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It’s hard to hear Osamu over the French techno-house on the speakers.
They’re talking in a corner at a pre-season gala, one of the luxury coupes on display – from neither of their own teams’ manufacturers mind you – in front of them.
Akaashi stares into its gleaming headlights as Osamu leans in closer to make himself heard.
“I said,” he repeats. “Welcome to F1.”
Osamu leans back, no longer with eyelash-counting distance, and Akaashi’s grip eases around the stem of his champagne glass.
“‘Tsumu’s been waitin’ for you,” Osamu continues, taking a sip of his own drink. “He tries to keep an eye on a few others with his driving style.”
Just Atsumu? Akaashi wants to ask, but he spots someone from Osamu’s team coming their way presumably to pull him.
“We knew you’d get here sooner rather than later.”
Osamu leaves him with those words as he’s pulled away to meet with sponsors.
Akaashi frowns.
++
Bokuto had said something similar when he joined, although that was more along the lines of I knew you’d make it Akaashi! Didn’t I say it was only a matter of time?
He’s left wondering if he should question why it did take so long. It felt like their PR team was battling rumors that he’d be moving up for at least the last two years.
Maybe that was better saved for a conversation with his team principal.
For now, his goal is simply to find his groove.
He struggles his way through his first few races after a rough debut in Bahrain. His team principal mostly waves away his concerns, telling him he’ll adjust to the new speeds soon.
Akaashi can only hope so, trying not to doubt himself among the stacked talent on the grid.
Atsumu and Kageyama are at a constant battle for first and second on the track, with Osamu and Bokuto never far behind.
Sakusa and Ushijima are battling a bad car that has them at the middle of the pack this season, and Akaashi knows Sakusa is pissed, looking to make a move next year.
He’s at least smart enough to keep his freakouts away from the cameras and in Keiji’s apartment instead. He remains markedly restrained over the radio when Atsumu passes him by, but Keiji’s seen him absolutely lose his shit over the fact that he’s losing to Atsumu on such a regular basis.
It’s curious that Atsumu is the object of his ire, when Osamu is a bit of a bastard on the track himself. Too many of their competitors have found themselves looking out for Atsumu too closely that they find themselves overtaken by Osamu before they even know it.
Akaashi remembers attending the São Paulo Grand Prix last year, watching as Osamu nimbly picked up one position after another to end up on the podium despite starting fifth on the grid.
It was his first P1 of the season, and Akaashi watched in the audience below as a wide grin cracked across Osamu’s face when Atsumu began spraying champagne down the back of his race suit.
At some point their eyes met in the crowd, and Akaashi swears he saw something dark flash through Osamu’s gaze before he was pulled away by a journalist for a post-race interview.
He’s been in the same circles as the twins since go-karting. Seen them at competitions. Watched as their fame grew twofold and sponsors fell in love with them.
Akaashi and Bokuto do well for themselves, know their sponsors appreciate their rapport and the deep friendship they’ve cultivated.
But something about the Miyas makes it hard to look away from them.
++
It comes to a head in Singapore.
His presence on the track is frustrating Sakusa, he knows. Sakusa doesn’t need any more competition to be 6th.
He’s sweating hard before he even steps foot into the car – they all are, the humid summer night is unforgiving – but he’s focused. Something tells him he won’t be in Sakusa’s way tonight.
He places P4 in qualifying, his closest start so far. Even Atsumu nodded his respect when he passed by their garage after Akaashi completed his qualifying laps, Bokuto pulling him into a tight celebratory hug.
As he pulls into the fourth position on the grid, he can see Osamu’s jet black car idling behind him in his left rear mirror. P5.
The second the lights go down, Akaashi pulls off a deft overtake of Ushijima, and he thinks back to the press and analysts who all swore street circuits were a weakness of Akaashi’s.
Around their sixth lap, a clash between Atsumu and Kageyama has the safety car emerging.
“You’ll be P1 once they finish up here,” his engineer radios in his ear, as if he doesn’t already know. “Atsumu and Kageyama are out.”
“Copy.”
He feels the presence of the jet black car waiting in the wings again – Osamu, now P2 – but tries to pay him no mind as the safety car is cleared.
“Don’t let him get too close.”
Again, something his race engineer doesn’t have to tell him.
With Osamu so closely behind him, pushing even closer now that the safety car has tightened the field between them, Akaashi spends the rest of the race playing defense.
Osamu is pushing, but Akaashi is pushing even harder.
He crosses the finish line with Osamu less than a second behind him.
++
The whole garage is screaming by the time he pulls in. Bokuto pulls in not long after him – P3 – and the whole garage begins screaming all over again.
He climbs out of his car, feeling on top of the world.
On the podium, he can feel Osamu’s eyes on the nape of his neck just as viscerally as the shock of cold champagne from Bokuto’s bottle.
On the way down from the platform, his team principal grabs him with an arm around his shoulders.
“We knew you had it in you,” he says, patting him on the back, words only for Akaashi’s ears. “You just needed the right push.”
Bokuto’s pulled away for his rounds of post-race interviews and Akaashi spots a chance to sneak out of the spotlight and into a corridor between the team garages, trying to take a moment to himself before he’s pulled back into the fervor.
Or at least, he’d intended to be alone.
He’s not sure where the words are coming from, but the second Osamu grabs him and his back hits the wall, helmet falling out of his hands with a clatter, they spill out of him:
“Don’t tell me you waited until I was your competitor to come on to me,” Akaashi near-hisses as Osamu’s forehead comes down to press against his. “Thought we needed to be equals or something stupid like that. You’ve been watching me since we were 17.”
Osamu groans, coming in close.
“There was never a good time,” he breathes out. “Now I have to see you every damn weekend.”
Then he kisses him hard.
Akaashi lets out a slight groan, hands coming up to grab at Osamu’s shoulders, both of them still hot and wet and slightly sticky from the champagne action on the podium.
The feel of Osamu’s tongue in his mouth has him feeling slightly crazy.
“Miya–” Akaashi sighs out as they part.
“Don’t get too used to it though. This is my last season,” Osamu whispers against his mouth.
Akaashi breaks his mouth away.
“What?”
Osamu tries to go in for another kiss but Akaashi stops him, brow furrowing in confusion.
Osamu huffs slightly when he realizes Akaashi won’t let him kiss him again without explaining. His hands flex impatiently on Akaashi’s hips.
“M’tired of it. And Atsumu won’t admit it either but I think he needs some new blood to keep him going too. I’m good at support. Think someone else could be better at pushin’ him though.”
Akaashi stares at him, mind whirring. There’s only one real option that makes sense if there’s a new spot on a highly competitive team opening up–
“He and Sakusa are going to hate each other, you know. They’ll be like oil and water.”
Osamu grins, teeth brilliant and Akaashi notes it’s an even more handsome expression up close.
“Even’worse. They’ll be like kerosene and a match.”
He takes a second to move a piece of sweaty hair out of Akaashi’s eyes.
“Though I didn’t say anythin’ about Sakusa. Besides – this is all under wraps. Our team principal knows I’m thinkin’ about it but that’s it. No one else knows it’s coming yet.”
Akaashi still can’t quite believe his ears, and Osamu takes the opportunity to begin kissing down the side of his neck.
“What were you waiting for then?” Akaashi asks, ignoring the way he lets Osamu hitch a thigh between his with no resistance. “There’s been rumors you’ve been trying to leave for the past few years.”
Osamu grabs his waist again.
“What do you think?” he says, gaze intense. “I was waitin’ for you to get up on that podium with me.”
Akaashi blinks at him, letting the words process for a second before he leans forward just as Osamu leans eagerly to re-capture his mouth.
“How does having a paddock boyfriend next year sound? Or a house-husband in Monaco?” Osamu murmurs, mumbling it messily into their kiss as one of his hands comes up to grab the outside of his thigh.
Something about the brazenness of his words makes Akaashi’s pulse stutter but he does his best to level Osamu with a sharp expression.
He pushes him away, hard.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he says, picking his helmet back up at the sound of chatter and approaching press.
He thinks he can even hear Sakusa arguing with his race engineer if he listens closely.
Osamu eyes him warily, thumb rubbing at his lip as if he can still feel the sensation of Akaashi’s teeth there.
“We have a whole season to finish.”