Chapter Text
Akaashi stepped into the shower and cranked the water as hot as it would go. It was nearly scalding, lapping at his skin like a flurry of tiny bites, leaving it flushed, red, and angry.
Still, it wasn’t hot enough. It was never hot enough.
Akaashi ducked his hair beneath the spray, basking in the heat. He tipped his head back and let the water slap him in the face. It burned against his cheeks and left stinging trails down to his neck.
He stayed under as long as he could, until his lungs screamed for air. Then he emerged with a gasp and spat a mouthful of water onto the shower floor.
Akaashi would have soaked longer; fifteen minutes, thirty, maybe even hours. But he wasn’t afforded that luxury, and he washed himself quickly before cutting off the scorching stream and toweling himself dry.
Clothing had been left for him on the corner of the sink. He pinched the first article between his fingers, looking flatly at the black spandex shorts that would barely cover his ass.
It wasn’t the most outrageous thing he’d been asked to wear; not by a long shot.
He stepped into the shorts and battled them into place, the task made more difficult by the lingering dampness of the shower. Once he’d squeezed into the uniform of the hour, he pulled on a pair of sweatpants to cover his bare legs. He would have to take them off soon, but at least he could briefly pretend to preserve his modesty. He pulled on his hooded jacket, zipped it up, and left the bathroom after one quick re-toweling of his wet hair.
It still dripped down the back of his neck, but there was no helping it. Blow drying his hair resulted in a voluminous mess, so it would have to dry at its own pace.
If it was still a little damp when he met with his next client, well, he didn’t think they would mind all that much.
Akaashi descended the stairs, slipped past a pair of whispering women, and had one hand on the back door before he was caught.
“Yo, Leo.”
Akaashi swallowed a sigh, his impassive expression unwavering as he turned at the sound of his pseudonym. At least it was only Konoha that had noticed him. It could have been much worse.
“You’ve got someone waiting out front,” said Konoha.
“I know,” said Akaashi. His voice came out raspy. He cleared his throat and tried again, but the results were hardly better. “I’m on my way. I just need ten minutes, all right?”
Konoha frowned at him in clear disapproval. “Smoking isn’t going to help your throat.”
“I don’t smoke.”
Konoha rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’ll tell him you’re still getting cleaned up. Just make it quick. I can’t keep covering for you.”
Konoha had been covering for Akaashi for the past year, ever since he’d accepted a job as a bouncer at Fukurodani. Akaashi didn’t anticipate that he would truly stop anytime soon.
“Sure. Thanks, Konoha-san.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Konoha scoffed, waving Akaashi away as he started toward the front of the building.
Akaashi slipped out the back door, propped it open with a piece of brick shrapnel, and sat uncomfortably on the concrete doorstep. He dug into the pocket of his sweatpants, and a moment later he held a lit cigarette between his lips, sucking smoke into his already burning throat. He held his breath as long as he could, the tension bleeding from his shoulders as the nicotine soaked into his system. Then he held the cigarette away and exhaled, the smoggy cloud floating away slowly on the still night air.
It was against the rules to smoke at work. The clients didn’t appreciate their nightly company tasting like an ashtray.
But Akaashi had discovered a brand of breath strips that extinguished the stench. They didn’t tingle so much as make his entire mouth go numb, but he didn’t mind.
Numbness wasn’t so bad sometimes.
He sucked in another foggy breath, eyes fluttering closed as he cherished the rush.
At least this was better than what some of his coworkers did during their breaks. He’d walked in on someone snorting a line off of the bathroom sink more times than he cared to recall. Then there were the pills that got passed from hand to hand, offered in more shapes and sizes and colors than Akaashi had known existed.
He didn’t judge anyone for their coping mechanisms. He understood the need for them quite clearly. But he also couldn’t allow himself to get caught up in some of his coworkers’ more shifty practices, not if he valued the future he was building for himself.
Selling himself for money was already fucked up. He didn’t need a drug addiction to drag him down even further.
He took another drag, disappointed that he was running low on cigarette and on time. Somewhere to his right there was a scuff of shoes and a blend of voices, building into a pair of obnoxious laughs that Akaashi tried to ignore.
It was nine o’clock on a Friday. The night was young, but some revelers didn’t wait for the midnight hour before pursuing inebriation. This part of town was spattered with a close mix of bars and clubs and entertainment venues. It wasn’t unusual for people to wander up this street, seeking enlightenment.
At least Akaashi knew these men weren’t here for him. If so, they would have used the front entrance.
The voices got closer. Akaashi kept smoking with his eyes closed, so he wouldn’t have to witness the inevitable end of his cigarette that would signal the conclusion of his unpermitted break.
There was a muted scuffle from a short distance away, a few hissed words that Akaashi couldn’t discern, and then a raised voice. “Hey!”
Akaashi pinched his cigarette more tightly between his fingers and hoped they weren’t speaking to him.
“Hey, umm, excuse me?”
The voice drew a few steps nearer. It sounded like a young male, a smooth baritone that was a shade too loud for Akaashi’s comfort.
He gave in with a silent sigh and looked up to find a man gawking at him from a few yards away, his friend standing idly by with a look of extreme amusement.
This wasn’t a foreign situation, either. Akaashi had been taunted more than a few times in his life. He couldn’t take much offense. It was easy to make a mockery of him. In his line of work, he was practically inviting it.
“Yes?” he said curtly, wishing to end the interaction as quickly as possible.
He expected some off-color joke or a leering proposition.
Instead the man continued staring, eyes wide and bright. “Hey! What’s your name?”
Akaashi stared back at him, unimpressed.
The man shook himself and tried again. “I’m Bokuto,” he offered. “Bokuto Koutarou.”
Behind him, his friend’s grin widened.
Akaashi blew a puff of smoke in their direction, affecting an air of disdain.
The man, Bokuto, didn’t appear bothered. He bounced once on his toes, still eager.
Akaashi understood what was going on. It was clear now, with Bokuto’s bright anticipation. He didn’t know who Akaashi was, or what he did. He thought Akaashi was just a random passerby who happened to perch on an extremely sketchy stoop.
His friend’s shit-eating grin, however, suggested he knew exactly what Akaashi was.
“Leo,” said Akaashi flatly, because Bokuto hadn’t stopped staring.
“Leo!” repeated Bokuto. “Like a lion!”
Akaashi tapped the last of the ash off of his cigarette and put it out on the concrete. “Sure.”
Bokuto looked over his shoulder and said, in what was supposed to be a whisper, “Kuroo, his name is Leo!”
The friend nodded, face suddenly solemn. As soon as Bokuto looked away, Kuroo was grinning again, eyes bright with glee.
“We’re going to the bar down the street,” said Bokuto, pointing in a vaguely northern direction. “Do you want to come with us? They have dancing and stuff. It’s going to be fun!”
Akaashi flicked the stub of his cigarette to the side. “I’m working.”
Kuroo bit his lip in an attempt to conceal his mirth. His grin was still stretched so wide that it would soon be touching his ears.
“Oh,” said Bokuto.
For a moment Akaashi thought he’d finally put the pieces together.
But then Bokuto said, words rushed, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you! But maybe I could get your number? So you can go with us some other time, I mean. If you’d like to.”
Kuroo had to physically turn away, presenting Akaashi with a view of his back.
Akaashi wondered if Bokuto was really this dumb, or if it was an act.
On more than one occasion he’d been approached in a similar way by a client hoping to heighten his chances of extracurricular activities outside the workplace. Akaashi had been offered gifts and compliments and more attention than he cared to have. Some of the other workers fell for it, especially the newer ones who still clung to the notion that someday someone would find them special.
Akaashi had never been that naïve, and that wasn’t changing now.
“My time isn’t free,” said Akaashi. He hitched a thumb over his shoulder, toward the brick façade behind him.
Bokuto tilted his head to the side, clearly confused. “Umm,” he said. “I’ll buy you a drink, if that’s what you mean.”
Behind him, Kuroo started cackling.
Bokuto turned to look at him, still baffled.
The door behind Akaashi cracked open and Konoha popped his head out.
“Your client’s getting restless,” he said. “I’ve stalled as long as I can.” He stepped out a little further and held out a chipped mug. “I put some honey in it, for your throat.”
Akaashi accepted the offering and felt the warmth of the tea seep into his palms. “Thank you, Konoha-san.”
“Thank me by getting your ass in here.” Konoha tossed a glance at the men in the street, but quickly dismissed them as a non-threat and ducked back inside.
Akaashi stood and took a small sip of tea. It wasn’t quite hot enough, but the burning itch in his throat was muted after the first swallow.
“Your throat?” repeated Bokuto, bemused. “Are you sick?”
Kuroo dropped a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder and said, through stifled sniggers, “Bo, please stop. You’re killing me here.”
Bokuto looked even more confused.
Akaashi pulled the door open, kicked away the brick fragment, and was almost inside before Bokuto called after him.
“Hey, wait! So was that a no?”
Akaashi let the door thud shut.
He could still hear Kuroo’s laughter from beyond, and a muffled shout of “Shut up!” from Bokuto.
Akaashi took another sip of tea and discarded it on the counter. He slipped out of his jacket and sweatpants with practiced ease, pausing only long enough to stow them away in his assigned locker.
He shut the metal door, taking a moment to appreciate the cool texture against his fingertips. He took a deep breath, put on his mask of polite interest, and went to accept his third client of the night.
By the following evening, Akaashi had forgotten all about the loud men on the street.
He was good at forgetting things, especially things that happened while he was at work. Most were best left unremembered.
Akaashi closed his eyes, breathed, and pretended he was home, in his own bed, without the sticky sweat of a stranger dampening his back.
Someone knocked on the door, three rapid taps.
Akaashi felt a swell of relief and extracted himself from the hot limbs caged around his body, courtesy of a client whose favorite way of ending a session was cuddling.
“Your hour is up,” said Akaashi. He brushed a piece of hair out of his face and pretended not to feel the come drying in his curls.
The man made a noise of protest and sat up, his skin still flushed from their prior activities. “There’s no way that was a whole hour.”
“Unfortunately it was, Okamoto-san,” said Akaashi, as politely as possible.
The man leaned closer. He stank of sweat and sex and stale tobacco. “At least give me a kiss goodbye, then. I had a good time with you, Leo.”
Akaashi’s impassive mask did not change. “Your hour is up.”
Okamoto gave in with a huff. He crawled off the bed and moved to fetch his clothes from the rack near the door.
Akaashi sat cross-legged on the bed, staring vaguely at the wall while his client dressed.
Just before he left the room the man turned back with a smile. “Goodbye, Leo. I’ll be back to see you soon.”
“Goodbye, Okamoto-san.”
He stepped into the hallway, and Akaashi allowed himself two minutes of solitude before he scooted off of the bed. He grabbed a fresh robe out of the basket in the corner and pulled it on before stepping out of the room.
Konoha was leaning against the wall, waiting.
“All good?” he asked, studying Akaashi.
“I’m fine.”
“Good. Your next one should be here in twenty.”
Akaashi allowed himself ten minutes to shower and seven more to sit on the back stoop with a cigarette. He fleetingly thought of the night before, when the two men had approached him, but the memory passed quickly. There was no need to think about it. He had other things to worry about, such as the identity of his next client. He should have asked Konoha.
Most of Akaashi’s clients were regulars. They would schedule sessions once or twice a month, usually on the same night of the week, and most of the time their requests were repetitive. Takahashi always wanted to be tied down and teased until he was on the verge of tears. Tamura’s usual session included blindfolds and ice cubes. Takagi, one of Akaashi’s favorites, never requested anything more strenuous than a well-lubricated handjob.
Akaashi didn’t mind the regulars so much. He appreciated consistency. It was when new clients came in that he started getting antsy.
But because of the reputation he’d built for himself, successfully becoming the most requested male at Fukurodani, it was inevitable that new clients would pop up.
During those occasions he just crossed his fingers and hoped they weren’t psychotic.
When he headed back inside he expected to see Konoha hovering nearby, prepared to rush him along. No one was around. Akaashi would have gone upstairs to wait, had he known which room he’d been assigned to. Instead he crept toward the lounge.
A span of clear, six-foot windows walled in the lounge, giving passersby a clear look into Fukurodani. That was intentional. There were always a few of Akaashi’s coworkers scattered about the lounge, drinking water from crystal glasses since alcohol was not allowed on the premises. The view was meant to draw in more customers, and oftentimes it worked.
Akaashi did not spend time in the lounge. He felt he did enough without being on display like a lion in a zoo.
He glanced over at the tables as he approached. There were three women grouped at a table, wearing just enough clothing to be considered decent. Akaashi nodded at them and they waved back. He recognized them by sight, if not by name. They were newer to the job than Akaashi was.
He took a left and started toward the front desk, intending to check the paperwork for his next appointment. As he neared, a raised voice echoed back to him, loud and on the edge of obnoxious.
“-five minutes! Come on, I’ll be quick, I swear!”
It sparked a vague familiarity in the back of Akaashi’s mind. He wondered if it was one of his previous clients. Sometimes it was difficult to forget all of the voices that moaned his name.
His escort name, anyway. None of the clients knew his real name, and none of them ever would.
Akaashi stuck his head around the corner to find the source of the commotion. Yukie was at the front desk, apparently assigned to check-in duty. Konoha stood near the door, warily watching the man who was flailing his arms in the middle of the room.
“Please!” he said, voice still too loud. “I’m not going to do anything. I just need to talk to him!”
Recognition slid into place like the press of a puzzle piece. The name rose to Akaashi’s tongue easily, and he surprised himself when he spoke. “Bokuto-san?”
The man whipped his head around, eyes widening. “Leo!” he said. He beamed, then his eyes dipped to Akaashi’s bare chest and he quickly looked away. Akaashi belatedly realized he’d forgotten to get his hoodie out of his locker. “Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you, but I wanted to talk to you. For just five minutes. If that’s okay?”
Konoha’s frown deepened. He stepped forward, probably intending to bodily remove Bokuto from the premises, but Akaashi stopped him.
“It’s fine, Konoha-san,” he said. “Five minutes.”
He wasn’t sure why he gave in. Akaashi didn’t do anything at work that he wasn’t getting paid for, and he didn’t have time for this, when his next client would arrive at any moment.
Still, he stepped to one side of the room and Bokuto eagerly followed. It afforded only a small measure of privacy. Yukie returned to her paperwork, but Konoha watched the pair of them with hawk-like intensity.
Bokuto was fidgety. He looked from Akaashi, over his shoulder to Konoha, and then back at Akaashi again, clearly struggling to maintain eye contact. “So, uh, hey.”
Akaashi raised an eyebrow. “Hi.”
“So, umm,” said Bokuto, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “I wasn’t trying to be a jerk last night. Kuroo said you probably thought I was making fun of you, and I don’t want you to think that, because I wasn’t. I didn’t know that you’re a, uh…” He trailed off and gestured vaguely toward the front of the building.
“Escort,” said Akaashi, supplying the polite-yet-inaccurate label that the Fukurodani owners preferred.
“Right, that,” said Bokuto. His eyes shifted away again. “I just wanted to apologize if you thought I was being a dick. Because I wasn’t. You just looked like a cool guy, and you’re pretty, and I thought you might want to hang out with us.”
Bokuto’s cheeks had gone red and he raised a hand to rub at the back of his neck, self-conscious.
Akaashi couldn’t decide if Bokuto was adorable or pathetic.
“It’s fine, Bokuto-san,” he said. “You didn’t offend me. I don’t get offended.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want you to think-”
“Why do you even care what I think?”
Bokuto looked at him for a moment. Then he shrugged and his gaze skittered away. “I don’t know, I just… I just wanted to make sure I hadn’t hurt your feelings or anything.”
This was stupid. Of course Bokuto hadn’t hurt his feelings. Bokuto hadn’t even said anything bad. He’d just been ignorant about Akaashi’s occupation, which was actually refreshing, for a change.
Even if he’d been malicious, it wouldn’t have mattered. Akaashi couldn’t really recall the last time someone had hurt his feelings. He thought maybe he’d become immune.
“You didn’t. Where’s your friend?”
“I didn’t tell him I was coming,” said Bokuto. He picked idly at the hem of his shirt. “He would laugh at me.” He suddenly looked up, eyes wide. “I mean, not that he does that to everyone. He wasn’t really laughing at you last night, either. I think he was mostly laughing at me.”
“Whatever you say, Bokuto-san,” said Akaashi. He glanced over at Konoha, who made a twirling motion with his finger. “I need to go now.”
“Oh. Umm, okay.”
Akaashi made it a single step.
“Wait!” said Bokuto. He had one hand outstretched but quickly pulled it back. His face glowed a little brighter. “I was wondering if you maybe still wanted to go hang out with us sometime? Me and Kuroo, or just me. I mean, you seem nice. And I’m cool too, I’m not a jerk, I swear!”
Akaashi stared at him and again tried to figure out if Bokuto was an idiot or if he was just painfully genuine.
The front door opened, and there was a voice that made Akaashi bite down on a cringe.
“Yo, Leo, are you waiting for me? You eager tonight?”
Akaashi didn’t look over. “Good evening, Uchida-san.”
It could have been worse. Uchida wasn’t the worst regular that Akaashi had. His preferences included fucking Akaashi face-down, which was favorable because Akaashi didn’t have to arrange his face in a way that suggested he was enjoying himself. He could zone out completely as long as he offered some sort of verbal encouragement every minute or so.
Bokuto whipped his head around to look at Uchida. When he looked back at Akaashi there was something different in his face, a flicker of unease.
“So, umm,” he said, his voice much quieter. It was almost a normal speaking volume now. “Do you want to, or…?”
Akaashi sighed. “I’m sorry, Bokuto-san,” he said, “but I already told you. My time isn’t free.”
Uchida had approached the desk to sign in. Akaashi glanced at Konoha and said, “I’ll be ready in five minutes.”
“Bye, Leo,” said Bokuto. The voice was quiet, subdued; the opposite of everything Akaashi had seen of him.
Against his better judgment, he threw one more glance over his shoulder.
Bokuto had stuffed his hands in his pockets and he was slouched slightly, as if caving in on himself. All of his restless energy was gone.
He looked crestfallen.
Akaashi turned away and expertly prevented himself from thinking about it. He had a job to do. He couldn’t trouble himself with something as pointless as someone else’s feelings.
If Bokuto was sad, it was his own fault. He shouldn’t have been dumb enough to come and apologize for nothing at all, and he shouldn’t have expected Akaashi to accept his invitation, especially now that he knew what Akaashi did for a living.
He was probably just like the others, trying to get on Akaashi’s good side in the hopes that he could acquire some of his services for free. That was all anyone wanted from him. No matter how cheerful and genuine Bokuto was, Akaashi couldn’t imagine he would be any different.