Chapter 8: Talking About
Summary: In which Akashi compromises.
"You've been avoiding me."
Akashi Seijuuro is scary.
Not in the way that ghosts or monsters are; the terror isn't of something unknown or supernatural. Instead, Akashi is scary in the way that weapons are scary; the gleaming blade of a knife, the weight of a loaded gun. The fear is invoked from the knowledge that danger is apparent – an instinctual survival response directly proportional to the degree of potential crisis.
And right now, Furihata stands in the parking lot of the ryokan before a very real, very apparent crisis.
"Ano… I- I can explain." Furihata says, trying his best to stop his voice from being reduced into nothing but a cowardly squeak.
"Oh?" Akashi raises his brows, voice and demeanor deceptively calm. "Do."
"Oh- um." Crap. Furihata hasn't thought that far ahead yet. The whole point of avoiding Akashi was precisely so that he doesn't have to deal with this coming-up-with-a-reasonable-explanation business. Furihata is not unaware of how incapable he is at lying. The stuttering and fidgeting just goes out of control. He's so obvious it's painful. But it's not like telling the truth is an option either, so Furihata will have to come up with a way.
And soon, because Akashi does not look to be in a patient mood – which, in hindsight, is probably Furihata's fault for avoiding him in the first place – and an impatient Akashi is about five times scarier than normal Akashi.
That is, if anything about Akashi can ever be classified as 'normal'.
"Um," Furihata says again, unhelpfully, as he struggles to come up with a reason that doesn't involve confessing his borderline-pedophilic attraction to Akashi.
Akashi crosses his arms, waiting quietly with unblinking red eyes.
It is unnerving how little Akashi is saying. Furihata feels like he is shrinking, inch by inch, with every minute of uncomfortable silence that passes between them. He kind of wishes Akashi would yell at him instead. But, naturally, Akashi doesn't yell. He has been brought up – 'programmed' – in such a way that forbids him from doing so. Instead, Akashi perfected the art of making the absence of speech multiple times more intimidating than any vocal outburst can be.
"I-" Furihata begins when the pressure of Akashi's silent gaze became too much, only to pause after one syllable because he still has no idea what to say. He rolls in his lips, then admits in a quiet voice, "I don't- I don't know where to start."
Akashi blinks, unfazed, "Start from the part when you began to avoid me."
"O-okay." Right. He can work on building an explanation from there. "It was after… yesterday morning."
"Yesterday morning." Akashi nods.
"Yes." Furihata nods back, avoiding his eyes. Absentmindedly, he notes that Akashi still retains the same habit of parroting things other people say; and Furihata tries to convince himself that he doesn't find it adorable.
A minute passes before Akashi realizes that Furihata doesn't plan on continuing. He frowns, impatience growing. Furihata may well be his favourite but there is a limit to how much nonsense Akashi can tolerate.
"Kouki."
"Y-yes?" Furihata looks up.
"Are you going to talk or are we going to stand here under the sun all day?"
"Ano…" Furihata fidgets, "We can move if you want?"
Akashi slowly narrows his eyes.
"I mean- um- yes, I'll talk. Here. Staying right here and talking." Furihata quickly says, wondering why he feels like the scolded child between them when Akashi is ten years his junior. He shifts awkwardly, trying to figure out the best way to go about doing this. "If- I don't know if- I mean- ehh…"
"Yes?" Akashi raises a brow.
Furihata takes a deep breath. "Um- it might be easier if you ask me questions and I- um- answer them?"
"Understood," Akashi nods, and then immediately says, "Why are you avoiding me?"
Furihata gulps, "Eh… is there an option to skip to an easier question first?"
Akashi just looks at him blankly like he hasn't said anything at all.
"R-right." Furihata clears his throat, "Right. Here goes. The reason, eh…"
Akashi waits.
"Uh-" Furihata shuffles on his feet, wishing the ground would just open up, swallow him whole, and take him away from Akashi's red eyes that are glowing like embers at him in sunlight – Akashi's heavy scrutiny causing him to sweat much more than the heat of the sun.
And yet, even as he stands there nervous and slightly terrified, Furihata cannot help but appreciate how attractive Akashi looks in bright daylight. It's unfair. Not to mention incredibly distracting. The sun is at an angle behind Akashi where it forms a halo-like silhouette around his head, and Akashi looks downright like an angel-
-a very scary, pissed-off angel who looks like he's on the verge of reaching out and throttling Furihata if he doesn't speak in the next ten seconds.
Furihata swallows, and repeats, "The reason is-"
"Furi-sensei!" Ami-chan, one of his students, calls out to him from the ryokan's front. "Izuki-sensei told me to tell you we're leaving in five minutes!"
"Oh-!" Furihata nearly lets out a sigh of relief. He turns to Akashi without meeting his eyes, "I- I have to g-"
"Don't."
Akashi's hand spikes out to grab his wrist so fast Furihata doesn't even have time to blink; the speed of a snake jumping on its prey. It is almost like Akashi moved even before Furihata did.
Furihata reflexively tugs his arm but it doesn't budge. Akashi has an iron-grip on him. "A-Akashi-kun-"
"You are not going anywhere."
"But- the bus-"
"I will personally ensure your mode of transport is severely crippled if you insist on leaving without providing me any explanation."
"E-eh?"
Akashi's eyes are completely serious. "I can guarantee the damage will take hours to repair. I'm assuming you do not wish to have to explain to your students' parents why their child's return is delayed until midnight?"
Furihata gapes and quickly shakes his head.
"Good." Akashi glances at his watch, "You have four minutes left. I suggest you start talking."
In all twenty-eight years of his life, Furihata has never felt so much pressure. It's like his first job interview combined with the first time he ever confessed to a girl all mushed together in one massive, frazzling pile of nerves.
How is it possible to find someone so terrorizing to be so fiercely captivating at the same time, anyways? Clearly, there must be something wrong with him because, for some bizarre reason, Furihata finds it kind of hot when Akashi's asserting dominance like this. And that's probably more than a little concerning when Furihata is torn between wanting to run away from Akashi, and wanting to grab Akashi by his yukata and just- just do something he definitely should not be doing to an ex-student.
"Oh my god, stop it." Furihata mutters under his breath.
"Stop what?" Akashi stares at him.
"Ah- no. Um. Nothing. I was- talking to myself."
Furihata gulps. This is bad. This is very bad. Every moment he spends with Akashi only serves to escalate what is only meant to be a silly little crush.
"You have three minutes and thirty seconds." Akashi reminds him, and when Furihata doesn't say anything, the grip on his wrist tightens. "Talk to me."
Furihata blinks at the grip, feeling his fingertips begin to prickle. "Ano, I t-think you're cutting off my circulat-"
"Three minutes, Kouki." Akashi's red eyes glint warningly.
Furihata is completely cornered. His eyes flit up to meet those crimson orbs, and under the sheer intensity of Akashi's gaze, Furihata cracks and it all just comes blurting out in one quick rush, "I just- I can't see Akashi-kun anymore."
There is a flicker of something on Akashi's face which Furihata can't decipher. But it is only there for a split second before it is gone and is instead replaced by a far more hostile, threatening expression. Akashi's jaw clenches, his eyes darkening, and when he speaks his voice is low. Dangerous. "…why not?"
"I- I don't mean forever, just-" Furihata rolls in his lips, "For a while."
"And why is that?" Akashi presses him. The grip on Furihata's wrist is now so tight Furihata can feel his pulse thrumming beneath Akashi's fingers.
Furihata fidgets, "U-um, that is-"
"Furi-sensei! You're going to be left behinddd!"
Furihata can swear he sees Akashi's eyes flashing murder at his student. If looks could kill, poor innocent little Ami-chan would be as good as dead; brutally stabbed, simultaneously bleeding out and twitching on the floor.
He shivers. "I- I'm sorry, I really should go and-"
"Kouki." Those eyes of murder are on him now, and Akashi's glare alone is enough to freeze Furihata on the spot.
For a moment, they just stand there; Akashi looking at Furihata looking at anything but Akashi. Furihata's hand on the gripped side is starting to turn a little pale but he can't feel it – partly because it has gone completely numb, but more so because all he can focus on feeling is Akashi's eyes on him, marking his every move. The faint ticks of their wristwatches are as loud as gongs, and Furihata is running out of time.
In a weak voice, Furihata speaks, "A-Akashi-kun, I really can't-"
"If you think for one second that you can leave me whilst I stand here watching, powerless to stop you, then you're wrong. I won't allow it. You're not slipping away." Akashi's eyes on him are steady, certain. Then, in a quieter voice, he adds, "Not again."
In that moment, Furihata realizes that he is able to decipher what the earlier flicker on Akashi's face was after all. It is far too subtle for anyone else to read, but Furihata can. Not only because he's come to recognize the slightest shifts and minuscule movements of Akashi's muscles, but because Furihata has seen that expression before. Ten years ago, precisely. He's recognized it the moment it passed, it's just that Furihata cannot believe it at first.
Because it's far too hard to believe that Akashi, being the man he is now, would look so- Furihata hesitates to call it 'lonely', because that's not quite accurate; it would've been, ten years ago, when Akashi was eight years old and the only person in his world who really understood him the way he needed to be understood was Furihata. But now it's different. It's not loneliness, but it's close – it's close, but it's different, and at the same time, it's something more. Furihata doesn't have a word for it, only that he knows it makes him ache somewhere deep inside, too.
And before he can stop himself, Furihata reaches out and covers Akashi's hand with his own.
He immediately regrets it; starts mentally beating himself up about it – what the hell does he think he's doing, this is the polar opposite of everything he intended not to do – and is about to let go when, suddenly, it is Akashi who lets go of his wrist. Then, just as swiftly, Akashi turns his palm to cup Furihata's hand in his own (and it never stops startling Furihata how Akashi's hand is bigger than his now, how much he's grown, when the last time Furihata saw him he could easily hide both of Akashi's tiny hands in his one palm).
Their eyes meet, and Furihata's breath catches in his throat at the unexpected tenderness in Akashi's gaze.
They linger like that for what seems like an eternity, ruby red orbs drinking in butterscotch pools, and Furihata's heart is pounding in his chest, in his ears, and he desperately hopes Akashi doesn't hear it too.
Akashi squeezes his hand, and Furihata inhales sharply, feeling the squeeze like a fist at his core.
And Furihata squeezes back, because how can he not? Because that's what they do – him and Akashi – it's become their thing now, and not squeezing back would be equivalent to throwing everything between them in Akashi's face. So Furihata squeezes back, and it means I'm here, and I hear you, still do, just like before and in a tiny belated whisper, always.
And Akashi must have understood, somehow, at least a little bit, because his eyes soften in that particular way that makes Furihata's pulse trip.
"…two days." He says.
"Two days?" Furihata murmurs back dazedly, and he doesn't even realize that Akashi's habit of echoing words has caught onto him as well.
"I will be leaving Kinosaki in two days, at which point I will come find you. We will continue our discussion then," Akashi looks at him, "I'll be expecting a proper explanation by that time."
"O-okay." Furihata agrees easily, because this is- special. It's Akashi compromising, and Furihata doesn't even need to be there for the past ten years to appreciate how rare that is. Akashi doesn't compromise. It's another one of those Akashi-specific things – like not yelling, and not losing. Never losing. "You'll come find me- like- at work?"
"I will find a way which is most convenient."
Furihata doesn't doubt for a second that Akashi will.
"Furihata!" Izuki is waving at him wildly from the lobby, "The bus is leaving! Like, right now!"
"I'm coming!" Furihata calls back, and starts to step away only to realize, belatedly, that his hand is still holding onto Akashi's. "Ah-"
"I'll see you in two days, Kouki." Akashi says and, with one final brush of his thumb over the back of Furihata's hand, he lets go.
Furihata nods, once, then forces himself to start walking, finding his legs stiff. It's an effort to not look back, to not immediately rub his own hand over the spot Akashi has just been touching.
By the time Furihata is seated on the bus and the wheels are rolling, his hand that has been clasping Akashi's is still tingling, and Furihata has to remind himself that he can breathe.
Izuki is peering at him curiously, both eyebrows raised. However, he doesn't ask any questions, for which Furihata is thankful.
Furihata doesn't dare look out of the window, afraid of seeing a certain pair of intense red eyes staring back – afraid of them imprinting on him further, afraid of what they'll make him feel.
Green eyes with too-long lashes are watching Akashi when he walks back into the ryokan.
Subtly, of course, because apart from his miraculous three-pointers and the rather strange obsession with Oha-Asa and fate and lucky items and the like, Midorima Shintarou doesn't do obvious. Not intentionally. Midorima's the type who will beat around the bush so far the hypothetical bush will likely have shriveled up and died before he finally admits he cares.
Which he completely does, though he tries to act like he doesn't, and kind of fails at hiding it through his actions most of the time. Examples include going to watch his friends' matches wearing a – frankly appalling – "disguise"; giving genuine advice masked in insults; and basically his every interaction with Takao Kazunari.
Akashi ignores him, walking right past the taller as though Midorima's as invisible as their phantom sixth player. The thing about knowing someone since childhood – not to mention having played strategic board games against each other their whole lives – is that it gets too easy to predict the other's trail of thought. Akashi knows the look Midorima is (subtly) giving him, and knows that if Midorima has something to say he'll eventually come out and say it.
So when Midorima turns up at his door later that evening, with a doll that looks suspiciously like an egg yolk – Gudetama, his lucky item – tucked under his arm, Akashi is sitting next to a shogi board fully expecting him. "Shintarou."
Midorima nods in greeting and simply takes his place across from him, far past the point of being surprised by Akashi's unnerving ability to anticipate his every action anymore. They play quietly, the only sounds being the sliding of wooden pieces against the board.
Halfway through their third game (Akashi won the first two, but that's nothing new), Midorima finally speaks.
"I recognize him." He says, offhandedly.
"Context, Shintarou." Akashi says, without looking up from the board.
"You are well aware exactly who I am talking about."
"Am I?" Akashi hums disinterestedly, "As far as I'm concerned, you can be talking about the ryokan's receptionist."
Midorima levels his gaze at him, "I am talking about the man whose photo you still keep even after years of not seeing him."
Akashi stills, only for a millisecond, before he continues smoothly, "You've been looking through my library."
It isn't a question, but Midorima nods anyways. "You gave me permission."
"To look for books, yes."
"I was," Midorima notices the slight sharpening of Akashi's tone and momentarily considers dropping the subject, but in the end, he goes ahead. "So it really was him you were talking to this morning."
"Is that supposed to be a question?" Akashi inquires, eyes still on the board, "Because it didn't sound like one. Not to mention, you wouldn't be here discussing this if you were uncertain. Don't waste my time, Shintarou. Get to the point."
"Fine," Midorima crosses his arms, putting their game on pause. "You are fond of him."
"Yes." Akashi replies without missing a beat.
Midorima blinks. "…yes?"
"Yes, I am awfully fond of Furihata Kouki," Akashi says, finally looking up from the board to meet Midorima's eyes. "Your point being?"
Midorima looks perplexed, "You… you actually admit to it."
Akashi tilts his head, "Would you rather I adopt your methods of unsuccessfully concealing your affections through harsh words and hostility? Your point guard may find it charming but I am led to believe he's one of few."
"No, I-" Midorima clears his throat, "I wasn't expecting you to be aware of it, let alone admit it."
"Ah. So you thought you had to take it upon yourself to enlighten me. Of my own mental state." Akashi has a way of speaking that can make even the smartest people feel as incapable as a toddler.
Midorima sighs, "I remember how you were when he left, is all."
Akashi narrows his eyes, "I was a child. I do not see how my actions then are relevant."
"No normal child would do what you did."
"No normal child would persistently tag around outrageous lucky items based on their horoscope on a daily basis, either."
Midorima readjusts his glasses, "Believing in fate is perfectly normal."
Akashi stares at him, "You are preaching normality whilst carrying around a doll which looks like an egg yolk. With a face."
"Gudetama," Midorima clarifies, "And even with my lucky items I was still exponentially more normal than you were as a child."
"I never said I was a normal child."
Midorima can't say he disagrees, and he can't win – that's the frustrating thing about being friends with Akashi – so he moves on. "It doesn't change the fact that Furihata leaving affected you."
"You're saying I should blame him for going to university?" Akashi crosses his own arms, mirroring Midorima's posture. "My eight-year-old self may not have understood it, but I do now. If Takao Kazunari had chosen a different university from you would you resent him for it?"
"Of course not." Midorima frowns, "And that is hardly relevant. It's not the fact that he left. Furihata promised you he would return and did not. That was what affected you."
Akashi shrugs dismissively, "He missed one holiday. One winter. And when summer came my father flew me off to London. By the time I came back it's been four years, he's graduated, and the slot has been missed. It is neither my fault nor Kouki's. "
Midorima stares, "You're protecting him."
"I am stating the facts as they are." Akashi says, calmly.
Midorima observes him and slowly says, once again, "You really must be incredibly fond of him."
"I thought I have stated as much." Akashi uncrosses his arms and goes back to placing another piece on the shogi board as he speaks, "Your concern is appreciated, Shintarou, but it is unnecessary. I am well aware where Kouki stands."
"And that is?"
"Where I want him to be." Akashi's voice is clipped, his red eyes gleaming threateningly, "Exactly where that might be is none of your concern."
Midorima is intelligent enough to let the subject drop after that. There is a line with Akashi, there is always a line, and Midorima isn't about to cross it. Instead, Midorima sits there silently, watching Akashi beat him in shogi for the third time; and he wonders whether what's in front of him is a man who's protecting something precious, or merely a predator possessive over its prey.
"Speaking of which, Shintarou," Akashi says after their game is over, more tranquil now in his victory. "I have a favor to ask of you."
Furihata receives three letters the day after he arrives back in his Tokyo apartment.
One is a postcard from his senpais, way back from his Seirin High days. It appears to be that Hyuuga, Riko, and Kiyoshi are going to be in town and wants a reunion if possible. Which, in Riko-speak, means attendance is pretty much compulsory. Furihata chuckles, glad to see from the writing that none of them have changed. He emails a reply to the three of them, and also Izuki, before tucking the postcard away.
The second letter is in a pristine, crisp white envelope that manages to look expensive even in its plainness. Furihata only has to take one glance at it to be able to guess exactly whom it might have come from. He ignores the little jolt in his chest that accompanies the thought of a certain pair of staring red eyes.
Inside the envelope is a short message, handwritten in cursive writing that looks like it belongs to royalty. Which, really, isn't far from the truth, considering who wrote it.
'Kouki,
I hope you are well.
Rakuzan will be having a practice basketball match at Shutoku High tomorrow. My team and I will arrive in Tokyo in the afternoon, and I would like to take this opportunity to continue our unfinished conversation, as per discussed, after the match in the evening.
I look forward to seeing you there.
Yours,
Akashi Seijuuro.'
Furihata stares at the letter for a while; in particular, at the ending, at the way the word "yours" is written next to Akashi's refined signature. Even as Furihata tells himself it doesn't mean anything, he cannot stop looking at it. It makes it worse that he can almost hear Akashi's voice through the writing with the way it parallels with his patterns of speech.
And how very like Akashi to send him a written invitation rather than simply sending an email or a text. It suits him, Furihata thinks, the formality and well-constructed nature of a letter. Akashi, as far as Furihata can remember, has always been proper; from the very first time he looked up at Furihata with those crimson eyes that were too big in his little six-year-old head and introduced himself.
Furihata considers messaging him a reply, but decides against it. Texting just seems- too casual, almost like an act of disrespect towards Akashi's neatly inscribed letter. Plus, it's not like Akashi needs a confirmation. Both of them knowFurihata will turn up – he's far too polite and Akashi's far too scary not to. If Furihata finds Riko intimidating, then Akashi is approximately a solid hundred times the intimidation. Especially when he's asking Furihata for an explanation he doesn't have.
Which reminds him – Furihata still has yet to come up with a sound reason to give to Akashi. Maybe he should make a list; draw a spider diagram; do something, because if Furihata stands there and keeps saying "um" at Akashi for a second time when he sees him tomorrow, Akashi might really just strangle him. Or take out his eyeballs, if Izuki's words are anything to go by.
Furihata sighs and carefully folds the letter away. He decides he'll make a mind map – he just has to finish going through his post first. And, no, of course this is not him procrastinating. Furihata's a teacher, he knows all about time management and avoiding procrastination – or so he convinces himself as he moves onto the third and last letter.
This one is from Furihata's parents; which is strange, because even though they live in the suburbs they're still both living in Tokyo, just like Furihata, and it would make more sense for them to come see him in person. Or, even easier, make a phone call. That being said, the letter is rather big. And heavy. It's actually much more like a thin rectangular-shaped package rather than a letter.
Furihata proceeds to open it, curiously, and as soon as he sees what's inside he cannot help but cringe.
Because what he has in his hands is a portfolio of female resumes. Females dressed in kimonos. And the last thing Furihata needs right now is for his parents to be matchmaking.
"You've got to be kidding…" Furihata shakes his head, muttering to himself. "I'm twenty-eight, it's way too early to-" He pauses, thinking about the number of his friends' weddings he's been to recently – including Hyuuga and Riko's just last year. And, yes, they might be older than him, but it's only by one yearand that's really nothing at all once you get to working-age.
"I'm twenty-eight," Furihata repeats, like he's only just now realizing it.
He reluctantly flips through the portfolio, scanning the profiles – just so he can say to his mother that he's at least looked at them. With the exception of one, all of the girls in there are younger than him. The youngest is twenty-three, fresh out of university, and looks like she could still pass for a high school student.
Which is ironic. And slightly depressing, that even the youngest candidate for Furihata in the portfolio is still a good five years older than Akashi.
"Ugh-" Furihata groans and slams the portfolio shut. Really, what awful timing. He's already got his hands full trying to come up with a way to deal with the 'Akashi situation' – he's refusing to call it a crush anymore because he finds giving it a name has only made the attraction stronger, and that's what Furihata absolutely wants to avoid – in a way that will still allow them to interact and keep in contact, but not so much so that Furihata's feelings keep plunging deeper into inappropriate territory. Furihata's headspace is already preoccupied trying to figure that out, as well as how to explain it to Akashi – the incredibly perceptive, far too intelligent Akashi – without giving anything away. He doesn't have the time or the capability to juggle around potential fiancées his parents are throwing at him as well. Unless-
A light bulb goes off in Furihata's head.
Unless, it might actually be perfect timing.
Inspired, he picks up a piece of scrap paper and starts scribbling up his mind map.
A/N: It looks like I'll be updating tri-weekly rather than bi-weekly after all, but hey, at least it's not a five months delay, right? :D /shot. As always, thank you for reading and reviewing – I love reading all your thoughts on this fic! And look, we'll actually be getting some basketball next chapter xD