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OUTFREAKED !
akaashi x fem!reader
IN WHICH — your boyfriend, keiji akaashi, manages to catch you off guard each time
EXTRA — crack, established relationship, fluff, slight ooc (he’s supposed to be a lil weird), based on these two requests (1 & 2)
A/N — no harm was caused to any fictional bird in this smau. molting is a thing and birds do drop their feathers naturally. any complaints should be directed to @lovedlorned, my vet wife 🙈 also, im still working on the suna obsession au, this is me clearing out my drafts !
click here for more works ♡
TAGLIST (comment or fill out this form to be added) — @lovedlorned @kagstobioisthelightofmylife @imallamaninjaistg @suoyato @iwillnoteatdogs @jiacheriee @huhyeni @radioactivefarts @ollysbeard @telepatiiaaa @sunnyl1ght @catgvrl
since akaashi is on your masterlist could i request an akaashi smau? 🛐🛐
yes, boss- k. akaashi
cw. singular kms joke, reader is akaashi's boss, akaashi is probably ooc and a mess
notes. timeskip!akaashi, hope this is the kind of thing you wanted anon x, i've never had a corporate job so any work language is based off my experience as a part timer
acura integurl with akaashi keiji
the lonny breaux collection masterlist.
synopsis: after a three-month road trip, you both wonder what will happen when it ends. words: 2.5k tags/warnings: sort of miscommunication, yearning, alluding to a physical relationship, up to interpretation ending but i'd like to think it's happy!
During the height of summer, everything is swathed in tangerine, passionate shades of red, crispy crunchy yellows that harmonise with the vibrant backdrop. It's a time where anyone can feel like they're on the top of the world, ready to spread their wings and take flight, high in the cerulean sky. But as the months drawl on and summer begins to close its curtains, everything starts to dither. The memories made are no longer captured in high resolution and seared onto the brain, a snapshot from the moment it happened, but fading polaroids that have been bleached by the sun because a lack of care and attention meant it didn’t imprint onto the tissue quick enough. The heat makes having fun easier, but the cooler evenings when you’re throwing on a sweatshirt is when the penny drops. That this moment, this slice of life, is coming to an end. And no one likes endings.
Akaashi watches the sky meet the edge of the world, how it rolls its way back around in different hues of blue to match the time zones. He feels the hazy summer evenings drip against bare skin that make a failed attempt in washing away the thoughts of it all coming to an end; the closure of a book being neatly tucked away back onto a shelf, ready to be read again next year. He focuses on the sound of the radio, the way his fingers tap against the top of the steering wheel as he sways his head to the wired and tired early noughties ballad that he grew up listening to. That she’s also listening to, sitting next to him, knees tucked up to her chest in the passenger seat while she stares outside at the passing scenery on their endless summer road trip.
She remembers the way hands splayed across bare backs, the way his bitten lips pressed against the skin of her shoulder, the loose linen sheets pooling around their bodies. The way he made his way down to her wrist, kissing the soft skin and letting his lips linger on the tips of her fingers until he eagerly trailed all the way back up-up-up to a place where the world doesn’t know where he spends his time seeking refuge. A place reserved just for him – in her mouth, behind her teeth, a place where she willingly lets him in. A place where he steals the oxygen from her lungs, relishing in the way she gasps for air every single time he takes her breath away and selfishly puts it in a jar just for him.
Summer comes every year.
But a lover doesn’t.
The windows are rolled down, the sound of the wind whooshing through her ears, muffling the sound of the radio that dips in and out of the station, beginning to lose signal as they continue their drive through the middle of nowhere. She doesn’t care about that. The brushstrokes of the clouds meld into one another, a watercolour painting hung high that anyone in its presence would crane their necks upwards and gasp in awe at the once-in-a-lifetime sunset, a bespoke picture curated for that day only. She’s too busy looking down, playing with her fingers, the edge of her sleeve where her heart is supposed to be, once tucked away under lock and key but has now been stolen, the thief guiding the wheel of the car and her affection. The anxiety claws itself at the back of her throat, the uncertainty of this relationship plaguing her entire body as she battles with the idea of exclusivity from here until forever, or letting him stay temporarily in her heart, becoming a summer sojourn she’d look back on wistfully and wonder what could have been?
Akaashi continues to mouth the words of the next song which stutters the further they drive and she looks over at him, watching the way the words roll off his tongue so naturally – she vies for him to speak to her, about her, like that. When they would sit at petrol stations on off-beaten routes, bare feet burning into the asphalt with ice creams melting all over their hands as the sun relentlessly beat down on them. The same toes that would scrunch sand as they walked down the coast, running straight into the ocean where the water would lash at their ankles with force, soaking their skin in salt, both of them falling into step as they would make their way way back to the car. Every single day of those three months spent well in his Acura 91 being poured into a glass from a carton of milky memories that you would drink before you go to sleep if you wanted to sleep well.
Her misshapen heart stutters, begging to not be held, to be crushed into a pulp just as three times before. It’s been stitched countlessly, the irregular shaped atriums, bruised aorta and slacking sinews all fatigued with trying. Trying to feel loved, to be loved, to be a permanent fixture in someone else’s life instead of a fleeting summer romance to look back on nostalgically when going grey.
Just like that, the radio falls out of tune and the static is loud. Overwhelming. A silence that returns and is thicker, with a cloying texture, than the dense humid heat from days before. It tastes bittersweet when she opens her mouth to let in a sharp inhale, to say a few words to shatter the quiet, something that ceased to exist earlier in the trip as they would always be fumbling with their laughter, finding ways to whisper sweet somethings, yelling until their voices went hoarse. The climb to summer’s apex was what sparked joy, inspiration and something to look forward to. Now on the descent, where the leaves are beginning to shift into russets and browns and ochres, the days are getting shorter, cooler, it made them both realise they were wearing rose tinted glasses for the first half and it’s now time to take them off and face a crushing, despondent reality.
Her crown presses against the headrest, eyes softening as she gazes through the windscreen to stare at the sky, a desire to lean forward to touch the swirling softness of the clouds, wondering if she plunges her hand through the ether’s fabric, will it ripple and warp or will she find the letter she wrote for him to read, to grant her the wish she craved for since she realised she was falling into deep waters, plunging straight off the cliffside into charted territory because she’s been dunked in that water before (three times before). This time she doesn’t want to come out soaking, with a bruised ego and a battered heart.
Akaashi feels her staring at him, his heart stuttering at her gaze, imaging those eyes boring straight through to his soul. He steels himself, pushing a tidal wave of tepid water into her direction, which crashes into her and deepens her frown. She studies the ink-coloured tendrils and how they curl across his perspiring forehead, the way his jaw tightens more the longer she stares, him constantly nibbling at his lips and picking at the dry skin because he hasn’t drank enough water. He gives up, he can’t do it anymore and he slows the car down enough so he can turn to look at her, his eyes softening when he meets hers.
A man once renowned for his eloquence no longer has any words left in his mouth, but his eyes do all the talking, ready to spill all of his secrets, display it all out in the open for her to hear his own personal letter, let the world know how he longs for a home that he’s unsure was his to begin with. The word hiraeth starts blaring in his head, the only thing his brain can pluck out of his mental dictionary and the feeling settles deeper. A melancholic ache thrums throughout him and he has to snap his head forward to keep his eyes on the road, ignoring the hyperawareness of a crushing absence.
“Do you like driving in silence?” The first words said since he turned on the engine.
Akaashi quickly glances over at her, then back onto the quiet road. “Um. Sometimes. Today’s one of those days, I guess.”
“What are you thinking about?”
His heart lurches. Busted, it sings up at him, snickering. “I guess just how much fun I’ve had with you this summer. Being able to enjoy one last long summer before we graduate university and get thrusted into adulthood. What about you?”
With her eyes glimmering underneath the sunset’s glow, she hums, lightly shaking the world with the soft vibrations of her voice and shifting the seasons along – it suddenly feels like the start of summer again. An opportunity for a retry, one more time. A chance to do it right.
“Well?” he verbally nudges.
“I’m trying to word it.” She huffs. A pause, a beat, a tick-tick-ticking because they don’t have forever. She lands on: “The memories I’d like to keep with me from these last few months.”
“What’s been your favourite?”
“Learning how to finally change a tyre on my own.”
Akaashi guffaws, which elicits a scintillating laugh from her mouth, eyes turning into crescents. “That’s what you like the most about this trip? Alright then, what’s your least favourite thing?”
“That god awful bed and breakfast we stayed in where we didn’t even make it to breakfast, the one with the stains on the covers and the dead something stuck in the shower drain. God.” She scrunches her nose at the memory, immediately locking it up in the back of her mind because it’s an experience she does not want to remember.
They sit in silence for a few minutes while Akaashi pays attention to the navigation on his phone, working through the convoluted country roads that are sign posted for two lanes of traffic but, let’s be real here, how on god’s green earth can you expect to drive down these tight country roads and expect to pull into an invisible lay-by to let oncoming traffic through? Finally, Akaashi is out of the fray and he lets out a sigh of relief, not wanting to think about the scratches littering the outside of his precious Acura that had to dive straight into some hedges when a tractor began to barrel down the road, no warning until the last minute of switching on their headlights. It made Akaashi realise that the sun has dipped beyond the horizon, the stars making their show-stopping appearance and that they are both reaching closer to their trip’s expiration date.
“What was your favourite thing this trip?” she asks, picking her moment well as Akaashi is now on paved road with a central reservation.
“When we had dinner together at that tiny little hole-in-the-wall restaurant when passing through one of the villages. I wanted to plan something a little nicer, more formal, when we got to a bigger town, but that just felt right – sitting on the curb together eating our food out of the little containers, watching the people in the pub opposite go in and out.”
“That was such a good place. I am going to miss their food so much.” She sighs dreamily. “Alright then, to ask you the same question, what has been your least favourite thing on the trip?”
Does he go with his brain or gut on this one? Because his brain is saying to mention when he got stung on the outside of his forearm by a jellyfish. He was crying out in pain, she was yelling about how piss will help and he had to try and shut her up, all the while screaming between wailing in pain, to tell her that was fake news and he had to just rinse it off in seawater and run it under a warm tap. That was the worst thing he could think of, the sting now a faint scar, a tinge of pink and resulting in a permanent reminder that will eventually fade away with time, learning to blend in with the surrounding tissue so it doesn’t stand loud and proud.
But his heart? His heart takes the lead in this and he sighs, parting his lips to start speaking. Now or never, and he doesn’t want it to be the latter. “The worst thing about this trip is wondering if we’ll go back to being distant friends after this. And I don’t want that, not one bit.” Akaashi shakes his head.
He doesn’t want to be ships passing by no longer, to see her in the library on her own and make awkward small talk, not after the way they learnt about each other over the course of the summer. How he desperately kissed her, wanted her, craved her more and more with each passing moment that it felt like agony when she would part from his side for a few brief moments. He wants it all – the tender touches, the soft looks, the staying up until midnight playing cards, the regular domesticity of university dorm life, the going to her flat and sitting on her bed watching lame romcoms and ordering greasy takeout. He wants to meet up with her after work to walk her home, to cradle her head in his hands as he kisses her goodnight, to feel her press against him, gentle yet desperate for his kiss, beckoning him to come inside.
He isn’t in it for a round-the-corner trip, he wants to enjoy the long, winding journey with her.
Waiting with bated breath, grip tighter on the steering wheel, he can feel himself dizzying after his confession. God god god god what did I say. Should have stuck with jellyfish.
Suddenly there’s a noise, so quiet, but it carries itself straight to his ears, her breathy whisper closing the gap between them and blowing away the thick cloud of awkward silence. “I feel the same way.”
Akaashi can’t stop smiling. He’s grinning from ear to ear and all she can think about is how the stars dazzle even brighter tonight so the night can see him smile. She rests her elbow on the window ledge, hiding her smile into the sleeve of her sweatshirt, her misshapen, battered and bruised heart no longer stolen but taken, handled with care and sincerity. Being nursed back to health as she imagines curling up next to him and smelling his laundry detergent of choice dusting across his sheets, sitting across from him at a cafe and feeling the pad of his thumb brush across her knuckles as they both turn the pages of their books in silence, a quiet that isn’t awkward or confusing or begging to be addressed but comfortable, known, full of so much love.
The stars above dance and twirl, holding onto the letters both of them intended to give to the sky but they ended up falling from the heavens into the right person’s hands.
fun facts:
the road trip idea was atsumu's idea – he encouraged his university accommodation roomates aka bokuto and yn to join him for a summer of shitball fun!!! (his words)
he then realised he didn't have a car, bokuto said akaashi does, so it was back on with an extra person – hooray, the more the merrier!
akaashi was happy to join on the trip, second year burnt him out too much and he wanted to remember what it was like to live with no responsibilities one last time
until, a week away from the trip, when both atsumu and bokuto forgot they had summer volleyball training
so yn and akaashi just decided to do it anyway as they quit their summer jobs and thought it a nice way to get to know each other
and get to know each other they did :)
AFTER THE RAIN ; akaashi keiji x reader.
A sweltering hot summer in Tokyo, a projected four-week forecast of sun and blue skies for as far as the eye can see, it’s on a Tuesday in June while the heavens split open – briefly, momentarily, a monsoon that lasts minutes – when Akaashi Keiji falls in love.
masterlist.
5: suddenly
Noise, chatter, high energy, it vibrates all around Akaashi as he stands outside of the sports hall, water bottle in hand. An avid people-watcher, he lets his eyes roam over the crowds filtering through the doors and handing their tickets to the student volunteers. While the boys did their best in promoting the event, getting it out there by posting about it on their socials, coercing Akaashi and Suga into doing their dirty work of selling tickets to staff members in the office literally the day before, they knew it barely scratched the surface of what the university team ended up doing. The university campus is swathed with a plethora of posters, their social media over the course of the last two weeks churning out asset after asset in the run-up to the event on the Friday, organising a competition every few days to win tickets and incentivising the student body who bought tickets that they’re also entering themselves into a raffle, an opportunity to have a date with your chosen MSBY player, which at first didn’t fly with the boys when Kuroo gave the green light, but after some persuading and reminding that this is an opportunity to meet cute people, how could they say no?
Speaking of Kuroo, he has sung nothing but their praises throughout the entire afternoon, thanking the university team for not only their commitment in promoting the hell out of this event on their end when they have degrees to secure at the same time, but for their perseverance and aptitude in being so marketing savvy, encouraging those who are studying at the business school to apply for an internship at his company and he’ll put in a good word for them. At this rate, Akaashi has an inkling that Kuroo is betting on the university team to win against his dearest, closest friends. And he doesn’t blame him either, because Akaashi is willing to do the same.
Standing outside in the sunshine, feeling the thick air of heat hitting him from the front, the air-conditioned entrance caressing his back, Akaashi tosses the bottle between his two hands in the hopes he will see at least one familiar face here by the front doors while he waits for his colleagues, giving them the grand tour before getting dragged away by Kuroo to help with volunteering (Kuroo signed up himself, Akaashi and Kageyama to be volunteers, and when Kageyama threw a paddy as to why Tsukishima isn’t a volunteer, Kuroo just clipped him across the head with his hand and simply stated that Tsukishima is a visitor and that means he is exempt from volunteer responsibility. Kageyama didn’t say anything after that, probably embarrassed from questioning his senior).
After seeing a few bobbing heads he recognises, Akaashi perks up a little and he waves at them, the team making their way over to Akaashi. They engage in small talk about the weather, how the commute was, their surprise at how busy it is, and everyone is pleased not only with the outcome but also with how their money has travelled a great distance to a worthwhile project. Akaashi smiles at them all and confirms to them that he’ll pass on the compliments to everyone who helped contribute to the event, then runs them through the outdoor stalls – where the food stalls are, what events and entertainment is going on outside compared to inside, reiterating that there’s still so much more inside and to not let the building fool you into thinking it’s a small place. He rattles off his fingers the climbing centre, the swimming pool, the main hall where the match will take place, along with the studios on other floors that have things going on in them, encouraging them not to be shy and have a wander.
“Honestly, Akaashi, this is incredible. I know you said you didn’t do anything for this, but I must say, thank you for even giving us the tickets!” Akaashi’s manager claps him on the back, grinning from ear to ear.
“Don’t worry about it. I was just the unfortunate sod who got tasked with trying to sell the extra tickets at work, which I’m glad you confirmed was okay to do. I’ll let you know how much the event raises once I get the numbers.” Akaashi quickly looks down at his phone and notices the time, letting out a half exasperated sigh, half light laugh. “I’d love to stay with you guys for a little longer, but I’ve gotta go and clock in to my volunteering shift.”
“Yeah, of course, we’ll be around here. We’ll try to catch up with you later.”
Extending his arm out behind him, hand waving, while he holds his gaze in front, Akaashi strides across the outdoor space and immediately hits a brick of cool air as soon as he crosses the threshold. He attempts to look for a towering giant, who has most likely swapped out of his business costume and into something more fitting for a Friday afternoon where there’s a heatwave perched on the doorstep. Akaashi slips through the crowd, avoiding sticking out elbows and already drunk early-twenties university students who are very excited for the match later. While he beelines for the back of the crowd, where there’s an empty space for him to at least catch his breath, he catches a view of inside the main hall, the doors swung wide open for everyone to see, for the energy inside to permeate through the open cavity. An overwhelming feeling of pride blossoms in his chest as he sees the number of people already inside engaging with the pre-game entertainment of DJs, dancers and an MC commanding the already seated crowd’s energy.
Although the sports hall isn’t the same size as the ones he went to during his high school years for national tournaments, with just enough seats to house about one thousand people, the energy is identical to what you’d find at nationals. Buzzing, electrifying, everyone holding their breath to await the outcome of the lighthearted game that’s held all in jest and, most importantly, to raise money for charity. They’ll be sitting at the edge of their seats, knuckles turning white, bitten and chewed fingernails at tight points, but the excitement is still the same sensation of being simultaneously stimulating and contagious, spreading across the crowd.
All of a sudden, a splash of panic paints Akaashi from head to toe. From the rough mental headcount of those inside, those outside, and those still yet to come, did they oversell on the tickets? Surely there are more than a thousand people here, are they just here for the entertainment, the food? Is this the thing that we fucked up on?
Washing over him like a tidal wave with full force, Akaashi is dripping in anxiety and there doesn’t seem to be anything he can do in this moment, other than look for Kuroo, who he wonders if he’ll even alleviate the twisting knot around his lungs that’s suffocating him, his heart beating quickly, but not as quick as his feet shuffling across the wellness centre to find Kuroo, or at least someone who has a clue. He needs to find him before it spirals out of control, clammy palms clutching the handrail as he takes the steps two at a time to go onto the next floor, perhaps finding a flock of people that can point him in the direction of Kuroo, the man who has his shit together. And find Kuroo he does, colliding straight into his chest as he bounds around the corner of the next set of stairs, momentarily causing him to wobble backwards before Kuroo reaches out to grab him and pull him back onto stable footing.
His suspicions were right as Kuroo did change into a pair of cotton black culottes, black and white Onitsukas and sporting a red and black Adidas sports top, a subtle homage to his high school volleyball uniform, most likely feeling nostalgic for his glory days. The sunglasses he came in with are resting on his ears backwards, sitting on the nape of his neck. “Whoa, slow down, dude. What’s the rush?”
“I was trying to find you.”
Panic flashes across Kuroo’s face. “What, what’s happened? Someone hurt? Are Atsumu and Hinata both stuck in the toilet again? Fuck sake, I tried to calm them down, I literally spent twenty minutes with those three idiots with a motivational pep talk I found online.”
“No no, I’m just worried we oversold on the tickets.”
Kuroo blinks. He blinks at Akaashi with a blank, vacant stare, and then his lips start twitching. He starts laughing. He’s laughing at Akaashi and Akaashi doesn’t like it one little bit. “What do you mean?”
“There are a thousand seats and, I don’t know, I was just getting worried we’ve oversold and that we didn’t do the maths correctly.”
“No no, don’t worry – god, this is so funny, sorry – but the numbers I was told were wrong, which is why I was in a mad rush to get those extra tickets sold.” Kuroo is wiping at his eyes, a wide-brimmed grin plastered on his face. “The hall has a capacity of 1,800, so we’re in the clear. Also, not everyone is here to watch the game, think about it. There’s an event occurring on campus, students are knee deep in exams, they want a breather and an excuse to get drunk on cheap beer that goes to a good cause. God, it’s good you’re thinking of these things, but don’t come at me in your usual anxious Akaashi state.”
“How do you expect me to come at you like, hmm? Blasé and unbothered?”
“Yeah, try it, it’ll look good on you. You know, the cool-as-ice Akaashi we all knew in high school, the one who didn’t give two flying fucks if something were to go wrong because you always had a plan, you were a quick thinker, you knew how to handle situations. It’s just for some random reason this past week all you’ve been looking like is a pent-up ball of stress.”
“How do you expect me to keep cool during this fucking awful heat? Where my body is waking me up before the sun has even made an appearance? And I told you, everything is fine, I’m fine and I’m just getting stressed out because I want things to go well today, and this heat is insufferable.” Akaashi huffs, rubbing his palms on his denim jorts, getting rid of any residual anxiety and replacing it with a deep irritation at Kuroo. “Why do you keep badgering on about this?”
This time, Kuroo’s voice has dropped an octave, a little softer. The thing about Kuroo is that he knows when things are getting a bit nippy and a little sharp, especially with Akaashi, and he knows how to rein in those heightened emotions. Just by changing the tone of his voice, everyone becomes affected and matches his energy. “Listen, we’re all hot in here, but the AC should help with that.” Both of them walk down the stairs together, taking each step at a time, a solid thud from their heels underneath, making their way down to the ground floor. “And it’s fine you’re stressed and shit, like okay, but don’t take it out on us. And I’m on your ass about this because I’m your friend and I’m curious about what you’re thinking about, we all are. Is that a crime?”
“Yeah, it is.”
Without even missing a beat, Kuroo rolls his eyes. “Then lock me up, officer,” he extends his arms out, forearms up and wrists pressed firmly against each other. “Geez man,” he drops his arms back down to his side, “just trying to be a nice person and here you are being a miserable bastard because you’re in love and can’t admit it.”
Akaashi stops in his tracks and leaves Kuroo to take a few steps in front of him. People pass them by, ignoring them, too busy in their own worlds to acknowledge the two of them on the staircase. “Why do you keep saying that? Why do you think I’m in love?”
Shrugging, Kuroo turns around, expecting Akaashi to catch up (he does, he’s hot on Kuroo’s heels, curious to see where this goes). “Well, I thought you were stressed at first, but the way you got weirdly defensive when I joked about it earlier kind of gave me an inkling and just now, you’re defensive again and it’s half confirmed that you’re walking through unfamiliar territory. And like, if you’re too busy daydreaming about this person, then that’s fine, there’s nothing wrong with that. But it seems like you’re unfamiliar with this emotion and psychologically projecting it out as feelings of anxiety and stress, then you’re taking it out on small things, and sometimes us. You get where I’m coming from?”
“No I don’t, because I’m familiar with the feeling. I love my parents, I love volleyball, I love my job, I love my friends. I love a pint of ice-cold European beer on a hot summer’s day and sitting at the park with a good book in my hands, putting it down every so often to people-watch and listen to my favourite music. I love so many things, I’m not a stranger to the sensation.”
“And that kind of love is different. Familial, passion, motivation, platonic. Satiation, idleness, content,” Kuroo tallies each word off his fingers, then throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. “They’re all different. Love isn’t just one thing. It’s got lots of caveats and— the fuck man, I’m not lecturing you about this now, we’ve got shit to do and this is a conversation that needs to be had later when we’re drunk because shit like this sounds more eloquent when you’re inebriated. Putting a pin in this and we’ll circle back.”
Akaashi groans, palm connecting to his bare and lightly sweaty forehead. “Leave the corporate talk at the door, Kuroo! It’s a Friday! And alright, whatever, I’m going to go to the seats to grab Kageyama and then I’ll start my shift.”
“Alright, game’s on in two hours, you’re on checking tickets until fifteen minutes before the game starts. For now and until tonight just try to stop those thoughts getting in your head, man.”
Akaashi watches Kuroo’s back, observing how he commands the crowd to part like the Dead Sea as he walks over to one of the student representatives helping with the event. Akaashi stands there, a little dumbstruck at the interaction and racking his brain for an explanation, analysing the encounter entirely, until he shuts down that little thought whispering sweet nothings in his head and letting the biggest thought crash to the front of his skull. When the fuck did Kuroo Tetsuro get so wise?
-
The ticket booth goes a lot smoother than expected. Stamping hands, making small talk on who they think is going to win, who they’re most excited to see play, who’s their favourite player if they keep in the loop with either the university team or MSBY. The buzzing excitement increases tenfold, superseding any university match he’s ever watched, including when he would sit on the bench as the reserve setter on the university team during his academic years, caught in the fringe of the action. People are flocking to the hall and filling up each seat, the worry about whether there’ll be enough room for everyone a forgotten memory (it’s literally been an hour and ten minutes, but who’s counting?) as Akaashi monotonously stamps every hand, wishing them fun and sending them off to engage with team mascots and watch dance routines before the match’s start in fifty minutes.
“Are you having fun?” A recognisable voice, the charming, refreshing lilt to the overall tone music to anyone’s ears. Akaashi picks his head up from the running order on the table and looks up. The voice’s owner is none other than the familiar silver-haired sunshine beaming down at him, sunglasses on top of his head. “Seems like a grand place to be right now, directly under the AC vent.”
“It’s bliss under here, I can definitely say that. You here with your team?”
“Yeah, yeah, they’re just getting some refreshments before heading in. Got here about an hour ago. How long have you been sitting here checking tickets for?”
“About an hour, ish. I’m here until fifteen minutes before the game starts.”
“Right okay, I might not see you in there as I’ll be sitting with my team, going to try and find enough seats for us all. Although the editor is running a little late as she booked today off, so she didn’t come with us when we all left to come here together.”
“Oh nice, did she have any plans?”
Suga shakes his head, pursing his lips a little. “Not sure, I’ll find out from her when she gets here though. I’ll let her know we’re all inside. Kageyama and Tsukishima here, too?”
“Yeah they’re sat on the left side of the court as soon as you walk in, you can’t miss them. Like for real, you can’t, they stick out like sore thumbs because they’re both so tall and big.” A beat. “Not gonna lie, it’d be a good idea if you do go over, just to interrupt any sort of quarrel they might be having. Kageyama was volunteering upstairs in one of the studios just now on the merch stand, so he might be a little socially burnt out and lashing out at Tsukishima for just breathing.”
“You’d have thought, for being in their mid-twenties, they’d have matured a little from their high school bickering and actually be nice to each other.”
“Old habits die hard.”
Suga gets his hand stamped and squeezes Akaashi’s shoulder as he walks through the entrance, imprinting his sincere touch deep into the tissues. It’s what Akaashi needed to keep his anxiety at bay, to stop the thoughts running laps around his brain and tiring himself out. It’s what Akaashi keeps telling himself as he sits there, the clock ticking by with each stamped hand, gentle smile and small talk he makes with everyone. He sits back and thinks of his conversation with Kuroo, trying to be objective about his feelings and why he isn’t able to comprehend the emotions that are either burrowed at the base of his stomach, fluttering around his heart or drenching his brain. All he wants right now is to rest, to cease thinking, and while he questions getting a lobotomy, he also starts to repeat all the things Kuroo said to him.
Is it really that, because he’s unfamiliar with this sensation, it’s being channelled into something he already knows? And projecting it onto other people? He’s been more curt than normal to the boys this past week, that’s for sure, and is he being so direct to them because he’s thinking of her? He thinks and realises that this all started on the Tuesday afternoon when he got caught in the rain. Before then, he was his normal self, the meditative, calm and collected Akaashi that everyone knew well, the one who wouldn’t be so lost in his thoughts and could snap back into reality with a click of the fingers, who would think twice before making an assumption, who’d not get so arsey with his friends when they would ask him for a simple favour, like selling tickets at work or volunteering for the match.
Even regular Akaashi was a little anxious; it’d always just be something in his stomach, a tiny little unmoving stone that was too heavy to push. Akin to a tattoo, a reminder that he’d always just be a little worried about something, but he was smart enough to ground himself, to apply the tips he learnt from his CBT sessions when he was at university, a time when his anxiety was becoming severe he was unable to concentrate properly on his essays, his workload kept piling up, which didn’t help with the anxiety, and he would just lock himself away for days on end without eating or sleeping because he was stuck in an anxious procrastination loop – feeling dread at the thought of starting, feeling dread for not starting, couldn’t bring himself to start, rinse and repeat. Even though that pit wouldn’t budge, he wasn’t soaked in the emotion, whereas now it’s all that he’s been wearing. Although, he hasn’t let the thought of her cross his mind at all since he arrived here, because he’s been too busy being busy. But maybe it’s his subconscious that’s trickling through those tingles of unease?
All this time spent with his thoughts and before he knows it, the student who’s helping him at the ticket booth gives him a slight poke on the shoulder. “Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, but I’m just letting you know that your shift’s over now, so you’re more than welcome to go inside and watch the game.”
“Huh, sorry, what?”
“Your shift, it’s over.” She taps her watch. “I can handle it from here; it’ll only be a few people who are running late, so please, go and spend time with your friends.”
“Hey, nah it’s okay, I don’t mind waiting here with you, if you want to go in and watch it. We can take in turn to watch the sets, it’s fine.”
The student shakes her head, giving a gentle smile. “No, it’s okay, I’m not that big of a fan of volleyball. I only volunteered because my friend’s boyfriend is on the team and I know she would want to see him play, so I offered to take up her place at the ticket stand.”
“Well, you’re a very good friend, I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to grab either Kuroo or me, we’re sitting on the left side of the court, you won’t miss Kuroo because he’s just so tall.” Akaashi lightly laughs.
She nods and thanks Akaashi for the support, Akaashi returning the gesture with a gratuitous bow before striding through the double doors of the hall, being hit with screams, cheers, an assortment of musical instruments from the university band who are delivering a stellar performance. The MC and university mascot, which is supposed to be a domineering, powerful tiger but instead looks like something you’d find at Build-a-Bear, are at the foot of the court, dancing along and hyping up the crowd further before they introduce the players shortly. They match each other’s energies surprisingly well, and Akaashi is impressed with how the mascot is able to not only keep to the beat of the music, stomping away, but also hasn’t passed out from heat exhaustion as that costume alone would surely qualify as one of Dante’s circles of hell.
Finding Kageyama, Tsukishima and Kuroo all bunched up together, leaving a spot for the ink-haired boy who already looks a little fatigued, Akaashi plops down in the seat and throws his head back to stare straight up at the bright lights covering the expanse of the ceiling. Kageyama makes small talk, asking how the stand was, Akaashi returning to ask about the merch booth.
Kageyama, shaking his head in disbelief, lets out a puff of air. “Some kids wanted Hinata’s jersey and I was trying to be nice to them by saying that I used to play with Hinata in high school. They didn’t believe me, I showed them some photos, then they were like ‘what are you doing now then?’. I was a bit taken aback and told them I was playing for Adlers, and they started saying I play for the ‘Asslers’ and kept laughing at me when I kept defending myself.”
“And let me guess, then you started yelling at them?”
“Yeah, their dads came over and got them to apologise to me. Which was fine, but god if I see those kids I’m going to trip them.”
“Make sure no one’s looking,” Akaashi sings, his voice rising an octave and Kageyama smirks at him, settling into his seat comfortably and fishing in his pockets for his phone as the conversation reached a natural stopping point. Which Akaashi was fine with because he was more interested in getting Kuroo’s attention, who was obviously ignoring him.
Giving up after the second attempt of trying to make eye contact with Kuroo, Akaashi mimics Kageyama’s mannerisms of spreading his legs out in front of him, back slouched on the uncomfortable stadium seat, something you’d think he’d have gotten used to by now as he’s sat in seats like this since he discovered volleyball. His eyes scan the crowd, hopping from head to head of adults, students, little kids wearing MSBY merch (maybe one of them is the one who verbally humiliated Kageyama the little voice in Akaashi’s head snickers) when suddenly he catches wisps of silver in a sea of dark hair and caps, his hands raking through the tendrils, neck craning to get a better view of the court. Sugawara ends up doing the same, eyes glazing across the other side of the hall and he locks sight of Akaashi, a beam so bright Akaashi can see it from across the court. Akaashi grins back and waves, Kageyama noticing the movement from the corner of his eye and it piques his interest enough to pick his head up from his Twitter feed, joining in on the waving.
Suga begins to scan the crowds again, Akaashi watching, then twists his neck towards the doors, back down to his watch and leans over to his team members to say something to them. They all begin to shrug. One of them fishes out for their phone and someone else plonks their bag on an empty seat between them and the woman who is on her phone, elbows on thighs as she leans forward, fingers flying across the screen rapidly. As Akaashi continues to watch, he’s pulled away from his favourite activity of people watching as the MC is tapping on his microphone to call everyone’s attention to the court.
He begins an announcement that he reads from a piece of paper, expressing thanks and gratitude, explaining the purpose of the event and how the donations made via tickets and purchases today will go towards an incredible cause, not only for the university team, but how it will be resourcefully allocated to the local community, to which everyone simultaneously thinks to give a round of unprompted applause. Then comes the rollout call for the university team who enter with their blazing orange kit on, who are surprisingly not looking nervous at all, instead boasting confidence and charisma, which encourages a raucous cheer from the students, a congregated bunch of them wearing the university colours and hoisting banners high above their heads.
It’s MSBY’s turn to make their grand entrance, which everyone initially appeared to be excited for, most rising out of their seats to capture a glimpse of a professional volleyball team this close and in a local university hall, not at a grand stadium. But it falls flat. They all saunter out, lacking not only their expected charm and prowess of a team, but the three musketeers, who are the happy viruses of the team, are looking nervous, which is expectantly absorbed by the other team members, with the exception of Sakusa who is shooting daggers at Atsumu that scream get a grip. Their confidence has waned and it looks like Kuroo’s pre-match pep talk didn’t even get through to them. For the first time since Akaashi has sat down, Kuroo looks over at him, sharing a look of woe and exasperation before letting his head fall into his hands.
“We can only hope they get into a rhythm when the set begins,” Tsukishima sighs. “Because if they don’t then the trip here was a waste.”
As they watch the rallies and spikes, the near misses and close calls, there’s a commotion to Akaashi’s right and he looks over to see people standing up, making way for someone. He fully turns his head to see the student from the ticket stand in front of him. “I need your help.”
The three to Akaashi’s left are peering over and Kuroo instinctively begins to stand up, but Akaashi gets up faster, ushering Kuroo to sit down. “Alright, let’s get out of here and onto the side. What’s going on?”
They squeeze past the same people, apologising, staggering out onto the side and pressing their backs firmly to the wall to allow others to pass them by. “There’s someone demanding she’s paid for her ticket but she doesn’t have it on her, that there are people waiting for her inside. She kept insisting that someone inside has her ticket, and to be honest, I would have let her in as well, but I think we’ve reached capacity because I can’t see a spare seat anywhere and I didn’t want to let her in and not have a seat, that would be a violation of health and safety because she can’t sit on the stairs and–”
“Okay, okay, slow down. Alright, uh,” Akaashi massages his cheeks while his brows remain furrowed, quickly scanning the crowd for a solution. He manages to catch Bokuto’s spike, putting them a point ahead of the university team, the whole hall in an uproar. He turns back to the student. “Is she still outside?”
“Yeah she is, I think she’s trying to get a hold of the person in here, but they’re not picking up.”
“Alright, I’ll come out with you.”
When they both step out from the doors, Akaashi is greeted with an empty foyer, bar the food concessions that are idly waiting the ten-minute interval between sets two and three, or perhaps the impulsive wanderer wanting to miss out on the momentum of the game mid-set for a large portion of fries. He looks over at the student, who looks over at him, jaw slack. “Where the hell did she go?”
“Maybe she went outside for better reception? It’s a bit of a black hole here when there are so many people in one area.”
“Or maybe she gave up trying to get in for free.”
Akaashi looks back over to the doors, hesitating to leave, just in case she comes sauntering through them. Nothing happens. “Alright, I’m going to go back in and if she comes back, just let me know and I can give her my seat, don’t worry.”
The student nods frantically and apologises for interrupting him, watching Akaashi re-enter the hall and find his seat. Kuroo leans over the troublesome two, inquiring about what happened, Akaashi saying it was nothing, because well, it was.
MSBY attempted to scrape back that first set but it went to the rightfully deserved university team, whose libero set up the perfect attack to make way for the team’s ace. There’s a momentary pause between sets – Akaashi watches Hinata knock back a full bottle of water, Sakusa habitually ignoring Bokuto’s sad mode, the latter slumping on the bench where even the tendrils of his white hair are drooping in sadness. On the other hand, it looks like Atsumu has perked up a little, actually flashing a smile and talking to the coach, beckoning for the whiteboard. Akaashi keeps watching them, listening to his friends beside him natter away, even when Kuroo is practically yelling loud enough to cause a ringing in their ears.
“Whoa whoa,” Kuroo yells, causing everyone but Akaashi to swivel their head towards him. “When the hell did Suga get a girlfriend?”
“What do you mean?” Tsukishima knits his brows together and looks across to where Kuroo is pointing, by the entrance doors where he emerges with a woman behind him, sporting the university’s tangerine coloured volleyball jersey, her purse slung on her shoulder. “Oh god, is he dating a student?”
“No, that jersey isn’t the same as the ones I was selling earlier, it looks older. Maybe this is her alma mater?”
“Hey Akaashi,” Kuroo slaps Akaashi’s thigh and Akaashi exclaims in pain, bringing his thigh close to his chest as he rocks back into the seat.
“What the fuck Tetsuro?” he hisses, glowering at him.
“Good to have you back.”
“I was listening, I just didn’t want to engage.”
“Whatever. Did Suga mention having a girlfriend, like ever say that he has a very hot girlfriend?”
“No he hasn’t. Why? Are you only curious because you want to ask her out?”
“Does she look familiar? Do they work together?” Kuroo is still pointing and Kageyama is trying to politely get him to stop because it’s rude to point and if she looks over at us she’ll see you pointing at her, please put your finger down. “Alright alright, but quick Akaashi, before the next set starts, look over there!”
Akaashi groans while rubbing the pain out of his thigh, swivelling his head to the other side of the court. He sees Suga settling into his seat, but this time the whole order has been reshuffled, the space that was reserved between the two women has now closed, Suga and the woman now seated together on their own as a university student separates them from the rest of Suga’s colleagues. It takes a second longer for Akaashi’s brain to adjust to the new row order, until finally his eyes land on the woman that Kuroo is obviously lusting for.
Her hair is falling in front of her face, obscuring her visage as she looks down towards her purse, fingers fishing inside for something. Even though Akaashi’s vision is kind of poor and his contacts don’t seem to help him (he’s due for a check-up as he’s pretty sure his prescription has changed because he’s straining his eyes way too much), he can recognise the way those hands move from across the court. The silvery glint of an object being retrieved from the purse looks oddly familiar to the one he picked up on that Tuesday in the rain – he can feel his heartbeat quicken with each motion, the mannerisms recognisable, but still unsure of whether this is just a coincidence or a really small world he’s living in. Finally, she sweeps her hair out from her face and Akaashi’s jackhammering heart stops beating, his breath hitching, getting caught in his throat where he can’t even say a word. She’s knocked the wind right out of him and she doesn’t know. From all the way over there, she’s absolutely sucker punched Akaashi straight in the gut, his head dizzy, palms clammy, a tight knot around his heart.
He’s feeling the exact same way when he gets anxious, though this time it’s different. Instead of a sickly yellow tinge he sees when he’s anxious, an almost antique white that flashes behind his eyes that results in painful migraines and blurry panic attacks when it gets too bad, all he sees is a deep russet orange that bleeds into hues of pink and red, almost like a sunset. The feelings begin to ease as he holds his gaze, watching her plop the lipstick back into her purse, fiddling with her hair, tapping Suga on the shoulder who leans into her, shoulders brushing. He fixes onto their movements for an extra millisecond, before realising he needs to reply. He swallows the lump in his throat and pushes it down, coughing to alleviate the scratchy feeling at the back of his mouth and turns back to the boys.
“No, sorry, I haven’t seen her before.”
The whistle blows. Tsukishima and Kageyama turn their gaze back to the court, discussing the current serving rotation between themselves. Kuroo gives Akaashi a glance, back at the woman opposite, then back at him. Dejectedly, he sighs. “Well, she’s too hot, she may as well be out of my league. Whoever else wants to give it a shot, be my guest.”
“You’re already admitting defeat? You normally try your best moves before you give up.” Kageyama deadpans.
The black-haired boy shrugs his shoulders, folding his arms across his chest. “Something in my gut is telling me not to pursue this one. She’s not meant for me, I guess.”
author's note: extra long chapter – a whopping 6k words – to compensate for not delivering an update for a while (too busy painting the bedroom walls)!images are of kuroo, the hall and a peek into yn's purse and her lip combo. my current combo is summer friday's 'brown sugar' and nyx's lip liner in 'natural' – what's yours? i also realised i haven't started a taglist, so reply to this and i can start one...i was listening to ioi's 'suddenly' when writing this chapter (i miss them so much)
AFTER THE RAIN ; akaashi keiji x reader.
A sweltering hot summer in Tokyo, a projected four-week forecast of sun and blue skies for as far as the eye can see, it’s on a Tuesday in June while the heavens split open – briefly, momentarily, a monsoon that lasts minutes – when Akaashi Keiji falls in love.
masterlist.
4: philanthropic
The rushing of traffic, the sounds of deep voices chatting away, the fan whirring in the corner of the room – it all sounds warbled. As if everything has been submerged under water, as if the rain from earlier is continuously pouring, not relenting its impactful drive towards concrete. Coming down thick, fast, blinding, engulfing the city in a rush. Distorted voices mesh and mould into one another until they all suddenly become white noise. There is only one thing on Akaashi’s mind as he sits on the floor in the boys’ apartment. One thing flashing behind the back of his eyelids every time he closes his eyes to blink, reopening them and feeling his heart bob down in his chest when he realises he’s still fixed in reality.
Her.
Her standing there, with the umbrella, hair swept to the side, fingers perfectly coiled around the handle and extending towards Akaashi, reaching for the lipstick in his palm, her nails grazing calloused skin slightly as she delicately retrieves it. Her eyes soft and kind, bemused by the rain-soaked man who continues to let the rain beat him senseless, until her smile decides enough is enough and everything is warm. No matter how much time he wants to spend thinking, fantasising, dreaming of that moment hard enough that it magically materialises into reality, it doesn’t work. That slice of time in the rain felt too good to be true, the kind of shit that happens in romance movies and somehow the quintessential trope spared a scene for him to experience, only a little taste before the spoon is snatched out from his lips and there are scratches on the roof of his mouth. Deeper and deeper he feels himself sinking into that moment that spins like a broken record in the back of his brain.
Suddenly, the record jerks to a stop and he’s maliciously jolted back to the real world where everything is shaking. There’s a pain stinging across his forearm that causes him to flinch in surprise, turning to the culprit and being greeted with golden irises that are glowering, not in their usual playfulness, but looking more pissed off than humoured. Akaashi hasn’t seen that look in what feels like forever, a look that runs his bones cold.
“I was talking to you, Akaashi.” Bokuoto frowns deeply, almost close to glowering with his eyebrows furrowed in irritation.
“Yeah, dude. We were calling your name so many times. Did you fall asleep with your eyes open or something?” Kuroo leans across the table, lowering his cards so Hinata’s eyes don’t accidentally trail over them (he’s done it before, countless times, and he’s gotten away with it too because he’s just too cute to hold a grudge against). “It’s your turn.”
“Oh right, sorry,” Akaashi shakes his head in the hopes it’ll slot his brain back into place and resume programming correctly. He throws a card into the discard pile and picks up another, struggling to even concentrate on the cards in his hand, frustrated at not being able to get any matching suits in the impromptu game of rummy. It’s too hot to go outside, the rain’s failed attempt to cool down the city had evaporated as soon as the water hit the tarmac in a roaring sizzle. The boys decided sitting inside with a few bottles of beer, the air conditioning on full blast and a good wholesome game of cards was the best way to pass time until it cools down to a more manageable temperature for them to go out to their local pub around the corner from the apartment. Also, most importantly, waiting for it to get a little less cramped inside as everyone within a three-minute vicinity would most likely be taking advantage of the free air conditioning. Now is also the best time for them to catch up without the raucous noise of clinking glasses, bubbling laughter and worn out CDs blaring relics from many moons ago getting in the way of their conversation.
As the game continues on, three rounds having passed by and it’s Akaashi’s turn once again, everyone continuing to complain about the rain not even doing anything, how excited they were to see it, ready to bound outside of their apartment, though by the time the boys even managed to step foot outside it disappeared as quickly as it arrived. Akaashi stays silent, not wanting to rub in their faces how much of a pouring downpour he managed to absorb. By god Akaashi still craves that rain desperately, realising that it was there for him when he needed it most. The whole year so far has felt like a monotonous cycle of wake up, go to work, see friends or go home to cook some dinner and read his book before bed. Every day was a song on repeat, but it was stuck on the first verse. He hadn’t felt a build up to the chorus, not even getting close to the bridge. Every day clawed at his insides as he counted down the week to the weekend, realising he was just counting down the days until his death – the calendar went into the bin thereafter as the monotonous melody was enough to drive him insane, he didn’t need to add a morbid rendition added to the top of it, either. But that crashing downpour today, it spliced his life into two separate halves of before the rain and after the rain. That singular moment sandwiched between the before and after a high he is desperately trying to chase, to latch onto, but even after a couple of hours he can already feel it beginning to fade the more he focuses on the reality in front of him. He doesn’t want to lose that memory. Not while playing a losing game of rummy.
“Anyways,” Atsumu yells, causing Akaashi to flinch beside him, though no one notices. He’s yet again thrown off the cliffside of daydreams and splashing into the deep waters of real life. “The charity game this weekend – what are we doing with the rest of the tickets?”
“We’ve managed to sell a few more, which is great. But it’d be nice to have some more people come! I’ve asked Kageyama and Tsukishima to bring their teammates, do you know anyone else who could join, Bokuto-san?” Hinata glances over at Bokuto, and all the spiky-haired boy does is laugh pridefully at the grown man who he still coddles as his protege. At the end of the day, Bokuto loves to be admired and Hinata will dish that five star meal up on a silver platter, ready for him.
“My very, very good friend here,” Bokuto claps Akaashi on the back and Akaashi frowns at the sting. It felt a little more… intentional. A little angry around the edges, a potential way of getting Akaashi back for ignoring him earlier. “Can help us. I mean, if he wasn’t daydreaming and actually listening to what I had to say, I was going to suggest to him that he could sell tickets at his office.”
“Oh come on now, I think that goes against my company poli—”
“Nah, don’t think so,” Kuroo shakes his head, finger wagging in perfect rhythm, “it’s not a conflict of interest because you’re not moonlighting as you’re not profiting from the funds.” His eyes lock onto Akaashi’s. “You’re just doing some sneaky advertising, so it should be okay. Though double check your contract on about promoting personal stuff internally. Better yet, ask HR if they can put the event in the next company-wide newsletter.” Kuroo lightly smirks, absorbing the sharp shooting daggers from Akaashi.
“I don’t think it works like that,” Akaashi snides, a little bit of venom dripping at the end of each word he partially spits out.
“Oof guys, this dog’s got a bite to him,” Atsumu whistles, nudging Hinata in the ribs while jutting a thumb out towards the seething black haired boy.
No one is paying attention to Hinata sneaking cards off the main deck and adding it to his pile. No one notices the way the fan shudders slightly and crackles a little, feeling much overworked by being on consecutively for the last three weeks. Everyone’s too busy watching Atsumu now receiving the sharp edge of Akaashi’s daggers, aiming at him point blank, straight for the gut. He’s not as good as Kuroo in deflecting them, a little clumsy in handling Akaashi’s sudden moments of stress and anxiety, which means that each bladed edge plunges fiercely through him, causing his heart to plummet and stomach acid to bubble up to the back of his throat. Akaashi’s ice cold stare makes him feel sick with dread, unprepared for the worst that is yet to come.
“What’d you say?”
“Alright, alright, Keiji, calm down.” Kuroo placates, leaning over the table and grabbing his shoulder to rip his attention away from Atsumu who is beginning to crawl into the nearest corner in queasy embarrassment. “Geez, someone got up on the wrong side of sunrise this morning. Have you still not got those blinds you’ve been complaining about getting for your room?”
“No, I was too busy getting wasted with you guys on the weekend to even get any errands done.” Another bark, ready to bite a little more, gnashers sharpened and canines ready to plunge into his next victim. But that’s when Akaashi sees Kuroo’s gaze. It’s sympathetic and warm around the edges. He’s feeling sorry for Akaashi and it’s suddenly his turn to feel queasy with embarrassment at his behaviour, ready to join Atsumu in the naughty corner. Pinching the bridge of his nose to alleviate the built up stress of scrunched eyebrows and tense shoulders, Akaashi slumps in defeat. Just because he wants to trap himself in the moments from earlier doesn’t give him the right to be an ass to his friends – he always has a go at Bokuto for not being ‘present’ in the moment when he’s too busy fixated on his Twitter feed, reading all of the replies to his tweets (and yes, he replies to every single one of them too). He feels like a hypocrite, no, he is a hypocrite.
The rational Akaashi resting in his mind suddenly jumps to his feet, realising break time is over, and begins prancing across the fleshy expanse of his brain. A flick of the internal switch immediately rectifies Akaashi’s posture, demeanour, tone of voice. There’s a shift, a discreet one, that hopefully goes unnoticed but everyone immediately senses the air around Akaashi change when he looks up at them all with kind confidence. It’s a look they’re all familiar with, it’s the one that suits him best and he always wears it with such grace, but for wearing a dazed and confused expression when he first walked through the doors, which changed for a sour expression within these past ten minutes, the familiar face looks out of place. They all continue to look at him in apprehension, wondering who his next target will be (everyone bets it’ll be Atsumu — he’s the weakest after all).
“I’ll do it. I’ll give out the tickets tomorrow. When we get back from the pub later, just give me as many as you want me to sell and I’ll try my best.”
Kuroo hikes a brow. His eyes flicker across Akaashi’s face. “You sure?”
“Yeah, of course. Least I can do for charity.” Akaashi shrugs, then pauses for a beat. “Actually, Suga’s in too, so double the stack and I’ll give him some to pass to the employees on the first floor.”
Hinata grins. “Whoever sells the most won’t have to pay for any beers after the match!”
“Now that’s more like it!” Bokuto shoots finger guns at Hinata, then clicks them over to Akaashi. “May the best man win!”
Akaashi smiles gently and continues to look down at his cards, everyone resuming the game after what feels like the umpteenth pause. As Bokuto makes a failed attempt to shuffle through his set of cards to study them, he glances over at Akaashi. He watches his friend slip back into his thoughts, cards slack in his hands, eyes drifting away, dissipating into a world he’s crafted in his brain. Bokuto holds his gaze for a second longer, frowning slightly to himself at how quickly Akaashi’s mood has been changing just sitting cross-legged on the floor. He tries to shrug it off, slamming down his cards onto the table in one fell swoop of success, the raucous roars of Hinata crying in defeat, Kuroo bellowing a laugh. Nothing stirs Akaashi from his reverie at all.
-
Suga purses his lips and looks at the tickets in his hand, then back at Akaashi. “Okay, ignoring the fact that I’m unsure of whether this is even allowed according to company policy…”
“Kuroo seems to think that it’s okay.”
“Yeah sure, get the guy who doesn’t work here to give us the green light. But regardless of that, how do you expect me to sell one hundred tickets before Friday? There are only like… fifteen of us across the two magazines.”
“I know, but it’ll mean a lot to the boys and the university are making a huge event out of it. Food concessions, I think there’ll be some live music like a DJ, probably some fun stuff before the match to keep people entertained. I’m going to incentivise the moms on my floor that it’ll be a fun thing to do on a Friday night with the kids, rather than sitting inside with them complaining about how hot it is.”
The gentle-faced man hums, then nods his head in agreement. “Alright, alright. You’ve sold me. I’ll coerce my team, even get the editor who’s on her annual leave to come join us, too. I’m sure she’d love to spend her paid time off at some charity event,” he rolls his eyes playfully.
“There’s something for everyone there, I’m sure she’ll enjoy it. Besides if she’s with you, she’ll have a very swell time.” Akaashi nudges Suga in the ribs, catching the shimmer of pink dusting the tops of his ears and grazing his cheeks.
“I-I don’t know about that,” Suga stammers and awkwardly lets out a little laugh. “She’s a good person, that’s all I admire about her.”
The two of them exit the post room, a few envelopes tucked under Suga’s arm, some jiffy bags in Akaashi’s as he needs to post out revised pages to some authors for their approval — even in today’s digital day and age, some things are just better when there’s a pen to a page. Akaashi looks over at Suga. “From the way you talk about her, it’s as if you have a crush.”
Suga laughs again. Awkwardly, a little shy, his fingers pressed to his lips, working out what to say. He finally lands on: “I hold a lot of deep respect for her.” Pause. “She’s just so… skilled. Even with a heavy workload with managing two magazines, two teams, she can juggle her responsibilities better than anyone in this company. She kinda makes me consider staying here and progressing internally, to eventually become like her one day.”
“So you’d give up your teacher training?”
Suga shrugs. “It’s something I had been thinking about for a while now, because what if there’s more for me here. You know?”
“I do know,” Akaashi climbs each step of the staircase slowly, not wanting this conversation with Suga to end. They have three flights of stairs and that isn’t enough to work through Suga’s professional crossroads. “But you can still apply her perseverance and her talent for multitasking to when you become a teacher. Managing a classroom of kids with grading their work and being a teacher they look up to, along with being appreciated by parents and your peers alike. Teaching comes with its own rewards. Also, the grass is always greener – you might like the idea of staying here for another few years, but you might also grow to resent your decision by not following what you initially intended for yourself.”
A mull. A nod. A small smile that could melt butter, Suga claps Akaashi on the shoulder as they reach his floor, the glass doors polished clean and pristine this morning. “Yeah I guess you’re right. I’ll give it more thought. Thanks for saying those words to me, Akaashi.”
Akaashi shrugs, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “It’s okay. It’s what I would have wanted to hear when I was a university student.”
“I’ll leave you to it now, I’ll message you later on how the ticket sales go. This Friday, yeah?”
“Yep, this Friday. Good luck – Hinata says whoever sells the most amount of tickets out of us two won’t have to pay for any beers.”
“That’s something I can get behind,” Suga chuckles, “alright catch you later.”
Suga slips through the glass doors and rounds the corner, confidence in his stride. Akaashi smiles to himself as he trudges up the next few flights to get to the third floor, grateful for having someone he’s known since his high school days just two floors away from him. While he loves being able to meet his boys as often as he does, they’re always going to be his chosen family, the ones he can be himself around with relative ease – showing them his anxiety riddled moments, his happy smiles, the days where he wants to rip his hair out and cry until he can no longer produce any tears. They’re the friends who will stick by him through thick and thin, especially Bokuto and Kuroo, the two who he’s known the longest, the ones who have seen it all.
But with Suga, this is a person who Akaashi can have different interactions with. There isn’t any awkwardness in still getting to know each other, tentative on how the other person will respond, wondering if you ever said the right thing. With Suga, it’s as if Akaashi is in a perpetual state of conversation with him that always gets picked up no matter how many days, weeks or months have passed between the two of them. Even if Akaashi were to say the ‘wrong’ thing, Suga wouldn’t make him feel embarrassed about it. He’s the type of person who’d engage nonetheless, still eager to contribute to the conversation. He’s someone astute in perception, but still does not judge. And yes, his friends are also the same as Suga, but there’s just something gratifying to Akaashi in having this same feeling in friendship with someone outside of his inner circle.
-
While Friday itself has arrived quickly on every corporate employee’s doorstep, akin to the way the rolling clouds of rain rushed across the sky a few days prior, the day itself is dragging. Akaashi is clock watching, his favourite habit this week, and he taps his pencil on his apartment desk, eyes continuously flickering to the numbers in the top right of his screen. While Bokuto, Atsumu and Hinata are considered high-class professionals in their sport, for some reason the trio are shaking in their boots to play against university students. It’s supposed to be a game for lighthearted fun, the university college team reaching out to MSBY in the hopes they would collaborate with them in a charity game to raise money for improved facilities, uniform and equipment, outreach to schools to encourage the next generation of volleyball players and to host more social volleyball events with other universities in the area. Kuroo was the one who agreed to it on MSBY’s behalf, and at first the boys were thrilled to play against university students, but now that time has passed and they met the team, they realised how ravenous these players are in wanting to annihilate MSBY in a game that’s supposed to be for charity. It makes for good advertising, as Kuroo suggested to them, but it also makes for a humiliating headline on social media the next morning if they, a team of elite professionals in the first division, lose to university students.
Rarely making an appearance but on this occasion it’s the only thing that fits him, Bokuto’s cowardice is overpowering. Akaashi can feel it through the phone, the insistent vibrations that are distracting him for concentrating on his work. Reading through all of the text messages that flood on his screen, Bokuto is persistently begging for reassurance, for Akaashi to come to the university campus early to set for him, just like old times, to calm his nerves down.
bokuto: please please pleaseeeee come, i need u here!!! me: lol why tho, you have atsumu don’t you? bokuto: he’s on his third anxiety shit before lunch me: i don’t get off work until 1500, and that’s the earliest i can finish! me: you’re going to have to deal with atsumu’s stomach issues bokuto: so you’re saying i should just kill myself? me: i’m happy to give the eulogy bokuto: i’m taking atsumu with me bokuto: oh ffs he’s run off again, i’ve barely even done a rally yet, PLEASE COME!!! me: wb hinata? or sakusa? bokuto: hinata and kageyama are showing tsukishima around tokyo bokuto: sakusa is Here but refuses to acknowledge me or atsumu bokuto: he’s just doing solo practise me: right me: i can get there for 1415 me: is that ok? bokuto: there is a god and his name is akaashi keiji!
Akaashi lets out a petulant groan and begins furiously typing to his line manager about the charity match and how he needs to be there earlier to help set up, to which his line manager is generous enough to let him and the rest of the team have the afternoon off. Not only because the heat has become so unbearable that productivity reaches an all time low as soon as noon arrives, but because the team will be going to the charity match. It doesn’t start until 7pm, but with all the activities that are occurring beforehand, everyone’s curious to see the food stalls, events, listen to the live music and just be on a university campus again to relive their glory days, so they want to show up with ample time to spare. Of course Akaashi is under no obligation to spend it with them, after all he’ll be running around like a headless chicken doubling as the event organiser’s lackey, but that’s what you do for friends. Also, he won’t be alone – he roped Suga in with him, so at least he’ll have some company.
Akaashi Keiji: good morning, nearly afternoon i will be leaving my apartment at like 1400 to get to campus for 1415. does that work for you? if not, i can just text you where i am when i get there Sugawara Koshi: i think i’ll be getting there a little later. i finish at 4pm, but then will be meeting my team before getting to the campus for 5pm. is that ok? Akaashi Keiji: yeah no prob, i’ll probably be either setting for bokuto or wiping atsumu’s arse Sugawara Koshi: ??? context? Akaashi Keiji: atsumu’s got anxiety shits lol Sugawara Koshi: make sure ur wearing a hazmat suitu don’t know what that guy is carrying Akaashi Keiji: a pack of unused condoms he’s been carrying for ten years Sugawara Koshi: i’d be concerned if they were used lol
The clock keeps ticking, the time keeps passing, Akaashi’s brain begins to lag slower than his computer and by the time it’s officially the afternoon, Akaashi bids his manager a ‘I’m going now!’, along with chucking in a ‘see you guys later!’ in the team chat before slamming the laptop lid with great force that it could have smashed. Akaashi doesn’t care. He’s too busy rifling around through his things to find an old T-shirt and pair of shorts that don’t smell of sweat and summer to wear, his volleyball trainers already clipped to the outside of a forgotten rucksack and his fresh set of clothes, towel and toiletries all packed inside. Water bottle in one hand, book in another and headphones planted firmly across the top of his head, Akaashi is bounding out of the apartment within a few short minutes of logging off for the day. The earlier he gets to campus doesn’t just mean he can shut Bokuto’s annoying trap, feeling incessant vibrations in the back pocket of his jorts, but it means more time playing volleyball. More time on the court, more time spent getting out of his thoughts and being grounded in reality, present to the sounds of squeaks and slams and claps. The ball will be the only thing he focuses on.
No thoughts of someone clouding his brain, running laps on the surface and blazing a trail onto the muscle that it will inevitably leave a permanent scar. He doesn’t want to be rid of the memory entirely, but the fact that it’s consuming him more than he would like is what leaves an unsettling pit at the base of his stomach. It has the same sensation as when he’s anxious – bubbling, brewing, feeling like an anchor that weighs and drags him down. But anxiety is splintering, sharp edges that scratch his insides, the back of his throat that causes it to dry and he can’t speak, making his stomach acid churn faster and faster that it feels like he’s going to vomit. This feeling is softer, heavy nonetheless, but more of a weighted blanket that is cushioning and buoyant. It’s overwhelming to feel, but it’s also a thrumming that vibrates through him, rather than rattling and shaking all of his bones simultaneously that he aches for days for being tense as he tries hold them all together by the ligaments and sinews.
Before Akaashi knows it, he can hear Bokuto’s voice loud and booming across the university hall, his trainers squeaking across the floor and skidding to a halt right in front of his partner in crime. Akaashi isn’t surprised he managed the whole commute just on autopilot, but surely he would have clocked in some things — a loud voice on the subway, or someone wearing a garish outfit, the temperature as soon as he stepped outside of air conditioning heaven.
“Atsumu still having the shits?”
“He’s a bit better now, he’s just gone outside to get some fresh air, will hopefully help me with some sets, too.” Bokuto claps Akaashi on the back as he escorts him through to the other side of the net, “I really appreciate you doing this for me, Akaashi. Doesn’t matter who sold the most tickets, I’m getting all of your drinks, you can count on that!”
Akaashi chuckles to himself as he unloads his bag, slipping his second skin trainers onto his feet and tying the laces in the particular way he likes it (loose around the front, tighter around the ankle, prefers to do a runner’s knot to stop his heels from slipping). “Try and focus on winning first.”
Just like that they jump straight into it, practising spikes and sets and tactics, Atsumu making an appearance and getting in a few passes before having to take a break because of a gurgle that sounds like it could go south (literally) if he doesn’t stop for a few minutes. Bokuto scolds Atsumu and questions if he’s even worth being a setter for the game, Atsumu barking back with more gusto than before and stomping back onto the court to prove a point. It’s as if Bokuto learned from his own temper tantrums and petulant sulks on how to get Atsumu back onto the court, causing Akaashi to gently smile fondly as he recollects the moments spent ignoring and cajoling Bokuto to get back onto the court.
Kuroo is next to arrive, then Hinata with Kageyama and Tsukishima, everyone bellowing hellos and exclamations of excitement, crowding around familiar faces that look different, in a good way. Akaashi stands next to Kuroo and looks at everyone, Kuroo’s hands in his suit pockets, jacket slung across his forearm.
“You excited for later?”
“Anticipating how the match will turn out, yeah.”
Kuroo mulls. “Placing bets Sakusa will hit Atsumu during the match.”
“Happy to contribute to that wager.”
“You know, you can talk to us about anything at any time, right?”
Akaashi turns his head. “Yeah, I know. Same goes for you too.”
“Yeah I know, but,” Kuroo leans over a little closer so only Akaashi can hear. “I know a look of love when I see one – it’s my favourite face to wear.”
Kuroo watches Akaashi turn bright beet red, flustering with his water bottle as he shoves it back into his bag. “I’m not in love, I’m just thinking about work and stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“Nothing you’d like to know,” he picks up his bag and slings it on his shoulder. “I’m going to get changed, the match starts soon.”
Watching Akaashi push through the gymnasium doors towards the locker room, Kuroo lolls his head to the side, bemused by his friend's unusual behaviour.
author's note: hello after what feels like an eternity, here is the fourth chapter to this fic! i am developing ideas, but squeezing in time to write has been so taxing, especially when working full time and undergoing a house renovation. nonetheless, i hope you enjoy! this chapter has been checked Lightly, so apologies if bits don't make sense, i will get to it and rewrite sections when i can! all the best <3
AFTER THE RAIN ; akaashi keiji x reader.
A sweltering hot summer in Tokyo, a projected four-week forecast of sun and blue skies for as far as the eye can see, it’s on a Tuesday in June while the heavens split open – briefly, momentarily, a monsoon that lasts minutes – when Akaashi Keiji falls in love.
masterlist.
3: crashing
Akaashi knows he doesn’t need to check the weather today. He’s once again greeted by the sun’s rays tenderly kissing his cheeks, his body slowly warming up to its touch. He pries his sticky back from the bedsheets as he sits upright, stretching his arms above his head and looking over at the window. It’s at times like this he recognises his privilege in witnessing the morning’s gentle awakening, the pale blue sky appearing hazy with the misty clouds wafting across. His legs instinctively push him out from his rumpled sheets that have been pushed at the foot of the bed, traipsing over to his open window as he leans out of it, the soft breeze brushing his hair back. The sound of stillness and quiet gifts him a moment of peace before the rush of the day commences. While he’d love to linger by the window for as long as possible, there’s nothing stimulating enough to capture his attention, other than the swaying of the clustered trees, the cast shadows of the tall buildings, the odd runner in their neon sports apparel zipping through the side streets at 5am.
Akaashi slouches against the windowsill, head resting on his forearms that are propped on the sill, legs extended behind him. A dull ache lingers in his limbs from last night’s rigorous and endless volleyball matches. Shoulders slightly sore, legs feeling purposefully used, he welcomes the discomfort as it signifies, to him, that he’s in a fortunate position to be able to feel the sensations of a workout well done. Akaashi isn’t the type of person to take anything for granted, always appreciative of everything given to him – being the forward setter on the high school team, making it to nationals, being able to set to the school’s ace. He continued to carry that gratitude with him when he finished university, securing a graduate role at the company he works for now and climbing through the ranks diligently, now a well-established and respected manga editor. Not many people can say they’re using their degree to the fullest, and Akaashi, having studied Literature and Language at university with credits in several publishing modules, along with writing a dissertation on the renaissance of print media in an age of digital technology, feels very content with how he’s utilising the skills he developed during his degree in his current profession.
Teeth brushed, face washed, Akaashi stands in front of the open doors of the wardrobe. Studying it, he sifts through the many pairs of slacks and shirts, wondering if today is an applicable day to dip into his ‘outside office’ clothes, the other half of the wardrobe he doesn’t dare touch unless he’s really feeling uninspired with his current office wear rotation. He doesn’t like mixing his work and casual wear, liking to have an unspoken, ascribed uniform that requires very little thinking. He mulls over reaching to the right of the wardrobe to wear the nice polo he found in a vintage shop the other week, but pulls his hands away, opting for his reliable soft blue shirt and black slacks. Akaashi silently wishes for sweater weather season to return as his jumpers continue to gather dust, remain folded in his drawers, not having seen the light of day since the middle of April.
Glasses perched on top of his head as he makes his morning brew, his latest read sat next to him, eager to have its pages turned in the early hours of the morning as Akaashi blissfully settles into his armchair, bringing the mug to his lips as he lands on the bookmarked page. An hour rolls by steadily, the clock tick-tick-ticking as he turns page after page, chin propped in his hand, eyes glazing over every word, everything so serene and quiet. Until, all of a sudden, his brain switches on and ensues anxious chaos, a sensation that finds its way to the base of Akaashi’s stomach. The words no longer have meaning, merging together into one long string that he forces the book shut. Pressing his fingers to the tips of his lips, eyebrows furrowed as he stares off into the distance of the living room, the modular coffee table that sits clean and pristine stares back at him. In the corner where the desk sits is perfect, not a single slip of paper out of alignment on that table. The TV console is organised and tidy, CD collection stacked in alphabetical order beside it. As Akaashi’s eyes roam around the apartment, he realises there’s nothing wrong with anything in his vicinity. Yet the anxious feeling is gnawing at his stomach’s inside, spreading all over his body as his shoulders tense, his chest grows tighter, signalling to him that there is something out there that is out of place. Something is going to throw him out of his routine today and he can’t pinpoint it. He’s done all the chores he’s needed to do, he’s confirmed he’s seeing the boys after work (as per usual at this rate with the good weather aiding in the repetitive rendezvous), he’s on top of everything at work. And no matter how far back in his brain he treks to, to the darkest corners which are expectantly dust-free, he can’t find the thing that’s throwing him off kilter. Something about it unsettles him and he frowns. His fist massages his sternum in the hopes it relaxes his constricting lungs, which have suddenly forgotten how to take in oxygen.
The book is haphazardly plonked onto the coffee table, next to the others, striding over to the large window of the living room, nose pressed against the glass as he peers downwards to the clusters of school children, the odd commuter, the city beginning to stir awake to start the day. In this moment, he feels like he’s king of the morning, observing his kingdom before him, but also keeping a sharp eye on the horizon for the impending storm, anticipating it. The nagging feeling in his head turns into white nose as he watches, a way to distract himself from the feelings of weirdness running through him, sixth senses tingling, no, setting off alarm bells to beware the day. With nothing else for him to look at, and knowing he won’t be able to determine the root cause of his nausea as quickly as he would like, he decides to grab his things. A quick glance at his watch and he thinks a twenty-minute headstart before his normal departure is more than enough time for him to take the scenic route to the subway station instead. Shoes slip on with ease, no attention paid to the umbrella holder gathering dust in the foyer of the doorstep. The apartment watches him slam the door shut behind, shaking all of the furniture in his wake, his hopes residing in the fact the door will lock those tumultuous troubles inside for the rest of the day.
Stepping out into the spilling sunshine that lands on the apartment building’s entrance, suddenly feeling the thick air of summer heat, Akaashi turns left instead of right, relishing in the idea that a walk through the small green space that can’t even be classified as a proper park will give him a fresh perspective to the day. It’s quiet in the park. Peaceful. The sounds of a sole rushing car pales in comparison to the lilt of the songbirds chirping in their nests high in the trees that shade the path. He strolls through, a moment that’s close enough to elicit a whistling melody, and just when he’s got a spring in his step, he sees two older ladies at the bottom of the path, talking amongst themselves while observing the gate. Akaashi turns his lips in a grimace. Is this the ‘odd’ thing my subconscious was predicting? Nonetheless, he strides over to them, bowing respectfully as he greets them. “Is everything okay?”
“The gate isn’t opening. We looked and saw there’s no lock on it, but no matter how hard we push it just won’t budge,” the one in the white sports visor says with a frown. “Seems like someone didn’t shut it correctly behind them.”
The other woman speaks up. “If you’re in a rush to help us, that’s fine, you’ll be good to climb over that gate. We’d have tried, but we know our hips will give out if we raise our legs even an inch high off the ground!” she chortles, clapping her hands together, round face beaming in a pleasant smile. “We can wait for someone to help us, you go,” she swats her hand at him, “you look like you’re heading off to work.”
“No, no,” Akaashi looks around the park to see if he can see someone, anyone, but because luck doesn’t seem to be on his side today, there’s not another soul in sight. He glances down at his watch, shifting his lips to the side of his face in a calculating manner. If he hops over he’ll just make it for the subway he normally gets. But the two women continuing their natter snap him back into reality and he internally sighs. There’s always the next one. “Don’t worry, I’ll try my best to open it.”
Bag gently placed on the floor, sleeves rolled up, Akaashi presses his entire body weight into the iron gate, using all of his strength, watching how his glasses steam from the puffs of effort he lets out before slumping in exhaustion. It’s not the ache in his biceps, the throb of his shoulders, the sharp twang of his leg tendons that get to him. It’s no longer the worry of being late for work by missing his subway that causes him to nearly collapse to his knees as his chest feels tight from the second round of pushing. It’s the stifling heat that singes his skin, the heat that makes his hands sweaty and slip from metal bars, the rubber soles of his shoes unable to grip the asphalt and instead feel like they’re going to melt the more he forces them into the ground to help him drive forward. What feels like forever but only lasts at least twenty seconds of strenuous effort, the gate swings open, releasing Akaashi from his effort as he lands on his palms. The sweat is falling into his eyes as he hears the two women applauding behind him. Pushing himself onto his feet, a large exhale of relief escapes Akaashi’s lips, chest heaving up and down as he tries to catch his breath while grabbing his bag.
“What a good young man you are!” the woman in the visor pinches Akaashi’s cheek.
“Your mother raised you right!” the round-faced woman pats him gratuitously on the back, waving him off as they both power walk out of the park, yapping away. Akaashi catches the tail end of the conversation of how they ‘wish their son was like him’ and how if they ‘had a daughter, the two of them would make a great match’. It causes a ghost of a smile to whisper on his lips as he exits the park. Maybe it was worth missing the subway after all, especially as it grants Akaashi the much needed confidence boost for the day, able to let him disregard the persistent sinking feeling in his gut.
As he returns in his stride towards the subway station, he wipes the top of his forehead with the back of his hand and softly groans at how sticky he now feels. No amount of pulling on the front of his shirt to circulate air around his torso, brushing his hair back or conforming to the subway users’ method of using the newspaper as a fan reduces the amount of sweat that’s forming. He leans against the pillar on the platform, still fanning after ten minutes of waiting for the subway, throat dry with the thirst for the air conditioned carriage (which he hopes is air conditioned — the day keeps playing tricks on him, lulling him into security before snatching the rug out from underneath him, and it isn’t even 7:30am yet). Eyes scanning the wave of people impatient for their one minute delayed subway to arrive, his head lolls and a sudden wave of heat exhaustion is hitting him in the face like a brick, which is the icing on the already melted cake as he tries to keep moving, rocking onto either foot to keep the blood in his body pumping so it can go straight to his brain. This is what happens when you have a bender of a weekend, suffer from a hangover on the Monday and once again, as usual, wake up at dawn the following day as sleep starts to catch up to you in places you don’t want to be passing out at.
The subway arrives, whirring to a halt. Once piercing his ears, the sound of metal resisting against metal is now white noise to Akaashi as he stands near the back of the crowd gathered in front of one of the doors, each person slipping on with familiar ease, eager to step into cool air. As Akaashi is about to step on, he hears something, no, someone, behind him, yelping in surprise. Even though his good deed had already been accomplished for the day, he still instinctively turns his head to see a woman crouching down on the floor, hair falling in front of her face as she swiftly bends over to gather the fallen paperwork. Her bag strap has snapped. He moves to help, but is quickly pinned in by the commuters behind him who habitually shove him forward onto the carriage as they have no time for those who don’t get with the program. They do this day in and day out – it’s become second nature to them, and it’s in their best interest to streamline their already hellish mornings of having to go to work in the first place. Before Akaashi knows it, the doors have closed. Through the scratched window of the carriage, he sees her scuttling across the platform to pick up the documents. A corkscrew twists in his stomach at the pitiful image, eyebrows furrowed, lips reeled into his mouth as he nibbles on the skin, leaving it red and raw, until someone else bends down to help, not caring if his suit’s pleats become creased, the stranger kindly passing the papers to her. Akaashi unconsciously lets out the breath he had been holding.
He feels a little less guilty, turning around as the subway departs from the platform and makes its way in the direction of the office, head now slouching on the metal poles to the right of him. He stares outside, the whizzing of houses, apartments, buildings, trees, all passing by in a blur. Akaashi doesn’t retain anything from outside. Instead, he keeps a strong mental image, a vice grip in his head, of the woman on the platform. Her soft hair falling in front of her face, fingers that picked up each piece of paper with panicked care, her bag dragging behind her as she lunged to snatch a piece of paper before it slipped onto the tracks. He closes his eyes, the images burning behind his eyelids as he slowly drifts into a languid slumber.
Jolted awake by a shove in his chest, Akaashi blinks rapidly to adjust his focus to the bright light of sunshine piercing through the cloudy and scratched window. What had felt like an eternity of rest and relaxation was only ten minutes, with still another five to go until his stop.
-
Akaashi’s never been one to watch the clock while on the job, but this time round every minute drawls on and on until it’s time for him to make his leave. Yet it never comes. The last fifteen minutes of his shift feel like agony as he waits for his manager’s confirmation on page approvals, watching their green ‘available’ dot suddenly disappear to ‘away’ just when Akaashi needed them most. He throws his head back in agitation, the designer side eyeing his not-so-professional crash out.
“You know you could just call them if you’re so eager to leave,” the designer quips, slightly smirking. They don’t even need to see Akaashi squinting, they can just feel his gaze boring into the side of them.
“And get sucked into a forty minute chat on what their kid did at school today? No thank you, I have plans with the boys this evening,” Akaashi bites humorously, finger anxiously fidgeting on the trackpad, repeatedly clicking back to the chat to see if they’ve read it. Still nothing. “For fuck sake, this needs to be approved ASAP so I can send it to the author before they go on holiday, can this guy just hurry up.”
The designer rolls their eyes. “Why don’t you take your laptop home with you and send it when you get there? And just take the time back either now or tomorrow morning, depending on how wasted you get tonight.”
Akaashi sits on the idea for a few minutes, then shrugs, deciding leaving ten minutes early is justified. “Alright, I will. I’ll see you tomorrow — you are in tomorrow, right? Or am I going to turn up here and everyone’s working from home, again?”
They swat a hand at Akaashi, again, not needing to look at him as they know what he’s doing. Akaashi is quite the predictable fellow. “Don’t worry, I’ll be in tomorrow. I know you need your emotional support designer to function. What would you do without me?”
“Probably kill myself if it were up to me to edit and lay out pages.” He slings his bag on his shoulder. “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow, enjoy your evening.”
Receiving a gentle clap on the shoulder, the designer waves at Akaashi and continues refining the panel they were working on using their art tablet, hunching over the screen and leaning closer to their monitor for careful inspection. Akaashi’s meticulousness has rubbed off on his colleagues, and his manager appreciates Akaashi’s professional vigour and passion. Each one of his good traits have become synonymous with him, but it’s also what the wider team wants to be known for as well, which is why they’ve all unconsciously stepped up to match Akaashi’s energy of diligence, integrity and reliability.
Skipping down the steps in a quickened pace, hand tightening around the strap of his bag, laptop swinging around loosely inside, Akaashi steps out from the office into bright cerulean sky for as far as the eye can see, raising his hands above his glasses to ward off the glare of the sun bouncing off the ground, squinting into the distance. The boys’ apartment is three subway transfers away, on the other side of the city from the office, but on a day like this (and every other day before and after today), what’s the harm in walking? Might as well lean into the sweltering summer, accept it with open arms, as when autumn rolls around, Akaashi will be envious of those in the southern hemisphere. It’s about an hour and ten minutes to walk, but Akaashi has long limbs and reckons he can do it in fifty. So, he’s making tracks as speedily as he can, looking both ways before crossing the road, skipping through green traffic lights, shirt clinging to his skin again but this time he doesn’t care how he turns up. Ten minutes of trudging, huffing, puffing, twenty minutes of feeling his quads beginning to ache at the partial gradient he’s having to climb, he slows his pace down after thirty minutes as he sees he’s already shaved ten minutes off his ETA.
There’s something encroaching behind him. A sensation, a nagging feeling. The same feeling from this morning and he suddenly feels sick with anxiety, how his thoughts spare him no mercy as he just wants to spend a carefree evening with his friends without the growing worries controlling him. Disregarding the itch in the back of his brain, he continues embarking forward with his head down in the hopes it’ll help him concentrate better on his footing. All at once, the hairs on his arms stand up. His nose twitches at a familiar scent, but he doesn’t think too much of it. Until, suddenly, he feels it. On his forearm, then on the crown of his head. His hands, the tip of his nose. Akaashi looks ahead and sees blue. He looks behind and sees blue. He looks up.
It all comes crashing down. The heavens splice open from a rolling cloud in smoky shades of white and grey, his azure eyes widening at the sight of something he hasn’t seen in what feels like forever. Akaashi whips his head around, wondering if anyone else is seeing what he’s seeing, if his eyes are deceiving him, but he’s the only one caught in the splashing of summer rain, it coming down hard and fast, the sheer velocity at which it falls close to lacerating his skin. His heart thrums in his chest, the tightening, constricting feeling roped around his lungs and the weight in his stomach vanishing as he feels his skin wet. Not from sweat, but from the rain, the well-needed rain that the grass has been dying for, the flowers have been wilting for, his body craved for. A smile spreads itself across his lips as he stands there, feeling himself getting soaked to the bone at the hot rainfall, the smell immediately familiar to him. He would have stood there for as long as possible, until he realises that his laptop is in his bag and the panic returns like a kick in the teeth. Frantic, he searches for his umbrella in the tattered tote, letting out a shit when he realises it’s not been needed for weeks, the forecast telling him that it wasn’t a required essential for the next two. Panicked, his eyes dart around for shelter and his feet carry him before his mind can think, sprinting to the nearest awning in front of him, a good two-hundred metres. He skids to a startling halt, the woman who just walked out from the local greengrocers yanking her child into her body so Akaashi doesn’t crash straight into them.
He’s huffing underneath the awning, chest heaving up and down, an electrifying tingle running through his body in jolting currents, feeling a thrill of being alive at the sight, scent and sensation of the rain. Face wet, he brings his fingers to his cheeks, flush with excitement. It’s exhilarating to be caught in a torrential cloudburst, most of his fondest memories from his childhood and adolescent years of him being caught in summer showers – when at the park and playing in the mud, feeling it squelch in his hands; an intense volleyball match with Bokuto during summer vacation, the rain cooling him down after the heat and sweat of running around for what felt like half a day; him and his mother running outside barefoot in quickened haste, laughter spilling from their lips as they tugged the washing down from the line, Akaashi realising he is now taller than her, broader, older than the last time they did this, but turns from third year university student into a small child as soon as he rests his head on her lap in fatigue from the whirlwind excitement of outracing the rain. The joy, the adrenaline, the happiness the rain provides him makes him thrive. He soaks in its energy, its cool and slick touch, needing it to keep the memories of those delightful rainy days alive.
He looks straight through the rain hitting the concrete, watching it bounce off it from impact and landing into collected puddles, eyes flickering between each droplet running rivulets, a stream that slips down the middle. His eyes continue to follow it. He watches the rain bend and meander around the cracks of the pavement, languidly slipping down the slight decline. He’s half tempted to abandon his bag and run back out into the rain, wanting to call the boys to meet him here so they can enjoy it too (he knows Hinata has been craving it just as much as he has). Though these ideas snap Akaashi out of his daydream of running in the rain as he feels a presence beside him, a gentle excuse me faintly whispering in his ears.
Akaashi glances over and sidesteps under the busy and full awning, half observing, the other half wanting his eyes to return back to the rushing of the rain. As he’s about to peel his attention away from the woman exiting the greengrocers, out of his peripherals he sees her standing next to him, fishing into her bag. There he notices the thick bands of ribbon at the top centre of the strap, wrapped taut, reminding him of the woman on the subway platform this morning whose bag strap had snapped in half from where it rested on her shoulder, the fabric wearing with time and finally caving in. He studies her movements, the manner of her hands slipping into her bag, rummaging through her belongings, the shuffling of papers louder in his ears than the smashing sounds of the rain beyond him. The way her hair falls in front of her face, masking her features so he can’t get a good look at her. And there it was again. The nagging tug in his chest, similar to the one from this morning that there’s something different to come and that Akaashi should let it in with open arms. Though this time it feels slightly different. Rather than laced with unease and dread, the sensations feel more of a signal, alerting him to stay focused, present. He quietly listens to that voice in his head that tells him to absorb the moment.
Out comes an umbrella, slipping off the cover, fingers unwrapping the band that lets each folded pleat release in uniform fashion. She pushes it out from the awning and with a simple click of the button at the base, it shoots out with incredible force and speed. As she steps out into the rain with the umbrella held high above her head, something falls out of her bag when she uses her free hand to reach for her phone. The object clackers behind her and Akaashi dashes out from the rain, a man all for pulling good deeds out of his pocket left, right and centre. She hears it too, spinning around and bending down at the same time as Akaashi, both of them reaching for the fallen lipstick that decided to jump ship out of her bag and into a puddle. She extends her hand to reach for it, Akaashi too, and he lets out a laugh at the awkward encounter. He looks at her bent over frame and the pieces fall into place, clicking in his head.
The monsoon thundering around them isn’t as loud as the blood rushing to his ears, the way his heart latches in his throat then sinks immediately to the bottom of his stomach while she tucks her hair behind her ear, eyes gracefully glossing over Akaashi’s presence. He becomes hyperaware of her looking at him, studying his knee propped on the wet ground, noticing the drenched shirt clinging to his body that contorts around his lean frame, how his glasses are beginning to steam up from the heat his cheeks are emitting and the droplets covering the lenses. They didn’t bother him earlier, even when he was looking up directly at the rain, but all of a sudden they’re obscuring his vision. He takes them off to see her properly, in awe, but also mentally grateful he didn’t see her face this morning on the subway platform otherwise he’d have not worked a single minute during the day. All he would have done is think of her. She stands up and Akaashi immediately springs to life, mimicking her motion.
“Thank you,” she lifts the lipstick in the air.
“It’s okay,” Akaashi says, wondering why his chest feels so tight in a foreign way, in a good way. Why he feels like he’s simultaneously falling to crashing waves below, but floating high in the sky. All of these bumbling contradictions pooling at the base of his stomach, the large tides washing away the worry, though now he wants to vomit them all out. He holds his breath to keep it all in.
As if the world knew, as if the deities in the sky had been watching, taunting, teasing, she beams at him in sincerity and the sun suddenly spills out and shatters the grey sky looming above, trickles of blue pooling through. The downpour begins to steady as now the world no longer hears the rushing showers, but instead the pitter patters of the last few stragglers of rain escaping from above. Yet, all Akaashi can hear is his heart thrumming loudly, too loudly that he worries he’s either going to go into cardiac arrest, or that she can hear how fast it’s beating — no hummingbird is a match for him.
She extends her hand out from underneath the umbrella, palm upright and facing the sky. “Ah, guess I didn’t need this umbrella after all.” She gives Akaashi another glance over and then presses her fingers to her lips, laughing softly, “but you certainly did.”
“It’s okay,” he says. Is that the only thing I can fucking say right now? Can you speak in fuller sentences? He flushes, in anger at himself, but also the way she is still staring at him. “I-I like the rain.” Stammering helplessly, Akaashi mentally slaps himself in the face.
“It was much needed, especially with the weather we were having.”
A beat.
“Yeah. Was getting too hot.” For someone who is supposedly fluent in the art of eloquence and verbosity, Akaashi really is making a fool out of himself with his simple language. He is kicking himself hard.
A ghost of a smile settles on her lips as she manoeuvres to close her umbrella, eyes flickering over to Akaashi who is still standing there catching flies. “Hopefully it doesn’t rain again while you’re still out.”
He closes his slackened jaw and clears his throat. “I hope so too. But even if it does, I don’t mind.”
If it means I can see you again.
She waves at him while turning around to head in the opposite direction to him, heels clacking against the sloshing asphalt. He stares at her figure getting lost in the crowd of people who are beginning to emerge, unaware of the audience behind him who were all watching the whole moment play out in front of their very eyes. Suddenly he lets out a long exhale, unknowing he had been holding his breath for that long. That feeling of anxiety Akaashi had this morning, the feeling that something different is coming, a sensation that started off as a large knot in his chest beginning to unravel, dissipating into nothingness. It leaves his ribcage hollow so there’s enough room for these newfound feelings to grow in. A buzzing excitement washes over him harder than the rain did as Akaashi still stands there, feet magically seer-suckered to the concrete while he thinks about leaving twenty minutes later for tomorrow morning’s subway.
AFTER THE RAIN ; akaashi keiji x reader.
A sweltering hot summer in Tokyo, a projected four-week forecast of sun and blue skies for as far as the eye can see, it’s on a Tuesday in June while the heavens split open – briefly, momentarily, a monsoon that lasts minutes – when Akaashi Keiji falls in love.
masterlist.
2: sweaty
The weekend was a blur of bars, pubs, girls, so many drinks, Akaashi couldn’t keep track of where Saturday started and Sunday ended. By Monday morning, he suddenly feels the effects of the weekend, rubbing the pads of his fingers into his eyes and hissing to himself for the one thing he told himself was of great and utter importance, the biggest errand of the weekend he had to do by Monday morning or he’d have to go another week without them — bedroom curtains. His punishment for neglecting the one thing on his to-do list and instead gallivanting around Tokyo with the three musketeers and the de facto father to the triplets is the sun greeting him with a beautiful hello, rays of light flooding the bedroom, washing everything in golden light and dappling rainbows.
Akaashi lies there, staring up at the ceiling, letting out a big sigh of slumped exhaustion, wondering if a sick day is even worth it. He could intensify his symptoms of a hangover headache to be a medically alarming migraine. Maybe even suffering bouts of nausea and vertigo just from sitting up in bed that it immediately thrusts his head back onto the pillow in fatigue. But the thought of lying leaves a residue of guilt lining his stomach, which had been emptied countless times last night as he cradled his toilet for at least an hour. The disadvantage of living alone is that there’s no one to provide hangover cures, to nurse him back to health. At least Bokuto has Kuroo to hold his hair back.
A buzzing noise on his right snaps him back to reality and he palms for his phone, knocking a book off the stand in the process. Streams of notifications flood the small space of his screen, his newspaper app sending him a morning digest, the first notification on the screen. Underneath that are countless texts from the group chat. He opens his messaging app and there he sees a digital album documenting the events of the weekend. Photos from Atsumu of Hinata cradling eight pints of beer, Bokuto with penises drawn on his face as he decided to pass out on their kitchen floor, Kuroo’s naked ass pressed against the glass of a club window, which ended up getting the whole lot kicked out of the place. So many messages for Akaashi to sift through.
He doesn’t have enough energy to even process anything, but he does note that there are barely any humiliating photos of him, other than the scandalous shirtless picture of him in the bathroom of a Burger King as he tried to wash out the sauce that got thrown at him during Bokuto and Kuroo’s fast food fight. And how fast it was, with it only starting off with fries and a measly ten seconds later both of them ended up waving their white napkin flags high in the sky as they fervently apologised to Akaashi for getting sauce down his favourite polo. Bokuto protested it was Kuroo’s deflect that caused it to land on Akaashi, Kuroo objecting it was Bokuto’s poor aim, a snide comment thrown about if he’s an ace, why is his aim so bad? It was Akaashi’s cue to leave for the bathroom when Bokuto let out a gasp of betrayal, lunging over the table to grab Kuroo by the collar. When he returned, they were both sat in sheepish silence, like two toddlers who were anticipating a scolding from their dad. Fortunately, for Akaashi and for both the boys, it was Hinata who gave them a verbal lashing, saving Akaashi a job and allowing him to eat his fries in a sleepy, delirious haze. Atsumu is just grateful he captured the rare view of a shirtless Akaashi on camera.
At that moment, his phone buzzes, notifying him of the forecast, a transparent notification dropping from the top of his screen. No rain for the rest of the week – is Akaashi even surprised anymore? The sun is beginning to singe his skin, even through his shirts that have gone in the wash thrice this week because of how quickly he’s managed to sweat through them. While he’s checking to see if any of his team members will be visiting the office, presumably not after the glorious weather of the weekend that warranted day drinking and socialising, he realises that there are three manuscripts still sitting on his office desk that haven’t been looked at. He curses his Thursday self and his forgetfulness to at least put them in his bag, his lazy Friday persona saying he can do it on Monday instead. And now Monday has arrived, tapping its foot impatiently, arms folded and waiting to see what Akaashi’s next move will be.
Headphones on, out the door, the third cup of coffee in his hand and this time he’s made sure his phone is on shuffle. The metro is much quieter today as this time he manages to find a seat. The air conditioning is working in this carriage, too, so at least this Monday is working out to be in his favour, setting him up for something that might potentially cause him to crash and burn underneath the heat of the sun, sunny-side up on the scathing tarmac. He hopes the universe is not going to pull the rug out from underneath his feet at any time today, especially as he is in no mood to tolerate any of the bad luck that might ensue.
And just like clockwork he is at his desk for 7:30am, legs stretched out in front of him, headphones still on to let everyone around him know he is in no mood to be spoken to as he looks at the manuscripts glowering at him for being untouched for three days. He doesn’t know where to begin, staring at them as they stare back at him, taunting him of the long day of working ahead. Akaashi contemplates quitting. Lolling his head back to look up at the sterile ceiling, the fluorescent lights emitting their corporate hue, absorbing all of the natural sunlight spilling through the large windows to Akaashi’s left, he lets out an exasperated sigh of discontent. His ears twitch at the sounds of a few dings coming from his laptop, emails that were delivered on a Friday afternoon reappearing, notifying Akaashi of his responsibilities. Everything begins to fill his screen all at once, cracking the whip to encourage him to get to work. And what does he do instead?
He gets up from his desk, grabbing his mug and a manuscript, a necessary prop to ensure he has a good cover as the first rule of time thieving is to make sure you have a good excuse up your sleeve — Akaashi is a seasoned veteran at this after all, especially on days where he just doesn’t give a shit. His excuses of choice for today are he’s either delivering the manuscript to the post room or he’s retrieving it from there, he’s going all the way downstairs to the large coffee machine or he’s just making his way back up with a freshly brewed cup. No matter what he says, he’s well equipped for his seniors to not squint their eyes in skeptical observation. A warranted leg stretch after having been sat down for ten minutes is well-deserved, and Akaashi wades through the office calmly, acknowledging every department’s lack of presence on this glorious Monday morning, presuming they’re working from home, or abusing the flexible working hours and having a later start to the day. Makes sense for them to, even he doesn’t want to be in today, and he doubts his team members will join him.
He traipses down the central staircase, looking through the glass of each of the floors, noticing how it’s slightly busier on the first floor where magazines can be found. There’s an energetic buzz that can be felt even through the glass, which means they must be on deadline this week. When it’s deadline week, it’s all hands on deck for those working on the magazine, and with some teams covering two, well they’re just begging for a death sentence. There he sees a familiar face from the Thursday evening, the tall sour-faced looking fellow who is hunched over his desk, the pad of his finger pressing onto his phone resting on the table, scrolling aimlessly, his laptop screen dark. Akaashi rolls his eyes, typical, he thinks to himself as he recalls the dishonest anecdote regarding the feature. Akaashi didn’t expect him to be a hard worker anyway, with his blasé demeanour and apathetic attitude being the first thing he noticed, how he had his arm draped around his coworker’s shoulders, his hand in his pocket, the lack of professionalism with those on his team outside of the office. Definitely a character worth avoiding, and not one to trust with a high priority workload either, so no wonder no one is fretting to give him work and leaving him to his own devices, presumably after the cock-up that happened during the previous issue’s print week.
Finally approaching the ground floor, wading through the office’s courtyard with tables, booths and an open plan kitchen for those to make breakfast, store their lunches or to make themselves a delectable cup of coffee with either pods or the fancy barista machine, Akaashi places his manuscript onto the countertop, fishing for a coffee pod that looks appetising, and hopefully strong enough to silence the thrumming headache rattling his brain. He acknowledges a senior member of the business, greeting them with a simple morning and asking how they are doing, him gruffly responding back how he wanted to spend time with his newborn grandson but got called in for a multitude of meetings that never seem to stop. A Monday moan is what gets everyone in the spirit of the devastating effects of coming back to work, and as misery loves company, Akaashi also participates in this querulous conversation, both of them expressing the things they already resent about the day before the clock has struck 9am. As the member of staff bids Akaashi farewell, Akaashi sighs a little in relief, slouching onto the machine as he watches more people zip in and out of the courtyard with their cups of tea and coffee, breakfast plates, setting up camp for themselves on the tables in the centre of the courtyard to feel productive — he doesn’t blame them for wanting to get away from the cheerful chatter of their teams and find a safe space to recharge their social battery.
As all of his friends note, Akaashi is a gentle observer of people. He loves crafting narratives in his head, his own way of passing the time by making his own stories. Watching their movements, studying the way their arms bend, faces contort, their manners of speech. All of these images are seared onto his brain, to help him read the manuscripts that end up on his desk, dissect plots and find holes, giving anatomical lessons to the manga author as he elaborates on amends to panels. Most of the time this is all heeded energetically and appreciatively, returning to his plate in better taste, more palatable and digestible than what he initially saw as a lump of not good enough. His team think Akaashi is too meticulous, but isn’t that what the job is all about? Why bother putting ‘great attention to detail’ on your resumé when you find faffing with the details to be boredom inducing and are pleased with mediocrity as the final result? As they say, the devil is in the details and Akaashi being the reincarnation of the fiend himself will grab each member of his team by the ankle and drag them down to hell and possibly not back if they so happen to include any errors, even if it’s just one. That is why Akaashi’s manager tasks Akaashi with the most important authors, the high-profile mangas that cannot let a simple mistake tarnish its reputation.
Though, ironic, as when Akaashi glances over at the countertop, he is stunned to see his manuscript has suddenly grown legs and disappeared. He blinks. His observant nature has led him to become distracted and lose the one thing he needed today to function. Panic begins to set in his stomach, leaving his cup of coffee still in the coffee machine, forgetting about it completely as he fervently lifts everything and anything on the counter, peeling back plates and lifting up the toaster, rifling through extra magazines left for the staff to peruse, wondering if anyone had put something on top of it by accident. But what if they had it underneath something and they took it with them? Oh balls. Akaashi rakes a hand through his tousled mop of hair, the curls falling gently across his forehead, which is crinkled with stress lines as his eyes squint, eyebrows furrow and his hands flail about all over the place. Even in his panicked state he still gently lifts cushions, paperwork, laptops and crockery and places them back down where he found them, with an esteemed deference that once again makes him a stellar employee. Akaashi politely asks those around him if they have seen his manuscript, many shaking their heads to his dismay as he lets out shallow breaths thanking them, heart rate quickening at how it suddenly disappeared without him noticing. He mentally beats himself up for it, organised Akaashi pummelling careless Akaashi, a trait of himself that hasn’t seen the light of day since his first year of university where he took too much pleasure in how ‘first year doesn’t count’ and he fell into step with the rest of his cohort, engaging in sleepless nights of partying and drinking to wasting the day away in his bed. Second year hit him in the face like a brick and he insisted, no, vowed to never repeat those mistakes again and here he is five years later, suffering an anxiety attack all because of a momentary, fleeting lapse in his attention.
What felt like hours, but had only been ten minutes of high energy panic that he attempts to keep professionally compartmentalised inside rather than expressing it on his face, Akaashi contemplates scouring each of the floors of the building to find it, but decides against it and wonders that if someone realises they have the incorrect paperwork they’ll return it to its rightful owner sooner or later. Suddenly feeling him come back down from his panicked high, his energy suddenly causes him to slump forward in exhaustion, trudging up the stairs to the third floor while cajoling himself that this isn’t the end. He will not admit defeat, he’s just putting a pin in it right now as he tells himself he has two other manuscripts that need prioritising anyway, and that hopefully by the time he’s done with those two the third will miraculously find its way back into his hands, safe and sound. He sighs into his desk chair, seeing a plethora of messages on his desktop from his colleagues not even noticing Akaashi’s absence as they were too busy making small talk on the weather outside, how it’s too hot, how they’re going to take their kids to the pool later, how they miss the rain and wonder when it will make its return. He makes his presence known by reacting to a message with an umbrella emoji, despondently reflecting on how long it’s been since he felt the rain on his skin. The spring rain feels like a distant memory to Akaashi, where the April showers brought May’s flowers, blooming brightly and beautifully, until June’s cruel sun with its glaring heat and eternal rays dried the flowers and left withering bulbs behind. And Akaashi knows that when the sun disappears behind grey clouds for days at a time, he’ll miss its beaming face, but for now, the sun is public enemy number two as number one has run off with his manuscript and still hasn’t had the common decency to return it back to him.
As the end of the day approaches, only one hour left of the working day, and the fantastic four are blowing up his phone to ask if he wants to play some volleyball after work, there is still no return of the manuscript and Akaashi is nearly done with the second one, the red ink of his pen nearly finished as he spent a laborious amount of time on each one to truly drag out his work for the day. Tugging on the ends of his hair in frustrated distraction, the pulp of his palm tucked underneath his chin as his eyes scan across the penultimate page, he exhales sharply from his nose as he slams his pen onto the pages, pushing himself out of his chair and marching towards the bottom half of the floor. He asks into the open air if anyone has seen a manuscript — about this thick, has a post-it on the front saying for A.K — and they all say no, but still make the polite effort to check their desks anyway. Akaashi thanks them for their time, making it to the next department, and the next, until he’s cleared all of marketing, advertising and production and their subsections, making his way to the second floor. He sees the videography team he liaised with a few months ago where he organised content with them and marketing for the promotion of the latest volume instalment of a popular title. He asks them and they say no, sorry, and one offers to help but Akaashi kindly declines, making it appear that the missing manuscript isn’t a big deal but holy fucking shit if his team finds out the Akaashi Keiji dropped the ball then that’s the point of no return as they’ll mock him for it for the rest of his editorial career. (They literally will not do that but Akaashi came out of the womb with a doomsday mentality, inherited from his mother. He inherited his father’s polite and fake-it-’til-you-make-it calm and collected demeanour, which is how he’s able to look like he has his life together but is in fact rattled with anxiety when one thing doesn’t go to plan. The duality of man.)
As Akaashi is about to push open the glass doors to the first floor, entering foreign territory as he’s unsure of what the workers on the magazine floor are like, he sees a familiar face on the other side, who suddenly beams brightly in excitement, his silver hair bobbing up and down. Suga opens the door and steps out into the hallway, next to the staircase that runs through the entire height of the building, laughing gently. “What perfect timing.”
Akaashi cocks an eyebrow. “And why is that?”
Pressed into his hands is a stack of papers, a little teal post-it that says for A.K on the front of it. Akaashi extends his arms and pulls the fat wad of papers into his chest securely, feeling the knot in his stomach slowly begin to unravel, the surge of adrenaline that had been pumping through his body since the early hours of the morning beginning to dissipate. His hand grasps the bannister rail beside him as the encroaching sensation of weak legs begins to rattle his bones, nearly causing him to collapse onto the floor if it weren’t for his vice tight grip on the polished wood. Even though he’s rattled and panicked on the inside, to Suga, he looks composed, rock solid, but most importantly, grateful.
“Where did you find it? I’ve been looking for this all day.”
“Well you didn’t look hard enough, ha!” Suga tuts, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “Our editor had it with her for most of the day, she snatched it up accidentally this morning when grabbing a cup of tea downstairs. She’s been in back-to-back meetings all day, carrying it under her laptop until, when she got back to her desk, she realised she had that with her. She didn’t think twice about it, which shows how busy she’s been today. I realised it was yours as I literally delivered it to you on Thursday. Sorry for not noticing it sooner, or heading up to you faster, she did tell me to pass on her apologies and she hopes she didn’t slow you down.”
Akaashi shakes his head politely, “no no, not at all, I had plenty to do anyway.” Just about.
Suga lets out a sigh of relief. “Oh good, I’ll let her know. She would have given it to you herself but she had to go to another meeting. That’s what happens when you’re an editor for two titles and a contributing editor for many others, it can be so taxing, she barely has time to focus on her own stuff.”
“Well, tell her from me that it’s okay and I hope she is able to find a moment to breathe. Monday meetings are awful enough already.”
“Tell me about it,” Suga crosses his arms over his chest, leaning on the glass panelled wall to his left, scooting over a little as someone tries to get past the duo to enter the first floor. “Is it the same for you guys on the manga department? I feel like she’s been in a lot of meetings for some important event that’s coming up, but nothing’s been said on her end yet.”
“No not really,” Akaashi mirrors Suga and leans onto the wall on his right. “My manager’s been in a lot of meetings recently as well though, but it doesn’t faze me as they’re never of any relevance to us as a department. Those meetings are mostly wider business check-ins to stay in the loop of what everyone else is up to, I guess.”
“Would hate that to be my life. Meetings, meetings, meetings. How boring.”
Akaashi mulls in agreement, then once again thanks Suga for the return of the missing manuscript. As Akaashi is about to bound up the staircase, he stops halfway up the first set, turning around to catch Suga just before he slips through the glass doors behind him. “Hey Suga,” he calls for him. Suga swiftly turns back around, palm on the handle, looking up curiously at a towering Akaashi, the glasses on the bridge of his nose starting to slip slightly that he pushes them up gently. “If you’re free after work this evening, would you like to join me in playing some volleyball with Bokuto, Kuroo, Hinata and Atsumu? If you do join, it’ll mean we have an even amount of players.”
Suga grins even wider.
-
The two corporate comrades are sat on the floor of a booked and busy gymnasium, several courts packed with players, the scent of sweat and healthy competition circulating the air. Suga is re-lacing the volleyball shoes that Bokuto let him borrow for the evening, Akaashi drinking water from his trusty steel bottle that’s stuck by his side since his high school days, his sticky back pressing against the cool brick wall as he feels the ice cold liquid running through his insides. The air conditioning is overworking tenfold too hard as it attempts to blast cool air through the gym, but is barely keeping up with the thermal energy bouncing off the floor and walls in the shape of a volleyball. Hinata and Atsumu practise their setting techniques together in this short interim of a break, while Kuroo is leaning over a cart of spare balls to talk to a girl who obviously doesn’t notice the glowers from her friends from behind her, their feet tapping impatiently, arms folded across their chests as they wait for her return so they can crack on with the game. Bokuto is not seen but definitely can be heard on the other side of the large gym, hooting and hollering at a band of young teenage boys who are mocking his stark white hair.
Suga is the first to break the silence between them. “I think I’ve said it before, so forgive me if this sounds repetitive, but I like hanging out with you guys. It makes me feel like my life isn’t just work, teacher training, and going back home. A rinse and repeat cycle. You guys add a nice variety to my evenings.” He compliments, shifting onto his other leg as he works on the next shoe, eyes downcast, cheeks a little flush from the heat and the embarrassment in his confession.
“Why thank you, I will let the boys know you said that,” Akaashi raises his water bottle, tilting it towards Suga in acknowledgement. “You’re more than welcome to join us whenever you can. We try to play a few games of volleyball three times a week – Bokuto, Atsumu and Hinata’s schedule is so flexible, it incentivises me and Kuroo to make time as and when we can, especially as our schedules are quite structured. Doing this gets us moving around more; I don’t want to age faster than I should just because I sit at a desk for eight hours a day.” Akaashi takes another swig.
“I completely agree, and even though I’m not playing professionally like the three over there, I loved volleyball. It’s the camaraderie, the adrenaline, the excitement that got me amped up to play a game. Movement is necessary to prevent ageing limbs, but the thrill I get from playing again, especially with you guys, is what heals my soul.” Suga wistfully looks off into the distance, eyes dancing across the courts to the people setting, spiking, serving, defending. The sounds of rubber against waxed flooring fills the silence between the two, Akaashi’s head lolled back, the crown of his head resting on the wall, feeling sweat dripping down the side of his face and trickling along the smoothness of his neck. They sit there together, patiently, observantly, watching the gymnasium come to life with laughter, playful banter, slight hostility and most importantly a sense of achievement.
A clicking noise wakes the duo from their reverie and they look up to a bent over Kuroo, left hand in front of Akaashi’s face to snap him out of his daydream. He’s grinning from ear to ear with his sultry cheshire smile that sends a slight chill down Akaashi’s spine as, when Kuroo smiles like that, something sinister is afoot. Kuroo helps both boys up, either hand extended to hoist them to their feet and they skeptically look between them, then back to Kuroo until he leans in close to them, his nose almost touching them. “Do you wanna raise the stakes a little? Losing team has to pay for the girls’ dinner.” He juts out a thumb behind him and the boys look over his shoulders to see the girl he was talking to earlier and her friends. They’re talking amongst themselves, looking over at Kuroo and then giggling, scuttling over back to their court.
Akaashi frowns. “You pissed them off because you were hogging their teammate so you offered to take them out to dinner, didn’t you?” he asks pointedly.
“Aww, look at you, you’re so clever, aren't you little Keiji?” Kuroo ruffles Akaashi’s hair and laughs at him as he dodges Akaashi’s right hook coming at him at full speed. “Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve hung out with some pretty girls.”
“It’s literally been two days.”
“Which is an eternity in Kuroo years,” Suga rolls his eyes. “But I’m down for this wager. Me, Akaashi and Astumu will be on a team together.”
There’s a mischievous glint in Kuroo’s eyes. “Pretty Setter Squad, how will the three of you cope, huh?” Kuroo turns to the other two. “Dumb and dumber, where’s Bokuto? Well then, Hinata, get his ass over here, we have a game to win!”
And both parties had a game to win, with the Pretty Setter Squad taking the lead for most of the sets — and for short sets, they were surprised the three idiots could barely catch up. The setters managed perfectly in synchronised harmony, knocking the holy trinity of coolness, speed and power in one embarrassing swoop. The gap between the points were too large, along with Kuroo’s boastful ego in thinking he could outsmart both Akaashi and Suga, the two brains of the game, and Atsumu’s impulsive quick-on-his-feet tendencies, to which Akaashi and Suga adapted well to, falling into step naturally. Kuroo collapses to his knees, panting heavily, painfully, as he realises Hinata and Bokuto will not be contributing to the bill as he is still waiting for their share of the rent for the past three months. Hinata takes this game in jest, proudly congratulating Atsumu on his setting skills, but Bokuto takes it to heart too much, slumping onto the ground alongside Kuroo, whining, wondering when did ’Kaashi get so good… I didn’t know ’Sumu could spike that hard… can he spike harder than me? Kuroo doesn’t want to hear it right now, he’s too busy playing mental maths in his head on whether he can afford to pay for six girls’ meals.
“Those girls over there,” Kuroo says, speaking to anyone who will listen to him, “do they look like the type who will eat a lot?”
“They just played four rounds of volleyball, Kuroo,” Hinata muses, “I’d expect them to be just as ravenous as us.”
“Okay. Good to know I’ll be putting myself in an obscene amount of debt after tonight.”
Nonetheless, Kuroo was raised right and dusts himself off, pridefully striding over to the band of girls who are slinging their gym bags across their shoulders, expressing his eagerness politely and how he will only be a few mere moments while he collects his friends to join them. The girls nod and exit the gymnasium, which is now becoming emptier as the clock ticks on, signalling dinner time is on the horizon and everyone has exhausted themselves into a well-earned hunger. Bokuto’s depression disappears as quickly as it arrives once he hears his growling stomach, complaining about how he needs food immediately, Atsumu parroting the same complaints, so it’s up to Suga to push them along to the exit so they can all make tracks to the nearest restaurant that will take in the rowdy lot. As Akaashi heaves his bag onto his shoulder, a quick glance behind to check everything has been picked up, he wanders behind the stragglers, exiting the gymnasium and into the open foyer of the leisure centre. Making their way to the exit, they pass the glass windows of the leisure centre’s gym, with its treadmills, weights and miscellaneous equipment, to which Akaashi looks inside at, observing everything his eyes can see, as he always does.
Nothing strikes him out of the ordinary, with the gym being much fuller than the courts. Many machines being used, most treadmills and spin bikes in operation. He turns to make his way toward the exit and into the, hopefully, cool summer air, but feels something drawing him to look over to the gym for one last look, a nagging feeling in his stomach that tells him to look again, closer, be even more observant than he is right now, but he can’t see anything other than a towering myriad of machines. He doesn’t understand why the hairs on his skin have risen. Akaashi shakes his head, blaming dehydration and lack of carbohydrates the reason for why his brain is feeling a little delirious and falling victim to the voices inside of his head, skipping ahead to catch up to the rest of the boys as they embark on their journey to find a restaurant that will not only seat many of them, but also provide a deliciously hearty meal.
Suga is looking down at his phone as the two of them traipse languidly behind the raucous bunch, each of them chatting ardently to the girls they’re aiming to please. A faint smile tickles Suga’s lips, and his fingers fly over the keyboard.
“Who’s got you smiling this evening?”
“Just the work group chat,” Suga says. “After you invited me out to play volleyball, I told my team and it encouraged them to do some fitness this evening, even in the heat. Some have gone to pilates, others a walk around the neighbourhood, the editor went for a run and to the gym this evening,” Suga leans over and scrolls through the chat, showing Akaashi messages and photos of what everyone’s been getting up to. Lots of ‘you’ve got this!’ messages, and motivating gifs, photos of sunshine, asphalt, selfies and more flooding the space on the screen.
“That’s so wholesome. You guys seem like a tight knit team, it’s rare to find those these days.”
Suga hums. “You’re right, and I’m fortunate that I ended but being this team’s admin assistant. From what others have told me, it was never like this before. Everyone did their own thing, until the current editor, the one on Musing that I told you about joined from a different part of the company.”
“What did she do?” Akaashi asks inquisitively, eagerly, a peculiar feeling in his stomach that beckons him to learn more. That’s just who he is, right? Someone who is always wanting to learn more. That’s the only explanation he can think to give himself right now.
Suga mulls for a moment, thinking about it hard, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration until they begin to relax as he starts to speak, “I guess she just wanted to have more communication on the team. Everyone just did their own thing, in and outside of work, no questions asked. She implemented morning meetings twice a week, so everyone could touch base professionally, but also gave the team the opportunity to chat about things going on in their lives. She made the group chat too, which a lot of people were against but now they’re the most active users in it, can you imagine? She’s also just really good at her job and passionate about it, so she keeps morale high, along with making an efficient workflow that complements both schedules for Musing and the other magazine, Ablume. It’s just small things like that which have helped her become liked.”
“Well, not so much by that guy the other day,” Akaashi quips, laughing lightly.
Suga rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, he’s a useless man as it is anyway, just a sourpuss who isn’t impressed with the editor’s rise through the ranks. I think he’s just bitter because he applied for the job and didn’t get it, but the according to some, the publisher took one look at his resumé and just put it at the bottom of the pile – I don’t blame them!”
“Well, she seems like the good choice. She sounds like a very hard worker.”
Ardently nodding his head in agreement, there’s a twinkle in Suga’s eye. “She most definitely is. She loves her job, but loves her team more. You should definitely come down to our area on the floor the next time you’re available, and before I leave the company too. It’d be nice for me to introduce you both.”
“I’d really like that.”
“In some ways, she reminds me of you.”
Akaashi lets out a light laugh, flushing in a reddish tinge at the compliment. “Well, if you say she’s like me, then I’m sure I’ll get along with her nicely.”
author's note: when writing this all i could do was imagine my office when writing this lmfao. i feel like i'm making tracks on the narrative, a lot of ideas bouncing around in my head and i'm excited to put them to paper, sometime soon! hope you enjoy, thank you so much for reading!
AFTER THE RAIN ; akaashi keiji x reader.
A sweltering hot summer in Tokyo, a projected four-week forecast of sun and blue skies for as far as the eye can see, it’s on a Tuesday in June while the heavens split open – briefly, momentarily, a monsoon that lasts minutes – when Akaashi Keiji falls in love.
masterlist.
1: warm
Sticky with sweat from the night, lying on his front as he languidly kicks the sheets so they ripple and pool at the bottom of his feet, Akaashi puts his hands over his eyes, the summer sun already kissing him hello and good morning. While his friends envy Akaashi’s west facing living room in his apartment, they also congratulated him for snagging a rarity of an apartment like this in the middle of Tokyo where everything is right on his doorstep – convenience stores, a stellar bakery, highly rated restaurants. Though he also has to remind them that he made a big sacrifice when purchasing this apartment, that his bedroom is east facing therefore every summer morning he wakes up before the whole world has a chance to stretch their arms above their heads and compliment the beautiful day ahead. It’s a sacrifice worth paying for, but some days, such as today, Akaashi regrets the biggest financial decision he ever had the privilege of making.
His hands fumble for his phone on his bedside table, yanking it off the charger and it smugly notifies him of the time, the bright white lettering taunting him, causing him to grimace in annoyance. With a groan, a huff, a throwing of the phone onto the floor and watching it ricochet off the corner of the bed post and landing straight into the T-shirt he pried off his body in the middle of the night because it was becoming second skin, Akaashi contemplates if sacrificing curtains in his bedroom was worth it after the consistent 4:45am wake up calls for the past few weeks. His reasoning for no curtains was based on the fact he voluntarily wanted to wake up to the sun, allowing his body’s circadian rhythm to align with natural daylight hours, but he made this decision in February when he first got the keys to the property and has now made his bed, he just unfortunately can’t lie in it long enough for a good night’s sleep.
Begrudgingly, which is going to set up his mood for the whole day, he hoists himself out of his bed that has been too hot to handle these last few weeks and slams his bedroom window shut, giving the sun a swat of indignation before stomping his way to the bathroom that’s on the other side of the apartment, away from the rays that dapple across his bedroom floor. Immediately, as soon as he crosses his bedroom’s threshold, his body temperature drops, the icy touch of shadows pinpricking his skin. There had been times he considered crashing on the bathroom tiles during his witching hour relief because of how cold they were on the soles of his feet, but he knew his back wouldn’t forgive him in the morning. So there he was, the pads of his toes firmly planted on the black and white mosaic of the bathroom floor, hand on hip as he brushes his teeth in his regular routine (thirty seconds for each corner, an extra minute all around ‘just in case’). The shower spurts on, a pool of tepid water washing over him, cleansing him of a night of relentless sweating and bites from unbidden guests who flew their way through an open window (that didn’t even do its job in providing a gentle breeze).
The added benefit of being up before everyone else is that he can take his morning as slow as he likes, gently manoeuvring through the morning as he does his bed, sweeping every minuscule crease away, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of his mirror to do his hair in its gently persuaded tousle, the curls falling in all the right places. Akaashi has always admired a simple way of living, with minimal noise and clutter around his workspace as a tidy space is a tidy mind. Everything in the apartment has a dedicated space, set with intention, with mugs arranged in uniform fashion, trinkets gifted from loved ones displayed in pride of place where they can see it when they make surprise visits, his clothes are all pressed, hamper never filled to the brim but instead emptied and washed in a timely manner so he never runs out of the essentials. He believes that by intentionally making room for things in your life, especially in the place you expect to spend the majority of your time in, you’re able to live calmly, comfortably and without the stress and headache of wondering where things were. While his friends jest that he’s too much of a neat freak, revelling in their university days of apartment sharing and finding ways to stress Akaashi out by moving his bowls into a different cupboard, turning his room upside down (literally, it took Bokuto and Kuroo a whole day and twelve rolls of duct tape), or even hiding the laundry detergent from him for a week so he had to suffer with a full hamper, they also appreciate that is just his nature.
The only thing, and only valid aspect of his living quarters, is the way his books are arranged. Bokuto and Kuroo expected the books to be organised by author name, or publisher, maybe even colour coordinated for a truly aesthetic look, where one of them suggested a feature wall in his apartment that is full of books, but Akaashi did not heed their advice. Instead there are books strewn all over the place — the kitchen is covered with dog-eared cookbooks that rarely get used as Akaashi’s preferred method of cooking after a hard day’s work is by scrolling on a food delivery app for his catch of the day; the bathroom has some interesting magazines for when someone is occupied for longer than a piss, guests perpetually delighted by his dedication to rotate the material monthly; there is no room to breathe at his desk as every possible inch is covered with either books, papers, or a combination of both. The irony of his desk is that his pencils have a pot to go into, his laptop has a specific location in where it sleeps, his plant cannot be moved by a single centimetre or it throws him off, but it’s his books that are the only exception and have the liberty in ruling his space. His bedroom is the worst of them all, eight books encroaching his bedside that he just about made enough room for a lamp and his phone, and the shelves above his bed and the adjacent wall is cluttered with hardbacks pressed against paperbacks, the poetry lost in the sauce of non-fiction spiel, dust covers hanging on for dear life as they are crushed and crumpled from the weight of his editorial style guides supplied to him by work.
With that being said, before even picking out his clothes, Akaashi decides on which one of his books he should take with him for his commute to work. After finally deciding on one that he’s close to finishing and ready to shelve, or more likely strewn somewhere other than a designated space, Akaashi weighs the options for the day, contemplating if it’s professional enough to go to the office in his old high school volleyball T-shirt that has seen better days and some running shorts. He opts for a baby blue button down and grey slacks, an emergency tie in his pocket for good measure if anyone questions his lack of sensibility in office attire, and makes his way to the kitchen to start off with the most important meal of the day. However, Akaashi favours liquid diets, especially in the morning, and chooses a cup of piping hot coffee over a nutritious serving of anything else. He is typically seen nursing a cup of coffee, black as he prefers it, at all times of the day, but in the morning he regularly knocks back two cups to keep him from crashing before having to leave for the office at 7am. He has his morning read in his left hand, which was yesterday’s newspaper as he never even had a chance to get to the back where all the advertisements are, coffee in his right. He slinks in the corduroy armchair. The only audible sounds for the next hour and a half are of the clock ticking and Akaashi sipping on his coffee, indulging in each word, ardently turning each page to the next and just as he’s finishing his daily digest of pop culture, his alarm faintly rings, giving him a ten minute warning before he has to make tracks.
The newspaper is folded perfectly in the middle, then thrown onto the walnut coffee table, nearly knocking the perfectly aligned remotes in the top right corner. Akaashi prepares his second brew, listening to the whirring of the machine and watching the way the dark liquid pours scintillatingly hot straight into his flask. Regardless of him complaining about the summer heat, he will not sacrifice his warm cup of coffee at the mercy of the blazing season. There is a tug at the back of his mind that encourages him to observe the weather forecast for the day and he is not surprised to see that clear blue sunny skies are projected for the entire day, and the next day, and for the next four weeks according to meteorologists. It’s the longest dry spell Tokyo has seen in a long time, which should be concerning and the topic of the town for the majority of the world, but people are too busy sticking their heads far into their phones that they’re barely able to hold a two minute conversation without getting distracted. The curse of short-form content and the death of critical thought Akaashi vehemently thinks to himself as he walks past his untouched umbrella resting in the genkan, a slight layer of dust beginning to settle on the top of the handle.
Spring showers give summer flowers, but the last time Akaashi recalls using his umbrella feels like an eternity ago. His left hand toys with the lint in his pocket, cross body slung across his shoulder and the sleeves of his shirt are already rolled up to his elbows as he didn’t expect it to already be reaching highs of twenty degrees before 10am. As he traipses down the stairs of his nearest subway station, he is immediately greeted with a wall of people, each one packed like sardines on the platform. Heads hung low, eyes boring into their phone screens, thumbs habitually scrolling through reams of posts, short-form content, instinctively pressing the like button on each reel without even watching it the whole way through. Akaashi doesn’t like to admit he has some sort of superiority complex in being the only person on the platform with a book tucked underneath his arm, as he too indulges in some well-deserved brain rotting, but he’s too tired to even get his phone out of his pocket to change the song that’s accidentally been set to repeat, what makes you think he has the energy to absorb an immense amount of content when he barely slept a wink last night? Even his book isn’t able to curb his appetite right now as he manages to slip through the doors of the metro, hand fishing for an empty space on the rail above his head. The song restarts for the umpteenth time, slowly disappearing into white noise as he stares straight ahead at the view of the platform through the windows, watching it slowly whir into a blur.
The commute tends to err on the side of thirty minutes, yet it feels like an eternity as the air conditioning in the carriage staggers to a halt and everyone is left inhaling thick, hot air that could easily be cut with a knife. People fish for their handheld fans, others fashioning an impromptu one using a few pages from their newspaper, prying their workwear away from their sticky sweaty skin so the patches don’t show. Akaashi is thankful he layered the deodorant on thick this morning, periodically checking for any stains that could be used as ammunition in the regular day-to-day workplace banter. His glasses keep slipping down the bridge of his nose, the pad of his index finger continuously pushing them up and by the time the twenty minute ride is up, everyone lunges out of the carriage and into more stifling heat. It’s at times like this he wishes he could work from home instead as at least his desktop fan will be more reliable than the metro’s. Of course it had to be his luck it was the carriage he was in, and as he grumbles about the misfortunate situation while making a stomp for the office, the same song is still repeating in his ears.
“Well, isn’t it warm out there,” one colleague huffs, “thank goodness for the air conditioning in here. I am absolutely roasting.”
“You can say that again,” Akaashi agrees, filling his glass up to the brim with ice cold water from the filter, pressing it against his cheek. He lets out a sigh of relief. “The air conditioning in my carriage broke about five minutes into the journey, I would have sweated less if I walked here.”
The colleague laughs, nodding his head in agreement as he stores his lunch in the fridge. Akaashi makes his way to his desk, again, all neat and tidy with the tray organisers, pen pots, the different highlighters and coloured pens for differentiating notes, along with his coaster and simplistic, yet retro looking, digital clock that ticks away. Early bird gets the worm and Akaashi is always one of the earliest ones in the office, appreciating the flexible working hours, which means he can put his head down and get on with his tasks for the day undisturbed. It isn’t for another hour and a half when the office begins to roar with people coming in, another round of complaints about the weather that had already been established earlier by Akaashi and the other colleague. There is the noise of business, or people attempting to look busy because it’s too hard to focus with the sultry sun pouring through the windows, tempting everyone to take a sick day and spend it outside sunbathing. If they could, they would, but they can’t, so they sit at their desks and keep themselves looking busy while they are daydreaming of their next summer vacation somewhere, preferably with a beach view.
A large thud on the right side of Akaashi’s desk causes his bones to lurch out from his skin, jolting him upright in surprise. Hand flying to his heart to make sure it’s still there and beating, he looks up to the culprit and rolls his eyes at the sight of Sugawara. “What are you doing up here?” Akaashi narrows his eyes at him in a playful fashion, lips tentatively curling up in a smile.
“All your manuscripts ended up on my desk this morning. Don’t know how or why, I’d presume they’d realise that we’re the magazine floor, not manga floor.” He taps his finger on the stack of papers. “How have you been though? I feel like I have barely seen you.” Sugawara turns his back to lean against Akaashi’s desk, arms folded across his torso, the sleeves of his white button down also rolled up to his elbows. It appears everyone has abandoned cuffs down to the wrist and buttons up to the top at the office door this morning. There is not a tie in sight.
Akaashi swivels his desk chair to face as sweet as Suga, an appropriate nickname for one of the kindest people in the company. “I’ve been good, hate how fucking hot it’s been recently. I knew I had to come in today to pick up some manuscripts — thank you, by the way — otherwise I would have stayed at home and just done my work there. It seems like there’s barely anyone from my team in, they must have called it quits as soon as they left their homes and beelined it back inside.”
Suga laughs, nodding his head, the soft edges of his silver hair sweeping the top of his forehead. “Our floor is quite busy if you feel lonely up here, the more the merrier. We’re planning on having cold soba noodles for lunch, a huge team get together, along with some ice cream to boost morale. Four weeks of this relentless heat, at first it was pleasant but now I’m getting quite irate.”
“I’ll hold you to that offer if I’m not too busy with all of these,” Akaashi slaps his hand on top of his Everest of the day. “I wasn’t expecting this many, though. Whatever, enough about my day job, how’s the teacher training?”
“Difficult to manage between working here, but insightful nonetheless. Aiming to complete the education and workplace training by the end of this year, then I’ll be qualified and ready to leave this place… no offence, but being an office admin assistant isn’t the most fulfilling of jobs.”
Akaashi smiles in agreement, offering to walk Suga to the elevator. There he bids Suga a farewell, watching the doors closing on him. The publication house covers a multitude of medias, a variety of projects in its portfolio. It has its finger in almost any kind of creative pie you can think of, with podcasts, videography, completing editorial and design work for third party companies and their own bespoke magazines, along with in-house magazines that include lifestyle and fashion, interior design, craft, children’s titles, niche hobbies and more. The publication house’s main stream of income comes from manga, with countless titles underneath its belt and many that have won acclaimed prizes, recognition and are greatly popular with the general public. Akaashi is currently editing three titles, but is also the foreseer of the regularly posted manuscripts that could have potential in becoming a breakthrough release, another notch in the house’s award-winning bedpost. While he is familiar with individuals on other floors, especially those in senior positions, he never finds the time to interact and mingle with them, besides Suga. Even then their lunch breaks never seem to cross paths as Akaashi works through lunch and oftentimes continues working into the late hours of the evening. The manga floor isn’t the most sociable, besides those who work in marketing and advertising around the corner, but those in editorial, fact checking, layout and design, well, they’re content with keeping themselves to themselves and rarely participate in interaction. Akaashi loves this about his job as it allows him to reserve his social battery for his friends after a long day of work.
The clock turns, the pen scrawls, red and blue ink dancing across many pages, the occasional green thrown into the mix. Akaashi cracks his neck, stretching his arms above his head as he looks at the papers in front of him and his laptop pinging with messages from the design team enquiring when pages will be available to be laid out. Akaashi half thinks about ignoring them as he’s gained momentum, reaching the supposed flow state, the latest lingo that he’s learnt from Bokuto who learnt it from a TikTok that was posted by someone born in 2012. (It’s always in Bokuto’s best interest to appear as young as possible, to prolong the innocence of his youth. Everyone else thinks it’s an excuse for him to appear younger than he actually is, to finesse more flirtatious smiles in the club.) The next thing he sees is a notification from Suga asking if he’ll be coming down — has it been four hours already?
Akaashi Keiji: nah sorry, a bit busy up here Sugawara Koshi: lame, lol. the girls were excited when i told them you might be joining us Akaashi Keiji: lol wtf, how do they even know me?? Sugawara Koshi: idk, they were more ecstatic at the fact they could finally place a name to ur face. seems like ur the mysterious ‘glasses guy’ on the manga department. lol you doing anything after work though? Akaashi Keiji: glasses guy lol, a lot kinder than the names i got in high school. re plans - meeting up with bokuto and kuroo. think hinata and atsumu might be there. wanna join? Sugawara Koshi: tempting, tempting… save a spot for me, i finish later than u today Akaashi Keiji: sound stuff. i’ll text you the details
As usual Akaashi is there first, beating everyone by a cheeky ten minutes, Kuroo following suit in a timely fashion and the sunshine trio bounding into the bar in high spirits even after a long day of training. They’re bubbling with glee at the sight of Akaashi, the hermit who has hidden himself away for the last few weeks because he has been too consumed with getting a newly published manga out the door, a project he was commandeering from start to finish and can finally pass onto the marketing team to do their job in plugging it in every available slot possible until the next volume is ready for him to check, but that won’t be for a while. He relays the information of the manga, telling everyone what happened, the best moments, the tribulations, the vile fight he got into with the mangaka about a specific scene that the senior editor had to intervene, smoothing over the bumps in the road, but really they were cushioning my foul language to that idiotic writer.
“What was the scene?” Bokuto leans in towards Akaashi. Everyone somehow follows suit, intrigued.
“It wasn’t anything special, just the fact they got the chronology of the scenes wrong, I tried to explain, they said it was intentional, I didn’t agree, I may have called them braindead in the process and that’s when it escalated.” He shrugs like it’s nothing, taking a sip of his draft beer.
“What happened in the end?”
It was Akaashi’s turn to be smug, “oh, they kept it the way they intended it to and when the feedback arrived for the first volume from marketing, the general consensus was it’s an impressive manga. Though majority of readers were confused by the panel being in an incorrect place. Of course it was the editors who got the flack for this in the forums and discussions, everyone critiquing us for doing an improper job in noticing this error, resulting in our company to issue a statement explaining that in the next batch of printing the panel will be correct. It’s whatever though, a bruised ego later and everyone knows how I was in the right. If you think about it, I’m the one who really won the war.”
Kuroo claps him on the back, his raucous laughter filling the mellow air, “well done on getting the last laugh!”
Everyone fusses over what the other person has been up to, Atsumu speaking highly of his brother’s successful restaurant, Hinata ardently agreeing with how tasty the food is and how kind Osamu has been in personally delivering them with a variety of dishes for team lunches. While everyone is busy catching up, they don’t seem to notice Suga walking through the door, taking a seat next to Hinata, and asking “what’s everyone talking about?”
Everyone is ready to launch out of their seats and into the ceilings, Hinata slapping Suga on the arm for scaring him, then enveloping him in a large hug, squeezing Suga until he turns purple. It’s now everyone else’s turn to poke and prod Suga, asking him many questions about his work, his teacher training, how it’s been going, any kids that have really ticked him off. Of course it’s in Mr Refreshing’s nature to always speak highly of the people he’s worked with, his positive demeanour so radiating it transforms everyone’s pessimistic attitudes into the better. Everyone is curious as to how fortunate Akaashi is able to work with someone he knows quite well from their high school days, though Akaashi compliments how many of them still stay in touch with one another, regardless of distance, time zones and profession, especially with the remaining four.
“Well I mean, it makes sense for me, Bokuto and Hinata to stay close, we’re on the same team after all,” Atsumu takes a swig of his drink and swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, “but I wouldn’t have expected either you or Suga to stay in touch with us.”
“You’re right,” Suga mulls, “I don’t even think I’m a suitable fit for the dynamics going on here, what connection do I have with you all besides coincidentally being work colleagues with Akaashi?”
“Things happen for a reason — if you weren’t here for your teacher training, you wouldn’t have picked the magazine administrative assistant role at the company I work for.” Akaashi notes, lolling his head to the side and lifting his glasses to put on top of his head. “We have the training camp from however many years ago to thank in bringing us all together, so it has never felt awkward with you crows since then.”
Kuroo sighs wistfully, which catapulted everyone into reminiscing over their youth, the cool summer nights at the training camp, the smell of the barbecue, Atsumu petulantly encouraging everyone to talk about something else because he feels left out. The night continued, people beginning to make their way out from the bar as it’s only a Thursday evening, it’s still too early to commit to weekend activities. The six of them languidly exit the bar, thanking the barmen as they walk past, returning their empty pint glasses. Stepping outside of the bar, they’re hit by a gentle breeze, the smell of burning asphalt stinging the air, the sun long gone beyond the horizon. Akaashi sighs in bliss. It’s the first time his body temperature has dropped today.
“It’s so cool this evening, last night was insufferable.”
“What do you mean insufferable? You live on your own, while I’m with these three idiots,” Kuroo juts his thumb out behind him to dumb, dumber and dumbest all rubbing their bellies, whining about how hungry they are and wondering if anywhere will be open. “You’d think for being professional athletes they’d abuse that paycheque on a lavish pad by now. Don’t understand why they’re so insistent in still living with me.”
Suga lets a lighthearted laugh shake his shoulders, “I guess they don’t want you to be on your own. Who else would you have living with you, if not them?”
“I don’t know, but it’d nice to bring some girls around without any of them grossing her out — one of them didn’t lock the bathroom door the other day, she ran out of that apartment as fast as she could and I don’t blame her, I’ve walked in on plenty of horrifying things.” Kuroo shudders. Suga is checks his watch and lets everyone know the last overground train is due shortly, so he’ll need to make tracks fast or he’ll be stranded. “Yeah yeah, go on Suga, get on out of here. We’ll corral the three idiots and ensure they get to bed safely.”
Akaashi waves at Suga, wishing him a safe journey back home and Suga is just about to turn around until something catches his attention to his right, at the entrance of the bar. He exclaims in delight and runs over to the large group of people buzzing from the drinks they consumed during the evening. Suga turns to Akaashi. “Hey, Akaashi, these are the guys from the magazine department!”
Looking back, Kuroo juts his chin towards the group all bubbling with laughter. “Don’t worry about it, it’s not the first time I’ve had to handle these three on my own. I’ll text you later, Keiji.”
“Get home safe,” Akaashi says, watching Kuroo’s back run toward the three musketeers and ushering them away from one of the residential streets.
He turns back to Suga who is fervently talking to everyone, repeatedly glancing down at his watch and clasping his hands together, apologising for the rush in speech. Akaashi saunters over, hands in his pockets, glancing at everyone. Faces he’s seen before in passing, in the elevator, in the canteen, sometimes when they wander up on his floor looking for a specific person and he’s pointed them in the right direction. Akaashi politely introduces himself. He notices the women looking at him with interest, giggling amongst themselves, elbows in ribs and whispers in ears, putting the two together and realising that this is the lunch bunch who were excited to meet him, it just ended up happening serendipitously later in the day. A taller guy asks him questions on the recent manga debacle with the incorrect panel, Akaashi lying through his teeth about the editorial error, the guy laughing, a flippant comment about how that wouldn’t happen on his watch.
“But it did, didn’t it? Wasn’t until —”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, she noticed my mistake before it went to print, but even then she didn’t notice it when it was in her lap.”
Suga furrows his brows, “I don’t think it’s in your jurisdiction to be badmouthing about your senior when they’re not even here. Besides, did she even do anything wrong?”
Nosey, Akaashi buts in. “Badmouth who?”
“One of the magazine editors, she oversees the contemporary fashion portfolio, the ones for young women. Her biggest title is Musing. Just because this idiot,” Suga sticks his thumb out in the direction of the tall guy who can barely hold his balance, “is annoyed at her for picking out a mistake that he shouldn’t have even made in the first place. You make it sound like it was a typo when you literally got the entire interview wrong, dates, timelines, even the actress’ name. And you didn’t even give it to her until it went to print and everyone was checking the PDFs. Like are you serious?”
“Ooh, Suga’s got you there,” one of the shorter women giggles, hand over her mouth as she sheepishly bats her eyelashes at the tall guy, his face turning into a bright shade of beet pink even Akaashi can see in the dark, without his glasses on.
Flustered, the guy stammers and then shrugs a whatever I’m heading home, gruffly stuffing his hands in his pockets as he pivots in the opposite direction to everyone else. Suga shrugs at Akaashi and then looks down at his watch again, letting out a panicked yelp before bowing repeatedly to his seniors, thanking them for their time and that he must urgently go to chase for his train. Suga extends his arm to Akaashi, squeezing his shoulder and thanking him for a lovely evening before putting his legs to use and sprinting towards the station.
In the middle of the road, surrounded by a band of women and the remaining men prying themselves away to smoke a cigarette, Akaashi can feel four pairs of eyes boring straight through him. If Kuroo just stayed that little longer at least he could throw Akaashi a safety net to latch onto. Being the polite person he is, he graciously bows and lets them know he’s appreciative to finally meet them and will hopefully see them again soon, circumventing around any comments and queries about phone numbers, what neighbourhood he lives in, oh I can walk with you- and he politely declines the request, encouraging the women to get taxi services and to stay together as there is safety in numbers. Before they can even say anything else he has left smoke in his trail, his pace quickening around the corner as he pounds down the street in the hopes they haven’t ignorantly followed him. During his high school years it was always the girls chasing after Bokuto’s outlandish and colourful personality, Akaashi a mere bystander who would be the one receiving the gifts on behalf of Bokuto, but since adulthood and he hasn’t had Bokuto on his side to absorb his limelight, somehow all the women have begun to gravitate to him, especially in the workplace. He’s fortunate the manga department, the oldest and therefore the most established department in the company, is full with married women who pay him a few seconds of attention before they are reminded of the metal singeing their finger.
The first thing Akaashi does when he returns to his apartment isn’t turning on the fan, it isn’t stripping himself of his clothes and launching himself in the cool shower. It isn’t even getting his book out to cram in a few minutes of reading as he finally has the energy to do so. Instead he walks over to his desk, switching on the tabletop light and fishing for his work laptop out of his bag. He logs onto the company’s media archive. It is packed with every single content they’re able to digitise, some files dating back to a magazine’s inception, others only as far as three years ago, the rest of the files corrupted and destroyed during the technical migration (they’re just fortunate they have hard copies stowed away safely). He searches for the lifestyle magazines, a catalogue full of variety that targets different demographics. He massages his temples to gently jog his memory, coercing his brain to fish out the name of the magazine Suga mentioned and when he recalls it, hazily as he’s still a little tipsy, he looks for the editor’s letter.
And there’s a letter, but no photo. And her name is on the flannel on the right-hand side of the introduction page, but again, no photo. He digs through other magazines, a different editor for each one, but her name still makes its appearance on the masthead, for some she’s the commissioning editor, others she’s the publishing editor, but not the editor of that specific magazine. Her presence is still felt on each page and Akaashi is curious about this woman, fingers on his lips, eyes squinting at the brightly lit screen searching for her in the pixels. He searches the staff portal — no photo. Googles her — nothing tied to her. This woman has less of a digital footprint than he does, where he only has fifty followers and no profile photo on his Instagram.
Whatever, he thinks, exasperated, and shuts the laptop with a little annoyance, making his way to the bathroom to wash the events of the day away. He contemplates if tonight is the night he makes his bed on the bathroom floor, not looking forward to yet another 4:30am wakeup call.
author’s note: i appreciate any kind words thrown my way. thank you for taking the time to read this! i hope to deliver the second chapter sometime soon!
