Chapter Text
Akaashi Keiji sighed and looked around the ballroom. He swirled his Manhattan in his glass, then took a sip. All about him, volleyball players mingled with marketing specialists, agents, and business executives. It was a busy, raucous event, and Keiji could feel the beginnings of a migraine coming on. He rubbed his temples, and took another sip of his drink.
He didn’t mind these events: not really, anyway. He was always pleased to spend time with his best friend, whether it be a last-minute dinner, a late-night movie marathon, or a formal affair. When Bokuto Kōtarō called, Keiji always answered, even when he’d had a long day—week—month, really—and even when his social battery was long past empty.
Bokuto’s career kept him constantly on the go: in Osaka during the regular volleyball season, and all over the globe during international play. So when their schedules managed to align, Keiji soaked up every second in Bokuto’s presence that he could manage.
He’d only been in love with the man since he was 15 years old, after all.
When Keiji was 16, it had been a love of shock and awe, wondering how he had gotten so lucky to be able to set for the greatest wing spiker Fukurōdani had ever known.
When he was 20, it had been a love built on protection and care. They didn’t go to the same university, but they were both in Tokyo, and Keiji made sure that Bokuto ate well, slept well, and passed all his classes. In return, Bokuto insisted Keiji play volleyball with him regularly, and kept his body limber and in shape, despite the long, agonizing hours Keiji spent in the library pouring over books and writing essay after essay.
When he was 24, it had settled into a quiet ache in his chest, one that never went away, that Keiji came to view as an old friend. Bokuto had signed with the MSBY Black Jackals out of college, and made Keiji promise that the distance wouldn’t change their friendship. It didn’t: they still texted regularly, still talked at least once a week, and still video called at least once a month. And also at least once a month, Keiji dutifully made the trek to Osaka, where Bokuto proudly showed him off to his new team and took him out to the best restaurants, and where Keiji delivered home-made bentos and helped Bokuto balance his checkbook and do his taxes.
Now, at 30, the quiet ache still there, Keiji had reluctantly accepted that it would be with him for the rest of his life. He’d tried to date, but nothing much came of it—not when in the middle of a date he’d get a phone call from Bokuto asking him to bring his special tamagoyaki, karaage, and rice bentos to Osaka next time he visited. (Most people didn’t stick around when they heard he was bringing Bokuto bentos and special laundry detergent twice a month.) It mollified him to know that Bokuto didn’t date much either: his schedule made it such that he didn’t have time for dating, although Keiji knew there had to be some one-night stands with fangirls. There had to be! Miya Atsumu was a wild influence, after all.
But for all his internal angst, to see those golden eyes fixed on him, to see the brilliance of Bokuto’s smile, reserved for Keiji and Keiji alone…
He sighed again. He really was pathetic, wasn’t he?
Keiji’s eyes followed Bokuto about the room. He was impossibly handsome in his navy blue suit, a perfect match for his silver hair and bright eyes. It was like he was the sun, the moon, and the sky all rolled into one. Bokuto laughed at a comment from one of Kuroo’s underlings in marketing; the sound was loud, bright, and nearly cut Keiji in two.
He downed his drink on one go and turned to the bar, signaling the bartender.
“Another Manhattan,” he said, pushing his glass across the tabletop. The bartender grunted his assent, took the glass, put it in the sink to be washed, grabbed a fresh one, and got to work.
Keiji was so wrapped up in watching the bartender pour out the whiskey that he was only half-aware of a figure coming to stand beside him. He thought it was just another partygoer, so he accepted his drink, took a sip, turned…
“Akaashi-san!” Azumane Asahi exclaimed; Keiji’s drink rattled in his hand. Azumane peered at Keiji from behind wire-rimmed glasses. “It is you! I didn’t know you would be here! You must have come with Bokuto-san, that would make sense.” Azumane bowed; Keiji, still in shock from the sudden sound, managed a measly half-bow in return as he willed his knees to stop knocking together.
“I—it’s good to see you again, Azumane-san,” Keiji replied. “It’s been since…” Keiji tried to think. “High school, I think?”
“Yes,” Azumane replied, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. Keiji remembered him as quiet, kind, and somewhat meek off the court, but a beast on the court that on his best days could nearly rival Bokuto. “Kuroo-san invited me; I’m overseeing the redesign of the national uniforms and he wanted me to have a chance to talk with some of the advertisers and marketing execs he brought in.” Azumane shivered. “I’m not much for talking in a room full of people,” he admitted, running his free hand through his shoulder-length brown hair. “But Kuroo-san thought my presence would be helpful anyway.”
“I see,” Keiji murmured. He thought he remembered hearing that Azumane had become a fashion designer, so his presence at the event made sense.
“But I’m so glad to see you!” Azumane continued brightly. “It’s nice to see a fellow introvert at an event like this.” He adjusted his glasses and gazed at Keiji. “You’re here because…”
“Because Bokuto-san asked me to come,” Keiji finished, sipping his drink. The answer sounded lame, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit forlorn at the thought. Everyone else seemed to have a reason to be there; even Azumane, whom Keiji hadn’t seen in years, was involved with the JVA!
The best that Keiji could muster was to be there as Bokuto’s plus-one, but not really, because they weren’t…
“Oh!” Azumane smiled, surprise shining on his face. “You’re still friends with Bokuto-san, then?”
Keiji looked down at his glass. “You could… say that…” he mumbled. “We’ve managed to stay… close… all these years.”
Azumane’s smile grew wider. “That’s good to hear,” he replied. “I’m glad that so many of us have stayed in touch. I’m sorry that you and I didn’t, though; I always admired your sets. What have you been up to all these years, Akaashi-san? Other than attending Bokuto-san’s events with him?”
Keiji blushed. The way Azumane worded it…
“I’m an editor at Weekly Shōnen Vai,” he answered. “I’ve been there since I graduated university. I work mostly with your former senpai, Udai Tenma, especially since he started on Meteo Attack! Between the two of us, and with a little help from Bokuto-san, we’ve got enough knowledge to make the manga authentic. Plus, Udai-sensei likes to draw realistic backgrounds, so we’re always traveling to different places around Sendai and Tokyo to take photos and to sketch.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a career you’re happy with,” Azumane observed.
“It’s a job, and it could be worse,” Keiji acknowledged, and it was true. His job kept him in publishing, which he enjoyed. Udai-sensei was incredibly talented, if a little… eccentric, and most of all, it let Keiji spend more time with Bokuto when they get together to collaborate on the manga.
Bokuto… Keiji’s eyes scanned the room. He saw Bokuto and Kuroo chatting up some suits, and when Bokuto laughed, Keiji laughed too, softly, then turned back to Azumane. Bokuto’s presence, even from across the room, was a balm on his nerves.
“How about you?” Keiji asked. “You said you’re here because you’re working on a redesign of the national team uniforms?”
“Yeah.” Azumane nodded. “I’m a fashion designer.”
“For sports?” Keiji asked, a little confused. Sure, Azumane would know something about volleyball, but did they have sports fashion…
Azumane blushed. “This is just a special favor for Kuroo-san,” he explained softly. “I’m actually working on a new line for the fall Fashion Week.”
“Oh!” Keiji didn’t know much about fashion, but he knew Fashion Week was a big deal. “That’s very exciting, Azumane-san.”
Azumane’s blush deepened. “It is. But to be honest… I’m a little nervous.”
Keiji could understand that. On such a big stage, in front of so many people? All a person’s work on display—their life, their passion?
It was one of the reasons that Keiji hesitated sending out any of his original writing: he wasn’t ready to be that vulnerable with strangers.
But Keiji also knew: that wasn’t the kind of emotion that Azumane needed. He needed reassurance, confidence. He needed…
“I haven’t seen your clothing, Azumane-san,” Keiji assured him, “but I’m sure it’s wonderful. You were always so thoughtful and talented on the court; I can easily imagine those skills translating to your professional life, too.”
“You think so?” Azumane’s eyes lit up, then narrowed. He sipped his drink, and stared at Keiji hard, as though sizing him up.
“Y—yes?” The concentration in Azumane’s eyes made Keiji feel as though he were being watched, and he fought back a shiver.
“Interesting…” Azumane’s voice was no more than a murmur; he pulled out his phone, swiped through a few screens, then held it up so Keiji could see.
It was a cream-colored outfit: the pants were loose and looked like sleek wool, while the jacket was a cape with a large, looping cowlneck. There were slits for the arms to peek through, and the jacket was fastened with handsome, brown leather buckles. The person wore a creamy turtleneck of the same hue underneath, and carried a brown leather satchel.
Keiji leaned forward and looked at the photo. It was… quite beautiful. The fabric looked plush and luxurious, and Keiji imagined himself wrapped up in the soft wool, as opposed to the tailored suit he currently wore.
“You like it?” Azumane asked.
Keiji nodded wordlessly. He wanted to reach out and touch the cape, as silly as that sounded. It was just a photo; he knew that it was. But still…
“You know…” Azumane pocketed his phone. “You’re quite handsome, Akaashi-san.”
Now it was Keiji’s turn to blush. What was Azumane…
“Not—not like that!” Azumane laughed. “I’m happily committed, you know.”
Of course. Keiji had forgotten. Who had Hinata said Azumane was…
“Yû’s always traveling,” Azumane explained, and oh yes, Nishinoya, the libero from their old team. “Sometimes I get to go, but we can’t all be world vloggers, you know.”
“I do know.” Keiji couldn’t help but smile; he was sure Bokuto had shown him a few of Nishinoya’s videos, and yes, hadn’t he seen Azumane in some of them before?
“But you.” Azumane pointed at Keiji, who heated up all over. Why was he pointing? What did he…
“Me?” Keiji wondered.
“You.” Azumane nodded at him. “That outfit… it would be perfect for you: your height, your figure, your bone structure… your hair and eyes…”
“I—I appreciate the offer, Azumane-san,” Keiji answered, “but I couldn’t possibly afford one of your outfits, I’m sure.”
“Oh.” Azumane looked…amused? “I’m not trying to sell you something, Akaashi-san.”
“You—you’re not?” Akaashi could hear the confusion in his own tone. If Azumane wasn’t trying to sell him something, then what was he…
Azumane grinned. “You ever think about being a model?”
Keiji’s mouth dropped open. What—what was Azumane trying to say?
Azumane nodded along with each word he uttered next. “You. A. Model.” He took out his phone again and opened it to the beautiful, creamy outfit. “Think about it, Akaashi-san,” he encouraged. “This outfit, with your complexion and your hair and your cheekbones? And your eyes? And those elbows?” He eyed Keiji’s arms, and suddenly, Keiji hadn’t felt so awkward since he was 13 and went through a painful and sudden growth spurt. “Admit it, Akaashi-san,” Azumane encouraged, “you love this look, and you know that you’d be stunning in it. The perfect model for my show!”
Keiji… didn’t know what to say. Azumane wasn’t wrong: he did like the outfit, quite a bit actually. And he could easily see himself wearing it… where to, exactly, he wasn’t sure, but…
“I know you’re not one for the spotlight, Akaashi-san,” Azumane added gently, “but in this case, I think that you should consider it.” He paused. “I’ll let you keep the outfit, too.”
Keiji startled. He… he could keep the outfit? He’d… he be on the runway at Tokyo Fashion Week?
He’d be on the runway at Tokyo Fashion Week.
Part of Keiji… well, he was drawn to the idea. To have all eyes on him for once. To have Bokuto’s eyes on him. In an outfit like the one Azumane showed him. With makeup and styled hair and…
No, wait. All eyes on him? His heart pounded. What was he thinking? He couldn’t possibly be out there, in front of all those people! What if he tripped? What if he tore Azumane’s design? Or worse?
What if he did that in front of Bokuto?
“Tell you what.” Azumane must have seen Keiji’s warring thoughts playing out on his face. “I need to do some promotional shoots for the new line to drum up excitement for Fashion Week. How about if you come to my studio and we’ll do a photo session? It’ll just be me, the makeup artist, the photographer, and my assistant. We’ll keep it simple: put you in this outfit, plus a few others, see what works with hair and makeup…”
“Okay.” The word tumbled out before Keiji could stop it. He clapped his hand over his mouth in horror. Had he… had he just agreed to…
“Hey, hey!” Bokuto’s booming voice was soothing to Keiji’s ears and to his soul. He approached Keiji and Azumane, his golden eyes gleaming as he caught Keiji’s attention. “Asahi, good to see you! Kuroo said you’d be here!” Bokuto looped an arm around Keiji’s shoulders and hugged him close. “You gonna keep Akaashi from me all night? I know he doesn’t like crowds, but what about me? Do you not want to be around me, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto mustered his best puppy-dog eyes, and Akaashi had to stifle a laugh.
“I’m sorry to keep him, Bokuto-san,” Azumane said, “but Akaashi-san and I were talking.”
“Talking?!” Bokuto grinned. “Akaashi, you were talking to someone? What about?” He leaned into Keiji, whose cheeks heated up when he detected Bokuto’s musky, heady cologne.
“Actually…” Azumane returned Bokuto’s smile with one of his own. “Akaashi-san has agreed to model for me.”
“What????!” Bokuto squawked in Keiji’s ear; Keiji winced and tried to disentangle himself, but Bokuto held fast to Keiji’s shoulder, shaking it back and forth and making Keiji’s drink slosh in his glass. “Akaashi, you’re gonna model? How come you didn’t tell me? When is it gonna be? Can I see the pictures? Or come to the shoot?”
“Y—yes, I’m going to model for Azumane-san,” Keiji replied, Bokuto’s enthusiasm making up his mind then and there. “And I didn’t tell you because I just decided now to do so. As for when it’s going to be…”
“Akaashi-san and I will set up a date,” Azumane told Bokuto, “and I’m afraid it will be my team only for now, until Akaashi-san gets more comfortable with being around people.”
“But I’m not people!” Bokuto protested.
“You’re right,” Keiji assured him. “You’re Bokuto Kōtarō. And you would be too much of a distraction for Azumane-san and his team, not to mention for me.” Yes, with your golden eyes and your biceps and I just know you’re going to want to be a part of the shoot and I can’t have that, not yet, not when I’m only just beginning…
“Awww,” Bokuto pouted, but Akaashi reached up and patted his hand, and Bokuto seemed mollified enough to release Akaashi’s shoulder. Akaashi immediately missed the heaviness and warmth of his palm, though.
“Don’t worry, Bokuto-san,” Azumane said. “If all goes well, you’ll be able to see Akaashi-san for yourself soon enough.”
“Don’t get his hopes up, Azumane-san,” Keiji murmured, sipping his drink and trying not to feel too embarrassed at their praise. “I don’t know if I’ll be good at this, you know.”
Bokuto and Azumane exchanged a glance, and Bokuto’s face lit up in a broad smile.
“That’s okay, Akaashi!” he said brightly. “I’ve never known you to be bad at anything! And even though you’ve never modeled before, you’re so pretty I bet it’ll come easy for you! Just like it did for me!” Bokuto puffed out his chest, and Keiji chuckled, in spite of the knowledge that Bokuto had just called him pretty, a word that, coming from Bokuto’s mouth, made Keiji’s heart race.
Because Bokuto was handsome, muscular in all the… right places… and charming! So fucking charming. How could Bokuto call him pretty? How could Keiji ever compare?
He just gave Bokuto a small smile, and said:
“Perhaps it will, Bokuto-san. Perhaps it will.”
It was a blustery Sunday morning in October when Akaashi arrived at Azumane’s studio. It had taken them a few weeks to find a mutually agreeable time to schedule the shoot: Udai-sensei had been slow to get his next chapter to press, and Keiji had spent way too many nights pacing the hallway outside Udai’s apartment to count, waiting for storyboards and outlines and fully sketched out panels.
But, the chapter had finally gone to press, Keiji had finally gotten a good night’s sleep, and here he was, in Shimokitazawa, about to go to his first modeling gig.
His first…
He couldn’t believe it, honestly. He, Akaashi Keiji, was going to model? It was still too weird, too new, and Keiji could hardly wrap his mind around the entire thing.
Could he do it? Could he stand in front of a camera and do… whatever it was that models did, Keiji didn’t fucking know. He knew Bokuto was an ace at advertisements and modeling, but Bokuto was an ace at everything, whereas Keiji was ordinary.
It was silly. He felt this as strongly as he’d ever felt anything in his life. To imagine himself in fancy clothes, posing for a camera, in full hair and makeup? He barely owned moisturizer, and someone was going to put foundation on him? Besides, he was more comfortable in a pair of khaki pants and a turtleneck sweater than in anything made of Italian wool.
And yet…
And yet…
Keiji couldn’t help but feel drawn to that world. It was so far beyond anything he knew, anything he could imagine. And while it was silly, and maybe even a little scary, it was also… exciting? To see himself in a way he had certainly never seen himself before? To see what possibilities this opportunity could offer, what options it might grant Keiji…
He allowed himself a little thrill at the thought.
But he couldn’t stand around outside all day—no. Not if he wanted to take this step, to see if he could, in fact, actually model.
So Keiji stepped forward and pushed open the door to the building.
Azumane’s studio was on the seventh floor. He rode the elevator in silence, his hands fiddling in front of him, trying to channel his nerves. He forced himself to slow his breathing, to take in the sounds of the elevator, the sight of each floor lighting up as they rose, and the feel of the carpeted floor beneath his feet. He closed his eyes, then opened them, just as the doors opened on the seventh floor.
A familiar young woman waited there for him. Her blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she dressed simply, in a black t-shirt and a pair of jeans. She clapped her hands when she saw him, and Keiji returned her smile.
“Akaashi-san!” Yachi Hitoka greeted him. “It’s so good to see you again!”
“It’s good to see you, too,” Keiji replied with a small bow, unable to hide his surprise at seeing her there. “I thought you were doing graphic design work, though?”
“I am!” Yachi informed him as they walked down the hall. “Asahi-san has needed a bit of help getting his brand off the ground, so I’ve been helping him with communications and marketing. I do a bit of photography on the side, though, and when he told me you were coming for a photo shoot, I begged him to let me take the pictures!” She nearly bounded beside Keiji. “You’re so beautiful, Akaashi-san! Any photographer would die to have the chance to photograph you!”
“I am sure that’s untrue, Yachi-san,” Keiji answered, although he couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “I can’t imagine anyone ever wanting to take my picture.”
“No! You’re wrong! You’re so pretty and when you’re in Asahi-san’s clothes you’re going to be divine.” Yachi sighed, clapping her hand to her forehead dramatically. “And to think I’m the lucky photographer who’s going to get to photograph you!”
“I look forward to seeing your work then,” Keiji assured her; they had reached the end of the hall, and when Yachi opened the door, Keiji had to suppress a gasp.
Azumane’s studio space was quite large; it was mostly open-concept, with a space sectioned off for the shoot itself. The floor there was hardwood, instead of the concrete of the rest of the space, and there was a backdrop at the back, surrounded by a number of intricate-looking lights whose brightness was already making Keiji’s head spin.
“Yacchan, you found him!” Azumane emerged from behind an elegant room divider; he held several outfits in his arms.
“I did, Asahi-san!” Yachi chirped, then turned to Keiji. “Asahi-san will help you get dressed, and then Midori-chan will take care of your hair and makeup.” She winked. “I’ll see you out there! I’m going to go do some test shots with the lights. Is Ito-san still here, Asahi-san?” she asked, turning to Azumane. “I just want to make sure the lighting isn’t too harsh.”
“He just went for coffee,” Azumane assured her. “He’ll be back.”
“Awesome!” Yachi waved at Keiji, who waved back, and then she darted off to another corner of the studio.
“Come on.” Azumane nodded to Keiji, who followed him back behind the divider. He was surprised to see a plush chair and a garment rack with several hangers on it. Some had bags that Keiji assumed held clothes, and some were bare.
“You can hang up your regular clothes there,” Azumane instructed him. “And…here.” He set the armful of clothes he had been carrying on the chair, then pulled a garment bag off the hanger. “You wanted to start with this one, right?” he asked, opening up the bag. Keiji’s mouth dropped open at the sight of the outfit Azumane had shown him at the party: the cream-colored turtleneck, pants, and cape.
“You can wear those shoes with it,” Azumane added, nodding to a pair of elegant brown leather slip-ons that matched the buckles on the cape. “And when you’re dressed, we’ll have Midori-chan do your hair and makeup. Yacchan and Ito will need to do some test shots to make sure the lighting works, and then we’ll get started!”
He handed the garment bag to Keiji, who accepted it eagerly. He ran his fingertips over the cape, and sighed at the softness of the fabric.
“You’re going to look so good in this, Akaashi-san,” Azumane reassured him.
Keiji looked up from the outfit to see Azumane’s grin. “You know,” Keiji mused, marveling at the buttery feel of the leather buckles, “I think I just may.”
“There,” Yachi announced, snapping the last of the photos, “I think we’ve got all we need for today, Asahi-san.”
“Excellent!” Azumane approached Keiji and circled him carefully, taking in every angle of Keiji’s body. “You’ve done so well today, Akaashi-san; I feel like we’ve got plenty that we can work with.”
Yachi took the camera from around her neck and pulled up the review screen. “Would you like to see, Akaashi-san?”
Keiji swung his legs around; he’d been lounging on the floor, relaxing after Yachi finished up. After the all-cream outfit he’d started out with, Azumane had dressed him in a sleek, all-black outfit: a soft, long-sleeved shirt with a boatneck collar, a pair of cigarette pants, and Keiji had asked to add some delicate ballet flats. It was a bit feminine, but when Keiji had seen the outfit, he just knew that it needed a subtler touch for the shoes.
He adjusted the large round black-rimmed glasses that Azumane had given him to wear and got to his feet. He padded over to Azumane, who had already joined Yachi at the camera. Together, they were fawning over the results.
“Oh, look at this one!” Yachi exclaimed, showing the screen to Azumane. “Look at Akaashi-san’s expression!”
Azumane took the camera and examined the image. “Yes,” he agreed, handing the camera back to Yachi, “I think this one is perfect for the campaign. It’ll contrast the all-cream outfit so well, don’t you think?”
“I do!” Yachi said, then turned the camera to Keiji. “Here are the ones from what you’re wearing now,” she informed him. “I’ll show you the ones we think will work best of the cream outfit, too.”
“Sure.” Keiji took off the glasses; Azumane took them and gave Keiji his regular, rectangular-framed pair. Keiji sighed as the world came into focus once more.
“Do you have contacts?” Azumane asked him.
“I do,” Keiji said, “but I don’t really like wearing them.”
“You’ll be able to see much better if you wear them next time,” Azumane advised him. “This way, you don’t have to worry about not being able to see.”
“Ne—next time?” Keiji asked, dumbfounded, as Yachi came to stand beside him.
“Yes,” Azumane answered; he was smiling.
“You did amazing, Akaashi-san!” Yachi cheered; she flipped through the photos; they were small on the camera’s screen, but Keiji could see that the lighting looked good, his hair and makeup looked good, the clothing looked fantastic, and…
“See this one here?” Azumane said, pointing to Yachi’s screen. “I think we’re going to go with this one for the cream outfit.”
Keiji was sitting on a wooden crate that had been turned to its side, showing the open side to the camera. He had one leg firm on the ground, and the other propped up on a smaller crate beside the first. His elbow rested on his knee, and he looked out at something off-camera; his eyes brilliant against the monochrome of the outfit and his hair. His face was serious, but there was a confidence to it that Keiji hadn’t known that he had.
“You take incredible photos, Yachi-san,” he complimented her.
“It’s easy when the subject is so photogenic,” Yachi complimented him right back.
“Don’t try to deny it,” Azumane jumped in when Keiji opened his mouth to protest. “You can see the evidence right here.”
Keiji frowned and looked back at the screen. The face that stared back up at him… it was him, Keiji could see that it was, but it was also so much more than him.
It was strong, beautiful, proud.
It was everything Keiji hoped to be, and had never thought he could.
Wildly, he wondered what Bokuto would think.
“And look at this one!” Yachi said, flipping through the images. “I think I like this one best for the contrast!”
It was one of the last pictures Yachi had taken, from the final position Azumane had put Keiji in: lounging on the floor, hands pushing his torso up, bottom leg tucked under the top one delicately. His makeup reflected in the lenses of the glasses, and his hair was perfectly tousled.
He was a supple, sensual curve. Keiji sucked in a breath.
Commissioned Artwork by Kalcia
“What do you think of this one, Akaashi-san?” Azumane asked. Yachi nodded eagerly, anxious for Keiji’s reaction.
Keiji paused, trying to gather his thoughts. What did he think of these images? Of the clothing? Of himself?
“I—” Keiji took a slow, deliberate breath. “I think I like these a lot, Azumane-san, Yachi-san.” He offered them a small smile. “This was hard, but I think—I had fun.” He stared at the picture of himself on Yachi’s screen, still not quite believing that it was him.
But also… slowly starting to think that yes, it was.
And for the first time in a long time, Keiji liked what he saw.
“You did?” Yachi exclaimed.
“I did,” Keiji told her, unable to stop looking at the photo.
“Good.” Azumane’s smile was nearly as brilliant as Bokuto’s. “I had a feeling you’d enjoy the work.”
“Are you okay with us using some of these images for Asahi-san’s new campaign?” Yachi wondered.
“I’ll have my financial guy draw up a contract,” Azumane interjected. “Feel free to have a lawyer review it—although Kuroo-san would also probably be able to help.”
“Mmm,” Keiji hummed, only half-listening to Azumane’s advice. He reached up and went to touch the screen, but thought better of it and withdrew his hand. Being a part of whatever this ‘campaign’ was that Azumane and Yachi were talking about wasn’t really his concern, if he was being honest. Sure, he’d do whatever they wanted; he’d come in and taken the photos, after all. He didn’t want them to go to waste.
Keiji was too busy thinking about something… someone… else.
He appreciated Azumane and Yachi’s points of view. He blushed when Midori-chan complimented his bone structure, when Ito-san said the lighting complimented his hair and skin tone.
But he had to know if…
“Akaashi-san?” Azumane queried, the sharpness of his tone drawing Keiji back into the moment. “Is everything okay? Did you hear what I suggested?”
Keiji blinked and tugged his gaze away from the screen. “Y—yes, Azumane-san,” he replied, adjusting his glasses again. “I can ask Kuroo-san to look over a contract. I’m sure he’d be ecstatic to help.”
“That’s good,” Azumane answered, but Keiji’s mind was already drifting again, thinking of how a certain pair of golden eyes would react should they see those images.
“Akaashi-san?” Yachi prompted. “You sure you’re okay?”
Keiji sighed. “I’m sure,” he assured her. “I’m just… I can’t help but wonder…”
He paused; Azumane and Yachi leaned forward, listening.
“You can’t help but wonder what, Akaashi-san?” Yachi asked.
Keiji looked up at them both, heat suddenly flooding his gaze. “I can’t help but wonder…
“What would Bokuto-san think?”