Work Text:
Airports are kind of boring. Akira doesn’t hate them, per se, but they are also the bane of his existence. Okay, that’s going too far; they’re fine - really. Truly.
They’re fine. He’s fine.
“How much longer until we board?” he asks.
“Three hours and fourteen minutes. So two minutes less than the last time you asked me.”
His manager and best friend since high school is currently filing his nails. He didn’t even look at his phone, so how does he know-
“After being asked five times in the past half-hour, I’ve decided it’s easier to just count the seconds at this point,” Niibashi answers as if reading his mind. His tone is clipped and, if Akira didn’t know better, he’d say he’s about two more questions away from being abandoned here in America - manager, image consultant and translator-less.
Yikes.
Um, maybe he should do some damage control.
“Sorry, Niibashi - oh! How about we go and get some dinner?”
It’s partially a bribe, partially an excuse to get up and move. No matter his reasoning for the offer, Niibashi’s eyes sparkle at the idea. Alright! Two birds with one stone!
“Nothing too greasy,” Niibashi reminds him before putting away his nail file. Although the shorter of the two, Niibashi’s legs carry him faster down the pristine tiles of the airport terminal and leave Akira scrambling after him. He gives his friend a bit of a smile as he catches up and adds on to his last comment. “You can try out that ‘real pizza’ you want after your match but right now we are focusing on healthy carbs, okay?”
Akira huffs, but knows damn well that this isn’t an argument he wants to have or is capable of winning, for that matter. It’s part of what makes Niibashi such an effective manager. His reasoning is sound, logical, and Akira hates it.
Akira is nothing if not persistent, though.
“What if I get a healthy pizza? They have that, where the crust is cauliflower and stuff,” he suggests.
“You want to waste your allotted cheat meal on a somewhat better for you pizza?” Niibashi asks, already knowing the answer.
He doesn’t even respond, that’s how hard he was losing this battle. Instead, he silently goes down his mental checklist of Niibashi approved foods as they inspect a few of the restaurant options at their disposal.
In his limited experience with airport food over the last few years, most places offered decent, bordering on good, when it came to fast food but only passable or, worse, “wow, this tastes like nothing’ when dealing on the healthier side of things. Sandwiches and smoothies tended to be the former, seafood and soups tended to be on the latter. Burgers always fell somewhere in between and he’d rather not take his chances on any udon outside of Japan after the “Florida Flight Incident”, as Niibashi refers to it, thanks. Half-finished meals and one awful case of vomiting on a plane aside though, Akira never stops hoping that one day he’ll find a winner.
Case in point-
“How about this barbeque place?” he points out to Niibashi. Sure, it was a little on the heavier side, one could argue it was closer to his manager’s forbidden fast food options than a wrap or salad, but the protein content was unmatched with anything else they had passed by so far. At the very least, he could make a case for it if Niibashi had any push back.
Thankfully, he didn’t. His airport companion actually seems to have jumped to the same conclusion, pulling out his phone and listing off a few of the dishes that would fall in the caloric and protein range Akira should be shooting for. He settles on Niibashi’s recommended brisket sandwich and veggie sticks, his mouth watering but resisting the allure of one of the strawberry turnovers on display. Sadly, dessert was for post-game.
But it’s as they make their way to the front of the line that Akira realizes maybe he made the wrong choice of restaurant. Not because of the food, mind you, but-
“-Oh, excuse m-?!”
Akira cuts himself off with one of the most unmanly sounds he’s made in his entire life.
The man he bumped into is dressed as sharply as the glare he’s giving and, although at least a head shorter, the aura surrounding him was more intimidating than any Center Akira had the unfortunate luck of playing against. Maybe if he just slowly backed away? No, no, apologize first. Best option. Damn, was he sweating? It felt like he was sweating.
“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking where I was going,” he bows deeply and hopes his English wasn’t too bad.
At the lack of a response (and slight fear his apology came off as an insult somehow), Akira peeks up to gauge the stranger’s mood. He expects irritation, hopes for simple indifference, but he definitely didn’t foresee…confusion? Or surprise? Actually, what even is the expression he’s looking at right now?
“You’re fine…” the man blinks at him, voice ironically soft considering how homicidal he looked not even two seconds ago and, thankfully, speaking Japanese. He must have picked up on Akira’s lack of skill even in that short time. “It’s on me, I’m kinda clumsy first thing in the morning. I’ve had a…long night. I’ll leave it at that, I guess.”
Akira brightens. This was going much better than he expected. So, he was just grumpy, not angry? He could work with that.
“Barbeque for breakfast?” he tries for a joke, hoping to improve the stranger’s mood a bit more.
It wasn’t as if he had to, but Akira always thought kindness went a long way. If some small talk or conversation could make a stranger’s day go even slightly better than it started, Akira was always up to the task. Niibashi, knowing this disposition of his all too well, remains silent at his side but gives him an unimpressed look that says “wow, you recovered quickly”.
Niibashi isn’t wrong either. Now that he wasn’t dodging daggers from the stranger’s stare, he could take in the man’s features and found-
Well, he wasn’t hard to look at.
While the blonde hair on him was bright - brighter than Akira would ever dare, that’s for sure - it suited him. Not only that, but it paired so well with his bright blue eyes. Now that Akira could appreciate them, he noticed they were the prettiest shade of - what would Niibashi call that? Cerulean? Maybe cobalt? Whatever, they were beautiful, and Akira found himself drawn to them. They even matched his tie clip.
Wow. He’s. He’s actually really pretty, Akira decides.
Even his voice. He noticed it before but it’s completely at odds with the glare he was wearing prior. It’s gentle, almost melodic. He’d make a great professor, or even like a radio host… Akira can only imagine how his laugh would sound-
Wait, his voice? Crap, he was talking-
“-eggs and toast for dinner?” Akira tunes back in just to catch the tail end of the stranger’s reply and the positively adorable grin accompanying it. Oh, he has to get a laugh out of him by the end of their conversation, it’s settled.
“Breakfast can be eaten at any time!” Akira argues. “If it was up to me, I’d have waffles three times a day. It’s better than,” he squints at one of the items off the menu, “a ‘teriyaki beef burger’ with an orange juice or something.”
The stranger takes a glance at his watch, a hint of exasperation tinting his comeback. “Well, if I have to eat eggs twice in the span of 12 hours, I might lose it. My internal clock hasn’t made sense in years so dinner and breakfast are whenever I so choose, I guess.”
“You travel a lot for your job?” Akira asks.
The stranger lifts his brow, his lips twitching into another smile. Oh, that was kind of a forward question. He knows that’s kind of a forward question. But also, he’s far past the point of caring now. They already discussed breakfast for dinner, small talk about professions was on the table…right?
“...You could say that,” is his response. “Definitely more than you. The Jets haven’t had a lot of matches outside of the country the past few years.”
“Yeah, but we-” Akira’s mind stutters to a halt. Wait a second. “-yOU KNOW WHO I AM?!”
Niibashi gives him a look. Strangers are staring a bit and whispering his way and one lady is giving him the sharpest glare he’s ever seen in his life. Okay, that was too loud, he knows that was too loud but-
The stranger breaks out into a full-blown laugh, turning away and covering his mouth as if it caught him by surprise.
Oh. Oh, his laugh is adorable.
“You aren’t exactly wearing a disguise or anything,” the stranger huffs out between his laughs. “And,” he pulls out a keychain, the brilliant red logo very familiar, “I’d have to give this back to my dad if I couldn’t recognize our best Forward in years.”
Akira squeaks. He actually bumped into a fan. He glanced at Niibashi for support in remedying the situation.
He almost never ran into a fan in the wild like this. Not that he didn’t have fans, of course, but they almost always approached him. Either for an autograph or picture, but they always laid the rules for the interaction. He knew to put on his best smile and keep his voice kind but impersonal, tell them thanks for their support, and then wave them on their way and not linger. But here he was, having a full conversation with one. Oh god, he was basically flirting with him. You didn’t do that. Ever.
Niibashi catches on quickly, placing a supportive hand on Akira’s back. “That’s so kind of you to say. Kaguira-san hasn’t been on the team for long, but to hear you and your family regard him so highly is flattering. Would you care for a picture?”
The stranger shakes his head, smile still in place. “Oh, no. That’d be really cool, but I’m not big on pictures. I wasn’t even going to say anything, since I’m sure you get enough attention as is, but then you brought up my job so,” he ends with a wide grin.
Akira bows again, feeling his cheeks heat up in shame. “I-I’m so sorry about that. Um, I’m not usually - I mean, I don’t. I’ve never flirted with my fans-”
“Flirt?!” the stranger coughs.
Oh, yep. Great. Now he’s done it. Niibashi is going to kill him. Dead.
“Um, I’m sorry, but,” the cashier interrupts hesitantly. Her face screams awkwardness and the desire to be anywhere but here. “May I take your order, sir?”
Akira has never wanted to both kill someone and thank them a million times over at the same time before this.
“I’ll have the brisket sandwich, with veggie sticks, and he’ll have the grilled chicken salad. And um,” he stutters before facing the blonde currently red in the face, “it’s my treat. Uh, an apology meal. Please!”
The stranger straightens his posture in alarm, flicking his gaze back and forth between Akira and the cashier and then the menu before clearing his throat. “O-oh, thanks. Uh.” The man is clearly flustered and struggling to figure out his order. Akira would find it cute if it wasn’t for how mortified he also felt in this moment. “I’ll just. Uh. I’ll do the same.”
“...you would like the brisket sandwich and a grilled chicken salad,” the cashier asks, a bit of humor in her voice. Nevermind, Akira just wants to kill her.
“No!” the man yelps, correcting himself. “J-just, the brisket sandwich…” he trails off, covering his still red face with the palm of his hand, before tacking on a “thank you very much….”
Niibashi saves the two of them further embarrassment by pulling out his wallet and paying for the trio of meals, and then, as if to spite him, he asks the stranger, “would you care to sit with us, by chance? I’m sure this whole situation couldn’t get any worse from a PR perspective at this point. Mister…?”
“Hirano. Just, Hirano,” the man answers, swearing under his breath a bit, still red as could be. “We passed the honorifics stage somewhere between me fanning out on you and the flirting thing.”
Despite the hammering in his chest, Akira can’t find himself to be anything other than pleased as Hirano decides to join them at the table. Awkwardness be damned, he wants to talk to Hirano. Now that the whole “initial panic from pissing off a stranger to flirting with them to finding out they were a fan“ thing had passed, they could get back to that second stage, right?
“So, um, what do you do, if you don’t mind me asking, Hirano-san?” He takes a bite of his celery sticks.
Hirano looks up from his phone, seemingly sending off a quick text of some sort. Then, he smiles before putting on a lapel. A pilot’s lapel.
Akira chokes.
Hirano chuckles at the reaction. “It’s not as glamorous as doing slam dunks for a living or anything, but I can’t say I don’t enjoy it. Actually, um,” he pulls out his ID badge and a sharpie, a bit of color returning to his cheeks, “while I don’t want a picture, I would love an autograph? I’d kill to see my coworkers go to scan me in and they find Akira Kagiura’s signature.”
“A-absolutely!” Akira blushes, grabbing both items with gusto.
Hirano pulls out his phone again after a beep grabs the table’s attention. “Sorry, I have to take this, I’ll be right back. ” He stands up and moves towards the drink fountain, already answering with a level tone. “Yes, sir?”
Kagiura turns over the badge and removes the cap of the sharpie with excitement. Maybe he should sign it with a doodle? Or he could keep it professional and stick with the plain first and last name combo. Eh, Hirano wasn’t like most of his other fans, he deserved something special. He’s ready to sign it with a little picture of a basketball before an amazing (awful) idea pops into his head. He covers his next written words with his other hand, blocking Niibashi’s inquisitive view, which earns him a grunt.
“You better not be writing something lewd on there,” his manager warns.
Honestly he’s a little insulted. He pouts out his cheeks, flipping the badge back over as Hirano returns to the table with a grimace on his face. “Something wrong?” he asks the blonde.
Hirano hurriedly grabs up his luggage and straightens out his collar, taking a quick bite of his almost finished sandwich. He swallows with a frown and then gathers up his trash. “That was my co-pilot. He said our, well, I guess you could call him our handler, suggested we bump up our flight a half-hour to avoid some bad weather. So, I’m leaving sooner than I planned, it seems. I swear it wasn’t my intention to get an autograph and free meal, and then just take off of you.”
Niibashi beats him to the punch, waving Hirano off. “Please, duty calls. It’s been our pleasure talking to you.”
Akira nods and adds on to that thought. “Really, Hirano-san, it’s no problem at all. Have a safe flight!” he picks up the newly signed badge, “oh, and don’t forget this!”
Hirano smiles and accepts it, already clipping it onto his blazer. “Thanks. Well, I guess that’s that. Hope you both have a good flight.” His smile turns bashful at his last farewell. “Good luck on your match tomorrow. I won’t get to see it in real time since I have a flight scheduled then, but I’ll be rooting for you over our little radio we have on board.”
Akira can’t keep the grin off his face at the admission. “Well, I guess I have to win now, huh?”
“A real shame,” Hirano smiles wider before picking up his bags and leaving with a salute.
Niibashi and he finish up their meal, small talk and plans of how else to pass the time exchanged. It’s as he throws away their trays that his phone gives off a chime and the giddiness takes over his brain again. It could just be a social media notification or something…
But.
Niibashi huffs, trying to worm his way around his shoulder to get a look. Then, he squawks. “Are you kidding me, Akira?”
A laugh bubbles up his throat with no warning as he reads the text, then scrolls to look at the picture attached.
‘Taiga-san told me to tell you, and I quote: I hope you realize that anyone who scans me in will have your number, Kagiura-san. Be warned, you will be getting many texts from our flight attendants - they love you.’
‘< he’s right. Also, I have your number too now ~ I promise to send you lots of pics of him, though! Don’t block me! - Taiga-san’s co-pilot, Hasagawa’