure that the love of their life is the one that they want, but…
Shouldn't you have a little bit more faith in him?
"I just want to forget, Keiji." Kenma's voice is so small, so weak, as Keiji turns around to face him. He really does look like a girl from this angle, splayed out on his bed, his long half-black half-blonde hair obscuring his face. Keiji climbs onto his bed and onto Kenma's legs. He smoothes Kenma's hair back, smiling sadly.
How apt. All I want to do is forget as well.
"I can do that for you, Kenma."
—
So Akaashi Keiji loses his virginity, and it's to his miserable friend, not to the boy he's in love with. For his first time, he doesn't think it's too bad, and he keeps repeating questions after he's done: Did I hurt you? Too fast? Too much?
Do you want to go back in time and stop yourself from ever making this undoubtedly horrible decision?
"I don't think you could hurt me if you tried," Kenma says, rolling his eyes. "You're built like a twig, Keiji."
They're lying side-by-side, Kenma facing the window of Keiji's room, and Keiji facing the back of Kenma's head. Keiji's fingers are restless, and they need something to do, so he pushes the long, long strands of Kenma's hair back from his face.
If I looked at him from behind, he really could just be a girl. Should I ask him about it? Why else would he keep his hair this long? Why else would he paint his nails and do his eyeliner?
"I miss him," Keiji murmurs, and he pulls Kenma in a little bit closer, pressing his back to his chest. He buries his face in Kenma's hair, and he tries not to think about it, but—
If I pretend hard enough, can I imagine Koutarou in Kenma's place? I can't, obviously, because Kenma is so much smaller than him, but…
"I miss him so much."
"He misses you too," Kenma says back. "And he loves you."
He misses me. He loves me.
And here I am, being as selfish as ever.
"Let's do this again," Kenma murmurs, and Keiji immediately startles to attention.
Again? Do this again? Have sex again?
Look at you, tempting your friend into sin once more. You put the seed in his head, and it grew and grew. Aren't you in love with your precious Bokuto-san? Shouldn't you stop Kenma before he makes the wrong decision?
Isn't this all on you? Aren't you supposed to know better?
"I don't want you to feel pressured—" Keiji starts, but Kenma cuts him off.
"You're not pressuring me into anything," Kenma says, turning around to face Keiji. "I wanted this. I liked it. I want to do it again."
The boy speaks with the desperation of a person clinging onto something, anything, that will make him feel loved.
Keiji is silent for a moment. He loosens his grip on Kenma, and then positions himself so that Kenma's face is pressing into his bare chest. He buries his face in Kenma's hair, because he cannot face Kenma when he says this.
"Okay," he says in a hushed whisper. He sounds scared, even to his own ears. Scared in a way that he's never been before, and that makes him even more scared. "Okay, Kenma."
At their core, they are two lonely teenagers, and if this makes them feel less lonely, then what does it matter? The future seems so far away to Keiji, and nothing is ever for certain. When he graduates, when he finally gets out into the real world, will he still be the same person?
Will Bokuto Koutarou, shining star that he is, still want him?
—
So entering a friends-with-benefits agreement with one of your friends to get over your crush isn't...the wisest decision. Keiji knew that from the start, but it still amazes him how stupid he is.
For someone who's really smart, you can be really stupid, Keiji, a voice that sounds eerily like Yukito's says.
He watches his aunt's apartment on the weekends. Some weekends—not every weekend, just some—Kenma takes the train over to his aunt's apartment. Kenma stays the night. They do things that Keiji can't bring himself to think of in the light of day. Keiji keeps telling him, "you don't have to keep doing this."
Maybe it's a plea for mercy. Maybe it's him trying to convince Kenma that he's making a horrible mistake. Maybe it's him trying to convince himself that he doesn't want this, but—
But he does. Oh, how he wants to feel less lonely, in the nights and days that he spends as a mere shadow of himself. Wake up, go to class, play volleyball, worry about his underclassmen, worry about Koutarou, study study study, practice practice practice, fuck Kenma on the weekends where his aunt's not home.
"I'm sorry," Keiji says every time.
"Stop apologizing," Kenma says every time. "Besides. I'm sorry too." That never makes any sense to Keiji, because he has so much he needs to apologize for—it's all he knows how to do.
"Don't lie to me," Keiji says, dragging his nails down Kenma's back. "Shut up." Kenma shuts up.
He's always had a hard time with saying no to people. Even with Koutarou. He read on Tumblr that having daddy issues makes you a people-pleaser, and having mommy issues makes you a psychopath. He has had neither daddy issues nor mommy issues, but both of them died before he even graduated elementary school, so he supposes that's an issue.
Keiji vaguely thinks that Kenma's something of a psychopath. He almost thinks that Kenma is just pushing him, further and further to the edge, just to see if Keiji will jump.
"Sometimes I think it would be better if I weren't here," Keiji whispers into the night, when he knows Kenma's pretending to be asleep. "Bokuto-san's in love with me, and I think I love him so much, it makes me feel sick. I don't deserve him, and yet I keep wanting him anyway."
Kenma doesn't say anything in response, because he's either asleep or pretending to be asleep. Keiji doesn't really care. He will sniffle, and continue on. "I feel guilty for using you like this, Kenma. Even though both of us agreed neither of us feel anything for each other. I just..."
Keiji draws his friend in closer, holding him closer. He buries his face in Kenma's long, long hair, and he cries and cries and cries.
"This feels safer. I'm scared of what will happen if I return Bokuto-san's love. This is...an asshole move on my part. And I'm sorry for that. I know that both of us deal with logic and things like that, and I know that you're not getting hurt by this, but...I still feel guilty.
"Kenma. I don't know what I should do about this, and that scares me half to death."
Everybody I have ever known thinks I am smart and capable, and I have never once believed them. Everybody thinks that I should know what I want, how to get there, what to do, but I do not know what to do. I think I had a purpose, when Koutarou was here, and that was to keep him in line and make sure he's happy. But he's gone now, and now I am left without purpose, and now I am miserable.
"You could do much better than me," Keiji continues, speaking to the empty air. "Truthfully, you could. I think...I don't know if this is true, and I don't want to offend you if it isn't, so I only say this because you're asleep...I don't think you've ever been a boy. At least, not in the traditional sense."
If you are not a boy, it makes me feel less guilty about this. Because all my life, I've been taught that a man loving a man is a sin, but nothing is said about a man loving someone who is neither man nor woman.
Not that I love you. You know what I mean.
Kenma stiffens up, just the tiniest bit, and that is how Keiji knows that he's not fully asleep. Keiji hums, and keeps speaking. Neither of them will bring this up in the morning. So it does not matter.
"I think there have been signs, but I never looked too much into them. And I don't want to ask you about it. You'll tell me when you're ready. I know you will. You're braver than me, Kenma. You told Hinata how you felt. I could...never do such a thing."
I could never tell Bokuto-san, 'I love you', to his face.
—
They go to Nationals, but they get there by the skin of their teeth. They're number three, out of the top three schools in Tokyo. For the first time in a very long time, Nekoma has surpassed Fukuroudani.
Asshole, Keiji thinks as he shakes hands with Fukunaga, then runs over to confront Kenma. Kenma merely shakes the loose strands of hair out of his face and smiles as he shakes Keiji's hand and gives him a hug.
"Go fuck yourself," Keiji says as he slaps Kenma on the back—maybe a bit too hard to be deserved.
"That's your job," Kenma says with a deadpan look on his face.
Oh.
Keiji and Kenma go to Nationals. Nekoma plays Karasuno. Nekoma loses in the fourth round. Keiji watches Kenma and his former crush hug, exchange a couple of words, and then go their separate ways.
Unlike last year, Fukuroudani does not get to the finals. Not the semifinals. Not even the quarterfinals.
They lose in the third round to Mujinazaka, the very team they won against last year.
Great, Keiji thinks as he shakes hands with Usuri, now Mujinazaka's captain. Fucking great.
Bokuto-san was a better captain than me. We got all the way to the finals with him and the other third-years. There are only two third-years on the team this year, perhaps that's why we sucked so much ass. I am useless. We were able to beat this exact team last year, but here we are, defeated by them. I am a useless waste of space, and I should have never become captain.
We got all the way to the finals last year, and I thought we could replicate that again this year, but—
We failed. I failed.
I failed my team. I failed Koutarou.
It only gets worse, later on that week, when Keiji tunes into the woman's volleyball matches and sees—
Fukuroudani has won Nationals.
The Fukuroudani women's volleyball team has won Nationals.
The Fukuroudani women's volleyball team is the number one high school women's team in Japan, as of 2014.
He should feel happy, as he claps and cheers for the girls, for Shima. But all he can think is—
Shimamoyo Mitsuki is a better captain than me.
It feels like a breaking point, but it isn't. No, the real breaking point is when Bokuto Koutarou calls him on Valentine's Day, a month after Nationals, and says:
"Akaashi! I saw a couple in the park, and the guy was proposing to the girl, and the girl said yes! That's so romantic, isn't it? I thought about us! Would you want me to propose like that, Akaashi—?"
We're not even dating, Keiji thinks, and he feels bile begin to crawl its way up his throat. We're not even dating, and yet you sound so hopeful, so sure, and—
I can't keep lying to you like this.
"Ooh, and I'd get you a ring with a big, shiny diamond, and—"
"Bokuto-san, I've been sleeping with Kenma for the last two months," Keiji blurts out, all at once.
There's a moment of silence before Koutarou says, in the softest, saddest voice Keiji has ever heard:
"Huh?"
"I know that there is no excuse for my behavior," Keiji says, before Koutarou has a chance to respond. "It is—it is a selfish move on my part, to have let it continue on for so long, and that you have every right to be mad at me, especially because you have been waiting all this time for me, and—"
"Akaashi—"
"I understand if this changes everything between us, and I completely understand if you decide to no longer love me, because—
"Akaashi—!"
"I am an extremely hard person to love, Bokuto-san, and I do not know why you ever decided to fall in love with me in the first place, and I—"
"AKAASHI!"
Koutarou's shout startles Keiji, but it really shouldn't, because Koutarou has every right to shout and scream obscenities at Keiji. It's all that he deserves.
"I'm not mad at you," Koutarou continues. "Why would I be? We're not dating yet. And—I've slept with a couple girls here, at college, and—"
Well, that's cold comfort. At least we've both done the exact same thing.
"I think doing that just made me realize how much I love you, Akaashi. 'Cause, y'know, girls are pretty and all that, but none of them have ever made me feel the way you have! I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my life with them. I would definitely want to spend the rest of my life with you, though!"
"Ah," Keiji says, skating around the fact that Koutarou basically softly proposed to him twice in a single conversation. "So...have you ever been with a man before?"
There's another, very loaded pause before Koutarou says:
"Uhhhh, I think I might've done it with Kuroo? I don't remember though. He came over here to visit me one time, and then we both got really drunk, and then I blacked out, and then I woke up and we were both sleeping in the same bed."
"Were either of you....naked?"
"I dunno. Maybe? But, like, what if we just slept together as bros? Y'know?"
And that is enough to make Keiji begin doubling over in laughter, clenching the edge of his bed and clutching his stomach.
"You are ridiculous," Keiji manages to choke out, and Koutarou laughs from the other side of the phone, and for the first time in a very long time—
I don't feel so alone.
—
He breaks off his arrangement with Kenma.
me: i can't do this anymore
kenma: about time
He's not sure whether to feel good that he's finally putting an end to this, or feel bad that he's giving up on Kenma the second he feels slightly better about himself. The voices in his head try to speak up, but he drowns them out with a constant deluge of SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.
He has no idea if it's working or not, but it makes the voices quiet down for just a moment, so he keeps doing it.
me: i'm sorry you felt like you had to go along with me for all this time
kenma: i've been waiting for you to realize this keiji
Keiji sighs. Because Kenma's right—he's been an idiot for the past God knows how long. Kenma is right, a vast majority of the time, and all Keiji can be at this point is grateful that neither Kenma nor Koutarou cut him off completely.
me: i'm glad you're not angry, kenma
kenma: i could never be angry at you
Distantly, he feels a lightness in his heart, like it has grown wings and is beating furiously against his ribcage, begging to be let out.
—
He starts folding paper cranes again, something he has not done ever since his last year of middle school. He's a bit rusty from the lack of practice, but he manages to create a halfway-decent crane out of notebook paper.
"Look at what I made," he says, throwing the crane at Shima's face when he passes by her in the hallway. She splutters, nearly dropping her bag in order to catch the crane.
"Hey, what the hell," she says as she turns the now-bent paper crane over in her hands. "That's not that bad. How long has it been since you made one of those?"
"About three years," Keiji says, picking up Shima's bag for her. "Give or take."
Shima runs a finger over the crane's tiny head, tilting her head. Her earrings sway as she turns to look at Keiji, and she says—
"How do you feel about a practice match, 'Kaashi? Between the boys' team and the girls' team."
Keiji just scoffs. "Our girls' team is the number one high school team in all of Japan. We'd lose. Miserably."
His friend just shrugs. "Who's to say? You'll never know unless you give it a try, 'Kaashi."
"You are the better player. You are the better captain. That is just fact." Keiji waves his hand around aimlessly. "You will—probably get scouted by a division one volleyball team the second you graduate high school, and I will just be—a nobody, like I always am."
And something in Shima's gaze softens. She hands the crane back to Keiji, straightening up and slapping him on the shoulder.
"Neither of us are captains anymore, Akaashi. We're on equal ground now." She tilts her head again, and her earrings shine in the light. "Or—no, that's wrong. We've always been on equal ground, Keiji."
—
Keiji, despite not even being the captain of the Fukuroudani men's volleyball team anymore, goes forth with the practice match with the women’s volleyball team.
"Line up," Keiji calls as the starting lineup for his team all walk onto the court. The girls' volleyball team does the same.
"Shake hands," Shima calls as she walks up to stand across Keiji. She looks at her team with a soft fondness, then turns her attention to Keiji. There is murder in her eyes. She extends her hand, and Keiji grasps it harder than he normally would.
"Let's have a good match, shall we?" Shima asks, a sly grin slowly spreading across her face.
"Yes," Keiji says, gripping his friend's hand even more tightly. "Let's."
They all end up having a very good match—though the boys end up losing in straight sets, with a ten-point difference in each. Keiji can see how the girls won Nationals this year, what with Shima's insane cut shots, a libero who could receive with her goddamn hip, and a first-year middle blocker who must be nearly six and a half feet tall.
"Jesus Christ," Keiji pants, feeling like he's going to collapse on the gym floor. Distantly, Anahori and Onaga shout in distress, shouting if their captain's alright. "I don't think any practice match has ever been so exhausting. You deserved to win Nationals. Fucking hell."
"Hah!" Shima slaps him on the back, and Keiji really does collapse on the gym floor. "Oh, shit! You good?"
"Yes," Keiji mumbles, face to the dirty gymnasium floor. "Well, no, it hurts. Everywhere hurts. My back hurts. My feet hurt. My soul kinda hurts, if I'm being honest."
"What in the sweet fuck are you talking about?"
Keiji rolls over, facing the ceiling. Shima looms over him, hands on her thighs. He huffs a laugh, and Shima laughs as well.
"Thanks, Mitsuki," Keiji says, cracking his knuckles and staring up at his childhood friend. "For getting me into this sport. It was fun while it lasted."
Shima just smiles, holding out a hand to pull him up. Keiji takes it, pulling himself up to his feet. He dusts himself off, rolling his shoulders and sighing happily. Keiji puts his hand out for Shima to shake one final time. The two of them slap their palms together, shaking hands firmly.
And then Shima tugs Keiji forward, wrapping her free arm around his shoulders. Keiji yelps, startled, falling against Shima and wrapping his own free arm around his friend's shoulders.
"You know what I saw?" Shima whispers into Keiji's ear. "When my spike—the one that won the entire fucking game—landed on the opponent's side of the court?"
"Something good, I hope?"
"Gold, Keiji." Shima's voice is awed as she ruffles Keiji's hair—she's always been an inch or two taller than him. "The sound of the ball hitting the court was gold. The sight of that was brighter than the medal I got to take home."
Keiji chuckles, clutching his oldest friend even tighter. No—not oldest friend, not technically, but the only one he has left.
"Thank you," Shima whispers again, voice soft. "For staying with me for this long."
And under the glaring lights of the gym, with their teammates milling about, Keiji thinks—
This is home.
A shame that, as I realize this, I have to leave it.
—
He finishes school. He finishes with exemplary grades, and he is utterly surprised to find that he is ranked—
Number two? Out of the entire school?
Well, the boy in the shadows says, shrugging. It's not number one–
SHUT UP. Anyway.
Second-smartest out of the entirety of Fukuroudani Academy's third-year students—that is not a bad achievement. Not at all.
Mama would be proud. So would Papa.
"Hey, good job," Shima says, nudging Keiji in the ribs. "Who's the lucky bastard that managed to outrank you?"
"That would be me."
Both Keiji and Shima turn around to find—
"Yukawa?" Keiji asks, in complete and utter surprise. "You?"
Yukawa Tsuneharu—Keiji's roommate for the past three years—just grins, showing off his report card to Keiji. Sure enough, there is a 1/315 on his report card, right next to his perfect grades. "What, did you think all I did was read webnovels all day?"
"Yes," Keiji says bluntly. "Though I suppose all that reading came in handy for studying as well."
"Eh, photographic memory also helps." Yukawa taps the side of his forehead, smiling a bit before waving goodbye. "See ya around, Akaashi."
"Huh," Shima says, in complete and utter surprise. "I would not have expected that, like, ever." She turns her head, flicking her long earrings as she does. "Any plans for after we get out of this hellhole?"
"I wouldn't call it hell," Keiji says, chuckling. "I think it's...the closest thing I've had to home in a long time."
These people. These halls. These last three years.
I will miss this when I am gone.
Shima chuckles, leaning her head against Keiji's head. She has to stoop down a little bit as she walks—she's still taller than him.
"I'll miss you when I go, Keiji."
"What?" Keiji startles, alarmed. He turns his head to look up at Shima, who has a sheepish look on her face. "What do you mean by that?"
"I got signed by a D1 team," Shima says, twisting her hands together. "Hokkaido prefecture. Hokkaido Silver Stars."
"That—" And here, Keiji spins Shima around, grabbing her by the shoulders and hugging her. "My God, that's amazing, Mitsuki! You—you're going to be—"
You're going to be leaving me too. Hokkaido is seven to eight hours away from Tokyo by train. My oldest friend. You're going to be even further away from me than Koutarou will be.
How am I going to survive?
"I'm going to be so far away," Shima mutters. "Away from you. My parents. Away from...Momoko. Yukito."
Our friends' graves are here. I am here.
She feels like she's making a mistake, leaving us here, all alone.
"I don't know if I can do it," Shima says quietly, and she sounds scared. Fear doesn't suit Shimamoyo Mitsuki in the slightest. "Fuck, 'Kaashi, it's going to be...I don't know, I've never been so alone before."
—
He gets accepted into every single college he applies for. Including one Kansai Gaidai University, located in Hirakata, Osaka.
Exactly where the MSBY Black Jackals are based.
"A full-ride scholarship," Keiji tells his aunt, his heart pounding in his chest as he speaks. "Room and board, Amane-obasan. Fully paid for. Please allow me to attend."
Please. Please. Please.
His aunt hums from the other side of the phone, and Keiji is left hoping, hoping, hoping, because—
I am so close. I am so close. Koutarou is in Osaka, I could go to Osaka, I could be with him, I could live a good life with him—
"No, Keiji."
Keiji's heart plummets into hell.
Hoping only leads to disappointment, or did you forget that vital lesson, Akaashi Keiji?
"What do you mean, Obasan?" Keiji asks in a hushed whisper. "I have—I have a full-ride, everything will be paid for, I—”
"There are far better universities here in Tokyo, Keiji. Ones that are close to home, and ones that would offer better programs for your...literature degree."
Keiji resists the urge to begin screaming.
So close. So fucking close, and yet what I want is untouchable.
The finals at Nationals. The college I want to go to.
Bokuto Koutarou.
Keiji thinks of pitch-black wings, and he thinks of leaping from a balcony and spreading them, and he thinks of flying, flying on a long journey far, far away from this wretched place.
"Why do you want to go all the way to Osaka, anyway? You're just like your father, Keiji, he wanted to go all the way to Korea to study there, and if it weren't for our mother, he would have probably stayed there with—"
She cuts herself off. Keiji knows what she was about to say.
He would have probably stayed in Korea with Mama. I would have been born in Korea. I would have considered myself half-Korean and half-Japanese, not half-Japanese and half-Korean.
"The boy I love is in Osaka," Keiji says, his voice like ice. "Amane-obasan. I've been in love with a boy for the past three years, and he is in Osaka. And he is—he is everything to me. He is willing to wait for forever to even get a chance to be with me. And so—forgive me if I was too foolish to hope that I could get a chance to be happy with him."
"Keiji—"
"I'll stay in Tokyo," Keiji says, cold and unforgiving. "I'll stay in Tokyo, but I will be miserable the entire time I am here. And the second I graduate from college, I will get on the cheapest train, and I will head to Osaka, and I will be free."
I will be happy. I will get everything I ever wanted.
"Have a good night, Amane-obasan."
And with that, Keiji hangs up, throws his phone across his bed, shoves a pillow into his face, and screams.
Fuck. Fuck this. Fuck me.
God's real, and God hates me. Why couldn't I have had this? I was—I was so close, I was so close to being able to go to Osaka, to be with Bokuto, I thought I was finally going to be able to be happy, and…
Well, life's a bitch. Life's unfair. Either you—
SHUT THE FUCK UP. SHUT THE FUCK UP, SHUT THE FUCK UP, SHUT THE FUCK UP.
GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD.
The boy in the shadows rears his head back and cackles. You're stuck with me for the rest of your miserable little life, Akaashi Keiji. You're never going to be able to be rid of me.
Another scream rips its way up Keiji's throat, and he can feel tears beginning to stream down his face. There is a whole ocean’s worth of emotions crashing and roiling around inside his chest, and he screams and shouts, but none of it is enough.
I WANT TO BE HAPPY, MY FUCKING GOD, I JUST WANT TO BE HAPPY. I WANT TO WAKE UP AND NOT BE ALREADY EXHAUSTED. I WANT TO GO ONE DAY—ONE FUCKING DAY WITHOUT FEELING LIKE I DESERVE TO DIE. I WANT TO CLAW MY SKIN FROM MY FUCKING BONES AND CRUMBLE INTO DUST AND NEVER BE SEEN AGAIN.
And through all of the noise in his head, Akaashi Keiji manages to think a single, quiet, coherent thought:
I want Koutarou.
—
He fills out all the paperwork required. He ignores his aunt’s calls and messages.
He calls his boy.
"I am sorry, Bokuto-san. I will not be able to attend any colleges in Osaka. I will...be staying here in Tokyo."
Keiji braces for his boy's response. Waits for him to start shouting, or crying, or anything. How could you have let this happen, Akaashi? I thought you were supposed to be smart. I thought you were supposed to be clever. I thought you were supposed to be better than this.
I thought you loved me. Here I am, waiting for forever to be with you, and you're not even doing anything to make my dreams come true.
However, Keiji knows Bokuto Koutarou well, and though he knows that those words are what he deserves, he knows that Bokuto Koutarou will not say those cruel words to him.
"Oh, Akaashi," Koutarou whispers instead, so soft, so sweet. "Keiji. Keiji, it's going to be okay."
"How can you be so sure?" Keiji whispers back. "Koutarou. Koutarou, how can you be so sure, how can we date with—we're going to be in two different cities, we're going to be hours apart, this is going to be nearly impossible—"
"Two hours isn't that long, Keiji." Koutarou's voice is quiet when he speaks. "I'll visit you. Every month, every week—we'll find a way, Keiji."
"How do you know?" Keiji asks, repeating himself. "Koutarou..."
"Because nothing is ever impossible, remember? Just really hard."
Keiji cries. He cries and cries and cries, because Koutarou will be so far away, he is not here with him to comfort him, and because he—
"I miss you," Keiji says, amidst all his sobbing. He clenches at his arm, digging his black nails into his flesh. It hurts, but the pain grounds him to reality. "I miss you so fucking much."
"Keiji."
Koutarou says his name so reverently. It almost feels sinful.
"I miss you, and it—it fucking hurts, every goddamn minute you're not here with me, I miss playing with you, I miss your voice, I miss your stupid hair—"
"Akaashi! My hair's not stupid!"
And despite all the pain roiling in Keiji's chest, he manages to laugh. He withdraws his hand from his arm, staring down at the crescent moons indented in his skin. He sighs, curling in on himself, hugging himself in a pathetic attempt to imitate human touch.
"I miss you," Keiji says, his voice cracking. "I miss you so much. I think just even seeing you again would...make it all feel better. I don't know. I feel like I'm supposed to know, but I don't, and..."
Now is the time to say it.
I have not been sure of many things lately, but I am sure of this.
"I don't know. All I know is...I just...I love you, Koutarou."
There's a surprised huff of breath from Koutarou, before he says:
"You finally said it! I love you too, Keiji, I love you so much!"
I love him. I love Bokuto Koutarou, and I finally admitted it. To him and myself.
I am in love with Bokuto Koutarou, shining star that he is, and Bokuto Koutarou is in love with me.
—
Keiji graduates. Akaashi Keiji graduates, and on the day of his graduation, he is completely and utterly miserable.
"I'm sorry," Shima whispers as she straightens his cap and smoothes out his gown. "I'm so, so fucking sorry, Keiji. If I could pack you up in my suitcase and take you—fuck it, take you anywhere, I would."
"How did you do it?" Keiji whispers back as he stares up at his friend. "How did you...find the courage to just...up and leave everything you've ever known?"
Shima sighs, smiling sadly. She slaps Keiji on the shoulder and shakes her head. "I don't know, 'Kaashi. I think...I think I just got sick of being caged down. I wanna fly, 'Kaashi."
Keiji thinks about the Greek myth of Icarus, and how the second he got a taste of freedom, he flew too close to the sun, melted his wings, and drowned at sea. He wonders if, in his friend's haste, the same thing will happen to her.
"I want to fly as well," Keiji murmurs. "But I am terrified to do so. And—whenever I get what I actually want, I...am unsure if I want it anymore."
Shima opens her mouth to respond, but she's cut off by one of their teachers shouting about how they need to line up in alphabetical order. His friend gives him one quick hug, and then she's off, disappearing into the sea of people in identical black caps and gowns.
Keiji sighs, digging out the speech he had written, as salutatorian. There are too many words—he wrote too much, if such a thing is possible. The words swim as he blinks, once, then puts the speech back into his pocket. Hopefully, the words will come back to him when he's up on the stage.
I can't do this. Fuuuck, I can't do this. I can't believe it—second place? In the entirety of the school? How? Maybe this was an enormous mistake, and when I get up there, they'll say, oh, we made a mistake, Akaashi Keiji is actually not ranked second in the entire school. God, I—
"Yo," Keiji hears, and he looks up to see Yukawa tapping him on the shoulder. "You stressing out about this?"
"I think you should be stressed out a little bit more," Keiji sighs. "You're the valedictorian, that's way more impressive than me."
Yukawa just shrugs. Three years of having him as a roommate, and Keiji still knows painfully little about him. He regrets not trying to be closer to him—but would that have made a difference? In anything?
"I mean, it's not like I'm smarter than you by a huge margin," Yukawa says, pushing his rectangular glasses up the bridge of his nose. "A couple of points, give or take, what's the difference? And you were captain of the volleyball team, and you still managed to be salutatorian. That's a way more impressive feat."
The valedictorian of our school is telling me this. The boy that was my roommate for the past three, the boy that stayed up late reading webnovels—he is telling me this.
Surely, his opinion means...something, doesn't it?
"Thank you," Keiji says, bowing his head, and that is all he has to say. Yukawa laughs, once, before waving Keiji over to where all of the other ranked students are. The ten of them make their way out to the stage, where they sit down in a neat row. As they do so, the principal of the school is speaking about what an honor it is to see all of the third-years finally graduating. Many more people make speeches, all of which Keiji dutifully drones out. Well, all except for—
"And now, we welcome Fukuroudani's 2014 valedictorian, Yukawa Tsuneharu."
Keiji claps as loudly as he can as Yukawa makes his way to the stage. As he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Keiji thinks—
When I first met him, I thought he reminded me of Yukito. And now I know that he's naturally gifted just like Yukito as well.
Yukito. Are you watching me? From heaven, or—or wherever you're watching from?
Are you proud of me?
I hope you're proud of me.
And in the blink of an eye, Yukawa has finished his speech, and is heading back to all of the other graduates. As he passes Keiji, he slaps him on the arm, and mouths out—
Your turn now.
Keiji takes a deep breath, steeling his nerves. He nods his head, stepping out of line, and heading out to the stage.
Yukito. Give me strength.
"Esteemed students, family, and faculty members," Keiji says, his voice reverberating throughout the auditorium. "It is an honor to stand before you as Fukuroudani's salutatorian."
He runs through the rest of his speech, reciting the words from memory. He speaks of determination, of perseverance, of relying on one's family to make it through the tough days ahead. As he runs his mouth, he scans the crowd.
He cannot see anyone he recognizes. But that is because there are far too many people. He wonders who will show up at his graduation. Koutarou, hopefully, but he is busy, he is a student and an athlete, and Keiji cannot just ask him to drop everything to attend his graduation. Kenma, maybe. Amane-obasan—
Amane-obasan will probably have disowned you. You have not spoken to her since your declaration to go to college here in Tokyo.
She won't be here for you. Maybe nobody at all will be here for you. Wouldn't that be—
Keiji stares down at the front rows of the auditorium, and he sees a very familiar face, sitting in a seat, staring up at him.
Amane-obasan?
"And I thank you," Keiji finishes, bowing his head. "For allowing me to achieve my fullest potential here at Fukuroudani Academy. It’s been the greatest honor of my life thus far.”
The audience erupts into applause, and Keiji's eyes dart from his aunt, up to the other members of the audience. It's strange, but he could swear that a very familiar voice is calling his name, calling, "Akaashi, Akaashi—!"
Koutarou. Bokuto Koutarou.
His boy is sitting in the middle of the auditorium, waving both his hands and cheering his name. His eyes shine golden, like stars, and it very nearly takes Keiji's breath away. He gives a small smile, and a wave, and then he goes back to sit down.
The rest of the ceremony passes in a haze. His name is one of the first to be called. He crosses the stage, shakes hands with the principal, and accepts his diploma. He looks out into the crowd again, trying to see if Koutarou and his aunt were just a hallucination.
He doesn't get enough time to see, so all he can do is cling onto hope.
Hope only leads to disappointment—
Nope. Shut up.
He claps as loud as he can when he hears Shimamoyo Mitsuki called. Shima crosses the stage with her head held high, smiling as perfect and pristine as ever. Briefly, the two of them make eye contact, and Shima nods her head towards him.
We did it. We did it, Keiji.
Eventually, though, the calling of the names is finished, and Keiji stands up, tossing his cap into the air like everybody else. He's nearly trampled by the legions of students eager to see their families, but he makes it through in the end.
The first person he finds is—
"Obasan," Keiji says quietly.
Akaashi Amane is standing before him, dressed in a prim and proper purple dress, with a bouquet of yellow tulips cradled in her hands. She nods towards him, and he nods back.
"Keiji," Amane-obasan says, just as quietly. She offers up the bouquet to him, as though she's presenting an offering for the gods. "For you."
Keiji takes the bouquet from her, cradling it in his hands. He opens his mouth to speak, but his aunt cuts him off.
"I have cut all ties with the church."
Out of all the things that his aunt could have possibly said to greet him, Keiji never would have expected that to be one of them. "I'm sorry?"
His aunt sighs, shaking her head. "I...I do not think anyone can possibly express the amount of...hurt I have caused you over the years you have been under my care."
Keiji blinks, hand already reaching out to comfort his aunt. "Obasan, you have not hurt me—"
"You are a good boy, Keiji." Amane-obasan straightens up, staring him straight in the eye. "You are a good boy, and you have—never once complained about any of the hardships you have suffered through. Your parents, dead, two of your friends, dead, and yet—you persevered."
"It is..." Keiji hesitates, because what can he say to that? Suffering is relative, and he does not think he has suffered too many hardships. "What I had to do, Obasan."
Amane-obasan doesn't say anything to that, merely reaching up—because Keiji is at least half a foot taller than her now—and straightening out his gown, readjusting his hat. There's a delicate precision in her movements, efficient as always.
"I've spent too long mourning my brother," she says, slowly. "But he is gone now. You are all I have left of him. And I cannot allow myself to lose you as well, Keiji."
And she looks up at him, and she smiles, and she says:
"Kyoji would be very proud of what a fine man his son turned out to be. Haneul, as well."
Keiji lets out a shuddering breath, hardly daring to breathe, hardly daring to hope, saying, "So, about the...the boy I..."
"You have not yet formally introduced us," Amane-obasan says, clasping one of his hands. "Allow us to meet later tonight. I have a meeting for work I must attend tomorrow, and so you must make this quick."
She turns her head towards the crowd, smiling, before patting his shoulder and standing on tiptoe to kiss him on the forehead. Something in Keiji's heart begins to crack and leak at the achingly familiar motion.
"Congratulations, Keiji."
"Thank you," Keiji squeaks out, bowing his head. He scarcely has time to turn his attention back to the crowd of people pouring out of the auditorium before—
"Keiji."
Keiji looks up, and there he finds—
My boy. My star.
You’re here.
"Bokuto-san." Keiji hurriedly rearranges his diploma and his bouquet of flowers so that he can give Koutarou a one-handed side hug. Koutarou being Koutarou, he opts to ignore this and instead wraps both of his arms around Keiji’s shoulders. It takes Keiji a bit by surprise, but he pats Koutarou's shoulder a couple of times before resting his hand on his back.
You're here. You're here. You're finally here.
"Congratulations, Akaashi!" Koutarou shouts excitedly, digging through his bag for something. "I didn't get you anything—I was gonna get you flowers, but I forgot—but I made you this!"
Koutarou pulls out an envelope, proudly presenting it to Keiji. Keiji lets Koutarou take his diploma and bouquet, and he takes the envelope with both of his hands, with reverence. He opens it, running his eyes down the uncharacteristically very neat strokes of characters.
Hi, Akaashi! Or—wait, maybe I should start calling you Keiji, now that we're dating! At least, I hope we're dating now, because you did make a promise to me, and you never, EVER break your promises.
But, well, I do get if you don't want to date me anymore, now that you're all grown up and out of high school. I get it if I was kind of pressuring you last year, because you were only a second-year, and I was your senpai, and I think I should've known better.
Whether or not we end up dating, I do just want to say this.
You're an amazing person, Keiji. You're so smart, and you're so organized, and I feel like you've always been more grown up than me, even though you're younger than me. You always try to know everything, but sometimes you don't know some things, and I think that's okay! Nobody knows everything!
The last three years have been the best years of my life, and it's because I got to spend them with you, Keiji. I know you won't be going to Osaka for college, but I'm not bothered by that. We can make dating work long distance, I know we can.
That is, if you still want to date me. And I totally get if you decide to date someone else, like Kenma, because I know I can be annoying, and I don't know if you want to spend the rest of your life like an annoying person like me.
But if you do still want to date me, I think that would make me the happiest man in the world.
I love you, Akaashi Keiji. Don't forget it!
— Bokuto K.
Keiji starts crying. Right in front of all his graduated classmates, right in front of Koutarou, right in front of Kenma and Konoha and Komi—when did they get here? Doesn't matter, all that matters is that he is crying, and he is happy.
"Koutarou," he says, his voice cracking on that singular word. That's kind of embarrassing. "Thank you."
"Akaashi! Don't cry!" Koutarou shouts, pressing his hand to Keiji's cheek and wiping the tears away. "I'm sorry if I wrote it badly! You know I'm not that good at writing stuff!"
"It's nothing like that," Keiji laughs, because the boy he is in love with is so kind, so earnest, and he shines. "I loved it. It was perfect."
And Keiji drops his hand down to Koutarou's, intertwining them together. My hands are still bigger than his. Koutarou smiles, laughing and clenching Keiji's fingers tighter.
Konoha and Komi make various noises of disgust as Keiji tucks his note into his pocket and as Koutarou hands Keiji back his diploma and flowers. Keiji then turns his attention to Kenma, who is fidgeting with the ends of his hair.
"Thank you for coming," he whispers as he wraps his arms around Kenma. It's been months since the two of them have been this close. "And thank you for everything."
"I'm glad you took your own advice for once," Kenma whispers back, and Keiji smiles ruefully as he pulls away. He waves goodbye as he disappears into the crowd, and Konoha and Komi take his place.
"Hey, you're a whole adult now!" Konoha cheers, slapping Keiji on the back. "Congrats, Akaashi!"
"Sarukui and Washio couldn't make it," Komi says, also slapping Keiji on the back. "Washio's playing for EJP Raijin, did you hear? They got a game coming up soon, I think!"
"And what is Sarukui doing?" Keiji asks, waving his hands around in a futile attempt to get his upperclassmen off of him. He turns his head to find that his underclassmen are making their way towards him as well. “Ah—one moment—“
“Akaashi-san!” Anahori shouts, dragging Onaga behind him by the wrist. "Congratulations! You're old now!"
"You are going to be graduating in a year's time," Keiji scolds his kouhai, slapping him on the back of the neck. "Oldness is relative."
"Yeah, whatever! Are you and Himemiya-san still planning to take us out to dinner tonight?"
Oh, shit, right.
"How long are you going to be staying in Tokyo?" Keiji asks, hurriedly spinning around to see Koutarou. I swear to God, I am going go insane if I do not get myself and Koutarou in a room alone by the end of the night—
"The next week," Koutarou says cheerfully, and Keiji breathes out a sigh of relief. "Go celebrate with your team, Akaashi! You've deserved it!"
That's right. Not your team. Not our team.
My team. My team that I failed, so very badly—NOPE. NOPE. SHUT UP. SHUT THE FUCK UP. STOP RIGHT THERE.
I didn't fail anyone. I did the best I could. I gave every play my all.
That's all I could do.
"Yes," Keiji breathes out, nodding his head. "Of course. I—Himemiya has given you all the address, correct? I will see you soon."
"AKAASHI!"
Oh, God, when did I become so popular? Keiji asks himself as yet another person pushes their way through the crowd to get to him. Shimamoyo Mitsuki emerges, her cap and gown askew, but with the brightest smile on her face. His teammates, old and new, wave goodbye and begin heading out—all except for Koutarou, of course.
Shima throws herself at Keiji, and he yelps in surprise. His oldest friend hugs him so tightly, he feels as though his spine may break in half.
"We did it," Shimamoyo Mitsuki whispers. "We fuckin' did it, Keiji. We survived."
"You make it sound like it was a particularly hard task to survive high school," Keiji whispers back, clutching her tightly. "All we did was...wake up every day, do our work, play our volleyball games..."
"I hope they're proud of us." Shima pulls back, her eyes shining with tears. "Yukito. Momoko. I hope—I hope, wherever they are, they're proud of us."
Keiji tilts his head to the ceiling. If he imagines hard enough, he can almost hear the sounds of their best friends calling their names, amongst all the chaos of every other graduate of the Fukuroudani class of 2014.
Akaashi Keiji. Shimamoyo Mitsuki.
Well done. Well done.
We're so proud of you.
—
The Fukuroudani men's volleyball team holds a celebratory party, and goes out to dinner. Keiji has never been one for parties, but he has a very good time. He passes his captaincy onto Onaga, and vice-captaincy goes to Anahori. He makes a speech as former captain, Himemiya makes a speech as former vice-captain, they clink glasses, and they celebrate the end of an era and the start of a new one.
And when Keiji walks out the door of the restaurant, he finds Koutarou waiting for him.
"Come on, Akaashi!" Koutarou shouts happily, offering his arm out to Keiji, like a proper gentleman. Keiji takes it, resting his head against his boy's arm and smiling happily.
"I suppose this is the part where you ask me to be your boyfriend?" Keiji asks softly, as the two of them walk along the dark streets of Tokyo. "Where you take me by the hands and ask me nicely?"
Koutarou grins, guiding Keiji over to a streetlamp. He moves to stand in front of Keiji, taking both of his hands in his own. Keiji notices how this is not entirely possible for him, given that his own hands are larger than Koutarou's.
That's probably the only body part of mine that's bigger than his—NOPE.
"I've been waiting to say this for, like, forever." Koutarou says, his eyes shining like stars. "Akaashi Keiji. Will you be my boyfriend?"
Keiji tilts his head to the side, feigning thought. Out of the corner of his eye, Koutarou pouts.
"Akaashi!" Koutarou shouts petulantly. "Don't keep me waiting so long!"
That's right. I've kept you waiting for long enough, haven't I?
"Of course, Koutarou," Keiji says, bringing Koutarou's hands up to his mouth. He kisses his boy's knuckles, once, twice, smiling. "Of course I'll be your boyfriend."
Koutarou immediately lets go of Keiji's hands, throwing his own hands up in the air and whooping. "LET'S GO! LET'S GOOOOO!!"
"Koutarou," Keiji laughs, reaching up and grabbing Koutarou's hands. "Not so loud, you'll disturb all the other people."
"But you said yes!" Koutarou suddenly lurches forward, grabbing Keiji around the shoulders and hugging him tightly. "I have a boyfriend now! I have the most amazing boyfriend in the world!"
"Bokuto-san," Keiji says softly, and that's enough to get Koutarou to stop jumping around. "Please kiss me, I've been waiting roughly two years for you to do so."
"Akaashi!" Koutarou shouts, almost scandalized. "We're moving so fast! I just confessed to you!"
"Koutarou, please kiss me, or I think I will begin crying. Please, you do not know how long I've waited for you to kiss me, I—"
Koutarou leans in, one hand behind Keiji's neck, one hand on Keiji's hand, and gently presses their lips together.
It is not his first kiss, but his first kiss was years ago, and he has not been kissed—on the lips, at least—at all in those years. Keiji closes his eyes, wraps his arms around Koutarou's shoulders, and holds him close.
The kiss is near-perfect. The only thing that is not perfect about it is the fact that it ends entirely too quickly.
"Bokuto-san, please do that again," Keiji demands, grabbing at Koutarou's cheeks. "Do it again, if I had known you were such a good kisser, I would have begun dating you much sooner."
"In public?!" Koutarou asks, in that same near-scandalized voice. Then he grins, leaning in and whispering. "Akaashi, do you have a thing for exhibitionism?"
Now is Keiji's turn to be scandalized. "Bokuto-san, where did you learn that term from?"
"College," Koutarou says proudly, puffing out his chest. "Now, the question is, where did you learn that term, Akaashi?"
And Keiji has no response to that, because he learned it off the internet, so he keeps his mouth shut.
"Speaking of moving quickly, my aunt wants to meet you," Keiji says, pulling Koutarou towards the nearest bus station. "And she is leaving for Fukuoka in roughly two hours, so we must move quickly."
"Confession, first kiss, meeting the parents, all in one night!" Koutarou swings Keiji's arm back and forth as they walk together. "What's next, first time sleeping together?"
"If I have my way, yes," Keiji says quietly. He laughs at how fast Koutarou's head turns towards him, then at how fast Koutarou's head turns away from him. "Come along, Bokuto-san. Lucky you're dressed for the occasion, I'm sure Amane-obasan will be delighted to meet you."
And Koutarou seems to have gained some level of self awareness at college, because he says, "Akaashi, I'm in my team's hoodie and sweatpants. I don't think anyone's parents would be delighted to meet me."
—
Luckily for both of them, Koutarou is wrong.
"Keiji does not often speak of his friends," Amane-obasan says as she pours them glasses of barely tea. "But the few times he does, he always speaks of you."
I spoke of the boy one time, and it was when I was shouting at you, Keiji thinks as he sips his tea.
"I trust you will treat him right," Amane-obasan says as she sets Koutarou's glass in front of him. "Keiji is all that I have left."
"I wouldn't dream of it, Akaashi-san!" Koutarou is loud, but he is earnest, and he nearly knocks the glass over in his haste to bow to Keiji's aunt. "I promise to take good care of Keiji! Always!"
Amane-obasan does not laugh, ever, but the smile she gives Koutarou is a near thing.
"He seems like...a good boy," she says to Keiji as Koutarou leaves to use the restroom. "Very honest. I...do not doubt that this will heavily impact your future, but if it makes you happy…”
"He makes me very happy, Obasan," Keiji whispers, tapping his nails against his empty glass. He doesn't miss the way his aunt refers to his romantic relationship as 'it', as though it is just an irrelevant object in the background of his life, but he will take what he can get.
His aunt nods, before standing up and smoothing out her blouse. "I will be off now. See to it that Bokuto-kun gets home safely, yes?"
If Keiji gets his way, Koutarou will not be going home for the night, but he nods regardless. "Yes. Of course."
"Oh! Are you leaving?" Koutarou asks as he rushes back into the kitchen. He bows, body almost parallel to the floor. "Thank you very much for allowing me to date your nephew, Akaashi-san! I am forever grateful!"
Amane-obasan nods as she pulls on her coat, walking forward to look Koutarou in the eye. Koutarou tilts his head down, meeting her gaze head-on. They stay like that, in some awkward version of a staring contest that Keiji is too scared to interrupt. After a couple seconds, Amane-obasan nods again.
"You will be good for him," Amane-obasan declares, turning her gaze towards Keiji. "Bring some light into his life."
And with that, she pats Keiji's shoulder, takes her luggage, and leaves the apartment. Keiji stares after her in a bit of shock, before Koutarou whoops again.
"She likes me!" Koutarou claps his hands together, grabbing Keiji and shaking him by the shoulders. "Your aunt likes me!"
"It's a fucking miracle," Keiji breathes out, involuntarily placing his hand on his chest. He turns towards Koutarou, grabbing both of his hands. "Now, when do I get to meet your parents?"
And that causes Koutarou to stop in his tracks, drooping slightly.
Ah. I said the wrong thing again.
"I think I should go, Akaashi," Koutarou whispers, his fingers slipping out of Keiji's grasp. "I gotta get back to my hotel, my sister's waiting for me—"
"Bokuto-san." Keiji reaches forward, clinging onto Koutarou's fingers more tightly. "Please—stay the night."
Koutarou hesitates. Keiji continues on.
"I know that—this will not be either of our first times, being with someone in that way, but—truthfully, I have been waiting for you," Keiji says, his voice a bare whisper. "You...occupy all of my fantasies, late at night, you are all that I desire, and I..."
I want you. More than anything.
"Wow," Koutarou says in awe, staring down at Keiji with stars in his eyes. "Akaashi, you manage to make anything sound...poetic."
"I get much less poetic the more impatient I am," Keiji says bluntly. "Bokuto-san, please fuck me. Now, preferably, but I do understand if you'd want to take a shower first—"
"Nope!" Koutarou yelps, grabbing Keiji by the wrist and nearly dragging him into his own bedroom. "Nope, nope, whatever you say, Akaashi!"
Keiji can only laugh as he sits down on his bed and Koutarou clambers onto it after him. In between his laughs, he gets kisses, and so many of them.
"So pretty," Koutarou murmurs in between kisses, while he's running his hands up and down under Keiji's shirt, while he's cupping Keiji's face in his hands. "Like an angel, Keiji."
Keiji just mumbles as he does his best to keep up with Koutarou, running his fingers through his hair—Koutarou's hair has fallen flat, during the events of the day, but Keiji finds it charming in any way it's styled. He digs his black nails into the back of Koutarou's neck, and marvels at the sounds Koutarou makes in response.
"Take this off," Keiji instructs, tugging at Koutarou's hoodie, and his newly acquired boyfriend hurries to obey. He takes a moment to shamelessly ogle his boyfriend's chest, the planes of his muscle, the curves of his biceps. "Being a professional athlete certainly suits you," he muses out loud.
"Am I going too fast?" Koutarou asks, from where he is straddling Keiji's lap. "Keiji, y'know, you can tell me if I'm doing anything wrong—"
"Koutarou, if all of my clothes are not off within the next five minutes, I am going to begin biting you."
Koutarou stares at him, then lets out a shocked laugh. "All of them, Keiji?"
"All of them," Keiji confirms. "And make it quick, I would like to go to bed at a reasonable hour."
—
Keiji goes to bed at a reasonable hour, and he goes to bed with Koutarou's arms around him.
He dreams not of Koutarou, but of Yukito.
"Hi," Yukito says quietly. They're sitting in the room that their middle school used for the arts and crafts club. Yukito's fourteen years old, not yet dead, and he's smiling at Keiji, head propped up on his hand. "How're you, Keiji? Oh—"
Keiji rushes towards him, wrapping his arms around Yukito's shoulders. He chokes out a sob as he buries his face in Yukito's hair. Gently, Yukito lifts a hand up and ruffles Keiji’s hair. He pulls back, looking at his hand in what seems to be awe. “Huh. Been a while since I could do that without shaking.”
"I did it," Keiji whispers as Yukito places a hand on his hand. "Your wish for me. Yukito—Yukito, I fell in love, with another boy, and his name is Koutarou, and—and—"
"You wish I could've met him." Yukito speaks his thoughts aloud for him, because this is a dream, and Yukito is nothing more than a figment of his imagination. Keiji leans back, and Yukito stares up at him. He smiles up at him. "I know. I wish I could have met him too. But he seems like a nice guy, Keiji. I'm happy for you."
Keiji hesitates, because he's not sure what else he should say to this figment of his imagination. After all, this is a dream, not reality or anything of the sort. "Sometimes, I wonder what would have happened if..."
"If I were still alive?" Yukito rolls his eyes, grinning. "No point in wondering about that, Keiji. I'm dead and gone. I'm not coming back. And you shouldn't let me stop you from living a happy life, Keiji. Got that?"
"Of course," Keiji whispers, nodding his head. "Of course, Yukito."
"You got ranked second in the entirety of Fukuroudani," Yukito says in approval. "Well done. I probably couldn't have done that. And you got all the way to the finals in Nationals. I definitely couldn't have done that."
"You flatter me," Keiji says quietly. "Like you always do."
"Yeah, cause you deserve it." Yukito giggles. "You know, for someone so smart, you can be really dumb sometimes."
Keiji sighs, shaking his head. "You haven't changed. But—you're just part of my dreams, and so I guess that means you can't change. You're just...how I remember you."
Yukito nods sagely. Then he tilts his head, looking past Keiji and pointing straight out the door. "I think there's someone else waiting for you too."
Keiji turns his head to find—
"Momoko."
And then his surroundings shift, and he finds himself standing in the temple grounds in Kyoto, the last good memory he had with Hatoba Momoko. Momoko is there, standing before him, in the same pale pink kimono. But she's holding Shima's fan, and she flutters it in front of her face before snapping it shut.
"You taking care of Mitsuki?" Momoko asks, holding out her hand for Keiji to take.
Keiji sniffles, wipes his nose, and takes his oldest and first friend's hand. "Yeah. Or—I'm trying to. The best I can."
Momoko nods happily, her dangly hair ornament swaying as she turns her head. Now that Keiji is looking at it, it reminds him of the dangly earrings Shima wears so frequently. "And Mitsuki's taking care of you?"
Keiji nods again. "Yeah. She's—she was captain of the volleyball team, our third year. And—I was too, but—"
"Ah-ah!" Momoko turns to look at him, booping him on the nose. "Don't say you didn't deserve it. You did deserve it! 'Cause you're a good player, and you work really hard, always!"
"I miss you," Keiji says, and here, Momoko stops walking. "You were my first friend. We would have been friends for over ten years, if you were...still alive."
He takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm sorry you had to die. You weren't sick or anything, not like Yukito, but you just..."
"Hey, hey." Momoko moves to take Keiji's hands in both her own. "None of that, Keiji. It's not your fault I died, or that Yukito died, or that your parents died. It's nobody's fault. No need to feel sorry, 'kay? We're dead now. Nothing's gonna make us come back."
She grins, ruffling Keiji's hair with both of her hands. "All you can do is remember us. You can do that, can't you, Keiji?"
"Yes," Keiji sobs. There's tears flowing down his cheeks now. "Of course I can."
And Hatoba Momoko grins, ear-to-ear, and says:
"Of course you can. You're Akaashi Keiji. You can do anything you want to do."
—
Keiji wakes up with tears brimming in his eyes and a warm weight around his waist.
"Good morning," Koutarou mumbles, pressing a kiss to Keiji's neck. "Didja dream some happy dreams?"
"Mm." Keiji turns around, placing a hand on Koutarou's bare chest, moving up to his neck, to his cheek. "Dreamt of my friends. My dead ones."
"Oh." Koutarou's eyes widen in concern. "Bad dreams?"
"No, no." Keiji shakes his head sleepily. "They were good dreams. Very good dreams."
"Oh, good." Koutarou closes his eyes, presses another kiss to Keiji's forehead. "I'm happy you had good dreams. You deserve good dreams, Keiji, always."
"Do you remember what you dreamt about, Koutarou? Was it a good dream?"
Koutarou hums, tilting his head up to the ceiling and thinking. "I think I dreamt about...uh...oh, I dreamt that I was...a samurai."
Keiji laughs, flicking Koutarou on the cheek. "A samurai?"
"Yes!" Koutarou nods his head, apparently now remembering his dream in vivid detail. "I was a samurai, and I had a huge sword, and I was protecting you from...uh...something, I don't remember what, but I remember I was protecting you!"
I love you. I love you so much.
"I love you, Koutarou. Very much."
And Koutarou's eyes widen, shining like stars. Burning, bright, and beautiful.
"Keiji, I love you too! I love you so, so much!"
Notes:
— no notes. still too tired. will add later maybe.
— follow me on Tumblr
Chapter 9: the library (pt. 1) - 5
Summary:
Almost as in a dream, he makes his way over to the windowsill, opening the window and sticking his head out. He's not sure exactly why he does it, because a gust of wind immediately hits him a moment later, but then he looks down at the ground, and—
Wow. That's so high.
He had dreams before, childish ones, about sprouting wings and taking flight, going on a long journey far, far away from here. He was a wonderer and a dreamer, but now—
Now, all he dreams about is the sweet release of death.
Notes:
fellas I regret to inform you that it has not gotten better for me. maybe one day. maybe one day soon.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Akaashi Keiji is eighteen years old when he gets lost for the fifth time.
Truly, it's not his fault. But the library in his new college is so big, with so many books, organized to perfection, and he feels like he could spend an eternity there.
He feels tiny, part of something greater. He roams the aisles, searching for—something, he doesn't know what. He runs his fingers along the backs of the books, staring at the titles, and he finds—
Understanding Korea and Korean Culture.
Hm. I have been interested in learning more about Korea. After all, Mama was Korean. I need to get back in touch with my roots.
He pulls the book out, flicking through the pages. It's all in English, not Japanese or Korean, but Keiji has a passable knowledge of English to be able to read it. He makes a mental note to return here later, and he flips back to the book's cover to see the author.
Haneul Yeong.
He blinks, once, twice, then looks more closely at the name.
Mama?
He rubs his eyes, and then he sees—no, Haneul Young, not Yeong. He flips to the back of the book, searching for the author's portrait. Sure enough, it's not his mother—it's an elderly woman in her late sixties, with short, graying hair. Keiji sighs, sliding the book back into its proper place.
Hoping only leads to disappointment.
And that is how he's almost late to his literature class. Well—he planned to be five minutes early to his class, but he's now only one minute early, and there's almost no seats in the front available for him. So he sits down, quietly, in the back of the classroom, and he waits for the professor.
Excellent way to start college off, he thinks scathingly to himself, getting all of his supplies ready to jot down anything the teacher says for the syllabus. You idiot.
—
College is...fine. Keiji manages. He's still living out of his aunt's apartment, which annoys him to no end, but then his aunt sits him down one day, at dinner, hands him an envelope, and says:
"This is enough for five months' worth of rent at your new apartment. I am assuming that you will be able to become employed in that time, and from then on will be able to maintain your apartment by yourself, yes?"
Keiji stares down at the envelope, hardly daring to believe his eyes. He runs a shaky finger over it, and he thinks—
Freedom?
"There are some other things I have been neglecting to give to you," his aunt says as she leans over to grab something from beside her chair. She pulls up a large white cardboard box, and the thick layer of dust sitting on it makes Keiji cough. He leans over to look at what's written on the side, and it says—
Yeong Haneul x Akaashi Kyoji.
Mama. Papa.
"This is..." Keiji whispers in a shaky voice as he wipes the layer of dust off. "These belonged...to my parents?"
"I have been waiting for the right time to give you these," Amane-obasan says, rubbing her thumb over her younger brother's name. "And I do not think...it will ever be the right time, for this, but—"
"Thank you," Keiji says, cutting his aunt off, bowing gratefully. "Thank you, Amane-obasan. I will..."
What will I do with this? A box full of old momentos? Can my parents really be reduced to only that?
"Cherish this greatly." Keiji inhales, then exhales, his breaths shaky as he does. "Thank you for...everything, Amane-obasan. For taking care of me in my parents' absence."
There is a soft, sad smile on his aunt's face as she reaches forward to clasp his hand. "I was not able to be the caretaker you deserved, Keiji. You deserved a real family. A proper family."
Keiji turns his palm upright, clasping his aunt's fingers in his own. He thinks about his mama, his papa, the myriad of relatives he has rarely ever seen—so rarely, in fact, he can count on one hand the number of times he has interacted with them.
"You're my family too, Obasan."
It's funny, how the places I have come to consider home only really begin to feel like home once I leave them.
—
So he moves out. He takes the box of his parents' belongings with him, swearing to himself that he will not look at them until he is fully adjusted in the apartment complex that is a five minute drive away from his college.
His plans are immediately foiled when he calls Koutarou and Koutarou immediately says, "Ooh, Keiji, open it! I wanna see what's inside!"
Keiji has always had a very hard time saying no to Koutarou. He opens the box.
There are several things in the box, but the first thing that catches Keiji's eye is the framed photo of his parents and—
Him.
He is dressed in a white baby onesie—he must be about a year old, at this point. There is a teeny tiny white beanie on his head, and his evergreen eyes are wide open, far too wide and perceptive for a baby. His mama is holding him on her lap, one hand underneath him and one hand held to his face. The one-year-old Akaashi Keiji depicted in the photo is clutching onto his mama's finger with all of his pudgy fingers. His papa is leaning in close, one hand on his mama's shoulder and one hand reaching for him.
From the other side of the phone, Koutarou makes an indescribable noise.
"Akaashi! Akaashi, you were so cute as a baby! Oh my god—you're sooooo cute! Look at you!"
"All babies are cute," Keiji chuckles as he runs a hand over his parents' faces. There is not a hint of sadness or regret in his parents' eyes—there is only happiness.
He places the framed picture to the side and continues looking through the rest of the things. There is a large, thick, heavy book sitting underneath the framed photo. Keiji opens it, wiping away the dust that has accumulated.
It is a photo album, and Keiji has a vague memory of a waltz, a lullaby, and a birthday. He stares down at all the photos of his mama, in her white dress, his papa, in his black tuxedo, and he thinks—
Could that be Koutarou and I one day?
Mama and Papa said they would be at my wedding. But they're not here anymore. They're dead and gone, and they're not coming back.
"Your parents are hot, Akaashi! I can see where you get your good looks from!"
"Bokuto-san!" Keiji shouts, scandalized, cheeks flushing red. He stammers out a response, because he truly cannot come up with an answer for that. "Those—those are—those are my parents!"
Koutarou laughs, and Keiji thinks that he is kicking his feet as he's doing it. "I'm just saying the truth! Your mom's really pretty, and your dad's really handsome—and you're both! The best of both of them!"
"Oh..." Keiji thinks back to his parents' looks, to DNA, what he inherited from both of his parents. From his papa: tan skin, thick hair, and large hands. From his mama: evergreen eyes and a lithe stature. "Do you really think so, Bokuto-san?"
"Duh, you're like the prettiest person in the whole world. I'm so lucky to be dating you."
Keiji sighs, happily, turning his attention from the photo album to his boyfriend. "You can't just say stuff like that."
"Why not?! We're dating now! If I wanna compliment you, I'm gonna compliment you! You're so pretty! Like an angel!"
He's gonna kill me. He's gonna kill me with kindness, but that would be—a very kind way to go, indeed.
"What about your parents?" Keiji asks, flicking through the photo album. It seems to be in chronological order, detailing his parents' journey from when they were first dating, to their marriage, to their life as parents. "Koutarou, I haven't seen them yet. You've never introduced me to them."
He knows that Koutarou's parents are still alive—he's heard him loudly complain about them before, during practice, but he's seen neither head nor tail of them, in all his years of knowing Bokuto Koutarou.
"Or your other family members. You've got—sisters, right? How many of them?"
"Two," Koutarou says, much more sullenly. Keiji's heart drops into his stomach. He's not an idiot, he knows that Koutarou seems to not really get along with his family, but he wants to know where his boyfriend comes from, what his home life was like. "And they're...alright, I guess."
"Tell me more about them," Keiji says, running his finger over the glossy pictures in the photo album. "What are...they like?"
Koutarou runs a hand over his face as he readjusts himself, sitting down in a chair. He puts his hand over his mouth, then looks up to the sky, lost in thought.
"Uh—well, Hikari and I are pretty close, she's two years older than me. She's cool! She's studying to be an astronomer, or a physicist, or...some other thing that requires a lot of brain cells." Koutarou's face starts out bright at first, but it slowly dims as he gets to his sister's education. And it only seems to get even more dim as he continues on. "Itsuki and me...uh...we don’t get along that well, but she's more than a decade older than me, so I guess it's only natural. She's gonna be the next head of my father's company."
His boyfriend seems to droop even more when he mentions his father. "My father does stuff in business and finance and the stock market. And my mother doesn't really do anything, she just hosts charity galas and stuff."
Stuff in business and finance and the stock market? Charity galas and stuff? Keiji thinks as he gauges his boyfriend's expression. Just how...just how rich is he? He must have been pretty rich, to be able to attend college in Osaka, but how much pressure is on him as well?
"So—yeah, that's my family, Keiji." Koutarou huffs, throwing his hands up in the air. "Not as...not as cool as yours."
"They sound very nice," Keiji says politely, because his direct family is dead and his distant family is, well, distant. "Koutarou, I am sorry if I...upset you by making you talk about your family."
"No!" Koutarou says, far too loudly and far too nervously. "No—it's—fine, Keiji, I know you wanted to know about my family, you haven't met them yet...but they're all way more...I dunno, accomplished than me."
His boyfriend throws his hands up into the air sardonically. "After all, I'm just...the youngest kid. The failure. The disappointment. I'm just—a sports player and I'm majoring in education, of all things, and I'm just..."
Bokuto-san's weakness number 12: he has unrealistic expectations.
"Koutarou," Keiji says softly. He wishes that he could reach through the screen, grab his boyfriend tightly, and never let him go. "You are a division one volleyball player. You are one of the best volleyball players in Japan. And there is nothing wrong with wanting to become a teacher—you will be helping to raise the next generation, and that is a very noble goal. You—"
"I'm not even on the starting lineup, Keiji."
Koutarou doesn't cry. But he does put his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes. "I'm not even on the starting lineup yet, how good could I even be? There's a whole bunch of talented players on the team, and I can't even...compare to any of them."
Kuroo once told Keiji and Koutarou about some psychological term that Keiji can't remember anymore, but it had to do with light. About how, when you enter a room with so much light, it gets harder and harder to tell if the room gets any brighter.
It must be hard, for one star to be so close to so many other shining stars.
"Koutarou, look at me," Keiji says softly, and Koutarou slowly turns towards him with watery eyes. "You are the most amazing person I have ever met. I do not think you are a failure or a disappointment in any way, shape, or form. You make me happy—happier than anyone ever has. I love you."
Koutarou. How can you not see just how amazing you are?
Well—stars cannot see the light they emit, do they?
"Keiji," Koutarou breathes out, reverently. "I love you too."
Keiji wishes that he could see his boyfriend again, but he's all the way in Osaka, two hours away by train. He wants to hold his boyfriend, and be held by his boyfriend, and he wants so much.
"I have to go now, Keiji," Koutarou says, standing up and heading to what seems like his kitchen. "I gotta eat dinner, and then I gotta shower and study, and then—"
"Go to sleep at eight-thirty-four, yes, I know," Keiji laughs. "You have the strangest sleeping habits."
Koutarou tips his head back and laughs as well, smiling widely. "Goodnight, Keiji. I love you, always."
"I love you too, Koutarou. Remember to do your laundry on time."
And Koutarou laughs one final time before hanging up, and then Keiji is staring at a black screen. He looks around at his brand-new apartment, at all the boxes that litter his brand-new empty bedroom, and he thinks—
This isn't home. This isn't home, because Koutarou isn't home with me.
Keiji rummages through the box again. He finds what is a smaller book full of dried, pressed flowers, with dates scribbled in pen below them. The handwriting is neat, and elegant, and Keiji immediately recognizes it as his mama's.
Did she do this for every date they went on? Keiji wonders as he stares at all of the pressed roses, orchids, dahlias. If Koutarou gave me flowers, would I do the same thing?
He sets the book of flowers down on the photo album, pulling out the very last thing in the box.
A diary?
The cover is a dark, rich green, with a silken bookmark in the center of the book. Keiji draws in a deep breath, steeling his nerves for whatever he may find in the diary.
He opens it.
He finds that he cannot read anything in the diary, because it is all written entirely in Korean. Because—his mama was Korean.
So he sighs, pulling out his phone and pulling up Google Translate. He flips through the diary, searching for anything that may stick out to him. He doesn't know, exactly, what he's looking for, but—
1995/12/01.
My birthday.
He fumbles with his phone, holding it up to the page and scanning the paper. He mentally curses out the shitty WiFi in the apartment as he stares at the eternal loading symbol on his phone.
Finally, the words load.
1995/12/01.
He was born today.
My dearest son was born today. He is the most incredible being. As I write this, he is nestled in my arms, the most precious and the most tiny thing I have ever seen. He looks like his father, but he has my eyes. I do not know yet if this is a good thing or a bad thing, if he is going to inherit all of my mistakes along with my eyes.
He does not cry. But his voice is green. The same green as our eyes, mother and son. I wonder if we will end up being one in the same when he grows up. I wonder if he too will be able to see sounds like I do.
Oh, I cannot wait to see him grow up. I cannot wait to see him take his first steps, speak his first words, and see every single one of his firsts.
His name is Akaashi Keiji, and he is the sole thing I have ever done right.
— Yeong Haneul.
With an incredible stroke of luck, Keiji manages to snap the diary closed before he begins crying. He curls into himself, onto his unmade mattress, and cries.
Mama. Mama, you never got to see me do anything at all. You never got to see me go into middle school. You never got to see me go into high school. You never got to see me play volleyball, go to Nationals, graduate as the salutatorian of Fukuroudani Academy. You never got to see any of it, and neither did Papa.
I miss you. I miss you so much.
But if you were still here...would any of that have happened? If you were alive, we would have stayed in Kamakura. I would never have met Momoko, Yukito, Shima, Koutarou, I would not have gone to Fukuroudani, I am unsure if I ever would have played volleyball.
But if you were still here...would any of that have happened? If you were alive, we would have stayed in Kamakura. I would never have met Momoko, Yukito, Shima, Koutarou, I would not have gone to Fukuroudani, I am unsure if I ever would have played volleyball.
Is my life better because you died? How much of my current life would I give up now in order to see you again?
Am I being a bad son if I say I do not think I would give up knowing Koutarou to have you back again?
Keiji sits up abruptly, shaking his head and slapping himself on the cheeks. He can't do this. He needs to get up and finish unpacking and set up his apartment. And then he needs to—
His stomach growls, obnoxiously loudly.
—eat dinner, apparently.
So he sighs, sets all of his parents' belongings down, and crawls out of his unmade bed. He'll get all of this set up after he gets dinner.
No sooner does he exit his brand-new apartment does he hear—
"Akaashi Keiji?!"
Keiji whips his head around, trying to see where the very familiar voice is coming from. Who is speaking to him? Will he be publicly humiliated by this person who seems to recognize him in public? Should he crawl back into his apartment, back to his unmade bed, back to all the remnants of a life he barely remembers?
"Kuroo?" Keiji asks in astonishment as the lanky, rooster-haired bastard he knew from high school makes his way towards him, waving brightly.
"Hey, hey," Kuroo says, clapping his hands together. "What're you doing here?"
Keiji points at his brand-new apartment door. "I live here now."
Kuroo's eyebrows raise, and his eyes widen. "Oh, shit! So do I!" He waves his hand down the hall, probably indicating where he lives.
"You're living here now?"
"Well—I mean, I've been living here for the past year." Kuroo shrugs. "Oh, but Kenma's living with me now. Hey, maybe we can throw you a housewarming party—tomorrow, yeah?"
"I..."
I can't really refuse, because I am...lonely. Very lonely.
And I do not think I can refuse the company of friends.
"Very well," Keiji says, crossing his arms. "Should I be bringing anything?"
Kuroo grins, catlike as ever. "Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head about it."
"Careful who you're calling pretty," Keiji snorts. "Koutarou might get angry at you."
—
So Keiji shows up at Kuroo's and Kenma's apartment, knocking on the door and waiting to be let in. The door opens, and Keiji is greeted with a very familiar face.
"Keiji?"
"Kenma-san." Keiji bows his head towards his hosts and smiles at them as he walks into the apartment. "Kuroo-san."
"Akaashi!" Kuroo says cheerfully, waving him into the dining room. "C'mon in."
"What are you doing here?" Kenma asks as Keiji side-hugs him. The blonde is slowly fading from Kenma's hair. Keiji hasn't seen Kenma ever since the latter's graduation. "I thought you were—"
"I moved in," Keiji says simply, waving out the door. "I live down the hall now."
"Housewarming party," Kuroo sings as he brings a pot of curry to the dinner table. "Because Akaashi hasn't gotten his apartment set up yet."
"When did you move in?" Kenma asks, curiously as Keiji makes his way over to the tiny dinner table. It looks like it can barely accommodate two people, let alone three people.
"Yesterday." Keiji shrugs, his shoulders going up and down in the tiniest of motions. "I got distracted talking with Bokuto-san and ended up sleeping on an unmade mattress. I will finish it by tonight."
"It's been..." Kenma trails off, and Keiji thinks about the things that have transpired since they last met. Kenma became a streamer. Keiji gained a boyfriend. "Way too long."
"Indeed it has. I heard you started streaming. I made three alternate accounts to follow you with."
"Oh, so that's why my numbers have been jumping up lately," Kenma mutters as he punches Keiji's arm. Keiji just snickers, sitting down on Kenma's right and allowing Kuroo to dish out his curry. "Thank you for the food."
"My pleasure," Kuroo says, sitting down and ruffling Kenma's hair before he digs into his food. "How's Bokuto?"
"Bokuto-san is doing well," Keiji says as he nibbles at his food. "Him being all the way in Osaka has put a bit of strain on our relationship, but we manage."
I am so very lonely and I miss him more than anything, and I have a box full of momentos from my dead parents, and I am now able to see how much they loved each other, and I worry if I will ever be able to achieve that.
"How's your literature degree coming along?" Kuroo asks, smoothly changing the conversation topic, presumably at Keiji’s distressed look.
"Ah." Keiji nods, spooning more curry into his mouth. "Awful."
Kuroo snorts, and Keiji laughs as well. "I feel that. Honestly, I'm glad I'm switching my major. Biology sucks so much—half of it is chemistry in disguise. Communicating with people can't be that hard, can it?"
"That sucks for both of you," Kenma mutters, and both Keiji and Kuroo glare at him. "Imagine studying a subject you don't even like."
"Not all of us can be computer geniuses," Kuroo huffs, turning his nose up at Kenma. Kenma just makes a face back. "Not all of us can be the great Kodzuken, who manages to not study for anything and still get good grades."
"I do that as well," Keiji interjects, lying completely, and Kuroo glares at him as well.
It is nice to be reunited with his old friends. He always felt as though he and Kenma and Kuroo and Koutarou were a quartet—Koutarou tried to nickname them the Tokyo 4 back in his second year of high school, but nobody liked it very much—and it is good to see them again.
But there is someone missing, and it is terribly obvious that they are not the same without him.
Koutarou. I wish you were here. Everything seems so much more dull and empty when you are not here.
"You miss him," Kenma whispers as Keiji helps to gather up the dishes. Keiji glances towards Kuroo with an almost fearful glance, before nodding. They'd pair off, Keiji with Kenma and Kuroo with Koutarou. Now, in Tokyo, somebody will always be left alone.
Three is the loneliest number.
"More than anything," Keiji whispers, his voice reverent. He turns away before Kenma can get a good look at his face.
No, wrong, Keiji thinks, thinking of his boy, a volleyball star all the way in Osaka. One is the loneliest number. You stand at the top, but you stand alone.
—
He starts writing in his mama's diary. There are a decent amount of pages left in the diary for him to use, and it makes him feel...closer, to his mama. The thought that his mama once sat on her bed, her warm hand making its way across the page, smudging the graphite of her pencil—to know that she was once in the same position, it is comforting.
He addresses every diary entry to his mama.
Mama,
I have received this diary in a box of your things that Amane-obasan had been keeping for me. I know it is an invasion of privacy, but you are a dead woman—you've been dead for more than a decade—and so I have read through your diary. And in doing so, I have gained a greater understanding of the person you were when you were alive, before you had me and after you had me.
I miss you. I miss you, dearly. Though you left me only at seven years old, I still continue to miss you. There is so much about you I have yet to know, because you left me. I was so young, and in a way, you were so young as well. You were twenty-nine years old, not even thirty, and you died.
I think about the life I could have had with you, if you survived your sickness. If you had survived, Papa would have not succumbed to alcoholism, and died as a result. We would have lived in Kamakura, and I would likely not have met any of the people that are in my life today.
Is it selfish to say that though I miss you...I am no longer sad that you died? Your death was the catalyst for a long chain of events, a chain of events that led to me meeting the boy I am in love with.
His name is Bokuto Koutarou. I love him more than I love myself, and he loves me far more than I deserve. If you had not died, I would not have met him.
However, I wish you and him could have gotten a chance to meet. I am not sure what timeline or what universe this could have happened, but I wish it regardless. I believe you would have loved him.
Though—what do I know about you? You left me before I got to know you at all.
I hope that, as I continue reading your experiences and writing down my own, I will be able to gain a better understanding of you as a person.
I love you, Mama. Always and forever.
Your son,
Akaashi Keiji.
—
"My mama had synesthesia," Keiji tells Shima on a Saturday evening, as he's making dinner and as she's going home from volleyball practice. "Like you."
"Huh! That's cool!" He gets a very unflattering angle of Shima's chin as she's heading through a turnstile. "How'd you find this out?"
"I read her diary. She described my voice as...green. Like you."
Shima hums as she sits down on her train. "Did she say anything else about her synesthesia?"
"She said..."
My baby boy is evergreen, like the forests. He is unusually perceptive for his age; I do not know if he got it from me or his father. When he speaks, I feel as though I could get lost in his voice for a lifetime. He will grow up with quite the way with words, I am sure of it.
The love of my life is sapphire, like the deepest of the oceans. I too could get lost in his voice for a lifetime. I would wade into the ocean, watching at the water rose up to my ankles, my knees, and then swallowed me up entirely. It might kill me, but I would not care. If it was him, I would welcome death with open arms.
"My papa's voice was blue." Keiji shoves the rest of his onigiri into his mouth and chews furiously. "She described my papa's voice as...like the ocean. Like she could spend a lifetime wrapped up in it. Like the sound of his voice could be the last thing she hears, and she would be happy for it."
Shima is quiet for a moment after he says this.
"I think I could've died happy as well, if the last thing I heard was Momoko's voice." Shima sighs, rubbing her eyes. She looks like she could fall asleep at any moment, train be damned. "I miss her, 'Kaashi."
"I know you do."
"I feel like I shouldn't. It's been years since she died. I feel like I should have grown up during that time, but it's like I'm just...a stupid high schooler still. Like my whole life stopped when she died."
"Grief is a strange thing," Keiji ventures as he takes another heaping bite of his onigiri, chewing quickly. It feels extremely inappropriate to be eating like this, while his friend is talking about her grief, but he's hungry, so the best he can do is eat quickly. Does this make him a bad person? Yes, probably. "It...digs its nails into you, and it refuses to let you go."
"How did you get over Yukito so easily, Keiji?"
And then it's Keiji's turn to be quiet, because—
I don't think it was easy to get over him. Rather, I think that...because he knew he was going to die, and because he knew we weren't going to have a life together, he absolved me of the guilt.
None of us knew that Momoko was going to die. Shima thought that she could have a life with Momoko. She thought Momoko would be her one and only, and now she can't imagine herself with anyone else.
What do I tell her? I can't tell her to let go of the grief, because grief digs its nails and teeth into you, and it kicks and screams, and it leaves wounds on your heart that still fester.
"I don't know," Keiji admits as Shima pulls her hood over her head, trying her best to look as small as possible. "I don't know how I did it, Shima. And I don't know if I can tell you how to do such a thing, either."
"I miss her, Keiji," Shima whispers, curling into herself. "And I wish I could...stop missing her."
And Keiji, as eloquent as he is, does not know how to respond to that.
"I know," he whispers instead, wishing that his friend was not so very far away. "I know, Mitsuki."
—
He begins trying to learn Korean. It is shockingly easier than he thought it would be.
"Neon jeongmal sseulegiya," Keiji says to Kuroo.
"What in the sweet fuck did you just say to me?"
"I called you a piece of shit."
From Kuroo's room, Keiji can hear Kenma laugh loudly. Kuroo rolls his eyes, shouting, "Stop that, or I'm gonna kick you out of my room!"
"I'm streaming!" Kenma shouts back.
"Oh, wow, look at me, I'm world-famous Kodzuken, I have thirty subscribers—"
"Kuroo-san," Keiji says, and Kuroo snaps his head back towards him. "Have you read that book I recommended?"
"Oh, yeah!" Kuroo actually turns to head into his room, holding up a finger. "Hang on, I annotated it, lemme get it."
Kuroo throws open the door to his room, and Kenma screeches. Keiji just giggles. Kuroo emerges from his room, triumphant, with a copy of Frankenstein translated into Japanese. "I feel like I'm in literature class again, but this time, I'm doing it for fun."
"Welcome to my life," Keiji deadpans. "I have to do this every week. And write an essay about it too."
"Good luck," Kuroo says sardonically, raising his cup of tea, and Keiji nods at him and does the same. "God gives his worst battles to his strongest soldiers."
God. If God gives his worst battles to his strongest soldiers, then what does that make me? Does that make me favored, or does that make me loathed?
What does it matter? I don't even believe in God anymore.
"How's life?" Keiji asks, changing the subject.
"Horrible," Kuroo says, cynically. "I feel like everything and everyone sucks, except for..." He nods his head back towards his bedroom door. "Y'know, because he can do no wrong. He's Kenma."
"He's certainly getting out of his shell more and more," Keiji notes as he sips at his tea. "I wouldn't have imagined he'd ever take up streaming."
"He'll do whatever he sets his mind to," Kuroo says, swirling his tea around in his glass, like one would do with alcohol. "He just has to set his mind to it first."
The look he gives the closed door is so fond, so soft, that—
Now I really wish that Koutarou were here. Then we could all pair off together.
"Are you in..." Keiji wiggles his hand around, pointing at Kuroo's door, behind which Kenma is streaming. "With Kenma?"
Kuroo's catlike smile does not waver. In fact, it only seems to grow wider.
"If I am," Kuroo says, speaking very slowly. "What's it to you?"
What is it to me? Kenma is just a friend and nothing more to me. We slept together in high school, but he is dealing with more important things now, and I have a boyfriend, and…
Well. It's not really any of my business, is it?
"This was nice, Akaashi," Kuroo says, turning away, his smile still catlike. "Let's do it again next week."
—
And so they do it again next week. And the week after that. And the week after that. And slowly but surely, Keiji falls into the steps of college routine.
"Kenma streams a lot," Keiji says one day, while they're discussing Dazai. Kenma must have been locked up in Kuroo's room for at least the past three hours without coming out once. "Doesn't he ever get tired?"
Kuroo shrugs, taking a sip from his can of beer. Keiji doesn't think he's old enough to drink quite yet, but he's no snitch. "What about you?" he asks, gesturing with the can towards Keiji's face. "You don't look so hot nowadays."
Keiji just shrugs. "That is nothing new. This path is tiring. College is tiring. That is just how life is. Life is unfair, and you must either...die or get over it."
"Life's a bitch and then you die," Kuroo snorts, taking another swig. "My sister said that all the time."
Keiji hums, tapping his nails on his book as he thinks. That's essentially what I just said, but...it implies that all paths lead to death. Which—they do, of course, but it further insinuates that there is no fighting it.
His phone buzzes with an incoming video call from Koutarou. He immediately picks up, much to Kuroo's amusement.
"KEIJI, I GOT ON THE STARTING LINEUP!!"
"Oh—" Keiji immediately places Koutarou on speaker mode so that Kuroo can hear as well. Kuroo leans forward, raising an eyebrow and smiling. "That's wonderful, Koutarou. I'm very proud of you."
"Congrats, owl bastard!" Kuroo calls, leaning forward, and Koutarou laughs at Kuroo's appearance. "That's my bro!"
"YEAAAAAAAH!" Koutarou jumps around a bit, shaking his phone a lot, before calling to someone over his shoulder. "Hey, hey, didja know I'm playing with Miya Atsumu now? Y'know we played against him and his twin in my second year, you remember, Keiji? And now we're teammates!"
"Ah." Keiji no longer plays volleyball with Koutarou—he hasn't in two years, but he remembers what Koutarou said about his skills.
"Your tosses are the best, Akaashi!"
Well, that certainly can't be true anymore, now that he's playing with Miya Atsumu, right? Miya Atsumu, the best high school setter, playing with him?
Of course I am nothing compared to him.
"Okay, I gotta go! We're gonna go celebrate!" Koutarou says cheerfully, before a look of realization dawns on his face. "Ooh, wait! Tsum-Tsum, you wanna meet my boyfriend?"
"I believe you shouldn't bother Miya-san," Keiji says quickly, heart dropping at the idea of having to meet his boyfriend's new teammate. "I hope you have a good dinner, Koutarou."
"Okay, bye, Kei—"
Keiji hangs up on him mid-sentence, flipping his phone over. Kuroo is looking at him with a sly, catlike smile, and Keiji opens his mouth to say, no, nothing out of your mouth—
"Koutarou, huh?" Kuroo asks, swirling the remaining beer in his can around. "You jealous of Miya, is that it?"
Provocation master, Keiji thinks distantly as he rolls his eyes and turns to stare at Kuroo's bedroom door.
"Bokuto-san is a great player, to be sure," Keiji says stiffly. "His greatness will only attract greatness, and there is nothing I can do about it."
"No need to lie, Akaashi." Kuroo shrugs his shoulders. "Nothing wrong with envying the best. 'Cause all us normal people can do is try and chase after them."
Envy is a sin.
"Kenma is nearly to fifty thousand subscribers, isn't he?" Keiji asks, and he gets the pleasure of watching that catlike grin slide off of Kuroo's face. "How is it, watching him succeed so quickly?"
Kuroo, for once, doesn't say anything. In response, he only walks towards the kitchen, rummaging around in the pantry before pulling out another can of beer. He throws it at Keiji, and Keiji catches it with both hands.
"Takes the edge off," Kuroo says, bringing back a new can for himself. He raises his can in a toast before popping it open. "Makes you feel less like a fucking failure."
Keiji stares down at the can for a moment before popping the can open. The drink is foul-tasting, but it does its job properly.
He wonders if he is a bad person for envying the best—for envying his own boyfriend, of all people. Keiji is in his second year of college, and he is a struggling college student who works at the campus bookstore, and his boyfriend is an elite athlete, a starting player for a division one volleyball team. But resentment breeds bitterness, and bitterness breeds loneliness, and Keiji thinks—
I am already so lonely without him.
—
"How do you even...make a business?" Kuroo asks during one of their weekly book club meetings. Kenma just shrugs, passing him and Keiji their cups of tea before sitting down next to them. "What do you even do?"
Because Kozume Kenma—also known as gamer and YouTuber Koduken—is sitting pretty at a hundred thousand subscribers.
"It's gonna be a merchandise business," Kenma says as he sits, hunched over, looking through his laptop tabs. "Because, y'know. Every up-and-coming YouTuber needs their own merch."
"That's true," Keiji agrees, closing his eyes and sipping his tea.
Koutarou is getting his own jersey line produced by the Black Jackals, Keiji thinks. When they officially release, I will buy one. He will probably give me a free one, but I will buy one regardless.
I miss him.
"Do either of you know what happened with Shouyou?" Kenma asks suddenly, glancing up. His hair has gotten even longer, and the blonde is almost nearly completely faded. "He's graduated already, hasn't he? Is he in college?"
"Last I heard, he was off in...I think Brazil?" Kuroo says in wonder, tapping his chin. "Heard from, uh...let's see, I heard from Oikawa, who heard from Kageyama, who heard from Hinata—wait a minute, you have his phone number. Why don't you just call him?"
"Uhm..." Kenma takes out his phone, staring down at it. "I haven't talked to him in a while."
I wonder if Kenma has gotten over Hinata, after all this time. I wonder if Kenma has picked up on the fact that his childhood best friend and roommate is in love with him.
"Just give him a call," Keiji says, finishing the rest of his tea. "He'll pick up. It's Hinata, after all."
"It's—" Kenma mutters to himself. "Five in the morning in Brazil."
Kuroo waves his hand. "Do you really think shorty sleeps? Just call him."
And then, as Kenma looks over at Kuroo, Keiji makes the decision for him and presses Hinata's contact, calling him and putting it on speaker. Kenma yelps, making a mad lunge for the phone, but Keiji snatches it up and holds it over his head.
"Communication is important," Keiji drones, nodding his head towards Kuroo. "Ask the communication major." Kuroo nods his head vigorously in agreement.
"Hello?" a very familiar voice asks. "Kenma! Hi!"
Kenma immediately scrambles to tug his phone out of Keiji's grip, slapping Keiji in the face while he's at it. He turns the speaker off, pressing it to his ear. "Hi, Shouyou. Just wanted to...check in on you. We haven't talked in a while."
As Kenma talks to Hinata, Keiji also thinks about Hinata.
He thinks about his second year of high school, and how Koutarou declared Hinata his student, and how both Bokuto Koutarou and Hinata Shouyou are so similar to each other. They're stars, shining so brightly above, and Keiji wonders if the two will ever cross paths again.
Light attracts light. Greatness attracts greatness.
The boy in the shadows claps his hands together. Of course they will meet again. The question is, will you ever see Bokuto Koutarou again?
Keiji scoffs. Don't be ridiculous. I'll see him again. I see him every night.
How much longer can you live, seeing him through a tiny screen, seeing him in your dreams? Do you think you can survive until the day you get to see him again?
—
His boyfriend is trending on Twitter. His boyfriend is trending on Twitter, for some godforsaken reason, and it's because—
Where on this fucking planet did you hear the term bathwater from? Keiji thinks in utter confusion as he scrolls through the numerous tweets that are tagging his boyfriend. And why are—why are you telling Kenma to sell his bathwater? Don't do that.
And then he gets a text from Kenma, saying that—
kenma: hey i'm doing a collab with bokuto
me: oh my god are you serious
me: when
kenma: in two weeks
kenma: it's gonna be a vlog
kenma: hundred thousand subscribers special
kenma: playing volleyball
me: so koutarou is coming here to tokyo
kenma: yes
me: kenma have i ever told you how much i appreciate you as a friend
kenma: you could stand to mention it more
Immediately after this riveting conversation, Keiji calls Koutarou.
"You're coming to Tokyo?" Keiji asks breathlessly, his heart beating against his ribcage, pounding with hope. "You're coming home?"
Koutarou laughs, and Keiji can see that he's just gotten done with a workout—sweat is dripping off his forehead, and he periodically presses at it with a towel. "Yeah! Kenma's really popular now, and I'm gonna help him get even more popular!"
"How long?" Keiji asks, hoping, almost praying, that it will be long enough that he will be able to release all of his pent up emotion, because he has been so fucking lonely.
"Three days!" Koutarou says cheerfully. "And then I gotta—"
"Go back for one of your games," Keiji sighs, hoping he does not sound too disappointed. After all, his boyfriend has a job as a professional athlete, and he is just a normal college student that occasionally moonlights as a bookstore employee every other day.
"Yeah, I do! How'd ya know that, Keiji?"
"I follow your games, Koutarou. I always do."
Koutarou laughs, setting the phone down so he can change out of his clothes, and Keiji very shamelessly watches him. He tries not to think about the fact that—
In two weeks, I will be able to see him again. It will be for only three days, but that will be more than enough time. I want him. I want him more than anything.
I hope he will not be too sore when he returns for his game. If he's off his game because of me—that would be a shame.
—
Koutarou comes back home to Tokyo. The two of them humiliate Kenma via volleyball in front of all one hundred thousand of his subscribers. Their first set, they score twenty five points to Kenma's and Kuroo's measly four. Keiji takes great joy in this fact.
And then Koutarou comes to Keiji's apartment. Keiji gives the man a total of five seconds to close the door to his apartment before he—
"Jesus Christ, Keiji—!" Koutarou yelps as Keiji fully jumps onto his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around his neck and locking his legs around Koutarou's waist. "Oh—oh my god—"
Keiji's eloquence decreases the more impatient he gets, and so instead of any normal, reasonable response, he decides to say, "Bokuto Koutarou, please for the love of God, I need you to rail me until I physically cannot walk."
"That would hurt, Keiji!" Koutarou says, aghast, his hands dropping down to Keiji's waist so that he does not fall down to the floor. Keiji wishes that his boyfriend had a little less decency, because he wishes that his boyfriend's hands were positioned a little bit lower. "I don't—wanna hurt you like that!"
"Please," Keiji says next, his voice nearing a whine—because at this point, he is not above begging. "Please?"
"You are asking so nicely," Koutarou hums, hefting Keiji in his arms, tilting his head in concern. "Have you lost weight? I think you're lighter than you were in high school."
"Uh—" Now that Keiji thinks about it, he has been eating less and less, but he's been maintaining his health. Mostly. "Perhaps?"
"That's not good," Koutarou says, keeping a tight grip on Keiji's waist as he makes his way through Keiji's apartment. Thankfully, he never once seems like he's going to put Keiji down. That's good. Keiji wishes he could stay like this forever, wrapped up in his beloved's arms. "You need to take care of your health more, Keiji, you—"
"You running me into my mattress will be excellent for my health," Keiji deadpans, pointing towards his bedroom door without taking his eyes off of Koutarou's. "I can make demands of you if asking nicely won't do the trick."
And Koutarou opens his mouth again to say something, but then thinks better of it and shuts it. He then smiles and nods, marching over to the door and opening it, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. Keiji is very grateful that he doesn't trip, because that would be bad for both of them.
Koutarou gently sets Keiji down on his bed, then stands beside him in order to shuck his shirt off. The entire time he's doing that, Keiji makes grabby hands at him.
"Go faster," Keiji says, because—apparently, he also gets more whiny when he's impatient. "Hurry up, hurry up."
"Okay, okay!" Koutarou laughs, finally—finally—tugging off his clothes and joining Keiji on the bed, crawling over his legs and pulling him close. He presses kiss after kiss to Keiji's forehead, cheeks, lips, and Keiji thinks—
More. More. Please. More.
I have been so alone without you.
"Go rougher this time," Keiji commands as Koutarou peels off his shirt for him and tosses it into a corner. Koutarou makes a confused noise as he pulls back, but Keiji digs his nails into the back of his boyfriend's neck and pulls him back down. "You heard me. I can take it."
"Are you sure?" Koutarou asks, now looking mildly worried. "I don't wanna hurt you."
I think that I am probably going mad with loneliness. I think that the warning signs for my very slow descent into insanity are evident, but I am choosing to ignore them.
I eat less. I sleep less. I drink more—I drink coffee and energy drinks and alcohol, and alcoholism is genetic, isn't it? My papa died of alcohol poisoning, it stands to reason that I would too.
With all of my shitty life decisions, I do not think I deserve to be treated gently. Like glass. All I deserve is to be treated roughly, near violently, and even if I shatter into a thousand pieces, it will be fine. I think I can handle a little hurt. What hurt is there that I have not already suffered?
I think that even if I break in your arms, I have full faith that you will be able to put me back together.
Who else if not you?
"Yes," Keiji says with absolute certainty, holding on even more tightly to Koutarou. "Please."
Please do not leave me. Please do not leave me again. I do not know how much longer I can survive without you.
And Koutarou, it seems, also has a hard time saying no to him as well.
—
In the morning, Koutarou leaves him.
That is to say—Keiji wakes up, doesn't feel Koutarou's warm presence besides him in bed when he wakes up, and he panics.
"Bokuto-san!" Keiji shrieks in his half-asleep panic, hand frantically tracing its way through his bedsheets. He knows last night was not a hallucination—he can still smell Koutarou on his blankets, and he's also still currently unclothed, but his half-asleep brain is running a mile a minute, and—
He left me. He left me. He left me and now—
He's left like the rest of them.
He's dead and gone. He's not coming back.
"Oh my god—" Keiji's bedroom door slams open, and there is Koutarou, eyes wide, still shirtless, with the smell of breakfast wafting in from the kitchen. "Keiji! Keiji, are you okay?"
Keiji breathes the biggest sigh of relief he's ever breathed in his entire life.
"Oh good," he mumbles, pulling the blanket over his head. "You're not dead."
"No—no, I'm alive, Keiji, what—"
And then Keiji falls back asleep.
—
"I didn't know you weren't such a morning person," Koutarou chuckles when Keiji finally emerges from his bedroom, wearing one of his boyfriend's hoodies. "You always seemed so...I dunno, not tired back at school. Like, you got a full night's worth of sleep every night, like the good boy you were."
Ooh, call me a good boy again.
"My ability to wake up early in the mornings has decreased significantly," Keiji mutters as he takes his seat at the dining table. Koutarou sets a plate of eggs and toast down in front of him, ruffling his hair as he does. "My God. I love you, do you know that?"
"I love you too," Koutarou whispers, kissing Keiji on the back of his neck. "But you kinda need to go grocery shopping."
"I'll get around to it," Keiji says, trying his best to figure out where to slot in grocery shopping in his schedule. Perhaps he could drag Koutarou to the store with him—no, wait, Koutarou would probably end up persuading him to buy a whole lot of unnecessary things. "Eventually."
"I saw the picture on your nightstand," Koutarou says, shoveling his eggs into his mouth while he talks. "Y'know, the one with you and your parents! You were so cute as a baby, have I mentioned that already?"
"Yes, you've mentioned it already."
"I'll say it again." Koutarou sets down his utensils, leaning forward to cup Keiji's face in his hands. "You were the cutest baby, and you grew up into the cutest adult."
"You're making me blush," Keiji mumbles, pointedly turning his head away so Koutarou can't see him blush.
"So cute, Keiji. So cute."
"Would you like to look through some of the other things my parents left me?" Keiji asks, taking a very long sip of his coffee. He squints at it. "How much sugar did you put into this, Koutarou?"
"Yes!" Koutarou says brightly, and says nothing else, and so Keiji takes that to mean that 'yes' is his answer to both questions. Keiji only sighs, smiles, and shakes his head, stacking their plates and taking them to the sink. "Your parents are still hot, Keiji, I still mean that."
Keiji sighs, then laughs, and leads Koutarou back to his bedroom. He pulls out the box of his parents' momentos, sitting down on his bed and setting the box on his lap. Koutarou climbs onto the bed, wrapping his arms around Keiji's shoulders, pressing a kiss to his cheek and shaking him.
"We have the picture, and then we also have..." Keiji pulls out his parents' photo album, setting it on Koutarou's lap and putting the box down onto the floor. "This."
"Oh," Koutarou whispers as he opens the photo book up. "Oh, Keiji, they look..."
Happy. Alive.
"Yes," Keiji murmurs as he turns the pages, staring down at the immortalized versions of his parents. "They were the picture-perfect couple, weren't they? Even as a child, I thought they were..."
The epitome of romance. Their relationship was everything I hoped I would have when I got older, and now…
Now, I think that what we have is close enough.
"What were their names?"
"Akaashi Kyoji." Keiji places a finger on his papa's face, then moves it over to his mama's face. "Akaashi Haneul, or Yeong Haneul."
Koutarou raises an eyebrow. "Was your mom Korean?"
"Yes. Have I never mentioned it?"
"No!" Koutarou splutters, grabbing Keiji's shoulders again and shaking him back and forth. "That's so cool, Keiji! Did you ever learn any Korean? Did you ever go to Korea?"
"I've begun learning some Korean," Keiji mutters, flicking through the pages aimlessly. "But I have never been to Korea. I...think I would like to go someday."
"My family went on a vacation to Korea when I was twelve," Koutarou says cheerfully, leaning back and flopping onto Keiji's bed. "It was soooo pretty! Everyone there looked like they walked straight out of a magazine. You'd fit right in, Keiji!"
I'd fit right in.
Would I fit right in? I know the barest bones of Korean, my mama was Korean, my favorite food was once Korean, but…
How can I call myself Korean at all?
"I believe there are some pictures of my parents in Korea," Keiji says, flipping back towards the front of the photo album. "It does seem like a very beautiful place."
There are numerous pictures of his parents in Korea, evidently, ones taken before they went back to Japan and got married. His mama is beautiful as always, but there's a certain happiness in her eyes when she's dressed up in her traditional clothing. There's a picture of her in a rich green hanbok, the exact same color as her eyes. She's holding a fan over her mouth, with only her eyes visible, but Keiji can very easily tell that she's smiling at the camera.
Keiji thinks back to a summer in his first year of high school, of a day spent in Kyoto, with his friends, dressed in a rich green kimono that matched his eyes exactly.
I wonder if I still have that photo, Keiji thinks as he pulls out his phone and begins scrolling through his photos. Koutarou watches him in interest, leaning forward as Keiji reaches the photos taken in his first year of high school.
"This was when I was a first-year," Keiji says, placing his phone next to the picture of his mama. "Right before Momoko died. Shima and Momoko and I went on a trip to Kyoto. We stopped at a temple, and the girls insisted we play dress up, and..."
He glances over at Koutarou, who is—
"Are you crying?" Keiji asks in astonishment, because Koutarou is sniffling, wiping at his eyes. Koutarou aggressively shakes his head, grabbing Keiji by the shoulders and pressing his face into the crook of Keiji's neck.
"You look just like her," Koutarou whispers, eyes wide. "I wish I could've met her, Keiji. Your parents. Your friends. I wish I could've seen what they were like. I don't...you didn't deserve to lose so many people, Keiji."
"It's not..." Keiji sighs, because what can he say? The ones he loved have been dead for a long while now, and the grief they left with him has smoothed over. Keiji's chest no longer feels like it's getting stabbed with knives every time he thinks about them--it's moreso a dull ache in his heart. "It is just life. I have had to make peace with it, as I have always done."
Koutarou looks like he wants to say something else to this, but then he shakes his head, flipping to another random page. "Oh—oh, it's their wedding pictures!"
Keiji laughs softly. He's looked at these specific pictures so many times, they're practically burned into his head. "Yes. I think these pictures are my favorite."
His boyfriend hums as he traces his finger over the pictures, leaning his head against Keiji's shoulder.
"I hope our wedding is just as pretty as this one," Koutarou murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to Keiji's shoulder.
Our wedding?
Our...wedding?
"Koutarou, do you want to—" Keiji's eloquence also seems to leave him the more he panics, and he looks up at his boyfriend in alarm. "Do you want to marry me?"
Koutarou blinks, confused. "Yeah? I mean, I'd like to get married, like, right now, but I know you probably wouldn't like that, 'cause we're still in school and stuff. But I've been thinking about how I'd do it! I'd buy you a really shiny--"
He wants to marry me. He wants to spend the rest of his life with me.
He'd bind us together in an instant, as soon as he could, as soon as he had the resources to do so.
He wants to…
Marry me.
And as Keiji's thinking about how nice Bokuto Keiji would sound, he thinks—
Does he mean it? Truly? Does he truly mean it? Our relationship is strained, now, while we are apart, but what will happen when we are together, every minute of every day? Will he truly not get sick of me after that? The best things in life come in small doses, but too much good leads to complacency.
When we get the things we want, we end up not wanting them anymore.
"Keiji?" Koutarou asks softly, running his hand along Keiji's arm. "Do you...not want to get married?"
No. No, quite the opposite. There's nothing else I want more in the world, and I will never change my mind about that, but I think—I think you might change your mind, in the future. You are a shining star, and you are great, and you attract greatness.
Surely, there has to be someone greater than me that you want to spend the rest of your life with.
"I mean...I mean, I get it. I get why you wouldn't want to marry me, because—well, y'know, I'm too loud and too annoying, and too...me. But, Keiji, I..."
"I would love to marry you, Koutarou," Keiji says quietly. He takes Koutarou's hands in his own, holding them up. "But some day soon. Not yet. We're...too young, and I think you should think on it before proposing to me. Such a thing requires a lot of thought, you know—"
"Akaashi Keiji," Koutarou says, completely seriously as he scooches off the bed and tumbles down to one knee. "Will you marry me?"
I would marry you even if you had nothing to your name. But you are not nothing. You are a star, and you shine, burning, bright, and beautiful.
"Not like this, Bokuto-san," Keiji laughs, allowing Koutarou to take his outstretched hand, laughing even more as Koutarou slides an imaginary ring onto his ring finger. "Come back with a good engagement ring, and maybe I'll consider it."
And then Koutarou's eyes light up, and Keiji has to put a finger to his boyfriend's lips and say, "Please do not impulsively buy me an engagement ring, Koutarou. You must be wise with your finances."
And then Koutarou pouts and whines,"Keijiiii!", and Keiji thinks—
If you would allow me, I would happily stay by your side for the rest of my life, through thick and thin.
I would love you for the rest of my life, 'till death did us part.
—
I have done it. I have made the long journey from Korea to Japan. This country, one that is so similar and so near to my home country, is to be my new home.
There is a difference between knowing how to live somewhere, how to speak the language, how to understand the culture, and actually doing so. To the tourists that visit, I look just the same as every other Japanese woman. I share the same coveted pale skin and dark hair, I speak English well enough to assist them.
But I see how the citizens of this country treat me. Despite the similarities we share, they treat me like an outsider. Like any other tourist, even though I have been preparing for the longest time to settle here.
This country is not my home. I know that much.
But then, where is my home? I will be regarded as nothing better than a foreigner, now that I have left Korea. Eomma and Halmeoni have made that abundantly clear. I am a traitor to my own family, my country, my home.
And yet—though I love Seoul with all my heart, it has never truly felt like home.
I think that home could be my beloved. Wherever he goes, it will be home to me.
— Yeong Haneul
—
Mama,
Grief is a strange thing, is it not? I have spent the better part of my life mourning someone, whether it be you, or Papa, or the boy I loved, or my very first friend. I do not think I know what it is like to live without grief pervading every aspect of my life.
How do I live without grief? Would you know?
I know that you suffered during your time in Japan, despite it being what you wanted. I knew it, even as a child, because you looked so sad whenever I asked you about Korea. In the entire time you lived in Japan, you never once went back to visit.
You were my home once, Mama. You and Papa—once, there was a time when you two were all that I knew.
I think about where my home is, now that I am living by myself and struggling to make rent. There is a certain kind of loneliness that creeps its way into your heart when you are in love. Every lonely moment gets lonelier the longer you are in love.
I wonder if I would be happier if I followed Koutarou to Osaka. You once did the same thing, and I think you are infinitely braver than me for it. Moving all the way to Japan from Korea—how did you do it? How did you find the courage to leave everything that you have ever known?
You told me once that our eyes were evergreen. That evergreen trees were the strongest trees, and that I should be strong like them.
I'm trying to be strong, Mama.
I wish you were here to teach me how to be strong.
Your son,
Akaashi Keiji.
—
In his third year of college, Keiji descends into alcoholism.
"If you're an alcoholic, what the fuck am I?" Kuroo demands as he waves his half-full beer bottle towards him, slurring his words. "What's even worse than an alcoholic?"
"Your greed sickens me," Keiji spits back as he swings his leg in front of the case of beer Kuroo brought. "Leave some for me."
Kuroo laughs, without any humor. It seems as though the two of them have deteriorated severely during their time in college. "I bought it. Who else are you going to get your illegally acquired alcohol from, huh, Akaashi?"
Keiji's only response to that is to down his own bottle and flip Kuroo the middle finger as he does.
Kuroo Tetsurou is—Keiji supposes that if he squints, Kuroo could be considered his friend. They still talk about books, they drink together, they help Kenma not go insane over his new job as a YouTube streamer. Does he like Kuroo? Sure. Does he think Kuroo is a good influence on him? Absolutely not, because—
"Don't smoke in my apartment," Keiji says as Kuroo takes out a pack and a lighter. He points out to the window near his kitchen table. "You're going to stink it up."
"You want one?" Kuroo asks, holding the pack out to him, and logically—logically, Keiji knows he shouldn't be giving in like this. Smoking is bad for you. That's a fact that has been proven many times over. "You're already an alcoholic, ain't you?"
The church was wrong, Keiji thinks as Kuroo taps out a cigarette and holds it out to Keiji. The devil does not have horns or a pitchfork or fire in his eyes. The devil lies in completely ordinary men. Men that tempt their friends further and further into sin.
Provocation master, that's what we called Kuroo in high school. How apt.
"You're going to be responsible for my medical bills," Keiji says as he takes the cigarette from Kuroo's fingers and holds it between his own. He places it between his lips, leaning forward and allowing Kuroo to hold his lighter to the cigarette's end.
Addiction is genetic. His own papa was an alcoholic, and so it only makes sense for Keiji to be this way as well.
Mama. Papa. Wherever you are, Keiji thinks as he breathes in the smoke and feels an artificial sense of peace wash over him. I hope you do not judge me too harshly.
"How's Bokuto?" Kuroo asks as the two of them breathe smoke out of Keiji's window. "Has he visited lately?"
Keiji barks out a laugh, watching the smoke fly out from his lips. "No. He's a busy man, you know. He's...he's popular, he's talented, he's amazing, don't you know? And he still...decides to tie himself to me. Frankly, I don't deserve it."
Kuroo holds his cigarette to his lips again, tilting his head, thinking. "Well, not with that attitude."
"Excuse me?" Keiji jerks his head towards Kuroo, his—his friend? His drinking buddy? His enabler? "What the fuck?"
"Oh, wah, wah, look at me," Kuroo says bitterly, raising his head to the sky. "I'm Akaashi Keiji, I have a professional volleyball player that loves and adores me, and I'm worried I don't deserve him, my life sucks."
"I sound like a really shitty person when you put it like that," Keiji huffs, blowing more smoke out. "Am I a shitty person? I am, aren't I?"
"Oh, yeah, definitely," Kuroo says immediately, and Keiji has half a mind to shove him out the window. "But—like, you're self aware. You know you're a piece of shit, and that makes you, like, better than all the pieces of shit that don't know that they're pieces of shit."
"What about you?" Keiji taps his cigarette against the window's edge, in the same way he's seen Kuroo do. "You're in love with Kenma, aren't you? Why don't you actually try making a move on him, instead of whining about how he won't love you back? You don't know until you try."
Kuroo scoffs. "Kenma and I have been friends ever since we were kids. He never showed any kind of interest, in all that time. He just thinks of me as a friend. Not like Hinata. Fucking Hinata—"
"Watch your mouth," Keiji warns him, narrowing his eyes. "Koutarou likes Hinata. I like Hinata."
"See! And that too!" Kuroo shouts nonsensically, waving his hand around. "I've called him Kenma for the entirety of our friendship! You call him Kenma! Bokuto calls him Kenma! Everyone calls him Kenma, and never once has ever referred to me by my actual name! Just call me Tetsurou! Tetsu, even! Is that so much to ask?!"
Keiji debates if it's a good idea to call Kuroo by Kuroo-san right now, just to see what would happen. He decides against it, because Kuroo is probably drunk enough to get pissed and shove him out the window.
"Perhaps we should become less shitty people," Keiji mutters instead. "So that we're easier to love. So we deserve to be loved."
And Kuroo laughs, snuffing his cigarette out against the windowsill. "Akaashi. I'm easy to love. Doesn't mean I deserve it. In fact, I probably don't deserve it at all, because I'm easy to love. I'm just easy to love because I lie. I tell people what they want to hear, and I lie the entire fucking time I'm doing it."
"Wow," Keiji says mildly, snuffing his own cigarette out as well. There will be marks there, if he continues doing this. He has a feeling he will be doing this many times in the future. He remembers Shima's words to him in their third year of high school, and he says—
"Wow." His voice is flat, cold, as he stares up at Kuroo, and as Kuroo stares down at him. "I can't believe I actually found someone more self-destructive than me."
—
It takes shockingly too much time for Koutarou to find out about his new habits. However, that's because their calls have been declining in number—from every night to every other night, and then to once a week, and then to once every other week, and then—
Well, now Keiji can't remember the last time he actually spoke to his boyfriend verbally.
Truthfully, Keiji's glad that they haven't been talking all that much. Koutarou is busy, what with his rising stardom in the world of professional volleyball, and Keiji doesn't want to distract him from his pursuits. And Keiji—he drinks and smokes, and his grades slip, and Koutarou will worry if he sees him like this.
Keiji does not want Koutarou to worry about him. He can worry about himself enough.
He'll only worry himself sick about you, the boy in the mirror says as Keiji leans over to look at his phone. It's Koutarou, calling, but Keiji does not move to answer it. You wouldn't want him to worry about you, would you? He'll only worry, and then his performance as a player will slip.
Do you want to be responsible for your beloved not performing his very best?
The voices in his head have only grown louder and louder with the introduction of cigarettes and alcohol. Oh—they quiet down when he indulges in his vices, but they come back stronger than ever the second they're gone. Kuroo once told him, almost gleefully, that this is positive feedback, where the outcome of a reaction only strengthens the source—
"I don't want to fucking hear about this," Keiji snaps, and Kuroo just laughs. Keiji blows smoke into Kuroo's face in response, which only causes the man to laugh even more. "Oh, you're so smart, aren't you?"
"Guilty as charged," Kuroo purrs, reminding Keiji very much of a tomcat. He leans in closer to Keiji's face, and Keiji waves his cigarette in Kuroo's face in response. "Ah—hey, y'know that smoke can irritate the eyes, right?"
"Breathing in that smoke irritates the lungs even more." Keiji puts his cigarette out on the windowsill, which has slowly been accruing more and more black marks over the past few months. "Look at us. Pathetic, aren't we? We're fucking—destroying our lungs and our livers, and we're only...twenty-one—"
"Twenty-two," Kuroo interrupts. "And we're still young. Our bodies can still take it, probably. We're not like Bokuto, we don't need to keep ourselves in tip-top shape anymore."
"How's Kenma doing?" Keiji asks abruptly, because any mention of Koutarou is going to have him breaking into pieces. "How's his channel doing? I saw the latest one. That dress really flattered him—"
"He looked so hot in that dress," Kuroo groans, planting his face firmly into his hands. "Or—fuck, wait, they looked so hot in that dress."
"They?" Keiji asks, picking up his beer can and drinking what remains inside. It seems like the guess he made all those years ago was correct—Kenma is not entirely a guy.
"Yeah, they told me back at the end of high school," Kuroo mutters, drinking as well. "They've...been thinking a lot about it, ever since they were in their first year of high school. And I—I was kind of a jerk to them about it then, and—"
"When are you not," Keiji deadpans.
"And—fuck, they're so confusing—not the gender thing, that's not really confusing—because I keep thinking that they might be interested in me, but then they don't seem interested in me, but then I started sleeping with them—"
"Good for you," Keiji interrupts, his voice bitter. "I haven't slept with my boyfriend in months, do you know what that does to a person?"
"No, not that kind of sleeping, like—like actual sleeping, I fall asleep next to them and they don't kick me out of their bed, and I don't know what to fucking do! Is that a sign of something? We used to sleep in the same bed all the time as kids, but—but I don't know if this is something different or not."
Keiji sighs, running a hand down his face. "I am not a relationship consultant, I do not know how the hell you're supposed to confess to your best friend. Go ask Koutarou, he could tell you, he confessed to me, and I fucked up his confession, and we're—we're somehow still together."
Kuroo laughs without humor. "Okay. Suppose I go ask Bokuto, and suppose I confess to Kenma, and suppose he—they—accept me as their boyfriend, what then? I got what I wanted, and then—I get everything I want, and then I no longer want it anymore. I'm—fuck—I'm scared Kenma will one day become boring to me, and that hurts more than the possibility of them rejecting me."
"Then you just have to suck it up," Keiji seethes through his teeth. "Because life's a bitch, and then you die, and so you might as well do something worthwhile with your life before that happens, right?"
Kuroo looks at Keiji strangely, then looks out towards the night sky. There are no stars in the Tokyo sky, and Keiji wishes that he could see them.
Maybe then, their brightness could distract him from the fact that he yearns for his own star.
—
Koutarou comes to visit him, on a day somewhere between his birthday and Christmas, on a day not important enough to be noted, but—
Well, it's Koutarou. Anything involving him is important.
"Koutarou?" Keiji asks as he opens the door. He blinks, once, twice, unwilling to believe that his boy is actually right here, right in front of him—
The apartment's a mess. I am a mess. I do not want him to see me like this. He will think lesser of me, I am sure, but—
"Keiji!" Koutarou shouts, fully launching himself at Keiji. Keiji yelps as his boyfriend throws his entire body weight onto him, and he scrambles to grab at Koutarou's shoulders. "I missed you sooo much, we're having a match here soon, so I'm here to see you!"
"I see," Keiji says, eyes frantically darting around his apartment. He always does a meticulous job cleaning up after him and Kuroo—but there's some evidence that won't fade away, no matter how hard Keiji tries. The cigarette burns on the windowsill, the underlying stench of alcohol, the—
"Keiji," Koutarou says softly, tilting his head and looking directly into Keiji's eyes. "Are you...okay? You look, like, way more tired than the last time I saw you."
I think I stopped being okay a long time ago. Maybe I was never okay at all.
"I am..." Keiji takes a deep breath. Tries to think about the fact that he will now have to go several days without drinking or smoking, which—well, addiction is a terrible thing, and he will likely not be able to deal with it. "Perfectly fine."
"You don't look very fine," Koutarou says, this time more insistently. "What happened? You stopped answering my calls, and you stopped—Keiji, Keiji do you not..."
Do I not what? Care? About anything? About myself? I've stopped being able to care for anything quite a while ago, and I do not think I can muster up the energy to continue caring.
"Care about...me anymore?"
Distantly, Keiji can hear the sound of the voices in his head laughing.
Oh, look at what you've done now! You've gone so fucking far, you've lost the ability to care about anything, including your precious boyfriend!
What do you think has been going through his mind for the past few months, huh? He must've been worrying day and night about you. And you've been avoiding him like the fucking coward you are, because you do not know to deal with your own feelings, your own problems—
SHUT THE FUCK UP, Keiji screams internally. SHUT THE FUCK UP, SHUT THE FUCK UP.
YOU'RE SUCH A GOOD FUCKING LIAR, AKAASHI KEIJI, DO YOU KNOW THAT? DO YOU KNOW THAT, AKAASHI KEIJI, DO YOU KNOW THAT?
"I have been lying to you," Keiji admits quietly as he stares past Koutarou and at his window, at the black marks that mar the white windowsill. "I have been doing...honestly, quite horribly in your absence. I have..."
Missed you. Missed you so much that I feel as though I am the coldest of planets, purposeless without my shining star to orbit around. Missed the warmth you gave me, inside my bed and outside it.
I have missed you so terribly, Bokuto Koutarou, and this is how I cope.
"You’ve been drinking?" Koutarou asks quietly, and Keiji's head shoots up. "Smoking? Keiji—Kuroo tells me some things—"
"That rat bastard—" Keiji says out loud, seething. "I'll tell Kenma about what he's been up to, see how he likes that—"
"I'm not gonna judge you, Keiji." Koutarou's voice is soft, and quiet, and Keiji does not deserve this. He deserves to be shouted at, to be screamed at, because he's been neglecting his boyfriend, his studies, himself, and he's been an idiot and he has been smoking, drinking, destroying himself just to feel pain, just to remind himself that he's alive.
I wish I weren't alive anymore.
"You get stressed really easily," Koutarou continues, wrapping his arms around Keiji's shoulders and pulling him into a bone-breaking hug. Keiji distantly wishes that Koutarou would do him the pleasure of breaking every one of his bones, grind them down into dust, and then rebuild him into something good. "And I...I don't know what's been going on with you, but...I wanna help you! But I can't help you if you don't...tell me, Keiji."
Because if it's anyone, it's going to be you.
"Can I tell you tomorrow?" Keiji mumbles into Koutarou's shoulder, pulling him closer. "Please?"
Because I can never say anything properly the first time. Because somewhere along the line, the thoughts get tangled up in the space between my brain and my mouth, and I can never just say plainly—
I missed you so much, it hurts. I don't know how to live without you, and that scares me.
I love you.
Please don't leave me. The vast majority of those I have loved have left me.
I can only pray that you do not end up like them.
"Take me to bed?" Keiji asks, reaching his arms up to Koutarou. Koutarou beams down at him, fully lifting him up into a bridal carry and heading for his bedroom.
He takes notice of how Koutarou furrows his brow as he lifts Keiji up, no doubt noting how Keiji's lost even more weight since they were last together.
Don't treat me like glass, Keiji pleads mentally as Koutarou sets him down on the bed and strips off his clothes. Please. It's not what I deserve.
Break me until there's nothing left of me. Then put me back together. It doesn't matter if you do it well, because I will be better than whatever I am now.
That's what I deserve.
—
Keiji gets railed within an inch of his life, and he feels happier than he has felt in months. That is to say—he feels like he doesn't want to kill himself for roughly two hours.
"I missed you," Keiji mumbles deliriously into Koutarou's chest, tracing patterns on his shoulder. He's tracing the characters for Bokuto Keiji into what will hopefully be his future husband's skin—
Nuh uh. Not 'hopefully your future husband'. Hoping only leads to disappointment.
"Missed you too," Koutarou whispers, pressing a kiss to Keiji's forehead. "Sorry I can't stay very long here. I have to leave tomorrow night, 'cause the match is tomorrow."
And Keiji wraps his arms around Koutarou’s shoulders, sighing, wishing—
I wish we could stay here forever, in this insipid fantasy. It is not reality, but I think I would be happy not having to face reality for a while.
—
Keiji wakes up in his boyfriend’s arms, and he is—he is happy, if only for a moment.
"You should go," Keiji whispers back, patting Koutarou's shoulder, even though he wishes for the very opposite. "Get ready for the match."
"Don't wanna," Koutarou pouts. Keiji kisses that pout. "I could spend the entire day lying in bed with you. That'd be—that'd be way better than playing volleyball, probably!"
"Volleyball is your job." Keiji laughs quietly as he nuzzles his face against Koutarou's cheek. "That's what you do for a living. You need to go play your match."
Koutarou whines some more, so Keiji kisses the space between his eyes, and his boyfriend's smile grows the tiniest bit wider. His boyfriend laughs, and then he laughs too—wow, he's missed feeling like this. Feeling happy.
Oh, you think you deserve happiness? You think you deserve anything at all—
SHUT UP. GO AWAY. I'M HAVING A NICE MOMENT WITH MY BOYFRIEND. GO THE FUCK AWAY.
The voice in his head quiets down, but the sense of emptiness that washes over him remains. The urge to push Koutarou away first before Koutarou pushes him away first is strong, and Keiji doesn't know why.
Because humans are ungrateful little wretches who don't know how good they have it until they lose it. Because when we get what we want, we end up not wanting it anymore. Because I am a bad person, and I am only dragging Koutarou down.
"Well, we must start the day at some point," Keiji says, somehow summoning the strength to drag himself out of bed—something that has been getting harder and harder to do lately. Koutarou whines, but Keiji pays him no mind. "It is nearly eight o clock."
Koutarou's eyes widen, almost comically, and he falls out of Keiji's bed. "Shoot! I gotta meet them at the stadium in, like, an hour!"
Bokuto-san's weakness number 22: he loses track of time way too easily.
"Well, come on then," he says as he pulls his boyfriend's oversized hoodie over himself. It practically swallows him up, and he thinks—
I am getting thinner. I think at this rate, I could shrink down to nothing until I am dust. I am so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. When compared to the vastness of the universe, I am nothing more than a speck of dust on the ant of a leg.
"You're coming to the game, right?" Koutarou asks as he rises up, neatly folding Keiji's blankets while he's at it. "I can get you tickets some way! Oh, but you were probably already planning to come, weren't you?"
There was a time when I would follow every one of your matches so closely, and I would watch them in whatever way I could. What happened to my persistence? Why do I no longer do that anymore? Have I truly just stopped...caring about him without noticing it?
I really am a bad person.
In the shadows, a boy nods his head in agreement vigorously. You are. You really are.
"I unfortunately have several essays I must write," Keiji mutters as he does his best to compartmentalize the precious few hours he has left with Koutarou before he leaves once again for Osaka. The game will likely take place during the afternoon, and Keiji has classes in the afternoon, and he'd wager that Koutarou will leave with his team sometime after seven, after dinner. That's not nearly enough time to spend with him, and so—
"Goodbye," Keiji says as he sets a cup of coffee in front of Koutarou. "Because...I assume that the game will take up most of the afternoon, and then you will have to socialize with fans, and then you will go out to dinner with your team, and...then you will have to go back to Osaka."
And then you will have to leave me again. Just like everyone else.
I don't mean that. I know you don't want to leave me. But you should.
"Huh?" Koutarou asks, tilting his head. "No? I'm gonna head out as soon as all the interview stuff is over, and then I'm gonna hang out with you for the rest of the night!"
"What about your team?"
"What about my team?"
Keiji sighs, shaking his head. His boy can be so forgetful sometimes. "Don't you have to go back to Osaka with the rest of your team?"
Koutarou tilts his head, blinking his eyes owlishly. "Well, can't I take an evening off to spend it with my boyfriend? I can take a different train back to Osaka later."
You shouldn't do such a thing. There are people that look up to you, people that have probably been waiting months to see you in the flesh.
"Don't do that," Keiji says stiffly as he rummages through his fridge, trying to scrounge up anything edible for Koutarou to eat. "There's far more important things that you need to do than spend time with me."
"Akaashi," Koutarou says flatly, and Keiji's heart begins to sink. "You're my boyfriend. There's nobody more important than you. Why don't you want to spend time with me? I haven't—I haven't seen you in months, and—"
"You should go." Keiji's voice is cold, and it kills him inside. He clenches the handle of his refrigerator as he stares inside it, like it'll give him any of the answers to his life. "You're going to be late for your match."
"Akaashi, what—"
"Go."
Silence from Koutarou. Then, Keiji hears the sounds of him shoving things into his duffel bag, then the sound of him stomping around as he puts his shoes on.
"I'm pissed at you, y'know that?" Koutarou says, and his voice sounds smaller than it normally does. "I don't—I don't know what's changed about you, but...but I know it's not you, Akaashi. This isn't—"
"People change, Bokuto-san," Keiji says in complete and utter exasperation, because his boyfriend is so naive.
I see that this cruel world hasn't dulled his kindness. So that's something, I guess.
I think whatever good was in me left over these past few years. Like something cracked in my heart, and all of it slowly began leaking out, little by little. And it's happened so slowly, Koutarou hasn't had time to notice.
But now we haven't seen each other in forever, and now he sees me for what I am.
Broken.
And I thought he would fix me, but I should have known better. He'll leave me here in pieces, and it'll be all I deserve.
"You should go," Keiji murmurs, turning around but still unwilling to look his boyfriend in the eye. He stares straight ahead at the wall, watching Koutarou out of the corner of his eye. "Now."
He can feel Koutarou's gaze upon him, and he does not want to think about those radiant golden eyes piercing into his soul. He's angry. He's got every right to be angry with me.
"Fine," Koutarou snaps, and he stomps past Keiji, picking up his duffel bag and slinging it over his shoulder. "But we're going to talk later. I'm gonna finish up everything as soon as I can, and then I'm gonna take you out."
Keiji first thinks, I would like to be taken out, as in, put out of my misery, and then he thinks, He's rushing. He's going to rush his job, just to get it over with, so he can spend time with me.
They're going to lose the match. Bokuto-san's weakness number 16: if one thing goes wrong in the morning, he’ll be a mess for the rest of the day. They're going to lose the match, and I am going to be the reason for it.
Ah, see what you've done? See how much you mean to Koutarou?
He's willing to throw away his passion just to be with you.
It's one match.
And it'll be even more if this continues on.
"I love you," Keiji blurts out, spinning on his heel, and Koutarou stops in his tracks. "This—" And then he sighs, because he can never articulate his words with his mouth as well as he does with his head. "This is not me trying to make up for what I've said. But we cannot continue this discussion any further, but I also do not want you going into your match with—with too many thoughts about this, and so—I love you. Just—please remember that."
And Keiji watches the angry lines of Koutarou's face soften, watches the fight drain out of his shoulders. And even though he has a match to get to, Koutarou softly steps back over to Keiji, wrapping his arm around Keiji's shoulders and pecking him on the forehead.
"I love you too," Koutarou murmurs. "I love you so much, Keiji."
And then he pulls away first, nearly running to the door and wrenching it open. Keiji watches him sprint down the hallway, and he thinks—
I cannot decide if I want you to leave me or stay with me. I cannot decide what I want.
What do I want?
I want to die.
—
"Why did you tell him?" Keiji asks as soon as Kuroo walks into his apartment, alcohol in hand. "You had no right to tell him I was...doing all this shit with you."
Kuroo raises an eyebrow, hurriedly backing away from Keiji and raising his hands in surrender. "I can explain—"
"Damn fucking right, you're going to explain," Keiji spits out. He points vaguely out the window, in the general direction of Tokyo Stadium. "My—my boyfriend is pissed with me, and it's because I've been drinking and smoking and shit like that, and it was your fault I ever got into any of that in the first place—"
Kuroo laughs hollowly as he drops the case of beer he was holding. "My fault? My fault? You made the decision to join me in all this, you were the one who decided to ruin your life, and I was—just being honest with Bokuto, okay?"
"You've never been honest a day in your goddamn life!" Keiji shouts, though he knows that Kuroo's words are true.
This isn't Kuroo's fault. This is your fault. Your addiction. Your relationship. Your life.
How fucking sad, that your life has come to this.
"He was worried about you," Kuroo shoots back. "He was worried, and you—stopped responding to him, so he went to me, and he asked about you, and I couldn't just lie to him and say you were fine, because you're—" Here, he gestures up and down at Keiji. "Clearly not fine."
Keiji snorts. "Speak for yourself."
Kuroo's upper lip curls in a sneer, and he takes one big step towards Keiji. "You're lucky to have someone that cares so much about you. Bokuto has so many options for who he could date, and he chose you. You deserve it, of course you do, but you might not anymore if you just—keep being like this."
"Being like this," Keiji laughs hollowly. "I've always been like this. I've just gotten worse at hiding it lately."
The man sighs, shaking his head. He picks up his case of alcohol and begins making his way back to the door.
"If you keep pushing everyone away, insisting that nobody deserves to be around you—eventually, nobody is going to want to be around you. Self-fulfilling prophecy. I thought you were smart like that, Akaashi."
"Once again, I say," Keiji says as Kuroo opens the door. "Speak for yourself."
Hypocrites. That's what we are, both of us. Destroying our own lives and blaming it on each other, then scolding each other and telling each other we should know better.
"Kenma doesn't even give a shit about me anymore," Kuroo sighs, shoulders slumping over. "He's too busy with his channel and his subscribers to even think about anything else. And—obviously it's selfish, but I want him to think about me sometimes. He used to stream in my bedroom, on my PC. I got him to where he is today."
"And you want him to be grateful for you," Keiji concludes, crossing his arms. "At the very least, I do not take Koutarou for granted."
"Oh, you think you're so much better than me, just because you're actually dating your boy?" Kuroo asks, rolling his eyes. "We're the same, Akaashi. We're both just shit. And shit people like us don't deserve anything good, isn't that right?"
That is all true. All of that is true. And yet, Keiji cannot find any good response other than—
"Get the fuck out."
—
He cries. He cries for a very long time. He cries for so long, he doesn't remember what it was he was crying about in the first place.
I want my boyfriend to stay with me forever. I want to be happy. I want to be a good person.
I want so many things, and I do not deserve any of them.
—
Many hours later, after Keiji's miserable excuse for a pity party, he somehow finds the strength to crawl to his feet and open the door for his boyfriend.
"Keiji—Keiji!"
"Hi," Keiji mutters miserably as he stares up at his boyfriend. He had classes today, but he skipped them all in favor of lying in his bed and crying and screaming into his pillows. It's fine. He can catch up later. He always does. He always has everything under control, his life sorted out into calendar boxes and lines of to-do lists.
He has this under control. He can get himself back together.
Right?
Oh, can you? Can you really? The boy in the shadows has both his hands on Keiji's shoulders, stopping him from walking any closer to the boy he loves. Are there any amount of words or planning that can fix the mess you've created? Is there anything you can still do to drag yourself out of your misery?
Oh, I know. Just save yourself the pain.
Just kill yourself.
"I brought you dinner," Koutarou says as he holds up a bag full of takeout. "I...wanna talk, Keiji."
"Of course," Keiji says quietly as Koutarou places a gentle hand on his shoulder and guides him towards the dinner table. He sits down. He lets his boyfriend plate the food. He picks at his food.
He thinks.
If I died, could I free Koutarou from the burden that is me? All my faults and selfishness—he wouldn't have to deal with...any of it anymore.
He wouldn't have to deal with me anymore.
"Answer me honestly," Koutarou says, his voice so small, so unsure. He's trying to copy what Keiji said to him, back in high school, when he was the one who had to comfort him. "Can you do that for me, Keiji?"
"Of course," Keiji says, but even as the words leave his lips, he knows that it's a lie. He's already failed at what his beloved has asked of him.
I really can't do anything right.
"How did you get into..." Koutarou tilts his head before shoving a gyoza into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully. He swallows, and then he says, "Drinking. Smoking."
Destroying yourself. Self-destruction.
Truthfully, I have been doing it to myself ever since you met me, Koutarou. Even before then as well. It's just that now, it's more than words destroying my mental state. Now, I can destroy my body as well. Kill myself slowly.
"Kuroo got me into it," Keiji admits, picking at his food. His appetite has been decreasing. He has been getting thinner. He wishes he would gradually get smaller and smaller, until he is nothing. "I shouldn't have let him. Please do not blame him. My decisions...they were my own, regardless of who influenced my judgment."
Koutarou is quiet for a moment, before he sets down his chopsticks. "Kuroo's one of my best friends. You know that. I've—I've known him longer than I've known you. But if he's...if he's doing all that, then I can...shoot, I don't know if he'll listen to me."
"Kuroo is very stubborn," Keiji agrees bitterly. "But once again, please do not blame him for my actions. In fact, I am at fault for his behavior as well. I have...I have only been enabling him, for quite some time now. I let him come here, so Kenma doesn't see him, and I let him..."
He waves his hand aimlessly. "Smoke. Drink. Destroy his life, alongside me."
"Well, that's kinda hypocritical of you, Keiji," Koutarou says quietly. "If he's not responsible for your actions, then you're also not responsible for his actions. You're both your own people. And—sure, I guess both of you have kinda affected each other but..."
But at the end of the day, our decisions are our own. I am the only person I can blame. I am the one who brushed off my boyfriend for months. I am the one who ruins my own life. I am the one who self-destructs at the smallest whim.
I really should just put myself out of my own misery.
I haven't thought about sin, about judgment, in a very long time. But I know this now–
I'm going to hell. And I think I should go there as soon as possible.
"We are both just bad people," Keiji murmurs. "You are...too good for both of us, Koutarou. You shouldn't associate with either of us."
"Well, that's just not true either," Koutarou protests. "Neither of you are bad people. You're just good people that've made some bad decisions. You're not...you're not defined by your worst moments, Keiji. Wait—did I use that word right? Defined?"
And somehow—somehow—Bokuto Koutarou, shining star that he is, manages to make Keiji laugh. All the pain, all the voices in his head—they vanish almost instantly in the face of this boy.
"Yes, you did," Keiji laughs as Koutarou smiles in triumph. "You've been expanding your vocabulary while I've been gone, haven't you?"
"Omi-Omi—sorry, Kiyoomi—sorry, Sakusa," Koutarou corrects himself. "Says fancy stuff like that all the time. I should introduce you guys. I think you'd like each other."
Keiji hums, choking down the last of his food. He doesn't particularly know if he wants to meet all of the new people that Koutarou has been spending day after day with. Or—he supposes that the likes of Sakusa Kiyoomi and Miya Atsumu are not new, per se, but—ah, forget it.
"We played against Sakusa and Miya in high school, did we not?" Keiji asks as he stands up to throw away their garbage. "What a twist of fate, now that you're playing alongside them."
Koutarou nods thoughtfully. "Like destiny," he says in an awed voice.
Destiny. Fate. The path that God set me on. Is this where I was supposed to end up? Is this what I was supposed to be doing with my life? Going through the motions of life, just...waiting to die?
Stop. Stop. I do not want to think about this any longer.
I just…
"I want everything to stop," Keiji whispers, and Koutarou looks up abruptly. "I don't...know what I am doing with my life, Koutarou. And—and looking at you, you know what you are going to do with your life, and you—"
He cuts himself off, choking out a desperate sob.
Koutarou knows what he is doing with his life, and never in a thousand years did I think it would be that way. I thought I was going to have my entire life figured out by the time I finished high school, and that I would have to be the one to help Koutarou along, but now—
Now it is the exact opposite, and I do not know what to do.
"I don't think you need to know everything," Koutarou says evenly, and Keiji has most definitely heard those words from him before, but he has never been able to take those words to heart—when has he ever been able to take kind words to heart? "And I think—no, I know—Keiji, you're one of the smartest people I know, and you are going to figure out your life, at one point or another."
"But what if I don't?!" Keiji asks, and he can feel his shoulders begin shaking. He's in the middle of his kitchen, but he feels his knees locking up, his breath catching in his throat. "Koutarou, what if I don't ever find out what I want to spend the rest of my life doing, what if all I'll ever do is destroy my own life—what if the peak of my life was in fucking high school, when you were my captain and my biggest worries were playing volleyball and getting good grades, what if—"
"But what if," Koutarou says softly, kneeling down to cup Keiji's cheeks in his hands. There's a singular tear dripping its way down Keiji's cheek, and Koutarou wipes it away with his thumb. "What if you do, Keiji? What if you do figure out what you want in life? What if you do, because you're smart, and talented, and capable?"
Keiji sniffles, shaking his head. He has never truly known if the praise he receives is genuine or deserved or not. But Koutarou has always had a way of making his words seem wholly and completely true.
"You're too good to me," Keiji whispers as Koutarou kisses his forehead. "You're far too good to me, and I do not deserve it."
"You deserve everything good in the world," Koutarou whispers back. "All of it, Keiji."
Actually, the complete opposite is true, the boy in the shadows jests, dancing around Keiji. The complete opposite is true, because you only deserve all of the worst things life has to offer, and—
SHUT THE FUCK UP.
"Come to Osaka with me once you graduate," Koutarou says, clasping Keiji's hands firmly in his, and it is not a proposal, but Keiji vaguely thinks it sounds like, come spend the rest of your life with me. "Ooh, can you be an author with your literature degree? Is that a thing you can do? Yeah, you can be a really good writer, and you'll get all the awards and stuff."
"Koutarou," Keiji laughs, pressing a hand to his mouth. How is it that even in his darkest moments, Koutarou can still make him laugh?
"Or maybe a teacher!" Koutarou continues on, nodding his head. "That'd be cool, and we could both be teachers after I retire! I'll be the gym teacher, and you can be the literature teacher, and then when we get married, we could tell our students, 'your literature teacher and your gym teacher are getting married'! Or something like that—"
And that is an actual, much more definitive proposal. However, Keiji cannot really think about that, so he turns his attention to the other things Koutarou has said.
"It is incredibly difficult for one to become a best-selling author, and teachers do not make nearly enough money." Keiji shakes his head, feeling some of the feeling coming back into his legs. "I am...not certain about what I will do about my future, but I am certain that I would not like to be either."
"See? You already know what you don't wanna be." Koutarou grabs Keiji with both hands, dragging him up to a standing position. "And that just means that you're closer to figuring out what you do wanna be!"
Keiji vaguely remembers Konoha saying that "if you looked at Bokuto's stupidity from a different angle, it kind of turns out to be genius", and Keiji thinks that is wholly applicable in this situation.
"I will see if I can come with you to Osaka," Keiji says, already thinking about the logistics and the possibilities and the hope flaring up in his chest. "And...I will see what I will be able to do with my literature degree. But for now..."
He takes one deep breath in, one deep breath out.
"I think you have to go now."
And Koutarou glances down at his watch, then blows out a disappointed breath of air, making some strands of his hair float up. "Yeah...yeah, you're right. But I don't wanna."
"Unfortunately for both of us, you have to," Keiji sighs, running his fingers through his boyfriend's hair. "Because in life, sometimes we have to do things that we do not want to do."
His boyfriend whines as he goes back into Keiji's bedroom to gather up all of his things. "I think life would be a lot better if we were allowed to do whatever we wanted."
"If everyone did whatever they wanted, the world would devolve into anarchy," Keiji says flatly. "Murder. Crime. Etcetera."
"Well, then me specifically." Koutarou double checks that everything is in his duffel bag before nodding to himself. "I should be allowed to do whatever I want. Because I would never do murder or crime or etcetera."
Keiji chuckles, reaching his hand out for Koutarou to take. Koutarou takes it, kissing Keiji's knuckles while he's at it. Then Koutarou tugs him forward, Keiji yelping as he does. He lands right in Koutarou's arms, hands pressed to his chest.
"Well," Keiji says, vaguely thinking that he must now be the protagonist of some horrifically cheesy boys' love manga. "Aren't you a gentleman."
"Yep, that's me," Koutarou says cheerfully as he wraps one arm around Keiji's waist and makes his way towards the door. "And now you get to be the gentleman and kiss me goodbye."
So Keiji does just that. He kisses his beloved boyfriend goodbye, delays his leaving for as long as he can, and then—
And then he is gone.
And Keiji is left to look back at his dingy apartment, with cigarette burns on the windowsill and alcohol cans in the trash, and he's left to wonder what he's meant to do from here.
The logical choice would be to wean myself off of my addictions. Begin to go to...Alcohol Anonymous meetings, stop hanging around Kuroo, because all we do around each other is enable each other, but…
That seems like such an insurmountable task.
Keiji sighs as he collapses into his bed, never mind the fact that he hasn't showered or brushed his teeth yet. He will deal with that problem in the morning. He rolls over, running his hands over his blankets, and he finds—
Huh. Did he leave some of his clothes behind? Bokuto-san's weakness number 21: he’s very disorganized when it comes to his personal belongings.
He unearths the mystery article of clothing, holding it up above his face.
His hoodie. MSBY Black Jackals hoodie. He flips it over, staring up at the BOKUTO and large number 12 on the back. His hoodie. Oversized. He drops his arms, letting the hoodie fall straight onto his face. Still smells like him.
But I can't just keep it, can I? I'll have to wait until he comes back here, or I'll have to go to Osaka, or…
Huh. Maybe he meant to leave this behind for me. Because I've been missing him, and so…
Maybe I can be a little selfish, just this once, and not feel bad about it, just this once.
—
"I slept with Kenma. Like, actually slept with them. Also, I actually got together with them."
"Excellent job," Keiji says as he holds the door half open, half closed. "Never talk to me about how you're sleeping with my friend ever again."
"I got what I wanted," Kuroo muses as he literally sticks his foot into the door, forcing it open a little bit more. "I got what I wanted, and now I...I'm not sure what else to do anymore."
"I'm all out of romance advice," Keiji says flatly, pushing back against Kuroo's attempts to open the door. "Ask Koutarou, or go away."
"I got a date with them tonight," Kuroo says, almost in wonder, and something in his eyes seems to soften. The man gestures to himself, to the button-up shirt and slacks he has on. "How do I look?"
"With your eyes."
"Wow, you're a joker. Like, give me an adjective here. Hot, handsome, stunning, etcetera?"
"Etcetera."
Kuroo clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "Man. You're no fun anymore, Akaashi."
Was what we were doing fun? Was drinking ourselves to death and breathing in low-quality smoke fun? Was it anything but slow self-destruction?
"I am aware," Keiji says, trying to keep his voice even. He hasn't gone to any organizations to help him quit, and he hasn't tried completely going cold turkey either. He's gone several hours without a cigarette, and two days without a drink. Small steps, as Koutarou keeps repeating.
Actually improving yourself is so much harder than tearing yourself down. Showing kindness is so much harder than showing cruelty. Being a good person is so much harder than being a bad person.
And that's why there's so many bad people in this world.
Including Kuroo? Including me?
"Have fun on your date," Keiji says, and he slams the door in Kuroo's face.
"Fine!" Kuroo shouts, his voice muffled through the closed door. "The next time I need love advice, I won't come crawling back to you!"
—
Months later, Kuroo comes crawling back to Keiji for love advice.
"Kenma broke up with you, and your solution is to come crashing on my couch," Keiji says at the sad sight before him. Namely, Kuroo splayed out on his tiny couch, legs hanging off the end. "Explain to me how any of this is my problem."
"Well, they kicked me out, and then they told me to come back when I've worked out whatever issues I have with myself." Kuroo listlessly turns his head to stare up at the ceiling. "So now I'm here. Working out my issues."
Keiji decides that it is far too early in the morning—it is two AM—to deal with this shit. So he sighs, shakes his head, and says—
"You better have a plan for fixing this in the morning."
—
Kuroo Tetsurou, in an absolutely shocking turn of events, does not have a plan for fixing this in the morning. Keiji elects to ignore him and go about the rest of his day like normal, hoping that this problem will magically be resolved come night.
Hope, as always, only leads to disappointment.
"I'm so fucking stupid," Kuroo bemoans, curling up into a ball on Keiji's couch. "I—I don't even know why they're in love with me, I think...god, maybe if they gave me one more chance, I'd do it right..."
Keiji sighs, pulling out his phone.
me: do you mind telling me what's going on between you and your boyfriend
Kenma's response pops up a second later:
kenma: none of your business.
me: it is my business when he comes stumbling into my apartment at two in the morning
A few seconds later, Keiji's phone lights up, with an incoming call from Kenma.
"Keiji," Kenma mumbles from the other side. "How's he doing?"
Keiji glances over at the man crying and screaming about how he's such a shitty person and how he deserves only the worst into Keiji's couch pillows. "Awful. But he admits he deserves it."
"Great." Kenma's voice is clipped, terse. Like they've been crying as well.
"He's been begging you to take you back," Keiji says as he continues to stare down at Kuroo. "Check your texts."
Kenma snorts. "I'm not going to take him back until he..."
And here, his friend trails off, not quite knowing how to finish. Keiji sighs once more, and takes over for them.
"He's a wreck," he says, and his voice is ice cold. "And—listen to me, Kenma. He needs to work this out himself. You've done enough. I'll try to do what I can, but it's all up to him. You understand?"
Kenma's response is immediate. "Speaking from experience, Keiji?"
Of course, of all people, it would be Kenma that sees right through you.
"You wound me, Kenma. But yes."
"Okay," Kenma mutters, still sounding as miserable as Keiji feels. "I got it, Keiji."
"Have a good night, Kenma."
"Goodnight, Keiji."
Kenma hangs up, and Keiji turns his attention to their sad, pathetic excuse of a boyfriend. "You need to get your shit together."
"You don't think I know that?" Kuroo groans, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "Fuck, and—I've been trying to do that, but..." He shoves a pillow over his head, seemingly trying to suffocate himself. "It's so hard."
It's hard to be a good person, and it's easy to be a bad person.
"I'm going to bed," Keiji declares, scooping up the blanket on the floor and throwing it over Kuroo. "Tomorrow's Saturday. Tomorrow, the two of us can figure out a plan to get our sorry lives back in order."
"God, Akaashi," Kuroo mumbles from where his head's buried in the pillow. "I don't know what we'd do without you."
"Who is we?" Keiji asks, halfway to his bedroom.
"Bokuto. Me. Even Kenma, sometimes. You're so..."
And whatever word Kuroo was about to use to describe him flutters away as he closes his eyes and drifts off to sleep.
Shame, Keiji thinks as he opens his bedroom door and collapses on his bed. He always did have a way with words.
Maybe whatever he would have said would have been a lie, but it probably would have made me feel better.
—
Akaashi Keiji wakes up the next day at three in the morning, and he contemplates ending his life.
Three in the morning is a strange time. It's far too early for those who get up early, but it's far too late for those that stay up late. Three in the morning is only for people who do not know what the fuck they're doing with their lives.
Almost as in a dream, he makes his way over to the windowsill, opening the window and sticking his head out. He's not sure exactly why he does it, because a gust of wind immediately hits him a moment later, but then he looks down at the ground, and—
Wow. That's so high.
He had dreams before, childish ones, about sprouting wings and taking flight, going on a long journey far, far away from here. He was a wonderer and a dreamer, but now—
Now, all he dreams about is the sweet release of death.
The first time I ever saw death was a bird that had fallen down to the ground. I was a child. I thought that it was the saddest thing ever, because birds were meant to fly, not fall. I wanted wings, so I could fly.
But I don't have wings. I never will. So all I can do is…
He sticks his head out of the window even more, his body following, as if daring the universe to push him out, allow him to tumble into unforgiving darkness.
Fall.
"Don't kill yourself, Akaashi."
And those four words are enough to snap Keiji out of whatever suicidal trance he was in, as he snaps his head up, knocks his head against the window frame, and stumbles back, cursing in pain. He lands on his ass, and he manages to turn around and find—
"Kuroo," Keiji says quietly. "Apologies if I disturbed you. You should go back to sleep."
"No, I get it," Kuroo says as he walks towards the window, rummaging around in his pocket. Keiji knows what will happen before it happens: Kuroo will tap out a cigarette, light it, offer one to Keiji, and they will smoke at three in the morning and be miserable together.
But that doesn't happen. Instead, Kuroo only lights one for himself, staring out into the Tokyo night. Keiji, now mildly confused, just stands next to him.
"I meant it when I said it," Kuroo says, tapping his cigarette. "Don't kill yourself. Bokuto would be fucking devastated if you did that. So would Kenma. Hell—hell, even me."
He remembers what Shima said to him, one time, when he asked her, "Shima, what would you do if I died as well?"
And Shima had replied, without hesitation, "I'd kill myself."
What would these people do if I actually…
Died?
How long would they mourn me? How much of their lives would change if I died? My parents died, and my friends died, and their grief still haunts me.
But I've been forgetting about them. Slowly but surely. Should I be forgetting about them? Grief leaves open wounds, and then they scar over—shouldn't I let the scars heal instead of letting them fester and rot?
You can be immortalized in people's memories if you cause them enough pain, enough anguish. Even after death, you'll never truly die, not until the ones you loved die with you.
Do I want that to be me?
"I wasn't actually going to do it," Keiji says in a weak attempt to defend himself. This is a lie, and Kuroo can see through it easily. Who knows what he would have done during the witching hour, if Kuroo hadn't been there to stop him? "I was just..."
"Fantasizing about it," Kuroo snorts, snuffing his cigarette out against the windowsill. He rolls his shoulders back, ambling back towards the couch. "Come back to reality, Keiji. There's no world where you die and everything doesn't go to shit."
Do I truly matter that much?
—
Illness is painful. Physically painful. The woes of the body interfere with the woes of the mind, compounding them tenfold.
It hurts, having one's heart fail them like this. It hurts terribly. They say that my heart is too big for my ribcage to contain. How ironic. Eomma and Halmeoni said my heart was too small to love anyone other than myself, but there is so much love in my heart—so much so that I may die from it.
I do not know if it is genetic. Keiji is as healthy and happy as a young boy can be. He is five years old now. I took him to the park, and he came back talking about a new friend he made, a boy with stars for eyes. I am happy that he is making friends. I hope, with all my heart—which there is too much of—that he will continue to be happy after I die.
I do not know how much longer I have left to live. Perhaps two or three years, if I am being hopeful.
It is funny. Years ago, all I wanted was not to die. Now, all I want is to shut my eyes and drift away in peace, selfish as it may be. As easy as going to sleep.
I am selfish. I will be the first to die, out of our little family. Kyoji and Keiji will have to bury me. I will not have to ever suffer the grief and anguish of losing a loved one. Not my husband, not my son, not my sisters or Eomma or Halmeoni.
Selfishness is a sin. I should know that best of all.
— Yeong Haneul
—
Mama,
You were right. I had to bury you, and Papa, and two of my friends as well. I am not any of them—I can only ever be me, and so I do not know if any of them had the same wish as you.
I think about your death. I remember that day extremely clearly, in vivid detail. I've heard it said that trauma makes memories all the more vivid. I think about how you must have died peacefully that night. You must have known death was calling for you. I remember that I was with you, and then you told me to go out in the living room, and play with my toys there. You must have known you were about to die, and that you did not want me to witness your death.
I hope Papa's death was peaceful as well. I heard that he died from alcohol poisoning, so I cannot imagine it was painless, but—at the very least, I hope that it was not too painful. And Momoko's—Momoko's would have been painful no matter what.
The only one I could compare your death to is Yukito. Both of you must have been suffering in silence for so long, unable to properly express just how much sickness hurt you. Is it better to live a life of suffering or to meet a painless death? I do not know.
All I know right now is that I am living a life of suffering right now as well. I overexaggerate, of course, I do. I know I am privileged to have this life, surrounded by people who love me, pursuing a useless degree. I do not have any reason to complain, and yet I do anyway.
I am selfish, just like you claim. I suppose I inherited this, along with your eyes and your ability to craft words. I do not think I have inherited your sickness. Rather, I think it is the opposite. I think that instead of a heart that is too large for my chest to contain, I have one that is too small.
What love I had shriveled up and turned into hate. All the goodness I once had has slowly but surely left me, and now I am only a broken shell of a man.
Mama. I have the same wish as you do now. I want to die in peace. I am so very tired of living.
I hope you got what you wished for. I hope your death was peaceful, as easy as falling asleep.
I hope I get what I wish for as well. But—I rarely ever get what I want. And when I get what I want, I no longer want it anymore. Maybe this is how this will go. Only when I'm staring into the face of death will I wish to run away, crawl on my hands and knees, back to life.
Your son,
Akaashi Keiji
—
"Keiji," Amane-obasan says, and Keiji is somewhat relieved at the sound of her voice. "How have you been?"
Frankly, it is a miracle that his aunt has not stopped in her mission to contact him every weekend, over the past few years. Every Sunday, without fail, she calls him, and if he does not respond, she leaves a lengthy voicemail. She does not question him. Keiji supposes that this new ritual is in place of going to church.
"Fine," he says, because what else is he supposed to say? That his life is falling apart, after his aunt trusted him to take care of himself by himself? That would only lead to her worrying over him, and that's the last thing he needs—someone neglecting themselves to take care of him.
His aunt hums, not saying anything else. And all of a sudden—Keiji has an idea.
"Obasan. What is the address for the cemetery where my mama is buried?"
His aunt coughs, startled. "Whatever do you need that information for?"
"I was thinking..." His eyes stray back over to his mama's diary, over the words she had written about death and the way she yearned for it. "I was thinking of visiting her this year. And Papa as well. I have not...I have not visited Mama in a long time, and I have not visited Papa at all. So I thought..."
He hears the sound of his aunt rummaging around in a drawer, the sounds of her flicking through paper. "Would you like me to accompany you?"
Keiji thinks about it. His aunt does not take prolonged moments to mourn what is already gone. Everything she does, she does with efficiency. The only time Keiji had ever seen her take a moment to grieve was at his and his papa's request.
"Would you like to?" Keiji asks cautiously. "I know that Papa was your brother, and..."
More sounds of her flicking through papers. Then: "Ah. I cannot. During the entire month of December, I am being sent to Korea to work with some of our associates. I am sending you the address now."
"Thank you," Keiji says as his phone pings. From outside his bedroom, he hears the sound of Kuroo grumbling and getting up. "I must go now, I have to meet with a friend."
"Goodbye, Keiji."
"Goodbye." Keiji hangs up, then goes outside to see what Kuroo's shouting about. "Kuroo, what are you—"
He's stopped in his tracks at the sight of his boyfriend standing in the doorway, with Kuroo pointing straight at his face.
He's back, Keiji thinks as Koutarou does his handshake with Kuroo. Why's he back? I've been doing better—I think, I've been trying to do better, and—
"Hi!" Koutarou says cheerfully, looking up, and Keiji—forgive him—fully shoves Kuroo out of the way to grab his boyfriend in a hug. "Oh—I missed you too!"
"Not that I'm complaining," Keiji says, pressing kisses to Koutarou's cheeks, forehead, nose, lips. "Far from it, actually. But why are you here?"
Koutarou tilts his head to look past Keiji, down at Kuroo. "I'm here to get this guy out of your house."
"Hey," Kuroo complains, extremely weakly. "I'm not that bad of a roommate."
"All you've done is lie on my couch and whine," Keiji says coldly. "You're the shittiest roommate I've ever had."
"No I'm not, Kenma says—" Kuroo's mouth snaps shut, and he looks guiltily down at the floor. "Never mind..."
"Speaking of Kenma," Koutarou says, finally wrangling Keiji off of him and setting him down on the floor. "How's he doing?"
"He's not responding to any of his texts," both Keiji and Kuroo say at the same time, holding up their phones in sync. It may be the most coordinated thing they've ever done. Koutarou's brow furrows.
"And you didn't go over to his apartment to check on him?" he asks, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Because—well, it is. Kenma is right down the hall, and it would be so easy to knock on their door and ask if they're alright, but, well—
If I were Kenma, I wouldn't want to be bothered about any of this. Kenma's smart. They'll be able to self-assess and return back to normal by themselves.
But, well, now that I think about this for too long, it seems like a jerk move on my part.
"I've been occupied with his sorry ass." Keiji glares up at Kuroo, kicking him in the shin while he's at it. Kuroo groans, probably more from his emotional pain rather than his physical pain.
Koutarou looks at Keiji, then at Kuroo, his eyes widening in awe. "Wow, how is it that I'm a more functioning human being than either of you?"
And neither Keiji nor Kuroo really have a good response to that.
—
Keiji has to marvel at how good his boyfriend is at managing his life. He went out to the grocery store, bought a shitload of ingredients, and promptly began meal prepping for all of them.
"Omi-Omi taught me this," Koutarou says cheerfully as he portions out rice into the set of Tupperware containers that Keiji keeps in the back of his cabinet. "But, well, it kinda only works if you're not a broke college student."
"Not all of us can be D1 volleyball players straight outta high school," Kuroo snorts, and Keiji elbows him in the side.
"I'm gonna take some of this over to Kenma," Koutarou says, completely ignoring his friend. "And then I'm gonna—" He snaps his head over to Kuroo, pointing two fingers to his eyes, then over to Kuroo's eyes. "Talk to you, big guy!"
"Yeah, yeah," Kuroo mutters, turning away and walking back towards the couch. Keiji sighs, then pats his boyfriend's hand.
"I'm grateful that you're here," he says quietly, placing his hand over Koutarou's. "Extremely grateful that you are here. I do not...I do not think I could have dealt with Kuroo by myself. He's a mess."
"I'm right here," Kuroo calls. Neither Koutarou nor Keiji pay him any mind.
"You deserve help," Koutarou tells him earnestly, ruffling Keiji's hair. "In everything. Including taking care of my mopey friend."
"I'm still right here," Kuroo calls again, and this time, they do pay him some mind.
"I am gonna take these to Kenma," Koutarou says, scooping up his many tupperware containers and depositing them into his tote bag. "And you are going to have a conversation with Mr. Mopeypants over here."
And with that, Koutarou kisses Keiji on the forehead, shoots another look at Kuroo, and marches out the door like a man on a mission. As he does, Keiji sighs and turns towards Kuroo.
"You should move out of my apartment," Keiji says, and Kuroo sighs. "As soon as possible."
"I know."
"That means as soon as possible."
"I know."
Kuroo looks so miserable that Keiji almost feels like an asshole. Then he remembers that both he and Kuroo are assholes, and then he feels slightly better about himself. And then he feels slightly worse about himself for feeling better about himself.
"Do you have any family members in Tokyo?" Keiji asks, attempting to scrounge up any bit of empathy for Kuroo. "Your parents? Your sister?"
"I mean, I could move back in with my dad and my grandparents..." Kuroo mutters to himself, tugging at his hair. "They won't be happy about it, but I'll manage."
Kuroo has always been very good with his words. It's almost making Keiji want to keep him around longer, to save him from his family's ire. Unfortunately, Keiji is a bad person.
"Excellent. Call them. Get out of my apartment, Tetsurou."
And Keiji knows that his words of ice have worked, because Tetsurou stares at him lamely, sighs, and pulls out his phone, heading into the bathroom. Keiji sits down on his couch and places his head into his hands. He stays like that for an undetermined amount of time, up until Koutarou gets back.
"Hey," his boyfriend says softly, and Keiji feels the couch cushions dip under Koutarou's weight, and he feels himself sliding slightly towards him, in the way a planet gravitates towards a star. "How are you doing?"
"I'm sorry for letting it get this bad," Keiji mutters, allowing Koutarou to place an arm around his shoulders and rub gently at his arm. "I should have known better."
Koutarou tilts his head owlishly. "Are you talking about yourself or are you talking about Kuroo? Or both?"
He's gotten perceptive in the past few years. "I suppose both. Although I suppose that both matters interconnect with one another, do they not?"
"I mean, I guess?" Koutarou asks, head still tilted. "But you're not responsible for what Kuroo's done. Only what you've done. And I think you're still being too hard on yourself, Keiji. You've gotten better, haven't you?"
"Marginally." He's been able to stop smoking for days on end, but then he gets twitchy and anxious and keeps going back. Alcohol is, unfortunately, a completely different story, as he cannot go more than two nights without the magic golden liquid that makes him loopy and sleepy. "I would not consider my attempts to quit successful at all."
"But you'll get better once Kuroo gets out of your hair," Koutarou says resolutely, glancing over at the bathroom door. It must be a very long phone call. "And he'll get better once he's gone too."
"Is this you implying that both of us just make each other worse?" Keiji asks, half joking, but he can see how Koutarou's eyes widen in realization. "That was a joke, Koutarou, please laugh."
"It's not a funny one!" Koutarou declares, immediately moving to crush Keiji in a hug. "You two are in my, like, top five favorite people ever!"
"How does the list go?" Keiji asks, in part because he's a masochist, but also in part because he's genuinely curious.
"It goes you, my sister, Kuroo, then, uh..." Koutarou taps his chin in thought. "Oh, Hinata! And then Omi-Omi and Tsum-Tsum, they're tied for fifth place."
"You have not seen Hinata in years," Keiji laughs, electing to ignore the fact that he is Koutarou's favorite person. Number one favorite person.
"So? He's still one of my favorite people!" Koutarou nods, crossing his arms. "And he's gonna make waves when he finally decides to come back and play volleyball professionally! I'm gonna get him to go for the Jackals, I guarantee you!"
"You are ridiculous," Keiji says fondly, leaning into his boyfriend's side. His boyfriend hums happily, leaning right back into him.
His boy's presence seems to keep the voices in his head at bay. They claw from beneath his skin, screaming to be let out, and they will get louder when Koutarou inevitably goes away. Kuroo is still in his bathroom, he is still addicted to terrible things, and he is still a shitty person.
But here in this moment, where the soft light of the lamp hits Koutarou's eyes just right, Keiji can look up into his boyfriend's eyes and see stars. And for that one moment, all is well with the world. There is nothing to worry about, and there is nothing to care about.
Nothing matters but the moment that exists right now.
—
Koutarou graduates from college.
Keiji does not go to the ceremony.
He has an exam that he cannot miss on Koutarou’s graduation day, and he couldn't go even if he wanted to—it takes two hours by train to get to Osaka, and by time, the ceremony would already be over.
"It's not your fault!" Koutarou insists later that night as he proudly shows off his diploma—a bachelor's degree majoring in education. "You couldn't have done anything about it! It's not your fault your exam was on my graduation day, it was your stupid professor's!"
This is true. Keiji knows this to be completely and utterly true. What was he supposed to do, skip his exam and fail his class just so he could attend his boyfriend's graduation? No. Of course not. There's nothing to apologize for.
He still feels guilty all the same.
—
In the winter, he makes good on his word and visits his mama. Kamakura is only an hour and twenty minutes away from Tokyo by train, a shorter amount of time than it takes to get from Osaka to Tokyo.
Koutarou wastes so much time and money coming to visit you, and you can't even make one trip to see your own parents? The boy in the shadows tsks. For shame.
That is why I am going now, Keiji thinks back. Better late than never. Shut up.
"You excited?" Shima asks as Keiji sits on the train and stares out the window. "Wait, no, bad question. Nobody's ever excited to visit the dead."
"Anxious, more like it," Keiji mutters, but then again, when is he not anxious? He taps his fingers on his thigh, wishing desperately that he did not have to be around all of these people.
All of these mothers, with their small children in their arms, cooing to them, bouncing them up and down. It fills Keiji with a profound sense of envy.
"I've been kinda..." Shima sighs from the other end of the phone. "Seeing someone? I think?"
"Oh?" Keiji perks his head up. "Congratulations." On getting over your dead high school sweetheart, who's been dead for years.
That was a mean thought to think. I shouldn't have thought that. She's just doing the best she can.
It's not her fault I'm such a shitty person.
"I don't really know what it is." Shima's voice is lowered, muffled, as though she's speaking into her palm, not wanting someone else to hear what she's saying. "I like her. A lot. But I don't know if I can...love anyone else as much as I did Momoko. I'm scared I'm going to spend the rest of my life comparing the two."
"Comparison is the thief of joy," Keiji drones, and Shima sighs again, but more in amusement this time. "There is nothing wrong with the way you're feeling. Grief, as I've said before, is a complicated beast. I think that even being willing to see someone else is a sign that you are overcoming your grief."
"I don't want to think about grief, Keiji, if I'm being honest."
Good for you. I am going to be visiting my dead parents.
"Tell me about her," Keiji says instead, and Shima laughs.
"How do you know that I'm seeing a girl?"
"Shima, how long have I known you by now?"
"True."
There's a second of comfortable silence before Keiji says, "Tell me about her."
"Her name is Aya. Itani Aya. She works as a tattoo artist in Hokkaido—that's how I met her. Oh—by the way, I got some tattoos, I should show you sometime. Two butterflies on my thigh. She's got a whole sleeve done, and it's just butterflies and flowers and other shit like that. And she's—she's got really pretty pink hair, like a full head of pale pink hair. She dyes it every month."
Keiji takes a moment to wonder how Shima found a manic pixie girl in real life. He's impressed.
"And does she make you happy?" Keiji asks after Shima lapses into what must be lovestruck silence. He supposes that she must make Shima happy, if she's acting like this.
"She makes me really happy," Shima admits quietly. "She's so funny and talented and...okay, maybe she's broke, but..."
"But you like her despite her shortcomings," Keiji finishes, thinking about him and Koutarou, and how Koutarou continues to insist that he would stay with Keiji even if he didn't have a single thing to his name.
Shima thinks for a moment, and then she says—
"Nah. I think I love her because of it."
Another moment of silence, and then she says—
"Shit, wait, did I say love?"
"You did," Keiji confirms. "Freudian slip, perhaps." That despite all your doubts, you really do love her.
"She's not afraid to say that she has shortcomings. And...that makes me less afraid to admit to my own as well. I think...she loves herself so much that it makes me less afraid to love myself as well."
Keiji hums, lost in thought. The train begins to slow, and he looks up, looking to see if he's arrived at his destination. KAMAKURA STATION, the sign on the train says loudly.
"I have to go, Shima. It was nice talking to you."
From the other side, Keiji can hear Shima softly whispering to someone. Is it Itani? There's some rustling, and then Shima says—
"It was nice talking to you too, Keiji. We should do this more often."
We should do this more often, Keiji thinks. Except that you are further away from me than you have ever been, and you have a successful life, and I…
I am still wrapped up in grief.
—
There's snow falling gently as Keiji weaves his way through the cemetery. He has been here a single time, and yet he still remembers the vague path towards his mama's grave. He finds it, easily.
There is a second grave right next to his mama's. It reads:
赤葦 亨治, Akaashi Kyouji, 1970-2008. To travel the universe, the greatest fate of all.
"Annyeonghaseyo." He has been trying to practice his Korean more and more. "Mama," Keiji says softly as he sets one of the small bouquets he brought down on her grave. "Papa," he says next, doing the same thing.
He does not have incense, he does not have offerings, he does not even believe in God anymore, but he claps his hands together and kneels and prays all the same. Snow falls on his face, cold, but he does not open his eyes to wipe it away.
What if I just die here? How long would it take for my body to sink through the ground, for my skeleton to join theirs, six feet under? To die, surrounded by death—how long would it take for someone to find me, amidst all of this snow?
"Uh...hello?"
Keiji opens his eyes at the unfamiliar voice, startling back at the unfamiliar face.
It's a woman who looks to be in her late thirties. An old friend of his mama's or his papa's? A distant relative? She stares at him curiously, then stares down at the graves. She opens her mouth and—
That is Korean. That is Korean, and the woman is speaking far too fast for him to understand any of it. He blinks up at the woman, thoroughly confused, and the woman clears her throat and switches to passable Japanese.
"How did you know her?" the woman asks, nodding towards his mama's grave. What a question. How did Keiji know her?
She was my mama. She was everything to me when I was younger. And now she is gone. She has been gone for the past fifteen years, and I do not know how I have lived all this time without her.
I miss her.
"She was my mother," Keiji says, making sure he speaks as slowly and clearly as possible.
The woman's eyes go wide. She walks around Keiji—who is still kneeling in the snow, he should really get up, otherwise he'll catch a cold—and stares at the name carved onto the grave.
Akaashi Haneul.
"She was my sister," the woman says, and the world seems to stop spinning on its axis.
Sister. Sister. This is my mama's sister. This is my aunt.
This is my family.
"What is your name?" the woman asks, almost pleading. Keiji realizes then how shocking this must seem to his brand-new aunt: meeting her nephew for the first time, the child of her deceased sister, the sister that—based on all of his mama's diary entries—ran away from Korea, disgraced and disowned.
"Akaashi Keiji," Keiji says quietly, and the woman slowly nods her head.
"Kei-ji," the woman says, sounding out the syllables of his name. "I am Park Yoona. I am your aunt."
"I wish we could have met under more pleasant circumstances," Keiji murmurs, turning his head back towards his parents' graves. "It is good to meet you, uh—Yoona-obasan. Or--"
Fuck, what's the term for aunt in Korean? I'm making a fool of myself here, I need to make a good impression. Is she older or younger than mama? There's a specific term for siblings on the mom's side versus the dad's side as well.
"Yoona-imo?" Keiji half-says, half-asks, praying that he got the term right. His aunt's eyes light up, and she asks, in Korean:
"Do you speak Korean?"
"Only a little bit," Keiji says, trying his best to not trip up over the unfamiliar words. "I have been trying. For Eomma."
Eomma. Keiji remembers the first and last time he called his mama Eomma, and how sad his mama looked.
If she had me in Korea, that is what I would have grown up calling her. If she remained in Korea, that is what I would have called her.
"Would you like to speak more?" Yoona-imo asks as she kneels down and places a single white rose on his mama's grave. He notes how his aunt gives his papa's grave a brief look of disdain.
Her family didn't approve of Papa. They resented him. She mentioned Yoona-imo occasionally, but she only called her 'my younger sister', never by name.
I suppose Mama resented her family as well.
"Of course," Keiji says as he bows once more. First to his mama, then to his papa.
"Do you know any good places to drink coffee here?" Yoona-imo asks as the two of them begin trudging out of the cemetery. "Since you have lived here your whole life, I assume."
"Ah. Apologies. I do not live here. I have not lived here for the last fifteen years."
The rest of the sentence, ever since my mama died, goes unsaid. His aunt turns towards him, very confused.
"Then where do you live?"
"Tokyo."
Yoona-imo blinks, then nods in understanding. "Ah. Tokyo. The capital. Like—like Seoul."
Like Seoul?
"I've never been to Seoul," Keiji admits as a car speeds past them. The car goes through a puddle, completely drenching Keiji. But his aunt is dry, so he supposes that's good. "I would like to go at some point, though."
"I would be happy to take you to Seoul some day."
Keiji glances towards his newly acquired aunt and wonders if she's moving too quickly. Perhaps she's making up for lost time, or perhaps she feels guilty that she's never met him before this point.
I could meet my family. The family that I never would have gotten a chance to meet otherwise.
I can see for myself if they are as horrible as my mama made them out to be.
"I appreciate the gesture, but I do not believe I could take you up on it," Keiji says as he finds a decent-enough looking coffee shop and opens the door for his aunt. "Perhaps in a couple of years, Yoona-imo."
They sit down at a table near the window. It is dreary outside, perfectly befitting Keiji's mood. Yoona-imo orders tea, and Keiji orders coffee. They sit in silence. His aunt fidgets slightly, combing her fingers through her hair, seemingly not knowing how to break the silence.
"Tell me about my mama," Keiji says to break it. "What her childhood was like. The foods she liked, the clothes she liked, the things she liked. I fear that she died far too young for me to know anything about her at all."
A waiter comes over and sets their drinks down in front of them. Yoona-imo taps her fingers against the cup, anxious in a way that wasn't seen in his mama. And yet—maybe anxiety is still genetic, because Keiji does that exact same thing.
"She was sickly as a child," she finally says, which Keiji was not expecting. "Her heart issues were worse, and there were days on end when she would not come out of her bedroom. Our family is wealthy, but all the money in the world cannot buy health."
Wrong, Keiji thinks bitterly. If Mama and Papa had more money, maybe she would have been saved. Maybe we could have bought her treatment to save her. I do not know what kind, but—surely, with all of humanity's achievements, we could have figured out some way to save her.
"She mentioned that she was wealthy when she was younger," Keiji says, sipping his coffee and thinking back to the stories his mama told him. About Korea, about a bustling city that seemed to live and breathe. "What was she interested in?"
"Haneul loved writing. She always dreamed of being a big writer." Yoona-imo takes a sip of her tea, makes an odd face, and then sets it down. "Eomma and Appa would have never allowed her to pursue it, though. Authors do not make a stable job, and our parents prized stability above all else. The familiar. The known."
Makes sense, Keiji thinks. And that's why they behaved so poorly when she moved away with a boy none of them knew.
"I always thought she had the potential to make it through," Yoona-imo muses, staring out the window. "If she decided to stay in Korea and not leave with her boy, if she decided to become an author. I always thought she would be able to become a best-seller. But instead..."
She looks up suddenly, turning her head sheepishly away from Keiji. She doesn't finish the sentence. Keiji knows what she was going to say anyway.
Instead, she moved away to Japan. Instead, she married a boy who wasn't able to provide for her. Instead, she lived in mediocrity, unable to shine.
Instead, she had you.
"It was nice speaking to you," Keiji says, standing up, his coffee unfinished. It doesn't matter. He feels like he may throw up if he consumes anything else. "I...I must head back to Tokyo now, I—"
"Wait, wait," Yoon-imo says hurriedly. She takes out a notepad, a pen, and she scribbles something down, passing it over to Keiji. "My phone number. Please, let me see you again. Haneul would be so angry with me if she knew I was a stranger to her own son."
You were a stranger to her, Keiji thinks scathingly. You were a stranger to your own sister. All of you. You let her die here, without making any attempts to save her.
"Of course," Keiji says instead, typing his aunt's phone number in. "You are my family, after all."
—
He doesn't call or text his aunt after that.
Really, he doesn't call or text anyone at all. Not Koutarou, not Shima, not Amane-obasan, not Kenma—Kenma's moved out of their apartment complex, their streaming career was that lucrative—not Kuroo, because he doesn't want a reason to spiral again.
He feels like he's spiraling regardless. Time begins to lose all meaning for him. It's been almost just a month since he visited his parents, but it feels like an eternity. His mama wrote about that in her diary: How strange, the word revolution. It means a dramatic change in one's life, but it also means to simply go around in circles. Around and around and around. You claim that you've made changes to your life, but really, you're just repeating the same exact ones. Over and over and over again.
It is his last year of college. He is beginning to feel at the end of his rope. Truly, nothing feels like it matters, even though he knows that it's the complete opposite. The voices in his head taunt him, mock him relentlessly, and he is too tired to even muster up a response to them.
Isn't my life just supposed to be beginning? Why does it feel like it's ending?
He's tired. He's so tired he doesn't even have the energy to drink or smoke, and he can feel his nerves unfraying as he does. In some futile attempt to calm himself, he locks himself inside his bedroom more often than not. He reads his mama's diary, painstakingly translating the Korean to Japanese via his phone. More and more of it is becoming understandable without the translation app, and he's grateful, because the translation app removes most of the nuances of his mama's writing.
He's come to find out that, besides prose, his mama also writes poetry.
Is it strange that if I say that my long-deceased mama is my favorite writer ever? Keiji thinks as he pores through the pages. Or perhaps that is just me being a good son. I am unsure. Perhaps I am biased, and my mama's writing is not even that impressive at all.
But Yoona-imo said that she thought mama could've become a great writer. But Yoona-imo is Mama's sister. Mama's family. She's biased as well. Just like me.
The dates on these pages—Mama would have written these poems when she was in her early twenties. I am twenty-two, and what have I done that can even come close to that?
Nothing. Nothing at all.
What am I even doing with my life? Do I even deserve to keep living? I'm not even a useful member of society. I do not contribute anything of use, and I do not think that will change anytime soon.
I should just ki—
His phone rings, and he looks over at it in a daze. His boyfriend's name is lit up, all bright and bold white lettering. He stares at it for a couple seconds, waiting for the screen to go dark.
I don't know why he still tries. I don't have the energy to do anything, nowadays. Nothing except read and write and write and read. I don't know why he still ties himself to me. I don't know why he does half the things he does, because he is a star, and he does what he wants, and I would follow him no matter what.
I miss him.
The phone goes dark, but it almost immediately lights up again. Keiji groans, rolls over, grabs his phone and holds it close to his face. He was prescribed glasses, the last time he was at the doctor's, but he still hasn't gotten them yet. Glasses are expensive, and he can't afford that right now. Despite knowing better, he holds the phone perilously close to his face.
"Hello?"
"Keiji!" Koutarou's face fills the entirety of Keiji's phone screen, and Keiji chuckles a little bit to himself. He can't tell where Koutarou is, but he's walking extremely quickly, head bouncing up and down as he does. "Keiji, guess what?"
"What, Koutarou?"
His doorbell rings suddenly, and he hears a very similar, slightly delayed sound from Koutarou's end. He rises out of bed, slowly, and then more quickly, nearly tripping over his blankets, because—
He's here?
He fully falls down on the ground when he gets near the door, and it's all he can do to reach up, unlock the door, wrench it open, all while he's still on all fours because—
He's here.
"Hi," Koutarou sings as the door swings open, but his eyes widen a little bit as he takes stock of Keiji's extremely unkempt appearance. "Oh—my god, Keiji, what are you—"
Koutarou immediately kneels down on one knee, and Keiji's delirious mind thinks, aha, he's proposing! before he remembers that is a preposterous idea and that Koutarou is only on one knee because he is on the floor. Koutarou cards a gentle hand through Keiji's hair, cupping his cheek after he's done.
"Keiji," he says softly, and his touch is so gentle. "I missed you."
Please don't let this be a dream, Keiji thinks deliriously as he leans in, wrapping his arms around Koutarou's shoulders, locking his legs around Koutarou's waist. Please don't let this be a dream.
I'm losing my grip on what is real and what is not. I fear I spend more time dreaming than I spend in reality.
Bring me back down to reality. If anyone can do it, it would be you.
"I missed you too," Keiji says into Koutarou's shoulder, clutching onto him as tightly as he can with his feeble strength. "You have no idea."
—
"Would you like to visit my parents?"
"Hm?" Koutarou asks, leaning back so that Keiji can roll over in bed and look at him. "Your...your dead parents...?"
Keiji laughs softly, trailing his fingers up his boyfriend's chest. "Yes. My dead parents. My father's death anniversary is this weekend, and I visited my parents last month, on my mother's death anniversary, and..."
I met my aunt. I found out that there is a whole family in Korea, possibly waiting to meet me. Or possibly waiting to scorn me. Who knows?
"I would like you to visit with me," Keiji finishes quietly. "It would mean a lot to me."
Fascinating, because nothing you do anymore really seems to mean much to you, does it?
Koutarou doesn't respond. He only presses a gentle kiss to Keiji's forehead, wrapping his arms around Keiji's shoulders and pulling him close.
"I gotta feeling that if I meet you parents," he says quietly. "It'll make me want to take you to see my parents. And my parents are—they're not the greatest. At all."
"You do not need to take me to see your parents," Keiji hums. He has almost forgotten the feeling of being held by another—he has almost forgotten how to feel anything at all. "You do not need to take me to see your parents ever, if you do not wish to."
Oh, but you want to meet his parents, don't you? You think having any parents, even shitty ones, is better than having no parents at all, don't you? Any family is better than none. Something is better than nothing.
"I met my mother's sister," Keiji says in the silence that follows. "A month ago. At my mother's grave. On my mother's death anniversary. She was..."
Aloof. Distant. Cold. Just like me. Genetics at work.
"Fine," Keiji finishes. "But her company was significantly lacking compared to yours."
Koutarou hums some more, a nonsensical tune that Keiji vaguely thinks he heard in his dreams. He nods, and then he says, "Okay. Anything for you, Keiji."
Anything for me, Keiji thinks ruefully. Anything? Anything? You need to be careful with what you say, beloved. If I were a crueler person, I would have taken advantage of that ten thousand times over.
Oh, the boy in the shadows says, clicking his tongue. Aren't you already a cruel person?
—
"Mama. Papa. Hello again," Keiji says the following day as he kneels on the snowy ground. He sets his bouquet—a much bigger bouquet than last time—in front of the grave. It looks the exact same as it did a month ago, but something about it has changed. Perhaps it's the light. Perhaps it's the time.
Perhaps it's the fact that his boyfriend is awkwardly standing behind him, wringing his hands, staring at his parents' graves like they're about to catch on fire.
"No need to be so nervous," Keiji laughs, waving his hand for Koutarou to come next to him. "It's not as though you're going to get struck down by lightning, or something like that."
"What if they're watching me?" Koutarou asks, uncharacteristically nervous. "What if they're shaking their heads and going, 'oh, this loser shouldn't be dating my son, he sucks'?"
Leave it to his radiant star of a boyfriend to make his heart feel lighter. Keiji stands up, clasping both of Koutarou's hands in his own, turning towards his parents' graves.
"Mama. Papa." His voice seems to ring out like a bell amongst the near silence of the graveyard. "This is my boyfriend. Bokuto Koutarou. He's a professional volleyball player. He was my captain in high school."
And then Koutarou swings his head downwards, body coming nearly parallel with the floor."Annyeonghaseyo!" he nearly screams, and it startles Keiji so much that he turns to look at his boyfriend. "D—dangsin adeul-eun...uh, jeongmal aleum—aleumdawoyo!"
"Did you learn Korean just for this?" Keiji asks, completely shocked. He's touched, because if he did learn Korean just to speak to his long-deceased mama, then—
Mama would have loved him. Mama would have absolutely loved him.
"I got it from a K-drama," Koutarou admits, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. "That's—that's all the Korean I know, sorry."
Keiji blinks, and then he laughs. "Oh!"
And then he continues laughing. He laughs so hard, he has to double over and wheeze for breath, and then he has to squat down to the ground and hug his chest. All the while, Koutarou is pouting down at him with the most adorable face.
"Keijiiiii, don't laugh at me! I'm trying to make a good impression on your parents here, stop it! What would your parents think if they saw you being so mean to your beloved boyfriend? Keiji! Akaashi! Akaashi Keiji! You're so meaaaaan!!!"
"I love you," Keiji says simply, and Koutarou stops pouting immediately. "I do not...I do not think you hear it from me nearly as much as you deserve, but...I love you. And my parents would have loved you as well."
Koutarou raises an eyebrow, and then he grins, ear to ear. He wraps one arm around Keiji's shoulders, pulling him close. Somehow, the biting cold of the winter feels less so, compared to the radiance of his star. "You really think so?"
Keiji hums, tilting his head to the sky. In the distance, he can see a black and a white speck soar down from the sky, coming to rest in a nearby tree.
A raven. A dove. Keiji does not believe in God, but if this is a sign from the universe, it can only be a good one.
Mama. Papa.
Are you watching me? Do you approve of the life decisions I have made?
Do you approve of the boy who I would spend the entirety of my life with if I could?
"Of course. I love you, and so they would love you as well." Keiji smiles, closes his eyes, rests his head on his boyfriend's shoulder. "Perhaps it is that simple."
He can feel the weight of Koutarou's head come to rest on his own, and the boy he loves hums happily.
"Maybe it is that simple, Keiji."
Notes:
— once again, no notes, too tired.
— talk to me about haikyuu on Tumblr
idonsson on Chapter 1 Thu 20 Nov 2025 07:32PM UTC
Comment Actions
flylittleswan on Chapter 1 Thu 20 Nov 2025 09:08PM UTC
Comment Actions
A_happy_willow on Chapter 1 Fri 21 Nov 2025 05:28AM UTC
Comment Actions
flylittleswan on Chapter 1 Fri 21 Nov 2025 01:04PM UTC
Comment Actions
romanluchetto on Chapter 1 Sat 22 Nov 2025 04:42PM UTC
Comment Actions
flylittleswan on Chapter 1 Sat 22 Nov 2025 05:14PM UTC
Comment Actions
idonsson on Chapter 2 Sun 23 Nov 2025 02:46PM UTC
Comment Actions
flylittleswan on Chapter 2 Sun 23 Nov 2025 02:48PM UTC
Comment Actions
A_happy_willow on Chapter 2 Tue 02 Dec 2025 07:14AM UTC
Comment Actions
flylittleswan on Chapter 2 Tue 02 Dec 2025 12:47PM UTC
Comment Actions
A_happy_willow on Chapter 2 Tue 02 Dec 2025 01:25PM UTC
Comment Actions
idonsson on Chapter 3 Fri 28 Nov 2025 08:51PM UTC
Comment Actions
flylittleswan on Chapter 3 Fri 28 Nov 2025 09:19PM UTC
Comment Actions
idonsson on Chapter 4 Thu 04 Dec 2025 09:38PM UTC
Comment Actions
flylittleswan on Chapter 4 Thu 04 Dec 2025 09:46PM UTC
Comment Actions