A/N: These two have ruined me, absolutely and completely. That's all there is to it. I tried to get all grown-up with this, but I'm not sure if I managed to do so without sounding cliché.

This'll also be the last fic in this series, because, while it's been fun, I need to write in a different context.

Thanks to everyone for the lovely reviews :) I appreciate it to no end.

Akashi's being silly. He knows it with absolute certainty, even as he watches his phone glide along his desk, vibrating and flashing to inform him of an incoming call. Nijimura's calling. Again. And he should really answer, but he doesn't. Because answering would be like losing, and losing is something he's never been all that good at.

So he watches it until the sound dies, and his room grows gravely quiet again. Nijimura doesn't leave a message, as expected, and Akashi's left berating himself over his nonsensical behaviour. He's acting like a scolded child, and knows as much, but he's angry (at both himself and Shūzō) and indignant, maybe a little woeful, but he easily brushes it off. He knuckles down, and throws himself into his work, because it's his comfort. Strange as it may seem to the emotionally connected—like Momoi, and Kuroko.

The night wanes, and while he stares at the endless, but familiar, lines of words and graphs, he learns little. Remembers nothing. It's well after midnight when he throws in the towel, deciding to try his luck with sleep. He brushes his teeth, flosses, and shrugs on pyjamas that probably cost more than most of his peers make in a month.

When he crawls into his bed, he's acutely aware of how cold and unnecessarily big it is.

#

Three days after the incident, Akashi has categorised their disagreement as a fight, a 'lover's squabble'. Their first one of this magnitude, and he wonders whether he should be concerned. To be perfectly honest, he isn't sure what the fight was about to begin with.

What he does know is that Shūzō had been stubborn, then Akashi had been insensitive. Shūzō had raised his voice, and Akashi had taken offence. It was laughable, really, and he felt like a fool for being this petulant. But even now, knowing and—mostly—accepting of his part in this, sheer pride had kept him from making amends.

The amount of times he remembers apologizing for anything in his life are just enough to make a peace sign; not that he'd ever do anything so embarrassing. There was the time when, as a child, through childish logic, he'd made a mess of his parents' bedroom with his mother's make up—he'd concluded that his father would smile at him more if he looked more like his mother. (Ironically, he did end up taking after his mother, but father remained as cold as always). The stains had been stubborn enough to force his father to get new carpeting. Father had been livid, while mother had been cross. Until he'd apologised. Hours later, she'd laughed, warm and loving, and told him that he was enough just as he was and that, one day, he'd find someone who'd love him without him needing any embellishments.

The second time he remembers apologising for anything was after his first high-school Winter Cup. He mulls over that for a moment, before letting it go. The point is, he's almost never needed to take responsibility for much in his relationships; people simply accepted his behaviour or made themselves scarce.

Akashi considers this while fiddling with the phone in his hand. What is he meant to do in this situation? He thinks he knows but surmises that there must be another, less humiliating solution. He stares down at his blank screen and tries to remember the last time Nijimura called.

It's been over a day, he estimates. And that, he realises, may be cause for concern.

#

Another (mind-numbingly unproductive) day passes before he seeks counsel in the form of his closest friend, apart from Shūzō. Though, technically, Shūzō falls into a category all on his own. Boyfriend is what Kise and Aomine insist on calling it, but Akashi can't quite stomach the word. It sounds far too juvenile. But 'lover' doesn't sound any better to him; it makes it seem as though they're involved in some sordid, extra-marital affair.

He invites Midorima to a coffee shop, near their university, that's just this side of too-pricey for the general university populace. It's a quaint little place with good coffee and decent service.

"You look like hell," Midorima points out rather bluntly once they've settled at their table. Akashi shoots the other a glare over the lack of tact and sensitivity, and briefly second guesses his choice of counsel. Midorima is still terrible with people, though he has somehow managed to maintain a rather healthy relationship with that perky, yet mischievous, former team-mate of his. So Akashi lets it slide, and orders a pot of tea before continuing the conversation.

"I didn't call you here to discuss that. I want to pick your brain on something."

"On what."

Akashi takes a moment to take a deep, steeling breath. Because, honestly, it's bad enough he has this problem in the first place, but being unable to solve it on his own is just ridiculous. And wholly embarrassing.

"Nijimura-san and I had... a disagreement, and I was hoping—"

"What did you do?"

The redhead briefly thinks of fixing his friend with another glare for interrupting him when it sinks in that Midorima believes him to be at fault.

"Why would you immediately assume that it's my fault."

The other shrugs, gaze not quite meeting Akashi's in the excruciating silence that has fallen. "You're not an easy person to get along with. I'm actually surprised that you didn't have this blow out sooner."

"I resent that. And it isn't a blow out, just a minor argument. It'll likely sort itself out in time, I simply wished to accelerate the process."

Disbelief is etched on Midorima's face, almost mockingly. Akashi suddenly develops the urge to lean over and wash that look off his friend's face with his hot beverage, but decides against it, because that would be immature. And it would make things rather awkward between the two of them—an unnecessary obstacle on the road to rebuilding their friendship.

"Then why do you need my advice?"

"I'm beginning to wonder that myself."

#

In the end, Midorima is of no help—Akashi wonders why he even keeps the former shooting guard around—and Shūzō's calls have stopped altogether. This, he rationalises, shouldn't trouble him nearly as much as it seems to. But it does. And it's starting to affect his performance in class. Not terribly, but still.

Every so often, he'll find his mind wander during class, thinking about how Nijimura is doing. If this ordeal is wreaking havoc on Shūzō's life the way it is on his own. If Shūzō misses him. If Shūzō will come to his senses and sort this mess out. When his thoughts move in that direction, he stares forward and allows the voice of his lecturer, or his father, to guide him back to reality.

The day after his failed meeting with Midorima, he's ambushed outside his university library. He's done with classes for the day, and has just checked out the books he'll need for an assignment due weeks from now, when Momoi—bright eyed and focused—loops her arm into Akashi's and smiles like there's nothing at all wrong with the current situation.

With her is Kise, wearing a pair of very large sunglasses and a hideous, grey, checkered scarf. It's a poor disguise, and Akashi has no compunctions about telling him as much. The blonde pouts briefly before they're off. Where to? Akashi has no idea, and quickly loses the inclination to care when Kise opens his mouth and blurts out:

"I hear you and Nijimura-senpai had a big falling out, Akashicchi."

Gossips, he thinks, fixing the blonde with a deathly sidelong glance. It seems that Midorima had let slip to his very perky, and rather talkative, companion about their conversation the previous day. Said companion had then spoken to Momoi about it—who seems to have taken it upon herself to keep their little group of misfits as emotionally sound as possible. And this was the result.

Is nothing sacred?

"I don't see what this has to do with you," Akashi interjects, slowing their pace before coming to a complete stop. Honestly, he huffs, you offer someone kindness and they think they can run your entire life.

"Everything!" Kise announces exuberantly. "Meddling is what friends do. Especially when the friend is as desperately in need of it as you are."

A very tense silence falls around them. And Kise, even with his lack of social boundaries, knows that he's crossed a rather significant line.

"That is," the blonde adds, fiddling with the ends of his ridiculous scarf. "As you used to be... you're much better now."

Momoi sighs, exasperated and irate. "This is why I never go anywhere with you."

"Sorry, Momoicchi."

"We're not here to meddle," she says, turning to face Akashi. "Just wanted to see how you're doing."

"Do I not look well?"

"That's not really an answer."

"There wasn't a question to begin with, really."

More silence. And Akashi can tell that it's anything but comfortable. Things are never this difficult with Nijimura, not usually. They certainly have their disagreements, but Akashi is seldom able to get away with anything when Shūzō is involved; something he loathes, but appreciates all the same. Maybe it's a skill his former captain learned from being the oldest child, or perhaps it's an inborn personality trait. Either way, it's a handy skill.

Along with Nijimura's skilled hands...

Akashi blinks, mortified and, suddenly, miserably aware that it's been two weeks since he last saw Shūzō. Last touched him. Kissed him. Let Shūzō kiss him back. Let Shūzō do all sorts of unspeakably pleasant things to him. When he was younger, Akashi never understood all the hubbub about intimate relations.

He does now—and chooses to attribute it to his maturity, because he can't have Nijimura thinking too much of himself over something this human.

He's thinking too much, he realises, when he notices Momoi's steady and measuring stare. And stares right back. After a while she tilts her head to the side—it should be endearing, but he knows she's about to hit him with something weighty—smiles, a little sad and hopeful, and says, "you don't look well."

"Excuse me?"

"You asked. And I don't think you look well. Fix it, Akashi."

#

It says something about what his friends think of him that, when they call to enquire about his relational situation—how is it that he's never noticed that his former team-mates are such terrible gossips?—they assume that he's at fault. And, as such, he should fix it. Even Mibuchi, whom he's come to rely on as a confidence booster, had called to inform him that 'Nijimura-san is making uglier faces than usual because of you'. His former team-mate had then ordered him to 'make nice' with Nijimura.

His heart didn't beat faster from hearing that.

He can admit, though, that he's been toying with the idea of being the one to extend the proverbial olive branch. Because this thing is starting to be petty, has been from the beginning. It's been two weeks since they last saw each other, almost a week since they last spoke (when the squabble took place), and two days since Shūzō posted something about a lost cat on his Tumblr account.

Akashi knows that he's plunged into the depths of 'low' when he realises he's cyber-stalking Nijimura.

So it stands to reason that when his phone rings, after a long while of silence, he answers it much sooner than he usually would. He doesn't even look to see who's calling. Good god, he's become like Kise.

He's about to speak when a familiar, and unwanted, voice drawls out on the other line.

"It's not senpai, I'm afraid. Just me."

"Aomine." Akashi tries to hide his surprisingly heavy disappointment behind smooth sophistication and indifference.

"That's my name. Don't sound so disappointed, though."

He lets out a long-suffering sigh, though he's glad for the distraction. Even if that distraction has come in the form of tactless, and brutally honest Aomine. "What do you want?"

"I wanted to see how you're holding up. I heard you broke up with your boyfriend."

"Don't call him that. And we didn't break up."

"But you're not talking to each other?"

"There is a point to this conversation, I presume."

"'f course there is. Kise's freakin' out, saying that you'll lose it again if Nijimura leaves you."

"I—" the redhead tries to interject.

"I told him to relax. Because I'm gonna give you three words that'll be motivation enough for even you to apologise. Like, right now."

"Oh?"

"Make. Up. Sex."

The conversation—if one could call it that—lulls. Aomine remains quiet, possibly to create some kind of dramatic effect after that (predictable) bombshell. Akashi's mildly discomfited to discover that, actually, he doesn't find the suggestion as stupid as he thought he might. Maybe even appealing. Which is alarming.

What's happened to me?

"Goodbye, Aomine," he announces quietly, after a telling passage of silence. He can almost hear the smirk in Aomine's voice when the other replies.

"Think about it, Akashi."

Akashi hangs up, and stares at his phone unblinkingly.

#

The final straw comes in the most unexpected of ways. So much so that Akashi's uncertain as to whether he's reading the situation correctly.

It's Friday evening, and he's at home, having dinner with his father in the family dining room—it's smaller than the one used to entertain guests—and the only sound to be heard is the clink of cutlery against expensive porcelain. They continue a superficial conversation in-between bites of fine cuisine, and sips of spring water (wine, for his father).

It's nothing like the dinners he's had at Nijimura's apartment, where there isn't even a proper table to sit at. But Akashi knows that he would exchange this costly set-up for his senior's tattered couch and second-hand coffee table in a heartbeat, if the option were given to him.

"Will you not be visiting that senpai of yours this weekend?"

Well, isn't this conspicuous.

"I haven't decided yet, father."

His father hums in response, staring at him from across the table. Akashi has suspected for some time that his father is, at least, vaguely aware of the true nature of his relationship with Nijimura. Because, it isn't as though he's made much effort to be subtle. Visiting your male, middle-school senior almost every weekend isn't what one would call ordinary. Throw in the regular sleep-overs and it's quite obvious what's going on.

But his father has never brought it up, so Akashi has decided not to either. Completely acceptable behaviour in their family.

"Well," Akashi's father clears his throat, sips on his wine, and tries to look his son in the eye. "You probably should."

"Pardon?"

"You're far more bearable, and productive when you come home from those visits. So, if only for my own peace of mind, go. Goodness alone knows what you get up to with that ruffian that mellows you out so." He trails off, realising that he's said too much. Akashi blinks—shocked, and embarrassed by the situation—and they appraise each other for a moment. He decides, after a while of stunned quiet, that his father is either very dense, or deeply entrenched in denial. None of these conclusions speak highly of the psychological health of the Akashi family.

"I'll certainly think about it, father."

"There's nothing to think about. For goodness sake, boy, just do as I say."

#

Akashi stands outside Nijimura's apartment building for a good five minutes, gathering the nerve to... what exactly? Apologise? He's not sure, but he's certain that Nijimura expects him to do something, else he wouldn't have stopped calling. So he trudges up the stairs slowly, annoyed by the quickening pace of his heartbeat, the closer he gets to Nijimura's apartment.

He knocks once, stands back and waits with bated breath. He's sure that there's a word for the tightening in his body when the door swings open, and he sees Shūzō standing in the doorway with an old, snug-fit T-shirt and sweatpants, looking desperately attractive. He can't, however, seem to grasp it in the moment. Even so, a knot ties itself in his gut and Akashi doesn't know whether to throw himself at his senpai, or walk away like a scolded dog.

Shūzō leans on the door frame, looking down at him with one of his signature scowls. He appears rather put out, but doesn't say anything. Just stands there. And the silence is nearly enough to make Akashi reconsider his course of action, because there has to be an easier way.

"Nijimura-san," he starts, picking his words carefully. "May I come in?"

The other steps out of the way and leads the way inside. Akashi can't help staring at the contours of Shūzō's back, and Aomine's words start ringing somewhere in his mind. So he looks away, because that's not what he's here for. Not primarily.

He eyes the shogi board lying on the coffee table, the pieces neatly lined up as though in anticipation. Akashi's lips quirk upwards just a bit because he knows Nijimura keeps the board hidden in a drawer somewhere, and only brings it out when he's around. He's about to comment on this when his gaze lands on the other's frowning face.

The stubborn way in which Nijimura squares his shoulders and crosses his arms over his chest are clear signs of his annoyance. Akashi also knows that Shūzō only makes that face when dealing with 'brats'; the expression hasn't been turned on him in a while. And he hates how very childish it makes him feel.

Nijimura stays silent, looking ever the mature, well put-together senpai he's always been in Akashi's eyes. The redhead decides that he's okay with the way his heart stammers out a chaotic rhythm because, while he despises losing in general, losing Shūzō—as it were—is simply not an option. Even if it means swallowing the bitter taste of his own pride.

So he breathes deeply, steels himself, and just manages to make eye contact as he says, "I've come to make amends."

After a contemplative glance, Nijimura eases his rigid posture and replies, almost fondly. Almost. "About time." Akashi watches as he settles himself on the edge of the couch armrest, eyes trained; expectant. "You'd better make it good."

"How would one 'make it good'? Shouldn't I just apologise, and this mess will be resolved."

"You haven't even apologised," Shūzō points out.

"I'm sorry." The words come out far softer than anticipated, disgustingly meek. Like he's not sure. Akashi, himself, wouldn't accept such a half-hearted declaration. So he clears his throat and tries again. He's satisfied with his second attempt and watches Nijimura for a reaction.

A flick to the forehead is his reward. "Shit, but you're hopeless."

"I'm not very good at this, it would seem."

"You'd better get good at it, 'cause we're definitely gonna have more of these. What, with your issues—"

"And your short fuse." Nijimura pins him with a look that screams watch it, brat.

"I haven't forgiven you yet."

"It's terrifying how uneasy that makes me."

And there it is. The truth, out in the open, like a heart on a sleeve. Like baring your throat to your opponent. Only this isn't an opponent; it's Nijimura-senpai. Shūzō. A friend, and so much more. In that moment, Akashi knows that he would go to ends unknown for Shūzō's forgiveness, approval, and affection. The epiphany is both heart-warming and terrifying.

Nijimura closes the gap between them, leans down just a bit, and whispers, "well, that's a decent start."

In a manner reminiscent of how all of this began, Akashi tilts his chin upwards to press sure lips against Shūzō's in a kiss that speaks far more than he'd probably be able to put in words.

#

He allows himself himself to be kissed senseless, dragged off like a plaything, and touched in a manner so scandalous, his father would regret ever ordering him to come visit.

Some time later, he grudgingly admits to himself that Aomine wasn't wrong.

#

Akashi has never been, by any stretch of the imagination, a 'cuddler'. Nijimura has come to accept this as a strange quirk in their relationship. Every so often, however, Shūzō will try his luck by sneaking an arm over the redhead whilst in the throes of slumber.

Akashi's almost always quick to squirm away, returning the natural order of things.

Other times, though, he'll indulge his... boyfriend (he needs to find a better epithet for Nijimura, he notes). Primarily because the act, itself, isn't all that unpleasant, and it seems to make Shūzō rather happy.

So, the following morning, long after the sun has risen, as Akashi's disentangling himself from the mess of sheets and limbs, Shūzō reaches out and wraps an arm around the redhead and pulls him close. Akashi tries not to think about how domestic they must look. Before he can protest, Nijimura whispers into his hair with a gruff, sleepy voice.

"Stay. Just a little while longer."

After a moment's contemplation, Akashi eases into the embrace. It's a touch too warm, and uncomfortable, but he inches closer until his nose is touching Shūzō's collarbone, and places a brush of lips that could pass for a kiss right there. Like a confirmation. A promise.

A while longer, he pledges.

I thought it would be nice to close off with something from Akashi's perspective. It would seem, I'm incapable of writing a douche-bag Akashi Snr. As such, this is probably the weirdest, mushiest, fluffiest ending I've ever written. I hope you liked it, nonetheless. I've had fun with this impromptu series, but all things must come to an end some time.

Thank you all for reading.