Things were changing. 

Firstly, Akira's training was no longer solitary. He had no idea how Asahi found out about his early morning running, but after the Cobras' match, Asahi started turning up at the track. He counted the stretches with Akira, ran as far as four laps before keeling over, and shakily cooled down. He also didn't stop finding Akira between classes to watch the occasional basketball video. 

Then, three days ago, Riggs was at the track, bleary-eyed and half-asleep. He mimicked the stretches perfectly, sprinted two laps, and crawled to the side to throw up. Akira had to help carry him up the hill to the gym showers afterward. 

He even started watching Akira more during team practice, which quickly became unnerving. 

Well, it meant Riggs and Asahi despised being dragged into Akira's play more than anything else. They were egocentric, skilled players, who were similarly obsessed with basketball. And now they believed Akira had something to offer them. So if they weren't badgering him with questions, they were ghosting his every step because his answers were unsatisfactory. 

It felt like only a matter of time until they intruded on his nightly training, too, or Riggs discovered how Asahi was watching videos with him during the day.

The oddest change was how much time Akira was spending with his seniors, Daichi and Surya. 

Just take today for example. After lectures, he'd brought groceries for Surya's dorm and unpacked all of them into the fridge like he lived there. He'd even washed the dishes and racked them up to dry exactly how Surya liked it. He was maybe getting a bit too used to being there. 

He was now sleeping on Surya's couch at least four nights a week. Often, he accidentally passed out while watching a movie with Daichi, or in the middle of doing homework, and slept undisturbed for the whole night. 

It made going home harder. 

That was because the commute there was long, or he'd go to work more frequently since it was "closer", so he'd barely have any time to crawl into bed. And there was always something that needed fixing. The electricity shorted and the gas stove leaked, and his threadbare mat on the floor had baby rats squeaking inside one of the corners. 

Whereas in Surya's dorm, the couch cushions were thick and the blanket was big. The sounds of life around him weren't threatening; there weren't car alarms going off, or gangsters smoking and rolling dice outside. 

Rather Surya, when he was getting a glass of water in the middle of the night, would check on Akira with a glance as he passed. Or it was Daichi creeping over to the couch before throwing himself down beside Akira, so they could watch an episode or nap. 

And his seniors really did care. For all of Surya's sharp comments and annoyance, he poured his heart and soul into tutoring Akira. He practiced his lectures with Akira, and then waited after class to see what notes Akira had made and if he understood. And despite Daichi's intimidating presence, his sarcasm and tricks, he liked to lay along the length of Akira just for the warmth of it. 

"Pay attention," Surya said. "You're nearly done."

Akira's head was actually throbbing with how hard he was concentrating, but Surya's small encouragement motivated him tenfold. He finished the question and nervously handed it over for inspection. 

"Not bad," Surya smiled. 

Akira beamed, patting Daichi's leg behind him to get his attention.

"What?" Daichi paused his video.

Akira was so happy that he giggled, "He said my answer wasn't bad."

"Well, isn't that something?" Daichi ruffled Akira's hair. "Does that mean you're finishing early?"

Surya hummed, pretending not to notice Akira holding his breath. "I guess so. Should we go out to dinner?" And Akira cheered. 

"I finally get to treat my little junior?" Daichi leant his full weight against Akira, which sent him toppling into Surya, and Daichi got his arms around both of them, squeezing until Akira's laughter turned into a wheeze. "You're so lucky to have me."

"You're squishing me!" Akira tried to wiggle free.

Daichi was surprisingly strong. His weight mashed Akira against Surya's lap, pushing up between his legs, until Akira was pinned bodily between them. 

Surya reached up to grab a fistful of Daichi's hair, and Akira believed he was about to reprimand Daichi, but suddenly he was joining in the wrestling.

"Not the hair! Not the hair!" Daichi whined. "I'll go bald!"

"That would be a tragedy," Surya agreed, earning himself a hip roll off Daichi. 

Akira sprawled atop Surya. "This is mutiny!"

"Mutiny?!" he gasped. 

Daichi straddled Surya's thighs to prevent him from squirming away. He managed to catch Surya's hands, which Akira neglected in favour of tickling his sides. 

Surya bucked under the onslaught, biting his lip to try to withhold his laughter, but Akira persisted until he was nearly crying with it. 

"M-mercy! Mercy!" Surya gasped, shaking beneath them. 

Daichi looked at Akira. "Sir, your order?"

"We spare him today," Akira gravely told him.

"Too soft."

Akira shot an impish grin at Daichi over his shoulder. And there was an odd, almost tense moment of silence that passed between the three of them.

"Akira." Surya caught him with a smile that he only used when something was amusing him, but he didn't want Akira to know exactly what. "You should shower and change into something warmer before we go."

Confused, Akira thought it better to listen, so he hopped up. He glanced back only once when Daichi groaned, holding his crotch with one hand and his chest with the other, bending over Surya's stomach like someone had kneed him. But Surya was laughing at him, and Akira couldn't really make out their conversation.

"Cuteness can kill?" Daichi mumbled. 

"Not as soft, huh?" Surya smirked. "You're way too impulsive."

Akira stripped and jumped into the shower, though he kept his cycling shorts on the counter within arm's reach. 

It was usually fine to show his upper-body, since there was only the occasional mark that needed to be covered for a day or so, but his hips were a different story. The scarring there was somewhat beautiful, because it was carved into swirling patterns, despite the fact that Nomura's masterpiece wasn't yet finished. Akira didn't want him tattooing anything more than the petite roses, which curved generously along the sharp line of his pelvis. 

Nomura was…Well, he was Akira's second customer at the shop and someone with unique tastes. But he paid handsomely, and his aftercare was more tender-hearted and exceptional than anyone else's. He was different, but again, not a bad person. 

"Do you have something casual to wear?" Surya suddenly asked, standing in the bathroom. 

Akira startled badly, nearly slipping and cracking his head against the side of the tub as he slapped his hand against the curtain to keep it pinned shut.

"W-what?" he croaked, shakily stared at his water-speckled fingers. What was Surya doing in here?

He sounded like he was just on the other side of the curtain. "I'm going to leave one of my jackets here. And I'm dumping the rest of your clothes in the washing machine." 

"Not the shorts!" 

"You're lucky they're black –or, are they black because of all the layers of grime?" Surya sounded disgusted. "I haven't seen them washed once. Let me have them for one night."

"N-no way. It's alright. They don't even smell, I checked, and I wash them regularly."

There was a pause, then: "You're really attached to them, huh?"

They were given to him as a compression suit to reduce swelling, but they hid his scars so well that he'd fallen into the habit of always wearing them. 

Akira closed his eyes. "You –you can take them, but I want them back tonight, even if they're wet. So c-can you please leave the bathroom?"

Surya shamelessly hummed, and it was only after a painful minute that Akira peeked around the curtain to check that the intruder wasn't tricking him. 

But no, they were gone, along with his cycling shorts. Now a pile of neatly folded clothes from Surya and Daichi's cupboard was on the counter, having replaced what he'd laid out.

Maybe they were all too comfortable with each other. To be wrestling on the ground like children, stealing clothes, or breaking into the bathroom while another was showering. The curtain had never felt so flimsy before. 

Akira hastily changed into their clothes and sighed. Daichi's sweatpants were way too large. He practically had to wrap the strings twice around his waist as a makeshift belt to keep them from falling, and he was forced to roll up the ends. His tolerance hit its limit when he held up Surya's hoodie. 

"What is this?" he muttered. 

From outside, Daichi called, "Did you say something?"

"Are you making fun of me?" He stormed out of the bathroom, shaking the hoodie. "I'm going to drown in this."

His seniors were sprawled beautifully on the bed, heads lifting in sync at Akira's dramatic entrance. 

Daichi's eyes widened. He probably found it hilarious to see his pants hiked up to Akira's waist and what must have been Surya's largest hoodie waving in a fist. Or –wait, Daichi's gaze was on Akira's bare chest, which was glistening with water. Mortified, Akira slapped the hoodie over himself. 

Daichi laughed in his face. "You look ridiculous."

Akira ignored the sting of those words. 

"That's not my fault!" he hissed. "Don't you have anything smaller to wear?"

Surya gently shook his head, amused. "All my jackets and hoodies are that size. And it's too cold for you to wear anything lighter."

"Don't pretend to be worried about the cold. You didn't even give me a shirt to wear under this!" But Akira wiggled into the hoodie, sifting through an ungodly amount of material before his head popped up and he could breathe again. He miserably said, "I do look ridiculous."

"I like it," Daichi grinned. 

Surya at least swept to his feet to help Akira with the sleeves. Once he was done, he absently lifted one of Akira's wet locks of hair, twirling it gently around his finger. He nudged a surprised Akira to sit at his desk and took out a hairdryer. It blasted Akira in the face the instant he plugged it in, and Akira's face scrunched up, eyes watering. 

But as Surya worked his way carefully through Akira's hair, his touch was indescribably soft. His fingers glanced over the nape of Akira's neck, tangling in some locks, and Akira shivered, closing his eyes. It felt good. More than good. He ached to have a little more pressure from Surya's hands. 

"Your hair is long enough to braid," Daichi suddenly mused. 

Akira snapped out of his daze and found Daichi leaning his hip against the desk. He took in the crossed arms, and that heavy, quiet gaze and quickly ran his fingers through his own hair while jumping onto his feet. He felt like his face was burning.

"It's dry enough," he chirped. "Dinner time!"

Slowly, Surya returned the hairdryer to the drawer and grabbed one of his jackets to follow. They all bustled to the front door, slipping on their shoes and grabbing their phones. Daichi looped one of his scarves around Surya's head and earned a hip-check into the wall.

Akira could be pretty oblivious about most things, but he was not so blind that he missed Daichi and Surya's closeness. Their friendship was already the talk of the campus, since Daichi dominated the art department and Surya was, well, the Angel. Daichi was known to be rough around the edges, but he was also in high demand by sponsors and organisational recruiters. Both were Kaoru's stars, practically celebrities in their own fields, and they preferred spending time only in each other's company. 

There was nothing Akira could do to upset their balance. It likely meant very little to them to lend their clothes or allow someone to sleep on their couch after staying up late watching movies, but it meant the world to him. They were undeniably the kindest people he'd ever met, and he was so fortunate to be friends with them. 

"Let's go before I turn sixty!" Daichi pulled Akira after him and Surya with mock impatience.

"No way you'll live that long," Surya sighed. 

Daichi jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow, then fled ahead of them before he earned a smack.