Chapter Text
“Please no, please put your hand down,” Akaashi mutters glaring at the small yellow hand emoji his co-worker raised one minute before his meeting was supposed to end. “Do not drag this out longer than it—”
“Akaashi-san? Did you want to say something? Your mic is muted.” Akaashi’s editor-in-chief’s voice comes through the speakers of his laptop. Oh my god, was I talking out loud? What should I say? If I pretend I wasn’t talking I might lose the trust of my editor. If I pretend I don’t hear her I’ll continue to delay the meeting. Akaashi reluctantly drags his mouse across the screen and unmutes himself. “Yes sorry Fumi-san, I might need to hop off soon to prepare for my next meeting.”
“Ah yes, look at the time,” Fumi-san says. Akaashi nods and relief washes over him. “Oh, but I see Sayaka has her hand raised.” No no no no. “Sayaka, is there something you wanted to add before we wrapped this up?” No, say no!
“Uh yeah sure.” Sayaka makes a face like she wasn’t expecting to be called on. “I just wanted to let you know I thought of a new mangaka I could reach out to.”
Oh? You mean the question you were asked 50 minutes ago that you had no answer to, even though it’s your job to know? Akaashi thrums his fingers against his desk as spiteful thoughts flow out. He doesn’t like the kind of person these meetings turn him into but they’re so frustrating.
“Yes, Sayaka, go ahead,” Fumi-san encourages with a hint of annoyance, clearly wanting to wrap this up.
“Well, I remember I had a dream that maybe I could find a comedy mangaka.”
Oh my god. Akaashi wants to scream. How is this his life? His co-worker is basing her career decisions on her dreams???
He starts to spam Kenma with texts, trying to channel the anger out of his system through a short series of rants.
“Uh yeah that sounds good Sayaka, why don’t we talk about it tomorrow.” Fumi-san, bless her heart, manages to keep a straight face as she responds to Sayaka’s comment.
The three other editors Akaashi works with unmute themselves to say goodbye and he waves quickly before exiting the video call browser and releasing a loud groan. “I hate this job,” he sighs.
It’s been two months since Akaashi graduated from The University of Tokyo and two months since he started working for this small manga publisher. The pay is average but not enough for the hours he works and the bullshit he put up with from his co-workers who despite working there longer, are terrible at their jobs.
Akaashi stands up from the desk set up in the second bedroom of his apartment and stretches. Thankfully he can work from home on Fridays.
A small ding plays through his computer speakers. It’s a tell-tale sign of his personal email, and his attention is immediately pulled back to his computer. Akaashi’s heart quickens in anticipation as he opens a new browser and sees an email from his electric provider notifying him his bill is ready to be paid. He refreshes his inbox hopefully, but the new mail section remains filled by the single email. Great, still no news from them.
Akaashi pays the bill right away, knowing he’ll forget otherwise, and shuts his laptop. “I need a break,” Akaashi mutters to himself. A gentle breeze blows outside pulling the bright foliage along with it, stray leaves twirling as they fall down in front of the window his desk sits next to.
Akaashi looks around his room and considers what to do with himself. Read? Watch a show? Go on a walk? His eyes linger on a framed page of Bugangakai magazine, set with dark red oak. A foul mood seeps over him. Why haven’t they gotten back to me? Leaves continue to dance in the air outside and he decides fresh air is what he needs.
The door to his apartment squeaks as he tugs it shut. It definitely was not built for the frame it sits in, but Akaashi makes do with the quirky two-bedroom space. He found it during his desperate search for housing a few months ago when he realized he’d be staying in Tokyo after he graduated.
Carpeted stairs groan below him as he steps down to the front door. Akaashi walks past the entrance to his neighbor’s place on the first floor before unlocking their shared front door. A couple of decades ago this was probably one cohesive house. But as the housing market worsened, dwellings like this became more common. Akaashi steps out on his porch and inhales the sweet smell of fall, smiling as autumn memories come crashing back.
He does like this place. He’d rather live here than in some giant complex with hundreds of identical apartments filled with hundreds of neighbors. Here he only has one neighbor.
The sun warms Akaashi’s face and he pulls his glasses off to rub his eyes. I’m so t—
“Tired?” His neighbor chirps from his screened-in sunroom that’s attached to their shared porch.
A weary smile pulls at Akaashi’s lips and he slips his glasses back on to focus on his spikey grey-haired neighbor. “Just looking forward to the weekend Bokuto-san,” he replies, leaving no room for the conversation to continue.
Bokuto’s laugh is warm and boisterous. “Haha yeah me too, you work a lot don’t you Akaashi?” Bokuto drags out the “kaa” in Akaashi’s name a beat longer than anyone else and puts his pen down from whatever he’s working on, turning his chair to face Akaashi on the porch. Bokuto’s wearing his usual Kyoto University sweatshirt which is very worn, the sleeves fraying. “Are you free tonight?” Bokuto asks like a habit.
Akaashi continues to smile but a part of him falters. “Sorry, not tonight Bokuto-san. I have plans with a friend.”
A weak smile replaces the bright grin on Bokuto’s face and he nods slightly.
“I’ll see you later Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, also like a habit, stepping back into their shared building.
“See you later Akaashi,” Bokuto chirps once more.
Akaashi glances at Bokuto’s front door, for a moment wondering what his apartment is like as he walks back up the steps to his own place. He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text
Me: Drinks tonight? 4:31 p.m.
Kenma: Yeah. 8 at Hachien? 4:31 p.m.
Akaashi smiles at the quick response and sends a thumbs-up to Kenma’s message.
It’s always like this between Boktuo and Akaashi. They engage in small talk and then Bokuto asks him to hang out. For two months the pattern hasn’t changed. When Akaashi first moved in he was a little nervous about living near someone so…loud. Bokuto acted way too familiarly and briefly, Akaashi considered finding a new place. But after a week Bokuto gave him his space. Though he continued to ask Akaashi to hang out, very politely and now almost expecting rejection before he gets the question out. Akaashi always turns him down. It’s not that he doesn’t want to hang out with Bokuto. It’s just…complicated.
_________
“It’s complicated because you’re making it complicated,” Kenma lectures Akaashi with a disinterested tone, languidly pouring sake into a small cup. “Just hang out with him.”
“You know I can’t do that.” Akaashi takes a sip of his half-empty gin and tonic and his expression sours. He didn't stir the drink enough for how long They’ve been sitting there so now he’s just drinking gin, sans tonic.
“Actually no I don’t. Please explain your ridiculous reasoning for why you can’t make new friends again?”
Akaashi sighs, switching his glass for Kenma’s sake, and takes a quick sip. Much better. Kenma downs the gin and waits silently for Akaashi to answer him. “Because I’m at a point in my life where a new job could take me anywhere– I want it to take me anywhere. I don’t want to be weighed down by a new relationship and forced to make hard decisions.”
Kenma waits for him to finish but Akaashi can see him pulling his argument apart in his mind.
“Who said anything about a relationship? I’m talking about a neighborly friendship.” He tugs the sake bottle out of Akaashi’s hands and Akaashi relinquishes his grip. “You need to socialize more.”
“Friendships are relationships, Kenma.”
“Yeah ok sure.”
“And It’s not like I’m alone all day,” Akaashi says, ignoring Kenma’s argument.
“Oh yes, what great company your co-worker, who you hate, and the sleep-deprived anti-social mangakas you edit for must be.” Sarcasm drips off Kenma’s words.
Akaashi laughs at Kenma’s joke and the truth of the statement. “You’re a sleep-deprived anti-social too,” he teases.
“Yeah and I know I’m not the best company because of it, so add an extroverted—what does he do again?”
“Teaches, for an elementary school.”
“Of course he does,” Kenma laughs. “Add an extroverted elementary school teacher to your dot of a friendship circle.
“It’s not a dot,” Akaashi sighs.
“Oh really? The last time you made a new friend was me! During sophomore year of college, a year after we’d been living together I might add. Unless you count your library co-worker…was that also sophomore year? Or junior year?”
“Please, not this again.” Akaashi folds his head into his arms on the table. “It was sophomore year,” He murmurs. And I don’t count him.
“Almost three years ago. I told you to get his number but no, you chickened out and let another person who wanted to be your friend slip by. Conversing over a Word doc for christ's sake, do you know how much that hurts my comp-sci soul? And now you’re pushing people away again. Why? For jobs you haven’t even applied to?”
Akaashi tenses at those words and Kenma immediately picks up on it.
“Or have you already applied somewhere?”
Akaashi glances up, feeling a little caught. “I didn’t want to say anything so I wouldn’t jinx it, but yeah.”
“Where?” Kenma leans forward.
“Bungakukai.”
“No way,” Kenma gasps out slowly. His reaction while dramatic is slightly called for. Akaashi has idolized this magazine since high school and the monthly subscriptions filled the bookshelves in his and Kenma’s shared apartments throughout college.
“For the Osaka office,” he finishes delivering the news.
“Oh.”
“Yeah, they’re opening a new branch and…yeah.” Akaashi trails off not sure what else to say about the job he’s applied for located almost 250 miles away. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I interviewed with them almost a month ago and I haven’t heard anything since then so I probably won’t get it anyw—.”
“Don’t say that.” Kenma cuts him off. “You are an exceptional writer and editor, they’d be dumb to pass on you. Have you reached back out to them?”
“No, I don’t want to bother them.”
“Akaashi don’t pick now to start being stupid.” Akaashi lets out a shocked choke at Kenma’s comment. Kenma is rarely this assertive. “Email them and ask how the selection process is going, that’s how I got all of those hiring teams to get back to me.”
“Didn’t they all pass on you?” Akaashi asks, dragging his sake bottle back across the table.
“No, I passed on them and started my own company. They should’ve nailed me down before I got bored of waiting,” Kenma yanks the bottle away from Akaashi.
If only I was a famous streamer. “Maybe I’ll start my own magazine then,” Akaashi grumbles, irritated by how different their problems are.
“Yes, but after you’ve worked at Bungakukai for a few years. I’ll fund you when the time comes.”
Akaashi laughs a little then stops when he sees the straight face Kenma has and realizes he’s completely serious.
“But first you need to email them,” Kenma says casually, finishing the sake.
Around them, the bar has grown significantly more crowded. Akaashi and Kenma used to come here when they were still in college because every drink is 800 yen and the speakeasy-style bar makes going to get a drink a little more exciting. Akaashi hoped the hidden entrance and secret button to get in would curb the evening college crowd but as usual, once midnight hits they’re surrounded by a sea of swarming undergrads.
“Let’s head out,” Kenma half-shouts. Akaashi pulls out his wallet and Kenma waves him away. “I’ve got this.”
“I’ll get the next one,” Akaashi says gradually getting louder as he realizes how noisy the space around them has become. Kenma nods his head while taking his card back from the bartender. “Maybe we need to pick a new bar,” Akaashi says as they push through all the people toward the exit. The table they were sitting at is immediately swarmed as different friend groups try to slide into the booth-styled seats.
“Maybe I should just buy this bar.” A glint in Kenma’s eyes tells Akaashi he’s joking and he laughs.
“Oh my god are you Kodzuken??” A girl, definitely too young to be here circles around Kenma with her definitely too-young friends, and Kenma wilts under the attention.
“No sorry. I get that a lot though.”
Akaashi represses a small grin as they walk past the girls and listen to them discuss how they “could’ve sworn that was Kodzuken.”
“Maybe we do need a new bar,” Kenma says wearily.
_________
Bokuto’s living room lights are on when Akaashi gets back to his apartment. A small part of him wants to peek into Bokuto’s window. A larger part of him wishes Bokuto was out on the porch when he came home. Akaashi fumbles with his keys under the dim light provided by a nearby street lamp. Most nights Bokuto sits on the porch and drinks a beer. Most mornings he does the same with a cup of tea. In between, Akaashi will find him in his sunroom when they’re not at work. But now it’s just Akaashi on the porch with a door he can’t open.
Akaashi uses his phone as a flashlight and successfully turns the lock open. The shared doorway is completely dark when he turns his phone off and allows muscle memory to guide him around the space. The peephole on Bokuto’s door glows, golden light illuminating the tiny magnifying glass. The stairs creak under Akaashi’s feet and he wonders if Bokuto can hear him. I need to stop thinking about him.
“ただいま,” Akaashi says to his empty apartment. He brushes his teeth before slipping into bed. Groups of college students looking for parties chatter and shout as they roam the sidewalk below Akaashi’s window. He turns his fan on high to drown out the noise. I’m so glad I don’t have work tomorrow. Kenma’s job advice rolls around Akaashi’s head and he blocks it out. He doesn’t want to think about that right now because then he will start to spiral.
“Conversing over a Word doc for christ’s sake.”
Kenma’s words chip away at frozen memories Akaashi hadn’t thought about for a years. Part of him wanted to completely forget about what happened.
How many days has it been?