vault89

[pridewon]

@agorace​ // tsukki (plotted)

It shouldn’t really be happening anymore. That pull in his chest. It’s subtle, barely noticeable, really; merely a flutter that stings a little bit. But it’s there, even when he knows it shouldn’t be.

It is a thorn between his ribs, pushing just enough to make him squirm, not enough to make him scream - uncomfortable but not painful enough that he feels justified in complaining about it.  ‘I have something to show you. Can you come by the museum after you finish work?’ - Tsukki had texted him, much to his surprise and relief (if he looked at this electrical circuit one moment longer, his head would implode). In the seven years they have been together, this much hasn’t changed: whenever Tsukki calls, Tadashi follows, loyal and compliant to a fault, always happy to share in whatever it is his boyfriend deems worthy of their combined interest. 

After all this time, Tadashi should know the place he occupies in his partner’s life and heart. So why is there this antsy feeling in his chest, as he walks into the museum’s paleontology wing, and catches sight of Kei and who appears to be a visitor?

He stops in his tracks, by the mammoth exhibit under the high glass ceiling, unwilling to interrupt what is, no doubt, a professional and cordial exchange. But Tadashi is not a fool; at the age of sixteen, he might have been oblivious to those things, but now, he has learnt the telltale signs. She is pretty, she smiles; she leans in just a tad closer, like they are the only two people in the world. Inside Tadashi’s chest, something seizes up. He has no reason to be worried, he knows. He just can’t help the voice in his head ordering her to go away.

At long last the woman leaves, and he waits until she is out of sight to come out of his hiding spot and trot towards Tsukki, a smile he hopes happy and carefree etched at both corners of his mouth. “Kei!” He chimes up; rising on his toes to meet his lips; long blond curls brushing against his forehead as he does. Already the weight on his chest feels lighter - hopefully it will have vanished entirely before Kei notices anything. 

“Phew, I thought today would never end. Thanks for giving me an excuse to get out of that office. I’d much rather be here!” With him, of course - always - ; but Yamaguchi genuinely does treasure this museum he has grown to know so well, and that Tsukki loves so much. “So, what did you want to show me? It’s nothing bad, right? Is everything okay?” 

[littlewarricr]

     @agorace​ said, “ 20. Carrying while half asleep ( from Hirugami! sometimes study sessions get tiring and you need a tol to carry you to bed ; ; ) ”           from: platonic touch

     makiko tries her hardest to stay awake -- really, she does! when her eyelids first start to droop, she grabs a snack for her and hirugami to share ( and a treat just for adzuki, of course! ), and the simple action of chewing helps. when her eyelids start to droop again, she slaps her cheeks, forces herself to ask hirugami questions, even if she already knows the answer. maybe if she can stay engaged, she can get through the exhaustion. she doesn’t want to fall asleep on hirugami, doesn’t want him to think she doesn’t value the time he gives her.

     she really does try to stay awake, but eventually there’s a lapse of silence that lasts just a moment too long. her eyes slide shut, and makiko slips into blissful unconsciousness.

     she can’t be sure how long she’s asleep before hirugami notices, though it feels like a mere second before she feels his sturdy arms lifting her into the air and cradling her against his chest. it’s more comfortable than makiko would imagine it to be. it’s warm, and it feels safe; she’s always hated being picked up for fear of being dropped, but she feels light as a feather now. hirugami won’t drop her.

     her mind drifts to hirugami’s tendency to go out of his way for other people, the things he’s done for her. it’s a flickering thought, distracted by the gentle rocking of her friend’s steps and the soft thump thump of his heart. it’s enough to put her to sleep again, if not for hirugami shifting makiko around to open her bedroom door, and the maneuvering he has to go through to pull her blankets back before finally laying her down. by the time he has her nestled in bed, she’s just awake enough to peer up at hirugami through half-lidded eyes and whine at him before he can leave ( because who can form coherent words when they’re barely awake? ) .

     he pauses in the doorway, and while her mind still feels fuzzy with sleep, there’s the distinct, pleasant feeling of being cared for and the desire to make sure hirugami knows she appreciates him. softly, sincerely, makiko murmurs, “ thanks, hiru.” it’s the most she can manage in the moment.

     tomorrow, she’ll thank him properly. 

[sekaikun]

Sakusa and Yotasuke are the best thing to ever happen to me actually like we haven’t even had an official thread yet but the fact @agorace and I have completely tracked their entire life together is insane.

[5454545654]

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[pridewon]

@agorace​ / osamu (plotted starter)

Anyone on Inarizaki’s boys volleyball team will tell you the same thing. Miya Atsumu is the personnification of perfectionism. Setting impossibly high standards for others, even more impossible standards for himself, the team’s setter knows he didn’t become one of the best in the nation by sheer talent and sitting idly on a bench. His overzealous attitude towards the sport comes as a surprise to no one, more habitual than not. It takes a dedicated eye, to spot the minute differences between Atsumu’s usual borderline excessive training routine, and those nigh invisible moments when training becomes an excuse for deliberate self-sabotage. Even after all this time, he is only aware of two people who are able to see the telltale signs. The first is Kita Shinsuke, their captain, the one person who, Atsumu is fairly certain of it, sees everything, no matter how small or insignificant.

The other is his own twin brother. Yep. The one and only. For better or worse.

It only stands to reason, for sure. They have been together since for fuckin’ ever, literally. They used to be one and the same entity, once upon a time. Still, Osamu’s astute sense of observation, his sixth sense, his twin sense, as Alan calls it, is both a blessing and a curse. All throughout training, their first since they returned from Tokyo, Atsumu has felt it, his brother’s gaze drilling into him, peeling off the armour he’d clad himself into, unbothered by the spikes he decorated it with. Leave me alone, he seemed to bark with ever slightly too aggressive spike. Leave me alone, he seemed to beg, with every too forceful serve landing out of bounds. 

It had taken Kita’s intervention to put a stop to the shitshow and force him to a halt. Still, coming close to breaking his own hand felt slightly better than grazing his knuckles against the shards of his own broken, bleeding heart. Something cuts deep within his chest every time he takes a step, takes a breath. He walks around, livid, sickened, furious, screams dying in his burning throat. And he knows it is only a matter of time until his better half will try to step in and catch him before he spirals off too deep into his self-destructive cascade.

The bell tolls the moment he hears the door to their room clic open. Sat down on the lower bunk,  Atsumu keeps his eyes fixed onto the wall. Red, burning, too dry, tired. He doesn’t blink when Osamu’s footsteps - for he knows it is his brother - draw close to the bunk bed. Doesn’t flinch when he hears him coming to a halt. 

The only thing as shattered as the beating lump of flesh in his chest is his voice, when, finally, he deigns using it. There is no use not telling him. The world has finally imploded, and it’s about damn time someone else took notice.

“We broke up.” The admission drops between them like a ton of lead. Without looking at his brother, Atsumu picks at his own hands - a nervous tic, a bad habit, one that, at its worse, draws blood. Better to bleed from there than to bleed inside, he figures. “I broke up.” There is nothing Osamu can do now to rectify his brother’s shortcomings. All Atsumu has to offer is the ugly reality of the aftermath of disaster.

[littlewarricr]

     @agorace​​​ said, “ HC — Flowers! ”           from: send me  “HC”  + a word and I’ll write a headcanon about it.

     bc of her mother, makiko learned about ikebana, the japanese art of flower arrangement! her mother started teaching her when she was in elementary school, and it eventually became an activity they would do together every now and then. in high school, during the summer, makiko actually decides to take some ikebana classes bc it is a hobby she enjoys quite a bit! it’s quite soothing and satisfying to create something so pretty.

     when looking around her parents’ house and makiko’s apartment, you can spot several arrangements around!

[sekaikun]

100% PERCENT SURE ... he has never been absolutely, positively, completely sure of anything in his life, until now. he had maybe gotten up earlier than him to prepare for the day. and he had maybe ventured out of the hotel room a few times to get whatever it is they might have needed for the day. even this early the place was packed full of people. it did give him a fright, and he did get anxious, and everyone was exceedingly threatening being... athletes and all. but none of that mattered now! Yotasuke, since the beginning, since their first meeting and far into their relationship thought this must be a fluke. he wasn’t sure back then, if Sakusa had any intention with him beyond novelty. if he was interacting with him out of pity or something he couldn’t fully comprehend. some cruel joke? that mindset only lasted a few weeks since their initial conversation, and dissipated quickly afterwards. then he wasn’t sure why Sakusa ever spoke to him at all. if not for an ulterior motive then why? it baffled him. Yotasuke would spend nights contemplating the possibilities. nothing ever seemed solid. there was no reason to like him, especially like him as much as Sakusa did. again, those trepidations days passed by and left the two of them hand in hand. it left Yotasuke was a certainty beyond any other assurance he’s felt before. and that extended to today.

the weather was hot. summer Olympics or not it was still excruciatingly hot. and freezing in all the buildings. the stark contrast in temperature was only one of the hurdles Yotasuke would have to deal with. Among the screaming and roaring crowds of people everywhere, and the cacophony of several languages, and the most social interaction he would ever have to deal with, he would persevere. every day he was up early and in bed late. forcing himself into situations he would have sworn off as fantasy only a few years prior. yes, it was hard and miserable sometimes. he did have to scurry off to the bathroom every now and again and sit in a stall to calm down. but Sakusa was working so much harder.

there is something surreal about the bated breath. the sudden instance of incredible deafening silence before incredible deafening applause. something like heaven, like you died and the biggest weight had been lifted off your shoulders, like everything you had done and worked for cumulated to this very moment and it went off without a hitch. the strangeness in the feeling of success. the feeling of relief and disbelief. you knew it would happen though. you were 100% sure. and the emotions were still overwhelming.  he wasn’t fond of loud noises, no, but that otherworldly atmosphere of watching him win, with everyone else, was going to be irreplaceable in his heart. before he knew it he was on his feat with the same amount of vigor and uproar as everyone surrounding him. before he knew it tears were streaming down his face as he screamed, watching that man bow his head on the court towards him made his heart explode. yatora who sat next to him had to practically subdue him, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt so he wouldn’t run off in the masses of people, knowing that it wouldn’t end well.

so proud. so proud, ecstatic, elated, exhausted, enthralled, everything he felt- overwhelming. eventually Yotasuke was able to make it onto the gymnasium floor, waiting outside the bathrooms or locker-rooms or whatever they were. he’s had to memorize the maps of all of these places and at this point yatora had been lost in the crowd and maybe yotasuke was getting antsy over that too. he wasn’t big, mind you, especially compared to volleyball players, so he was awash in a sea of gods among men. for the moment he wasn’t thinking about Sakusa he was now thinking about the horrible knot in his stomach, the sweat begining the accumulate on his palms and brow. world looking fuzzy, feeling faint, but forcing himself to stay alert for when Japan’s national team came flooding out. Squeezing through a few more people with a small apology he spotted him. he couldn’t yell anymore, so a gasping little squeak came out of him instead.

“ ah- Kiyoomi - ! ”

@agorace​ / i said i’d write you a starter 

[kunekos]

"Thought you'd like something simpler this year," Kei mumbled past the lip of his glass, sitting under the moonlit sky on the roof of their apartment building. small, warm, golden christmas lights had been strung up in this little corner. lastly, he'd set up a big fluffy blanket and a basket of food he'd made under Fukunaga's far too pun filled instruction when Kuroo was at work. "So — happy birthday to the brand new Tsukishima Tetsurō."

          Tetsurō laughs, wholeheartedly, at his husband's initial statement. whilst on the hectic trip home from work —   Tetsurō never even began to imagine that Kei would welcome him with a surprise quite like the one that stands before him. then again ...   what he says sounds about right, also. golden, feline - like eyes, attentively as ever, study the glowing, colourful lights that encircle a small area of the rooftop, allowing the taller man to relinquish in the tranquil surroundings that Kei prepared for the night. it's not exactly a secret that rather frankly, Tetsurō often favours running the extra mile & concentrate on fancy dinners. Kei, on the other hand, wouldn't. such distinction has become considerably striking between them across the years :   & yet, Tetsurō wouldn't exchange what they have for anything in the world.

          at the present moment, however : there, standing at the above area of their shared apartment, & begetting the possibility to eat to his heart's content in the company of his, now, lawfully wedded husband ...   fancy dinners, be damned !

          ❛   Ahhh ... !   Lucky me ... !   Isn't my husband just the sweetest of 'em all ? !   Watch out, love ...   my kindness seems t'a be startin' t'a rub off on ya.   ❜     he reckons with a chuckle, slender digits promptly moving to unbutton the front of his overcoat ;   thus, Tetsurō takes his rightful seat at the top of the blanket, one arm, enveloping the blonde's waist. a grin's bound across his semblance when his eyes meet Kei's.     (   & whatever he's done to be worthy of a moment like this ...   he can't be positive. but dear God was he ever meriting of it ? !   )     the heart beating on his chest skips a beat. the grin hovering his semblance converts into one that is gentle & loving, losing its mischief entirely. Tetsurō leans closer,     —   as if that's even attainable   —,     & whispers :

          ❛   Thanks for the surprise, Tsukishima Kei.   ❜

𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐤𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐲 ,  //     accepting !     ☆

[1dtouch]

Notre équipe diff toujours sur les routes ! Aujourd’hui direction l’Agora des Comités d’entreprise à #Lyon. L’occasion de présenter nos offres “musique” et “jeu vidéo”. On vous attend ;-)

[pridewon]

@agorace​ said: "Waka - toshi - kun!" the sing song voice, recognisable nigh near immediately — from where, though, was the question. "I know you're home ~~~! I also know your grandmother will throw a slipper at me if I yell too loud so you should look outside!" Tendou was never one for subtlety, but once his friend's gaze peeked out of the upstairs window, his shock of red hair was clear against the snow, as was his all black getup. "I'm kidnapping you! Come downstairs, make sure you wear boots." ( for Wakatoshi, from his favourite wiggly boy! )

The sing song voice breaks through the muffled silence of a snowy day; those are amongst Wakatoshi’s favourites, the whole world going quiet, slowed down to a pace more suited to his as soon as he is off the court. Seated on the tatami in his bedroom at the Ushijima’s family estate, Shiratorizawa’s ace had been trying to make a dent in his homework, brows knitted together. In front of his eyes, the kanji dance and bend and twist every time he seems to put his pencil on the paper, or to as much as look a bit too closely; a trick of the brain he is but all too accustomed to, a familiar and resigned frustration gnawing in the pit of his stomach. Whatever his grandmother might have to say, Tendou’s voice is a very welcome distraction from what Wakatoshi may not name torture, but most certainly endures as such. 

He opens his window and peeks outside, spots his friend in the street down below; imperturbable as ever, Ushijima mulls over the injunction, before he retorts with his usual unflappable tone: “I don’t think it can be a kidnapping if I follow you willingly, Tendou.” Not to mention he really should finish what he has started, but... eyes flick over to the open textbook and scribbled sheets abandoned on the low table he uses as a desk. This should take priority. 

Still. It is a very minor infraction to the day’s programme - and one he is certain he won’t feel too guilty about.

After warning his grandmother that he is heading out for a little while, he steps outside, warmly clad in winter gear - and boots as recommended, heavy snowflakes falling from low-hanging, dark grey skies and catching onto his hair without melting. Hands buried in the depths of his pockets, he passes the gates and walks up to his friend, takes his pace in stride, a weight seemingly lifted from his chest. The difference is subtle, almost fleeting; only Tendou, in his eighteen years of existence, has been able to be both trigger and witness to those nigh-invisible shifts in his mood, and always for the best. “She said to tell you that she’ll throw a geta next time you disturb the neighbours, not a slipper.” Wakatoshi announces - ever the dutiful grandson. 

“Where are we going? The trains and buses have stopped because of the weather.” He asks, out of curiosity rather then defiance; always willing to let the flow carry him, when the flow takes the shape of his best friend’s whimsical enthusiasm. They are an oddly assorted pair, the two of them; even Wakatoshi is aware of it, as he finds his place next to Shiratorizawa’s most unpredictable element with a confidence that speaks second nature - when was the last time anyone saw one without the other? They are each a monster in his own right, neither caring enough to pretend any different. 

[pridewon]

@agorace​ // osamu (plotted starter)

There is one rule, in the life of the Miya twins, that acts as overarching and supreme commandment: whatever happens, no matter how big or small, they cannot, at any point, let go of each other. Bound to each other in the womb, bound to each other with every breath they take; it doesn’t matter if it’s about holding onto each other’s hand as their father walks out the door of their grandmother’s house for the last time, or if it’s about holding onto each other’s hand in a crowded park on their way back from school. 

In the small, contained, and terribly fragile world of the Miya twins, forcing a separation upon them is a capital offense.  And when Atsumu feels his brother’s hand slipping from his, fingers suddenly closing on empty air; it is as though the very skin is ripped off his palm, as if a half of something in his chest is abruptly pulled out through the core of his bones. 

One moment his brother is here.  The next he isn’t. “Samu?” The little boy calls out, struck dumb by the unbearable and unexpected absence at his side. “Oi, Samu! ‘s not funny!” No answer. Usually, there’s always an answer. Even when Osamu is sulking, even when he pretends to ignore him after they fight; there is always some grumbled complaint or a side look he can catch and rest upon. But right now, there is nothing: his brother is not in sight, and the realisation sinks deep into his tiny chest, as he stands there, amidst this swarm of people looming over him.

They’re all tall, all those grown-ups; tall, and heavy, and large, and in the way.  Anger laced with impatience shoots straight up his spine, fuels the glare he drills into those strangers; he would kick and scream, were his mind not entirely geared towards a much more critical priority. Finding Osamu. Yeah - you’re lucky I don’t have the time for ya, he seethes in silence, as he angrily pushes through passers-by. 

“Samu! Osamu! Where’d ya go?!” Blood boils at his ears and makes the tips of his fingers tingle; in his chest his heart beats furiously as he marches on, bull-headed. There is an urgency that guides his each and every step, directs him to a destination unknown, moves him on instinct alone. He will find his brother; there is (cannot be) no doubt in his mind. It cannot be otherwise - but he must find him fast. And so, Atsumu marches on, a boy on a mission, ready to move entire mountains to be reunited with his other half. “Saaaamuuuu!”

[pridewon]

"You're not the first person to feel that, Atsumu. Everyone gets that way around me sooner or later."

Sakusa made no effort to lift his gaze from the floor. what good would it do? for as much as Atsumu explained that he felt like something had been taken from him, Sakusa felt empty. breathing felt like a hollow exercise he was being forced to do. a penalty. he’d even caught himself one too many times holding his breath as if passing out was preferable to conflict. fighting had never been his strong suit — silence over shouting had long since been the way he'd survived. arguments were busy, full of too many emotions in a single place to be comfortable for someone so fearful of crowds.

I'm not leavin', so you can stop worryin'.

it hadn't been a lie, per se. lies required foresight. for every part of him that wanted to blame the blond, he couldn't find it in himself to follow through.

it was easier to blame himself anyway.

"I don't want to fight any more, Atsumu. I don't want to feel like this any more. It was good while it lasted, wasn't it? The new year is in a few days, and we can use that as a new start. You said it yourself, maybe this... just hasn’t worked out.” Sakusa felt the last bit of sinking dread finally drop into the pit of his stomach. Atsumu had said it, and he’d agreed. there was no going back now, no more moments of hugging his pillow late at night, hoping that things would go back to the way they had been, that he’d wake up and all of their fights, the loneliness, and the silence would go away.

or, maybe that would all continue. maybe he’d think about Atsumu for the rest of his life, fearing that he’d never capture that happiness ever again.

“... the longer we talk about it, the more it will hurt.” pull off the bandaid, Sakusa. he tried, with all his strength, to not be the small child, sick in the hospital room, petrified of the pain of pulling off another bandaid. he knew the nurses dreaded him; he never got better, he never stopped needing. old habits die hard, he supposed. he needed too much, and it had finally driven the one person away he’d convinced himself could stand him forever.

slowly, he pulled himself up and off the floor of the gym, dark eyes finally coming up through even darker hair. it was a mistake, looking at Atsumu’s face. they were fire and water, one raging bright with every emotion on display, the other placid, hiding its secrets below icy floes. Sakusa had been made to smother Atsumu out, and Atsumu had been made to burn Sakusa until there was nothing left but steam. maybe they’d succeeded.

“Goodnight, Tsu — ... Atsumu.”

there were no more good nights, at least none that he could see.

It’s not you, it’s me. How pathetic must he be, to keep his eyes on the ground when Kiyoomi spurts enough nonsense to make his blood boil and bile rise in his throat; Atsumu’s strategy in the face of guilt and shame has always been anger, a burning fury directed at no one else but himself. Sometimes, though, others take the brunt of it - Osamu, most of the time, his teammates, on occasions. Atsumu knows himself to be a faulty hand-grenade; and so he keeps his mouth shut, for fear of catching Kiyoomi in the blast of his own stupidity. 

With every new word that comes out of Kiyoomi’s mouth, he sinks a little deeper into a terribly dark pit of his own making. Atsumu is the one who called the shots. He’s the one shooting them both down. One fell swoop, one conversation, is all it takes to make the final push over that precipice. 

I can’t do this anymore. This isn’t working out.  We just can’t do it all.

Suna had phrased it better than anyone, once. No matter what Atsumu does, what he throws himself into, there will come a point where his focus breaks and falls apart. A moment where he can no longer hold it together, exhausted, burnt out, from burning too bright, too fast. A volleyball game, his studies, his twin brother, everything Atsumu touches endures the same fate. Kiyoomi only happens to be the last victim of his inconsistency. It is only fitting that he would take his heart with him on the way out.

Atsumu’s fingers curl up tightly into fists. He has just given up, just told Kiyoomi he wanted to break things off, that he couldn’t - didn’t want to - deal with the arguments, the distance, the combined pressure of their relationship and volleyball; and already he wants to take it back. The words are right there, pushing at the back of his throat. He suffocates as he holds them down. He knows Kiyoomi, he can tell - he can tell who the other boy is going to blame, feels the rift that is just starting to open up, and he wishes, desperately, that he could say something. Yell, scream, kick, like he usually does; but he fears that should he open his mouth, what would come out would only wedge the knife deeper into the wound. 

Kiyoomi stands up, and Atsumu stays down; knees brought up against him, arms crossed over his knees, like a little child crushed under the weight of a guilt and devastating sorrow he has yet  still to fully grasp. Resist, Atsumu. Don’t change your mind. Don’t reach out. Don’t beg. 

It’s too late now. You did this. Deal with it. 

When the words finally leave his tongue, they burn through his throat like wildfire. 

“G’night, Omi.” 

The next time they see each other, it will be on the court. Back to neutral territory. Back to square one. Atsumu doesn’t look as Kiyoomi leaves the gym; the door claps closed, and so does a lid inside his chest. What is done is done, he tells himself, pressing his forehead against his arms until stars dance behind his eyelids. 

Even without witnesses, loss is nothing but rage and heartbreak. At least this time the only voice booing him, overwhelming him, is his own.

@agorace​​ (part two)

[pridewon]

@agorace​ // kunimi (plotted)

He is exhausted. They all are - a collective of worn out bodies whose limbs scream for mercy, put to torture as the mind compels them to stand their ground on this court; despite the pain, despite the strain, ignore the calves about to rip open, ignore the incendiary fire lit up in their lungs, ignore the dizziness that makes their heads spin and narrows everything down to what is exactly in front of them. The next pass. The next toss. The next point. As Atlas carries the world on his shoulders, so they continue to move, one excruciatingly heavy step at a time.

They cannot back down. Not here, not now.

Of all the players on Seijoh’s half of the court, Hajime makes himself their battering ram; he leaps into the air, arm cutting through with every ounce of power he has left and then more; smashes into the ball and slams it past the blockers. Cannon ball that comes crashing in the middle of enemy lines with a terrifying bang. 

Yeah. Like the ace of Seijoh is gonna let them take that set away from them.

“Yoooooooosh!” With a cry of war, he takes back what is rightfully their; his teammates’ roars echoing his own. From the corner of his eye, through curtain of sweat and salt, he catches Oikawa’s grin. We’ve got this. We can take this to match point now, he can almost hear him say. Easier said than done; but they never played volleyball because it was easy.

The ball is sent back to them, and Hajime picks it up as Seijoh’s players rotate; finally, his eyes meet those of their server. “Kunimi!” He calls out, before tossing the ball to his kouhai. For a moment, he wonders what is going through Akira’s mind. Kunimi doesn’t play by the same rules as everyone else on the court. He goes at his own rhythm, his own pace. Not that long ago, it was something some players resented him for. 

He does things his own way. How about we let him do it, see what happens? Oikawa had mused once, with that knowing smile Iwaizumi knows too well. 

“We’re counting on you, Kunimi. Do your thing.” No trace of doubt lingering in Seijoh’s vice-captain’s voice; only the certitude that his comrade will give it his best. He can ask for no more, no less. Hajime turns around, finds his position; bent knees, bent elbows, ready for the counterattack. Legs on fire. Lungs out of air, panting. Eyes forward. Aware of two things, and two things only: the opponents in from of him, and the friend behind his back. 

“Show’em what you’ve got.” 

[littlewarricr]

     @agorace sent in a ✮ and receives a run and jump hug for hirugami!           from: platonic hugs & kisses

     makiko’s training camp had been amazing, really -- it had been like a dream living in italy, training alongside so many talented players and eating way too much food in her downtime. but makiko can’t say she was sad to leave once her month there was finished. being in a foreign country turned out be a little lonely when there wasn’t anyone to experience it with her, so she found herself homesick within the first week. her entire family must have been sick of seeing her caller id, as much as she had bugged them.

     makiko’s heart skips a beat as her plane lands, and while part of it is her discomfort on airplanes, it’s mostly the fact that it won’t be long before she gets to see hirugami again. she tried not to be obvious about it whenever she called, but she’s missed him terribly. 

     suitcase rolling behind her, makiko scans the crowds of people rushing around and standing about, on the lookout for one adorable dog and one gentle giant. it’s a little hard to find them with so many people in the way, and makiko glances down at her phone again to check where hirugami said he’d be waiting, only to hear a faint yip from her right. adzuki!

     her face lights up as she turns and immediately spots her favorite pair, shoving her phone back into her pocket and hurrying towards them. excitement spurs makiko to break into a sprint the last several feet; her suitcase is forgotten a small ways behind her so that she can launch herself at hirugami, flinging her arms around his shoulders and wrapping her legs around his waist. he stumbles a little from the force but thankfully catches her around the waist and keeps a tight hold of her. she squeezes him back, wanting to be as close as possible and for as long as he’ll allow.

     she hasn’t ever been one for big public displays of affection, uncomfortable with strangers watching her, but makiko cannot care less in that moment. for an entire month, she went without her daily dose of hirugami, so she isn’t about to let go of him now.

     “ i missed you so much, ” makiko mutters against his neck. her eyes burn for a second because finally she’s back and he’s here and she feels so happy and god, she really did miss him the entire time. she hadn’t thought it would be so hard, that maybe the training camp and the other players would keep her too preoccupied to miss anyone. turns out, no amount of distractions can keep hirugami from crossing her mind. leaning away so makiko can meet his eyes, she smiles -- playful but so very fond.

     “ i really must be addicted to you. ” and i’m perfectly okay with that.