Work Text:
Bokuto stands outside his front door, his hands firmly over Akaashi's eyes, wondering how he's going to unlock the door.
He frowns for the third time since he entered his building. He managed to get the front door open, and he did manage to get Akaashi up three flights of steps (which Bokuto called 'Bokuto-brand trust exercise initiation', and Akaashi called the last ten minutes of his life). But this is going to require a lot more work than yelling 'trust me' every three seconds and opening a door with his feet.
"Akaashi, can you reach into my pocket, pull out my keys, and unlock the door?" he asks.
Even without eyes, the look Akaashi throws over his shoulder is deadly. Bokuto feels a shiver run down his spine.
"I could just keep my eyes closed myself, Bokuto," Akaashi says dryly.
"But what if you peek!"
"Didn't we just do a, how did you phrase it? Bokuto-brand trust exercise initiation?"
He had called it that. Damn, Akaashi's good.
With a resigned sigh, Bokuto drops his hands. He reaches into his own pocket and gets out his own keys as Akaashi stands off to the side. Bokuto gives him a very hard look, pulling a few wild faces, just to ensure Akaashi's not looking. He fumbles over the right key, but before long the door swings open.
Akaashi lets Bokuto take his hand and is dutifully guided inside. He even manages to take off his shoes with his eyes squeezed shut (a feat that Bokuto struggles with when his eyes are open, but he won't admit that). It takes Bokuto three seconds to drop the keys on the counter and slide the door closed. He grabs Akaashi's hands a second time, and takes him all the way inside.
He gives Akaashi's hands a big squeeze as he stops, in the middle of the room, taking it in for just a moment. It had taken a solid day of scrubbing and another solid day of hauling furniture (and forcing Kuroo to come help), but the small apartment is his.
"Open them!" he shouts, and he swings Akaashi's hands and grins.
Hands swinging wildly, a tiny smirk starting to form on his lips, Akaashi opens his eyes. Bokuto stares at his long lashes as they blink rapidly in the light, seeing Akaashi's eyes shift from near-black to glowing-green as the light catches them. They glide over Bokuto's hair to the couch and TV behind him, to the small kitchenette, tidied, but with the cloths thrown on the counter, to the array of owl figurines stuck haphazardly on a bookshelf, to the half open door to his small, cluttered bedroom.
"You framed a picture of the team," Akaashi says, nodding towards the bookshelf. Bokuto glances over his shoulder, eyeing the frame, wondering how Akaashi picked it out around his three statues of snowy owls. "How long did it take you to clean this place?"
"Two days," Bokuto replies, tapping the backs of Akaashi's hands with his thumbs. "It's not the biggest apartment but I'm excited!! And it's five minutes from the train station, and school's twenty, so I'm so close and I can pick you up when you visit and-"
Akaashi stifles a laugh, finally pulling his hands away to cover his mouth. Bokuto flashes him his most charming smile. He leans in close, his cheek nearly touching Akaashi's hands.
"What do you think, Akaashi? Am I not the greatest adult you know?"
"Not by a long shot, Bokuto," Akaashi replies, shifting to shove Bokuto's face away. Bokuto pouts, squishing his cheek into the hand.
"You're supposed to be polite and agree with me. C'mon, Akaashiiiiiii, manners."
"Should you really be pouting into my hand when you say that?"
That makes Bokuto straighten and cough into his hand. Akaashi uses the time to start poking around, looking at the blanket Bokuto was napping under on the couch before he got Akaashi's text that he was at the train station, and the bowl by the sink from lunch.
"It is a very nice place, Bokuto. I hope the year goes well for you here."
Bokuto's heart swells and he feels tears prick the corners of his eyes. Akaashi rolls his eyes moments before Bokuto tackles him from behind, wailing loudly about how excited he is for university. Bokuto puts his face in the back of Akaashi's neck. He hangs there as Akaashi walks around the apartment, slowly, dragged down by Bokuto's weight and mutters about his amazing apartment.
Like friends do.
-
"Bokuto, can you look over this worksheet?" Akaashi asks, sliding his third math page across Bokuto's small table.
Bokuto stretches out his toes and sits up (from his position lying on the ground on his side and playing his 3DS). He gives the page a skim, and on the third question he pulls the pencil out from behind his ear and circles two sections of the equation. There's only one other mistake in question six (Akaashi's going to be pissed to see he dropped a negative sign) and then he slides it back. He lies down on his side, groaning, and reopens Animal Crossing.
Akaashi scowls as he starts to correct the questions, tapping the pencil against the table until he figures out the error (he expanded the bracket in the wrong line and moved a decimal). There's a few moments of the scraping erasing of the rest of the question, providing a soundtrack as Bokuto shows Rosie around his house.
"Hey, Bokuto," Akaashi calls. Bokuto rights himself again, rubbing the back of his neck, still watching Rosie leave his home. When he looks up, Akaashi gestures at the large stack of closed textbooks on the table. "Didn't you invite me over to study?"
"...Yes," Bokuto says, his smile tugging nervously across his face. It definitely worked as an excuse to get Akaashi over. He hasn't seen him in two weeks. He missed that deadpan face Akaashi gives him as he slowly figures out Bokuto's plans. He missed the way Akaashi pinches the bridge of his nose as he sighs.
He misses a lot of Akaashi's habits.
"Shouldn't you study then?" Akaashi's voice is cutting and familiar, and, just like old times, Bokuto winces.
"It's boooooring, Akaashi," he moans. He closes his 3DS and lies his face on the table. "I don't want to do a presentation."
"Then do some reviewing."
Bokuto blows air out from between his lips and frowns. "No."
"At least review your volleyball plays." Akaashi drops the notebook (covered in owl stickers and a giant 'Kuroo was here' in red sharpie) on top of Bokuto's face and goes back to fix question six.
It takes two and a half minutes of groaning for Bokuto to sit up, move the notebook, turn off his 3DS and crack open a textbook on macroeconomics. His eyes glaze over immediately, and he tries to move his eyes, but he feels heavy and a bit woozy. He stares blankly at the page, willing his mind to focus, hoping Akaashi doesn't look up. There's been a lot he hasn't studied. Maybe he should have gone with the volleyball plays instead.
Akaashi's foot slides under the table and prods his shin. Bokuto gives him a sad look. Akaashi's smiling. It's small and faint, his lips barely curling, but that's his smile. "Thanks for your help, Bokuto."
Akaashi helps him close the textbook and pull out the list of volleyball plays. It's moments before Bokuto's focusing, Akaashi's foot tapping his leg absently.
Bokuto's entire chest throbs.
-
Bokuto steps out of the washroom to be greeted by Akaashi and Kuroo facing him, their arms crossed on their chests, their eyes narrowed. Akaashi seems as serious as ever, and beneath Kuroo's smirk there's a hard edge. The atmosphere is thick, dark, and Bokuto shudders.
Two minutes ago they had been discussing volleyball as Bokuto balanced a pencil on his nose, and now, it seems, they've plotted his murder. He considers going back into the washroom, praying they didn't notice he'd returned. Considering how they're staring, though, he doesn't think it would quite work.
"Uh, hey guys," Bokuto says, bringing a hand up in a nervous wave. "Did, uh, something happen while I was pissing?"
Kuroo leans forward, sliding his hands to his hips. "This, Bokuto," he says, his voice cold, his eyes glinting, "is an intervention."
The grin that creeps across Kuroo's face is so dark that Bokuto turns on his heel and launches back towards the washroom. A hand clamps down on his shoulder, and it has to be Akaashi's, because he still manages to run a few steps (Kuroo is way heavier and strong enough to stop him). It's only another second before the fingers dig right between his bone and muscle and the sharp pain makes him stop with a yelp.
Akaashi tumbles into him, his momentum too great to stop. He rights himself even faster than Bokuto, and he doesn't let go until Bokuto starts turning back around.
"I told him not to be a drama queen about it, but he's a bad listener," Akaashi says. Kuroo shrugs his shoulders, meandering around the table covered in white boards and pencils and paper to lounge on the couch. He pats the space beside him, and slow step by slow step, Akaashi guarding his back, Bokuto shuffles his way across the floor and sits beside him heavily. Kuroo slides an arm around his shoulders as Akaashi traps him on the couch, sitting on his other side.
"Kuroo tells me you've been skipping some of your classes," Akaashi says. His green eyes are near-black in the light, and combined with his glare, it makes his whole face darken about ten notches.
"And Akaashi has been so kind to tell me that you've been having a lot of low spells lately," Kuroo chimes in, leaning his head against the side of Bokuto's. "You've been hiding that from me."
Bokuto decides it's the perfect time to examine his nails. Wow, were they always so short? He wonders if he should clean them up a bit. Nice nails for their next volleyball match. Coach even said he and Kuroo would get to play sooner than later if they kept up their work. Yup, his nails are fascinating.
"Bokuto," Akaashi's voice is not quite cutting, but not quite gentle. "You can talk to us."
"Gah, I thought you two wanted to talk about volleyball! Is this the only reason you both invited yourselves over?!" Bokuto huffs. He finds himself melting into the back of the couch, slipping down and away from Kuroo's arm as he closes his eyes. A knot begins to form in the pit of his stomach.
He has been skipping classes. Sitting in lecture makes his shoulders tense and his mind race and his hands jitter. His breaths come short and he has to shove his way out the moment class is dismissed in order not to faint, and after, splashing cold water on his face in the public washroom, he has no idea what happened in class. Opening the textbooks makes him feel nauseous and worried, and even something as small as opening his school email makes him unable to sleep for hours.
Bokuto loves learning. He was in the top four at his school (or, as Akaashi would say, not quite the top three), and he got into every university he applied to without hassle. He loves math and numbers and trying new things, and he's a quick study.
But he hates his program.
His parents insisted, over and over, that business was the best backup if something fails with volleyball, that he's guaranteed a job, that he'll grow to like money and figures. And he hasn't. He can't even do the simplest parts of his readings, and the classes and teachers and his peers feel so closed and unwelcoming. He cannot be a businessman. He just can't.
At some point he must have melted a bit too far down against the couch, as he finds his head practically on the seat cushion. He realizes his face is covered by his hands. He gives a sigh that rattles his tight chest and thin lips.
"I hate my program," he says. He makes a vague gesture with one of his hands before covering his face again. "I hate it."
A hand pats the top of his head, and he thinks it's Kuroo's, because the pats are a bit too hard and a bit too much like the beat of a rock song to be Akaashi.
"We can start looking at what you'd be more interested in," Kuroo tells him. "All of us. Promise, Bo."
"'Kay."
"You're not stuck forever in the thing your parents made you take, you know. It'll make you feel a lot better once you're somewhere you wanna be. It's fixable, Bo. I can talk to them with you, and so will Akaashi. They like us."
Bokuto nods again, feeling a joke about his parents' bad taste get choked out in his throat behind a sob. He feels his lip quiver and his chest tighten. His breathing is deep, then raspy, then shallow, and then he's biting his lip to hold back tears. He mumbles an apology (or what he hopes is an apology) and scrunches his face as tight as it goes.
There are hands on his hands, gentle and light, and over the course of the next minute they slowly uncover his face. Bokuto blinks his eyes open, feeling sore everywhere, and he sees Akaashi guide his hands into his lap. He cradles them in his own. He gives them a squeeze and rubs circles on the back of his palms.
Bokuto tries to sit up, but only makes it half way before the tears come. Big dollops running down his cheeks, wet and warm, and no matter how much he blinks, they don't stop. His breath hitches and his mouth tastes salt and he wants to bring his hands up to stop them, but they're still in Akaashi's, and-
Akaashi's hands aren't there. Instead, they're around his neck, guiding Bokuto's head against his shoulder. Kuroo leans against his back, head smushed into Bokuto's neck. Akaashi whispers something in his ear, but Bokuto can't quite make it out over his chocked sobs. But Akaashi keeps at it, keeps close, and even when Kuroo backs off, he rubs circles into the small of Bokuto's back and up to his neck.
Like friends do. He thinks.
-
"You should have told me you had practice this morning before inviting me over," Akaashi drones, his voice so flat, so monotone, Bokuto gets a shiver up his spine in the morning air. "You told me you were free and wanted me to go to the gym with you. I didn't think you meant that kind of gym."
"Well, I thought I was free..." Bokuto mumbles. "I'm just a bit forgetful! This is out first weekend practice in the morning!"
Akaashi's sigh shakes the trees on campus with its weight. Or, at least, Bokuto thinks they shuddered just as much as he did. "Bokuto, if Kuroo hadn't texted you, you would have been in a ton of trouble, you know?"
"Well that's what friends are for, Akaashi! Getting you out of trouble!"
The look on Akaashi's face speaks wonders about how much he regrets having to be one of the people getting Bokuto out of trouble. Instead of replying, Bokuto slings his arm over his shoulder and grins.
"C'mon, Akaashi, lighten up!!"
"You're a lot more chipper since you changed programs."
Bokuto bonks their heads together and laughs. He is feeling better, immeasurably better, and he knows he wouldn't have even made it to this practice if he hadn't switched programs. If Kuroo and Akaashi hadn't helped him pick. "Coach won't mind if you watch practice, and besides, after that we can go to the actual gym! It'll only be a few hours."
"When have you ever left a practice on time?" Akaashi grumbles, but he shifts his gym bag on his shoulder and keeps walking (even if he walks out of Bokuto's arm) and Bokuto knows he won't stay angry.
When they reach the gym, he gestures for Akaashi to wait by the door as he dodges around the upper years grinning at him for just squeaking in on time, Kuroo's smirky grin as he does his warm up stretches, and his Captain's big, chest rattling laugh as he points at a pretend watch on his wrist. Bokuto sticks out his tongue and quickly drops his face back to his regular, charming smile as he approaches the Coach.
Coach Matsumoto commands the gym atmosphere with his booming voice and quiet observations. He stands an inch taller than Bokuto, his black hair graying at the temples, but no less knowledgeable at volleyball than when he'd played for the National team. Bokuto may have chosen this school because of him.
"Hey Coach!" he greets.
"Bokuto, you showed up," Coach says, his voice dry. His eyes slide over Bokuto's head. A sly grin spreads on his face, as his eyes sparkle in a way that reminds Bokuto way too much of Kuroo's expressions. "And you brought someone! Was that what kept you for so long?"
Bokuto blinks for a moment, glancing over his shoulder. Akaashi's standing with his bag on the floor, observing the team doing their stretches and the few who've started running serving drills. Why would Akaashi have made him late? Coach knows he's the excitable, distracted one, and what did he mean by 'that' and that smile of his just keeps growing and oh my god does he think they're-.
Bokuto feels heat rise to his cheeks and he waves his hands frantically in front of his body. "It's not like that! He's just my friend! He, um, he's the Captain of my highschool team!! Nothing else!!"
Bokuto takes a deep breath as his Coach laughs. Bokuto looks around the gym to try and focus himself (glancing at the Captain laughing, a few upper years smirking at him, and Kuroo, oddly somber). "He was visiting and I may have forgotten about this practice a little and been taking him to the gym, so is it okay if he stays and watches?"
Coach taps his chin. "You said he's your old school's captain now, right? What position does he play?"
"Akaashi? He's a setter! And he's really good! He's quick and he's clever and he works well with-"
"Perfect. Our second setter's out today. Food poisoning. Terrible thing. I wanted to split you into two teams and run a practice match. I figured I'd just have to hold off for now, but..." Coach gazes over Bokuto's head, and Bokuto starts jittering with excitement. "Can he set for us?"
"Oh, my god, yes!!" Bokuto yells. Coach raises an eyebrow, but Bokuto's already spun on his heel. He skids as he runs, catching himself on his fingers and knee before crashing to the ground. It's a scramble to his feet as he dashes the rest of the distance to Akaashi, who's already staring at Bokuto's knee in search of an injury.
"You need to put your kneepads on, Bokuto, before you-"
"Shhh!!" Bokuto clamps a hand over Akaashi's mouth, meeting the point-blank range deadly glare with a huge grin. He brings his face in close enough to see the flicker of Akaashi's lashes as he lowers his eyebrows. He grins enough for both of them. "Coach wants you to practice with us because our backup setter's sick! I'll grab you some padding and you can change your shoes and warm up and set for me! You've got gym clothes on already!! So it's perfect!"
Bokuto moves his hand away and Akaashi's eyes flash with confusion and what Bokuto would think is panic, except Akaashi wouldn't panic over something like this. Or, maybe he would, because he grabs Bokuto's shirt by the collar and yanks it down until they're more or less on eye level.
"Did you volunteer me for this without even asking?" Akaashi hisses. Bokuto nods, absently, staring at the way Akaashi's lashes emphasize his eyes when he's pissed and the curve of his jaw as he scowls. "This is your university level team, and your coach has played internationally for Japan! I'm still in highschool! Just because you can't take me to the gym doesn't mean this is how you should make it up to me!"
Bokuto shifts his grin, ear to ear, the same sly way he's seen Kuroo do when he knows he can trap his prey in a heartbeat. "I wouldn't have told Coach you could do it if I didn't believe you could! It'll be a great learning experience."
And there it is. The shift of Akaashi's weight from one foot to the other. The elongated sigh. The slow blink followed by a hard look under half closed eyes. Akaashi's in. He opens his mouth, and Bokuto begins rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
"...You really missed me setting for you, didn't you?"
Bokuto blinks. Akaashi shoves him to the side as he crosses the gym, making his way to Coach Matsumoto to introduce himself (and from his expression and subsequent bow, apologize for Bokuto's behaviour). Bokuto stares, dazed, feeling a creeping up his spine that makes him wonder how much he misses Akaashi's sets after all. A volleyball lands five inches to his right and he yelps, glancing about until he sees Kuroo looking all innocent on the other side of the gym. He dashes off to get in his own stretches and serves before the practice match. He remembers his kneepads.
Fifteen minutes later, Bokuto is ready. And so is Akaashi.
He's never thought of Akaashi as small, especially now that he's hit six feet tall, but standing in between Bokuto and Kaname, he looks... young. His jaw is rounder, his stance a little less perfect. His nerves a bit more obvious. He might only be a year younger than Bokuto, but he's four years younger than the Captain and half the other players in the first string.
The whistle blows, and Bokuto shoves his thinking aside to focus on the game. A fast jump serve by the other team, but from the angle Bokuto knows Kuroo will receive it. And he does, though a bit off the mark.
"Sorry!" he calls. "Cover it!"
Akaashi's moving before the sentence finishes sounding through the air. Bokuto starts his run to the net, anxious, excited. He hasn't played with Akaashi in months and months and now he's finally getting a toss and two blockers rush to cover him and- and is Akaashi doing a jump set right now?!
The seconds take hours to pass by. Akaashi doesn't toss to Bokuto, and the two blockers, committed to a jump, have their eyes slide over at the same time his do, as they share the feeling of having called Akaashi's plan wrong. Akaashi also doesn't toss to Kaname, though Kaname barely has time to process that information.
Instead, he dumps the ball, himself, left handed, across the court and past the libero. It lands just inside the line.
Akaashi lands, a bit unsteady, but his eyes are blazing and his smirk is fierce as Coach, a few seconds delayed, whistles the point in. Silence fills the air for seconds stretching into moments until Bokuto and the rest of the team cheer. Bokuto clamps his hands down so hard on Akaashi's shoulders they both know it'll bruise and he grins inches away from Akaashi's face.
"Nice nice nice Akaashi!!! When'd you learn that? You just jumped and set it!! You never told me you could do that!"
Akaashi doesn't have a chance to reply as play is whistled back in, but there's that fire in his eyes that Bokuto relies on, and the first string on the other side of the net seems to see it too. Knuckles crack. Feet shift. The Captain looks about ready to reach across the neck and throttle someone for losing the first point to a dump shot from a highschooler.
The second serve snaps Bokuto back to attention. So does the third.
It's two rallies later that Bokuto finally gets to hit one of Akaashi's sets. He's marked by all three blockers, but Akaashi still knows just how far from the net he likes the ball (a bit closer than most, just in case he can get an inside shot, just in case he wants to pull a feint, that little extra spin he can work with to send it flying into the rafters). He blows past them, the spike hammering through the Vice Captain's fingers, and though they get the ball in the air again, it doesn't make it over the net.
There's a chorus of nice plays, but Bokuto turns to Akaashi, looks only to Akaashi, who's watching him smile and nod like they're both back at Fukurodani and nothing's changed, but something has changed and Bokuto's impressed at just how good Akaashi's plays have gotten. He's quicker on his feet, and he works with the university team like he's fit to be their second setter this entire time. Akaashi's blocks are stronger, his instructions clearer, the nervousness that made him an outlier at the start of the match completely vanished by the time they reach six points. He chats with Kuroo and Kaname and the other members and listens to their advice, adjusting his sets to match their preferences.
Bokuto has never been more pleased in his life, even when they lose by four points. Akaashi's amazing. He's grown up. He-
Coach catches Bokuto's eye and gestures him forward, and he ducks around Kuroo (who's congratulating Akaashi by trapping him in a headlock) to see him. There's a contemplative look in the Coach's eyes, and he taps his chin like he does as he studies another team's plays, or when he's about to correct something wrong in their lineup or rotation. There's a very long moment of silence, which Bokuto uses to stretch his arms and shake out his hands. He wishes he'd grabbed his water bottle before coming over.
"He's good," Coach says, and Bokuto follows his gaze to where the Captain is shaking Akaashi's hand way too enthusiastically. "Really good. Still got room for improvement, especially his jump serves. Fairly weak, not that controlled. His form and reaction time are impressive for a highschooler, though, and he sure works well with you." Another deep breath comes from the Coach, and at the end he tilts his head to Bokuto.
"Don't you dare let him go to another school, Bokuto. This time next year, I want him on my team, and I'm going to whip him into shape like I'm doing for you. Don't you dare let him go elsewhere."
There's ice cold steel in Coach's eyes, but Bokuto only feels a grin spread across his face. He gives a nod that turns into three nods, then eight. Coach waves him away with a hand and Bokuto runs back to Akaashi, his chest full and swelling and his mouth giddy with laughs.
He shoves through the circle forming around Akaashi and picks him up by the waist from behind. The team and Akaashi's protests, shouts of 'Put me down' and 'You're making a scene' and 'We lost, Bokuto'. Bokuto presses his face in the spot between Akaashis shoulder and spins him twice before finally dropping him back on his feet.
"Aren't you glad I forgot now?" he asks.
Bokuto can't wait to see that scowl and withering look again, every practice. Because even if the Coach has never asked, he would have made sure Akaashi came to this school next year.
-
There are a lot of mistakes on Akaashi's worksheet today.
Bokuto circles three spots alone on the first question. He pauses to skim the rest of the sheet. Akaashi's making mistakes in places he shouldn't be, dropping signs, moving numbers around at random. Some are mistakes Bokuto knows Akaashi has never made before in his life.
Of course, Akaashi's also sitting across from him with dark circles under his eyes, his hands shaking as he holds his pencil, and his shoulders so straight and tense Bokuto checked for a metal rod there when he came in. But nothing Bokuto says or subtly prods about has revealed what's stressing Akaashi out so much. It's making Bokuto jittery.
"Akaashi, you'll wanna read this all over again, okay?" he says, sliding the paper back. "If you need a break, you should take one. You're not gonna get any better if you just keep forcing yourself to work!"
Akaashi's sigh comes out through his nose, but he doesn't retort, which is another red flag. Bokuto slides his foot under the table to tap Akaashi's leg, but the mop of black curls (messier than usual) doesn't look up at him from the worksheet. He just starts erasing and correcting his math, silent, his shaking hands adding extra lines on the paper and dropping the eraser with a thud before he means to.
It becomes very hard for Bokuto to focus on his own books (and this is the first time he's struggled to focus since he's switched into a sciences program). Every other word he reads, he stops to look up at Akaashi, who's bent over another inch since the last glance. In a paragraph, his head is so close to the table Bokuto wonders if he's fallen asleep, except for the near constant scratching of the pencil. The sight makes Bokuto flinch, and he drills his fingers on the desk, hovering his hand over Akaashi's shoulders. He draws back before he touches them.
He's not good at this.
The next time Akaashi offers the worksheet, there's not a single mistake, but worry seeps into Bokuto's mind and heart with each question anyway. The lump forms in his throat, and it reminds him of sitting on the couch, his hands in Akaashi's, as Kuroo reads off programs for him to change into. He wants to do the same for Akaashi. The worry sits hard on his chest, and presses his lungs, and his breaths come out short.
He hands the paper back, and though he asks another question with his eyes, it's lost when Akaashi doesn't meet them. As he tries to pull the paper away, Bokuto switches his grip, and grabs Akaashi's wrist.
"Something's wrong," he says, forcing the words out beyond the worry and through his teeth. "Akaashi, I can tell something's up, but you've gotta talk to me about what it is."
"There's nothing wrong," Akaashi says. He holds in a yawn. He tugs the worksheet again. "Please let me get back to studying."
"Something's wrong! C'mon, Akaashi, I know you better than that. You can tell me."
"...I don't want to talk about it," Akaashi mutters, staring over his shoulder. It's the closest thing Bokuto's gotten to an admission in two hours, and he leans forward with the intention of cupping Akaashi's cheek. Akaashi seems to notice, and pulls his head back, but not far enough to be out of reach. Bokuto hesitates. Akaashi twists his hands together, and even before he speaks, Bokuto knows what he's about to say.
"Please just drop it, Bokuto."
It takes every ounce of willpower, every fiber of his being, for Bokuto to pull back his arm. But he can't tear his eyes away, even as his heart sinks in his chest, even as something cold grips the back of his mind. He finds he wants to hug Akaashi, or yell at him, or throw the table and storm out of the room, or lie on the couch sadly until Akaashi looks at him again.
He doesn't do any of that. He tries not to let the compounding worry choke him as he sits, silent, across the table, not even bothering to try and do his own work anymore. He doesn't know how to make Akaashi tell him what's wrong. He doesn't know how to help. He blinks back tears and chokes back questions and grips the edge of the table until his fingertips bruise.
-
The call comes three minutes before midnight as Bokuto sits at a party, beer in one hand, Kuroo by his side, with LMFAO's 'Shots' blaring in the background. He shuffles the vibrating phone out of his pocket, wondering who on earth could be calling him who isn't already here.
"Bo, aren't you gonna dance? It's your song," Kuroo shouts in his ear. Bokuto flashes the phone at him, and then checks the caller ID himself.
Akaashi, of all people. Bokuto shuffles his way towards the door, picking up the phone on what must be the eighth ring just as he slips outside. The difference in volume is astounding, so much that when he raises his phone to his ear, he still yells into it.
"What's up Akaashi!" he shouts, and at the silence at the other end, he wonders if he missed the call or it dropped. He pulls back the phone. Still connected. Back to his ear, and this time, a normal, level voice. He probably just injured Akaashi's ear, is all. "Helloooooo?"
The only thing he can hear is some kind of shuffling noise, and Bokuto's about to shrug it off as a pocket dial when Akaashi speaks. "Are you... busy, Bokuto?"
There's a catch in his voice at the end of the sentence. Oh, no. Bokuto prays he misheard, that his ears are still ringing from the great party music, or that he's more buzzed than he should be after half a beer. "Not really, I mean nothing I can't leave. Is something up?"
Another long pause. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's just one of those late night weird questions, maybe he just watched a sad movie, maybe-
"I need you. Your help. Can you pick... pick me up at the station?" Akaashi's words come out fumbled and rushed and heavy and very unlike how Akaashi speaks. The world around Bokuto's feet drops two meters straight down and drags the pit of his stomach with it.
"I'll be there in ten minutes. Wait for me. Don't go anywhere," Bokuto instructs. He slams the end call button and rushes his way back inside, his feet frantic and his eyes wide. It takes him half a minute to ditch his beer and find Kuroo in the mass of dancing bodies. He catches Kuroo's eye and gives one (desperate) look, and that's all it takes for Kuroo's face to harden up. He follows Bokuto as he shoves his way back through the front door, his chest feeling tight and his head swimming.
Outside, he takes a deep breath, taking in the silence and fresh air (and it does nothing to calm him down and he feels choked and nervous). He gives Kuroo a nod, and when he gets one back, he rolls onto the balls of his feet and launches at a full tilt run. Kuroo paces him, and his eyes slide over, silent and questioning.
"I think something's wrong with Akaashi," Bokuto says, hissing words between breaths. He spins around a corner, skidding almost into the road before he corrects himself. He tries to focus on the road, the curb, but his mind keeps flirting back to those mistakes in Akaashi's speech, that tiny catch in his voice. "Well, I mean, I know something's wrong, but this is even worse. He sounded bad. Really bad. And he's here awful late and he'd never call me and ask that if it wasn't serious and..."
"Where is he?" Kuroo interrupts. "Apartment?"
"Station. He asked me to get him. If something's really wrong..."
Kuroo nods. Bokuto feels his guts twist again, even as he rounds another turn. Five more minutes from the station. If something terrible's happened, if Akaashi's hurt, what's he gonna do? Can he look after him? He doesn't even know where the nearest hospital is. His hands clench into tight fists as he pumps them at his sides. What if it's about whatever he's been keeping secret? What if someone's died? Bokuto's mind races as his feet slam and he tries to sort through what he can do for each situation, but he-
He sees Akaashi the moment he takes the final turn. He knows that mop of dark curls, the giant scarf, that hunch in the shoulders when he sits. That little way Akaashi tries to hide his face when he's expressing too much emotion. He'd know it all from miles away, and from the short gap left, it's even easier. But Akaashi seems too tense, too huddled in himself, too small. There's a dufflebag beside him, lumpy and large and clearly mishandled.
Bokuto's heart clenches so much he stops breathing.
He doesn't register the remaining steps between him and Akaashi. He only half hears his feet slamming on the pavement and Kuroo yelling for him to wait up. Nothing matters because Akaashi's in front of him, Akaashi's looking up at him with wide eyes, bloodshot eyes, puffy and swollen and teary.
At the same time Bokuto throws open his arms, Akaashi jolts to his feet. It's a long, empty second, taking in Akaashi's dishevelled clothes, his mess of hair, his blotchy cheeks. And then Akaashi's pressing his face into Bokuto's shoulder, his arms grabbing fistfuls of Bokuto's shirt, his body trembling and shaking and his knees half giving out. Bokuto hugs him close, holds him up, presses his head into the side of Akaashi's. His chest aches and burns and heaves from the run as he pulls Akaashi as close as he can.
"Mmso sorry," Akaashi mumbles. He lets out a choked sob, his nails digging into Bokuto's muscles through the fabric of his shirt. Bokuto feels him shift his head, feels the extra shake in his shoulders as Akaashi tries very hard to remain silent as he cries.
"I've got you," he whispers, feeling his shoulder get wet and his heart pound into his ribs. "It's okay now. I got you."
Bokuto rubs his cheek against Akaashi's hair and rubs his fingers in circles on the small of Akaashi's back. He sways, back and forth, slow and steady. Every time Akaashi tightens his grip, Bokuto tightens his. Kuroo hovers behind them, glaring at the stragglers at the station who look their way.
It's ten minutes before Akaashi loosens his grip, shrugging his shoulders loose of Bokuto as he straightens. Bokuto lets his arms slip down around Akaashi's waist, but he doesn't step back or let go. Even in the low light of the station, it's easy to make out Akaashi's red nose, his dark circles under near-black, still watery eyes, his cheeks streaked and tear stained and flushed. He gives an undignified sniffle before he uses his sleeve to wipe his face.
Kuroo thrusts his hand between their bodies and offers Akaashi a tissue. Akaashi takes it and finally shuffles his way out of Bokuto's arms, turning to blow his nose (once, twice, three times). Bokuto glances over at Kuroo, who's hefted Akaashi's bag onto his shoulders. He gives the same wide eyed, 'what the hell' look that Bokuto feels, and nods in the general direction of Bokutos' apartment.
Squaring his shoulders and trying to keep his own heart rate down, Bokuto faces Akaashi again. This time, Akaashi's shoulders are up to his ears, and his flush is very definitely from embarrassment. He sniffles, his breathing catches, and he chokes down the occasional hiccup. His face is a little cleaner, a little less blotchy, but his shoulders shake too much.
Fuck it. Bokuto's carrying him.
He turns his back and crouches, and he only has to wait through one of Kuroo's snort laughs and one of Akaashi's sighs (resigned, which is far more worrying than impatient or annoyed) before he feels Akaashi slide his arms around his neck. With practiced ease, he hooks his arms into the spots behind Akaashi's knees in the same motion he gets to his feet. Akaashi places his head into Bokuto's shoulder and doesn't budge.
"Sorry," he mumbles again.
Bokuto shushes him and nudges the side of Akaashi's head with his own before he glances back at Kuroo. The other man shrugs his one shoulder, slides his hands behind his head, and starts walking. Their pace is slow, slower than Bokuto wants (because running as fast as humanly possible with Akaashi on his back is probably a bad idea). Kuroo whistles as they go, occasionally giving Akaashi's shoulder a pat and earn a small mumbled grunt of a thank you.
The walk, other than the whistling, is dead silent. Even as Bokuto starts up the three flights of stairs, he hesitates on calling it Round 2 of Bokuto-brand trust exercises, because Akaashi's arms are that extra bit too tight around his neck and his face a little too flat against his shoulder.
Bokuto encounters the same problem as his last exercise at the end of the stairs, as his hands are occupied and the keys are stuffed into his pocket. He gives Kuroo a pleading look, and only has to suffer one wink when Kuroo pulls them out of his pocket and gets the door open.
It's only when the door closes behind them again that Akaashi stirs, pushing his face off and blinking with the dazed expression of someone waking from slumber. Bokuto squats, gently putting him down, watching as Akaashi simply heads straight for the washroom and closes the door behind him without a look behind him.
When the door clinks shut, Kuroo and Bokuto both whip around to face each other at the same time. Kuroo puts his face two inches away from Bokuto's, his eyes creased with the same worry that Bokuto feels from his toes to his ears. They both open their mouths in silent screams. Kuroo looks over Bokuto's head at the washroom, and Bokuto nods frantically in reply. He, in turn spreads his arms open and wide, and Kuroo rubs his temples with the force of one of his spikes.
"What the hell, what the hell man?" Kuroo hisses. "Have you ever seen him cry before? I thought he couldn't!"
"No!! I've seen him faceplant into a wooden bench, full tilt, and get up like nothing happened gushing blood from his nose. He laughed at Mufasa's death," Bokuto whispers in return, flicking his eyes between the washroom door and Kuroo's face. "I've never seen him like this. I told you he was acting funny lately."
"I didn't need proof to believe it, Bo."
"Well I didn't either!!" Bokuto shuffles on his feet, stifling a groan as he rakes a hand through his hair. The damp patch on his shirt sticks and shifts on his skin.
Kuroo sighs, running a hand through his own hair as he slugs the duffle onto the ground. "What're we gonna do?"
"I don't know! I want him to sleep 'cause it looks like he hasn't in days, but I wanna know what's bothering him in case it's... gah. He won't tell me what's wrong, see, and I keep asking but he-"
"I will."
Bokuto and Kuroo turn at the same moment, crashing their temples together and sending them both reeling to the sides, clutching their heads. Bokuto rights himself first, scowling. Akaashi stands (or hovers) in the frame of the washroom, the edges of his hair damp and his face cleaner, but his eyes no less puffy. His fingers have twisted into each other.
"I'll... tell you what's going on. It's only fair," Akaashi says, his voice the clearest it's been since the phone call. He takes a few steps towards them, but doesn't come too close. He shuffles on his feet, rubs his arm, and stares at the floor. Bokuto crosses the remaining few steps, reaching forward to cupping Akaashi's cheek, just enough to be able to turn his head towards-
Kuroo clears his throat. Bokuto drops his hand to his side quick enough to break the sound barrier.
"I think I should be heading off," he says. Bokuto and Akaashi blink at the same time.
"You can stay over," Bokuto says at the same time Akaashi starts a "You're my friend too, Kuroo", but Kuroo holds up a hand for silence.
"I can tell this is gonna be hard enough for you to tell Bo, let alone both of us. You're a pretty easy read, Akaashi. I think you'd prefer to tell him one on one. He can fill me in later, if that's alright with you?"
A nod from Akaashi, his eyes narrowing.
Kuroo grins. "'Sides, three's a crowd, and all that. And you two are..." He makes a vague, floaty, meaningless gesture with his hand before he crosses two fingers with a smirk. "You know. So consider this my next act of kindness."
Akaashi stiffens and a dark look passes over his face. Bokuto feels his jaw drop and some strangled noise emerges from his throat unprompted. "Kuroo! We aren't dating!! You know that!!"
Kuroo rolls his eyes and huffs something that Bokuto thinks might be 'dammit', but he's getting an over the shoulder wave before his brain can process the words. The door closes with a thud and Bokuto slides over to lock it. He takes two heartbeats to breath in, out, and let his guts unclench a bit. He flexes his hands. He turns on his heel, crosses the room, and when he's close enough he pulls Akaashi into another hug.
When Akaashi relaxes, shifts that tiny big against him, Bokuto moves his arms, crouches a bit, and scoops Akaashi off the floor.
This earns him a choked noise, a flailing arm that almost smacks him in the side of the head, and Akaashi's protests the entire walk to the bedroom. Bokuto dumps him, very unceremoniously, onto the bed, and wrinkles his nose when Akaashi moves to slide off. Once it's clear Akaashi will stay put, he takes a moment to take off his wet shirt, launch it at the laundry hamper (and miss) and pull on what he hopes is a clean one off the floor.
Akaashi's crossed his legs under him by the time Bokuto finishes. He sits across from Akaashi and waits. And waits. Akaashi shifts, playing with the sheets one moment, staring at the wall the next. Bokuto stretches his toes out to prod his leg after three minutes, which earns him a sigh and a deep breath.
"My parents want me to drop volleyball after the Interhigh," he says. His voice is low, and the shakiness has returned to his shoulders. "Actually, they've wanted me to drop it all year, but since I'm Captain they knew they had to wait. Mom doesn't think I'm doing well enough in school to continue a club. She says I'm 'throwing my life away' and I 'won't accomplish anything' by playing. I'm third in my class and it's not good enough for her."
He clenches the sheets in his hands and Bokuto shuffles forward to cover them with his own. Akaashi glares at the wall as he continues. "She and Dad think I'm not studying enough, so I stay up later after practice to make them 'happy', but then I'm so stressed I can't sleep." He scowls, and gives a forced laugh bitter enough to make Bokuto flinch. "So of course on the last round of tests I didn't do as well, and they're blaming the extra volleyball practices, and they won't listen to me when I say it's not that. I want to be good at volleyball. I am good at it. I want to keep playing. But they won't listen however much I insist, and I keep trying and trying, and we got into a huge fight about it, and..."
"...you came here," Bokuto finishes. Akaashi nods. Bokuto opens his arms up. Akaashi doesn't hesitate before he moves onto Bokuto's lap (and Bokuto would usually make a joke, but he bites his tongue). Akaashi's breaths get louder as he rests there, heaving and uneven. Bokuto rubs his back, puts his head on Akaashi's, calms his own heart and breathing so Akaashi has something to try and match. He wonders if he should have just kept the already damp shirt on, instead of changing.
"I'm glad you came to me, Akaashi," he keeps his voice low. "Thank you for telling me. I'll help. Let me talk to them with you. We'll go tomorrow and chat, alright?"
A nod.
"You know, Coach said he wants you for our team. And I can tell that to them better than you can. And if things get bad, or they don't listen, or this happens again, you can come stay with me, alright? You're smart and you're hardworking and they're wrong to force you. So I'm here."
He gets a sob in reply.
From then on out, Bokuto focuses on talking about the party in a low, quiet voice. He rubs Akaashi's back, shoulders, neck. Akaashi leans heavily on him, shifting occasionally, his crying tapering off into silence with the occasional nod or noise at the right parts of Bokuto's stories. After a time, these small sounds trail into mumbles and come less frequently, and Bokuto drops his voice quieter and quieter to adjust.
Before Akaashi completely falls asleep, Bokuto leans forward just enough to snag the spare key to the apartment off his bedside table. He curls Akaashi's fingers around it. Akaashi mumbles something of a protest, something of a sniffle, but Bokuto holds his hand closed and lets Akaashi shift his head until he's ready to sleep again.
"Just in case it happens again and I'm not here," Bokuto whispers. "It's your home too, y'know."
Akaashi takes the key and curls his other hand into Bokuto's shirt and nods, once. Bokuto threads his free hand in dark curls and listens to Akaashi's breaths slow down. He feels his chest tighten and his heart begin to pound and he takes a deep, gasping, shaking breath of his own. He holds Akaashi closer, tighter, keeping his face against his hair and blinking back tears.
He isn't sure if friends do this. But he's not about to stop.
-
It's the first practice match that Bokuto's played against his old team, and standing on the court, waiting for the first set, he's buzzing with excitement. Getting to play against Fukurodani was one of those unexpected, happy consequences of dragging Akaashi in to set for them. Their coaches had actually talked, thanks to Akaashi's words and his skill (and apparently not because of Bokuto's constant bragging about his high school). So long as it worked out, he didn't mind it wasn't because of him.
He's also excited Coach let him join the first string just last week. It's his first time back to the school as an opponent, his first chance to see how the second years and first years under his wing had changed and grown, and his first time playing a real match (or as real as possible) with the Captain and Vice Captain and Kuroo.
But the best part is that it's the first time he gets to play a match against Captain Akaashi.
He's seen the team play before, without him, and he knows they're good. But the feeling in the air is different when he knows that he's going to be the one blocking those spikes, that he's going to be reacting to Akaashi's plays and leadership. There's also the large, warm, bubbly feeling in the pit of his stomach seeing Akaashi standing across the net in the first place. That Akaashi still hasn't given up. That, for now, Bokuto's ten minute speech (with props) on Akaashi's amazing talent, intelligence, and dedication actually made his parents back off for a few weeks, at the very least. Bokuto knows they still argue about it, but seeing Akaashi on court, seeing the blaze in his green eyes, makes him just want to go back and say it over and over again.
The whistle blows. Fukurodani's serve.
And they're good. Akaashi hasn't let anyone slack off, hasn't let anyone settle in their spot or get comfortable or lazy. They focus on read blocking, their spikes hard and sneaky, switching from crosses to straights at the turn of a dime. The plays are closer to how Akaashi thinks, and plays, and it's a good shift. It's Akaashi's team now.
Bokuto's going to crush them.
He plays hard and fast, never flinching back, never hesitating to cheer after a point or boast across the net, even if Akaashi never falls for his goading. He aims his serves in the weakest places in their defenses, and he delights in their anger when Kuroo snags the extra ball, when they get the ball over, when he slams the ball into their hands for one more try at a point.
The score's 20-18 for Bokuto's team when it happens. Instead of sending the ball to Akaashi, Fukurodani's new libero sends the ball towards one of their new wing spikers. Bokuto watches the remaining members of the team as they run into a synchronized attack.
Akaashi runs up along with the rest of the spikers, and Bokuto knows then what's going to happen. He knows Akaashi. He would never be able to resist trying to score on him, in front of his new team, during his first match. Try and break his mood. Bokuto feels himself grin, even as he marks Akaashi, even as he jumps to block him and stares down Akaashi in the air, over the net. Even as Kaname joins him. Akaashi brings his hand back, perfect form, full force, taking in the wall.
He grins. Then tips it in just to Bokuto's right.
Bokuto lunges with his arm, then his foot, but both miss and he crashes on the ground seconds after the ball hits (and it isn't even out of bounds). He pries his face off the floor in record time as he stares up. Akaashi's landing is perfect, his head haloed by the florescent lights, his eyes shadowed and his forehead sweaty and his smirk the same smirk Bokuto's seen a thousand times before to his left or right or behind him after a play.
It's different on the floor on the other side of the net. Bokuto feels his heart pound into his rib cage, finds he can't get up or tear his eyes away. He feels warm, from his chest to his fingers, and the sensation hardens in his limbs as he clenches his fist against the linoleum. He wants to hug Akaashi. He wants to crush him into the dust. He wants to get up and demand what Akaashi is thinking, using his own secret technique against him, and how he'd know Bokuto would fall for it.
Oh, he is so getting Akaashi for all this.
The smirk fades the longer Bokuto stares, and Akaashi's brows furrow and he frowns and a hint of worry forms in the corners of his eyes. "Are you hurt, Bokuto?" he asks. "Can you get up?"
It suddenly occurs to Bokuto he has spent a fair bit of time staring, on the floor, holding up play. He scrambles to his feet, dusting off his shorts, as two collective teams of people try to roll their eyes without him noticing. "Hey!! C'mon guys, I just zoned out a little bit! Stop that!"
He glances back at Akaashi, who's turned a bit to the side and is whispering something to his new spiker. Bokuto feels his cheeks burn a little as he positions himself again. He's going to take that point back right under Akaashi's nose, and show everyone he wasn't staring. Not like that.
As soon as he wins the match, he's giving Akaashi the noogie of a lifetime for not telling him he'd been practicing spikes like that.
The whistle blows.
-
Bokuto is half through his reading when he hears a strange, banging noise. He listens, wondering if the thunderstorm outside is responsible. Then he hears it again, and a second later, he hears the sound of a door jiggling. His door. Silence falls. He listens, waiting, his shoulders tense. After a few seconds he begins to let out a sigh.
It jiggles a second time and he swallows the rest of the sigh in his mouth. The door swings open with a slam into the wall. Bokuto stiffens. His eyes go wide. Oh, god, he's being robbed. Oh, shit, god, he has an exam next week and now he's going to die, someone's probably going to kill him and steal all his owls and they'll never find his body.
No, he won't go down like this. He jumps up with a yell. He grabs the book and ducks around the corner into the foyer, his socks skidding. He lobs the book with all his strength towards the door, and as it slips through his fingers, he takes in the scene at the end of the hall.
It's one of the few times in his life, outside volleyball, Bokuto gets to see life in slow motion.
Akaashi, frozen in the doorframe, a bag in hand, one shoe already off. His scarf askew, his hair ruffled from a hat, soaked through and stuffed in his pocket, his coat damp with rain. His face morphing from terror to that silent acceptance he gets when Bokuto drops his ice cream or makes a terrible joke or walks into a lamppost. The face he makes when facing the inevitable, terrible end of the situation.
Two blinks later, Akaashi dodges, rolling on his socked foot back outside the door. The book slams into his arm instead of his chest and he grunts. Bokuto hears him yell, too, and then realizes that Akaashi's outside and his mouth is a tight line and he might have been the one to scream.
"Sorry!! Oh my god, I thought I was being robbed!!" Bokuto stammers. He rushes to the end of the hall, arriving just as Akaashi steps back inside. His eyes are dark, full of thunder and lightning, glints of green in a black pool, rain clinging at the ends of his lashes like dew. His hair is plastered to his forehead in dark, wet lines. His silence is louder than the storm outside. He dumps the bag on the floor, kicks the fallen book down the hall, and yanks his keys (the spare key that Bokuto made a huge point of giving him) out of the door.
If looks could kill, Bokuto would be so dead. He might still be dead. He recoils, taking three steps back down the hall. He slams his hands together and bows low enough his back protests the movement.
"Akaashiiiii you know I didn't mean it!! I was terrified!! The storm, and the noise, and you were jiggling the -"
Another slam as the door closes. Bokuto presses his hands so close together they ache. His palms turn red, then white. Akaashi takes off his remaining shoe (soaking wet) and then his socks (somehow, even wetter). They land with a sickening plop. Bokuto wonders, briefly, if that's going to be the last sound he ever hears.
Akaashi takes two long steps, grabbing Bokuto's shirt collar under his arms, and hauls his face level. His eyes crackle with rage.
"I'm really sorry, Aka-"
"Get me a towel, right now," Akaashi hisses. "And then I'll forgive you."
Bokuto has never run so fast to the washroom in his life. He grabs three towels, just in case, and a washcloth. When he rounds back into the hall, Akaashi's shed his jacket and scarf in a pile of damp clothing in the entrance. Bokuto offers the towels and Akaashi grabs them, not looking up as he dries his feet with one and his hair with another. It takes a minute, total, and Bokuto feels each second as another nail in his coffin.
When Akaashi straightens, he doesn't offer back the damp towels. He keeps the one on his hair and drapes the other over his arm. He piles his wet clothes over it, and puts the final, dry cloth over that. He clears his throat and Bokuto hangs his head, ready for the blow. This is the end. He clenches his fists and squeezes his eyes shut and tries one more time.
"I'm really-"
"Thanks for the towels, Bokuto. Can you take the bag to the kitchen?"
Oh, thank god. He's forgiven.
He perks up immediately, hefting the bag with ease. He wanders into the kitchen, humming, hearing Akaashi's snort from the washroom, hanging towels. He rummages through, finding two, three, four large bento boxes packed one on top of the other. He pulls them out slowly, laying them out on the counter. Each one makes his smile falter a little bit more.
"Have you never seen one of those before, Bokuto? I thought you owned some. You ate lunch out of them daily in highschool." Akaashi leans on the side of the kitchen entrance, arms crossed, his dark hair a messy mat of black lines under the light blue towel perched on his head and shoulders. He leans on his left arm, his right looser, and Bokuto feels a pang of guilt and regret.
"I know what it is, Akaashi, just not why they're here! Or why you're here for that matter!!"
"I came here to rob you, but you thwarted me." Akaashi delivers the line with such sarcasm, such finesse, Bokuto can't help but laugh. Akaashi smirks back. He shifts into the kitchen, his barefeet peeling off the floor. He reaches around Bokuto to crack open one of the boxes.
Food. Bokuto stares at it like it's lost treasure, the rice glistening in his eyes, the meat tempting and thinly sliced, the small tomatoes and peppers askew from being dropped on the floor.
"I also brought you dinner," Akaashi continues. He gives Bokuto a glance under half closed eyes. "Don't look so shocked there's food in them."
"I'm not shocked!" Bokuto huffs, completely shocked. Akaashi gives his near-silent laugh and elbows Bokuto in the side, in the spot where his elbow perfectly reaches, just enough to feel but not hard enough to hurt. Bokuto elbows back, a little less precise and a lot more rough and he immediately regrets it when it connects with Akaashi's right arm and he winces.
"Sorry!! I'm sorry, oh my god, I just threw a book at you and I've already forgotten... gah!!"
Bokuto grabs his hair and squishes his face as small and tight as it can go. He takes a deep breath through his nose and lets it out as he counts to five. He needs to calm down and focus. He needs another sixty deep breaths, but he only gets through eight before Akaashi starts talking.
"I figured you might be a bit stressed studying, and it turns out I was right. Somehow unsurprising, as you've texted me twice thinking I was Kuroo and didn't notice." Bokuto lets the words sit in the air, whistling, rubbing the back of his neck. He had noticed. He just hoped Akaashi hadn't. "Anyway, you'd been really quiet this week, which for you is a huge problem. I had some spare time today, so I thought I'd drop by and give you a break."
Bokuto feels a toothy grin spread across his face. He studies the food, then Akaashi's face, which is twitching with the strain of remaining neutral. "So you came all the way here in a thunderstorm just to bring me dinner because you miss-"
"Don't make such a big deal out of it. It's nothing special."
It's incredibly special. Akaashi seems to know it, too, seeing how determined he is to stare at his toes the entire walk to the table. Bokuto follows with the food, shoving the books and papers to the floor with a sweep of his free hand. Akaashi quirks an eyebrow up, but doesn't comment as he sits down.
Bokuto sets down the bentos and runs back for chopsticks. Akaashi's opened them and even begun organizing the textbooks on the floor when he returns. He taps Akaashi's shoulder with his knee, very careful to pick the non-bruised one, and offers down the chopsticks.
"Do you want a drink? I can-"
"I can get it myself if I want it, Bokuto. I know where you keep everything. Sit and eat."
Bokuto sits. He stares at the food, thinking about how Akaashi took the time to make this (and enough for two bentos for each of them, because he knows how much they need to eat) and then deliver it here, on a rainy day, miles and buses and a train trip away, because Bokuto is acting a bit differently as he studies for exams.
The first bite is warm in his stomach, his grin fading into a wobbly smile, his eyes closing. The rice is perfectly made, the vegetables perfectly steamed. He hasn't had time to prepare anything like this in a week, let alone eat it.
"Akaaashiiii-"
"Don't, Bokuto. I know what you're going to say." Akaashi doesn't look up from his own food. "This isn't a big deal. Just eat it like you normally do."
Bokuto props his chin on his hand, leans forward on the table, and for the first time in a solid week, acts normally. "Hey, 'Kaashi. If you missed me enough for all this, can I feed you dinner as a treat?"
"That's a punishment," Akaashi replies. He doesn't take a second to think before he replies. It seems it's not just his volleyball reactions that have gotten faster.
Bokuto winces, playing with a piece of pepper with his chopsticks. "Well, then, how about you feed me?"
This time, Akaashi looks up to give him the most withering, disbelieving, 'I can't believe I spent hours cooking and took a train out here in the middle of a thunderstorm and had a three hundred page hardcover thrown at me for this' look. "No."
Bokuto grins wide enough to let Akaashi know he's been teasing, and he's about to reach across and pat Akaashi's head when he remembers how Akaashi's going to complain about what a mess his curls are in without Bokuto making it worse. Instead, he turns to look at the half organized stack of his textbooks to appreciate the hard work Akaashi does cleaning up when something flappy, then something hard ram into his cheek and shove his skin into his teeth.
"Ow!! What the hell, that was my cheek!" Bokuto rubs his face, pouting, turning back to Akaashi.
Akaashi draws his hand back, chopsticks holding a large chunk of beef with a quick movement. The action shakes his shoulders and causes the towel to fall off his head.
"You turned your mouth!" Akaashi snaps. He eats the chunk of meat himself. Bokuto watches it go with a mournful look.
Then he blinks.
"Wait, you said you weren't going to feed me anything! How is it my fault you missed? You said you weren't going to!"
"I changed my mind. As a treat. Turns out I shouldn't have."
"Aren't you going to apologize for jabbing your meaty chopsticks in my face? What if I'd broken a tooth? I could have died!"
Akaashi's glare returns, and this time when he picks up food, he doesn’t even bother to offer it. He chews, painfully slowly. His eyes slide across the room in that casual, intentional way they do to make Bokuto follow them. This time, they lead to Akaashi's upper arm, where most likely a book shaped bruise has already formed under the sleeve of his sweater.
"I can't imagine," Akaashi says, his voice dry enough to absorb the remainder of the thunderstorm, "how painful that must have been. My apologies."
Bokuto opens his mouth to apologize, again, for the whole book thing, but Akaashi's already brought up another chunk of meat. This time when he goes for Bokuto's mouth, he doesn't miss. Bokuto half chokes on it in surprise. He leans back, chewing, savouring, coughing lowkey under his breath to try and downplay nearly swallowing it whole. He sees Akaashi shake his head, hears the mutter of his own name in exasperation, but his mind is focused on the memory of being fed and eyes are focused on the blush slowly creeping up Akaashi's cheeks.
His toes nudge Akaashi's knee under the table, and with a small eye roll, Akaashi offers him another mouthful of food.
There is no way friends do this.
-
It's been three weeks. Three weeks of volleyball matches, of homemade dinners, of Kuroo throwing balls of paper at the back of his head with doodles of him and Akaashi holding hands crudely scrawled across them. Three weeks of exploring the city with Akaashi, trying not to watch the way his shoulders move when he laughs, the way the smile lights his eyes, the way he leans on Bokuto's shoulder on the train. The feeling's been sitting in Bokuto's gut the entire time, and the question haunting the back of his mind.
Have they always done this?
Today is no different. Akaashi's lying on him on the couch, the back of his head on Bokuto's chest, the rest of his body between his legs. His feet are propped on the far armrest, and he intently studies his Granblue inventory, switching to his Notepad app to mark down what he needs to get. He occasionally frowns, occasionally smirks, and occasionally glances at the TV (where Bokuto's set the fourth season of Inuyasha playing as background noise).
Bokuto takes a deep breath. His heart pounds. He'll probably start sweating in a minute.
It's a simple question.
"Akaashi, are we dating?"
Akaashi stops, his finger just millimeters away from the screen. His shoulders tense, his half smirk disappears. With a quick motion, he flicks his screen to sleep. He twists just enough to make eye contact, and his eyes are strangely dark and his lashes incredibly long and his blinks distractingly slow. Bokuto squeezes his eyes shut, not sure if he can watch and listen to the reply at the same time. He stiffens and waits as his words ring in the air, and the silence drags, thick. He cracks an eye open a sliver.
Akaashi's opening his mouth. Bokuto preemptively winces.
"You just cost me 5000 yen, Bokuto. Thanks."
Bokuto sighs, slumping his shoulders, the tension gone from his shoulders as defeat settles into the empty hole in his chest. "You're right, I shouldn't assume, I-"
Wait.
He pauses, looking down at Akaashi properly. He chews on Akaashi's words in his mind. There was no rejection, no acceptance. Actually, what the hell did it have to do with anything he had just said? What kind of response was that? Did he just say five thousand? "...A...Akaashi?!"
Akaashi shrugs a shoulder. "If you'd waited two more weeks to ask, I would've won. Now I'm going to have to pay Kuroo. Really, Bokuto."
Bokuto opens his mouth and closes it. He squishes his face, twists his mouth downward, raises and lowers his eyebrows. He makes a vague gesture with his hand and a small, garbled noise from the back of his throat. This goes on for long enough that Akaashi settles back down and opens Granblue again. Bokuto continues to open and close his hands as his mind runs in circles, trying to piece together the sentence.
Akaashi's halfway through a battle when Bokuto finds his voice. He isn't quiet. Not that he usually is.
"You bet with Kuroo when I'd ask you out?! And you didn't- why didn't- what the hell?! Akaaashiii??"
"Technically, the bet was when you'd ask if we were dating. It's different from asking me out," Akaashi's voice is calm, the same as when he describes the weather or Bokuto's inability to dress for it. He doesn't even glance up from his phone screen as he explains. "I bet you wouldn't ask until after I graduated. Kuroo said you definitely couldn't last that long, and you'd figure it out before then."
"But... I... why were you making the bet in the first place!!"
Akaashi sits up with a sigh. He puts his phone down and turns to face Bokuto, scowling just enough to let Bokuto know he's an idiot without having to waste the breath to say it. "Because we have been dating since before you started university, Bokuto, and everyone knows it."
Static crawls into Bokuto's brain and he tries to shake it clear. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "No, we... I mean-"
Akaashi raises an eyebrow. "Am I wrong?"
Bokuto thinks about the first day at his apartment. He thinks about the long nights they spent staying up to throw popcorn at bad episodes of Detective Conan. He thinks about the swelling feeling he gets looking at Akaashi on the court, about the feeling of Akaashi's hair between his fingers, about giving Akaashi a key to his house and never asking for it back (or wanting it back). He thinks about Akaashi showing up on the last train after a fight, about holding his hand through debates with his parents, about Akaashi insisting on paying for dinner when they go out. He looks down at Akaashi sitting between his legs, and how he hadn't even questioned when he sat there two hours ago.
Shit. Shit. Shit!
"Why didn't you bring this up!!" Bokuto huffs. "I didn't..."
"Realize, yes, I know. That's why Kuroo and I made the bet. He thought it would be fun to see how long you could last, and I thought I'd make some money out of it, since I know you. I wasn't about to intentionally lose 5000 yen by telling you myself."
Bokuto's mind churns trying to keep up. He can feel his face threatening to scrunch up even more as he puts the pieces together. He can feel the wrinkles forming early on his face. He can feel himself growing natural grey hairs. "So the reason Kuroo keeps bringing it up-"
"-is because he was running out of time, yes."
With that, Akaashi settles back down against Bokuto's chest like nothing at all happened. Bokuto stares over his head at the wall. Three weeks he'd spent darting around the question. Three long weeks of awkwardly pausing as he opened doors for Akaashi, three weeks of sneaking Akaashi into practice with him and Coach catching him, three weekends of sleepovers with his hand hovering above Akaashi's cheek, never once realizing he's been doing it all for a year without questioning it.
He buries his face in Akaashi's hair and lets out a groan loud enough to rattle the walls and drown out the television. Akaashi pats his head, a bit awkwardly, but Bokuto appreciates the gesture. He sits up, studying the curve of Akaashi's nose from above, the length of his lashes, the brushes of his fingers against his phone screen on the same smudged spots. He likes the familiarity of it. He likes Akaashi.
Damn, they have been dating for a while, haven't they?
He puts his chin on Akaashi's head and hums, getting louder as he focuses his mind and clenches his hands into fists. There's only one thing he's got left to do. It takes a minute of humming and gathering strength for Akaashi to finally give an exasperated snort and shifts the tiniest bit.
"What now, Bokuto?"
"I have a question."
"I could never have guessed. What's wrong?"
He opens his mouth, but the courage in him flickers and he has to clear his throat twice before the words come. "Can I kiss you now, then?"
Instead of replying, Akaashi sits up and starts to turn his head. Bokuto grins. Before Akaashi's done turning, he leans forwards and cups Akaashi's cheek in his hand. He smoothes back a few strands of hair, meets Akaashi's brilliant green eyes, leans forward and forward until there's nothing between them but a few breaths of air.
It's not the first time Bokuto's kissed someone, but it's his first time kissing Akaashi. The angle is strange, his back already hurts, the TV blares in the background. It's best moment of his life. Akaashi's lips are soft and his skin is smooth and close, and the warmth from Bokuto's flushing cheeks settles in his heart. He feels himself start to grin, feels Akaashi start to frown, feels Akaashi's arms slip around his neck and pull him in closer until there's nothing left between them at all.
It's a very, very long moment before they pull apart. Akaashi's face is as red as Bokuto's feels, and he rubs his cheek as if it will get rid of it somehow before Bokuto notices. Bokuto takes a moment to stare off into space, past the owls and the mess on his floor and into the middle distance. He presses his forehead against Akaashi's, breathing deeply. Then he lets out a sound that starts as a snigger and ends with him having to pull his head back so he doesn't accidently bash his nose into Akaashi's as he shakes and belts his laughs out from his chest.
"Are you telling me we could've been doing that for a year?" he gasps, wiping a tear from his eye. "Man, I feel like an idiot."
"You are an idiot." Blunt enough to sting, but Akaashi's smiling, and it takes the edge off. Bokuto's dramatic wince, frown, and clutching at his heart is just for show, and Akaashi knows it. "Stop making that face, Bokuto."
Bokuto nods. Then he kisses Akaashi again, around his next bout of laughter, around Akaashi's hands still rubbing the blush on his cheek, still trying to hide his face. He kisses cheeks and lips and forehead and gets one in right on the tip of Akaashi's nose before he gets shoved back into the couch with an 'Enough' and a weak glare.
He gives Akaashi two and a half minutes of reprieve, in which he tries to suppress the bubbling feeling inside him as Akaashi clears his throat and stares at the floor. Bokuto stares at Akaashi's lips, his eyes, the mess of his hair, the way he subtly flips Bokuto his middle finger as he rubs his cheek just like Kuroo does.
Wait a second. Wait. He's got it. The perfect solution. Bokuto feels a sly grin spread across his face. He rubs his hands together.
"Hey," Bokuto starts, ignoring how Akaashi frowns the moment he speaks, "if we don't tell Kuroo until after you graduate that I'm an idiot, won't he have to give you the money?"
Akaashi opens his mouth to protest, but from the way he closes it, it seems he's caught on. He brings a hand up to his chin and rubs it, deep in thought. "He might catch on. You're a bad liar."
"I can act!! You're talking to a master of deception on the court!" (Akaashi snorts and rolls his eyes and Bokuto only flinches a tiny bit). "Tell you what, if he figures it out in the mean time, I'll split the bet amount with you. Sound fair?"
There's a long pause, but Akaashi uses it to smirk. "Deal."
Boktuo grins, and this time it's his arms around Akaashi's neck as he drags him back down against his chest. Akaashi squirms and protests, getting an elbow in against Bokuto's chest and almost getting another one up to Bokuto's face, but Bokuto's reactions are quick enough to dodge it. He grins into Akaashi's hair as he feels a frown press into his chest. He rubs circles into Akaashi's back until he relaxes and shifts his head to peek at the TV. Bokuto sees the faintest trace of a smile on Akaashi's lips. He lets Akaashi get comfortable and smiles as Akaashi slides his arms around his waist to hug him back.
Like boyfriends do.