soft skill

Lately, there was just one thing troubling Akaashi: his university's literary magazine had put out a call for submissions, and the deadline was next Friday. It was his best chance to get published at the moment, even if it was a student publication, and he wanted the experience. The problem was that he hadn't started writing yet.

The magazine was accepting any form of fiction, essay, or criticism, and though he had been tempted to try his hand at a poem, he ultimately decided to stay in his comfort zone, the short story. He had won a competition with one of his stories back in high school. People said he had a unique perspective, and that he employed unexpected turns of phrase, et cetera, though he wasn't conscious of any such thing himself. He often felt that he had nothing new to say in the first place. He certainly felt so now. All his ideas for new pieces were giving him deja vu.

He had kept his Sunday free, planning to spend it on a long walk by the river, thinking, and maybe even writing. But then a message from one Bokuto Koutarou had popped up on LINE announcing that he would be visiting Sunday. Of course, some time could be made for Bokuto.

It would be their first time seeing each other, or talking really, in more than a year. Akaashi wasn't troubled by that—it wasn't like they had fallen out. It was just the kind of distance that naturally sprang up between graduated upperclassmen and the students that remained behind. They would catch up, do a little tour of what few sights the city had to offer, then Bokuto would go off to the birthday party he had been invited to (which was the actual reason he was here), and that would be it.

That should be it. But he knew that seeing Bokuto again would throw him off somehow. Akaashi did his best writing when he was completely calm, turned inward to his mental landscape; Bokuto had always been an external fascination of his.

 

--

 

"Man, I wish you could set for me again!" Bokuto burst out, totally unprompted, for the third time since he'd arrived. That was only half an hour ago. He hunched over his empty, crumb-filled plate, sighed, scrunched up his face, leaned back, stared out the plate-glass window of the cafe at the cloudy sky, then caught sight of a cute dog in a pram outside and whipped around to Akaashi to tell him about it, golden eyes flashing with excitement--but he didn't say anything in the end, only stared at Akaashi in expectant silence.

"Even if I were to try, I'm out of practice," was Akaashi's reply.

"I know," Bokuto said solemnly. "And I get that. It's just that when I look at you I get this feeling like, All right! Time to absolutely smash this next point! And then nothing happens. And I have to say something about it!"

Bokuto clutched at his chest like the desire to score points off Akaashi's sets was physically paining him. Then his hands dropped as he caught sight of the half-eaten pastry on Akaashi's plate.

"Akaashi... You should give me your food if you don't want it," he announced gravely. Bokuto's latest insight into moral philosophy.

Within Bokuto's kaleidoscopic emotional palette, even sentiments like I'm hungry were displayed as brightly and clearly as any other. It was a quality of his that Akaashi had always been charmed by, and it was nice to see that university life hadn't broken him of it. More importantly, it made him easy to handle. Made it easy for them to fall back into their old dynamic.

He took another sip of his coffee, for strength, and pushed his plate over.

He had quit the volleyball club after the Summer Inter-High in third year to focus on his studies; his teachers had implied he would still have some hope of getting into Tokyo U if he quit earlier, but his sense of responsibility wouldn't let him do that, even when the captaincy threatened to give him an ulcer. It was fine. He didn't really want to spend every spare moment at cram school or risk repeating a year to pass the exam. In the end, he got comfortably into the national university of his choice, which was located quite far to the north of Tokyo. He hadn't expected Bokuto would ever come all the way up here.

"What's the matter, Akaashi?" Bokuto asked between big, cartoonish bites of pastry. "Those pesky uni deadlines got you down?"

Akaashi winced internally. He had thought his own emotions were far better hidden. "Yes, kind of," he said, thinking of his as-yet-unwritten short story.

"I get you, man," Bokuto said. "My first year was a pain. Everyone said it was gonna be easy, so easy we should do the teacher training module that year, and I thought, sure thing! But then..." He began to tell a slightly incoherent story about how courses were divided up between different departments at his university and the lecture halls were too far apart even if you ran the whole way and also studying was hard.

Among the many inexplicable things Bokuto did, deciding to attend university had to be one of the most inexplicable of all. Admittedly, he was at Chuutaidai, a sports science university with a powerhouse volleyball team, and he had gotten in with a scholarship. Still... did he just think athletes with degrees were cooler?

"...but you're not gonna have any problems like that! You're a real buttoned-up guy, Akaashi. You got this."

"I know," Akaashi said. He was already in his second term. He'd had no problems with grades, extracurriculars or befriending people. He'd even managed a hook-up, which he had found to be an awkward yet useful experience. If they were graded on general student life he would be getting a solid pass. The only thing he could really complain about was his writer's block.

 

--

 

After getting home that night he decided to give it another shot. If he could have something by Tuesday, he'd be able to bring it to his creative writing group for feedback. He hadn't brought anything new in so long it was starting to get embarrassing; still, the organisers kept inviting him back. He was an attentive reader, and he had a knack for delivering constructive criticism in a way that didn't hurt people's feelings. Well, yes. He'd had a lot of practice being attentive and managing other people's feelings.

As a novice, the best course of action was to emulate an existing writer. Recently, he had been enjoying a contemporary author who went by the pen name Matsushita Mon; he had discovered them in an anthology. Although they generally wrote about the mutualistic relationship between man and the urban environment, the author biography at the back of their one published collection named their birthplace as a small town, and perhaps that was why their work made Akaashi think of wandering deep in a forest: following trails made by strangers, the anonymity of countless identical tree trunks giving no hint as to which way was out. He was thinking of inverting the concept. From his dorm room window, if it were daytime, he would be able to see all the way to the other side of the valley, where the trees coating the mountain slopes were on the turn, their variegated leaves blended into a hazy orange by distance and scale.

He spent a while rereading the pages he had photocopied at the library. Then, without really thinking about it, he looked up a piece of information on the JR East website. He opened the list of contacts on his smartphone, found Bokuto and hit call. Nobody picked up. He sent a text:

Bokuto-san, please note that the last bullet train back to Tokyo will depart at 21:50.

At 22:27 he took a call.

"Akaashi! Thanks so much for reminding me about the train! But I missed it!"

Bokuto was shouting to be heard over the chatter around him. Akaashi wondered whether he was at someone's flat or whether they were out at a bar.

"Oh dear," was all he said.

Bokuto let out an even louder yell of horror. "Wait! I have to do a presentation first thing tomorrow!"

"At your current volume, you can just present from here and they'll be able to hear you in Tokyo."

"Ha ha, not funny." Akaashi could see a little pout in his mind's eye. "Well, I guess I get to drink for a bit longer. Maybe I'll catch ya for breakfast tomorrow, huh?"

There was a pause then, in which Akaashi suddenly realised that Bokuto was acting shy. How cute was that?

"If you don't feel like partying anymore, you can come to my place," he said.

To be acting shy, Bokuto must be in one of his lows, or nearly so. If that was the case, then Akaashi wouldn't feel right with himself unless he helped: he could spare the time and it was something he knew how to do. An entire plan of action had already unfolded itself in his mind, probabilities pre-calculated.

How naturally it all still came to him.

 

--

 

By the time the buzzer for his flat rang, Akaashi was already dressed to go out. He came down with an extra jacket for Bokuto, who surely hadn't come prepared for the chilly autumn night.

"Just because you're done partying doesn't mean you're done drinking," he suggested. "Shall we go buy something in Family Mart?"

Just as he had expected, Bokuto looked deflated and doubtful standing on the doorstep, but perked up at the offer of another round of fun. Soon they were sitting on the swings in a deserted nearby park, cans of soda-sweet peach and plum chuhai in hand. Bokuto swang back and forth slightly too much, his face flashing black and white as he slid between the light of the streetlamp and the shadow cast by the trees.

Akaashi had only sipped his drink but already felt a flush of warmth spreading from his face down his neck. Bokuto was looking at him funny, not saying anything, and it made him impatient. He sucked a breath of the icy night air.

"Bokuto-san, could it be that you want to discuss something related to volleyball but you feel like you can't bring it up with me because I quit?"

"Akaashi! How did you know!?"

"I'm fine. By all means, go ahead and say it."

"It's nothing. I just—I wish you could set for me again..."

He had officially lost count of how many times Bokuto had said this.

"What's wrong with the setter at Chuutaidai?" he demanded this time.

"He's not mean enough! Hey, Akaashi, you were always so mean to me."

Akaashi put his head back and laughed at that. "I was very nice to you!"

"But when I was off my game you would be mean. Nowadays when I'm freaking out I can't tell anyone. They get too worried about me. I have to be freaked out all on my own inside my head."

"Hold on. Since when can you do that?"

"Aha. You see, Chuutaidai has a lot of coaches and sports psychologists and stuff, they're literally everywhere just sitting in offices, so I go ask them for advice. It's not like my problems are super rare and no one knows how to deal with them. Oh, also I joined the tai chi club--don't give me that look! I know! They already kicked me out!--But I joined. This year I'm in the hip-hop dance club. The people watching at away matches are never expecting it when I break out my sweet moves!"

Akaashi's stomach dropped in second-hand horror as he tried to imagine at what point during a match of volleyball it would be appropriate for a player to start hip-hop dancing. He wanted to see it so badly.

"Anyway, it's hard. I wanted to get one hundred twenty percent better but I've only gotten to like... thirty percent. But! Thirty percent was enough that I'm back on the starting lineup now. Don't you think that's pretty cool of me?"

The queasy feeling in Akaashi's stomach only worsened at this shock. Bokuto Koutarou had been on the bench? He had gotten himself off the bench? He didn't just wedge himself under a piece of furniture and hide there till someone coaxed him out with a piece of hearsay or an obscure gift voucher?

"That's very admirable, Bokuto-san," Akaashi said eventually. "I had no idea."

"Yeah, well," Bokuto said. He put down his can on the ground with a hollow tink and gripped the chains of the swing, back straight and legs crooked up under the seat, eyes gone blank and distant the way they always did when he was thinking hard about volleyball.

Akaashi suddenly wasn't sure whether it was better to let Bokuto's thoughts run their course or to distract him with a new topic. He also considered whether drinking more of the chuhai would calm him down or make him worse, and raised the can halfway to his lips before lowering it again, resting it decisively on his knee.

"Akaashi," came Bokuto's voice, calmer than usual. Akaashi snapped to attention. "Did I make you sick of volleyball?"

He should've opted for a distraction after all. He took a breath, fixed his eyes on the repetitive right-angles of the jungle gym at the opposite end of the park and tried to marshal his thoughts.

"You've asked me a rather abstract question," he said. "But I would say the answer is no. Bokuto-san, I will always treasure my memories of playing volleyball with you." Frankly, he expected they would remain as the happiest memories of his life. "Playing with anyone else could not compare. But I was going to quit either way."

"What's the problem then? Every time I bring it up, you get all tense. I get that you quit, but I thought it would still be a nice thing we had in common, y'know? Nice memories."

He didn't want to play dumb about this; he wanted to give Bokuto an honest answer. But how could he just come out and say it? That Bokuto's existence had consumed his high school days: from the moment he decided to go to Fukurodani, to the two years he had spent as Bokuto's setter and best friend, to the very last practice session before graduation and the trip to eat yakiniku after.

It had been a joy and a privilege. But when his third year came around, he'd taken stock and realised how little he had kept back for himself. Who was he without Bokuto there? Just the same bland, dutiful child as he had been before.

He knew that now, but he had nothing to show for it. He hadn't found himself or changed or grown. And when Bokuto showed up and said, I wish you could set for me again, all he could think was, Me too. He wanted to drop out of university and become a professional volleyball player so he could set the ball to Bokuto two hundred times a day; he wanted to turn the clock back to high school and pour himself out for Bokuto's sake again. At least then he would know what he was doing.

"You haven't done anything wrong," he said. That was the main thing to say. "It was my fault."

"What was?"

"Everything," he said, putting his hand over his eyes, feeling his face heat up even more than it had from the alcohol flush.

For a moment he was concentrating so intensely on not crying that there was no room in his head for any other thoughts. He could hear the rattle of chain links and the gentle scuff of dirt as Bokuto set his feet back on the ground, and the weight of the silence before he spoke.

"Hey, listen, Akaashi," he said. "It's not a big deal. Volleyball is just a game."

It was an unthinkable thing for him to say; but then, Bokuto was always unthinkably clear-headed when it came to volleyball.

"I mean, for me it's also my favourite thing, and my career and whatever else. But if there wasn't volleyball, I would just be a soccer player, or a gymnast. Y'know?"

"I've lost the thread here."

"The point is that we don't have to play volleyball together to be friends. I won't bring it up anymore, okay? We can just be normal."

Bokuto's concept of normal always had a tinge of the enigmatic to it. Nevertheless, Akaashi appreciated the effort that was being made for him and found himself smiling a little. "Okay," he said, lifting his head. "Let's be normal."

"Great! Wait, but—" the swing set began to screech as Bokuto leant in towards him, throwing his weight wildly off-balance— "you still watch volleyball, right? Did you see Brazil versus the USA this summer?"

"Yes, it was quite the upset. That forehead net touch seems like something that would happen to you."

"Tch! I would never," said the same Bokuto who once flew into the net like a fish because he was so eager to joust with the other team's ace.

Then, a twinkle appeared in Bokuto's eye. "Seeing as you don't play anymore, I guess you won't be jealous if I bring up Christenson." He was referring to the talented new setter on the USA team, who also happened to be young and handsome. Akaashi decided not to comment on whether he was or wasn't jealous. "Did you know he played both volleyball and basketball in high school? Which isn't that rare in America I guess, but he even won tournaments for both. He could've kept going with either! But he picked volleyball."

"No, I didn't know. That's remarkable."

"I guess there are a lot of transferable skills between the two sports," Bokuto said in a way that made it clear he had learned the phrase transferable skills only recently. "Anyway, since you still watch, wanna come see one of my games?"

The thought of it made Akaashi's heart pang. There was no player he enjoyed watching more than Bokuto, but it would be strange to do it from the stands again.

Normal—they were supposed to be normal. "Okay," he said, and was somewhat consoled by the enthusiasm of Bokuto's response, and the assertions that he would be Bokuto's absolute favourite audience member, the Most Valuable Audience, that they would be the MVP and MVA together, and so on.

He steeled himself and got to his feet. "Bokuto-san," he said. "Thank you for being so patient with me despite my poor attitude today. I think I've missed you quite a lot, and I did not handle it as well as I should have. I apologise for the trouble."

Bokuto blinked back at him as he straightened from his bow. "Well, yeah! I mean, we're cool. I missed you too."

Akaashi felt the last of the tension go out of him.

"Why didn't you tell me you were taken off the starting lineup?" he finally dared to ask.

"'Cause I didn't want you to help me. I wanted to seem all cool and independent."

"Well... you've succeeded at that."

"Ya think!?"

"Yes. I'm even envious of you."

"Well, we can't all be as cool as me," Bokuto said, puffing up like a cake in a tin. "I still have a long way to go though!"

"Just so, Bokuto-san. Shall we go back now?"

"Okay. Hey, Akaashi, if you're not going to finish that..."

"No. You're an athlete; you need to watch your alcohol intake. I'm pouring this down the drain."

He bent and picked up Bokuto's empty can as well. When he stood up, Bokuto was in front of him, and surprisingly enough, reached out his arms for a hug. Akaashi carefully put both cans back down to free his hands before reciprocating. Which was a good idea, because it turned out that this wasn't the quick clap on the back that they had exchanged outside the yakiniku restaurant back then, but a close, tight, full-body hug as between a parent and child. In fact, Akaashi found it somewhat difficult to breathe. It was nice. He stretched his arms around Bokuto's broad shoulders and squeezed hard. With his chin on Bokuto's shoulder, he could smell the warmth coming out from under the collar of Bokuto's shirt; he could feel, impossibly clear even through his layers of coat, cardigan, shirt and undershirt, Bokuto's hand against his spine.

They let go of each other after slightly too long. "Nice one!" Bokuto said brightly, and he turned around and started walking away.

Akaashi watched him go for a full two seconds before coming to his senses. "Bokuto-san, my accommodation is in the opposite direction!" he called. "Don't get lost!"

 

--

 

Sitting in his pyjamas on the edge of his bed, hands planted on thighs, with the sound of the shower running in the background, Akaashi was thinking hard. He had a very serious topic to consider here.

The thing was, Bokuto and himself had been out to each other since high school. Actually, at the time that Akaashi had deduced Bokuto was gay (or bisexual, according to the internet) and thus decided to come out to him, Bokuto himself had not been aware of this fact. But that was another story. In the end, it hadn't been a big deal because Bokuto was much more interested in volleyball than relationships. The most they would do was discuss whether any guys on the opposing teams had been especially cute.

There had never been any question of the two of them fooling around together, at least not in Akaashi's mind; the relationship between an ace and his setter was not to be meddled with lightly, not to mention the relationship between two guys who weren't out to anyone else at their high school. Perhaps those were flimsy pretexts. In hindsight, he hadn't dared to presume that it was an option.

However, circumstances had changed. Now they were just two supposedly normal friends who were (and he was fairly confident on this point) attracted to each other. Given that, would it be unreasonable for him to initiate some kind of further intimacy between them? He was strangely confident that they would be fine. If Bokuto reacted badly, some method could be devised to soothe him. If Akaashi himself wasn't happy with how things turned out, he would have to cope with the consequences of his actions. He could do that. It would be a calculated risk. But maybe he only thought that because he wanted to try it so badly.

If the bathroom wasn't taken, he would have gone and stared himself down in the mirror for thirty minutes while gripping the edge of the sink and going over every possible option: the problem was on that level of difficulty.

The sound of the shower had stopped while he was thinking. Just then Bokuto burst out of the bathroom wearing nothing but the grey boxer briefs Akaashi had made him buy in Family Mart. He glowed; he sparkled. The swells and dips of his pink-flushed body filled Akaashi's vision like a mountain landscape. His physique had always been a little broader and thicker than the textbook ideal of a volleyball player, like his personality was so large that his body had to expand to fit it, but during their time apart he seemed to have put on muscle absolutely everywhere. His spikes surely cleared 100 kilometres an hour.

Akaashi surged to his feet. "It's not unreasonable!" he declaimed.

"Huh!? What is?"

Bokuto hated surprises. Akaashi was careful to telegraph his intentions clearly when he went over, first stepping into Bokuto's personal space, then putting a hand on his waist and checking his reaction—he didn't flinch—before putting the other hand at the back of his neck. Bokuto obediently tilted his face downward in response, and thus, as Akaashi had hoped, they kissed.

It was just a small touch of the lips, but a wide smile was already spreading across Bokuto's face as he pulled away.

"Akaashi!" he yelled enthusiastically, seizing Akaashi by the shoulders. "Perfect timing! I was just jerking off in the shower while thinking about you!"

Bokuto... was always great at giving positive feedback!

 

--

 

Akaashi did miscalculate on one point that night. In the process of their exploratory physical activities, in order to ensure everything they were doing was as comfortable as possible, he had retrieved some lubricant from a drawer. In doing so, he had unthinkingly allowed Bokuto to glimpse the condoms inside of said drawer. After that it was pretty much inevitable that there would be an attempt to use the condoms. It was nearly three in the morning by the time they got around to it, and they were both pretty wrung out and physically spent. It was never going to be an optimal first time. And yet, maybe because they knew they would be in separate cities again by tomorrow night, they were compelled to try out everything that they could together.

Such were the circumstances that led to a drop of nervous sweat trickling down Akaashi's back as he listened to Bokuto fighting for his life behind him, trying to put the condom on.

"C'mon... now! Now!" Bokuto was whispering to himself.

"Is everything all right? Should I put it on for you?" A particular thought struck him. "Is the size too small?"

"No, no, no! I just need to—"

Akaashi heard Bokuto sigh with unusual frustration and work himself with his hand again. He contemplated coming up with a cringeworthy line of dirty talk or assuming some sort of sexy pose for encouragement, but he decided this would add too much extra pressure.

After awhile longer he decided to turn around and see what was going on, but the moment he started to move Bokuto yelped. "Don't look!" he said.

This was such an alarming request that Akaashi turned around anyway. Bokuto quickly covered his modesty with his hands before panicking, tumbling over his own legs and falling off the bed altogether with a crash. His face peeped back up from the edge of the mattress wearing a pathetic and heartbroken expression.

"My dick forgot how to get hard," he explained tragically.

Akaashi finally understood. "You had several units of alcohol today, you're tired, and you're stressed because we've never done this before," he reasoned. "No wonder you would have difficulties."

"But I'm only twenty years old! And you're so hot and sexy! What's wrong with me?"

"Um, nothing in this context."

"It's all over. We'll never have sex forever. Forget me, Akaashi."

Bokuto crawled up onto the bed, grabbed Akaashi's pillow, and buried his head underneath it. Then he lay very still and pretended he wasn't there.

"It's all right. We can do something else." The sight of facedown naked Bokuto was quite inspirational.

"Not horny anymore," came the muffled response.

Akaashi yawned, and thought about this problem. It wouldn't do for Bokuto to go to sleep in such a bad mood. It was always harder to deal with the multiple-day moods.

"If this is erectile dysfunction, then when you forget how to hit a cross shot, is that... projectile dysfunction?" he mused, provoking a loud, hurt whine from under the pillow. "Come on, Bokuto-san. I thought you missed how mean I was."

A hand crept out and grabbed on to the nearest part of him, his foot. Perhaps that was an affirmative, or perhaps it was a plea for mercy. Either way, it was good that Bokuto didn't perceive him as angry or distant right now.

"I suppose we should go to sleep, then," he announced.

He got up, switched out the lights so that only a tiny strip of bluish streetlight came in from the gap between his curtains, then shoved Bokuto to the inside of the bed (it was like moving an angsty sandbag) so he could lie down too and cover them both with the blanket. He only had a single bed; it was a squeeze. He settled his head next to Bokuto's, speaking gently into the gap between the pillow and the mattress.

"We've never slept in the same bed like this before," he said. "Do you think you'll be able to fall asleep?"

He knew Bokuto would be able to fall asleep. Once, he had witnessed Bokuto fall asleep while being actively beaten with his own pocket thesaurus. He was just asking to build anticipation.

"Bokuto-san, can I ask you for a favour?" he continued.

"What could I even do?" Bokuto asked mournfully.

"I read an article the other day about a scientific study, which said that skin to skin contact has a lot of health benefits. It can reduce anxiety, strengthen your immune system, and even speed up the healing of wounds. So..."

Bokuto grumbled and reached out to Akaashi, who found himself grabbed and pulled backwards into Bokuto's arms. Now they were spooning. He could feel Bokuto's skin sticking to his from between his shoulderblades all the way down to the backs of his thighs, hot as direct sunlight.

"Happy now?" Bokuto asked despondently.

"Yes," said Akaashi, indulging him.

"Hmmm..."

"But I'm not just asking for a hug," Akaashi continued. "For the full health benefits, we have to be naked. And we have to actually fall asleep like this. It might be difficult."

This part was a shameless lie; nobody had done a study on adults sleeping naked together, as far as he knew. And no benefits had been found to skin contact lasting longer than 20 minutes.

"We're already naked."

"Yes."

"So now we just have to fall asleep!"

"Indeed."

They fell into a silence, in which Bokuto discovered why it might be difficult. With his free arm thrown over Akaashi's waist, there were a lot of options for where exactly to put his hand. How to pick just one? Akaashi stared into the darkness and endured as Bokuto's hand wandered up to the hollow of his throat and then back down again, gently mapping his body via touch. When the exploration ventured below his waist, Bokuto brushed against the evidence of the effect he was having on Akaashi, and Akaashi felt the protrusion that had begun poking at his buttock jump strongly in response.

"Hey, I bet I could do it now," Bokuto whispered. "Wanna try it? Akaashi?"

"We're going to sleep," Akaashi reminded him.

Bokuto squeezed him around the waist and whined, letting out a big huff of breath that coated the back of his neck in hot moisture. The blanket was too warm; sweat was breaking out as little pinpricks of discomfort all along the seam of their bodies. If either of them moved another muscle right now, Akaashi was going to snap and lose it, and then it would be not three but five in the morning and they would have to change the sheets and go for a second round of showers.

"Did you know," he said, voice coming out as calm as ever. "There's another study that says when people hug for a long time, their heart rates synchronise."

"Whoa. Then... both our hearts must be beating so fast right now."

"That's right."

"But you don't want to..."

"No, not now."

In a few minutes, Akaashi knew, this self-imposed denial would go from sexy to kind of stupid and uncomfortable. But the important thing was that Bokuto was distracted from his inward negativity, and instead was absorbed in his outward desires and the effort needed to control them. Akaashi found that pleasing.

No, Bokuto didn't really need his micro-management. And yes, there was a part of him that yearned for nothing more than to be railed six ways to Sunday by his favourite college athlete. But there was a deeper satisfaction to be savoured here, born from holding someone else's mental state within his prediction and control, even if only to a small extent. It was a competency gained from long study and rumination on a single individual; at the same time, it was intuitive, like the other mind floated alongside his own and he could feel the shape of it, reach out and work its buttons and levers with sparing touches, until it began working the way he desired. He felt flashes of the same thing with family and friends, where he would suddenly know just the right thing to say to them. He'd felt it strongly when he outwitted opponents as a setter. But it still came easiest with Bokuto, who was so wonderfully responsive, and on whom he had practiced the most.

It was a little like when he thought he had read all of an author's published works, as well as a few of their inspirations and rivals', and then he discovered another one at the back of the shelf and snatched it up. At those times he could tell what they were talking about from the very first chapter. He would never meet those authors--in fact, many of them were long dead--but there was a sense in which he knew them intimately.

A thought occurred to him about his submission to the magazine, and he smiled to himself. Now all his goals for the day were complete. He pulled a corner of the abandoned pillow under his head, getting comfortable. Then he shut his eyes and allowed himself to be absorbed by the sound of Bokuto's slowly lengthening breaths, and by the knowledge of Bokuto's sleepy, libidinous mind tucked next to his, mirroring his, so that all the other thoughts fell away.

 

--

 

By the time they made it out of bed and went out for breakfast the next morning, the school cafeteria had already started serving lunch. Bokuto set his tray down with a clatter and instantly befriended Akaashi's mealtime acquaintances. He was also outraged by the portion sizes--apparently, at Chuutaidai it was all high-protein salads and thousand-calorie curries--and went to the convenience store after to buy a pre-cooked chicken breast which he ate straight from the plastic wrapping.

Akaashi was unclear as to the status of their relationship now. They hadn't really discussed anything last night beyond, if he were to summarise, how attractive they found each other. Before that, Bokuto had been insistent that they be friends again. Were they now friends with benefits? Friends who had hooked up once but should refrain from doing so again to keep things from getting emotionally messy? Akaashi really should've figured this out at the time instead of being swept up on the high of fulfilling his high school sexual fantasies.

He couldn't blame Bokuto for not thinking long-term or communicating clearly, since Bokuto never did those things. Akaashi would have to figure out the best course of action himself. Not necessarily what he wanted (a concept he was finding difficult to access), or what Bokuto wanted, but what was optimal.

Akaashi expected they would get back to indulging themselves in physical contact as soon as they returned to the privacy of his room. Instead when the door clicked shut Bokuto blurted out, "I need to be back in time for practice at six."

"I'll help you look up trains, then."

"Okay."

A single step from the platform to the carriage, and Bokuto would leave Akaashi to contend with the blank page again. That wasn't how he should think. He should be normal like they had agreed on.

Akaashi took his laptop over to the bed so they could sit together; while he used his right hand to navigate the browser, Bokuto grabbed his left, tracing around his palm and up to each of his fingertips. The volleyball videos he watched on YouTube sometimes described good setters as having soft hands: no matter the spin or momentum of the ball passed their way, they could neutralise it and set it as usual. It was an evocative phrase. The fine muscles in Akaashi's hands and wrists twitched with the urge to be soft for Bokuto.

Bokuto turned his hand over and held it. "Akaashi," he said. "I wish—I wish I had bought a second piece of chicken."

"You wish I could set for you."

"Ah! You got me again! And I said I wasn't gonna bring it up!"

Akaashi thought seriously about Bokuto's wish for the first time. "A friendly practice match wouldn't do, would it?"

"No, I wanna play for real. And we should be playing against a strong team. Like at nationals. In fact! I wish you could set for me at nationals again."

"So..." He grasped for the right words to convey his intuition, to turn it into a deduction. "You want a sense of achievement. Like from scoring off my set. And you want a big challenge to overcome, like at nationals."

"And you. You have to be there."

"Why?"

"That's the whole point! Because your sets are my favourite."

"How about some other kind of activity? Like if we were to climb Mount Everest together."

Bokuto gasped. "Akaashi! Will you climb Mount Everest with me!?"

"No."

Akaashi noticed that the results on the web page had finally loaded: Bokuto should take either the train at 2:17 or the one at 2:27. They should leave soon. Still, no haze of desperation descended upon him. Maybe it was because Bokuto was still holding onto his hand, grounding him. Or maybe just because he had grown self-assured.

He weighed up the options and considered the contributions he could make: to Bokuto's remarkable existence, to his day-to-day life. They didn't quite seem enough. Who was he to think that a merely consistent and serviceable supporting character like him could—

—No. Didn't he want to be a writer?

Then, why would he let the main character he wanted get away so easily? This lovable, quixotic, and ever-evolving hero, who wanted nothing more than to vie his way into the spotlight and be allowed to shine—why would he cede the honour and the privilege of overseeing that journey to anyone else?

"Bokuto-san," he said.

Bokuto perked up. The instant their eyes met he started to smile, as if he'd understood, just from that. But he still asked: "What is it, Akaashi?"

"It's not Mount Everest, but if you want to overcome a series of challenges together with me, how about we try a long-distance relationship?"

Bokuto narrowed one eye, turning his smile sly and covetous. "Meaning I can come see you without an excuse?"

"That's right. But owing to other priorities in our lives, we probably won't be able to see each other as much as we would like. We will spend most of our time in different environments, with few experiences in common. This could lead to... various forms of conflict." It was easy to think of things that could go wrong.

Well, it was easy for Akaashi to think of things that could go wrong. Bokuto just squeezed his hand electrifyingly tight and said, "Yeah, let's do it!" Then he grabbed hold of Akaashi's face and gave him a smacking and rather off-target kiss on the side of his mouth. He needed to practice aiming. "We'll be so good at this, Akaashi." Bokuto's voice had dropped to a growl, as if there was a worthy opponent waiting on the other side of the net. "The best." The next kiss strayed down toward his chin.

"We might be able to place in the top ten percent," Akaashi conceded. "Let's start on the right note by having you catch your train."

 

--

 

After he had walked Bokuto to the station, he took the long way home. He had a lot to think about, but for now, partly to prove to himself that he could still do it, partly because he was impatient to get started, he took all of his thoughts—the matter of Bokuto, the two lectures he had missed today and the four readings he needed to complete, a craving for curry rice, the rustle of the wind blowing yellow leaves from the trees and the bite of it against the tip of his nose and countless other things—and loosed his grip on them, one by one, letting them fall away to the edges of his mind. The center settled still and clear. He could get some work done there.

At first, all he had was his inkling of an idea from last night. It needed to be articulated as an actual concept, something another person would understand. Then he had to figure out how to make them understand, how to lead them from idea to idea... after a while, he had constructed a narrative and even had a notion of how to convey each key point within it. He permuted the points back and forth until he had an outline that felt good, one whose shape would catch nicely against the mind of an idle reader.

When his feet finally took him back to his front door he went straight to his desk and got it all down in bullet points. It would take a bit more research than he had planned, and he foresaw at least one all-nighter in the near future, but he was perfectly willing to put in the effort. It wouldn't be a story of his own just yet, but something he cared about nonetheless: an introduction to, and critical analysis of, the published works of Matsushita Mon. It had occurred to him that some of the people he admired needed a little more help finding the spotlight than others.