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liillyliilly · 3 months

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His Diary

akaashi keiji x reader words; 10082 synopsis; For Akaashi Keiji, love meant letting someone know him better than he knew himself. It also meant being okay with letting her read his diary.

She decided that this was her new favorite book. It had all the right amounts of everything in it, drama, romance, depression, self-loathing. The journal she found was likely never written to be read. The journal he lost, the journal that Akaashi Keiji misplaced on a train going home from his editing job, he never expected to become a crux in his journey to love.

In all honesty, she didn’t even know it was a journal. It just seemed to be an episodic novel with a unique font, something along the vein of The Perks of Being A Wallflower. She only ever knew the leather-bound pages as a novel with no name. The author used a first-person perspective when writing and told the story of a young volleyball player who wanted desperately to find a passion, so he surrounded himself with others who had passion. What he seemed to enjoy more than playing the sport was writing though.

The author of the untitled book loved to read because the way he wrote made everything else she had read pale in comparison to the inky brilliance. He had captured teenager-dom with such sleight of hand that she believed his writing was made of magic and fairy dust. The story made her cry, made her groan, and made her feel second-hand embarrassment to an extreme she thought wasn’t possible.

When she read the first chapter, she realized she ought to pace her reading, because there were only so many entries. And she had no way of contacting or looking up the author, there was no information of who the author was on the back of the book. There was a Fukurodani Sticker, a school she remembers from her own time at a high school nearby, they were known for their volleyball skills and prowess, so she assumed maybe the author had some lived experience when it came to volleyball. Maybe that was a hobby aside from being a writer of such compelling stories.

She carried it everywhere from the day she picked it up on the floor of the train, it was always in her backpack, purse, and suitcase. She never left it alone, it had become a part of her. She felt like somehow this author reached into her heart and left fingerprints of his making into permanent fixtures of her anatomical structure. DATE: XX-XX-2013 TITLE: Alethiology; The Study of Truth

Today I realized that maybe I am all that I will be. My capacity has limits in comparison to others. A friend of a friend told me that their volleyball captain made a speech once, not to the whole team, just talking with buddies. His speech, or at least the parts I remember from it, was devastating. He said something like guys like Atsumu and all those geniuses, do things on a scale of 1-20, whereas normal guys like me do things on a scale of 1-10. Or maybe they have a denser more compact 1-10. And if 1-20 doesn’t work out, they try things from A to Z.

I’ve never thought of things like that. There’s always been a straightforward path for me, whereas, in comparison to Bokuto, he seems to have a much longer and more complex route ahead of him. Am I all that I will be? Is there a way for the normal guy to switch from 1-10 and try 1-20?

We have another game soon, maybe I can control more than I expect. Is flight into this world of geniuses possible? I can only control myself and my thoughts, but maybe there are external factors that contribute to my role on this team. My role in life as well.

Bokuto is asking for me, I need to go. Hope I can write again soon, but with all the games we’ll be playing I’m doubtful I can write with actual thoughts and not just tallies and plays from the games.

- A.K.

“I mean, who thinks of things like that Miwa?” She sits in the styling chair, getting a refresher on her hair. Miwa snips away lightly, inspecting each strand with duty and consideration for the entire look.

“Your author crush does.” Miwa brushes away some hair from Y/N’s shoulders, tidying up the apron wrapped around her.

She just rolls her eyes at Miwa’s comment. Flipping to the page in the book, tracing a finger over the deep black gel pen markings. Numbers and dashes and names of high schools against Fukurodani tell the story of the adventure at Tokyo’s national volleyball tournament from way back in 2013. She had barely started her second year of middle school in 2013, ripely being 14 years old.

Miwa and her sip some freshly made smoothies of Miwa’s creation, sitting at a table in the window of the entrance to the salon. Miwa bounces her foot that’s crossed over her leg and she pours over the entry once again. It was becoming addicting to choose one entry to re-read until she ingrained the stylistic choices into a deep long-term memory.

At that same moment, Bokuto Koutarou and his best friend Akaashi Keiji walk past Miwa’s Salon, attempting to plan a group hangout to celebrate Bokuto joining the MSBY Black Jackals team.

“I’ll need to make sure Konoha comes, and that he brings that cute friend of his for you,” Bokuto wiggles his eyebrows repeatedly, and Akaashi shoves him lightly on the shoulder.

“Konoha is dating that cute girl he brings around.” Akaashi clarifies. Bokuto looks stunned, but then he remembers them making out on his couch during movie night that one time.

Akaashi looks around the street for a moment, peeking into the windows and observing the various occupants. When he sees his journal, the one that’s been missing for a little over a year, he just has to get it back.

When Akaashi pulls Bokuto into the hair salon, and barely below a scream says, “You stole my journal!” pointing at the girl who was indeed holding his journal from high school, Bokuto feels like his head was put through a blender. There were three very distinct things occurring at that moment. A pretty girl was shoving a book into her bag looking very defensive, Akaashi was trying to take the aforementioned girl’s bag from her, and a girl who he assumed was the pretty girl’s friend had a pair of scissors pointing at Bokuto by the throat.

Akaashi was still trying to pull the bag away, the pretty girl was looking extremely scared, and the scissors girl had opened and closed them one too many times for Bokuto’s comfort.

“Listen, I think we should all just take a moment to pause.” Bokuto held his hands up, shuffling to outturn his pockets in a show of lack of violent intentions. The black-haired girl puts the scissors back into her half apron that’s around her waist and then folds her arms.

Bokuto then pries Akaashi away from the pretty girl who was now clutching her bag against her chest and sniffling a little. Akaashi did feel bad that he made such a bad first impression, but he swore she had his journal. His embarrassing high school journal, the same journal that had cataloged many things he wished he never had recorded down on paper.

Bokuto pushes Akaashi’s head down, forcing him into a deep bow. Bokuto follows suit and also bows.

“I’m sorry for, uh, trying to steal your bag. But I think you may have a book, that isn’t a book at all, but rather my journal.” Akaashi is now sitting at the table in the window, Bokuto, the black-haired girl, and the pretty girl also sitting with him.

Outside the evening had quickly set in, with the orange and pink colors racing to get to the skyline. The blue began to fade into a deep dark navy color. And the lights on the streets began to flicker on. The lights on the outside of the salon began to twinkle from the setting they had been placed on, fairy lights luring those with a need for a haircut into the salon.

Bokuto had his head on his hand, staring intensely at the girl who had taken Akaashi’s journal, sighing slightly at the way her lips pouted and shined from her lip gloss. The girl with the scissors had brought out two more glasses of thick smoothie.

She pulled out the journal from her Doughnut Macaroon-style crossbody bag and slid it over to Akaashi. Akaashi flipped through the pages, immediately recognizing it as his. His face goes red and he readjusts his glasses, and she realizes that this must be his journal. He even goes straight to the back cover and smiles at the sticker she had grown to love to trace with her pinkie when reading.

“I’m not done with it yet, so, I really do hate to say this, but you can’t have it back until I finish it.” She takes the book back and tucks it into her bag again. Akaashi looks dumbfounded, eyebrows raised and lips pursed into a line.

“You’re just going to keep private property? Even though you know it’s mine?” What a dauntless woman she was, to show what Akaashi considered to be audacity with the whole journal situation.

Bokuto chimes in at this point, “Akaashi, I think we should just let the pretty girl keep your little diary.” Bokuto then starts nodding his head up and down to try and get agreement from Akaashi. Akaashi scoffs.

“Okay, so it’s settled, my cutie of a best friend will keep the journal until she finishes it, we’ll get your numbers and she can contact y’all when she finishes the journal, and I get to cut both of y’all’s hair because honestly, it’s atrocious.” Leave it to Miwa to consolidate a plan in a matter of moments.

Miwa touched the spiky salt and pepper hair that Bokuto had, and Miwa’s expression turned sour when she felt the amount of gel on top of his head, then Miwa pulled out a photo of Yuki Ishikawa in a two-block cut and explained what color of black dye Miwa will use for Bokuto. For Akaashi, Miwa just did a trim and tidied up his sides to bring them slightly tighter into his face.

While annoyed, Akaashi does give her his number, along with his name, and Bokuto does the same with much more enthusiasm. After the haircuts are finished, Akaashi tries to pull Bokuto away from the salon, but Bokuto keeps doing the ‘call me later’ signal with his hand and blowing a kiss to her wistfully. She just waves to the both of them while Miwa giggles behind her dye-stained glove. DATE: XX-XX-13 TITLE: Meraki; Putting A Piece of Yourself Into Your Passion

I am the protagonist of the world. We lost but I am still alive, we lost but I loved the game. I came to the realization that it doesn’t matter if you are the best character, the most complex, or the most ‘genius’ of them all. It doesn’t matter because I am the protagonist. I can be the hero of my own story without ever having won first place in a big-name tournament.

Bokuto is graduating, and I’ll still be here, which is disappointing. He’s my best friend I think. Even if he’s the most annoying ass I’ve ever met, he’s still my best friend and I would never trade him for any other person in the entire world. Together we are the protagonists of the world.

Second place is just as accoladed as first place. If I wasn’t who I am, then maybe I would’ve gotten mad. The first-place winner is a rich school, they’ve been a powerhouse for decades at this point, and this win is just another notch on the belt. If I wasn’t who I am, especially after this tournament, maybe I would’ve gotten frustrated at myself for not doing enough. For not being a setter like Kageyama. Or a setter like Oikawa. That doesn’t matter though, I am a setter. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. But a human mind will always wonder why. And sometimes it's just because you’re unlucky.

Kenma told me about his loss to Karasuno, his sweaty hands made the ball slip in the final point. He laughed about it, he said that that was the best game of volleyball he’s ever played. When Kenma told Kuroo thanks for teaching him volleyball, I cried, but not as much as Kuroo did. They remind me of why I went to Fukurodani. I saw Bokuto’s passion for the sport. His passion encouraged mine, and look where we got to. We because the victors at the end of the war.

Mom made katsu chicken for dinner, I did some homework, and I had to put away my volleyball uniform for next year. I practiced in my backyard, alternating between overhead and underhand passes, seeing how long I could go without dropping the ball. Dad called me into the house for ice cream after thirty minutes elapsed.

I called Bokuto tonight before I went to bed. Told him that he’s my best friend and that I love volleyball. Bokuto agreed.

- A.K.

She was crying, and so she held the book out in front of her, resting it on her blanket. She finally had some faces to match with the words she was reading, and it all felt much too real. Bokuto did seem like the type of person to adopt and bring a person like Akaashi into his fold. But the way that Akaashi genuinely admired and appreciated his best friend was unparalleled and she felt like he would understand the exact way she felt about her best friend, Miwa.

Miwa and her met when she was fresh out of college. She hadn’t an idea of what to do in her life, while Miwa seemed to have her passion set out in front of her with her hair and makeup salon. When she got a haircut from Miwa and started ranting about her life, Miwa just told her to slow everything down. Take a gap year from life and just be a human. So, she picked up shifts at Miwa’s salon and moved in with her.

The best friends slowly became business partners as well, and an expansion to the salon was added, a small specialty bookshop that she ran, while Miwa continued to do hairstyling. Their customers were dedicated and loved to support their business. Branding remained solely under Miwa’s name, but she became everything else to the brand as well, the little addition that made the salon extra special.

When she started to cough a little from the way her heart was beating erratically from crying about Akaashi’s diary, she had to get out of bed and get a glass of water. Akaashi’s number was resting on her kitchen table. Miwa was watching some rom-com in the living room of their shared apartment. She brushed pasted the kitchen and sat next to Miwa.

“A good chapter?” Miwa threw a piece of popcorn into her mouth.

“He’s devastating. Who writes like they feel every emotion entirely?” She started crying again and Miwa laughed a little before rubbing her best friend’s back.

“You could always call him and tell him he’s a good writer if you need to talk about it. Sure it’s unconventional, but maybe he has more insights that you can cry to.” She grabbed a pillow and started hitting Miwa with it.

She did take Akaashi’s number into her room on her way back to bed though. Leaving the series of digits on her bedside table, she re-read the passage and cried again. She thinks she knows him better than most, but they aren’t even friends.

Since realizing he’s a person, and that Akaashi lived this story in the book. The story of his life recorded in his journal, she starts to wonder about what happened to him after he stopped writing in the diary. But she hasn’t finished the story yet, so she’ll have to see what happens next. Again, trying to pace herself, she puts the book away until tomorrow when she can read a little more.

Akaashi sits in his office, he’s still there and it’s much later than the clock would like to admit. The clock wondered if Akaashi would ever go home. But there he was, reviewing the different styles of manga serializations Udai Tenma wanted to try out for his next series. His haircut makes him feel a little colder because now the air can hit right behind his ear instead of being covered with his hair. He puts on a beanie to fight the chill.

When it gets too late at night, his mind tends to wander slightly. Just barely drifting out of his control, like the way a lily pad will drift to the center of a pond when the stem at the base of the connection is severed. He can’t dive into the pond to bring his thoughts back into his hands.

He thinks about her. The girl with his journal. The journal was a cheap 2,500 yen book, but he liked the paper, it was a cold press thicker GSM than most other paper forms. Gel inks went on smoothly to the paper, letting him get more words across by the second than if he was writing with a ballpoint. He remembers that from when he used to write in the journal in high school.

Throwing himself into the back of his seat, he rubs his face, his glasses almost falling off from how he runs his hands up from his chin to his forehead. Setting the glasses on his desk, he spins his chair a little. The clock screams at him, he takes the message from his dedicated clock and grabs his messenger bag.

On the train, he thinks about her again. Instead of getting irritated at how Bokuto essentially gave his journal away to a stranger again, he wonders what her thoughts are. Was his writing any good to warrant such a committed reader? Did she like his journal only because it was funny to read what his dramatic high school self wrote about?

He cringes thinking about all the potential things he wrote down. There’s no direct recollection of what he wrote down exactly, but he knows vaguely what was on his mind when he was writing. His ego, his insecurities, his favorite things. Lots about volleyball, Bokuto, and books. Once he wrote about his thoughts on sex, which is embarrassing for him that a grown woman is reading his teenage idealizations of intimacy.

It could be considered something unique to read. Akaashi settled into the belief that she was merely reading his journal because it was something different than typical books that were being published. Although, why she was reading his journal instead of a Haruki Murakami book was beyond him. Nothing beats his favorite literary giant.

Setting his bag on the coat hanger stand, and shrugging out of his long pea coat. He heats some stovetop ramen while listening to Bokuto talk over the phone, he was ranting about the same girl that Akaashi had had on his mind.

“Oh and those eyes of hers. Did you see them?” Of course, Akaashi saw them, they were big, bright, and astute. Akaashi hums in response, and Bokuto continues barreling through his late-night thoughts.

“I think we should invite her to my party. You know, the one to celebrate my big accomplishment.” In a different apartment, Bokuto spins a volleyball on his finger, but he keeps dropping it so he ends up just repeatedly tossing it into the air so he can satiate the desire to feel his fingers on the ball.

“Yeah, how about no.”

Bokuto asks why not, almost in a whining tone.

“Did you forget she has my journal still?” Akaashi put his bowl in the sink, putting on rubber gloves as he started to wash out the dish and then put it on the drying rack. He decided to finish all his dishes right now anyway since he still had the gloves on.

“Your diary can’t be that juicy, you didn’t do anything too dramatic in high school. Plus I know you wanna see her again too. Don’t pretend like you don’t have a piqued interest. Also, did I use piqued right?”

“You used it right, yes.”

He eventually agreed to let Bokuto invite her to the small get-together. Akaashi didn’t know why Bokuto kept referring to it as a party.

A week later, Akaashi realized that maybe Bokuto kept calling it a party because it had shifted from a friends-only gathering to a huge party at the park. Some other Fukurodani alumni helped to set up decorations in the central gazebo and make banners to hang all over the pavilion. Akaashi was mixing the punch at a table, while Konoha asked what he had been up to lately.

Kuroo and Kenma brought huge gifts for Bokuto, a PlayStation from Kenma, and a packet of potential sponsorship deals from Kuroo.

When she finally made her way to the pavilion with a small brown package, Akaashi couldn't care less about the party. She was wearing a tight-fitting black shirt with a tiered white and gold skirt, and her shoes were a pair of sneakers, but the whole outfit made Akaashi concede to Bokuto’s claim of her being “drool-worthy”. He had to remember that this was the same woman who had his diary. The whole conflict between physical attraction and mental frustration made for an entirely convoluted reaction to her presence.

She bows politely to Bokuto when he goes over to her, offering the gift with both hands, only then did Akaashi wonder how old she must have been. Bokuto had been talking to her more than him, and Bokuto had mentioned that she was a second-year middle schooler when Bokuto was in his third year. Akaashi did some mental math and realized that he, himself, must have been around three to four years older than her.

Akaashi forced himself to ignore the idea of a cute younger girlfriend that started to pester him in the back of his mind. He wanted his journal back, and that’s all this relationship was to him, a mutual exchange of her reading and then him eventually getting back his property. But with the way she had done her hair, Akaashi had a hard time focusing solely on wanting his diary returned.

She was glad that Bokuto appreciated the gift, she hadn’t known him longer than a week or so, and she had gone with a safe gift based on what she knew about him and why this party was even being thrown. She got him a wearable jump monitor that her dad had bought a month ago but never used, she was grateful for having a father who never threw things away. She also included some stickers that she had bought from a small sticker shop online, and some that she had made using Miwa’s craft supplies.

When the excitement of her being at the park died down, she made her way to a table, with a small plate of desserts. She observed how everyone interacted with each other, almost as if they had been friends since the dawn of time, and she believed that that very well might have been the case.

Akaashi stalked her from afar. He appreciated that she was similar to him in a way that mattered to him, she was a watcher. She would assess what was going on, who would talk to who, and how they would nonverbally communicate as well. He got so engrossed in watching her that he neglected to observe the others as well.

Specifically, Konoha, Washio, and Komi had grabbed a water cooler and had the full intention of dumping the water on Akaashi. It was payback for declining their invitations to various other parties from the last year. So there he was, not only soaked through with water but revealed from his vantage point unmistakably indicating to her that he must have been watching her. She laughed a little at the antics but then brought over a small cloth she had in her crossbody bag.

His white shirt was completely transparent, and his brown slacks had turned from a regular light brown into a dark musty brown. The only way to resolve the issue in her mind was to start dabbing at his chest with her handkerchief.

“I see that your friends have a peculiar method of exacting humor.” Her handkerchief eventually was too soaked through that she was just touching his chest with a cloth that had performed osmosis and was now at equilibrium with the water on his shirt.

“Yep.”

“Look, there’s a hoodie in my car, I know we aren’t too close, but it’s probably better to wear my oversized hoodie than to have your whole torso on display for the rest of the night.” She shoves her thumb in the direction of her car.

After making their way to her car, she digs through the trunk and pulls out a grey hoodie with the words ‘Miwa’s Salon’ embroidered on the back. He tugs at the back of his shirt to take it off and she widens her eyes before turning around. The hoodie is comfortable, with a soft fleece on the inside, and it smelt like lychee, vanilla, and surprisingly chocolate marshmallows. It smells like her and he wonders if he could have the scent bottled and then sprayed all over his house.

Suddenly he’s tugging at the collar of the hoodie and swallowing thickly, looking around at anything but her figure in front of him.

“We should probably get heading back to everyone now that you’ve changed.” She goes to start walking to the gazebo, but Akaashi’s words stop her.

“How well do you know me?” She tilted her head and said something about not following along with what he was saying, so he continued, “Well, you’re reading a part of me, you know with my journal, my internal thoughts and hopes and dreams and all that. So, how well do you know me?”

She timidly bites down on her bottom lip, formulating a response. But Akaashi surmises that she must not really care much for the conversation, so he, unfortunately, starts to run his mouth and the words just spiral out.

“You know, it doesn’t matter, to you, it’s just a story about a teenage boy who played volleyball. It’s silly to assume you’d try and actually-”

She cuts in, “I know you’re a considerate person. And it's not just about the volleyball stuff, it's about you, finding yourself to some degree. I know you are polite. I know you’re allergic to beating around the bush, you’re direct and blunt. I know that you can overthink too much.”

Akaashi repeatedly adjusted his glasses, and she stepped just a little bit closer to him, folding her hands behind her back and leaning in slightly so she didn’t have to talk as loudly.

“You also have a bad habit of thinking you can control more than you can, one of the interesting things in your journal is how you jump back and forth between knowing what you can control and then inflating from stress and thinking you can micromanage the entire world. You said you can control the court, but in reality, that’s your worldview. You conclude you can control the entire world sometimes.”

He regrets starting the conversation because this revelation of how much she knew about him exposes him. Akaashi didn’t know how to continue with the gap in knowledge between the two of them.

He only knew she was younger than him, she was incredibly perceptive, and she smelled so freaking good he just wanted to shove her into the backseat of her car and kiss her. Akaashi’s thoughts could not have been his own at this point, he was going crazy. He must have gotten sick from the cold water being dumped on him he speculates.

When they get back to the gazebo, Akaashi thanks Bokuto for the party and heads home. She stays at the party, talking to a select few people and wondering what exactly she said that scared Akaashi off so quickly.

Sitting in the tub, Akaashi rests his head against the shower wall and lets the hot water filter his congestion that didn’t exist. His hand twitched over to his phone, which was on the toilet seat playing some piano music that he hoped would alleviate all his bad habits. He wonders if she will text him soon. If she would text him ever. He felt like he was younger, it was ridiculous that one person would have such an effect on him to this degree.

After the party, she sits with Miwa, disclosing everything that happened at the party.

“And then he just ran off?” She nods at Miwa repeating what she just said. “Girlie, you gave him an in-depth review of his personality and you’re shocked that he ran away? Sometimes you can be too judicious for your own good.”

“Should I text him an apology?”

“Are you sorry for anything?” Miwa rolled her eyes, hating when she got like this. Miwa never allowed her to apologize for things that didn’t need to be apologized for.

“No.” She rubs her arm and chews the inside of her cheek.

“I think you think he’s hot, I mean, you understand this man on a deeper level that he now grasps, and you said he had the chest and torso of some kind of slutty librarian/gym rat agglomeration.” Miwa takes a bobby pin out of her hair and runs a hand through her bob cut, “If it was me, I would send him a picture of the journal and ask for nudes, or else the book gets it.”

She hits Miwa with a pillow, and Miwa realizes she really should throw the pillows away or else getting hit with them would be a very painful recurrence.

Miwa goes to sleep, but she stays up just a little later. Eyeing Akaashi’s number that lay painfully glaring at her. She decides to read more of his diary instead of texting him. DATE: XX-XX-13 TITLE: Weltschmerz; Sadness When The World Isn’t As It Should Be

Summer sucks. Bokuto has a training thing for some team he wants to be a part of in the future. All my friends that were third years are essentially gone, actually out and living life, and I’m stuck here. At least there’s only one more year left of high school. And then I can go and work for a literary magazine.

I miss people. Despite their failings, I do need people in my life.

You can only play so much volleyball in a day by yourself before your motivation is gone by the third week of playing alone.

It’s times like these that make me think about the future. I don’t spend much time with girls per se, but they are pretty and nice. Our manager is a girl, but she has a boyfriend. She’s chill.

Sometimes, when I feel like something is wrong, I turn to the idea of love. I’ll admit that I love a few things in life, but that’s only because I think love is something truly special that you can’t just fling around. I ‘like’ things more often than I ‘love’ them. Volleyball, my best friend, my family, books, and writing.

Will I know when I’ve found the love of my life? My parents said they knew they loved each other from the first moment they met. Will I feel like that too? Will I know it’s love? How can a feeling be recognized as a specific feeling? How do I know what anger feels like, besides that heat and pressure and red hot sun? How do I know what sadness feels like, besides water, coldness, and finishing a run? Would love have those distinct colors and associations? Or would love just become the person I love?

I don’t believe in soulmates. Definitely not. I think people are infinitely compatible, and it all depends on our ability to communicate and agree to grow with a person for the rest of our lives. I believe we make our own soulmates, through sharing experiences and agreeing to be ourselves no matter what. I told my mom this and she just smiled at me like I still had a lot of life left to live.

But don’t I have enough experience to know what I want? Or at least to formulate my own opinions and beliefs? I may be 17 but I am not an idiot.

Or did my mom’s look of a wistful future just mean that when I fall in love I’ll know it and I’ll look back to these words and think I’m completely ridiculous?

Dad made spaghetti for dinner. It was gross so we ended up having to order udon from the place I like instead.

We watched a movie Mom wanted to show me, the title was something like Wildly Wealthy Westerners or something. It was just about rich people from America and Canada, plus a subplot of romance between a basic guy and this rich heiress girl who just couldn’t be together because of rich people's reasons. It was silly but the music was good. The ending kiss scene was hot, he shoved her into the backseat of his jeep and I swear I heard Mom sigh.

- A.K.

She didn’t expect him to text her on Monday of the following week, asking if they could meet for tea at a place near his work during his lunch break. She surprised herself by agreeing to it, and then by cheekily calling it a date.

Akaashi shoved his phone into Udai’s face, “What does this mean?”

Udai pushed his bangs back and inspected the text messages on Akaashi’s phone. “I think it means she agreed to go on the date you asked her on?”

“But I didn’t ask her on a date?”

“Oh, but you definitely did. Oh and tea? What dork takes a girl for tea on a first date?” Udai pushed Akaashi’s phone away and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Then Udai’s face breaks into a blinding grin, “Is this your little diary thief? And the one who gave you the sweater at Bo’s party? Oh, it is isn’t it, do you have a picture of her?”

Akaashi briefly flashed a photo Bokuto had taken with her in Udai’s direction.

“DAMN! I need me my own diary thief,” Udai raised his eyebrows and started laughing a little, and then he ruffled his hair and used his fingers to zoom into her face, slowly, he started moving down the picture to her body. Akaashi pulled his phone back before Udai got too far down.

The clock on Akaashi’s desk wanted him to leave for an early lunch and by an early lunch, an hour early. So there he sat at the small cafe on the corner by his office building, rubbing his sweaty hands against the legs of his pants, waiting for her. She was five minutes early and was surprised to see him already at a table, so she decided to have a little fun.

Since his back was turned, she went up to him and tapped his shoulder, when he turned around she let out a small “Boo!” and put her hands up into an imitation of claws, trying her best to seem scary. He just thought she was adorable. He motioned for her to sit down.

Resting her crossbody bag against the back of the chair, she took a seat. Akaashi was able to wave down a waiter, who gave them a single menu to look over.

“What kind of tea do you like?” She asked, using her pointer finger to scan through the options the cafe had available.

“I like black tea, and sometimes chamomile tea.” He asked her for her favorite type, and she told him. He tried to commit her favorite to memory as quickly as possible.

Eventually, they had their tea, and the silence started to set in. Between sips, Akaashi would try to figure out how to say what he wanted to say. But he thought it was all too bold. So he told her a little about his life, his work, and his friends and she did the same, returning statements in a unique fashion about her life. Her word choice was special, calculated even. She was like him in another way that mattered, a calculated, intentional way of speaking.

She could always make him yearn to be a little more considerate of his words. Until she managed to pry them out of him.

“So why am I here?” She stirs a little more sugar into her tea, then pauses from drinking her tea to take a sip of her water.

“I want one of your journals.”

She laughs before realizing he’s entirely serious, “How do you even know that I have any journals to lend to you? For all you know, I could be living a journal-less life.” She waves her small stirring spoon around, before putting it into her mouth.

“I can’t explain it, but I know you have journals. Only someone with a journal of their own would be so obsessed with another’s.” Akaashi takes the spoon from her mouth and uses it to stir some sugar into his tea. Her mouth gapes for a moment while he smirks, looking right into her intelligent eyes.

The next day they have tea again, and she gives him one of her journals from high school.

“Don’t read it all in one go.” She pauses, “I don’t write nearly as well as you do, so don’t scrutinize my words the way you do all your mangakas’ words.”

Akaashi nods.

He read it all in one night. He calls her in the middle of said night.

“Who the hell is this Ito kid? When did you and he start talking? Just outta nowhere he pops up at the end of your last entry. Where’s the careful recollection of all your interactions with him?” Akaashi is exasperated, running his hand through his hair. He disagreed with what she said about her writing.

She was compelling and interesting, and she most definitely had his heart. Her high school experience had been so different from his, and she seemed to be much more optimistic about life than he was. Despite her calling him a realist, he believed that in comparison to her, he was a total pessimist.

She explained to him about Ito, and that he was a short-lived crush she had had at the end of her second year in high school. Akaashi was glad when she said she didn’t even talk to him anymore. Based on the way she had written about him, Akaashi thought that Ito would be the love of her life, and Akaashi was slowly realizing maybe his heart was in the process of making her the love of his life.

“When do I get the next journal?” Akaashi wanted to keep talking to her despite the lateness of the hour.

“You don’t. I told you to pace yourself, I only have one of yours so you’re only getting one of mine.” She was lying on her stomach on her bed, slightly kicking her feet while talking to Akaashi.

Akaashi groans but tells her he’ll return the journal next week when he can have another long lunch break. She says she’ll be there.

Akaashi recalls when he remembered his diary was lost.

It had been a long day at work, and he wanted nothing more than to go home. His mom hadn’t remembered his apartment address, so she sent one of his old journals to his work office. He put it into his satchel and made his way home.

On the train, there had been a slight jostling. And Akaashi hadn’t noticed the journal falling out of his bag and under his seat.

When he exited the train, she had gotten onto it. She sat down in the same seat he had. Right when Akaashi started walking to the stairs to exit the station, she reached down under the seat to stow away her bag, only to be met with a rough material. And for a moment, if they had just turned around, their eyes would’ve met right as the train pulled away.

When he finally got home, he unpacked his bag, looking to put away his journal safely into a box with other memorabilia from high school. When he dumped his bag upside down, shaking everything out, he just couldn’t find his journal. When going home from work the next day, he had asked all the employees if they had seen a leatherbound notebook. None turned up.

If there ever was a moment that could’ve changed the future, that was what it would’ve been. If the train hadn’t jostled. If Akaashi Keiji hadn’t been tired from work and forgot to check for the journal on his way out of the station. If she hadn’t sat right where he had been sitting, and most definitely, if she didn’t love a good book, then it all would’ve turned out differently.

But that’s not the story that’s being told. The story being told is of Akaashi Keiji realizing that to love someone, you have to accept that they may know you better than you know yourself.

It had been six months, and she was close to finishing the journal. Somedays she didn’t read at all, others she read three entries and wanted to binge the rest of the diary.

They went for tea every single week. Sometimes twice. Then other times, he would take her around Tokyo to go exploring. They went to every museum, every library, every cafe that specialized in tea. He figured that they ought to be on an even playing field when it came to how well they knew each other, so instead of getting more journals from her, they traded lists of their top one hundred favorite books.

She had put three Haruki Murakami books on her list and Akaashi wanted to hold her face in his hands and kiss her.

But they were just friends. Friends who knew each other better than Akaashi was comfortable with. She knew what he would order before he said it, and he knew what she was going to comment before she stated it. When she asked him about his experience with failure, he knew that she had gotten in too deep.

She knew more about him than he expected her to, she knew all about the silly things that rattled around in his brain, and although it had been a journal from high school, he knew that people stayed pretty similar throughout life. So when she looked at him, she didn’t just see professional editor Akaashi Keiji, she saw a teenager who wondered what place he had in the world as well. She saw him as acne-ridden and languid with life. He wanted to control her perspective of him and he couldn’t do that now, because she had the key to his past and the map of his future.

So he tried to put some space between them. Just in case. Maybe it was a horrible tendency to overthink, no, he knew it was his horrible overthinking tendency. There were so many ways their relationship could go. He could completely crush her, to be completely crushed himself in turn.

Walking the edge of a knife with her. Balancing on the blade of friendship, if he fell onto one side, with no cuts, then they could have a happy relationship. If he cut himself on that blade, then the worst-case scenario would be that she realizes she doesn’t like him back and then there’s just someone who knows him too well out in the world.

When he hadn’t texted her in four weeks and her messages were left on read, she decided to finish the journal and be done with it. Their time as friends was short-lived she thought. She thought there may have been something more for the pair of them. And suddenly all the depressing love songs became about him. Which made her resentful, because who ruins ‘Iris’ by The Goo Goo Dolls like that for someone? DATE: XX-XX-14 TITLE: Quatervois; A Crossroads

I graduated today. I went through that book of fancy words Mom gave me and stumbled across this one. Quatervois, a crossroads. Does this count as a crossroads?

The magazine I want to work for said I could have an internship while I attend college. An internship in the manga editing department. Was I not good enough for the literature department? Is it because of my age? I think my essay and grades were good enough to at least qualify me for a chance to interview in that department. But they only let me interview for the editing department.

Does that make me a career failure? I like the magazine, but I’m not sold on the department they want me to go into.

Washio called me to congratulate me, he said that I was finally crossing over into the real world. I’m pretty sure I’ve been living in the real world for as long as I’ve been alive, but Washio made it seem like things would be so different for me. I digress.

When nothing seems straightforward, and you come to a fork in the road and you have two options that you can’t see down, how do you choose which road to go down? The one lined with flowers, or the one with a dirt path that could eventually have something more alluring at the end.

- A.K.

On the penultimate page of the journal was a glued-down picture of Akaashi wearing his graduation suit, and holding his graduation scroll, his parents stood on either side of him grinning proudly at their only child. Maybe she should’ve checked the book from the last page and then started reading the front. But she didn’t want spoilers, that’s why she never checked the second to last page.

She texted Akaashi and said she finished the journal and was ready to return it. When he didn’t respond, but had read the message, she texted Bokuto asking for some clarification. She asked if Akaashi had said anything about her that would’ve indicated why he was mad. Bokuto just said that Akaashi wasn’t mad at all. So now she was confused. If he wasn’t upset, then why was he ignoring her?

Instead of going to their tea place, she goes to his office during lunch. She scans the buttons, looking for his department.

“Hey diary thief, whatcha doing here?” A shorter guy with shaggy black hair and a hoodie with a denim jacket over it comes around to her and presses the elevator button.

“Are you going to the Manga Editing Department?” She checked before entering the elevator with the shaggy-haired guy, who had introduced himself as Udai Tenma, but she could just call him Tenma. He confirms and then doubly checks her identity as the same person Akaashi had been talking about and spending all his lunch breaks with.

“It’s funny that you know about the journal, I came here to return it finally. Probably much to Akaashi’s delight.” She adjusts her bag across her shoulders, giving a short sigh.

“No, Akaashi loves that you have his journal. At first, he was a little annoyed, but now it’s kinda like you have a little piece of him all the time. I told him just to get you a necklace with his name on it, but noooooo Udai I can’t do that because I’d essentially be confessing if I did something like that.” Udai did a brilliant imitation of Akaashi, even going as far as to push his shoulders back to make him seem taller and with a broader build.

Udai turned slowly to face her, eyes wide and jaw dropped, “Please pretend I don’t exist, I never said anything about Akaashi’s undying love,” He froze, “Also ignore what I just said.”

Udai got out of the elevator on the floor below the editing department. She could hear him start to criticize himself and say he owes Akaashi so many more favors and solids now.

She walked through the office, lightly admiring all the manga panels, all the stories that had come out of this building astounded her, it had been a while since she last read a manga, so she considered picking one up on her way out. Maybe she’d read the one written by Udai.

Then she sees him. Akaashi, with a pencil in one hand and an eraser in the other. His head is moving slightly, due to the music playing through his headphones she assumes. He fidgets in his chair, wiggling the seat around. Despite being angry at him, he was still adorable when he was engrossed in his work.

“You’re being childish.” She handed Akaashi the journal. Akaashi had to take off his headphones when he saw that his journal was being thrust into his face, he dropped his pencil and turned around only to be met with her. Even though she seemed to be upset with him, she still looked beautiful.

Akaashi looked confused, so she clarified, “Ghosting? Really? You could have just said you didn’t want to be friends.” Her tone is sharp and penetrating.

It wasn’t the being friends part, it was the part where he wanted her to be entirely his. An overwhelming desire to attach her to him in all senses. He swallows and takes the journal back. He wants to ask what her thoughts were, and what she came to understand about him. Yet, he knew she was upset with him. He would be upset with her too if she did what he had done.

He had completely blown his chance, hadn’t he? The one woman who had read the teenage journal and still wanted to be friends. Maybe her knowing more about him wouldn’t be too bad at all, maybe that’s exactly what he needed.

“I don’t want to be friends.” She starts to sniffle, she quickly runs the sleeve of her shirt onto her eyes. Akaashi rushed the next part out, “I can’t be just friends with you I’m afraid. I think I want more.”

She blinks rapidly before regaining composure and putting her hand on his shoulder. “I think you need to sort out your feelings. Because if you really wanted more, you wouldn’t have treated me like I was disposable. You wouldn’t have ignored me. So, figure it out, and let me know what the result is. You know where to find me.”

She rubs her thumb on his cheek in a parting gesture. He remembers when she did that for the first time, around three months ago. They were at a library he had found in a far corner of Tokyo, and he was talking about a book that Udai hadn’t understood at all, which made him irate that Udai could skim over such an important story. They were in their little section, with dim lights and a stack of books they wanted to talk about.

As he was waving his hands around, trying to show her the pages and lines he was referencing in the book, when she reached over and brushed her thumb against his cheek, the rest of her fingers resting along his jaw and lower cheek. Her palm barely contacts his chin.

“You had a little mark there. But I think it’s just a cute little freckle, it won’t wipe off.” She brushes against his skin again, and when the mark doesn’t disappear, she leans back into her chair, waiting for Akaashi to begin again. When he starts talking again about the book, he keeps stumbling and stuttering over his words.

She gave a small wave before leaving his office space. Akaashi's co-workers just turned their heads to watch her exit, heads sticking out of cubicles, and then in a blink, they all turned to face Akaashi with disappointed faces, shaking their heads and clicking their tongues. Then, they went back to work and Akaashi was sitting at his desk with his journal brazenly staring at him.

He had one chance to make it right. So he set aside Udai’s manga draft, knowing he could go through it in less than an hour, and he picked up his pencil, writing one more entry in his journal.

He can only wait a week before giving it to her when he shows up to her apartment unannounced. Miwa opens the door and rolls her eyes, but letting him in.

“I gotta run and get some new specialty scissors. I’m not afraid to use them in an unintended use if I get back and she’s crying.” Miwa motions her fingers from her eyes to his. Akaashi gives her a thumbs up.

When she comes out of her room, she inspects him on the couch, he’s holding his journal.

“Read the last page for me. It’s an extended edition.” He jokes somewhat. She sits next to him and reads his ‘extended edition’. DATE: XX-XX-XX TITLE: Micawber; An Eternal Optimist

I was stupid. Believe me, I know I was a whole idiot and a half.

Here’s to giving up realism and embracing optimism.

You knew who I was before I knew you. I was scared that you would know too much. That’s hilarious, right? I wanted you to know me, and yet there I was completely afraid to let you get too close, but you were already close. It’s not just what words were contained here, although I re-read my journal and there are definitely some things I should’ve self-censored.

You were what made the entire difference. Your ability to perceive me as a whole rather than a sum of my parts was the distinction that was made.

With you, I truly am a protagonist. Not a side character anymore, but the main character who shares the limelight with his love interest. Although, I have a distinct feeling that you may be more of a main character than me. But, I know you’d say you digress.

In your journal, you mentioned once how you believed that a good story can compel you to be changed. How characters drive a real tangible change in a person. Did I do that for you? At least a little bit? I know I was changed when I read your story, I realized that maybe I liked you a little more than just liking you.

Please don’t think I am mean. I was cruel, rude, and inconsiderate to you. Ghosting for more than a month because I was worried is likely going down in my personal history as the worst thing I’ve ever done to you. But I’m dedicated to never doing anything bad to you ever again. I’ll never hurt you, and I’ll never lie.

I’m optimistic that you like me a little. Maybe even a little more than like.

So, tell me why I still feel worried. Is this feeling even worried? Or is this what love feels like? The desperation to not hurt you in any way. The pang of knowing that I am myself with you. And, yes, the physical magnetism that makes me feel just a little more like a teenager when I am with you.

I think this feeling is love. I just think it’s so overwhelming that I ended up making it into a negative emotion instead of what it is.

I’m sorry. Forgive me or I really won’t know what to do with all these feelings that flit around in my heart for you.

I love you.

- Yours, Akaashi Keiji

She knew he was watching her. She had her nose in his journal, reading what he had written for her.

“Can you get me a tissue?” Akaashi handed her one. He was ready to say his goodbyes.

When she closes the journal, he looks at her with curious eyes. She smiles.

“Best book ever.”

He grabs her by the back of her head and kisses her. She held his face in her hands, tilting her head slightly and he hummed into her mouth. His nose was cold on her face, but the warmth of his mouth contrasted with the frostiness. His other hand grips her hip, trying to pull her closer to him. Despite them being already so close, he wanted her to envelop him.

Then he was pressing her down onto her couch, both hands on her hips. When she wrapped a leg around his waist he thought his heart was going to jump out of his chest. Her head was on the arm of the couch, and he had moved from her mouth to the side of her face to her neck, to right above her bra, leaving a trail of his making. He was glad she was wearing a low-cut top because it made it easier for him to pull the shirt down so he could reach more of her skin.

In contrast to him, she felt soft and pliable. She also felt wholly his in this moment.

Her hands were in his hair, pulling the strands in a mellow methodology, not wanting to hurt him almost. She wanted his hair just a little longer, but the short hair tickled her neck, so she was happy with the length it was currently.

The top of her chest was creamy and supple. He let his tongue brush out once, twice, before going back up to kiss her again. He licked at her bottom lip, and she opened her mouth just enough for him to run his tongue into it for a moment, before biting at her bottom lip in thanks.

“You taste like sugar.” He was hot in the face and had some hair sticking to his forehead. She pushed his bangs back tenderly, his chest was still rapidly moving up and down trying to catch his breath. He went in for another kiss, still short of breath, so she had to intervene.

“Slow down loverboy, you need to breathe, or else you can’t keep going.” She laughs a little and he can feel the way her body carries the laugh from her chest to her stomach. She moves in close to his ear, “And that would be a zero-sum game for us both.”

He nods, and she draws his head down to rest on her chest.

“Is this better or worse than that fantasy you had about making out with a girl in the backseat of a car?” She recalls one of his entries from his journal.

He rubs his face against her, inhaling deeply. “This is way better. But we’re still gonna kiss in the back of my jeep, and soon at that.”

She hums a little in response.

The next year, Akaashi and her moved in together, Miwa was glad because now she could finally walk around her apartment without clothes on (despite her doing that when they were roommates anyway). Bokuto was glad to see that Akaashi finally had someone to read his confusing books and that he didn’t have to read another one ever again. Udai would occasionally make a joke about if it didn’t work out with Akaashi she had a place in his awaiting arms. Akaashi threatened to work for another manga magazine and Udai would be stuck using only Grammarly. That usually shut Udai up pretty quickly.

They both kept detailed journals. And when they finished them, they would let the other read them. Akaashi let her read all his past journals as well, and she let him read her diaries.

Maybe love isn’t what you expected at first, maybe it's not even a feeling you want to feel at that moment, or for that person. But love works out for the best in the end. Whether that’s with a best friend, a lover, a child, or even a book.

For Akaashi Keiji, love meant letting someone know him better than he knew himself. It also meant being okay with letting her read his diary.

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hellobunny044 · 1 year

Text

Panels. | Series

panel. in manga art, panels refers to the frame that wraps around one moment in time.

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an original Haikyu AU pairing Udai Tenma (the og little giant

warning!!: containing some manga content.

word count: 6937

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Panel - 6

Tokyo, Present Day

A coincidence to be thanked for... or is it more to be cursed at? Along the way, Udai only thought about that.

It was not that he regretted that of all the things that could have happened to him he had to meet Tsubasa. It was precisely because it was Tsubasa of all people that Udai wavered between cursing or thanking this coincidence. Really, of all the things that could have happened, why did it have to be another encounter with her? Of all people, why her?

But even so, there he was, and ended up following Tsubasa in her lunch.

When she asked about lunch, Udai honestly said that he had already had his lunch. But even after that, Tsubasa still asked him to join her. She said it was to repay him for the other day.

What made Udai so pissed off about it, was that he didn’t refuse the offer at all. A part of him was reluctant to leave, greedy to grasp this opportunity, greedy that he would have time to be with her again even if it was just to be there.

Time is cruel.

So is the fate.

In this panel, fate, in all its cruelty, has drawn little lines to bring to life a new story between him and Tsubasa, the last thing he wanted to happen.

Of all things, does he, who once deliberately walked away from the panel where they used to be connected, deserve to be here?

Even if fate eventually let Tsubasa decide, Udai hoped that this time, she would be the one to walk away.

But...

Damn. Even nine years couldn’t change anything about how comfortably warm it was when he was around her. It felt safe, soothing. Cruel.

“Udai-san, you will order dessert, right?”

Udai only answers with a hum.

“The Hokkaido cheesecake here is famous for being very good. How about that? Is that enough?”

And another.

The glimpse of what he was looking at was his first love. Sasaki Tsubasa, whom he remembered as the girl who completed the story of each panel in his youth with her presence. She was the one who brought an unforgettable blush of pink into the panels of his youth that had been dulled with dreary, static colors.

Sasaki Tsubasa, who nine years ago looked like a typical high schooler, now looks like a well-developed adult woman. She was beautiful, seemed competent in her work that he forgot to ask before. Then like any other mature woman, she wore just enough makeup with colors that only added to her beauty like magic, high heels that had a unique beat every time she walked. In truth, the high school girl of his first love had completely disappeared from what he could catch of her. But from her eyes, her voice, the atmosphere she brought with her, it was all Sasaki Tsubasa, his first love.

Sitting before her, it was like waiting for a big wave that carried all the memories of his youth to wash him away. The very first encounter, the confession, the first date, the first kiss, all the things that Udai first tasted in a dozen years of being a whole human being, were spent with Tsubasa. It was also about the first big mistake he made, the first regret, the first heartbreak. This very woman before him had it all packed with her.

Facing her, Udai felt helpless amidst the rushing of emotion that filled all his senses.

He shouldn’t have come back, he repeated mentally many times.

He doesn’t deserve to come back, he repeated.

“Udai-san wa—”

His reverie was over and the world returned to what was before him.

“— are you going to be quiet-for-some-time-before-you-finally-speak too this time?”

Her eyes were on him, looking at him kindly. Still like the old days, she still feels so near, really. Udai almost forgot that she was waiting for her answer.

“Are you really okay with the dessert we ordered earlier?”

“Hm?”

“You just answered it so casually when I told you the menu… like you somehow didn’t even mean answering the question. It made me think that maybe I was too pushy that you didn’t have time to decide or even consider.”

“No. I’m fine.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Finally, Tsubasa was convinced and stopped.

“Okay then.”

Udai actually wasn’t so sure that he was good enough at small talk. However, Tsubasa had insinuated it. Throwing a sign that he should talk. At the very least, asking something about the weather perhaps?

“It’s pretty sunny today, don’t you think?”

He was stupid.

Tsubasa’s gaze still trapped him, leading him further into the abyss of awkwardness. For real, what’s the point of saying clichéd things about the weather? What century is this?

To his surprise, a smile spread across Tsubasa’s face. Amusing. This time, it was Tsubasa who had the nerve to answer. Then she looked out the window to make sure.

“Sunny and hot,” she added.

They were seated at a table in a row near the transparent window that gave them closer access to the streets surrounding the restaurant.

Udai caught a faint smile that she rolled back before Tsubasa turned back to him. “But the summer is coming to an end.”

That smile was different from what he saw after she returned. Maybe it was just in his head, but there was something there that he shouldn’t have caught.

“You’re still so picky about the seasons?”

Tsubasa’s question was followed by a huffing laugh. Amusing. Like mocking, but a little more polite than that.

“I thought, as years passed, you might have matured a bit.”

Simply put, Udai did not like summer very much. The only thing he liked about summer was that during that time, they would get a holiday. And Tsubasa remembered that. Oh, he forgot to add one thing. Eight years ago, he loved his summer and everything that revolved around it.

“Well... summer is… hot.”

Tsubasa stormed off after that, “That goes without saying! Where is there a cold summer?”

There is. Sometime during the summer of eight years ago, when you were there. At least, even though it wasn’t cold, with you around, things became a little more refreshing. “Right.”

Tsubasa sighed, her smile staying. Amused at the fact that Udai still didn’t get along with summer. Deep down inside however, in a part of him that he was trying to avoid, Udai wished that the reason her smile still remained was because he was still the same.

“What about you, Sasaki?”

In the past, he could just casually call her given name. Tsubasa.

Now... well... It’s the little things like this that give connection its essence. That, one day when you’re parting ways, you’ll go back to the time when everything was back to scratch, and that all the time that was drained away back then, can never come back no matter how desperately you reach for it. That, from the pain it brings when you look back, will make you realize that in the future where you stand, it will never again involve the person you used to always involve in the first place.

In the panel where her world evolved, Tsubasa no longer involves Udai like she used to. And Udai, in a different panel where his world runs, had long ago deliberately closed off the path to involving her as well.

It was all his fault, he knew. Just like he knew that Tsubasa liked summer, unlike him.

“Do you still like summer?”

“Sure.” Her answer came smoothly without losing a single beat. Her smile was still, her gaze steady.

In contrast to Udai, Tsubasa loved the summer. Udai still remembered why. She liked summer because the days would last longer than in the other seasons, the sky would look bluer, brighter than usual, and she said, the scent of the earth would be more sniffable — that was surely an odd one. Udai couldn’t remember if he had any memory of Tsubasa being so melancholy about such things, but she did.

Udai also remembers the winter being her least favorite season. The reason was simple: it was cold. Well... you don’t get warm winters anywhere in the world. He still remembered about Tsubasa who didn’t like her hands getting cold, didn’t like padding, and especially about her always losing her hot pack almost every five minutes. Seriously, though. Udai had to stop thinking before he fell into a forbidden desire and said something nonsense.

Soon after that he changed the subject. This time, however, he started over quite nicely.

“You work around here?”

He didn’t know if it was just in his mind, but for a moment, Tsubasa looked lost. Her answer was also a little off, a nod. However, she soon smiled. An answer followed shortly after,“Yes.”

Udai nodded his head. “Close around?”

“Ten minutes by walking.”

“Oh?”

“I often have lunch here.”

Exactly what she wanted to ask.

“Are you stopping by the Weekly Shonen office?” Tsubasa asked back.

“Oh? Yes.” Udai nodded.

Humming, Tsubasa added a new question, “Dropping off the latest volume’s manuscript?” She quickly continued after that, “Or perhaps something else?”

“The first one. Yes. I have a little business related to manuscripts and publishing.”

Tsubasa responded with a hum while nodding slightly.

Seconds rolled by, slowly but surely. Between them, silence slowly settled in. However, Udai did not let it linger too long as he continued their little question and answer session.

“Are you on your lunch break?”

Stupid. Of course She is. What do you think she was doing here?

“As you can see,” Tsubasa smiled as she replied. “I guess you’re not too familiar with the strict schedules and rules of office workers like me.”

“Hm?”

Tsubasa chuckled, “You work and rest on your own accord, right? Even if for example you’re in a high demand zone this month, and the sketching of the latest volume of your manga is only given a month or two, you still have a higher level of flexibility in your working hours. You don’t have to deal with anything about long and hectic working hours or relatively little break time. You can rest all day or work all night to your heart’s content—”

Udai raised his eyebrows when Tsubasa suddenly stopped midway.

“Ah? Sorry! I didn’t mean to say anything about your work. I’ve talked too much.”

Confused, Udai quickly searched for something to say in response. “U-uh? No. It’s alright. It’s not that you said anything disrespectful about my work here.”

“I said everything as if I understood everything.” Tsubasa sighed, almost wincing. “Sorry for being rude.”

“Hm. No problem.”

The atmosphere returned to silence. The awkwardness returned between them. After seconds spent wondering what to talk to Tsubasa about next, the atmosphere was thawed by something Tsubasa said.

“You... haven’t asked about my work, Udai-san.”

“Huh?”

He remembered that he had never asked her anything about her work. But it wasn’t because he forgot or didn’t want to know about it, but rather realized that it was something too silly to ask, not to mention rude.

Udai wanted to know about her job like how she knew that he was a manga artist from one of the best-selling manga series. He wanted to know what office work she was referring to, like how she knew that if he came to the Weekly Shonen office, it meant that he had some business related to manuscripts and publishing. He wanted to know what time she worked and what time she would end, like how she knew that he had much more flexible working hours than she did. He wanted to know all that, so he was showered with guilt for being too inquisitive.

What was more surprising, however, was that Tsubasa suggested that he ask. It was as if she was giving him a way to satisfy all the questions piling up in his head.

“O-oh... well... Um... Yeah.”

“You should have asked that from the start. There was no need to be reluctant.”

Tsubasa paused, chuckling slightly, “Your face says it all.”

Everything? Even about the way I was overwhelmed when you were there and smiling like that, Tsubasa? Lie to me, please lie to me. Don’t let my hopes grow bigger for something I shouldn’t wish for. This is a catastrophe, especially for Tsubasa. Of all the people she should not have invited into her world, Udai should have been the first one she should have avoided. Of all the people who didn’t deserve half of her time, it was Udai who had the opportunity to sit with her today. He should really stop. You should stop before I break your heart again.

Their talk was interrupted by the lunch that had joined them on the table. For a moment, their worlds were distracted by the smell of the menu. Tsubasa ordered the main course, while Udai got the dessert that Tsubasa recommended. The Hokkaido Cheesecake.

For a moment, he wondered if all stores that served this menu really baked the cheesecake in a water bath or if there was another way to replace that process while maintaining the quality of the taste?

It was a silly pondering that would lead him nowhere. Not to find new inspiration for his manga, nor to take him away from the awkwardness that clung in between to fill the space between him and Tsubasa.

“Have a good meal!”

“Have… a… good meal.”

Really, everything was still the same.

The way she enjoyed her food, her little habits, everything seemed to be something pulled from every shard of his memory of her.

“Too bad you already had lunch before,” Tsubasa said between pauses, drawing Udai’s gaze back to her, “otherwise, you could try this menu for lunch. They sell this very well every day. It’s very delicious.”

But perhaps, Udai would prefer it this way.

“Next time, I guess,” Tsubasa said, not quietly and not reluctantly. But Udai didn’t miss how her fingers gripped the spoon a little tighter. Her smile came, a friendly greeting before what she was about to say followed. “You can invite someone to come here and make sure to order this.”

Subconsciously, Udai chuckled. “If I had time for something like that.”

Catching a gyoza with her chopsticks, Tsubasa muttered, “Right?”

Then, Tsubasa continued, “But you know... rather than about having or not having time, you can spare a little of your time, right?”

Udai stopped. No, the world stopped. Or, no, he stopped. His gaze was fixed on Tsubasa who slowly widened her eyes. Just as Udai was stunned by her words, it was either he was delusional or, Tsubasa looked more surprised than anyone else.

“Ah- I didn’t mean to—”

“No—”

“Really, I’m really sorry.”

There you go. Sasaki Tsubasa was still Sasaki Tsubasa at the end of the day. She looked down, her palms closing in front of her furrowed brow.

“It’s alright.”

Tsubasa sighed and immediately raised her head. “The weather must have made me think of all sorts of things. Again, sorry for being presumptuous.”

“Hm. It doesn’t matter. After all, some of what you said is true. But in my case, not only do I have no time, I also don’t have a special person that I have to set aside time for in particular.”

Udai did not know that she would say that much before she finally reached the end of her sentence.

“Oh?”

Yes, he was a freak.

Awkwardness crawled over every inch of his skin. Quickly wanting to get out of the awkward embrace before it clung even tighter, Udai racked his brain for something better to talk about. Staying there was not going to get him anywhere.

“Speaking of the work,” in a split-second pause, his brain spun faster to think of how to phrase the question a little more politely, “about your work…”

“Ah?”

Udai echoed Tsubasa’s nod, automatically following along as if it had been programmed.

“Ah, yes. I work for a startup company that specializes in IT,” Tsubasa then mentioned the name of the company.

“Ah? It’s that one, huh?”

“Right,” Tsubasa smiled.

“Ah, right. If I’m not mistaken, I saw the company building with their logo around here.”

“You know about our company?”

“Well… Yes, it was the talk of the town in the newspapers and on television.”

“Right?” Tsubasa’s smile expanded, sweet and pleasant.

Distracting himself from Tsubasa’s smile—as well as from the tightness in his chest—Udai quickly changed the subject, “How long have you been in Tokyo?”

“Almost three years.”

“Ah? Three years?”

Tsubasa hummed. “Um… Udai-san, I’ve been meaning to say this for a while,”

Udai paused, both eyebrows raised in anticipation of Tsubasa’s words, “Hm?”

“When I first met you…” Udai almost mistakenly thought Tsubasa was talking about the past if she didn’t immediately continue, “the other day on the mall, I barely recognized you.”

“Hm?”

“You know, your hair…”

Subconsciously, Udai immediately touched his hair when Tsubasa said that.

“They’re long,” Tsubasa continued, but now with a smile that followed right before she ended with, “very long.”

Suddenly, Udai was very worried about how he would look. Would he look like a beggar rather than the manga artist that he is, or would he look pathetic or weird with long hair. Tsubasa’s smile was sweet and pleasant, but it also brought out the nervousness in him. Was that pleasant smile really pleasant or pleasant in another sense…

Subconsciously, Udai had brought his hand to tidy up his hair a little. Nothing significant, just tucking the strands that almost covered his frame behind his ears.

He swore it was just a little, until he finally realized that he was paying too much attention to his appearance when, before him, Tsubasa was taking point about that. Something in her eyes quickly went away after he peeked there, quickly replaced with the sparkle of a pleasant smile that came as soon as she returned.

“I’ve noticed your hair since our first encounter,” Tsubasa continued, “but it seemed rude to say anything about it then. And I also wondered, even though summer is almost over, if you were okay with your hair being long— which of course you don’t have to think about.”

Tsubasa refocused on her lunch.

“Ah right, your friend the other day,”

Although of all the things he wanted to talk about, this was the last one, Udai had run out of topics.

Tsubasa looked back at him, a look of confusion.

“Your coworker,” Udai continued, followed by an understanding response from Tsubasa.

“Ah! Yes. Hatakeyama.” Tsubasa nodded, distractedly looking at Udai.

“You guys didn’t have lunch together?”

“No.” Tsubasa immediately followed with something that made Udai regret asking. “We usually have lunch together, but today he has some business with the deputy. It might take a while for him to join me.”

“Ah…”

Ten, no, a thousand times better if he didn’t ask.

“Hatakeyama,” Tsubasa continued, “he’s been at the company longer than I have. He had been working for almost a year when I joined. In a way, I’m basically his Kohai.”

Udai forced himself to smile, echoing Tsubasa’s smile that came afterward.

“Could it be because of that? Sometimes he really treats me like his subordinate and is all bossy, so annoying! Sometimes, he acts like a dictator too. But in his work, Hatakeyama is very reliable.” At the end of her sentence while expressing Hatakeyama, Tsubasa smiled. Udai knew that he had lost every right to feel uncomfortable when Tsubasa said something about another man, but it still felt unpleasant.

“Hatakeyama is truly a reliable Senpai—”

The world stopped right there.

Udai had noticed that before, about how in between the main course that she ordered were small pieces of octopus. He still remembered everything about Tsubasa, including that she had a severe octopus allergy. He also remembers that despite having a severe octopus allergy, Tsubasa sometimes forgets that she can’t eat octopus.

Now, she almost caught a small piece of octopus meat with her chopsticks. But with Udai there, who was quite thorough about it all, Tsubasa stopped.

Udai was holding her arm, gently gripping it to stop her.

“Octopus,” he muttered, “you... have allergy.”

“... hm?”

“You should have picked all the octopus aside before eating.”

For a moment, there was silence. Their hands were still touching each other. Only then, when Tsubasa said something, did Udai finally, immediately pull away, chest heavy.

“Oh? Octopus!”

Tsubasa’s gaze turned to her lunch. She sighed, “I almost got into big trouble,” she muttered, still inaudible, “you idiot!”

Then there was silence again. Udai and Tsubasa were both still working to process what was happening. Between the two of them, however, Udai was diligently outlining what had happened.

First, their hands touched at the most unexpected time. Her skin was soft and slightly moist, lotioned. Udai wondered if the scent of her lotion today would be the same as it was nine years ago—

Secondly, about the octopus that was always there while she was having her lunch like this, would Hatakeyama get rid of it all for her before she ate? He seemed to be so diligent to ruin his own mood.

Thirdly, it was either he was hallucinating or Tsubasa didn’t want to pull away. As his world came to a halt, he wondered if the same thing was happening to Tsubasa... or if she was really reluctant to break away—

“Udai-san,”

“Huh? A-ah, Yes?”

“Thank you for paying attention,”

It took Udai longer to take that one in. Her words were ambiguous.

“though I’m usually confident enough to eat by myself because I can handle things like this... well... maybe I forgot that I should have taken out all the octopus pieces first before eating.”

Udai only gave a short response.

“I’m surprised you could see that it was octopus.”

“Well... I just looked pretty well.”

“Is that so?”

“Well…”

“I thought you’d actually have problems with your eyesight because... you know what I mean... your job requires you to be awake in front of a computer for long periods of time— ah! But of course not always, right?”

“Hm. But you’re right about the staying-awake-in-front-of-the-computer-for-a-long-period-of-time part.”

“And?”

Udai shrugged, “Maybe... just not yet?”

Tsubasa frowned, her laughter following. Udai couldn’t help but smile, not when before him, Tsubasa was laughing so pleasantly.

“Please... are you really looking forward to when your eyesight gets bad because of your job?”

“Ah— of course not with the looking forward part. That would be a bit inconvenient.”

“Right?” Tsubasa sighed, “You always talk carelessly, Udai-san.”

Udai just laughed softly under his breath.

Tsubasa returned with a faint smile in her words after that, “I’m surprised you still remember.”

This meeting had been disastrous.

Udai’s smile faded. The amusing curve lost its glow, replaced with a pain laced with awkwardness.

“Thank you.”

Being there would not be good for him. If he stayed there, Udai would fall into a pit of hope. However, suddenly leaving would certainly not be polite. Perhaps, stepping away for a while would do.

“Hm.”

Udai mustered the courage—and honestly, the will—to excuse himself. “Excuse me a moment,” his hand awkwardly gestured in whatever direction was behind him, “I— the toilet.”

Tsubasa nodded. “Hm. You may go.” In fact, there was another smile after that.

********************************************************

By the time he reached the restroom, the roar of water rushing from the faucet couldn’t even distract Udai’s world from his fast-roaming mind processing everything that was happening.

Truly, this encounter was a catastrophe.

Udai had no intention of thinking of Tsubasa as a catastrophe in his terms, however, her being there right now threatened to make him greedy and of all things, that was the worst that could happen.

Has it been eight years? Since the last time he saw Tsubasa, since the last time their panels connected almost as if they were melting into each other. Since then, since the moment Udai had decided to be the first to walk away and move on to a new panel without taking his feelings for Tsubasa, it was over. As for the two of them, they had already lost.

Rather than keeping Sasaki Tsubasa who had been like the sun against his eternal winter, Udai decided to elevate his ego. He was too proud to turn back, to simply admit that he was wrong. Or... to admit that he couldn’t if she wasn’t around.

At times like this, when time seemed to stand still on his watch, Udai couldn’t help thinking that if only he had stopped that day... but, for now, it was too late.

Staring at his reflection in the mirror, Udai returned to the flashing of memories that passed quickly.

“If I keep thinking back like this, and the same thing happens to her, what makes me think that she was alright?”

He had decided that his greed should not go beyond this. And at the very least, after this, he should apologize for everything and then disappear.

Udai washed his hands, washed his face and shifted his gaze to his reflection in the mirror. He was silent for a long time, wandering back to what Tsubasa had said earlier. Something about his long hair.

With his hands still wet, Udai smoothed his hair a little. At the very least, if he was prepared with a meaningless apology, he should at least try to look a little better, right?

********************************************************

Returning, Udai stopped at the end of a table when he saw a familiar man join Tsubasa. Hatakeyama Jiro.

Hatakeyama Jiro. Itachiyama High graduate. Tsubasa’s coworker who had been working for almost a year when Tsubasa joined the company. And lastly, Hatakeyama is a reliable Senpai, she said. Oh, that last one is very helpful.

From where he stood, Udai, who was watching the interaction between those two, underlined a few things about Hatakeyama Jiro from his perspective: Unlike him who came in with a t-shirt and disheveled hair, Hatakeyama Jiro was neat in a shirt and a fine necktie even though their blazers were both black. His hair was neat, showing the dignity of a senior office worker.

He looked like a very dependable man.

Although Tsubasa found him annoying at times, he was warm to her. From the last time, the way he spoke to Tsubasa showed how familiar he was in Tsubasa’s terms.

Tsubasa smiled happily at something he said, then their hands met for a playful high five. Not to mention afterwards their fingers intertwined to celebrate whatever it was. Maybe it was just as he thought.

For a moment, Udai thought about leaving. He thought, even if he left after that, Tsubasa would no longer look for him if her lover was right there. But... he didn’t want to leave.

Tsubasa was smiling.

Was he greedy if he wanted to be there to share that smile? Even if this was the last time, was he too greedy?

Udai finally had an excuse to come back because he forgot his bag. Hopefully that would be a reasonable excuse.

“Oh? It’s Tsubasa-no-Senpai-san!”

“Oh? Udai-san, You’re back?”

Hatakeyama Jiro’s voice was the first to greet him, then Tsubasa followed. Udai answered them both with a hum.

One other thing he also underlined was that they were sitting separately. At a time like this, he should be sitting on... Hatakeyama Jiro’s side, right?

“Sasaki, move aside.”

“Hm?”

“You have no manners, do you? Are you planning to let your Senpai stand there?”

“A-ah... O-oh... Okay.”

Udai knew that Tsubasa moving aside was a sign for him to join her there, but he just didn’t expect that even now, he would have to sit side by side with her. Seriously? He was even convinced to immediately exclude himself from this panel, convinced that he would be the disrupter of Tsubasa and Hatakeyama Jiro’s lunch.

What after this?

It was quiet after Udai sat down next to Tsubasa until he heard Hatakeyama Jiro say something until after he finished ordering.

“It’s good to see you here again, Udai-san.”

“Hm. Me too.”

“Did Sasaki force you to join?”

Beside Udai, Tsubasa almost choked at Hatakeyama Jiro’s question.

“You really forced him to join?” Hatakeyama Jiro’s gaze turned to Tsubasa. His hand preceded Udai’s intention to shift the drink to Tsubasa. Despite his words, teasing, his actions spoke of all things considerate. Shifting the drink, handing her a tissue, and something about 'there, there. Drink slowly or you’ll choke again'.

Oh, he regretted coming back.

“— I- invited him to join to pay for the other day, you know! Besides, I didn’t force him to join.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

“Of course!”

Tsubasa sighed. She turned to Udai-who was scratching his head about the best way to leave this place right now— and said, “Earlier you asked about Hatakeyama. He made it to join me for lunch, I suppose?”

“Ah…”

“Oh? Udai-san asked about me?”

Welcoming Hatakeyama Jiro’s gaze that turned to him, Udai tried to smile despite having to force himself.

“Hm. He just asked why you didn’t come to lunch.” Tsubasa answered on Udai’s behalf, “Then I said you had business.”

Returning from Tsubasa, Hatakeyama Jiro added, “Yes. I had a little business before. Well, this kid is not so reliable—”

“Hey!”

“— so I have more responsibility to do this and that.”

“What are you talking about? I’m doing my part just fine!” Tsubasa fumed, almost throwing the chopsticks at Hatakeyama.

Hatakeyama sneered after hearing Tsubasa’s self-defense.

Udai didn’t feel like he belonged here. Rather than witness this lovely interaction between two lovers flirting with each other, he would a thousand times prefer to listen to Akaashi’s thundering critiques in the office. He regretted, truly regretted coming back instead of leaving when he had the chance.

“Say, Udai-san,” Hatakeyama Jiro’s call surprised him.

“Huh?”

“Was Sasaki really this annoying back in high school?”

“Huh?”

“Ha? Why do you ask such things, Hatakeyama?”

“Say, Udai-san, has she been this childish since then?”

“Huh?”

“Hatakeyama—”

“Ah, right. Udai-san is your Senpai, there’s no way he’ll be able to answer that objectively.”

You’re wrong. I was her boyfriend.

“Ah! You’ve talked way too much!” Tsubasa grumbled, catching a gyoza with her chopsticks and immediately feeding it to Hatakeyama Jiro forcefully.

“H-hey! Can you do it a little nicely?” With his mouth full of gyoza, Hatakeyama Jiro covered his mouth with his hand while grumbling to Tsubasa. “You really don’t have any manners to a Senpai— you could hurt my mouth!”

Still grumbling, Tsubasa muttered, “The gyoza is good. You should try it.”

“Sasaki,”

The other two returned to Udai.

“she’s kind.”

There was silence after Udai’s last words. A statement that answered Hatakeyama Jiro’s previous question. A late answer.

“Also... she is very bright.”

Udai couldn’t dare look at Tsubasa after saying his answer. It was nothing. Just a pure natural urge that came from within him to defend Tsubasa from all those accusations of having been the one who knew Tsubasa so well even if only briefly, the sentence passed his lips. Voiced softly without regret.

There was silence.

Hatakeyama Jiro was there to break the silence with his response. A hum, which was then followed by another questions. “Then, has she always liked reading manga? Like... have you ever caught her spending time reading manga?”

Now–

“Manga?”

– that’s new.

“Yes. Manga. Has she always been a manga maniac—”

“H-hey, Hatakeyama—”

“You know, Udai-san, this kid sometimes steals time to read manga in between her work breaks. She has a stock of manga in her desk drawer to read every break.”

“Oh, come on!”

“I don’t know about the details, but, clearly it’s something about Zombies…”

“This is your last warning, Hatakeyama.”

“Hora, something recommended to me, Sasaki.”

“What?”

“That manga you recommended— was it called Zombie Knight or something else?”

Tsubasa sighed, his eyes glancing at Udai before she said. “You know, we should talk about your timing next time, Hatakeyama.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Hatakeyama-kun, let me introduce you once again to Udai Tenma-san; the creator of Zombie Knight Zomb’ish manga that you were talking about.”

There was silence after Tsubasa introduced Udai to Hatakeyama Jiro once again.

Udai glanced at Tsubasa before he returned to Hatakeyama Jiro, deciding to lower his hand again after raising it awkwardly to greet Hatakeyama Jiro. Waving was certainly not a good choice. His laughter was thin and awkward, almost insincere.

“Ah! So Udai-san is the mangaka of Zombie Knight?”

“Well…”

“So what?” Tsubasa replied, “After this you’re still going to say that manga is only for kids?”

“Hey, come on! That one’s because you’re childish.”

“Ha!? Don’t make so many nonsensical excuses for your insulting statement!”

“Exactly.”

Hatakeyama Jiro turned to Udai, “Speaking of manga, it’s an honor to know that you’re the very author of Zombie Knight, Udai-san,”

“A-ah... thank you.” Udai said awkwardly.

Hatakeyama Jiro turned back to Tsubasa, “That’s why you’ve been reading Zombie Knight so diligently, apparently.”

“This kid,” Hatakeyama Jiro’s hand pointed at Tsubasa as he turned to the stunned Udai, “she really likes your manga.”

The world stopped once again.

“Not only that she kept it in her drawer, one day, she wouldn’t stop talking about your manga and gave everyone the hassle of having to listen to everything she said. Not to mention how every week she would go to the bookstore just to buy the latest edition— ah, last time you, remember? She also got the latest series of your manga to bring to the office.”

“H-hey! What’s so wrong with that? I have taste, you know! Besides, the story is that good!”

Udai created Zombie Knight Zomb’ish with a little hope that people—anyone—would be able to enjoy the stories and drawings he created with pleasure. Although something about zombies was definitely not something that would make someone read with a beaming face, he still hoped that there were those who looked forward to the manga wholeheartedly.

So far, through the small inspections he had done, seeing the public’s enthusiasm for his manga was something to be proud of. That his hard work was welcomed with open arms by manga readers.

About whoever’s part it was, no matter what age, Tsubasa was the part of it. However, that was before he realized that she was actually one of them. When he finally come to a realization, it only further fed his greed for something he couldn’t reach, shouldn’t.

Crap. Udai would never stop thinking about Tsubasa when he worked on his manga.

This encounter had brought too much catastrophe, truly.

His world was about the woman beside him, his eyes caught her. For a moment, he forgot that there was another pair watching them. His chest was tight. His heart throbbed painfully, desperately wanting to get out and leap into her palm, eager to be held tight like before. He had crossed the line. He was Greedy, too greedy.

In the world that go by on the outside of Udai’s momentarily dead world, realizing that he had been staring for too long, Tsubasa quickly shift her gaze away from Udai. Looking too confused to respond to anything that was going on.

“W-well... it’s not that it’s odd if I’m supporting something that my Senpai’s working hard about, right?” Tsubasa added, feeling uneasy, “After all, it’s written for everyone, all ages and I just like that it’s well-drawn—”

A second later, something happened.

Perhaps because of being too flustered, Tsubasa became nervous and accidentally nudged her glass and ended up spilling the ocha onto Udai’s t-shirt. A white t-shirt.

“Ah! Geez— I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to! I really didn’t mean to!”

“There you go,” Hatakeyama Jiro said lazily.

“A-ah, it’s alright, it’s alright.”

Hatakeyama Jiro picked up the tissue box and hand it to Udai.

“Thank you, Hatakeyama-san.” Udai took the tissue and started wiping his t-shirt.

“Ah, what should I do about this? Udai-san, I really didn’t mean it, I’m sorry!”

Udai gave Tsubasa a glance. Compared to this, the fact that you read and liked my manga so much was still ten times more surprising. So, “Ah, it’s okay.”

Hatakeyama Jiro sighed, “That’s you, Sasaki. Always so careless.”

Tsubasa bit her finger, feeling guilty at what she had done to Udai’s T-shirt. Then, she decided to grab a tissue and help a little, but Hatakeyama Jiro held her back.

“You, stay still,” his hand held Tsubasa’s, as the other grabbed the tissue from her hand and helped wipe the remains of the ocha on her table.

Udai’s hand movements slowed down watching that.

“You might spill the rest later. That would be twice as troublesome.”

Then, he heard Hatakeyama Jiro sigh again, “You’re as clumsy as always, Sasaki. What a mess you’re causing now.”

“Ah~ It was a white T-shirt.”

Hatakeyama Jiro’s words added guilt to Tsubasa’s shoulders, the next second, she began to shower Udai with words of apology until finally Udai was almost impatient when he answered. However, he quickly brushed it off and said, “It’s alright. I’m okay.”

It was nothing compared to what was going on the inside.

Tsubasa felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment as she watched Udai dab at the green tea stain on his shirt with a tissue. She had been so absorbed in her work that she hadn't noticed her ocha was precariously perched on the edge of her desk, and had accidentally knocked it over with her elbow.

Tsubasa hung her head in shame, mortified at her mistake. However, Udai was quick to come to her aid. "It's alright. It was just an accident," he said.

Hatakeyama Jiro, however, had other plans about it, “You should at least do something about it, Sasaki,”

“Huh?”

“Well, like for example, you take it home and wash it yourself. It’s only fair,”

“Oh, it’s alright. No need to bother.” Udai cut in immediately. “After all, there aren’t that many stains.”

That’ll be a very bad idea.

“... Very well, I’ll… I’ll do it.”

Udai paused for a moment, almost tempted by the idea. But he quickly shook his head, “No. There’s no need to be bothered about it. This is enough.”

“But as Hatakeyama said before, it’s only fair that I wash your t-shirt after spilling the ocha.”

But Udai shook his head, insisting it wasn’t necessary. Before Tsubasa could argue more, Udai’s phone rang.

The phone was on the table. Udai spent a few moments thinking before taking the call. His hand was careful as he picked up the phone, as if hiding something evident there.

At a glance, he saw Akaashi’s name on the phone screen so he immediately answered the call. Another matter was waiting for him somewhere. That day, Akaashi was his savior. He would thank him later.

That was how Udai had finally been able to exclude himself from that panel, forgetting that he had not been able to offer any apologies.

—

Extension.

Some minutes before

“Excuse me for a moment, I— toilet.”

“Hm. You may go.”

After Udai’s back disappeared from her sight, Tsubasa slumped limply in her seat. After quite a while just burying her head in her palms, also cursing herself, she finally lifted her head and straightened up.

Her eyes moved from the pile of small pieces of octopus meat on a small plate to her wrist. Something in her eyes spoke of the intense sadness that was going on inside her chest, like the rain before a storm. The warmth of his touch enveloping her wrist was, inexplicably, colder than the last time she could remember.

But just a little, Tsubasa was happy. At least, Udai still remembered some things about her.

In the middle of her reverie, her phone rang. Hatakeyama Jiro’s name on the screen. “Moshi moshi?”

—--------------------------------------------------------

“Sasaki? Where are you? At the usual restaurant? I’m near, I’ll join you.”

—--------------------------------------------------------

“Eh? Weren’t you going to have lunch with Matsuda?”

—--------------------------------------------------------

“She went to have lunch with her team. She said they are going to talk about the month-end project.”

—--------------------------------------------------------

Talk about bad timing.

Tsubasa sighed, “You know, Hatakeyama, about that, you should pay attention to your timing after this.”

—--------------------------------------------------------

“Ha? What are you talking about? Just wait right there, I have good news.”

—--------------------------------------------------------

Perhaps, with Hatakeyama around, the atmosphere between her and Udai would be better. After all, she also wanted to know what good news her coworker had brought after a conversation with their vice director.

Putting away her phone, Tsubasa’s eyes wandered to where she last saw Udai’s back had disappeared. Making sure he hadn’t returned from there or from any other direction, she checked out what she was carrying in her small bag. She pulled out a small mirror and began to tidy up her appearance.

********************************************************

Udai closed the water faucet after drying his hair and face with a tissue. One last check to make sure his appearance was a little better than before, and he confidently walked out of the restroom.

Just before he rejoined Tsubasa, Udai stopped. Then he changed his direction. Instead of joining Tsubasa right away, Udai decided to stop by the cashier.

“Can I help you?”

“Ah,” Udai mentioned the number of the table where they were seated, “If that woman sitting right there orders the lunch menu like she ordered today on the other day, please tell the chef to remove the octopus pieces from the menu. She has a very bad octopus allergy.”

“Ah, alright then. I’ll let the chef know right away.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Udai and the cashier bowed to each other.

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