you had met up with your boyfriend, keiji, not long after the awards ceremony had wrapped up. the gym had mostly emptied out by then — coaches packing up gear, parents lingering to offer half-hearted reassurances, players walking out with medals that felt either too heavy or not enough. akaashi had been one of the last to leave the court. he stood there for a long time after the final whistle, still as stone, watching the scoreboard like staring at it long enough would change the numbers.

they’d lost. just by two points.

you found him outside, near the side entrance where it was quieter. his jacket was only half-zipped, and his shoulders were stiff, hands shoved into his pockets like he was holding himself together. the second he saw you, he tried to put on a calm face — that composed, unreadable expression he always wore when the world got too loud — but it was cracked at the edges.

“i could’ve done better,” he said, voice low and steady in that way it only got when he was struggling. he looked down as he spoke, eyes locked on the ground. “those last two points… they were my fault.”

you knew it wasn’t true — anyone who watched the game could see he carried the team through most of it — but now wasn’t the time for that kind of logic. not when his words sounded like guilt was a weight pulling at his spine.

you stepped forward, gently resting your hand on his back. he tensed under your touch for a heartbeat, like he wasn’t sure if he deserved comfort — and then he broke.

his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in with more force than he meant to. his head dropped to your shoulder as he exhaled shakily, holding you like you were the only thing tethering him to the moment. there weren’t any tears, not yet, but his breathing was uneven, and the silence between you was thick with everything he couldn’t say.

he didn’t need to explain it. not to you. you’d seen the pressure he carried — the way he quietly bore the expectations, the responsibility, the weight of keeping the team balanced. and now, with the match behind him and no more points left to chase, all that pressure had nowhere to go but here, into your arms.

so you stayed there, in the quiet outside the gym, holding him while the world kept moving on — because he didn’t need the perfect words right now. he just needed you.