no major content warnings, minor warning for drowning mention
475 words
Akiteru straightened his mask and pulled the baseball cap down further, until the bill of it touched his sunglasses. This will work, he told himself, he’ll never know I’m there, I don’t want to hurt him again.
All his careful, neurotic planning came to nothing when he was immediately unmasked in the stands of the prefectural finals match. It’ll all be okay if Kei doesn’t see me, I’ll be fine.
Sometime in the last few years he realized he wasn’t happy. It wasn’t a sudden onset, a death in the family, a break up, that sort of heart wrenching, gut churning sadness that left a creeping coldness in its wake, no, it was slow. This sadness was like realizing you’d drowned, but only once your lungs were full, and you hadn’t even decided to go swimming. He couldn’t say when it started, but one day he woke up and he was only half a person, Kei wasn’t there, wouldn’t talk to him, and nothing could be right, like that.
Of course, he still blamed himself. He’d been the one to lie to his brother. Kei, forever innocent, wide eyed and so, so bright had believed him, and sometimes, when the school day was long and he didn’t think so hard, Akiteru had even believed himself. He was a starter, he played volleyball with the best of them, it was quite the dream. When he shattered Kei’s heart and his own dreams along with it was when things changed.
Something cracked, and no matter how long Akiteru avoided it, it was still cracked, and each year it got wider. So, here he was, now barefaced and profoundly scared, watching Kei do everything he never could and praying that maybe he could forgive him after all this time.
He blocked it. The spike from Ushijima, the spike that no one from Karasuno, or really any other team, had been able to fully block, and his brother had done it. Akiteru cheered so loudly he thought his lungs would give out, forgetting the nature of his secrecy, forgetting everything but this spark of pride and joy that had been desperately missing. Kei looked up at the sound of his voice and Akiteru froze.
It was only a moment, a second between serves when the ball switched sides and players moved positions, but their eyes met. If Akiteru had expected loathing, or apathy or even fear he’d received none of that. Kei’s eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, and then he smiled. He smiled and Akiteru took a deep breath like it was the first air he’d breathed in years. He smiled like he was still nine years old, the innocent, bright child that Akiteru remembered. Kei smiled like he’d forgiven him, sometime in the last few years when Akiteru had been blaming himself and slowly drowning, Kei had forgiven him.
FILL: TEAM NISHINOYA YUU/TANAKA RYUUNOSUKE, RATING: G
475 words
Akiteru straightened his mask and pulled the baseball cap down further, until the bill of it touched his sunglasses. This will work, he told himself, he’ll never know I’m there, I don’t want to hurt him again.
All his careful, neurotic planning came to nothing when he was immediately unmasked in the stands of the prefectural finals match. It’ll all be okay if Kei doesn’t see me, I’ll be fine.
Sometime in the last few years he realized he wasn’t happy. It wasn’t a sudden onset, a death in the family, a break up, that sort of heart wrenching, gut churning sadness that left a creeping coldness in its wake, no, it was slow. This sadness was like realizing you’d drowned, but only once your lungs were full, and you hadn’t even decided to go swimming. He couldn’t say when it started, but one day he woke up and he was only half a person, Kei wasn’t there, wouldn’t talk to him, and nothing could be right, like that.
Of course, he still blamed himself. He’d been the one to lie to his brother. Kei, forever innocent, wide eyed and so, so bright had believed him, and sometimes, when the school day was long and he didn’t think so hard, Akiteru had even believed himself. He was a starter, he played volleyball with the best of them, it was quite the dream. When he shattered Kei’s heart and his own dreams along with it was when things changed.
Something cracked, and no matter how long Akiteru avoided it, it was still cracked, and each year it got wider. So, here he was, now barefaced and profoundly scared, watching Kei do everything he never could and praying that maybe he could forgive him after all this time.
He blocked it. The spike from Ushijima, the spike that no one from Karasuno, or really any other team, had been able to fully block, and his brother had done it. Akiteru cheered so loudly he thought his lungs would give out, forgetting the nature of his secrecy, forgetting everything but this spark of pride and joy that had been desperately missing. Kei looked up at the sound of his voice and Akiteru froze.
It was only a moment, a second between serves when the ball switched sides and players moved positions, but their eyes met. If Akiteru had expected loathing, or apathy or even fear he’d received none of that. Kei’s eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, and then he smiled. He smiled and Akiteru took a deep breath like it was the first air he’d breathed in years. He smiled like he was still nine years old, the innocent, bright child that Akiteru remembered. Kei smiled like he’d forgiven him, sometime in the last few years when Akiteru had been blaming himself and slowly drowning, Kei had forgiven him.