Chapter Text
Akashi Seijuurou was less than eager to board his train.
He stepped out onto the airy platform. A chilly spring breeze gusted past his face, as he paused to check his phone. Nothing. No messages from his friends, no last minute demands from his father to remain in Tokyo for the evening.
He sighed, with something halfway between relief and regret. He had no desire to visit his family estate. But now he had nothing left to do, except locate his reserved seat on the train and wait for the two-hour ride to Kyoto to begin. He had enjoyed the afternoon he spent with his old teammates from the Generation of Miracles. But their time together always seemed too short, somehow.
Still, Akashi cheered himself with the notion that once he returned to Kyoto, he could seek out a few of his Rakuzan teammates and see what they were up to. They seemed more than willing to include him in their activities. Even though he was their captain, and had spent most of the last year as a different person. A person who—well, whose capacity for warmth and charm was questionable, at times.
Of course, his other self would have plenty to say about that assertion.
Akashi smiled wryly at the thought. His little brother had been asleep for weeks. He was exhausted, it seemed, from the fallout of the events of the Winter Cup, and was spending most of his time unconscious lately. Akashi didn’t blame him. Truth be told, it was something of a relief, not to hear from him at the moment.
Gradually, Akashi made his way across the platform, beside the silver-gray bullet train that rested upon the tracks. As he walked along, he studied his phone again. He could always message Mibuchi, he supposed, to find out in advance what his teammates would be doing with their evening free time. He opened the mail application, and began a new message. His fingers hovered over the letter keys.
He furrowed his brows. He wished this sort of thing were easier.
It ought to be. It was just a simple message. But in a way, that was the problem. Akashi didn’t send many casual messages, as a rule. Not because he found such communication difficult, or because socializing was unpleasant for him. It just felt… unnatural, somehow. Perhaps it was due to the fact that his acquaintances were always so painfully surprised, whenever he suggested that he enjoyed their company. Or maybe it was the echoes of his father’s voice inside his head, just another series of frosty words he ached to forget.
“It is not for an Akashi to associate with just anyone. Your time is valuable, Seijuurou, and so is your reputation. See that you don’t waste it, on trivial pursuits, or persons unworthy of your stature.”
Akashi cringed. ‘Persons unworthy of his stature? What a ridiculous idea. Everyone he had ever known who had made his life worthwhile, had no particular wealth or rank to speak of. (With the notable exception of his mother.) He had long ago discarded this principle of his father’s as nonsense.
But even so, he didn’t really have the slightest clue how to be an ordinary friend to anyone. No matter how much he might wish otherwise, he was still a product of his father’s training. An Akashi. Someone like him did not put others at ease.
Regretfully, he slid his phone back into his coat pocket. The platform was a dull blur, as people came and went around him. His heart weighed in his chest, as he trudged toward the middle of the train, where the first-class compartments were.
He couldn’t help but notice how even here, in an anonymous setting, most of the passersby gave him a wide berth. They veered out of the way, giving him sidelong glances that made it clear they were trying not to stare. It was as if they could sense, just from his appearance and posture alone, that Akashi Seijuurou was different. Set apart. A person always to be kept at a distance.
Akashi was growing tired of it.
He was so lost in thought that he no longer registered his surroundings. At least, not until his shoulder bumped hard into something. He frowned. Someone had been standing directly in his path, just behind the warning line. He couldn’t imagine why a person would stand in front of a waiting train like that. But it wasn’t his concern.
“Excuse me,” he murmured.
“N-no, excuse me.” The other person shifted out of the way. “Sorry.”
Akashi strode past the individual in question. But as he did, he realized several things at once. The person was male. He was around Akashi’s height, a little shorter, with a similar build. He also wore a pair of smudged shoes on his feet. Basketball shoes. Their shape and size and color tugged at Akashi’s mind, like a detail out of a familiar dream.
Akashi blinked. He halted, then turned around.
The boy he had bumped into was ordinary, in every possible way. Flyaway brown hair. Average, if pleasant, features. He had one notable quirk: eyes that were too wide, with small irises that gave him a constantly surprised look. He was dressed plainly, in a light brown jacket and a faded pair of jeans. Yet despite his nondescript appearance, Akashi was certain that he knew him.
“Furihata-kun?” he said.
The other boy had started to walk away. He froze, and turned around. He stared straight at Akashi, with an alarmed look the latter knew too well. Akashi’s insides twisted. Yes, there was no mistaking it.
This boy was from Seirin. Their first-year point guard. The unusually timid one, who constantly seemed on the verge of having a panic attack.
Well, this promised to be awkward.
Now Furihata—Akashi was certain that was his name—was shaking, to the point where he managed to drop a notebook he held. Which was a bit extreme, Akashi felt, even for a person his other self once terrorized on a basketball court.
Furihata scrambled to retrieve his notebook. He knelt, fingers fluttering, as he struggled to grip the cover. He dropped the book a second time, and Akashi fought the urge to wince. The last time he had seen Furihata was at Kuroko’s birthday party. That was awkward too. Furihata had fainted when he first laid eyes on Akashi. Which was… alarming, at best.
Akashi knew why Furihata was always so nervous around him, of course. He shared every memory of the Winter Cup with his other self. He tried not to recall other times he had seen Furhata looking like this. Especially not the first time, on that clear winter day, with the sunlight glinting off a pair of scissor blades… It was difficult, when the other point guard was quite literally on his knees before him.
(Really, was the universe trying to mock Akashi? He’d just had a run-in with Takao Kazunari in front of an antique shop, not an hour before. Clearly fate had decided that what he needed right now was to encounter every single point guard his other self had intimidated during the Winter Cup. As to why, he couldn’t imagine.)
Still, Akashi had to admit that he hoped Furihata had overcome some of his fear at the party. They exchanged pleasantries over dinner, and even conversed a bit. Furihata was still extremely nervous, though. And it had been two months since then. Now they were alone, instead of surrounded by their friends. Perhaps it was only natural he was frightened again.
Akashi drew a breath. He forced himself to speak in the gentlest tone he could.
“My apologies,” he said to the other boy. “It is Furihata-kun, isn’t it?”
Furihata stared up at him. He was still kneeling, clutching the notebook to his chest. His mouth moved, as if he was attempting to reply, but no sound came out. In the end, he only nodded.
Marvelous, Akashi thought. He had finally become so imposing that he could rob an acquaintance of the ability to speak. (He had gathered that Furihata was an uncommonly anxious individual. The fact remained, however.)
“Are you all right?” He stretched out his hand, with the intention of helping Furihata to his feet. The other boy flinched away. He let his hand drop to his side.
Yes, the universe was definitely mocking him.
He eyed the notebook in Furihata’s trembling hands, as well as the bag at his side. It wasn’t large enough to be a traveling bag. (Akashi was reasonably certain it was the standard-issue bag for Seirin students.) He glanced at the far side of the platform. It was empty. The only train present was the one Akashi was about to board.
“You wouldn’t happen to be a passenger on this train, would you?” he asked, nodding to it.
Furihata’s thin eyebrows flicked upward. He shook his head.
“N-n-n-o,” he finally managed, in a desperately stuttering voice. “U-u-um… I-I-I…”
He lowered his head, and fell silent. Well, two parsable words of speech were better than none, Akashi supposed. He tried to think of it as progress. Furihata hadn’t said much at the party either, apart from one-word replies.
“In that case, could I ask—” He hesitated. He had glimpsed the handwritten title on Furihata’s notebook. Trains: 2009~, with a blank space clearly meant to be filled in at a future date. Now he understood.
“Oh, I see,” he said. “You’re trainspotting, then.”
Furihata’s eyes widened. “Y-you… You know what that is?”
“Of course,” Akashi said, with a slight frown. “It’s a common enough hobby, isn’t it?”
Furihata straightened, and gradually rose to his feet. His knees were still wobbling. Not quite as much as before, Akashi thought.
“U-um, I guess,” he said. “N-not with most guys our age though.”
Akashi considered this for a moment.
“That’s true,” he said. “Though I’ve never given much weight to such generalities. It strikes me as senseless to choose your leisure activities based on your peer group, as opposed to personal interest.”
Furihata gaped at him. Akashi didn’t understand why. At least, not until his own words echoed inside his head, and he realized he was talking in his most natural voice. Which happened to include a great deal of multisyllabic vocabulary, and formal sentence structures.
Well, you certainly proved your point, he thought with chagrin. Namely, that you’re incapable of blending in. Well done, Seijuurou.
At least Furihata didn’t seem overly put off by it. That was a comfort. (And he wasn’t likely to tease Akashi either, the way his old teammates sometimes did.) Furihata blinked, then blinked once more. The look on his face reminded Akashi of a deer who had just stepped into a sunbeam.
“I—I guess so,” he said at last.
Akashi raised his brows. He found he couldn’t read Furihata quite as well as he could read most people. As if there was something behind the other boy’s behavior, some crucial piece of information he lacked.
Of course, he barely knew Furihata. And his temperament seemed a bit… unsteady, to put it mildly. So maybe this was to be expected. Akashi kept to the topic at hand.
“Is this train of some particular significance?” He gestured toward the silver-gray cars. “I know it’s one of the newer models, but I don’t recall very much about them.”
Furihata’s expression shifted again. His eyes had brightened a little, Akashi observed, with something like relief. He tightened his grip on his notebook.
“Y-yeah,” he said. “It’s f-from the N700 series. They’re the f-fastest trains on the Nozomi line right n-now.”
“That does sound familiar.” Trains weren’t Akashi’s area of expertise, by any means. But he tried to stay abreast of any major developments in national transportation. From what he could recall, these trains were a recent innovation, and exceptionally fast. The Nozomi line ran through many of Japan’s most prominent cities, so it made sense that it tended to showcase the most advanced technology.
Furihata was gazing at the nearby train. He appeared to be studying the linked cars: their sleek, streamlined contours, and the slate blue stripe painted down the side.
“I’ve always wanted to ride one,” he murmured, as though he didn’t quite realize he was speaking out loud.
Akashi pursed his lips. “You’ve never been on a shinkansen before?”
Furihata gave a jolt. He waved his hands, in an apologetic motion, and the pages of his notebook rustled. “N-no, I have! Been on a bullet train, I mean. B-but, um, uh… Not on the Nozomi line. It has a lot of the best r-rolling stock… Best trains, that is.”
He fumbled his notebook, almost dropping it again. Akashi couldn’t decide if Furihata still looked nervous, or closer to sheepish now. Either way, he was starting to turn a very visible shade of pink.
“A-anyway, I should really get going,” he said, backing away. “B-but it was n-nice talking to you, A-Akashi-kun.”
Akashi couldn’t help thinking that his frantic tone of voice implied the opposite. Before he could even reply, Furihata turned and scurried across the platform. Akashi watched him, motionless. His heart sank toward his shoes, and he gripped the leather strap of his satchel.
Was he really so intimidating?
He knew what his other self would say to that. “Of course. We both are. It can’t be helped. Still, we can always use it to our advantage.” He knew what his father would say, too. “It is expected, and appropriate, for those of lesser merit to find our family unapproachable.” He didn’t know what his teammates, new or old, would say… He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, honestly.
Akashi grimaced. His stomach churned, and he felt vaguely sick. He looked to the train. Through the windows, he could see the seats inside the first class car. Two by two. He looked back at Furihata as he retreated.
In that moment, an idea took root in Akashi’s mind.
It was a terrible idea. A terrible, absurd, foolish idea… Just the mere thought of it made his heart beat a little faster.
It was truly idiotic, for so many reasons. It was likely to fail, for one thing. And if it did—which it very much could—it would fail spectacularly. Akashi would hurt himself, and inconvenience (or even harm) what amounted to an innocent bystander.
But it went even further than that. Because Akashi was about to do something that went against his upbringing, his father’s principles, and his own deeply engrained habits… And he was fairly certain he was going against himself, too.
His other self would never approve of this.
Akashi cracked a bleak smile. His little brother was sleeping. But he knew how he would react to this idea. First, he would say that Akashi was being ridiculous. Then he would probably mock him, in a misguided effort to try to save him from himself.
“Oh yes, that’s an ingenious plan. You’re not going to frighten this random boy at all! And you’re certainly not going to mope about it for months and months afterward, once you fail and the whole thing goes up in smoke.”
Akashi’s mouth tightened. He could almost hear his brother’s laughter: sharp, and drier than his. A sense of defiance gripped him, flaring up like a flame. He was the one in charge of his actions now. Not his other self. Or his father, or anyone else.
Besides, he wasn’t frightening. And he intended to prove it.
He certainly would, if he managed to accomplish this.
“Furihata-kun,” he said. “Wait.”
He marched toward Furihata, and soon overtook him. He reached out and lightly tapped the other boy on the shoulder. Furihata gave a start. He stumbled to the side, and narrowly managed to regain his footing. He turned to Akashi, with eyes as wide as bone china saucers.
“Please excuse me, Furihata-kun.” Akashi’s heart skittered inside his chest. “But I… I have another seat.”
Furihata goggled at him. “Huh?”
“I reserved two seats on the train,” Akashi said, forcing his voice to sound calm. “So if you like, you could join me on the ride to Kyoto.”
Furihata’s mouth hung open. For a long moment, he didn’t say a word.
“You—” His eyes darted toward the train. “You have t-two seats in first class?”
“Yes,” Akashi said. “I usually ride that way.”
Suddenly he realized how that must sound. Seats in first class were expensive, particularly on the Nozomi line. And he had taken the trip for nothing more than a daytime visit with his old teammates. He doubted Furihata knew why he was in Tokyo. Even so, it was a clear extravagance to have purchased an extra seat, for no apparent reason.
Furihata probably assumed Akashi did it because he didn’t want to sit next to anyone else. Anyone who might be ‘beneath him.’ Warmth spread across his face. Part of him wanted to blurt out, “It’s not what you think. I’m not that full of myself.” But that would have betrayed his discomfort. Besides, if Furihata already thought such a thing, he would never believe Akashi’s true reason for doing so.
Fortunately, Furihata let the subject drop. The way his eyes darted around was less fortunate. It looked like he was searching for an escape route.
“Um, I—I d-don’t think—” He shook his head. “Th-thanks, really, but I c-can’t afford a ticket back.“
“I would be more than happy to purchase one for you,” Akashi said, gently but firmly. “Since I invited you to join me. It’s no trouble.”
(He already sounded like a hopeless snob at this point. He supposed he might as well go all the way.)
“And it’s not such a long ride,” he added. “You would be in Kyoto around seven or so, and back here by evening. Would your family mind if you missed dinner?”
“I-I d-don’t-t—” Furihata faltered, looking utterly helpless.
Akashi breathed a sigh.
“Forgive me, I don’t wish to pressure you,” he said, as kindly as he could. “It just seems a waste that I have an empty seat on my hands, when someone who has such an evident interest in trains could be enjoying it.”
He reached into the front pocket of his satchel, and slipped out his red leather pass case. He removed the tickets, two per seat, and showed them to Furihata.
Furihata looked at the tickets. Then he glanced at the train. Akashi could have sworn his eyes glistened. In the end, though, he shook his head once more.
“I’m s-sorry,” he said, in a tiny voice. “I just wouldn’t feel comfortable.”
Akashi’s heart dropped. He had expected as much. Furihata clearly wanted to make the trip, but he didn’t want to sit next to someone like Akashi in order to do so. Which had been Akashi’s idea, more or less: to prove he could sit next to a near-stranger and put him at ease. He held back another sigh, and revised his plan.
“Would you prefer a non-reserved seat instead?” he said, a bit reluctantly. “I’m sure there must be plenty left over. I could purchase one for you.”
“N-no! I meant—” Furihata wrung his hands on his notebook. “I meant the c-cost, of the tickets… I couldn’t pay you back and… I r-r-really don’t want to owe anyone like that.”
“Oh,” Akashi said. “I see.”
He was well acquainted with this particular concept. He fought the temptation to argue, to persuade Furihata not to concern himself with such things. Even if he didn’t feel the same way about the situation, he wanted to respect other people’s principles. And he could relate to the desire to rely on oneself alone. He lowered his gaze, to the tickets he still held.
“Well, in that case, I understand,” he said in a soft voice. “Of course, these tickets are already purchased. And… I would be glad of the company.”
He swallowed. Dear god, he was being ridiculous.
“But as I said before, I understand,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “I hope my offer didn’t offend you. And I hope you have a pleasant evening, Furihata-kun.”
He gave a nod, and turned to go. All the while, he did his best to ignore the icy ache that spread through the pit of his stomach, the nagging regret that not only had he made a fool of himself, but he had failed in his resolution. And right out of the gate, no less. Still, he should have expected this. It was a terrible idea, after all…
It was probably better that it hadn’t gone too far.
“W-wait. Akashi-kun.”
Akashi froze. He looked back at Furihata, whose face was turning a color he had never seen before. Most of his skin had gone white as milk, but there was a curiously rosy flush blooming on his cheekbones and his forehead, beneath his disheveled hair.
“Yes?” Akashi said. He felt a stab of concern. He hoped Furihata wasn’t about to faint again.
“U-u-um… I s-still feel pretty bad, about the c-cost…” Sweat beaded on Furihata’s temples. “B-but… If you really don’t mind, then…”
His voice dropped, word by word, until it was little more than a whisper.
“I would like to go,” he said.
Akashi almost didn’t dare to move, or speak.
“You would?” he finally managed.
Furihata raised his head. To Akashi’s surprise, he looked him square in the eye. His pupils were dilated, so much so that they almost eclipsed his small irises, but he didn’t look away. He nodded, rather strongly, an odd contrast to how his mouth trembled.
“Yeah,” he said. “S-since, um… You have an extra seat.”
Akashi blinked. Furihata would even sit with him, rather than attempt to obtain a seat elsewhere? He almost couldn’t believe it.
He felt his heart lighten a little. Though he didn’t know exactly why.
“All right,” he said. “Here you are, then.”
He held out one of the ticket pairs. Furihata’s throat pulsed, with a visible swallowing motion. He reached out to take the thin squares of paper. As he did, their fingertips brushed lightly together. Akashi gave a slight start; Furihata jumped. The tickets flitted to the ground. Akashi moved to catch them, but scarcely missed colliding with Furihata as he lunged to do the same. Fortunately Akashi’s reflexes were quick enough to avoid him.
“S-sorry!” Furihata cried. He didn’t seem to have noticed the near accident. “My fault. I’ve got it.”
Akashi straightened, and forced himself to take a breath. This was starting to feel a bit like trying to corral an easily frightened animal. His misgivings came back in full force, slithering across his train of thought. This really was a terrible idea…
Furihata retrieved the tickets, and stood up again. They both eyed each other.
“Well, I suppose we should board, then,” Akashi said, trying to smile. He tipped his head in the direction of the first-class cars.
“Y-yeah,” Furihata said.
Akashi hesitated. He was tempted to lead the way, as he usually did in such situations. But he was half convinced that the instant he turned his back, Furihata would bolt. Predictably, Furihata didn’t seem eager to make the first move either. Akashi took a few cautious steps toward the train. Furihata mirrored him.
In the end, Akashi gave a silent sigh and walked at his usual pace toward the ninth car. If Furihata really wanted to leave, he didn’t want to force him into staying. He wasn’t going to march him across the train platform like a captured prisoner, just because he was in an inexplicable and reckless mood.
But to his continued surprise, Furihata followed him, and largely matched his quick pace. His movements were wobbly, but his steps didn’t drag. As they entered the train car, he did trip over the threshold, though. (Despite Akashi’s attempts to warn him to watch his step.) Akashi moved to help him up, but once again, Furihata backed away. He staggered to his feet on his own, as pale and unsteady as ever.
This was not the most promising start.
At this point, Akashi realized the full reality of what he had just done. He was about to spend over two hours sitting next to a virtual stranger, who obviously had a severe tendency to panic. (Not to mention a history of being scared of Akashi in particular.)
Really, it would be a miracle if they both made it to Kyoto with their sanity intact, he thought grimly. To say nothing of Furihata going into cardiac arrest. Or worse.
He tried to tell himself it would be fine. He would be pleasant, and make his best effort to put Furihata at ease, just like at Kuroko’s birthday party. In the end, Furihata would enjoy the ride, and Akashi would have the satisfaction of having done an acquaintance a small favor. And in the process, he would prove he wasn’t someone to be feared, or avoided.
He did his best to ignore a looming feeling that no matter how hard he tried, that final outcome was impossible.