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Tokyo winters are milder than the ones they get in Miyagi, Chikara was quick to tell Akaashi whenever he complained about the cold, but it seems a universal constant that train stations are the coldest, most miserable places on earth. The afternoon crowd does nothing to warm it up, and, worse, Akaashi is silent.
Not that Chikara is any better. His mouth feels gummed up and whenever he manages to open it he can’t think of anything to say. I had fun, while true, seems underwhelming. Thanks for having me is what he said to Akaashi’s parents, and Let’s do this again sometime is what people say when they plan on not doing something again. I’ll miss you is the worst, clingy and admitting much more than Chikara wants to, so of course it’s what his brain keeps bringing back. I’ll miss you, Akaashi. I’ll miss you.
His train pulls up. Chikara is filled with crushing disappointment at not thinking of a proper goodbye.
“Well,” Akaashi says, his breath forming little clouds. “I’ll see you later, Ennoshita.”
“Yeah,” Chikara mumbles. “See you.”
It’s not an empty promise. If they don’t arrange another visit before then, they’ll see each other next summer at training camp. Saying it still feels unsatisfactory and bland.
Chikara finds a window seat on the train and waves goodbye to Akaashi as it pulls out. Akaashi stands in the same spot, watching, until Chikara can’t see him anymore.
He’s too antsy to read or watch a movie on the ride home, so Chikara alternates between staring out the window and opening up his messaging app instead. This isn’t too different from the trip down, except he was excited instead of anxious and he and Akaashi were messaging the entire time.
Visiting a friend in Tokyo was supposed to be fun and relaxing. And it was, when he was in the middle of it. Now that it’s over he keeps kicking himself for not doing or saying the things he came down for.
He could say them now. He opens up his messenger app again, pulls up Akaashi’s window, and starts typing out an essay on his feelings, then deletes it for the tenth time. Instead he stares at Akaashi’s window. The last two messages are from Saturday, when Chikara told him the train was stopping and Akaashi sent him a picture of where he was waiting.
While he’s looking, a new message from Akaashi pops up. Call me when you get home .
Chikara’s breath hitches, and he sends I will back. It doesn’t make the train ride go by any faster.
-
Chikara’s father is waiting for him at the train station, and his mother hugs him tightly when he gets home because she missed him. Chikara reassures her for a few minutes, then excuses himself to his room. He needs to unpack and make sure he finished all his homework before school tomorrow, but the first thing he does is pull out his phone and call Akaashi.
“Ennoshita,” Akaashi says when he picks up.
“Hey,” Chikara says. “I managed to get home in one piece. What’s up?”
The line is silent.
Chikara checks his phone to make sure they haven’t been disconnected. “You there?”
“Yes,” Akaashi says hurriedly. “Listen, I—Ennoshita—I like you.”
“Ah,” Chikara chokes out. He sits on the edge of his bed.
“I meant to tell you at the train station,” Akaashi says, “but it didn’t seem like the appropriate place when we got there.” He pauses, and when Chikara doesn’t say anything, Akaashi bravely ventures on. “You’re a good friend of mine, Ennoshita, and I value your friendship, but I had to tell you.”
There’s an unnatural timbre to Akaashi’s voice, where his words flow evenly but his voice wavers. “Akaashi,” Chikara interrupts. He guesses, fondness flooding his chest, “You rehearsed this?”
Akaashi is quiet for a moment, then he says, “No I didn’t.”
“Did you write this down?” Chikara asks.
“...Well.”
The weight on Chikara’s shoulders melts away, and he starts to laugh. “You’re ridiculous,” he says.
“ You try confessing to someone unreadable.”
Chikara straightens up. “I like you too,” he says. Akaashi makes the same strangled sound he did earlier. Chikara grins.“That wasn’t so hard.”
“Only because I broke the ice,” Akaashi says with a petulant edge Chikara didn’t know he was capable of.
“I’m going to turn on my computer,” he says, moving over to his desk to do just that. “I want to continue this conversation in a video call.”
“We were together just a few hours ago, I don’t look any different.”
“Still been too long.” Chikara watches the computer start-up screen impatiently. “Maybe next time you can come visit me.”
“When it’s warmer, since apparently I’ll never be able to withstand Miyagi winters.”
Chikara laughs. “I might have deserved that one.”
His computer boots up completely, and Chikara sends a video call invite to Akaashi. He answers right away, phone still pressed to his ear.
“So,” Chikara says, his heart thumping wildly. He hears an echo of his own voice though his phone. “You like me.”
Akaashi ends the phone call and sets his phone to the side, stalling for time. “Turn on your desk lamp,” he says, “I can’t see you.”
Chikara does. Akaashi has the smallest smile on his face and he seems to be having trouble looking at his screen for too long, but Chikara decides to be kind and not ask what the point of turning on his light was.
Akaashi shifts in his seat and crosses his arms on his desk. “Do you want to watch a movie?”
That isn’t about their feelings, or where their relationship will go for here, or a lament about not saying anything sooner, or any of the topics Chikara expected. That’s part of why Chikara likes Akaashi so much, though, and he likes him even more when he realizes they don’t have to talk about any of those things just yet.
“Your choice this time,” Chikara says.
“Ah,” Akaashi says, pressing his lips together. “That’s a lot of pressure.”
“I believe in you.”
Akaashi rolls his eyes. The tips of his ears turn red. Chikara finds he does miss him, even though he’s looking right at him, but it’s less a regretful longing and more an eagerness for the future. That’s okay, he thinks. He can deal with that.