#haruki komi but only a cameo | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pearlsephoni · 3 years

Text

BokuAka Week 2021, Day 6: Hanahaki AU

Can also be read on AO3!

Rating: T

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Pairing: BokuAka

Characters: Keiji Akaashi, Kotaro Bokuto, brief cameo from Haruki Komi

Word Count: 2,662

Summary: Keiji Akaashi is forced to grapple with three new pieces of information: 1) He is in love with his captain. 2) Hanahaki disease is real. 3) He keeps coughing up cherry blossom petals.

A/N: CW mentions of blood and descriptions of pain. No violence, but Akaashi does go through it in this one, sorry (but there's a happy ending!) Further author’s notes can be read on AO3.

@bokuakaweek2021

The first petals came after practice.

Akaashi had long suspected that his feelings for Bokuto went beyond those of an underclassman in awe of his captain, or even those of a best friend. But the sight of damp cherry blossom petals sticking to the inner curve of his elbow after a coughing fit still made his stomach drop. He couldn’t tell if the ache in his throat was from the coughs or from his own panic pressing in, nor did he really care. His mind was too occupied with the realization that hanahaki disease was real, and that somehow, he now had it.

Which meant his feelings for Bokuto weren’t returned. He’d never assumed they were, but the confirmation in the form of pretty pink petals falling from his lips still made disappointment crowd in with his panic.

He didn’t realize what he must’ve looked like to the rest of the team, standing there in the clubroom with his eyes fixed on his arm, until Bokuto’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Akaashi, what’s with the cough? You okay?”

“Ah, yes,” he gasped, hastily crushing the petals in his hand before Bokuto’s arm could land across his shoulders. “I just need some water.”

“Oh! Here.” Akaashi took Bokuto’s proffered bottle without thinking, his focus fixed on making sure he didn’t wince at the foreign taste of flower petals mixing with the water.

He was fine as he and Bokuto walked together after practice, the tickle in his throat only returning when they parted ways with a bright smile and “G’night, Akaashi!” from Bokuto. A few more petals fell from his lips when he walked away from those warm eyes, but that was the last he saw or felt of the impossible flowers for the rest of the night.

Part of him hoped it was a fluke, like an overnight cold, something that would go away quickly. Maybe the universe or fate or whatever made this happen would decide it was a mistake and leave him alone.

Those hopes were dashed the next morning, when Bokuto’s shouted greeting and run to his side at the school gates made petals fall from Akaashi’s lips just as he pressed his elbow to his face.

There was no way to tell how long his feelings for Bokuto had been romantic. All that mattered was now that Akaashi knew, it was relentless. Love was a stubborn thing, making his heart ache with longing and his lungs ache with creeping branches. It panged whenever he was around Bokuto, which was almost every moment they weren’t in class.

Every shouted “hey hey hey!”, every high five, every call of his name on and off the court, every time an arm was slung around his shoulders and pulled him into Bokuto’s side, Akaashi ached and ached, until he wasn’t sure if it was longing or the flowers that choked him up.

Because that was the thing about hanahaki disease, Akaashi came to find out: it didn’t just worsen with time. His love acted like fertilizer to the flowers, making petals brush the back of his throat whenever Bokuto did something that made his heart clench. It felt like a sick joke that the flowers were hardest to hide from the very person he wanted to hide them from.

Not that he wanted anyone to know about them. He ended up getting into the habit of turning his back to people when he coughed, because that was the only way he could crush the petals in his hand before they would be spotted by anyone. The habit continued even when the petals falling from his lips became full cherry blossoms.

It shouldn’t have surprised him when Komi plopped down next to him and Bokuto during warm-up stretches and asked, “Hey man, have you been feeling alright?”

“Komi-san?”

“You’ve been coughing a lot lately, and your voice sounds kinda rough. You should probably let Coach know if you’re not feeling good.”

“Akaashi, you’re sick?” Bokuto gasped, hand shooting out to press against his forehead.

Akaashi managed to catch his wrist before his hand could reach his forehead. “I’m not sick,” he sighed, gently placing Bokuto’s hand back into his lap. “It’s just...allergies.”

“It’s June.”

“My mother has some late pollinators in her garden.”

There was suspicion in Komi’s eyes, but also genuine concern, and Akaashi could feel guilt at his lie creeping through him. “...Alright. Just take care of yourself, okay? We can’t have our star setter passing out on us!”

“Bokuto-san is the star.”

“But I can’t make my star spikes without your star tosses!” Bokuto pointed out, looking very proud of his logic. When Akaashi sighed, he could feel newly-bloomed petals rustling at the back of his throat.

——————————————— ———————————————

None of the paintings or stories or poetry about the disease had prepared Akaashi for the pain. The ache of his unrequited love was somehow surpassed by the scrape of branches and leaves and flowers in his lungs and tearing his throat, staining his mouth red and tainting every breath with the taste of copper.

But he kept playing volleyball. He didn’t know how he hid his affliction from his coach and teammates, how he managed to keep pushing himself to send the perfect tosses and calculate the perfect strategies on the court. The sharp pain in his lungs and throat simply faded into the ache of exertion, an ache that felt worth it whenever Bokuto beamed a triumphant smile and held his hands up for a high ten.

After every game, he could barely breathe because of the flowers crowding his throat. After every game, he kept his mouth clenched shut against the petals sticking to his tongue as the teams thanked their supporters and shook hands with each other. After every game, he somehow managed to duck away to the bathroom to cough the flowers into the toilet.

It went on for months, and he never said a thing, never told a soul. And then, one day, after another triumphant victory, a bloodstained petal snuck out between his lips and nearly stuck to Bokuto’s arm. Akaashi’s hand shot out and grabbed at it, but not before Bokuto’s sharp eyes caught sight of it. “Woah, what-?”

“Excuse me,” Akaashi choked out, hand fixed over his mouth as he ran to the nearest bathroom.

His mouth felt fuzzy with the flowers fighting to burst from his lips, until he couldn’t even lock the stall door behind him in his rush for the toilet. His first exhalation over the bowl was a stream of cherry blossoms, a bouquet of pink petals stained with his blood that was never-ending.

He didn’t know if he could breathe, didn’t know if his knees were bruised from how quickly he landed on the floor, didn’t know how long he was bent over with the force of his heaving coughs. He could only feel the brush and scrape of the flowers flooding out of him, until finally, finally, the only things in his mouth were the taste of blood and a few stray petals.

The flowers were no longer forcing their way out of his body, but he could still feel the coiled stems pressed in his lungs with each breath, and the brush of petals already creeping back up his throat. It hurt. Somehow he had ignored it during the game, but kneeling there on the tiles of the bathroom, the pain of his ruined lungs and throat and mouth reared to the front of his mind.

And with the pain came the tears. His throat closed tight around the flowers as he finally succumbed to the pain, his agonized sobs wracking his body and echoing around the bathroom until they were the only thing he could hear…except for the sound of the bathroom door slamming open and a familiar voice calling, “Akaashi?”

His sobs hiccuped in his chest, and he lunged for the door to the stall he was crouched in, but he was too slow. Before he could push it closed, Bokuto was standing in the way, eyes wide as he took in what must’ve looked like carnage to him: Akaashi on his knees, blood drying around his lips and mixing with the tears flowing down his cheeks, and a toilet bowl full of cherry blossoms floating in red. “Akaashi?!”

“Bokuto-san,” he choked out, voice so hoarse he could barely understand his own words, “please go-”

“Are you ok?! What’s going on? We need to take you to the medics, that’s a lot of blood, what’s with the flowers? Never mind, come on-” He had an arm around Akaashi’s waist and Akaashi’s arm over his shoulders before the setter’s pain-clouded mind could process his words.

“Bokuto-san, wait…stop…”

“Wait for what? ‘Kaashi, you’re bleeding a lot, and from your mouth! Were you coughing up blood?! You could die from that, we need to go-”

“Stop!” Akaashi shoved Bokuto away, the ace’s surprise working in his favor as he managed to escape his hold and send himself back onto the floor. “Just stop. Listen to me. The medic can’t cure this. Nothing can.”

“W…what?”

He’d never seen Bokuto at a loss for words before, but he couldn’t dwell on how wrong that felt. He had to take advantage of the rare moment of quiet. “I’ll…I’ll be ok. I just…need a few more minutes in here, by myself, and I’ll be back with the team.”

“Akaashi-”

The worry in Bokuto’s eyes made guilt and love clash around Akaashi’s heart, and made the flowers in his lungs expand with a new growth spurt. He could feel them begin to crowd back up his throat, the first few petals just tickling the back of his tongue and threatening to make him gag again. “Just go, please, I-”

Another sob tore out of him before he bent back over the toilet to release a fresh wave of cherry blossoms, the tiny flowers piling on top of the previous bouquet. He could just barely make out the sound of Bokuto’s gasp over his own pained coughs, and it was enough to make tears mix with the bloodstained flowers pouring out of him.

Then there was a hand on his back, rubbing wide, slow circles between his shoulder blades, and the familiar smell of Bokuto’s sweat and the detergent of their uniforms surrounded him. It was a show of quiet support that was both exactly what Akaashi needed and the last thing he needed, as the love that swelled in him made yet another set of flowers bloom.

“Don’t, don’t tou-” was all he could choke out before his words were replaced by cherry blossoms. But Bokuto understood, and the hand and comforting smell fell away until Akaashi could push himself from the toilet with a pained, rattling gasp.

Silence fell over the bathroom. He could feel Bokuto’s eyes on him, and he kept his own gaze fixed to the floor like a coward, nearly flinching at the droplets of blood on the tiles. It felt like it took both a second and an eternity for Bokuto to speak. “Who is it?”

“What?”

“You have hanahaki disease, right? Who…who gave it to you?”

Raising his eyes to Bokuto’s felt like the scariest thing he’d ever done. He didn’t know what he hoped to see, nor what he was so afraid of seeing, but he didn’t expect to find Bokuto crouched on the floor next to him, brows furrowed over eyes that shined with tears and lips that quivered.

Never in a million years did Akaashi think he would see so much fear and grief and care lining his first love’s face. Perhaps it was his surprise that made him tell the truth.

“You.” Bokuto’s eyes widened and his lips parted around a silent gasp, and Akaashi’s lips curved into a wavering smile that he could only hope looked reassuring. “It’s you, Bokuto-san. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry.”

“I know you don’t feel the same way, and that’s ok. I’ll be ok.”

“You could die.”

“I could.” He tried to stay calm, wanted more than anything to stay calm, but the thought of his death looming so close made his voice shake.

“Because you don’t think I love you back.”

“If you did, I wouldn’t have this disease. But it’s ok, Bokuto-san. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to shoulder the responsibility.” His throat burned with every word, but they poured out of him anyway in his desperation to ease the guilt in those golden eyes. “Please don’t blame yourself.”

The grief in Bokuto’s eyes changed into frustration...then determination...and then, before Akaashi could move, there were hands gently cradling his face, and lips brushing against his own in the softest breeze of a kiss. “I’m sorry, Akaashi. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“Bokuto-san?”

“I love you, too. I didn’t say anything because I thought I would scare you away. I was happy being your captain and ace and best friend if it meant you would stay with me.”

In all their bad games, in all of Bokuto’s descents into his dejected mode, Akaashi had never before seen his eyes swim with tears the way they did now. He never wanted to see the sight again. “Please don’t. Don’t force yourself because of me, Bokuto-san, I couldn’t-”

“Akaaaaaashi, listen to me! I’m telling you the truth!”

“But the disease-”

“I think that was because you thought I didn’t feel the same way. But I do! I really do, Akaashi!”

Akaashi could only stare and hiccup with a sob. Words rarely failed him, but his shock made his tongue feel heavy and his throat seal up yet again. His disbelief must have still been clear on his face, though, because Bokuto let out a frustrated huff before he leaned in again.

This kiss was firm, more assured, and Akaashi could only grip at Bokuto’s sweaty jersey as the older boy kissed his top lip, bottom lip, the corner of his lips where blood had dried. He’d never imagined his first kiss would be like this, tasting of blood and aching with pain, on the floor of a bathroom after a game.

But with each press of Bokuto’s lips, he let himself respond a little more, kissing back, parting his lips on a soft gasp, letting his hands trail up to those broad shoulders. Every kiss sang with Bokuto’s true feelings for him, making love spread warm and true through his veins, and for once, the feeling wasn’t tainted with the pain and panic of flowers blooming inside him. Instead, the ever-present pressure in his lungs slowly eased, the scrape of branches and flowers faded, and he could feel the growth inside him shrink away. When he pulled away, it was to suck in a deep breath for the first time in months.

“Akaashi?”

He met Bokuto’s questioning eyes with a smile. “You really do love me.”

“Huh? Yeah, of course I do! That’s what I said!”

“I know, but...the flowers, Bokuto-san. They’re gone. I...I believe you.” One last cough escaped him, and with it came a dusting of petals...and then the ache in his throat was gone. His voice was still rough, but he couldn’t taste blood anymore, and there was no rustling of petals with his sigh. “I’m okay.”

Bokuto stared at him for a moment, eyes flickering around his face, before a wide smile finally split his face. “You’re okay?”

“I’m okay.” He didn’t know that Bokuto could be so gentle, that his hands could be so careful on his cheeks. It was enough to nearly make him cry. But he swallowed back his tears as his hands covered Bokuto’s. “We should go. The team-”

“They can wait a little longer.”

Protests rose in his throat where branches and flowers used to be, but they faded away when Bokuto’s lips were back on his. He was right. The team could wait a little longer.

15 notes · View notes

le-amewzing · 6 years

Text

Hobby

Yet another sequel because a passing thought of Onaga's in "Talent" just wouldn't let me go. XD

Fic: "Hobby" [FFN] [AO3] | preceded by "Pastime" & by "Talent"

Pairings/Characters: established!Onaga Wataru/Washio Tatsuki, Shirofuku Yukie, Konoha Akinori, Suzumeda Kaori, implied Bokuto Koutarou/Akaashi Keiji, implied Sarukui Yamato/Komi Haruki, with a cameo from Onaga's parents

Rating: M

Words: ~10,230

Summary: Onaga and Washio get to spend Washio's birthday together anyway.

Summer vacation has come and now is nearly gone, and Onaga doesn't know what to make of it.

His summer has gone relatively as expected—getting his summer assignments done well on time, participating in the joint training camp that was slightly bigger than last year's because Aoba Johsai wormed its way in via a Karasuno invitation, stealing moments and the occasional afternoon with Washio—but it feels as if the end of vacation has snuck up on him. And he's got plans before the fall semester starts.

Well. He sort of has plans.

Onaga sits back in the chair at his desk at home, eyeing the calendar on his phone's screen. These last few days of summer stare up at him, and his eyes always saunter back to the Twenty-Ninth. It's the last Saturday in August, and Onaga knows how he'd like to spend it.

Unfortunately, there's a difference between having such a nice day free for Washio and being able to spend it the way they'd like. Onaga's only seventeen, and this is the first time that Onaga's ever been so frustrated by the barely two years between him and Washio. Seventeen is still young to try making a reservation and get away, just him and Washio. …it'd be nice, though. Maybe next year?

At that thought, Onaga sends his boyfriend a quick text, wondering if Washio's interested in letting the wind carry them wherever on a day out on Saturday or if he'd like to kick back at the Onaga household. The latter thought amuses Onaga and makes him smile. His parents love Washio nearly as much as he does.

The second year jolts in his chair when his phone rings in response. "Onaga?" Washio answers.

"Washio-san," Onaga blurts, "hello. I wasn't expecting you to call." Not that he couldn't. It's late in the day but still before suppertime. Washio's family eats late, too, so Onaga imagined the older boy, holed up in his room, skimming next semester's texts ahead of time. A very Washio thing to do.

Washio inhales and exhales, completely relaxed, maybe surfacing from said textbooks for a break. "I wanted to. Texting and emailing are nice, but I prefer the times when we talk properly, in person or otherwise." There's a slight lift in his intonation, more emphasis at the end of his sentence, and Onaga knows Washio smiles. It makes him smile, too.

"Did you decide on how to spend your birthday?"

"Hmm, not quite. Both options have their merit." He pauses, and Onaga wonders if another idea crosses his mind. Onaga can't think Washio would propose hanging out over at the Washio family's apartment, not because Washio's parents dislike Onaga (they don't even know about them, last Onaga checked) but because Washio's parents work long hours and the place would feel rather depressingly lonely instead of invitingly empty.

When Washio's pause persists, Onaga adds, "Did you want to invite any of the others?"

At that, Washio sighs properly. "No," he replies gruffly, but it's less him grumping and more Washio being completely certain he'd like to avoid their crazy bunch of friends; Onaga bites back a laugh and has to bite his tongue to keep his amusement out of his voice.

"Then just the two of us, as planned." He halts. "Er…sort of."

"It's all right, Onaga," Washio assures him, because he remembers what Onaga spoke of weeks and weeks and weeks ago, as the semester ended and Onaga was only prepping for that joint training camp. He remembers Onaga's wish for the two of them to get away somewhere, somehow, from friends, from family, to celebrate Washio's birthday however they pleased. But Washio's smart, same as Onaga, and he's most certainly worked out the same obstacles Onaga has. "We can do something else. Our usual day out or I'll come over."

Onaga twists his lips around and slumps on his desk. His voice is muffled with his cheek pressed against the wooden top as he asks, "That's enough, Washio-san?"

"Seeing you is my top present," he replies, though his sentence comes out slow, partly stunted but without actual pauses. Nevertheless, Onaga knows Washio's a tad embarrassed at being so honest with his feelings, and the point makes Onaga feel lighter.

"Then, Saturday, I'm all yours."

Friday morning comes and goes slowly. Onaga relishes being able to sleep in one final morning since he expects to be busy tomorrow and Sunday is the day to get back into his usual routine. Once he finally meanders out of bed and dresses and eats, he helps his mother around the house while his dad's at work, because if they're going to welcome autumn in just a few days' time, they might as well do so with a literally clean slate.

By lunchtime, Onaga and his mother are in the kitchen, working side by side to prep a quick meal of sashimi and fried rice and vegetables. She keeps an eye on the frying pan while he carefully fillets salmon.

"You're going out tomorrow, correct?" she asks as she places some cucumber and eggplant on a cloth to soak up extra oil.

"I'm not sure yet," he answers.

At that, his mother's eyes, larger and rounder than his but the same color, brighten, and her warm smile brightens up the rest of her face. "But it's Tatsuki-kun's birthday, isn't it? You were talking about it last week. Didn't you go out to buy him a gift then?"

He did, although the memory is embarrassing, and Onaga doesn't want to recall his fluster over choosing something Washio would like let alone could use. He wants to finish making lunch and shut up and eat. "I did… But, Mom, don't tease me. He might spend the day here instead."

"Who said I was teasing you? No one's teasing you." Despite her tone, his mother has one hell of a time quashing her ever-growing grin. "And of course he could come here. His parents wouldn't mind? We could have them over, too. Your father and I are curious about them, you know."

Onaga internally sighs, but it's his mother's impish attitude that best prepared him for the likes of Bokuto, Konoha, Komi, Sarukui, and Shirofuku when Fukurodani snapped him up as a starter over a year and a half ago. He doesn't comment that he already knew they'd be fine with having Washio over, but Onaga wonders how best to explain to his parents that Washio's parents are impossibly even more aloof than their son. "They don't mind," he eventually says, which he assumes isn't a lie since Washio hasn't said anything about it. "I think they're busy." Also not a lie; with the odd hours Washio's parents keep in finance-adjacent positions, Onaga's always had the impression that they never stop working, though he's had the occasion to meet them two or three times, and they're polite enough.

Those answers satisfy her fine for now, so she ushers her son to hurry up so they can plate and eat the results of their hard work. They take their food into the living room to watch a bit of news and part of a daytime drama she likes, but their plates are empty and on the coffee table as the hours fly by with them caught up in the string of movies scheduled after the drama. Once the credits roll on the third film, she yelps when she realizes the time. "Oh, for—! Wataru, your father's already got to be on his way home. Go, get! Shoo!" she huffs, scooting him off the couch.

He grabs the dishes before she can protest. "Mom, I can help with dinner, too—"

"No, you already helped enough today. Is your room clean? Go clean your room!"

"My room's fine, honest, and the rest of the house—"

"—is perfect thanks to your assistance. But I'll not have a single room look a mess if we're to have company tomorrow." She plucks the plates and their glasses from his hands and draws up to her full height, more than a full foot shorter than her son. But her eyebrows are hard lines on her face where they're just fuzzy distractions on his, and the deep set of fresh wrinkles around her mouth helps cast an overall intimidating image in spite of her small stature. "Go on," she instructs, so Onaga heads back upstairs. He's not one to argue, especially with his mother who grew up on a farm wrestling hogs and still has the upper arm strength to do so.

Turns out she had a good idea. Onaga's been spending more time than usual in his room because, hey, it's summer vacation, so he's been fairly oblivious to the haphazard stack of textbooks half on his desk, half under his desk; to the three pairs of socks climbing out of his Fukurodani duffel that…turn out to be two and a half pairs (guess it's time to go on a sock scavenger hunt in his room); to the t-shirts not hung up properly in his closet, pooled instead in the closet's mouth; to—oh, hell, where are his jeans?

He cracks open the window, thankful at least that it doesn't smell much in here (and making a mental note to spray in here anyway once it's tidy), and gets to work. Luckily, he kept all the required homework in his schoolbag, so he doesn't have to chase it down. But, between putting his books in their proper places, reorganizing his games, gathering up his laundry, straightening out his closet, making the bed, watering his miniature bamboo plant, and setting everything right, Onaga never has the chance to look at the clock, and it's not until a particularly cold, rather autumn-like breeze slides in through the window and raises goosebumps on the back of his neck and on his arms that he realizes dinner must be done and his dad must've come in the door and even called up to Onaga without Onaga hearing him. Oops.

Satisfied his mother will be happy when she peeks in later—because she's bound to peek in—Onaga hustles out of his room and downstairs. The phone rings, and his mother grabs it right as he hits the ground floor.

"Onaga residence. Shirofuku-chan? How nice to hear from you!"

Wait—Shirofuku? Onaga rounds the corner, waves to his father at the dinner table, and fixes his eyes on the back of his mother's rose-pink sweatshirt.

"Tomorrow, you say? Of course, of course. What time should I wake him? Oh, you're meeting? All right, I'll send him on his way— The whole—? And it's the usual—?" Onaga's mother's free hand rests on her hip, not actually free since she holds a serving spoon, and a bead of broth rounds the spoon head and nearly drips on the floor while she continues to talk with, purportedly, Onaga's former club manager.

Still. Shirofuku? And not Suzumeda? This can't be related to club at all—can it?

"Ah, right, I see. Makes sense. It sounds like such fun! And you'll return—? Oh, good. I'd hate for him and Akaashi and Suzu-chan not to be ready for classes Monday."

Onaga exchanges a glance with his father. It's like looking into a mirror, seeing the long nose and the square jaw…but more so in this moment, because they wear identical expressions of confusion as she nods and tells Shirofuku to take care and that they'll see Onaga tomorrow morning at nine.

With the call ended, Onaga's mother simply turns around and spies her son. "Did you wash your hands?" she asks with narrowed eyes and the serving spoon leveled with his chest.

"I—yes." He shuts his gaping mouth. "Mom, that… Was that Shirofuku-senpai?"

"Hmm? Yes," she calls from the kitchen as she trots back and forth, laying dinner out as if it's a four-course meal.

"And?" he prompts. He sits hesitantly across from his father, who's still curious but finds the miso in front of him to be far more interesting.

"She said everyone's gathering to celebrate Tatsuki-kun's birthday this weekend."

"Everyone?" But he thought Washio didn't want to spend it this way.

"Yes, she said it was the usual cast of characters—you regulars from last year, plus her and Suzu-chan." His mother smirks proudly. "And I don't worry about there being any trouble with the girls in charge and Akaashi present."

His skin flushes red. "Mom." It's awful, how close to a whine his word is.

"Oh, I trust you, too, Wataru. And Tatsuki-kun's a good boy. But your father and I were there to watch your last day of the Spring High in January. And we've had your friends over several times, for club meetings and study sessions and whatnot. The other boys need supervision."

Onaga would almost laugh at that if not for how blindsided he feels at this second. It takes him another second to collect his thoughts, and his parents dig in. "So, what? Shirofuku-senpai was calling to give the details?"

"And to ask if it were all right that they have you overnight. Not unlike all the times your club managers or advisors have called to confirm permission for overnight club events," she states between mouthfuls of rice.

Oh, no. This could not be further from his and Washio's plans. A weekend away with all of their friends?! How?! Is everyone really available all at once, for this one weekend, of all weekends?!

"Wataru, you look pale. Eat up," his father suggests.

Robotically, Onaga begins to eat, his mind still trying to process all the ways things could get even worse. Ultimately, what wins out is his hope that at least they'll have fun, because it's never a dull day when spent with Fukurodani VBC's alum regulars. At that idea, he tries to loosen up, and he wonders if maybe there might still be a way to get a moment to themselves should he and Washio need a break from their rowdy bunch.

"No staying up late tonight," his mother points out, interrupting his thoughts. "And try not to stay up too late tomorrow night, too. You can't simply recover in one day when you've got school the following morning. But Shirofuku-chan said to meet at the school stop on your train route at nine. You'll return Sunday evening around dinnertime, so feel free to bring Tatsuki-kun along for dinner before he heads home." She pauses eating and narrows her dark eyes at him again. "And I expect you to text me the inn's information as soon as Shirofuku-chan sends it to you. All right?"

He nods dumbly, because it'll still be another hour before his brain catches up.

An hour later, he snaps out of his stupor in his room and packs while he muses about this last-minute group trip his senpai have planned. He's not surprised his mom conceded so fast because she liked the girls best from the first time she fed them and saw the girls convince the others to use their politest manners when at Onaga's house. But—this is insane.

Does Washio even know?

Onaga drops his duffel—the best bag to use for something like this—and grabs his phone off his desk, unlocking it with a few quick taps. But, before he calls Washio, he stops. He opens their text conversation, and he stops again.

Does Washio even know?

Or is this meant to be a surprise birthday party?

Onaga groans and drops to his bed, flopping onto his back. As much as he'd like to warn his boyfriend, he also doesn't want to be a spoilsport and ruin the weekend that, likely, took the others some effort to plan. Although he is surprised they'd fill his parents in before dropping him a line.

Oh, of course.

He sits up and finds Shirofuku's number in his address book and dials. It rings and rings and rings. She doesn't answer.

Well, Suzumeda isn't a schemer like her redheaded senpai, so Onaga tries her next. Same thing.

It's too late in the evening to risk trying Akaashi—he's scary grumpy when woken before his alarm—and texts stand a better chance of being answered by Konoha, Komi, and Sarukui. Since it's likely they'll tell Bokuto literally before they board the train to ensure he doesn't blab to Washio, Onaga doesn't bother trying to reach his former captain. But none of the other alumni reply. Onaga tries to convince himself that the possibility exists that one or two people got new phones and therefore maybe have new numbers, but even he knows how terrible a liar he is.

So Onaga goes back to his text log with Washio and eyes Washio's profile picture: not a full-face shot but an angled capture of his jaw and neck from the side. Sometimes Onaga has to blink and shake himself because the curve of his boyfriend's neck is sexy, but what gets him every time is the way Washio's subtle smirk is caught here, towards the upper left corner of the square. It's the smirk that shifts into his soft, relaxed smile, and Onaga's heart squeezes at the memory.

He can't wait to see that smirk-turned-smile this weekend, even if the circumstances aren't ideal.

With that in mind, Onaga backs out of the chat and sets his alarm. He has to finish getting ready for the possibly-a-surprise birthday weekend.

"O~na~ga~!"

He turns at the sound of Shirofuku's voice, and she and Konoha join him at the platform. Seconds behind them, Suzumeda comes jogging towards their gathering, her hair pulled back into its usual ponytail—an odd thing to see since she cut it at the start of the school year, but it's grown a bit over the past few months, so she looks more like herself from last year. Compared to her, Shirofuku and Konoha look exactly the same.

"You made it," Shirofuku coos happily, and Konoha rolls his eyes on her left.

"If any of us were gonna be early, it's Onaga," he remarks, and Onaga's senpai chuckle when the second year can't refute him.

Shirofuku hums to herself and stares up at Onaga. Konoha does a double-take at her before something clicks, too, and then he joins her in staring up at their kouhai.

Suzumeda clears her throat. "Enough, you two," she scolds.

"Skyscraper," the alumni say in unison.

Onaga blushes. It's been a while since his senpai have made him feel silly, because Suzumeda and Akaashi have better manners than that, and the nonsensical ones haven't dropped by Fukurodani at all. "I know, I'm taller," he says, "but…I think I'm done growing."

Shirofuku smiles, and Konoha simply grins. "I'd hope so," the blond says. "Washio said you were taller. Gods, it's great. Now he finally knows what it's like to be one of us short people." He finishes by pumping his fist as if they're in the middle of a match and he's just saved their butts with one of his reliable spikes.

"One of you short people?" comes the even, deep tone Onaga last heard two nights ago, and Onaga turns just as Washio pulls up on his right. Washio's brow is often drawn down, but it sinks as he settles Konoha with a dry stare.

But it doesn't faze his best friend. "So sue me for wanting to chop off just a little bit of your legs so we can see eye to eye." Konoha says it so casually, but he can't hold back his trademark grin that accompanies some of the more ridiculous things he says, and it's hard not to laugh at the exchange, although Onaga calms faster than the others when Washio leans against his arm just a bit.

"I take it then…," Onaga begins, but he looks to the redhead for confirmation.

Shirofuku nods and shrugs. "We couldn't make it completely a surprise. There's no barging in to kidnap Washio. He had to come of his own volition," she says, but she reaches up and pokes the furrow developing between the gruff owl's eyebrows. "No moping on your birthday!"

"AH! Hey! Everyone else is here, too?"

They turn towards the entrance and see Bokuto marching ahead of Akaashi, Sarukui, and Komi, with the other three looking somewhat…tired already?

Bokuto's infectious smile widens when he spies Washio. "OH! Hey! That's right! It's Washio's birthday today!" He holds his hands up for a double high-five, in which Washio reluctantly participates. "Happy birthday, Wasshi!"

Konoha snickers at Akaashi. "How'd you manage to do it without telling him?"

Akaashi simply flashes a victory sign at them with a blank face but twinkling eyes, and Sarukui fills in, with a groan, "We distracted Bokuto while Akaashi packed a bag for him."

"But we got to shove him out the door," Komi quips, and he snickers when Bokuto rubs his backside at the memory. Is it a trick of the station's crappy lights, or does Onaga see the imprint of Komi's sandal there?

"Are we going somewhere?" Bokuto asks, taking in the others' overnight bags, and everyone heaves a sigh that's on the verge of laughter.

"An onsen in Kamakura," Shirofuku supplies, and Onaga blinks in surprise at that as their group journeys from the platform for the local lines to one of the outbound trains that will take them south.

"Kamakura? An onsen?" he asks.

"A regular client of my dad's owns a place there, so I called in a favor," Sarukui says as he pops up on Onaga's other side. It's hard to tell if he's genuinely grinning—ah, no, he is, because the smile reaches his eyes.

"Did you remember to get the train tickets first thing?" Shirofuku grouses at the head of their cluster.

"On my way to pick up Komi." Sarukui pulls the passes from his shorts pocket and waves them above Shirofuku's head for good measure.

The majority of them mostly let Sarukui and Shirofuku confer over the logistics, and, while the rest catch up and Bokuto's brought up to speed, Onaga takes half a beat to drop a step back and slow his pace. Of course Washio does the same to fall in line with him. Onaga darts his eyes to his boyfriend. "So…"

Washio frowns; there's this small dimple near the corner of his mouth that appears when he does so. "I wasn't expecting this."

"Kind of everything you didn't want?"

The older teen doesn't answer right away. He exhales slowly, a large breath that makes his chest heave and his shoulders slouch. "Not exactly. But…they've given it some thought. And I have a feeling there's something in it for everyone." He raises his eyebrows, and there's a light in his eyes that makes Onaga chuckle, especially when Washio's eyes dance from Sarukui and Komi walking in perfect time to Konoha and Shirofuku bumping hips playfully to Bokuto talking in excited but surprisingly quiet undertones with Akaashi.

The wait for the train isn't long, and Shirofuku tells him the inn's info so Onaga can take a second to text his mom. The only hassle comes when they try to find seats together. Thankfully, Bokuto's boisterous side drives some of the other morning travelers from their seats, though Washio snags a window seat and practically yanks Onaga into the seat beside him by the hem of the high schooler's tee.

"No fair," Konoha gripes from the seat directly behind Washio, though Onaga feels as if this is partially aimed at him, too. "Oi. Onaga isn't allowed to hog you to himself, Washio."

Washio rolls his eyes while Onaga turns uncomfortably red, but the vice-captain darts a few peeks at their other friends. There are no gapes or curious looks at Konoha's words. Onaga knows Konoha knows, but—has everyone else figured them out, too?

He can't tell with Suzumeda; since she jogged to the station, he can only surmise she was running late this morning. And now she's fast asleep already with her head on Shirofuku's shoulder.

Akaashi smiles briefly at him, which Bokuto notices. Bokuto, himself, merely gives him that same wide grin as earlier before he nudges Akaashi to resume showing him all the cool photos Fukurodani's current captain has taken with his phone during the break.

Sarukui and Komi share this knowing smirk and even waggle their eyebrows at their kouhai. Oh, for crying out loud. They spend far too much time together.

Shirofuku isn't teasing, at least. In fact, Konoha whispers something to her and points to Washio and Onaga, which makes Onaga frown in annoyance. But Shirofuku pinches the back of the hand that points, and Konoha swallows a yelp down, and Onaga wonders if maybe, just maybe, it's not the end of the world to be themselves in front of their friends. In front of, frankly, their family.

"Everyone knows, huh?" Onaga asks Washio quietly, although he can't help the fondness in his tone.

Washio nods as he stares out the window and the train sets out. "…it's not so bad," he admits, and the start of a smile toys with the corner of his mouth that's visible to Onaga.

In half an hour, the train passes through Yokohama, making a brief stop to unload and accept passengers. After more than five minutes, it gets moving again, speeding further, further south. Tokyo isn't entirely removed from the ocean—one can get there in good time from the city—but the sights, sounds, and smells of their usual urban life fade away the closer they draw upon their destination. Nothing quite beats a fresh, salty, Japanese sea breeze.

The station in Kamakura is bustling but nowhere near the level of mayhem as any of Tokyo's. It feels great when the owls disembark and can stretch their legs, and the air outside is worth the rush Komi and Bokuto make when they dart ahead.

"Not bad, not bad," Konoha declares as they congregate outside the station. "There's a hell of a lot more color around here, too."

Sarukui beams as they all take in the lively greens and vibrant blues of their surroundings which many businesses echo in their own color schemes. "I picked well, huh?"

"Good work, Saru."

"Then let's continue."

Everyone faces him, and Onaga's muscles tighten with dread. "Um, Sarukui-senpai," he starts, "how…how far is the onsen…?"

"About a fifteen-minute walk. Twenty if we drag our feet." He grins, and he honestly doesn't see anything wrong with walking for that long after the hour they spent on the train getting here.

A groan rolls through the group, minus Bokuto and of course Sarukui. But they let those two lead, and at least Sarukui doesn't set an unreasonable pace. Plus, they've got a nicely paved sidewalk to traverse; even Shirofuku in her flip-flops and Komi in his sandals can't complain too much.

"I have to ask," Suzumeda pipes up by the time they reach the end of a block and keep going. "Why an onsen?"

"It's the end of the slow season, right before they get busy," Sarukui supplies. He readjusts his backpack's straps on his shoulders and runs a lazy hand through his dark curls. "Most of the summer is too hot, so they get few customers. Besides, isn't this a nice way to end the season?"

Suzumeda scrunches up her nose but says nothing because she doesn't want to be rude.

Onaga has to wonder if Sarukui's statement and his "calling in a favor" have anything to do with this being the best any of them could do when it came to supplying a weekend trip. After all, Sarukui's only a few weeks older than Washio, both freshly nineteen and not yet adults; they've got a year to go.

The onsen, it turns out, is built into a rocky crevasse that splinters off into trails that lead up to the tiny mountain (more like a hill) behind the facility and into paths that transform into sand the closer one gets to the beach. But, beautiful as it is to take in, they're only half there, so the sights beckon, but the summer sun's not yet done beating down on them. Komi tugs on Sarukui's arms until the latter gives in, passes his bag to Bokuto to carry, and lets Komi pull off one their more daring maneuvers by leaping onto Sarukui's back for a piggyback ride the rest of the way.

Shirofuku tilts her head towards Konoha, and he grunts. "No way," he states before she even asks. When she tries turning her imploring eyes on Washio and Onaga, Washio pointedly avoids eye contact, and Onaga follows his lead.

Finally, the sliding doors of the traditional inn welcome them, and they slide open as a pair of attendants greets the group. The teens are exhausted but don't faint in the lobby, surprisingly. Sarukui gives the lobby manager his name while the attendants show the rest to a private dining room and start bringing water and assorted teas. When Sarukui joins them, matcha ice-cream is the next item delivered, and everyone happily digs in.

"A proper way to spend the rest of the afternoon," Konoha chirps into his second dish.

"Hardly," Washio grumbles. He enjoys the tea the most—a simple barley tea—but his eyes are locked on the pile in the corner in which everyone dumped their bags.

"We'll see the rooms soon enough, and we'll figure out room assignments later," Shirofuku declares. She finishes her fourth serving—two ahead of everyone else—and shivers. "I'll be ready to hit the hot springs shortly anyway."

Akaashi furrows his brow at Sarukui. "How many rooms did you book, Sarukui-san?"

"Three."

"Sounds right to me," Shirofuku claims. She points to herself and to Suzumeda. "Kaori-chan and I each get a room, and the rest of you can get nice and cozy in one."

"How about no."

"Not happening!"

"Have you heard Bokuto snore?!"

"HEY!"

"That would be…uncomfortable."

"Ugh…"

"Shouldn't Washio-san have a say since technically this is his birthday trip?"

Suzumeda raises her eyebrows at Shirofuku, and the redhead whistles and relents. "Fine. But do I still get to spend the rest of the day in the bath?"

"If you want to be as wrinkly as a prune, su—" Konoha's cut short when a quick punch from their former manager connects with his gut. He doubles over, the wind knocked out of him.

"How about an early lunch and then presents before anyone goes off to do their own thing?" Suzumeda suggests, and there's general consensus for her idea.

Onaga leans back on his folded legs and takes the scene in. Sarukui ducks out to flag someone down, and lunch comes to them in bits and pieces. There's no official cake, which Washio doesn't mind, and gifts are tossed and passed to him in one deluge after the food's cleared away.

Bokuto's gift is a signed photo of himself in his new, blue-and-green pro league duds, even though he's still a second-stringer and probably will be for his first season or two. "But let me know anytime, and I can get you tickets to all my games," he promises, and his golden eyes shine so brightly it hurts to look.

Komi's is a book "so dry and boring, it could only be liked by Washio," and Sarukui's is a DVD bought with the same line of thinking, though Sarukui didn't have to, since the onsen is on his wealthy family's tab.

Akaashi leaned more towards usefulness and so presents his senior with a daily planner that comes with its own notetaking format. Shirofuku went for usefulness, too, with a dark gray sweatshirt that zips up all the way to the chin…and which Onaga can imagine all too easily will fit Washio quite snugly.

"Open mine next," Konoha says far too cheerily. He points to the slim box wrapped in mint-green paper.

Onaga quirks an eyebrow on Washio's other side, but the quiet teen peels the paper with trepidation, tearing it away from Konoha and blocking Onaga's view. Washio smacks the paper over the box before he opens it further, and he fixes Konoha with a withering glare, color creeping up his neck and cheeks as the blond laughs so hard that he falls over and almost crashes into Shirofuku. "Very. Funny," Washio grouses, his tone clipped. He's completely embarrassed, and the others chuckle, too, even if only Washio and Konoha know the reason why.

Washio groans and shakes Konoha off when his friend sits up only to fall against him, laughing still. He leans in Onaga's direction, his brow furrowed and his eyes hopeful.

But, in light of everyone else's selections, Onaga feels silly and can't bring himself to fetch the wrapped item stuffed in the bottom of his duffel. "I, uh, just remembered… I forgot it on my bed, at home," he fibs. He forces a laugh at his own cost. "Sorry, Washio-san."

Washio blinks slowly, lowers his eyes. He's actually kind of disappointed, and, though Onaga finds this expression cute, he internally promises to make it up to him, even if he has to orchestrate a minute of alone time.

Suzumeda, ever dependable, clears her throat and points out that Washio still has her gift to unwrap. "I thought you might be homesick," she gently teases as he opens the case and finds a homemade DVD. "It's all our practice matches so far this year, as well as our Interhigh games, with two separate highlight reels."

"Two?" Onaga voices for Washio.

"Of course. Victory over Itachiyama. And Onaga highlights."

Snickers fill the room and bubble into peals of laughter. Even Washio finds himself chuckling while Onaga holds his head in his hands and bemoans their ill-kept secret. "Senpai…!"

"I never thought an onsen could be so…exhausting," Onaga tells Washio as they walk back from the baths.

Washio stops in the corridor and looks up at Onaga, and the latter is eternally delighted he really is done growing; he's an inch or so shy of being a head taller than Washio, but he's comfy with the height difference as it stands. "I'm sorry, do you recall the summer training camp with them last year?"

His tone is so dry, Onaga barks a laugh. "You got me there." They keep walking, heading aimlessly for one of the rooms since the sharing hasn't been decided yet. Everyone dumped their things in one room earlier to head for the game room, although Bokuto, Shirofuku, Komi, and Konoha took over the ping-pong table for most of the day, leaving the rest to play mahjong until the girls decided to sneak to the beach for a quick dip and the wing spikers agreed it was a great idea. The group of friends has seen each other on and off for the rest of the day and now the evening, as the faces in the baths kept shuffling. Onaga and Washio were the last ones out, satisfied to claim a corner of the men's baths and relax and chat as needed. It wasn't exactly private, but it was cozy enough, even as they ignored Shirofuku's teasing calls from the women's baths about no one getting into any funny business.

"You…," Washio begins outside the door to the middle room. He stops a second time and pouts. "You don't forget things, Onaga."

Shoot. Of course Washio would see through his little white lie. "…no, I don't." He slouches.

Washio sighs. Translation: "What gives?"

"It's just—I—I got you…something personalized. And I felt…silly"—gods, that's his word of the day, isn't it?—"about it, and I didn't want to endure more snickers…"

"I'm sorry."

Onaga straightens up, stunned by that reaction. "Why? You don't need to apologize, Washio-san."

"No, I do. They accept us, but the joking around shouldn't go on forever or make you feel bad."

"I can handle the usual team banter, honest. This is just—" Onaga pauses, searching for the right words, and he laughs again when they come to him. "—me reverting to my awkward, first-year self while surrounded by my awesome senpai."

The older teen quirks an eyebrow.

"I said 'awesome.' There's no word to encompass all that our friends are, Washio-san."

Washio snorts, and his shoulders shake with silent laughter, bumping Onaga in the process as they head inside.

The room is…stunningly quiet. And empty. Onaga blinks and exchanges a glance with Washio. "I thought everyone left the baths ahead of us?"

"They did." Washio shuffles across the tatami mats and over to the bags by one of the connecting doors. It's Onaga's duffel, Washio's messenger bag, and Konoha's backpack. "Seems as though the rooms were decided."

"Still quiet, though." The younger teen leans toward the door where the bags are and thinks he hears someone snoring. He cracks it open, and he and Washio find Konoha talking quietly at Suzumeda, who's reading a book at the same time, and rubbing Shirofuku's tiny feet halfheartedly. They can't see Shirofuku since the redhead's curled around Konoha's waist, but another snore emerges from behind Konoha's back, so at least they pinpoint the source.

The blonds notice them, and Suzumeda holds her index finger up to her lips. "We're planning on waking her for dinner later," she whispers.

Washio cocks his head at his best friend.

Konoha grins. "Ah, I owe her. I shoulda just given her the piggyback ride. But this isn't so bad, so I'm good."

"Where's everyone else?" Onaga asks. He snaps a hand over his mouth when Shirofuku stirs, but he must've spoken low enough because she stays asleep. Shirofuku shrugs, and she starts to shuffle into the collar of her borrowed yukata like a turtle.

Konoha shakes his head, and Suzumeda taps her chin. "I thought I saw Bokuto-san and Akaashi-kun step outside. Maybe go for a walk around the building or on the grounds? No clue about Sarukui-san and Komi-san."

It makes sense, Onaga supposes. This year, Akaashi's been the first to arrive and the last to leave every day, more than living up to his captain responsibilities. And, not that Akaashi is the type to advertise if he had, it's hard to imagine he's had many chances to see Bokuto. Those two might or might not be dating (or own up to it), but Onaga knew from day one at Fukurodani that they were each other's favorite person, no competition.

Washio and Onaga silently close the door and mill about their room. "Sarukui and Komi could be anywhere," Washio says.

"Did you want to go looking for them?"

Washio fidgets and looks around the room. He tugs on the front of his yukata, smoothing a nonexistent wrinkle—a funny gesture since he ought to readjust the collar anyway, with how the fabric stands up and away from his neck instead of resting flat against it. "Just…curious," he replies, but he marches to the other connecting door before he sees Onaga give him a skeptical look.

"Actually, Washio-san," Onaga proposes while Washio cracks the door to the other connected room to peek in, "since it's just us—"

No sooner does he crack the door than Washio nearly slams it shut. His forehead hits the seam in the wall with a thud.

"Washio-san?!"

The older boy flips around, blocking Onaga's way to the door. "I. Found them." He grimaces, but his mouth is a squiggly line. He's flustered by whatever he witnessed.

"Sarukui-senpai and Komi-senpai?"

Washio nods.

Onaga's not stupid. Putting those two together and seeing Washio spin away like that— "No. They're—?"

"It's. One thing. To see your friends in the showers. Or baths. Because of games and camps." He reaches for Onaga and hides his face in his boyfriend's chest. "It's another thing, completely, to see them…" His words trail off, but Onaga catches the snippet anyhow: "…going at it like rabbits."

The absurdity of the situation makes Onaga redden, too, but he laughs and rests a hand on Washio's head. His hair's slicked back but mostly dry now, and Washio never overdoes it on the hard wax when he uses it during the day, but his hair's so incredibly soft right now that Onaga absentmindedly strokes it and walks Washio backwards, away from a surprise that no one should encounter on their birthday.

Washio heaves a sigh as Onaga pulls him down to the floor beside the futons laid out already. "Now I'm beginning to wish we'd stayed home," he grumbles.

Onaga chuckles and shakes his head. "Maybe. Then I wouldn't have forgotten your present," he adds, and they smile at his made-up story.

"Could I have it now?"

Washio's eyes lower for half a second and then fix on Onaga, whose pulse picks up. It's hard to say "no" to such a look, so Onaga gives a jerky nod and scoots towards his bag. He's been wondering since he bought the damn thing if it's too much, too sappy, and he has half a mind to pretend to look for the gift and then swear up and down it really is at home so he has time to get Washio something else. Instead, he distracts himself while he rummages in his duffel by asking, "So, uh, what was it? That Konoha-senpai gave you?"

Silence hangs in the room. Not unexpected when you're dating someone of few words like Washio, but it seems a little sudden even for them, and Onaga glances over his shoulder at his boyfriend. Washio sits on folded legs like when they had tea earlier in the day, although this time his hands are fists resting atop his knees. He's so grim and red that he might even be holding his breath. Wait, is he holding his breath? He does look a little purple—

"Washio-san, what on Earth—?" Onaga pushes his bag away and furrows his brow. He scans the rest of the pile. Washio's new gifts don't all fit in his overnight bag, so the rest are bundled up haphazardly in Shirofuku's gray sweatshirt for him. The mint-green package Konoha gave Washio is only half hidden under the left shoulder of the garment. Onaga goes to lift the sleeve.

"Onaga. Don't."

He frowns and turns back to Washio, who looks away. While he doesn't appreciate Washio stopping him, Onaga understands that it'd be rude to pry, especially when Washio's this…grouchy? over it. (He can't quite decide if "grouchy" is the best descriptor here, but he's got squat else at the moment.) "All right," he concedes, and he scoots back to the other boy. "Hey, I'm sorry, Washio-san," Onaga adds, and he feels relieved when Washio doesn't object to him hooking a hand around his neck and pulling him close again.

Washio huffs, and it reminds Onaga of the baths' warm steam on his skin. He huffs again, so Onaga returns to stroking his hair, and his fingers linger on the back of Washio's neck. There really is a lot of Washio's neck to see and touch from this angle, and Onaga muses on the yukata the inn loans its customers when they come out of the baths. The girls' are a pretty blue–violet with deep magenta sashes, and the guys receive ones in a shade of tea green, dark and more yellow than blue in the dye, with dark blue sashes. The colors look especially nice on Washio, Onaga decides, even if the older owl's neckline doesn't sit right, even though Washio's fits him more like the way the girls wear theirs, loose at the neck and flopping back…

Onaga comes to his senses when his fingers sink underneath the collar and rest at the top of Washio's back. He smiles gently when Washio looks up at him, and he pecks Washio's lips.

But, where typically Washio nestles his head into the crook of Onaga's neck or leans his head against Onaga's chest when he's satisfied, now Washio stays put. He pouts for the second time that evening, and he stares into Onaga's eyes.

Oh. Oh.

At least Washio's done sitting so rigidly, so he leans in towards Onaga and keeps his head tilted up as Onaga kisses him again. Washio hums low in the back of his throat, happy.

Still, Onaga ends the second kiss. He touches his forehead to Washio's. "You want to continue, right now?" Some humor leaks into his voice, but the quiet of the room is interrupted by Shirofuku's snores from the room behind him.

Washio cocks his head to one side, thinking. Then he holds up his left hand, a fraction of space between his thumb and index finger. Washio-speak for "Just a little bit."

Onaga snorts softly and grins, conceding. This time he tilts his head up as Washio straightens up on just his knees and scooches closer to Onaga, cupping Onaga's face in his hands and locking his head in place as they resume kissing. Onaga wraps his arms around Washio's waist, and he doesn't mind anymore that Washio's yukata isn't worn or even tied properly, because he quite likes all the spots where their skin touches.

There's been…basically, no time to be this close, in forever. It was one thing when Washio was still a third year and school and club offered so many opportunities to steal a moment for themselves. And it's downright charming that Washio has spent as much of his free time these past months with Onaga, even if it's only to see Onaga home, even if only partway. But this—

Onaga almost chokes when Washio grows tired of kneeling and slowly sinks onto his lap, settling comfortably on Onaga's right thigh. It's not only Washio's legs he feels pressed against his, and he's acutely aware of what Washio's knee nudges between his own.

They haven't been this close, ever.

Onaga fumbles to keep his hands planted firmly on Washio's waist, otherwise they're going to wander on their own. He hugs Washio closer to him, and Washio removes his hands from Onaga's face, sliding his arms around his boyfriend's neck. He toys with the collar of Onaga's yukata, which lies flat as it's supposed to do.

It's nice. This is nice. Very nice. Onaga's thoughts grow less and less intelligent as Washio tilts his head one way and Onaga can see a few stray strands of hair fall over Washio's ear. The strands are short, but they flutter over the cheekbone there, reminding Onaga that Washio's contours are not harsh, are some of his favorite aspects about Washio, are incredibly soft.

Instinctively, he squeezes Washio a bit too much, and they're flush against each other for a second before Washio startles and falls off his lap. But Onaga goes with him because Washio clutches a fistful of Onaga's yukata and accidentally tugs him along.

Onaga catches himself before they're compromised much more. That said… There's so much to process before him.

Washio's already half on his back, propped up on one elbow, his other hand's grip like steel on Onaga's yukata. His own yukata is in disarray, the neck opened as if it's a loosely worn bathrobe, the hem splayed and taunting with how much of each leg shows. The deep green of the fabric, the dark blue of the sash that now seems black in Onaga's shadow…they contrast so much with the tan of Washio's skin. Neck, chest, stomach, legs, legs, legs—all there for Onaga to touch, if he's allowed.

And Onaga doesn't fare much better. The cloth hangs off his frame, too, but more properly since his is tied right. Still, he's in a partial crouch, and his legs alternate with Washio. Washio's left leg, his right, Washio's right, his left—they're interlocking almost. Onaga gulps. His right hand is near his right knee…right between Washio's legs.

Washio's grip never loosens. His face is flushed with color, and his lips are fuller from all the kissing, and he tugs on Onaga's yukata.

Onaga is not planning to have sex for the first time with his boyfriend at this onsen. For many reasons, it is just not going to happen. They didn't select this place, their friends surround them, they won't be influenced by some of their friends' activities just next door—

—at the same time, he and Washio are here alone in this room, they're already in the heat of the moment, the mood is fantastic, they still smell like soap and shampoo, Washio looks so irresistibly handsome with his guard down like this, yukata are far too sexy on Washio, and there's absolutely no way they can enjoy a meal with their friends while at half-mast.

Or, in Onaga's case, at full-mast. Hell.

Washio pulls on Onaga's yukata again, making Onaga stumble that much closer, and the younger boy scrambles to keep his hand on a safe zone: on the inside of Washio's left thigh. But Washio smiles, imperceptibly, and leans up to recapture Onaga's mouth with his. When he breaks for breath, he mumbles, "Seeing you might only be my second-favorite present. If you want." The last three words are added especially quietly, and Washio ducks his eyes. He really is sweet.

Onaga shakes his head and smiles. "Just a little bit," he says, an echo of Washio earlier that earns him the tiniest of glares and makes him chuckle.

Figuring more than "a little bit" might be hard to resist if he's on his back, Washio sits up more, and he places his hand over Onaga's on his thigh, guiding it up while he hides his face in the crook of Onaga's neck.

Onaga sits back on his haunches and holds Washio, letting the older boy move his hand wherever he's comfortable. Onaga's fingers are led up the leg of the boxers, and Washio draws his leg up more, providing Onaga's hand with one path and one path only. Funny how, coming out of the hot springs, Onaga finds the most intense heat to be Washio's.

Washio sighs—sort of. His breath comes out in a few short, huffy puffs, and, now that Onaga's got his instructions, his free hand wends its way to Onaga's back. He clutches the fabric there, but yukata aren't made to be thick, and Washio nearly scratches him.

Onaga turns his head but can only place a soft kiss on Washio's exposed nape as he touches the member and tests out rubbing it. Even this part of Washio is soft, in terms of texture; otherwise, Washio's completely hard, same as Onaga.

"Onaga," he grouses.

"Give me a sec. I've never touched anyone else." He blinks and coughs at the revealing implication that he has, in fact, masturbated. He groans, but Washio doesn't laugh.

"We've got to be quick," Washio reminds him.

"Right." He's so focused on memorizing the feel of Washio in his hand that he's oblivious to Washio releasing his yukata and worming that hand under Onaga's hem, reaching for his erection, too. He splutters when Washio prods the skin near his groin.

"Be quick," Washio whispers, and it's all Onaga can do to nod.

He grasps Washio fully, and he nudges with his hips that Washio can do the same, and they start to pump—

"We're back! We made it back in time for dinner, right?"

Onaga pulls away as if splashed with scalding water. To his shock, Washio doesn't completely let go—funny, considering the guy is PDA-allergic. But perhaps the shock of Bokuto and Akaashi's return next door in Konoha, Shirofuku, and Suzumeda's room doesn't affect him as much, or perhaps it registered faster that he and Onaga weren't actually the ones being interrupted. His hand is out of Onaga's underwear, but it clutches the fabric over that upper leg now, and he'd still be holding on to Onaga's back if the younger teen hadn't shot up and put a foot of space between them.

Washio is not amused.

But Onaga laughs nervously, quietly, and pecks the furrow between Washio's eyebrows. "S-Sorry, sorry, Washio-san. Just—another time, when we're by ourselves, yeah?"

The gruff owl huffs but shrugs, and he doesn't object when Onaga notices the hand sanitizer in the room and shares it with him, especially when the connecting door opens.

Konoha pops his head in. He smirks when he eyes them. "You guys hungry yet?"

"Yes," Onaga replies too quickly, and he spies out of the corner of his eye Washio smacking his head. Here's hoping Konoha isn't so people-sharp that he can read into what almost happened in here a minute ago.

Bokuto's tufted hair appears around the door before his face does. "Ah, just Onaga and the birthday boy? Where the hell are Saru and Komiyan?" He ducks under Konoha's arm and crosses the room to the other connecting door.

"I wouldn't open that, Bokuto," Washio warns.

But their former captain doesn't need to, because Sarukui and Komi open it…completely mess free. As if they hadn't been screwing at all. Maybe Washio imagined it? They look as if they've just stepped out of the baths, even.

"Dinnertime, right?" Komi says, running a casual hand over his buzz and through his choppy locks.

Sarukui follows him and the rest into the third room. "I've probably worked up an appetite by now," he muses.

It's all Onaga and Washio can do not to laugh when their eyes meet, hearing that. Onaga offers him a hand up. "Washio-san?" he prompts tentatively.

"Another time," he agrees, and he tips his head to Onaga so his boyfriend knows he's not mad and he means it.

The morning is a mix of grumbles, mostly from those who aren't morning people. Sarukui, Akaashi, Konoha, and Washio are the last ones up, and Washio is more drained than usual. Onaga figures it has to do with the room assignments. The girls shared one, Sarukui and Komi were with Bokuto and Akaashi in another, but they got Konoha, who had some strange dreams to which he reacted in reality. He kept kicking Washio in his sleep and trying to take over his futon, forcing Washio to dive into Onaga's arms. Not a bad premise, but, half because of earlier in the evening, it didn't make for a comfortable night.

Their group checks out after lunch, though they're welcome to spend some extra time on the beach, and they do. It's colder today compared to yesterday, but Shirofuku, Bokuto, and Komi are crazy enough to want to play in the water some more. At least they're only running through the shore tides and all bathing suits remain packed.

The others spread out on the sand, but Onaga and Washio find some eroded rocks to perch on while they wait for their friends to tire and head home. The sky is a brilliant blue jay blue, and Onaga is delighted this trip happened.

"Oh," he gasps, surprised.

"What?" Washio asks. Their long legs touch, his left and Onaga's right, and he leans a bit in Onaga's direction in his curiosity.

"I just remembered, I never told you—happy birthday, Washio-san." Onaga beams at him, and Washio purses his lips in response, which is a good sign. Washio first started doing that last year when they began flirting.

"…you're a day late."

"Happy belated birthday, then."

"People usually say that when presenting a gift."

Oh, boy. Washio's being especially stubborn right now. Onaga rolls his eyes above Washio's head, and he takes a quick survey of the others on the beach. Akaashi and Suzumeda talk over an open notebook—classwork or club stuff. Sarukui and Konoha doze under one of the inn's umbrellas that dot the beach, although Konoha's legs stick out from under the shade and are getting sunburnt. Shirofuku and Komi have teamed up by now, and Bokuto's at risk of having to spend the walk to the station trying to dry out.

But they're all distracted, so Onaga relents.

"Hold on," Onaga requests, and he unzips his duffel and pushes the plastic bag full of toiletries aside. He produces the gift in all its silver-striped glory (because wrapping paper doesn't come in a gunmetal hue) and then tucks his clasped hands between his knees, twiddling his thumbs while Washio, eyes alight, opens it.

Washio's quiet, but his dark eyes are wide, and he runs a hand over the brown leather-bound notebook. He fingers the stretchy little latch kept closed by the fountain pen, but he traces the personalization in the top right corner of the cover.

"Do you get now, why I felt so—?"

"Silly?" Washio supplies with a small smirk aimed at him.

Onaga laughs and hangs his head. "Actually, I was going to say 'ridiculous' this time."

His boyfriend shakes his head and stuns Onaga by resting his head on Onaga's near shoulder, half hugging Onaga's arm to him. "I love it," he says. As if Onaga couldn't tell. It's possible Washio might spend the entire train ride back tracing the kanji going across as well as down the cover. The characters for "Washio" go across the top; where it stops, "Onaga" picks up, spelled out vertically because the "o" character in their names is one and the same.

Onaga knows. It's sentimental. It's sappy. It's—

"Perfect. Thank you," Washio whispers as if reading Onaga's mind, and he doesn't even check for prying eyes before he gives Onaga a small kiss.

Washio may be well-spoiled this weekend, but he's not the only one being treated. Onaga indulges in a quick, one-armed hug before they both straighten up and Washio puts the notebook in his bag since the water babies are done playing in the ocean.

The taciturn birthday boy accepts a hand down from the rocks, and Washio holds that hand until their friends catch up with them at the mouth of the beach.

While they're still out of earshot, Onaga remembers what else he meant to tell Washio. "By the way, Mom wants you over for dinner tonight, before you go home."

Washio gives it some thought. "That'd be nice. Your parents' birthday gift, I suppose," he adds with a single chuckle.

"Kind of."

The walk and ride back are similar to their walk and ride in, except Konoha's not quite done torturing Washio. When he doesn't snag the seat beside his "bestie," he tries plopping onto Washio's lap. When that doesn't work, he sits on Onaga's—or he tries, because that earns him the extremely rare Washio shove, and the blond lands flat on his butt, wondering what just happened while Washio rearranges Onaga's duffel across his lap to keep it occupied. Sarukui, Shirofuku, and Komi spend a good seven minutes laughing straight at all of Konoha's antics.

At the station, it's easy to recall how much things have changed. Suzumeda gives them a quick wave and is the first one off, and Akaashi looks fairly ready to do the same, though he dawdles while Bokuto remains.

"We should do stuff like this more often," Bokuto yowls.

"Seconded," Konoha declares, and he leans on Washio's back because Washio is trying to ignore him long enough to escape.

"You'll just see him later this week," Shirofuku points out to Konoha. She reaches up and pinches Konoha's cheek.

Washio's eyes widen. "You…you're sending him to my campus? Again?"

"I've got more than a full load, and his cram classes are in the evening. This way he gets out and gets some fresh air."

Onaga stifles his snicker at how they treat Konoha…more like a pet these days.

"Wasshi…!" Konoha howls, clinging to him.

"Wasshi…!" Bokuto echoes, jumping on top of Konoha.

Sarukui and Komi laugh and jump in, too, to the point where Washio almost tips over. The only thing keeping the former middle blocker upright is Onaga, who catches him by the arms and steadies him.

Shirofuku runs a hand through her burgundy tresses and shoos the exacerbating troublemakers off, and Akaashi takes her cue and pulls Bokuto away while she yanks Konoha off. She waves at Washio and Onaga over her shoulder as she pulls up the rear on the receding party. "See you, Washio, Onaga." Opposite her, Akaashi nods in parting, and far off ahead, Sarukui walks backwards, flashing peace signs until he walks into his tiny libero boyfriend.

Onaga and Washio laugh and shake their heads at the scene, but they head out, too. "I guess it wasn't a complete disaster," Onaga says as they hustle towards the local lines and wait for Onaga's usual train home.

"It wasn't a disaster," Washio corrects.

Onaga glances down at him. "You're never going to tell me what Konoha-senpai gave you, are you?"

Washio fidgets and glances up at Onaga and just as quickly glances away. "Just." He pauses. "We agreed to do…that…again, another time. Yes?"

Onaga appreciates his subtlety, since they're out in public, but how are these things related? "Yes…"

"The gift's for when. We continue," Washio manages to choke out, and he clears his throat after, ending the discussion.

And Onaga, poor Onaga, has no reply. Because what, honestly, can he say to that? "Again" implies a repeat of last night's fun. Probably a lot of repeats of last night.

But "continue" means something much more than that. And all Onaga can wonder is how the two of them might spend his birthday in April…or spend an occasion sooner than that.

B3 So, this turned out to be one of those fics that just. Wouldn't. End. At the same time, there was a lot I had planned to write here, and I just. My damn owls kept giving me all these silly ideas, most of which I included. This actually diverted some from my original notes for the fic, from their interrupted fun times and on, but I still love how this turned out, better than my original notes, tbh, bc both versions were lighthearted, but this one had a lot more humor in it, and I just. My owls are freaking DORKS, okay? ;P I also listened a lot to Jay Park's "Birthday" remix, which fits the fic quite well. XD But, honestly, the gift Onaga gave Washio came to me after I drew a slew of Fukurodani art and practiced writing everyone's name beCAUSE THEY REALLY DO SHARE A KANJI CHARACTER. And my heart fluttered over that. So. Yeah. WASHINAGA. I mean, Onaga has fully switched to using the "-san" honorific for Washio now… Onaga's mum's super cute, too, calling Washio "Tatsuki-kun" and saying the other boys need supervision. XD I wasn't thinking of a specific pro team for Bokuto this time around (there are detailed plans for him in the Birds of a Feather universe)…but I know exactly what useful gift Konoha gave his bestie. B) Too bad interrupting my boys this time around was too funny to pass up! ;D Also, Sarukomi rly shoulda just waited until they were back at Sarukui's apartment, like damn. And Akaboku and Konoshiro are lowkey there because my owls!!! If you're curious, I strongly suggest you read at least "Talent" if not both that and "Pastime," which are in the same universe as/come before this story. Anywho! WASHINAGA! OWLS!!! X3

Thanks for reading, and feel free to leave an anon/unsigned review via the FFN link or the AO3 link at the top of the post! Check out my other [HQ!!] fics if you liked this, too!

~mew

#hq!!#haikyuu!!#washinaga #onaga wataru #washio tatsuki #mew writes too much #fanfic #shirofuku yukie #konoha akinori #suzumeda kaori #akaboku #bokuto koutarou #akaashi keiji #sarukomi #sarukui yamato #komi haruki #fukurodani #OCs

4 notes · View notes