Akaashi

"Takano, shine!"

The elevator door dinged, sliding open before Akaashi. He peeked his head out, looking for whoever was yelling when a book careened at his head. He ducked back, crying out and dropping his backpack. "Nandayo?" He muttered, leaning out hesitantly once more. He grabbed the handle of his bag, stepping out. He was quite prepared entering a battlefield. Romance novels and manga flew across the room, the heavy air clued him into the fact that deadlines crept up on him, and many of the editors slumped on the desks.

"Onodera?" Akaashi stepped more fully into their workspace, dodging another book coming at his head.

"Ritsu!" Takano yelled, standing up from behind his desk. "Goddammit, just fucking listen-..." He yelled, but dropped back down into a crouch as a book flew by his head.

"Takano, I'll kill you!" Onodera screamed again, shifting one of the books from the pile in his arms into his throwing hand, and chucked it.

"Onodera-kun?" Akaashi called ligfhtly, almost nervously, watching the back and forth between the lovers. "Onodera-kun!" He cried out, throwing his available hand up in frustration.

Onodera froze, arm cocked back and fully loaded with a nice and thick book, and everyone's heads and eyes fell to Akaashi. His furrowed brows fell away, and he smiled sheepishly. His face flushed. "Hah, gomen, I don't mean to be rude, Onodera-kun, but I have my draft for revision?"

Onodera's face also melted back to its normal state, dropping the book from his hand. "Oh! Yes! Of course, Akaashi-kun. Come over and I'll take your envelope." He tilted his head, eyes closed with a bright smile. Akaashi's brows raised at the transition from fuming man to sun shines and gumdrops in the matter of seconds. He glanced to Takano.

"Kowaii..." They muttered after making eye contact.

"Nani?" Onodera asked.

"Uh, nothing!" He and Takano said, at the same time again. Akaashi's eyes shifted nervously to Takano as he walked to Onodera, passed the listless men at their desks, eyeing them curiously. "When, exactly, are their deadlines?" He questioned.

"Tomorrow."

"Oh, that makes so much sense."

"I'm surprised nothing's on fire." Onodera laughed, shaking his head. "Anyways, what've you got for me?"

"Well, I have the final draft." He smiled guiltily, placing his bag on the desk before him. "I'm sorry it's a bit late, Onodera-kun." He unzipped his bag and pulled out the manila envelope.

"Akaashi Keiji, you silly bastard." Onodera giggled, gingerly taking it. "You literally always are a few weeks early most of the time." He placed it on his desk, glancing up again. "You still are ahead by about 8 days, which is one night and day of revisions and you have time to fix it. You're perfectly fine."

"Of course, Onodera-kun, thank you so much." Akaashi bowed his head, hands clasped together. He gathered his belongings quickly. "I'll leave you to it." He waved lightly, leaving the office, pressing the button on the elevator door and stepping in.

Onodera's sweet smile dropped as soon as the doors slid shut, his energetic wave falling. "Baka..." He giggled maliciously. "You didn't think I'd ever actually forget about you, Takano-san?" He picked up the stapler from his desk, shifting his weight and glancing over his shoulder.

Takano was half out the door, staring with total fear back at him. "Heh, iie iie iie, I was just gonna go get some snacks." He said, waving his hands in anxious dismissal. They both stared at each other for a moment, and Onodera huffed, before chucking the stapler, putting a hole in the wall near Takano's head. "Nandayo, you could've killed me!"

"Isn't that the point?" Onodera asked rhetorically, placing a finger on his lip.

"You're not fucking serious?"

Onodera's eyes told a completely different story.

"Shit, shit, shit, he's fucking serious." Takano slipped out the door and ran for his life.

________________________________

Akaashi stepped out the glass doors, attempting to decide which way would be the best way to go. With the way the weather above him seemed, it could be a very cold and wet walk. That option did not seem too pleasant, but he didn't have his subway pass, nor did he have any sort of cash on him. One would think with his intelligence that knowing such trivial necessities would be important to have on hand would be obvious but at the same time, he often rushed out of his home in socks.

He could always just take the bus with his bus pass. He shifted his backpack, going through his things, before realizing he left his wallet, and his cellphone.

So, he quickly narrowed down his options to walking. Not the ideal situation, yet he was wearing his beat up high-tops and ripped jeans. He didn't care much whether the shoes got a little wet, and the ripped jeans were warm enough. At least there wasn't a breeze, and the still October air felt pleasant beneath the thick pleat of clouds above his head. He longed for the dry, winter days of December, or whenever he would finally get to be able to practically use scarves. That day wasn't particularly warm for October, but it wasn't cold. When the rain finally kicked in, the wind would bite at the skin of his cheeks and nose, making him uncomfortable and his nose runny. If he hurried, he could make it.

Picking up his pace, he crossed the intersection after checking for cars, and ran passed his favorite coffee shop. Right next to the family owned café, an alley cut through to the beginning of his neighborhood, and from there he could simply jump a few fences and make it home in time to watch Stranger Things with Yama before he left for class.

That, however, also depended on whether or not he remembered the right turn, and where. The alley way was dark and complicated, each wall and pile of trash similar to the next. After abandoning the use of it when he discovered the wonders of public transportation, he lost most of the directional sense he once had. His phobias of strangers, rats, and cockroaches soon overwrote his anxiety about the germs on the subway, in taxis, or on the bus. He could figure it out, it might just take a little longer.

He remembered distinctly that there were two lefts and a right, and he knew the general direction of his destination, so he hoped he managed to keep his bearings in the identical walls. The first portion of the alley made an L shape, so he took the required right, leading up to his first left. (He ruled out taking the right because he could literally see the street.)

The atmosphere in the alley had always been a bit murky, per say, however this particular day he trembled lightly with his hands in his pockets. He, once again, found his paranoia getting the best of him. At least this had adequate reasonings behind it, rather than being terrified of his own homes natural creakiness. Every once and a while, something resembling the sound of a can being kicked, or a scurrying animal would assault his ears, causing him to jump or speed up, but his walk was smooth.

When he approached the next turn, he took a left, focusing more on his surroundings again. The faint light from the sun cast his shadow before him, and he stared at his silhouette. He entertained himself by titling his head side to side, watching the dark splotch on the ground mimic him. He turned the next corner, and his shadow lost his attention, as he began to take in surroundings that had some sort of familiarity.

He recognized the graffiti, an Italian woman from the Renaissance surrounded by clouds of bright red and green sloppy paint resembling clouds to copy the era. He loved it. There was more as he walked, mostly psychedelic art but the occasional reference to different beautiful genres and pieces. Akaashi had majored in Art Criticism, so he could make money off something he often did to pass time anyways. He crept down the informal art museum, when he noticed a new piece.

He walked up to it, the odor of paint filling his nose. A girls face was painted her face and hair grey scale, without any color, except for a splatter of red, which he believed to be accidental. For a moment he tried to explain why it was so boring and dreary, when he noticed her form was stenciled and hand held a cigarette, or possibly a joint of sorts. Her full lips were just parted, but nothing came out on the wall. He gently pressed his thumb against her hair, and his finger smushed in the paint. He pulled his hand away, his thumb slick with dark grey acrylic.

"They must've just left..." He muttered to himself, glancing down to the alleyway. However, what next caught his eye was a small pool of red and a bucket of paint, a palette, and a small engraved detailing brush. He stepped back a bit, now taking a moment to really look at the art again. No sane artist would leave a piece like this half done, the colors would never match up right again. Something happened, and frankly he didn't like that thought at all.

Behind him, there was a small crash and skid. A man, in a black hoodie up over concealing his face had knocked a trash can and its contents over.

Now, in this moment time froze. They stared each other down, or at least he assumed the man stared back. He stood at about 180 centimeters in height, with muscular arms and build. The jeans didn't fit his legs quite right, so he couldn't quite tell how fit he was over all. He wondered exactly how long those legs were, and how powerful. He wondered how fast it he could get away. He should still be nimble and quick, he kept himself in shape after years of the absence of volleyball. He wondered what would happen if he didn't get away. If he didn't get away, the most important question of all was, did Nancy ditch Steve for Jonathan?

In these milliseconds of shock that passed between the two, one at being discovered and the other over the idea of possibly being chopped up into little pieces, Akaashi breathed in once, and the man took a step.

Although, Akaashi had already taken three.

AN: I'm sorry this is a month wait for a cliff hanger H ahahahahaha

I'll update again within the next week I just have to edit the next chapter.