Archive of Our Own

 Monday

Akashi has picked up many bad habits in the years since Shuuzou graduated from Teiko. Megalomania, for one. Using unnecessarily dramatic gestures to convey a point. Addressing his elders by their first names. Being fashionably late to every important event.

This last habit is the hardest for him to break, it seems. There he is this morning, running around the apartment, a towel draped over his wet hair, tie dangling from his neck, as he pulls on his pants and socks and admonishes Shuuzou for not waking him up earlier. The chauffeur has been waiting in the limo for fifteen minutes already, ready to drive Akashi to the airport.

Shuuzou pours coffee into a travel mug, says, “What was I supposed to do, pull you out of bed? I’ve been telling you to get up since eight.”

“Where is my passport? Shit.” Akashi yanks the desk drawer open, starts digging through. “I asked you to clean the desk last week, Shuuzou.”

“Hey, watch your tongue. You don’t want your old man to hear your new vocabulary. He already thinks you’re slumming by living with me.”

Akashi locates his passport, shoves it into his handbag, and then rushes over to the front door. Shuuzou grabs the mug and follows. He watches Akashi pull on a pair of black boots and then crouch on the floor to zip up the sides. Akashi looks small and vulnerable in this position. There is a little knick on his chin. He will get very angry if Shuuzou does something like stroke his hair and hug his head, so Shuuzou waits for him to straighten up before pulling him into a hug.

“Happy travels, Sei,” he says.

“Remember to eat properly,” Akashi replies.

Shuuzou kisses him, licks into his mouth, and then hands him the mug, which Akashi accepts with a soft thanks. He waits with the door open until the elevator arrives and Akashi has boarded. He lifts his hand, and Akashi nods back, already straightening his shoulders and adopting the cool, collected expression he is so fond of presenting to the world. After the elevator doors slide shut, Shuuzou closes the front door.

This is the beginning of his two weeks without Akashi Seijuurou.

Shuuzou sighs with relief, and then feels bad, but only a little. This is the first time he is going to have the apartment to himself since they moved in about a year ago. This is the first time Akashi is going out of the country since they started dating.

He pours himself a cup of coffee and then walks over the white shag rug to the floor-to-ceiling length windows, looks down at the bustling city below.

Two weeks of doing whatever he wants without worrying about Akashi’s nagging. Akashi is an interesting, amazing person, and the sex is fantastic, no doubt about it, but the guy isn’t exactly easy to live with for extended periods of time. And he was in a particularly bad mood all last week, probably in anticipation of the upcoming trip with his father.

Shuuzou finishes his coffee, gets dressed, and heads out for work. The rest of the day is spent at the office, followed by dinner with his friends from Teiko. He hasn’t seen them in months. They ask about the “little runt” who had the audacity to take over their basketball club.

“He’s fine,” Shuuzou says.

“Was it the clipboard?” Yamada says, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “You liked how he looked with the clipboard, so earnest. And all the fawning.” He adopts a falsetto, “Nijimura-san is this alright, Nijimura-san may I do that for you.” He grins. “And you wanted to fuck him, right?”

“Shut up, asswipe.” Shuuzou swats him with a napkin roll. “He was a damn good vice captain, and I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

“How long is this thing of yours going to last?” Katou asks.

“You’re one to talk. Which number girlfriend are you on again?”

His friends bitch about their girlfriends for awhile before switching over to basketball talk. Favorite teams and transfers and who’s likely to win this season, and it’s just like old times.

As soon as he returns home, Shuuzou heads for the bedroom. He collapses on the king-sized bed and spreads out his arms and legs. The extra space feels just as great as Shuuzou imagined it would be. He sets his alarm and then goes right to sleep.

Tuesday

He wakes up at 3:15 A.M. and looks automatically to his left, ready to pull Akashi away from the edge, before he remembers. He checks his phone to find a new message from Akashi: arrived.

He pulls his blankets up to his chin. He wonders how Akashi is faring with his father. They are staying in D.C. for their two-day business conference, and then they are flying out to San Francisco to attend a family wedding. The rest of the two weeks is going to be spent visiting other relatives. Akashi had suggested once, maybe last month, that Shuuzou should accompany him, but Shuuzou had said no thanks. There isn’t anything particularly vacation-like or fun about two weeks of pretending to be platonic friends while in close proximity to each other. Akashi didn’t bring up the subject again.

Akashi will be okay when he is with his relatives. Maybe. He doesn’t like to talk about any of them, but he seems less unhappy after visiting his aunts and uncles than he does after an hour or two with his father.

Shuuzou falls asleep and doesn’t wake up again until his alarm goes off at 7 A.M. He rolls out of bed and then pulls on a pair of sweatpants and an old hoodie Akashi doesn’t let him wear anymore. He doesn’t have to be at the office until nine. Plenty of time for a morning run.

He was a little more active when he was living by himself - running in the morning, cleaning up after himself, that kind of thing - but he has been slacking off since he moved in with Akashi. There are many perks to dating a wealthy person, and he is getting very spoiled. And it’s very hard to wake up for a 7 A.M. run when Akashi is sleeping right on top of him, one arm tucked underneath Shuuzou’s, his breath warm against Shuuzou’s collarbones, his hair feather-soft against Shuuzou’s cheek.

Shuuzou tried to convince Akashi to accompany him on a run once, but Akashi replied, “What are gyms for,” as he snuggled in closer. Said, “Stay still, Shuuzou. Yes, just so.” That had been the end of that discussion.

It takes Shuuzou eight minutes and thirteen seconds to run two kilometers this morning, and he is winded by the end of it. His new sneakers are pinching his toes. He starts to limp as he walks back to the apartment.

He pours himself a bowl of cereal and then calls Akashi. The call goes straight to Akashi’s voicemail.

He hangs up. Leaving a message will give Akashi the wrong idea, make him think that Shuuzou is already pining. Shuuzou makes coffee, checks his email as he chugs it down, and then heads out to work.

Wednesday

He goes to the gym after work. Akashi is tenacious about maintaining his figure, works out five days a week, still does weight-training, but Shuuzou only does cardio whenever he manages to drag himself over here. He doesn’t gain weight as quickly as Akashi does, so why bother.

Kuroko is also a member of this gym, but he is worse than Shuuzou at attending. He comes about once a month, and only with Kagami. Sometimes he will bring a novel to read, one of those really deep novels that only literature buffs find remotely interesting, and he will jog very slowly on the treadmill as he reads. He offers absolutely zero help when Kagami and Akashi get into one of their routine arguments about basketball or fitness or who is allowed to look down on whom.

After fifteen minutes of running, Shuuzou decides to call Kuroko, and Kuroko agrees to come only after he hears that Akashi is currently out of town. Shuuzou doesn’t blame him: Akashi likes to treat Kuroko like a child. Or an experiment gone simultaneously wrong and right.

Kuroko arrives and spends about ten minutes on the treadmill next to Shuuzou’s before stepping off and saying, “I apologize, Nijimura-san, but I have to return home. I have many projects to grade.”

“Are you kidding me?” Shuuzou lowers his speed to 8 km/h. “The school year just started! When did your kids have time to complete a project?”

Kuroko says, “You can call Aomine-kun or Haizaki-kun.” The since you seem lonely part is unspoken but bright in his protuberant eyes. “I really have to go.”

“I’m fine,” Shuuzou says. “You need to work on your stamina. Have fun grading, brat.”

Thursday

The project manager is in a bad mood this morning, breathing down Shuuzou’s neck, insisting that the team put in extra hours at work and complete their assignment by next week. When Shuuzou points out that the deadline is at the end of the month, he gets an earful about how finishing the project ahead of its deadline will show the client that the team is on top of their game. This in turn may lead to a pay raise. Shuuzou spends the whole morning trapped behind his desk, staring at lines upon lines of code.

His stomach starts rumbling around noon, and he remembers that he has skipped breakfast. There wasn’t much in the refrigerator anyway. He has to go grocery shopping. There’s a guy who usually stocks their pantry and refrigerator each week, but Akashi is the one who knows his name and number. Shuuzou only knows the telephone number for the cleaning service, but he can’t ask the nice lady and man who usually come to buy his groceries. His mom lives about fifteen minutes away, but he can’t tell her about his situation either because she will get concerned about his eating habits and insist that he stay with her until Akashi returns.

He used to text Akashi whenever he was stuck behind the desk at lunchtime. Akashi would show up with lunch from their favorite Chinese restaurant or send someone over with food. Well, it can’t be helped today. He has to resort to eating the stale crackers that have been on the break room table for ages, from when this company started up judging by the dust and grime on the wrapper. Then he asks Tanaka from the Quality Assurance department, whose lunch hour is always three hours long and always at a five-star restaurant, to bring him a salad and a sandwich.

He decides to go to the grocery store after work, but when his software engineer buddies suggest they go out for dinner together, he agrees immediately.

The restaurant is a bit on the dirty side, crumbs on the seats, greasy bottles of soy sauce, spots on the glasses, that kind of thing. Akashi doesn’t like these establishments, but he gets angry whenever Shuuzou makes a comment like, “You don’t like eating hoi polloi food?”

While they make their way through the oily food, his friends complain about the project manager and their clients, and Shuuzou joins in. He walks home by himself after midnight, stomach full and worries dissipating into the cool night air. He experiences a moment of déjà vu at a flickering pedestrian light, but it is over as soon as he reaches his complex. The doors of his apartment building slide open, and the dapper doorman escorts him into a posh, carpeted elevator that leads up to a posh apartment that Shuuzou could never afford on his own.

Shuuzou unlocks the front door and steps inside. He is hit immediately with a sharp, sterile smell. The cleaners must have left recently.

He looks around. The kitchen counters are glowing, the hardwood floor shines, the colors in the rare paintings and vases are vibrant again, the furniture looks brand new. Aside from the neat stack of Basketball Monthly magazines on the coffee table, and the shogi board, the place looks impersonal, could be any rich dude’s apartment.

Friday

Akashi usually makes the plans for their weekend, ranging from normal things like a basketball game with Kuroko and Midorima on a street court to grandiose outings like horseback riding at some country estate or hiking up Mt. Fuji. Shuuzou has been looking forward to a low-key weekend since Akashi mentioned the business trip. A quiet morning with a pot of coffee while he checks his email and catches up on Facebook. Lunch and dinner with anyone who isn’t busy. Maybe do some chores.

But first, his first Friday evening alone in months.

After running through half his contacts list to find that everyone already has plans with their significant others, special friends, or family, Shuuzou heads over to the kitchen. The pantry is nearly empty. He should go grocery shopping, but it’s easier to eat out. He only cooks when Akashi feels like trying out a new recipe, and he makes Akashi do all the peeling and chopping.

Shuuzou finds a single packet of potato chips in the pantry, next to the kale chips Akashi makes noises about eating but never does, and then returns to the living room, collapses on the leather couch. He turns the TV and HDD Recorder on to catch up on his current favorite dramas.

His mind keeps wandering. The silence should help him better concentrate on the problems of the protagonist and her love interest, but it’s too quiet. Akashi usually sits at the shogi board by the windows while Shuuzou watches TV, asks him about work, soliloquizes about this or that entrepreneur he met that day who was especially talented or needed to be put in his or her place. He misses debating with Akashi about whether or not the dramas themselves are really trashy and mind-numbing or it’s the audience who is too picky, until Akashi’s highfalutin language becomes too much and Shuuzou has to shut him up with a kiss.

He checks his phone. No messages from Akashi. This could be a good sign. Maybe the guy is finally having some fun. Or maybe he is miserable because of Akashi Senior and bottling it up inside as usual.

Shuuzou’s finger hovers for a moment over Midorima’s number. Midorima is Akashi’s closest friend, and they still play shogi together. However, Akashi isn’t in the habit of talking about his family to anyone, friend or lover. There is no reason to worry Midorima, and Shuuzou isn’t in the mood to hear blunt, judgmental statements like, “How pathetic, a man of your age should know how to keep track of his own boyfriend.”

After turning the TV off, Shuuzou walks over to the shogi board. All of a sudden, he notices that the pieces are not in their starting lineup. Akashi was busy packing the night before the trip, but he always finishes his game before going to bed.

Shuuzou is awful at shogi, despite Akashi’s best efforts to teach him, but he has been to enough of Akashi’s boring shogi matches to know how to read the board. Akashi could have finished this game easily. Shuuzou runs a finger over the fading character on each King piece, catches his reflection in the window, laughs.

Saturday

Yamada’s birthday dinner is tonight. Shuuzou selects an espresso machine from the kitchenware store closest to the apartment, and the cashier wraps it up, places it in a large gift bag. “Card?” the cashier asks, and Shuuzou replies, “Nah.”

He wishes it was as easy to buy things for Akashi. It takes Shuuzou at least a month to think of an adequate present, and he usually resorts to either planning out a trip or giving sentimental gifts, soppy items like matching mugs with their names etched at the bottom. For Akashi’s twenty-third birthday, Shuuzou, completely out of ideas, bought him a saddle for his horse.

At the party, Shuuzou talks to Yamada’s TouDai friends. Many of them are New Money people, men and women who have landed good jobs like Shuuzou did and are making their way up in the world. There is a lot of talk about taxes and living costs and the economy.

He meets a young man who used to play basketball in middle school and had to quit afterwards because of family reasons. There are many people like that, Shuuzou has discovered over the years, but this guy is funny and has high cheekbones and a pert little ass, and Shuuzou hasn’t had sex in days.

He heads home right after the birthday cake. The party wasn’t too bad. Not half as exciting as the ones during his college days, but still. The guy had looked interested, so maybe Shuuzou hasn’t become an old salaryman through and through just yet. He might have another chance at love after Akashi decides that their relationship is too troublesome and not worth maintaining. The thought isn’t comforting.

Akashi should be in San Francisco by now. He will be attending his cousin’s wedding today, while Shuuzou sleeps in bed. Akashi will look amazing of course. Formal wear suits him. There will be plenty of guests at the wedding. Rich, famous women who know five languages, who will think that Akashi is hot stuff. They will ask him for a dance. Akashi might be the one asking.

It’s hard to refuse Akashi when he asks. Shuuzou almost always says yes. First at Teiko, when Akashi wanted to showcase Kuroko’s talents. After Teiko, Akashi on his doorstep in a Rakuzan uniform, older and taller and lost, the mismatched eyes still a surprise to Shuuzou every time he looked at them, asking, “Nijimura-san, will you teach me how to execute the perfect slam dunk.” After Rakuzan and Cambridge, Akashi rising up on his toes to kiss him, murmuring against Shuuzou’s mouth, “Will you move in with me, Shuuzou?”

He wasn’t supposed to get this attached. Shuuzou had thought that it would be okay for this two-week separation to be the beginning of the end of their relationship, no sweat he could deal with the initial feelings of sadness, but he knows now that it won’t be that easy.

Sunday

Shuuzou lies awake, his left hand around his dick. Midnight, and he can’t sleep. He has work tomorrow. That damn project. He thinks of Akashi’s flushed face, lips parted over the sound of his name. Shuuzou. The gleam in the left eye before Akashi swallows. The beads of sweat sliding into the space between his collarbones as Akashi arches up, so hot and tight around Shuuzou.

Monday

Shuuzou has just sent the project off to the Quality Assurance Department when Matsumoto from Database Administration walks into his office, eyes wide and out of breath.

“You haven’t heard, I take it,” she says.

“What happened?” Shuuzou says, and a shiver of dread goes down his spine. His stomach clenches. He hasn’t received any messages from Akashi since that “arrived.” His mother was fine this morning, or at least she sounded fine over the phone. He didn’t ask about his brother. The teenage years are volatile. Is he getting bullied in school again? Kouta is a scrawny little airhead. Has he walked into traffic while daydreaming about his next doujinshi?

Shuuzou takes a deep breath and reminds himself that bad news isn’t typically delivered in such a fashion. Back then, it had happened like this: a school secretary had come into his classroom and whispered to his math teacher, the teacher had told him to go to the headmaster’s office, the headmaster had asked Shuuzou to sit down, voice so kind, and then she said what Shuuzou had been about 51% sure she would say.

“The elevator’s jammed.” Matsumoto fans herself with the folder in her hand. “There’s at least four people stuck in there. I just got off that thing a few minutes ago.”

Shuuzou lets out a sigh of relief, and Matsumoto raises an eyebrow. “That’s horrible,” he amends. “Let’s go see what’s going on.”

As they walk out to the elevators, Matsumoto fills him in on all the gory details she knows about elevators and the people who have gotten trapped in them. “Have you ever thought about how dangerous these things are?” she says as they join the crowd in the hall. “The cable could snap, and bam! There you go, hurtling down. The end.”

Not a bad way to reach one’s end, Shuuzou thinks. Whenever he thinks about his father, it takes him awhile to recall the happy, beaming face, the proud smile as he recounted Shuuzou’s achievements in school and on the court to their relatives. It takes him awhile to supersede those recollections over memories of eyelids without lashes and twitching lips and the raspy breath as he said “please take care of your mother when.”

After another ten minutes, they receive the news that the elevator has been brought safely down to the lobby and opened. The people that were trapped inside are fine. A collective cheer goes up in the hall.

“Still,” Matsumoto says, as they walk back to their offices, “I’m taking the stairs when I go home.”

“Nine flights are no joke,” Shuuzou says.

But he ends up doing the same. He goes straight home that evening and calls his mom. She sounds surprised when he asks to talk to the kid, and Shuuzou feels bad.

His brother asks about Akashi and then says that he needs more money. “For shoes, duh,” Kouta says when asked why the allowance he receives is suddenly not enough. “The other guys all have rad shoes, and I’m turning into a recluse because of my grandpa shoes. You have the money, don’t you, Onii-chan? Pleeeeease. Or, I can ask Sei-nii!”

“You’re not asking him anything!” Shuuzou snaps. “And you only need good shoes when you play sports. Last I heard, you were in the Art Club! When are you going to wear those shoes anyway? You have a school uniform.”

They finally come to an agreement - a shopping trip this weekend to buy the shoes, provided that the kid doesn’t badger Mom for money - and then he hangs up.

He calls Akashi next, and he keeps calling until Akashi finally picks up. Akashi’s voice is thick with sleep as he says hello. Shuuzou says, “Why haven’t you kept in touch, bastard.”

“Mm,” Akashi mumbles in reply.

“Where are you?” Shuuzou asks, sitting down on the stool by the island counter.

“Somewhere … Queens ... or something …”

A moment later, Akashi starts breathing into the phone, soft and steady. Shuuzou sighs. It’s around 7 in the morning on the East Coast, and Akashi will probably sleep for a couple more hours. He should hang up so that he can call the Thai restaurant a few blocks down the street. At least he knows that Akashi is fine. They can have a proper conversation next week, face-to-face.

He can’t bring himself to hang up though. Not just yet. He keeps the phone pressed to his ear, listening to Akashi breathe. After ten more minutes of this, he disconnects the line.

Tuesday

He logs out of his computer at 7 P.M. Three more days of work, one weekend wherein he will visit his mom and brother, and then it will be Monday, the day of Akashi’s return. Shuuzou has already received permission to leave early that day. He won’t go to the airport - he isn’t on the best of terms with Akashi the Father, to say the least - but he will meet Akashi at home. They can spend the afternoon together.

He walks out to the elevators. They have been operating without any hiccups since yesterday’s incident. The maintenance crew sent out a companywide email this morning apologizing for the trouble and saying that the elevators are perfectly safe to use. He presses the down button.

The elevator doors open a few minutes later, and Shuuzou is about to step in when he realizes that a very familiar figure is standing within, one who is supposed to be miles away. He rubs his eyes once to make sure he is actually awake. There is a strong possibility that he is still behind his desk, waiting for his computer to finish updating.

“Are you coming in?” Akashi asks, and the corners of his mouth tilt up in an inviting smile.

Shuuzou pinches himself hard. He checks again to find Akashi still standing in front of him. “Yeah,” he says, “you bet I am.”

He has just taken one step forward when Tanaka and Matsumoto rush into the elevator, shouting their thanks at Akashi for holding the elevator.

They position themselves on either side of Akashi, leaving the corners of the elevator for Shuuzou. Moreover, they mistake Akashi’s polite demeanor as an invitation to start up a conversation with him.

“Nice weather we’re having, huh, Akashi-san,” Tanaka says, adjusting his arms and, in the process, hitting Akashi with his hideous briefcase.

Akashi replies, “Yes.”

Matsumoto fixes her beret, says, “It’s been awhile since we saw you here, Akashi-san! How nice of you to visit your senpai again! How is your father?”

“Fine, thank you,” Akashi replies, without the slightest hint of a frown on his face.

The elevator opens on the fifth floor, and a few more people file in. Shuuzou moves further into his corner. He wants to stand next to Akashi. He wishes all these people would get off on the next floor. He wants to yank Akashi’s perfectly knotted tie off and unbutton those neatly pressed pants, wrap his hand around Akashi’s cock and -

The elevator jerks once. A few people look up at the floor indicator, tighten their grip on their bags and phones. The elevator wobbles a bit before sliding towards the fourth floor. Shuuzou loosens his tie and then moves closer to Akashi.

“So,” Tanaka says, looking at Shuuzou, “how about we go have dinner somewhere? You don’t mind treating us along with your kouhai, do you, Nijimura-san?” He laughs. “Since we’re both your juniors in terms of talent, right, Matsumoto-san? Akashi-san, you should hear our boss talking about Nijimura-san. Goes on and on about how talented Nijimura-san is, doesn’t he, Matsumoto-san?”

“That he does,” Matsumoto says. “And it’s quite true. Nijimura is a hard worker.”

“Sorry,” Shuuzou says, “but flattery will get you two exactly nowhere. I have other plans for tonight.”

Akashi says, “Nijimura-san is a credit to each and every institution he joins.” He looks at Shuuzou for a moment before adding, “Please continue to take care of him.”

The elevator finally opens into the lobby. Shuuzou waits for the others to file out before turning to Akashi, who says, “Yes, I know. It’s written all over your face. Please try to contain yourself when we are in public, Shuuzou.”

“Yeah, I’m happy to see you too, Akashi,” Shuuzou says. He leans forward for a quick kiss, but Akashi steps past him, picks up an umbrella from the stand, and then walks out of the building.

Shuuzou follows. The rain is falling in hard sheets, the pavement already slick with water. Akashi has sent his driver off, of course. He likes to walk home whenever he comes to pick Shuuzou up. Akashi holds his umbrella over Shuuzou’s head. The temperature has dropped considerably since his lunch hour. Akashi isn’t wearing a jacket.

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you,” Shuuzou says, taking his blazer off. He puts it around Akashi’s shoulders.

“Thanks.”

There is something a little off about Akashi, Shuuzou notices as he takes the umbrella. He looks about the same, from what Shuuzou can see under the streetlights, and he smells of new clothes and expensive cologne as he always does during the workday, but he seems a little more still than usual. The calm before the storm. Shuuzou hopes Akashi’s other, less attractive personality doesn’t decide to make an appearance.

He had thought Akashi was becoming a relatively cheerful person of late and getting better with dealing with his anger issues and his second personality. True, Akashi still loves to put people in their place through the use of choice, cutting words, but he doesn’t use “oyakoro” as much, and when he is in a good mood he gets properly excited about things, like he used to when Shuuzou was his captain. Shuuzou had attributed these positive changes to the fact that Akashi only competes in shogi matches now, games he always wins, and has moved out of his father’s house. He is free of the stressors of teenage competition and constant, unreasonable parental demands for success. His current dealings with the business world, a much more brutal place where losing one’s cool can result in things like unemployment and homelessness and prison, are shallow and from the peripherals because Akashi Senior hasn’t handed the family business over to him yet. Something must have happened to him on the trip.

Shuuzou puts his arm around Akashi’s shoulders, says, “You haven’t told me about your conference. Or the wedding. How come you’re here five days early? Not that I’m complaining.”

“The conference and wedding are over,” Akashi replies, tone curt. “And Father wanted to cut the trip short. Just as well.” He looks up at Shuuzou. “I was able to return in time for your mother’s luncheon.”

Shuuzou trips over the curb. Akashi grips his arm, steadies him, says, “Do be careful, Shuuzou. How many times have you walked over this sidewalk?”

“Why were you visiting my mother?!” Shuuzou jerks the umbrella away from Akashi. He didn’t even know his mother gave things called luncheons. She should have mentioned something when he called last night.

The rain pours over Akashi, flattening his hair, turning it a deeper red. Raindrops slide down the bridge of his nose, curve over his cheeks. Shuuzou wants to lick the water off, but he has to finish yelling at Akashi first. He can’t have Akashi thinking that it’s okay to visit the Nijimura residence whenever he wants, okay to get chummy with Mom and the kid, start visiting Dad’s grave with the family. His mother and brother will start to depend upon Akashi for things, get too attached, and when this relationship is over, as it is bound to be sooner or later, they’ll be upset. Shuuzou doesn’t want to see them cry ever again.

Akashi says, “Was that wrong of me?” He frowns. “We had dinner there a few weeks ago. Your mother told me to visit whenever I wished. She was happy to see me today. She told me so.”

“What were you even doing there? What’s a luncheon?”

“Oh.” He beams as he blinks raindrops out of his eyes. “It was quite nice, actually. Your mother made a lovely lunch for her book club, and everyone engaged in a lively discussion about the book they read this month. I haven’t read the book myself, but I listened carefully, and when it was my turn, I talked about the gaps that occur when one employs a Structuralist reading of any work of historical fiction, be it a novel, film, or a drama, and how a New Historicist interpretation is a better alternative. I illustrated my points through examples from your favorite period dramas. Are you very angry with me?”

“Forget it,” Shuuzou sighs, pulling Akashi underneath the umbrella again. “Just tell me next time, before you go.”

There is no point in trying to stop Akashi now. And it’s probably not a good idea either. Akashi had seemed happy at the dinner as Mom piled food on his plate and fussed over him. He probably craves motherly treatment. Shuuzou knows what it’s like to miss a parent. He misses his father sometimes so much it’s like a physical ache in his chest, squeezing his heart, crushing his lungs.

“How’s your old man?” Shuuzou asks as they veer off the main street. “Was he angry that you were late to your flight? You were late to the conference too, weren’t you. Your old man was very disappointed. He said Seijuurou, your behavior is unbecoming of a member of the esteemed Akashi Family. And then he tried to set you up with an American girl. Or Japanese-American? Was she very dignified, Akashi?”

Akashi leans in, replies, “The refrigerator is completely empty, Shuuzou. How disappointing. You should take better care of yourself. We have to go to the grocery store right now.”

After a trip to the nearest clothing store so that Akashi could change into dry clothes, dinner at Shuuzou’s favorite ramen place, and two hours wandering through various grocery stores because Akashi had very specific items in mind, they are back in the apartment. “We could’ve gone tomorrow,” Shuuzou says for about the tenth time, setting his bags down on the kitchen counter.

“Procrastination is a bad habit.”

“Says the person who is always running late. Now, come here. You haven’t greeted me properly yet.”

“The milk is going to spoil,” Akashi replies. “We have to put the groceries away first.”

Shuuzou sits down on a kitchen stool and folds his arms over the countertop. He has indulged Akashi enough for the day. The hem of his pants and his socks are still soaked from the rain.

Akashi says, “It will only take a moment. Would you like a snack while you are waiting, dear?”

“Very funny. But yeah, hand me those cookies. Ramen’s great but always leaves a salty taste in my mouth. I’m surprised you wanted to go eat there.”

Akashi takes a breakfast plate out of a cupboard, places three cookies in the center, and sets the plate in front of Shuuzou. Before he can walk back to the groceries, Shuuzou grabs his wrist, pulls him in for a kiss.

Akashi’s mouth parts over his, and then Akashi slides his tongue into Shuuzou’s mouth. Shuuzou has missed this, Akashi’s tongue along the back of his teeth and Akashi’s fingers clenching in Shuuzou’s hair and Shuuzou getting hard in his pants.

They stagger over to the couch, and Akashi pulls their pants and underwear off and settles over Shuuzou’s hips. The milk is put away only after the first round, during the brief interlude between the couch and the bed.

Shuuzou wakes up in the middle of the night, shivering, to find Akashi at the foot of the bed with the blankets wrapped around him. “Really,” he mutters, pulling Akashi back up to the left. Akashi mumbles something, eyes closed. Shuuzou adjusts the blankets and goes back to sleep.

He sleeps through the rest of the night, wakes up only after his alarm goes off. Akashi is up already, has put a sweater and a pair of boxers on, is leaning against the headboard as he taps away on the screen of a brand new iPad. His hair sticks out all over his head in interesting angles.

“Good morning,” Akashi says, sets the iPad on the nightstand.

“True.” Shuuzou leans over and kisses him. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“It takes a day or so for the jet lag to pass.”

“Have you finished your shogi game?”

Akashi looks at him, raises an eyebrow. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

Shuuzou smiles. So, as he had hoped, Akashi left the game unfinished on purpose. Maybe to leave Shuuzou a reminder of himself. “Never mind. Tell me more about the wedding. Better yet, show me the pictures. There better be a photo of you in your tux.”

Akashi kisses Shuuzou, says, “Better yet. The tux is in my suitcase. I will wear it for you.”

“Good. And while you’re at it, I want you to forget all the bad things that happened to you on the trip. No point in dwelling, right?”

Akashi stiffens. Shuuzou pulls him down onto the pillows, traces the bridge of his nose, kisses his left eyelid. Akashi murmurs, “I wish you had accompanied me on the trip.”

“Yeah? You forgot about me as soon as you left.”

Akashi runs his fingers through Shuuzou’s hair. “I apologize for not calling. It was selfish of me, but I did not want to hear your voice and miss you anymore than I already did.”

Shuuzou is glad that Akashi’s habit of saying heartfelt things without a trace of embarrassment remains unchanged. He kisses the space between Akashi’s eyebrows, his nose, makes his way down to the hollow of Akashi’s throat, says, “Maybe next time.”

“Promise me.”

“Hey,” Shuuzou licks the curve of Akashi’s ear, bites the earlobe, “you might not want me to come with you next time, have you thought about that, huh? What’s the point of promising?”

Akashi says, “I will always want you, Shuuzou.”

Shuuzou had thought that his days of getting embarrassed, of actually blushing because of something Akashi said, were over, but he was obviously wrong. This is too much. I will always want you. Even Shuuzou’s ears are burning. He can’t remember anyone ever saying that to him before. Those words were great to hear, a balm to all the doubt he has been experiencing. He feels warm and full all of a sudden, like he has just had a bowl of his favorite soup after hours of walking outside on a cold winter night. He loves Akashi so very much.

“Me too,” he manages to says. “About you. Thanks, Sei.”

He knows that words are just words, sounds strung together that change as those fickle things called sentiments do, but there is love in Akashi’s eyes, in his fingers as they cup Shuuzou’s face, and that is enough for now. He presses Akashi into the mattress, kisses him again.

He is reaching for the waistband of Akashi’s boxers when he catches a glimpse of the clock on the nightstand.

“Shit! I’m late!”

He untangles himself from Akashi, throws the blankets off of his legs. The project manager is going to rip him a new one today. The permission to leave early next Monday will probably be revoked. He reaches for his cell phone to let the manager know he is on his way.

Akashi sits up and hugs Shuuzou’s shoulders from behind, kisses Shuuzou’s neck. “May I pick you up after work?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Shuuzou replies. “But come before that too and have lunch with me.”