He really hopes it's not the alcohol putting words into your mouth. And you really hope it's the alcohol getting rid of what was stopping him.
cw. alcohol!! mutual pinning, best friends to lovers, drunken & awkward confession with a side of bad grammar. wc. 2.4k
note. hello @kuwau !! hoping you enjoyed your summer this year. here's a small gift for you as a part of the summer exchange fic by @sodaneko. not gonna lie i was very anxious about this one T-T hoping you'd like it though!!
"I got dressed a full ten minutes before my alarm went off you know."
Aran said by way of greeting. He didn't sit immediately; he stood over your stool, his massive frame blocking the light from the beer sign behind him. He looked down at you, a mix of genuine exhaustion and mock betrayal on his face. Though he couldn’t hide the rush of blood on his cheeks the moment he saw you. "I even skipped the extra stretching routine just to beat you here. How the hell are you already on your second drink?"
You didn't look up from your glass, just swirled the melting ice. a soft smile appearing on your face at the sound of the familiar voice that belonged to your best friend.
"You can never beat me, Ojiro. I’ve been sitting here for exactly ten minutes." you continue with a teasing smile, "im always earlier than you."
The counter at the bar was worn smooth by years of spilled bourbon and cheap beer, the exact kind of dive that you other best friend, Atsumu would call "lacking aesthetic" and Osamu would judge for its subpar fried food. Which was exactly why you and Aran chose it. It was your sanctuary from the others who would always find a way to join you two.
"You're so egoist." he muttered but you know he's joking. finally sliding onto the stool next to you. avoiding to look at you again for some reasons he can't tell. The wood groaned slightly under his weight. He caught the bartender’s eye and pointed a thick finger at your glass. "Whatever they’re having. Make it a double."
The race of being the early one to reach a spot was a petty, unspoken war you both had waged since you were eighteen. To anyone else, arriving ten minutes early looked desperate, but between you two, it was a secret challenge, which in six years, Aran had only ever won twice — almost like you possessed an almost supernatural ability to beat him all the time.
"Big day at the Falcons?" you teased, leaning your elbow on the bar to look at him.
"Every day is a big day when your setter thinks practices involves throwing a volleyball at the back of your head," Aran sighed, though there was that familiar, small tuck at the corner of his mouth that meant he was secretly pleased to be back in the chaos. He loosened the collar of his jacket. "But let's talk about you. How's the thing?'
"The thing?"
"You know, your life. your job."
You deadpan at him for using the word 'thing' for your life, but you know it meant no harm.
"It's okay, could have been worse." you continue, "spent four hours today explaining to a fifty year old man why he couldn't use a fancy font for a legal brief. My brain is soup. If I hadn't been doing a site visit three blocks from your apartment, I would have gone home and slept for a week."
"But you didn't." His voice dropped slightly, losing the sharp, sarcastic edge. It was lower now, mixing with the low hum of the bar's jukebox. "You came here."
"Obviously. Someone has to make sure you don't turn into a mad man from being too lonely, kita-san would kill me."
Aran laughs, a low, rumbling sound that vibrates right through the sticky wood of the bar and straight into your chest.
It is a devastatingly familiar sound, the exact one that used to make your knees weak just a few years ago. Hearing it now, completely unfiltered and mere inches away, brings the old, familiar ache roaring back.
You feel like the same teenager you, who memorised the exact way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he is genuinely amused, helpless against a crush that had long since deepened into something permanent.
It is a brutal reminder that despite the passage of six long years, the career shifts, and the distance, you are still completely, utterly, and foolishly in love with him!
"Hey? you okay?"
His concerned voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts, bringing you right back to the dim lighting of the bar. You quickly blink away the intense stare you hadn't realized you were giving him, clearing your throat.
"Yeah," you say, offering a quick, reassuring smile as you take another sip of your drink. "Yeah, totally fine. Just thinking about work stuff."
Aran nods, though his eyes linger on you for a second longer, checking for any real distress before he lets it drop. He swirls his own glass, the ice clinking softly against the sides. before taking a sip he says the words; "God i missed you."
Your eyes soften at the words, "I missed you too, how long has it been? four months?" you say gesturing at the bartender to get you another drink.
"yeah, somewhere around that."
you glance at him, "I guess that's adulthood, huh."
he hums, "Hey, when are you free next week?" a rare note of vulnerability slipping into his tone. He turns his head to look at you properly.
"Oh i don't know i have to check, why?"
"There's that new movie playing in the theatre — the sci-fi one we talked about months ago. I was wondering if you'd want to watch it with me. Like we used to."
You smiled, remembering all the movie marathons you had with him. "Yeah, okay. i'll let you know when im free, but you're buying the popcorn. And none of that weird seaweed flavor you like."
"It's not weird," Aran said, being defensive of his taste.
"It's disgusting."
"You're disgusting."
"Your face is disgusting."
"Your mom's face is—actually, your mom's face is very lovely. I ran into her at the market last week."
you roll your eyes, but you're smiling. This is the rhythm of you, the back-and-forth that has sustained you through adolescence and into the strange, liminal space of adulthood.
But as the bartender slid two fresh glasses across the sticky wood, the rhythm started to stutter. Six years is a long time to keep a secret, especially when that secret involves the way your stomach drops every time his shoulder brushes yours in a crowded booth. When you were seventeen, it was easy to hide behind the noise of the twins screaming over a lost set or Kita’s quiet, terrifying presence. Now, in the dim light of a bar in the city, with the specific weight pressing down on both of your shoulders, the space between you felt smaller. And much hotter.
Aran took a long, heavy gulp of his drink. His throat moved as he swallowed, and your eyes tracked the line of his jaw before you could stop yourself. Get it together, you told yourself. He’s your best friend.
Except Aran wasn't looking at the bar mirror anymore. He was looking at your hands.
"You’ve got a new freckle,"
he said abruptly. His voice had the slight thickness that came after two strong drinks on an empty stomach. He reached out, his thumb hovering just above the back of your wrist where your sleeve had hiked up. He didn't touch you —he never did, not unless it was a casual, high-five sort of contact — but the heat radiating from his skin was enough to make your breath hitch. "Right there. Near the bone."
"It's an age spot," you grumbled, trying to keep the sarcasm alive, but it came out thinned, breathless. "I'm decaying, Ojiro"
"Shut up," he said softly. "You look exactly the same."
Aran looked at you now, really looked at you.
Yeah, you've definitely not changed at all.
To him, you were still the most comforting sight in the world, He can still see the same features that he used to see on daily.
Is it weird that your best friend has memorized your features better than you did?
Over the few years, Aran had learned the art of admiring things from afar, while being extremely good at hiding it. It felt like looking at a beautiful gift through a shop window without letting the owner notice it; he could see it every day, but he knew he could never open it to see whats inside.
Just like you — his best friend who he knows should be off limits, yet you were the person who held his heart without ever knowing it. To Aran, you were a beautiful line he was never allowed to cross. He knew that taking one step too close could break the perfect world you had built together, so he stayed right where he was, loving you in total silence.
Is it a bit cliche to fall in love with your best friend?
the answer wouldn’t bother him anyway, since Aran Ojiro has been in love with you since he was seventeen years old, and he knew no matter what, there was no going back.
Sometimes he does wish for a supernatural power that would allow him to control his emotions and he'd stop himself from falling for you.
He doesn't really mind it being a one sided thing though, he's okay with pinning over you for years and hide it deep inside his heart, because if there's anything Aran wants, it's to keep you near him, even if it meant being just a friend to you forever.
But oh how badly he wants to wrap his arms around you and tell you exactly what he's been hiding inside for years.
What am i thinking? aran rubs a hand over his face I need to get my shit together!
"You okay there?"
He glances at you, eyes softening at the sight, don’t you look too beautiful today?
"Yeah — yeah, I'm okay," Aran mumbled, his voice heavy from the alcohol. "Just thinking how beautiful you look — no, I mean...!" He froze, the words slipping out before his drunk brain could stop them.
You stared at him, completely taken aback.
Usually, you would tease him for saying something so silly, but Instead of laughing, you felt a sudden heat rush to your cheeks.
Aran’s eyes went wide as he realized what he just spilled. "I'm sorry," he whispered quickly, looking away. "It's nothing. Just the drinks." He immediately took another sip from his cup, trying to hide behind it. God, he really needed to stop taking sips.
"Ojiro," you said softly, breaking the quiet.
He didn't look up, but his hand tightened around his cup. "Seriously, don't worry about it," he muttered, his voice sounding small and desperate. "I'm sorry it sounded weird i sound weird and—"
"Ojiro," you whispered. "Are you... how much have you had?"
"Not enough," he growled, his face turning a dark, dusky red. He looked cornered, the way he used to look when three blockers closed in on his spike. He slammed his glass down. "Forget I said that. The alcohol is talking. I’m tired. The Falcons—"
"Ojiro." You reached out, your fingers catching the rough fabric of his sleeve, pulling him back before he could turn his stool away. "Don't do that. Don't do the 'forget it' thing."
That's just what you’ve been doing, that's what both of you keep on doing. Forgetting it, avoiding it. Putting things off for years.
But you don't want to do that anymore, not when you’re suddenly feeling so confident.
The bar seemed to lose all its ambient noise. The jukebox was still playing some old city-pop track, but your ears were ringing. You stared at him, your glass frozen halfway to your mouth.
"Yeah." He took another drink, his movements getting a little more clumsy, a little more deliberate. "Because I spend three months in Osaka thinking I’ve finally gotten over it, and then you show up with your stupid stories and your stupid hair, and I’m right back at eighteen, sitting on your porch wondering if you’d hit me if I tried to hold your hand."
He stopped. His broad shoulders rose and fell with a heavy breath. When he turned back to you, his eyes were wide, glassy with the liquor but intensely focused.
"I've been sick with it," he said, the words spilling out now, rough and unpolished. "For years. Every time Atsumu asks why I don't have a girlfriend, I want to punch him because the only person I want to take out to dinner is currently complaining about my taste in popcorn next to me. do you see that? see how close we are? I didn't want to ruin this. Us. But I'm drunk, and you're here, and I’m just... I'm tired of pretending I don't look for you in every crowd after a game. Because im a coward who's in love with his best friend."
Your heart was hammering against your ribs so hard it felt bruised. "You think you're the only one?" your voice cracked. "I literally took a job three blocks from your house, Aran. I don't even like this ward. I stayed here because I knew you'd come to this specific, terrible bar if I texted you."
Aran blinked, processing the words through the alcohol-induced fog. "You — what?"
"I'm in love with you, you idiot," you said, the honesty tearing out of you like a sob, though your face remained tight. "I've been in love with you since our third year."
He stared at you, his mouth slightly open. For a professional athlete capable of split-second decisions on the court, he looked entirely frozen.
He really hopes it's not the alcohol putting words into your mouth.
And you really hope it's alcohol getting rid of what was stopping him.
"You—you loved me?
"Thats what i said, didn’t i?"
When he pulled back, just an inch, "We're drunk," he murmured, "This is... you're going to wake up tomorrow and think the liquor did this."
"It didn't," you said fiercely, gripping the front of his jacket. "I’m making this official right now. I don't care about the booze. I'll still want this tomorrow."
Aran let out a low, shaky laugh, His eyes were half-lidded, heavy with sleep and alcohol, but there was a stubborn set to his jaw.
"No," he said gently, his voice rumbling in his chest. "We’re going to go home. I’m going to walk you to your door, and I’m going to go to sleep. And tomorrow morning, when my head feels like it’s exploding and I’m completely sober — I’m going to come back to your place, knock on your door, and ask you to be my partner properly. That's where it will be official, Because you deserve more than a confession in a place that smells like old grease. "
You looked at him, your chest aching with a warmth that had nothing to do with the double you'd just downed. "You're a stubborn bastard, Ojiro."
"Yeah," he smiled, leaning down to press one more small, lingering kiss to the tip of your nose, something he hasn’t done in a while. "But I'll be your stubborn bastard tomorrow."
