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Mediocre.
That's what Kunimi Akira is.
Mediocre.
He's not sure why a simple adjective drills a hole into his chest. It's just a word. An accurate one at that. He was never going to be someone important. He wasn't sure he wanted to be, important, needed. If he wasn't important, if he wasn't needed, no one would expect anything of him.
That's what Akira hated the most, expectations. He's tall, he must be good at sports. He's smart, he must be good in school. He's good at school, he must be planning to go to university. He knew Oikawa in high school, he must be successful. He knew Iwaizumi in high school, he must be successful... successful...
Oikawa, sucessful,
Iwaizumi, sucessful,
Yahaba, sucessful
Kyotani, surprisingly but also not shockingly, sucessful,
The list went on and on.
What did it matter who he knew? What did they have to do with him? How did Oikawa going pro correlate to his own success? How did his previous teammates ending up in a sports related profession guarantee him one?
Did he have many successful teammates at Aoba Johsai? Of course, hard not too. But he also had the 'less successful'. Kindaichi's an electrician, neccessary but nothing flashy. Matsukawa a funeral home employee, also necessary and the furthest thing from flashy. And Hanamaki, between jobs... at least he was more successful than one of his former teammates. Who determined sucessful anyway?
Akira works at a bank. More specifically, he works at a bank as a banking advisor. Also known as, one of the world's most soul sucking jobs. Maybe that's an exaggeration. But it was hard not to feel like the grim reaper is sucking your essence when you know the amount of money in that damn safe while you make a few thousand yen an hour. It was decent money.
Thanks.
It could be worse, he could be a doctor. Not that in any world Akira would choose to be. But he could. Probably not for very long. Akira and doctoring does not mix.
Most things don't.
"Whatcha thinking about, Kira?"
Akira jumped as his shoulder was touched, quickly looking over his shoulder at none other than funeral boy himself, Matsukawa. Scowling, Akira brushed his hand off his shoulder.
"C'mon, it's a party, Akira. Let loose a little. First time in ages we've all... well, most of us have gotten together," Matsukawa pointed out, gesturing to the gaggle of men in the other room with his cup. The only people who hadn't showed up was Yahaba and Kyotani. Probably for the best...
It wasn't like Akira wanted to see them anyway, they'd probably just argue, get drunk and be found down each other's throats in the corner.
"Don't call me Kira," Akira pouted, sinking into the couch further. What was there to be excited about? Reunions sucked. It was just everyone catching up like they cared to know. If they really cared, well, they would have messaged to asked. Right?
Matsukawa chuckled, leaning against the back of the couch. "What's wrong?" He asked
Two simple words, some of the first words you'll ever learn. Yet, it was a loaded question. What was wrong? Akira could cite many reasons. But were they really the cause of his misery? Or was he just picking at the small things while ignoring the deeper issues? That's what his parents used to do, solve the byproduct of an issue and call it fixed. Like putting duct tape on a pipe to cover water gushing from a hole. Sure, the water's solved but is the issue gone? What happens when the tape can no longer hold on?
He had to respond, the longer he took, the more worried Matsukawa would get. The harder it would be to... lie but Akira couldn't get the words out, they were jammed into the side of his throat. Was it possible to be impaled by words?
Science says no.
Aoba Johsai
Kitagawa Daiichi...
He could remember it like it was yesterday. Those navy blue sheets...
Maybe the sheets were black.
Not that it was important. How old would they have been? 13... 14? Around there. Perhaps, he didn't remember it as clearly as he thought he did.
Those dark blue eyes peering into his dark brown eyes, seeing every piece of his soul with no complaint. Soft lips kissing gingerly against his own chapped ones. His rough hands meeting soft ones.
Kageyama Tobio.
How many years had it been? Enough that Akira willed himself to stop thinking about it. After all these years. After their falling out. Akira still thought about that stupidly talented boy... man. Not like he could ask. How weird would it be to text an ex boyfriend from middle school about how they've been? Akira could imagine it would be extremely strange. Besides, Kageyama was probably dating that shrimp... the jumpy one, Hinata Shoya?
That couldn't be right.
The fact remained that Kageyama stopped being his a long time ago. If he ever was his. It was a middle school relationship. Did those ever really last? Akira couldn't even be mad anymore, he was at the time. But now he's realized Kageyama Tobio taught him a lot.
What love is
What drive looks like
What passion is
What he lacked
But the most important lesson Akira learned, was that nothing ever lasted forever and he wasn't so sure he wanted it to.
"Akira,"
"Akira!"
"Kunimi Akira!" The voice from the kitchen only got louder, the smell of rice filling the house. Breakfast, no... maybe lunch.
Was it even worth it to get up? Akira's eye didn't even twitch as he laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He knew he was thinking but it didn't feel like he was. He couldn't remember the last time he left this bed. It could have been last night, it could have been weeks ago. Time doesn't matter here. The voices yelling your name don't really need you. The light shining behind the curtains doesn't really need to be let in. The only things you need, is a warm bed. If you sleep long enough, you're bound to feel refreshed someday. Nothing needed him, not his family, not his team, not school, not anything.
A sharp knock on the door rippled through reality, forcing Akira out of his thoughts, scrambling to sit up as the door was pushed open, his mother standing in the door way, a hand on her hip and the other holding chopsticks
"Akira," she stated sternly, jaw locked as she scrutinized the room. "I don't know what your problem is but when I call you, you answer. Do you understand?"
Akira rubbed at his eyes with a sigh "Yeah... yeah, whatever," he murmured, kicking his blanket off his legs, cringing at the stickiness. Waking up sweaty as always.
His mother sighed, no matter how many times she asked, Akira just never listened. Biting back a harsh complaint, she forced her voice even "And clean this room, you're going to school next week. No exceptions. You need to get your life together."
You need to get your life together
Kunimi Akira has heard that sentence hundreds of times. He's heard every variation from all kinds of people. His parents, friends, co-workers, teachers... everyone under the sun. Even the trees whisper it as he walked past. No, that's an exaggeration. At least, Akira hoped it was.
He's too lazy, wasting his intelligence, wasting his height. Wasting. Wasting. Wasting.
Well, he had gotten his life together.
He went to college, he got a good job, he found a house and moved out... he did everything right.
But it felt like he got nothing.
What was a house with no home. What was an education at the cost of debt? What was anything of it worth?
Akira knew he should be grateful, it was all anyone ever told him to be. It's even what he told himself. But its hard to feel grateful, when your bed is like a coffin. 6ft underground with no escape, no rope, no ladder.
He had more than he could ask for and he still felt hollow
He could have been so much more. Akira was sure everyone thought that about themself. He wasn't special and he knew it. If he had worked harder. Put more effort in. Maybe he would be where Kyotani and Oikawa were standing today. On a court. On the world stage.
But Kunimi Akira is no actor.
Deep down, Akira knew he never could stand on the same stage of the likes of Kageyama, Oikawa or Kyoutani. You need fire. The most Kunimi Akira had was a flicker flame of a candle. And that flame went out in even the slightest breeze sometimes. While their flame grew bigger and brighter, Akira's turned into smoke.
Even if Akira did manage, he knew he would feel no different about his life. He was never satisfied, much like his mattress. It didn't matter how far he ran, his bed would always swallow him in the end. Never satiated, never satisfied. Akira is a matress, flat, angular with a sole goal of a restful sleep.
Kunimi Akira is mediocre. Nothing less, nothing more.
Kunimi “Mediocre” Akira
March 25th
Akira hated birthdays. What was there to celebrate? Another year? Another year of what? It really was just a "Whoo hoo! You didn't die, congrats". He never understood his friends' insistence on a party. But it was easier to agree and let it happen than to try and fight Yahaba and Oikawa.
Here he was, party hat sat uncomfortably on his head at a table with his teammates, caramel cake on the table. At least they remembered that he likes caramel. Hopefully it was salted. Akira's mouth watered at the thought
"Happy birthday!" Oikawa exclaimed his hands coming out from behind his back to toss a balloon at Akira, grin stretched across his face. The others quick to join. Within seconds Akira was pelted by balloons.
Chaos was quick to ensue.
Oikawa 'accidentally', somehow Akira doubted it was an accident, hit Iwaizumi in the head with a balloon.
"Shittykawa!" Iwaizumi was quick to bring Oikawa in a headlock, forcing the smug teenager down to his level, his free hand traveling to a crease.
"It was an accident!" Oikawa insisted, holding his hands up. "Iwa, Iwa-chan, it was an accident. An accident!" Oikawa scream giggled, trying to get away from the tortuous tickles.
"Think Oikawa will survive the night?" Hanamaki asked glancing over to Matsukawa, leaning against the door frame.
Matsukawa snorted, the shrill shrieks of Oikawa's terror filling the room, followed by Iwaizumi's shouts. "Probably not," he commented, watching Iwaizumi run after Oikawa.
Akira's face scrunched as he watched Yahaba corner Kyoutani in the corner. What was with those two and corners?
Kyoutani's hands grabbing at Yahaba's waist. Yahaba's grasping his shoulders with a killer grip. The wet sound of sloppy kissing. Akira wanted nothing more than for a bomb to hit the house here and now.
First balloon beatings, Iwaizumi trying to murder Oikawa and now their resident horn dogs down each others throats, at his birthday no less?
Tearing his eyes away from the horrific sight of his upperclassmen french kissing, Akira got up to slice himself a piece of cake. Slowly bringing the knife down, carving into the delicious caramel. Akira was salivating, like his stupid upperclassmen-
Let's not go there
"Hey, Kunimi," Hanamaki spoke up, his eyes glued to the knife in Akira's hand "Cut me a slice, would you?"
"Do it yourself," Akira plated his slice onto a paper plate, handing the knife off to Hanamaki. Sitting down at the table to dig in.
Hanamaki glanced over to Matsukawa, a silent conversation taking place "So cold, birthday boy, so cold." Matsukawa chortled
Ignoring his upperclassmen, Akira shoved piece after piece of cake down his gullet. The only one behaving was Kindaichi, sitting nicely across the table. Maybe, just maybe, this made it all worth it.
"Akira?" Matsukawa's eyebrows were pinched, shoving at the younger man's shoulder gently "Hello, Akira?" He tried, shaking him a bit more. "Earth to Akira."
Akira resisted the urge to shove Matsukawa back, tilting his head back to take in Matsukawa's concerned expression "What?"
"I asked you a question,"
Huffing through his nose, Akira's eyes narrowed, searching Matsukawa's face "And...?"
"And...?" Matsukawa mimicked "What's wrong?" Matsukawa repeated his question "I asked you what was wrong and you zoned out."
Akira laughed glancing over to the sight in the next room. "I was just thinking, life sucks, huh?"
Matsukawa snorted and glanced over fondly to the group of men in the next room. His answer put on hold to take in the scene.
"That's not nice, Iwa-chan! I haven't seen you in months and this is how you greet me?" Oikawa pouted, grabbing at Iwaizumi's arm.
"It's tradition, Crappykawa," Iwaizumi kept Oikawa in a headlock, a slight smile, that Oikawa would never get to see, gracing the man's face.
Kindaichi eyes darted from Iwaizumi to Oikawa, a bit flustered by this 'tradition'
"Maybe we should tone it down a bit?" Kindaichi tried but his voice fell on deaf ears.
"Yeah," Matsukawa nodded, his eyes peeling away from the familar scene, eyes swirling with deja vu "Yeah, it does," he agreed
For the first time since being taught nothing lasted forever, Akira wanted something to last forever. He wanted this to last forever. With them here, the mattress' siren calls are drowned out. Much to Kunimi Akira's dismay, this is his family and he's not getting rid of them anytime soon. Not even if he tried.