Work Text:
Bokuto Koutarou isn’t entirely idiotic, he just lacks common sense. That’s the general consensus.
Bokuto gets thirty two plain white sheets of paper stuck in the photocopier and Akaashi has to fix it. There’s a horrible, endless whirring noise that vibrates out of the copying room through the rest of the office, and before Akaashi can work out a sensible way to cease the copier’s manic chewing of blank A4 sheets Bokuto panics and rips the machine’s plug from the socket.
“Twenty seven people share this copier, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi sighs, finally dislodging the sheets. “All their queued up printing will be deleted now.”
“I know, Akaaaashi, I just panicked,” Bokuto squirms, scratching the back of his head. “I dunno how I did it,” Akaashi purses his lips and stays silent while he plugs the copier back in and attempts to reconnect the copier to the office’s network.
“Me neither.”
When Daichi Sawamura asks what the hell is going on with the printing, Akaashi shrugs and says it seems there’s a problem with the VB Company Network and that everyone will have to use downstairs’ copier for the next couple of days. No one ever knows Bokuto busted the mouth of the photocopier fighting for dominance over a stack of paper, and Bokuto never knows how he doesn’t get in trouble for it.
Akaashi Keiji isn’t uptight, he just cares about his job a lot. That’s the general consensus.
Akaashi has been at the office since 9AM and is doing overtime. He hasn’t eaten lunch or dinner. The only thing he’s consumed all day is two sips of a now cold coffee that has begun to grow a skin. Kuroo Tetsurou, who is also doing overtime, blinks over the cubicle wall at him.
“Eat something,” He urges, lidded eyes judgemental and concerned at the same time.
“Fine.” Akaashi grunts, getting up to go to the office kitchen. It is small and the fridge is nearly always filled up with terrible, green protein shakes and slightly burnt muffins baked by the new intern, Yachi Hitoka. They are edible but not particularly tasty. Akaashi makes a Cup Noodle. When he sits down to eat his Cup Noodle and finally complete his report on the gross financial profit of the Tokyo Shimbun, someone snatches his noodles away. A displeased hum leaves Akaashi.
“What the he-“
“These things are terrible for you,” Bokuto nods from above him, stirring the noodles and wrinkling his nose in disgust. Why is he doing overtime? Why is Akaashi stuck in close quarters with Bokuto Koutarou and Kuroo Tetsurou at 6:38 in the evening when he should be at home reading?
“I know. Now give it back,”
“Thirty one grams of salt!” Bokuto exclaims, shoving his index finger at the nutrition label emphatically. “Bad! I thought you ate healthy, Agaaashi! That’s like five times your recommended daily intake!”
“Yes. Delicious. Warm, extremely salty broth,” Akaashi drones. He is so tired. “Hand it back immediately, Bokuto-san,” They dance around it for a while, but eventually Akaashi is eating his noodles and Bokuto is doing some actual work.
The next day Konoha and Komi, who sit either side of Akaashi’s cubicle, are the ones to make him eat lunch. Sluggishly, he walks to the kitchen and opens the fridge to grab a cold bottle of water. Beside an ugly khaki coloured smoothie is a clear container filled with leafy vegetables. Scrawled on top in sharpie are the words: ‘FOR AKAASHI ONLY. PLEASE DON’T EAT ANYMORE CUP NOODLE CRAP’
Akaashi frowns at having his awful eating habits called out so publicly. He goes back to his cubicle with the container and a fork - Bokuto has made boiled rapeseed plant, Akaashi’s favourite. He even remembered the karashi mustard on the side.
Akaashi always listens. Even when it seems like he’s not listening.
Bokuto tells him he managed to attain the census findings finally, after ages, even though Suguru is a total asshole and wouldn’t hand them over to Kuroo, but Bokuto managed to get them because he’s charming like that you know? Isn’t he the greatest? Isn’t he?
Akaashi presses his lips together.
“Those were supposed to get to management a week and a half ago.” In response, Bokuto hums vaguely.
Bokuto is terrorising Tsukishima.
“You just need to find something you love doing, Tsukki, while you’re still young. You can’t just carry on in a place like this that you hate; a sarcastic guy like you needs to do some true self-searching. Be honest with yourself, you suck at your job, and it’s ‘cuz you don’t enjoy it.” Akaashi thinks all this advice would be quite insightful, if a bit blunt, in any other situation. The situation is that all of this wisdom is being loudly unloaded onto Tsukishima in front of several co-workers while Bokuto munches onigiri. Kuroo is trying not to laugh. Hinata and Lev are nodding passionately. Yamaguchi is smiling politely, but he looks very uncomfortable. Tsukishima is gritting his teeth so hard Akaashi fears they might break into tiny little pieces. “I’m telling you this as an elder, ‘ya know? You’re lucky you have people like me and Kuroo in your life.”
“You’re two years older than him, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says. His monotone voice reaches across the office.
“Exactly, Agashi, I’m his elder,” Bokuto protests, but the lecture is finished. Hinata and Lev go back to their work stations and Tsukishima, behind all his regular derision, looks very relieved.
Bokuto’s shows Akaashi some vague HTML coding he’s done for a social media page.
“It’s amazing, right? Look at this shit. And I did it in like, half an hour. I seriously think I should go into computing or something, ‘cuz this is incredible.”
“It’s very clean looking, Bokuto-san,”
“Ya-huh,” Bokuto chirps. Akaashi understands why his co-workers compare Bokuto to an owl. He currently looks like one with thoroughly ruffled feather.
“The WikiHow page said it should only take around five minutes though. Maybe work on your speed,” Akaashi has not looked back at the screen Bokuto is waving behind him through this conversation.
“Cold, Akaashi, cold,” Oikawa shakes his head, walking past with a bundle of papers under his arms. But part of him looks maliciously amused.
Akaashi isn’t sure why it’s ‘cold’. He might not always give Bokuto the answers he’s digging for, but he always listens. Akaashi never ignores Bokuto. Never.
“He’s doing the thing,” Kuroo mutters from the corner of his mouth.
“Well make him stop doing the thing, we need him for the Board Meeting with Kiyoko,” Oikawa sighs, scribbling on a memo pad absentmindedly. “The higher ups made him research methods of upping online consumption because they trusted him. He loves that advertising schtick and the advertisers love him, he could at least deliver when it comes down to it,”
“You’re just bitter you didn’t get on the Board Meeting,” Kuroo smirks. Oikawa narrows his brown eyes.
“I like working with Terushima and the ad execs, okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” Kuroo nods. Then he says nothing. It’s infuriating. There’s a prolonged silence between the two men.
“I’m charming, okay?” Oikawa bursts out. “I work hard, I have a brilliant smile and my hair is presentable! The advertising higher ups would love me. I would do great in advertising. I could walk out of this place right now and get seven different jobs as a copywriter – my taglines are damn catchy. So why the hell did they give Bokuto a spot on the board table and not me?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because Bokuto has natural enthusiasm and you…just kinda…lay it on thick?”
“Lay what on thick?” Oikawa snarls.
“Smarm,” Kenma Kozume interjects. He is sat in the cubicle beside Kuroo’s, tapping at his keyboard with marked disinterested.
“Smarm? Kenma, look up at who you’re dating.”
Kenma doesn’t look up. Kuroo smiles smarmily.
A ball of orange fluff appears in front of them all. It’s Hinata Shouyo, a recently graduated intern.
“How’d it go?” Kenma drones, still typing.
“I asked Bokuto-senpai if he wanted to go get yakiniku after work like you said to, Kozume, and he didn’t cheer up at all. He was all like,” Hinata shifts into a Bokuto impression, but it’s a depressed Bokuto impression, so he simultaneously widens and droops his eyes. “’Hey Short Stuff, that’s nice of you, but I have actual work to do, busy ‘nd all, I got this leaflet to write and this graph to plot digitally and then print and this whole board meeting with Kiyoko tomorrow and…urrrrrgh, nnnnghh…’” Hinata slumps over dramatically, groaning like a zombie.
“Surprisingly accurate,” Kuroo nods approvingly. “We’re gonna have to get Akaashi,”
“What are we bothering Akaashi for?” Oikawa grunts. “He’s got enough to worry about, he’s basically singlehandedly dealing with the end of year finance reports, and h-”
“If Bokuto’s so worked up he’s turning down yakiniku, we need Akaashi,” Kuroo says. That’s it on the matter. Everyone splits up.
Kuroo tells Lev who tells Saru who tells Konoha who tells Akaashi. Akaashi stands up and walks over to Bokuto.
“What’s wrong, Bokuto-san?” He asks, monotonously.
“Nothing,” Bokuto shrugs, even though he is sprawled out on his desk surrounded by thirteen water bottles and has not properly spoken to anyone else in the office for about three days. Akaashi had not wanted to patronise the man and was focused on his own tasks. Thus he had left him to his own devices for several days despite the obvious shift in his mood. Bokuto has 93 tabs open on his computer. Akaashi feels a little guilty.
“What’s wrong?” Akaashi repeats.
“Nothing,” Bokuto also repeats, but he smashes the space bar with flourish as he says it. His lip trembles.
“Are you stressed about the meeting with Kiyoko-san?” In reply, Bokuto nods dully. “Why? I thought you worked quite hard on the presentation?”
“I have,” Bokuto half groans, half sobs. “I procrastinated it and then I put a fuck tonne of effort in from like a week ago and I’ve been so stressed and I’m gonna choke in front of the ad execs and they’ll never trust me to do something like this again and Oikawa will have been right,” Bokuto stuffs his face into his hands. “I heard him bitching about me. I can’t let Oikawa be right,”
Akaashi agrees. Nobody should allow Oikawa to be correct in any of his assertions. Ever.
“Show me the presentation.” Akaashi demands. So Bokuto lets Akaashi click through the PowerPoint and read through his notecards and proofread the tiny booklet detailing his findings that he plans to hand out during the conference. It’s decent. Nothing ground breaking but nothing offensive either.
“It’s good, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi sniffs, placing the booklet down on Bokuto’s desk. “The part on focusing on branching out into more social media orientated journalism was quite insightful,” Immediately, Bokuto perks up. It reminds Akaashi of a lethargic dog whose tail starts rapidly wagging the moment it receives any praise.
“Really? You really think so? It is good, right? I thought it was good, I was just so stressed, I was nervous, man. They don’t normally trust me with this kinda shit. I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of Kiyoko, you know, because she’s hot.I knew it was awesome, aw man, thanks, this presentation is actually gonna be so cool because I seriously think I ca-“
Akaashi grits his teeth. He doesn’t particularly want to listen to Bokuto gushing over how great his report on online consumption of news is, but the white haired man seems very, very happy and Oikawa Tooru is incorrect so he can deal with it.
“It’s actually quite scary how quickly his mood shifted,” Oikawa hums, pencil rested between his lips. “That can’t be healthy, can it, Iwa-chan? Emotional immaturity, that’s what it is,” Iwaizumi Hajime thumps Oikawa around the head with a stapler.
“Seriously? You lecturing people on immaturity?” He snatches Oikawa’s seventh cup of black coffee from his desk and pours it down the kitchen sink.
“Iwa-chan!”
“Get some rest, asshole, you’ve worked Lates for the past fortnight!”
Across the office, Bokuto shakes his head at the racket and continues editing his notecards. Some of his co-workers are such weirdos.
It turns out that Akaashi’s house is right around the block from Bokuto’s apartment, so Bokuto offers to drop him home every day. This is preferable to the stuffy train ride home so Akaashi says ‘yes’. Everyday Bokuto hovers around Akaashi’s desk and waits for him to finish whatever he’s doing. Then they get into Bokuto’s beat up old Mazda and argue over what to play on the radio for twenty minutes.
“All your music is depressing,” Bokuto says, hands loose around the steering wheel.
“And all your music is poorly made fluff,” Akaashi sniffs. He tries to sound disinterested, but there’s real annoyance behind the words. “Pass me the aux cord,”
“No, because if I have to listen to any more of your weird indie shit I’ll drive into a wall!”
“That would be preferable to another ten minutes of Arashi,” Akaashi breathes through gritted teeth.
“Nice na Kokoroiki is the best classic rock song of all time!”
“Arashi is not classic rock.”
“’Arashi is not classic rock!’” Bokuto mimics childishly. Akaashi is trying to look fed up with Bokuto but he just seems amused.
“Change the radio station,” He sighs. There’s a note of desperation in his voice. Bokuto shakes his head and carries on singing. Akaashi presses his head to the window and is silent for the rest of the car ride. They reach the outside of his apartment building and he thanks Bokuto for the ride before getting out. He leaves his scarf on the back seat because he can’t be bothered to reach back for it.
Then Bokuto reverses and drives home for another twenty minutes, and he briefly wonders if this is creepy but manages to convince himself it’s fine because, I mean, he’s just being nice, Akaashi would never accept the lift home if he knew Bokuto was going out of his way and, okay, he doesn’t really live around the corner, but he does kinda come in this direction, and it’s because he’s a nice person and all, so it’s fine.
It’s fine.
They’re doing Secret Santa in the office.
“Christmas is Western bullshit brought over by corporate executives to leech money off the public,” Tsukishima drones, eyeing his co-workers disdainfully.
“There’s probably a lot of truth in that,” Suga smiles, shoving an upturned bowler hat towards the blonde man. “Now pick a name.” And Suga is rather frightening, so Tsukishima takes one.
By the time the hat reaches Akaashi, who had been filling in a spread sheet and looking up ‘Scottish Folds’ on Google images, there are two names left. His long fingers jump between the slips of paper until he finally snatches one up. It says ‘Bokuto’ because of course it does. Akaashi knows that Suga wrote the name because the handwriting is legible.
In theory Bokuto seems like an easy person to shop for, but Akaashi really has no idea what to get. He knows Bokuto likes karubi and sports and terrible pop music from the early 2000s, but considering he isn’t too sure what sports Bokuto likes and he can’t exactly gift wrap a fresh batch of short ribs, Akaashi’s at a loss.
He asks Kuroo what sports Bokuto likes.
“Volleyball and soccer and tennis and gymnastics,”
“Oh,” Akaashi hums, smiling bitterly. “That narrows it down nicely, Kuroo-san,”
“Ha-ha, he likes a lot of sports, that’s not my problem. Why do you care?” In response, Akaashi shrugs. “I think he played volleyball in high school, that’s about what I know,”
“I thought you were good friends with him,”
“I am,” Kuroo grins. “Which is why I’m smart enough not to get him talking about sports. One time when we were drunk he started crying in an izakaya and showing everyone clips from the 1976 Montreal Olympics,”
“Right.” Akaashi sighs. How incredibly absurd.
And maybe a bit endearing.
At some point he decides just to ask Bokuto straight up. Bokuto is sat on the edge of Akaashi’s desk eating a protein bar, when Akaashi asks,
“What would be your ideal present, Bokuto-san?”
“Huh?” Bokuto grunts, mouth full.
“If you could get any present for Christmas, what would you want?” This is already a dangerous game, because Akaashi doesn’t normally ask about fluff like this. Bokuto knows as much, and cocks his head to the side questioningly. After this brief hesitation, he says,
“An authentic Number 14 Serbian jersey from the ’98 Mens Volleyball World Championships, signed by Ivan Miljcović. I’d kill for one,”
Akaashi sighs through his nose and nods with polite interest, but he doesn’t carry on the conversation. It’s difficult to when he’s fighting the urge to slam his head against his keyboard.
Bokuto drapes a set of fairy lights across the edge of his desk, and around his computer, and along the ridge of his cubicle, and around Kuroo’s neck.
“So Bokuto really likes Christmas, huh?” Konoha kisses his teeth.
“Oh yeah, you were on holiday last year when he did it,” Komi says. “But he brought in this massive Christmas cake, all strawberries and cream on it. Tasted awful,”
“Bet Akaashi ate it though,” Konoha smirks.
“Of course Akaashi ate it,”
Akaashi carries on typing.
“Why wouldn’t I have eaten it, Konoha? He made it to be nice. It was Christmas,”
“You’re not gonna deny it tasted like crap?” Konoha’s smirk only seems to grow wider. Akaashi ceases his typing to clench his left fist.
“It tasted decent to me. Frankly, I have no idea why we’re debating the quality of Bokuto-san’s Christmas cak-“
“Of course it tasted decent to you, Akaashi,” Konoha says.
“Because Bokuto made it,” Komi says.
“Because Bokuto made it,” Konoha repeats. They have both leaned out of their cubicles to leer at Akaashi. He is surrounded on all sides. “That guy’s ridiculous,”
“Ridiculous,” Komi nods. “Way too intense. And did you see yesterday, Konoha, when he spilled Pocari Sweat all over his filing cabinet? Akaashi, being a neutral co-worker, helped him clean up and dry out the folders for an hour and a half,”
“Is it illegal for me to have friends now?” Akaashi asks.
“No, but it’s odd,” Komi muses.
“And what exactly has Bokuto-san done to you two? You seem extremely critical of him,”
“What? You got us all wrong, Akaashi. Bokuto’s possibly the nicest person on Earth, I think it might be physically impossible to dislike him. But you gotta admit he’s a total weirdo,”
“And pretty dumb. In a lovable way, obviously,” Konoha reassures Akaashi. He does not feel very reassured. Bokuto and Kuroo’s yelling echoes throughout the entire floor. Konoha shakes his head, rolling his chair back into his own cubicle. “You put up with way too much from that guy,”
“Perhaps.” Akaashi exhales.
In the Copy Room, Bokuto chucks a string of tinsel around his himself like a feather boa and Hinata claps adoringly. Akaashi sees this and exhales even louder.
Hinata is fidgeting.
“Don’t you think it’s weird?” He asks Kageyama.
“Your ass is on my paperwork,” is the only reply he receives.
“Shut up, Bakageyama, just ask, ‘What’s weird?’”
“If I say ‘What’s weird?’ will you move your ass off my paperwork?”
“Okay, right, well you said the words so I’m just gonna carry on and pretend you’re a regular person,”
“Says the irregular one,” Kageyama grumbles.
“Don’t you think Bokuto and Akaashi are sorta weird?” Hinata leans forward as he says this, voice low. Kageyama, who rather admires Akaashi and maybe thinks he’s a gorgeous specimen of a man in an entirely platonic way, says,
“Don’t be rude about Akaashi-san.”
“Ooooh, Akaashi-san,” Hinata swoons into Kageyama’s shoulder mockingly.
“Fuck off, Shortass. Fine, I’ll bite, what’s so apparently weird about them?”
“Just that they’re such good friends. I mean, just think about it. Akaashi’s so reserved and smart and…well, handsome. I heard they’re thinking of promoting him to Head of Finance. And then Bokuto is…”
“Loud and bizarre looking?” Kageyama finishes.
“Yeah! And I mean that’s good. I said all that stuff about Akaashi, but when you get to it he’s super boring,”
“And?”
“How does that work? They eat lunch together every day, they go home together every day, they make plans for the weekend. Akaashi cleans up after Bokuto’s mistakes, Bokuto makes Akaashi look like he feels emotions. How? They’re nothing alike! Do they even share any interests?”
“I don’t know,” Kageyama shrugs dismissively. “If you’re wondering how an asshole gets with a fun-loving moron, go watch a romantic comedy and stop bothering me,”
“I’m just trying to make conversation, jeez,”
“You’re gossiping about our superiors, that’s what you’re doing,”
“Why are you so grouchy, always? Seriously? Did you not have your daily nap, Bateyama-kun?”
“Shut up! Don’t you have any actual work to do, idiot?”
The two begin to bicker, Kageyama’s paperwork entirely forgotten. Hinata is still leaning into Kageyama’s shoulder from when he’d teasingly swooned earlier. Daichi watches his interns from afar, and wonders if being completely fucking oblivious is a requirement of working in the office.
They’re all opening their Secret Santa presents.
Oikawa gets a sleep mask. Kenma gets a Gameboy mug that looks like it turns on when you pour hot water into it. Kyoutani gets a tiny bulldog plushie. Yachi gets a fancy tinted chapstick and a set of cute hairclips. Lev gets a pair of thermal knee high socks that don’t reach his calves.
Bokuto gets an authentic Number 14 Serbian jersey from the ’98 Mens Volleyball World Championships, signed by Ivan Miljcović.
“This is the best gift ever,” He sobs. He looks overjoyed but his voice his shaky and hysterical. There’s no tears but his movements definitely indicate violent weeping. “This must be the nicest thing anyone has ever done for anybody else ever, holy shit, oh my God”
“My sister gave me a part of her liver when I was 7,” Tanaka suggests. Kuroo, who is patting Bokuto’s shoulder, waves his hand in a hushing motion.
“It’s always a delight to hear about your hot sister who’s way cooler than you, Tanaka, but now’s not the time,” He shakes his head gravely. Nishinoya has to drag Tanaka away by the scruff of his neck. “Who got you it?” The answer seems obvious, but after Bokuto and Akaashi’s discussion on The Ideal Present two weeks ago, Bokuto had wandered around the office and told everyone what he wanted, just in case they were his Secret Santa, and it’s not like he expected it or anything, obviously it’s sorta hard to come by, but it would be way nicer than something owl themed because that was kind of overdone by now, okay?
“Hinata likes volleyball, he might have known someone who could get a hold of something like that,” Kenma suggests. He looks exhausted on Bokuto’s behalf – he sighs at the white haired man in disbelief.
“Hinata is broke, he couldn’t afford something like that,” Kageyama grunts.
“Hey!”
“Is he wrong, though?” Tsukishima asks.
“Hey!” Hinata and Kageyama interject simultaneously.
“Did Akaashi get it?” sighs Daichi, always the voice of reason.
“No,” He calls over. He is away from the kerfuffle, preferring to open his gift – a small succulent – and carry on work as usual. “I bought Yachi her hairclips. Though it’s a very nice jersey, Bokuto-san,”
“Oh, uh…well, thanks, Akaaaashi! It is! It’s the best thing ever!”
Yachi has wilted. She had been so sure Kiyoko had bought her those hairclips, because Kiyoko tells her she looks nice with her hair pulled back all the time, and now she’s putting on chapstick instead of thinking about why Kiyoko wouldn’t get her anything for Christmas because it’s fine if she didn’t, she might not even celebrate. It’s fine. Totally. Breathe in and out, Yachi. In…and out. Phew.
“Is nobody going to claim the jersey then?” Kuroo smirks. He rubs Bokuto’s shoulder. “Maybe Santa brought it for you,”
“Shut up, Kuroo! You’re such a pain in the ass!” Bokuto whines, but he’s still staring at the jersey in his hands adoringly. The small crowd surrounding him disperses, until it’s just him and Hinata trying on the gigantic jersey, and then Lev trying on the jersey because it’s too big even for him but it fits a little better, and then a small crowd gathering around again, and then Daichi telling everyone to get the hell back to work.
“Why did you get it for him, Akaashi?” Kuroo says, slipping his jacket on. They’re the only two people left in the office. Akaashi doesn’t try to deny it.
“It was a nice gift.” He shrugs.
They both wave at the cleaners on the way out.
Bokuto’s showing the bartender volleyball clips again.
Kuroo takes the extra shot the other man has ordered and chucks the contents over his shoulder. It’s not that Bokuto can’t handle his liquor; quite the opposite, actually. Bokuto can go through a bottle and a half of sake without the faintest wobble in his step – but an extra sip of beer will hit him like a ton of bricks. Guy doesn’t know his limits.
“C’mon, let’s go,” Kuroo chuckles. He tucks his arm underneath Bokuto’s and drags him out the door.
“I love you, Kuroo,” Bokuto grins. “Even if you’re such a loser,”
“Just shut up and get in the cab,” When the cab pulls up, Bokuto does as he’s told. He’s sprawled up against the window, mouth slightly ajar, while Kuroo scrolls through his phone.
“I told you not to let me get too drunk,” Bokuto slurs after a short silence.
“You didn’t seem drunk until like twenty minutes ago,”
“Nngh, we have work tomorrow,” Bokuto shudders. “I think I might throw up.”
“Don’t.” Kuroo winces. The driver looks back at the pair through the mirror menacingly. Then all signs of nausea melt off Bokuto’s face, and he smushes his face back against the window.
“I love Christmas,”
“Okay, Bo,”
“Kuroo…I need to show you this cool jersey I got for a present the other day,”
“I’ve seen it,”
“Oh my God. Shit, you got it for me and I said that,” Bokuto turns around to shoot Kuroo a dopey grin. “That is very embarrassing, sorry, man, I appreciate the gift,”
“I didn’t get it for you.”
Bokuto furrows his brows. “Was it my Mom?”
“It was Akaashi,” Kuroo sighs. “Obviously, it was Akaashi. You’re so stupid,”
“Hey, hey, I’m stupid because I’m currently…am pretty drunk, man,”
“You’re stupid without alcohol,” Kuroo snorts. “It was your Secret Santa present. But Akaashi told me he got it for you,” Bokuto ignores this revelation about his precious jersey.
“I’m super smart, okay? I didn’t go to University for Geothermal Bichemistry or whatever only to end up working in a shitty office. Skipping that seems like a pretty clever thing to me. Thank you.” Ouch. Harsh, however true it might be. Perhaps Bokuto and Akaashi have more in common than Kuroo first thought.
“I studied Biochemistry with a minor in Geology,” says Kuroo, very slowly. This is a fun game Kuroo and Bokuto play whenever the latter is drunk.
“Okay, right, the degree is called Bisexual Geography, don’t be pretentious about it,”
Then Kuroo spends a good thirty seconds laughing like a seal over ‘Bisexual Geography’. He sees the driver looking back again while he’s wiping tears from his eyes. Maybe he’s had a bit too much to drink too. The conversation halts for a while. Quiet streets blur by, illuminated by yellow lamps and neon signs.
“Holy fuck. Akaashi got me the jersey,” Bokuto says into the silence.
“Yeah.” Kuroo replies.
“Oh my God.”
“Mmhm.”
“Woah.”
“You know what that means?”
“Yeah,” Bokuto swivels around. He stares at Kuroo with wide, golden eyes. “Akaashi likes volleyball,”
“You’re an idiot.” Kuroo says, softly. Then he smiles. Watching drunken Bokuto from a (fairly) sober perspective is hilarious.
“Akaashi is gorgeous, man,” Bokuto groans. “Inhumanely beautiful. How’d he get a job doing data entering? He should be like, a swimsuit model…or a ballerina,”
“A ballerina?”
“Yeah, a ballerina,” Bokuto nods like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I hope he likes volleyball,”
“I don’t think he likes volleyball, Bo,”
“He’s gotta do some kind of sport, I mean,” Bokuto leans in. “Have you checked out his thighs?”
“I’ve never really considered Akaashi’s thighs,” Kuroo raises an eyebrow.
“It’s fine, Kuroo, Kenma isn’t here. You can say it,” Then Bokuto makes a sound resembling a whip being cracked. Kuroo feels as though his masculinity is at stake.
“Well, I guess, objectively,” Kuroo glances left and right. An illogical part of his brain is scared to see Kenma having appeared right beside him. “He’s a very attractive person,”
“Yeah,”
“You’re a lucky guy,”
“Yeah,”
“Congratulations on the wedding,”
“Yeah,”
Bokuto slumps over. He hits the window with a soft clunk. Eventually he starts snoring. Kuroo pokes him awake when the cab pulls over. He pays the driver. Bokuto sleepily asks Kuroo if he’s seen the cool jersey he got for Christmas again. Then he pulls out his phone so they can both see Ivan Miljcović in action. Kuroo crashes out on Bokuto’s couch to a symphony of sneakers squeaking and volleyballs being smacked to the ground.
Akaashi is sneaking glances at Bokuto.
The latter has his head in his hands and a vicious pout on his face. Every so often a groan resonates from his general vicinity. Normally, Akaashi leaves Bokuto alone during his odd mood swings. They’re usually resolved on their own, after a few days; occasionally Akaashi has to step in, but not that often. Most of the time, the slumps are related to fear Bokuto will do poorly at his work. Akaashi thinks the way he jumps between self adulation and childish aggression/self-hatred is quite concerning. Once Bokuto said he wishes he could sleep all the time and never get up, because then he wouldn’t have to worry about disappointing people. That was very concerning. Akaashi thinks he might redirect Bokuto to a therapist one day.
Bokuto is not in the midst of a bout of depression. He’s hungover. Which is uninteresting and eye roll worthy, except today he hasn’t bothered to put gel in his hair. And Akaashi thinks he looks quite nice.
Akaashi brings him a mug of black coffee. Bokuto drinks it up eagerly, before spitting it back into the cup. Akaashi forgets that Bokuto hates coffee. Too bitter.
“I’m dying,” Bokuto grunts.
“You haven’t filled out a single one of these spreadsheets, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi crouches downchair and pulls up a document on Bokuto’s computer.
“And?”
“You’ve been in work for four hours.”
“Hm?” Bokuto stares at the clock on the wall blankly. “Oh. Yeah.”
“You need to get them finished,” Akaashi says. Bokuto’s face contorts in pain, briefly. Then he arches an eyebrow like he always does and smirks as though a great idea has just struck him.
“Hey, Agashi! Yo –“
“I’m not doing it for you.” The Eyebrow drops.
“Right.” Bokuto’s head falls back into his hands. “I’m gonna get fired. That’s it. How do you do everything so quickly, Akaashee?! You’ve never procrastinated once in your life,” Akaashi purses his lips.
“While that statement is incredibly untrue, Bokuto-san, I understand where you’re coming from. I find it helpful to remind myself that putting off doing something unpleasant will only decrease the amount of time I have to relax,”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, either the unpleasant tasks will pile up or the mindless activities will be tainted by the knowledge I have work to do later on,” Akaashi shrugs. “When I go home, I like to pretend this place doesn’t exist.” Bokuto stares up at Akaashi in (bleary) awe.
“Woah. I bet you were a great student, Akaashi. A real teacher’s pet,”
“Not really. I disliked school.”
“You didn’t? I loved school,” Akaashi knows that Bokuto loved high school. He speaks about his old volleyball team and the yakisoba buns he’d have for lunch every day and his cruel Grade 10 Maths teacher endlessly. “I don’t think I’ll ever be as good at this as you, Akaashi. I hate working in an office,”
“Then quit.” Akaashi says, blandly. Bokuto blinks in shock. He offers up a vague murmur in reply. “Perhaps your office worker experience would be better if you didn’t go binge drinking with Kuroo on weekdays,”
“Agaaaaaaashi!” Bokuto yelps. This kick starts a tirade against the lack of sympathy Bokuto receives from his friends and can’t Akaashi see he’s dying, literally on the edge of death, he thinks he can smell colours and purple is hurting his head at the moment, seriously, Akaashi, could you not be a little bit more polite? Then he squints. “I swear last night Kuroo mentioned something about yo-“
“Your hair looks good without gel in it,” Akaashi interrupts. “Softer.” Bokuto stops speaking – a rare occurrence – and turns a pleasant shade of pink. His pasty complexion makes the blush very obvious.
“Oh. Yeah, uh. Right. Thanks, Akaashi.”
Akaashi pulls over a chair and helps Bokuto fill in the goddamn spreadsheets
Bokuto hand delivers Akaashi’s nanohana on Christmas Eve. He says,
“Agaaaashi!” before handing over the small plastic container. Akaashi says,
“Thank you, Bokuto-san,” before digging in. Then Bokuto asks,
“Hey, Akaashi, are you doing anything after work?”
“No.” He answers.
“No girlfriend then?” Bokuto says, and he sounds a little too happy about it. “Yeah! Basically I made a reservation at KFC because I had this whole idea about asking Kiyoko-san out –“
“Kiyoko-san?”
“Yeah, me and Kuroo talked about it. I was gonna suck it up and ask her out for Christmas Eve. I planned out the whole date and everything, you know like looking at all the lights on main street before eating, but guess what?”
“What?” Akaashi says, even though he’s pretty sure what.
“She’s a lesbian. Crazy,” Bokuto shrugs and scratches the back of his neck. Akaashi neglects to tell him everyone in the office knows Kiyoko is a lesbian, and also that dating your superiors is frowned upon, and also that he’s maybe a little irked about being Bokuto’s second choice. “So I’m gonna have way too much KFC and Kuroo is doing something sappy with Kenma, so do you wanna come around mine? We could watch crappy American Christmas films,”
“Okay.” Akaashi sniffs. Third choice, after Kuroo.
“Okay?”
“Yeah, okay,” The conversation falters. Akaashi begins shuffling some papers on his desk around aimlessly. His ‘Yeah, okay’ had sounded a bit irritated.
“Hey, ‘Kaashi?”
“Yes, Bokuto-san?”
“Do you think we could train birds of prey to do our jobs if we had the right equipment?”
Akaashi considers getting up and walking away. He doesn’t get up and walk away. He allows this discussion on birds of prey to continue, and yes, definitely, Konoha was right. Akaashi does put up with way too much from this guy.
Bokuto’s beat up Mazda is chugging forward at its own pace.
“Where are we going?” Akaashi frowns. Bokuto looks over, confused. He takes his eyes off the road a lot. It’s unnerving.
“To my place,” Bokuto wipes his nose on his sleeve. Driving one handed. Not very reassuring either. Akaashi has been getting lifts home from Bokuto for close to five months now and his recklessness never ceases to amaze him.
“You don’t live around the corner from me,” Akaashi remarks.
“Huh? Oh, well.” Bokuto grins. It’s a little forced. “Depends how you define around the corner.”
“We’re about six blocks away,”
“Yeah?”
“That’s a long drive.”
“Hm, maybe,”
“Especially during rush hour,”
“S’pose so,”
“A big waste of petrol.”
Bokuto doesn’t answer that. His eyes glaze over and he stares out at the road. A pop song starts playing on the radio and he hums it under his breath.
“Well, you probably wouldn’t have let me drive you home if you knew I was going out of my way, right?” Bokuto offers when the music fades out. He waits for a while.
“Probably not, no.” Akaashi concedes.
“See, I know you, ‘Kaashi, I’m very persuasive like that, I knew you’d say no,”
“Perceptive?” Akaashi narrows his green eyes.
“Huh?”
“Did you mean to say that you’re perceptive?”
“Yeah, well,” Bokuto is glaring out at the road. “I meant to say I’m just a great guy who does great things for people because he’s great, alright? Like now, you’re getting free chicken,”
“Not because you’re great. Because Kiyoko-san rejected you,”
“Okay, yeah, because Kiyoko-san rejected me! But still! It’s free chicken!” Bokuto throws his arms up in exasperation and Akaashi lunges towards the wheel. “Ah! Shit!”
“Bokuto-san, keep your hands on the wheel at all times,” Akaashi sighs.
Then they drive in silence. Until Bokuto slides an Arashi CD into the stereo. Akaashi isn’t sure whether to groan or throw his head back laughing. He does a muted mixture of both.
(Bokuto keeps his eyes on the road. The muffled sound alone nearly gives him a heart attack.)
They’re eating KFC and watching Die Hard.
Akaashi didn’t think Bokuto was the type of guy to watch films with subtitles, but then again, it isn’t exactly artsy European stuff.
The minute they enter Bokuto’s apartment – which is cosy and, bar a few framed sports posters, a lot less of a bachelor cave than Akaashi had expected – Bokuto changes into grey sweats. Bokuto apologises for not stopping by Akaashi’s place so he could change into something more comfortable too. Akaashi says it’s fine and loosens his tie and undoes a couple of the buttons on his work shirt. It’s one of two he owns. Bokuto makes a noise resembling the word ‘yeah’ though it sounds a lot more like ’nyeagh’. Akaashi asks if Bokuto is okay and Bokuto assures him he is, before running out of the apartment to pick up their KFC.
When he finally returns, they turn on the film and eat in comfortable silence. Eventually Akaashi says,
“You’re very Christmassy, aren’t you, Bokuto-san?” He’s taking in the rainbow of tinsel chucked over various pieces of furniture around the apartment.
“Yeah,” Bokuto shrugs. He throws the tattered remains of a drumstick back into the bright red bucket it came from. “My Mom spent a while in America when she was younger, so she celebrates Christmas. It’s a pretty big deal in our household,”
“Mm?”
“Yeah, sure. It’s way different in America, it’s more about family than couples or whatever. But it’s amazing no matter where you are in the world. I guess, if you say it in a sorta weird way, it’s just people stringing lights and sparkly shit up everywhere and telling people they love them for a whole month. And eating cake. So, even if I don’t have a date and that dumbass couple cut in front of me in the KFC line, it’s okay. ‘Cuz I love Christmas time. It’s kinda beautiful, right?” Akaashi thinks that analogy is even messier than some of the one’s Kuroo manages to come up with, and that’s saying something. But there’s something quite pleasant about it as well. Bokuto smiles. Akaashi’s replies with an inaudible ‘nyeagh’. They carry on watching the movie, because Akaashi has nothing poetic to say about Christmas and Bokuto’s attention is wavering.
Though Akaashi is sat up pin straight on the sofa, legs crossed tightly, Bokuto is sprawled out lazily, so slumped he’s practically horizontal. His sweatpants are low slung and the white t-shirt he’s wearing is riding up to reveal the pale expanse of his abs and a trail of dark hair leading to…well. You know.
Akaashi decides this is ridiculous. He’s a gay man who’s been invited around his adorable if slightly vexing co-worker’s apartment on Christmas Eve, and now the co-worker has abs. And giant, muscular arms. And they’re not making out. These were all things Akaashi had been capable of ignoring up until now, what with Bokuto’s obnoxious voice and pointed nose but now he can’t stop thinking about them. About his big yellow eyes and massive blinding grin and the print he’s leaving in those grey sweatpants, God almighty.
Akaashi rolls over casually and straddles Bokuto. Then he starts kissing him. It’s warm and wet and Bokuto is making amusing noises in the back of his throat. When they separate Bokuto says,
“Ak-gasshi, no,” His hands trace Akaashi’s waist. “I taste of KFC,”
“I do too,” Akaashi blinks, unimpressed.
“Oh. Oh, yeah, you would. Ha. Uh. Sweet!” Following this epiphany Bokuto buries his head in the crook of Akaashi’s neck and starts biting very agreeable places.
Akaashi’s eyes roll back in his head for two different reasons.
Bokuto is lying in bed. Akaashi is in the shower.
He hates this part. Even during one night stands he hates this part. Well, technically this could still be a one night stand but Bokuto is pretty sure Akaashi isn’t dumb. They’re going to be in the same office every day and they share a lot of friends and Bokuto would consider Akaashi one of his best friends and hopefully vice versa so them fucking once and ignoring it would just be super uncomfortable. And a total waste. That had been a really good lay.
Then Bokuto starts wondering if Kuroo knew about Kiyoko being a lesbian.
“Bokuto-san, move up,” A quiet voice beside him says. It’s very level and a bit deep and it makes Bokuto smile.
“Do you think Kuroo knew about Kiyoko being a lesbian?”
“Everyone knows Kiyoko’s a lesbian, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi huffs, slipping into bed beside him. Bokuto says that Kuroo totally planned all this, and Akaashi stares at him.
“What’s up, Agasshi?”
“I just presumed you were a post-sex cuddler, is all,”
“Heh?” Bokuto looks anywhere in the room except for at Akaashi, who smells like lemon shower gel and has damp hair. “Are you glad I’m not?”
“We can cuddle if you want to, Bokut-“ Then Bokuto pretty much tackles him, which is impressive considering they’re both lying down. Akaashi rests his cheek on Bokuto’s chest and Bokuto starts carding his fingers through Akaashi’s hair. It’s very comfortable.
“Was it good?” Bokuto grins.
“It was fantastic,” Akaashi says. It’s the truth. Which was really to be expected, considering how athletic Bokuto is. “How do you remain in such good shape when you work in an office everyday?”
“You think I’m in good shape?” Bokuto waggles his eyebrows ridiculously. Akaashi blinks up at him blankly. “Uh, well, I try to eat healthily, which seems like a lie considering all the junk food we just had, but it’s true. I also play volleyball for fun at a club. And I get up at 5:30am every day and go for an hour long jog.”
“Perhaps I could see you play volleyball sometime,” Akaashi murmurs.
While Bokuto babbles about how great that would be and how Akaashi would love everyone there and how he can’t believe Kiyoko is a lesbian, Kuroo is such an asshole, Akaashi keeps thinking 5:30am over and over and over.
Nothing in life is free.
(They wake up and Bokuto murmurs ‘Hey, Merry Christmas’ all quiet and hoarse in his ear and Akaashi blushes harder than when they were having sex.)
Bokuto’s shows Akaashi some HTML coding he’s done for a social media page.
“I’m improving, right? And I did it in like, fifteen minutes. Management are gonna love this shit, it fits all the specs we talked about in the meeting, I’m gonna show it to Kenma.”
“It’s good, Bokuto-san. Check with Kenma first, though,” Akaashi’s fingers trace the outline of the tablet Bokuto has shoved beneath his nose. He has improved a lot. The colour scheme is awful.
“Thanks, babe,” Bokuto chirps. He leans in a kisses Akaashi on the cheek. Akaashi nods.
Oikawa does a double take from his computer. He turns to Iwaizumi and pokes him in the rib. Iwaizumi grunts, peers upward, then does a double take from his computer. They both frown and share A Look filled with more confusion than words could ever convey. Bokuto smiles and pats Iwaizumi on the shoulder as he walks back to his cubicle.
“So…do you know if they…? Are they?” Iwaizumi coughs when Bokuto is out of earshot.
“I thought everyone just joked about it.” Oikawa shrugs.
“Right.”
“I mean it was a cheek kiss, Bokuto’s a touchy guy,”
“You ever seen him kiss Kuroo on the cheek?” They both go quiet.
“You know if Akaashi gets promoted to Head of Finance before me, I sw-”
“You hate numbers,”
“As if that’s the point, I’ve been working here for years and like hell am I letting Ushijima beat me to that promotion followed by some pretty boy who spends his free time shoving his tongue down Bokuto’s throa-“
“You are disgusting,”
“Thank you, Iwa-chan, exactly. Tobio-chan!”
“What?” A voice yells across the office.
“Top up this black coffee! No sugar.” He waves a star printed mug behind him vaguely and types with the resolve of a tornado. That’s it on the topic of Akaashi Keiji and Bokuto Koutarou.
ONE YEAR LATER
Akaashi is microwaving some nanohana. Bokuto isn’t in the office at the moment. He goes home early on Tuesdays and Wednesdays so he can do Youth Volleyball coaching. Akaashi encouraged him to take it up.
Akaashi and Kenma reach for the same spoon.
“You’re wearing a ring,” Kenma blinks, retracting his hand. He picks up another spoon and puts four heaps of sugar into his tea.
“Bokuto and I are engaged,” Akaashi shrugs. Kuroo, who is behind them boiling the kettle, drops the mugs he’s holding. They crack in two.
“What the fuck?!”
“The ring is pink,” Kenma observes. Even he looks taken aback.
“And yellow. It lights up too. Bokuto got it from a gashapon machine last night and I recommended he just get it over with,”
"On Christmas Eve," Konoha smirks, slipping in behind Akaashi to get something out of the fridge. "How romantic,"
The microwave dings. Akaashi serves up his nanohana and mixes some mustard in with it. Kuroo is yelling a lot. The container Bokuto put the boiled rapeseed in has a sticky note attached.
It says: Love you lots, Keiji! Kick ass today! :D
Akaashi smiles at the little doodle of a stickman playing volleyball and walks back to his cubicle.