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“You have to be observant,” Saito tells him late one evening, after a practice that’s gone on for too long. It’s that jolting, stuttering, awkward part of a new year where some days are cut short, and others drag on as they work out kink after kink, try new plays and formations and run endless simulations. It’s not so bad. Koutarou might not love volleyball itself, but he loves his teammates, loves his friends, so all the extra work isn’t all that much of a pain when it comes down to it.
Plus, some of the new first years are kind of entertaining.
Saito’s treated him and Hirota to ice cream from the convenience store they all pass walking to the train. Konoha was supposed to tag along, but he got caught up talking to that— what’s their name? Arakawa? Aka . . . Aka-something. (Saito doesn’t even have to tell him observational skills include knowing names, especially of the people he’s sharing the court with so often now.) Konoha got caught up in conversation, so they left him behind.
“It’s not just about paying attention to the ball and the other teams’ plays,” Saito continues, gesturing with his one free hand. He dips his head to lick at the side of his melting ice cream, before it can start to drip down his hand. “You have to know your own team just as well. Everyone’s strengths and weaknesses, their habits. Like how Hirota always starts yelling when he knows he’s botched a spike.”
Hirota shoves Saito with a sharp, “Hey!” Saito and Koutarou only laugh.
“Or, y’know, Komi favors his left leg after that dislocation, and Jin’s jump floats always sort of drift to the right side. You’ve gotta know these things.”
“You’re so full of yourself,” Hirota snorts, taking a bite from his popsicle. Koutarou cringes at the sight of it. It’s got to hurt his teeth, right? “Look at him, Bokkun, gets named captain and suddenly he’s a real high-and-mighty know-it-all.”
“Don’t mind him,” Saito says, waving a hand. “He’s just jealous.”
“Jealous my ass. I like it more this way, anyway. Too much work trying to lead the team. Better off on this side, where I get to ignore everything you say.”
“Don’t be an asshole.”
“Sorry, what was that?”
“I said, don’t be an asshole.”
“Again? Didn’t quite catch it.”
“I said— oh, fuck you.”
Hirota leans into Koutarou’s side when he laughs, head tipping back, the sound filling the empty night. Koutarou grins and licks at his ice cream. He’s always liked his seniors, always sort of looked up to them. He wouldn’t quite call them friends, really, but they’re more than just teammates, for sure. Somewhere on the line between mentors and acquaintances.
“Listen, Bokkun, ignore everything Hiro ever says or does,” Saito says, peering over at him. “Keep attentive, keep your head on your shoulders. You could be in my place next year, y’know?”
“Forget that.” Hirota shoves at Saito’s shoulders before swinging an arm around Bokuto’s. “Just do you, alright? You don’t even have to worry about all this. You’ll be a perfectly good captain as you are.”
“Well, once he actually learns everyone’s names.”
“Hey!”
As nice as it is to hear the words, Koutarou doesn’t really think he’s cut out for being captain. Hell, he’s not even all that passionate about volleyball. He only picked it up in middle school because it was the one sport beside football he was actually kind of interested in, and the football team’s captain had dumped Koutarou’s sister the week before he had to pick a club. And, well, volleyball’s not so bad. It lets him get out all the pent up energy he has after sitting in class all day, and he got to meet Konoha and Sarukui, and training camps are always really fun.
But a captain should probably think more of volleyball than it simply not being bad. Saito’s passionate about it, has been since he was a kid, he always says. Their captain last year was always fired up about every aspect of the sport. Sometimes Koutarou finds himself tempted to skip practice, and the only thing actually making him go is knowing that the sooner he’s home, the sooner he has to start on his math assignment.
It’s not like it matters anyway. He probably shouldn’t even be thinking about it. He’s not captain material, he’s still not actually positive their name is Akaashi, so it’ll never happen. Still, it’s nice to think about sometimes.
He’s not going to be captain, but he still takes a piece of Saito’s words to heart. Koutarou’s found him to actually be pretty smart about things, despite what his class grades might say.
Observation. It’s a useful skill in any right. And even if he’s just another player, it would be helpful to know his teammates’ strengths and weaknesses, just to be able to prepare himself when they’re in a serious match and he has to know which way it was that Sarukui’s hands tend to sway to when he blocks, to compensate for it.
So Koutarou starts paying more attention. He starts, naturally, most importantly, with actually learning all the first years’ names, memorizing their positions, where they often stand on the court during their scrimmage games. He notices things about his friends he didn’t before. Komi’s favoring of his bad knee, for one, which he should have picked up on far before now. Or there’s Ono’s overcompensation to adjust after making mistakes, that always leads to further mistakes.
He has a sort of mental list of a lot of the team’s strengths and weaknesses. The list is smaller for some of them, the ones he isn’t on the court so often with. Longer, for those he is. Like Saito, and Komi, and Akaashi. He starts to find, actually, that his list for Akaashi might really be the longest of them all. It’s not that they’re particularly close. In fact, Koutarou can’t even tell some days whether they actually even like him all that much. But they spend a lot of time practicing together. They’re the team’s designated back-up setter when Hirota needs to switch out. So Koutarou finds himself knowing quite a bit about them.
Akaashi’s biggest strength: their patience.
This, Koutarou probably would have noted even if he wasn’t looking for it. They have a level head and a calm demeanor and they don’t rush into things. They know the right opening to make certain plays, rather than just jumping in and making a dump because they’re frustrated the other team got that last point, or throwing out something flashy for the sole purpose of showing off. They always know the right moment for things, and have the ability to wait for it.
It’s not just when it comes to matches, either. They’ll sit calmly through everyone else’s frustrations, mood swings, their yelling and jeering and all the mess that they are on and off the court. They wait through all of Konoha’s and Koutarou’s rambling on topics that surely don’t matter to them, listening all the way through when half the team would have shut them up or walked away. Koutarou knows they’re just as emotional as the rest of them sometimes, but they always seem to know when letting it show will only serve to make things worse, and wait until they think no one’s looking to give in.
Koutarou sees them late after a practice match against Shinzen, tucked in an empty hall while everyone else is carrying equipment back out to the bus, features twisted and hands wringing together. They hadn’t played their best today. Everyone could see that much, but no one had commented on it. They’d all come to the silent, collective agreement that whatever Akaashi was dealing with was probably personal, and if they wanted to talk about it, they could, but no one would force them into it.
Akaashi hadn’t seem particularly frustrated in the gym. Just quiet. A different quiet from the usual. They almost always have something to contribute to the team’s discussions, or a comment to make to Konoha or Saito, but today, they’d been nearly silent. It weighed on Koutarou almost more than the rest of the team’s frustration that they’d been losing all afternoon, badly, against a school they never have such a big issue with.
But here, in an empty hall, all alone, Akaashi glares at the floor, twists their hands together, pulls at their fingers. Where no one should see them, and where they won’t be a weight on anyone else’s emotions. If Koutarou were closer to them, knew them a little better, he might know what to say, to let them know it wasn’t their fault. Sure, they weren’t at their strongest today, but they gave a lot of effort to the game, and that’s what matters most.
Koutarou doesn’t know them well enough for that, though. He watches only a moment longer before turning back towards the gym, the rest of his team, biting his lip, hands shoved into his jacket pockets.
Sometimes, Koutarou thinks, someone’s strengths might also play as weaknesses. He’s not sure what to do with that.
Another of Akaashi’s strengths comes in their quick thinking. They’re not as familiar with the other teams they practice with, not yet. They don’t know as well all the tricks they like to hold up their sleeves, their wild cards. Yet, they always pull off just the right play when Koutarou thinks they might have just gotten trapped in a web. They always know who to toss the ball to, or where or how to block, to get them the point.
They have good control over the ball, and have a good memory for how everyone likes their tosses, how high and how far from the net.
They’re good at managing sloppy receives.
They don’t wear kneepads, which Koutarou thinks might be hazardous to themself, but they’re always careful when they tape their fingers.
They aren’t the most organized person, at least not in a way that makes any sense to Koutarou, but they still manage to keep track of where all their things are, as well as everyone else’s.
When any of the rest of the team stays late to practice extra, so does Akaashi, flitting around between everyone to work with them all. For what might be the first time since the beginning of his first year, Koutarou starts staying a little later some nights.
Actually, he starts staying late a lot of nights. His sister asks if he’s feeling well one evening after the sun’s already gone down, and his dinner is cold still waiting on the table for him. She disregards all his shoving and protests to put a hand on his forehead, and only laughs when Koutarou says he’s fine.
“I thought you didn’t like volleyball,” Ikue says, pulling back. “Or do you just have math homework you’re trying to avoid?”
“I like volleyball,” Koutarou huffs. He drops into one of the kitchen chairs and pulls his dinner plate towards him. “Interhigh’s coming up, all of us are working hard.”
It’s mostly true. Interhigh is coming, but not so soon that anyone’s putting in more effort than they would usually. And either way, Koutarou’s never been one to put in so much work for tournaments regardless. He’s always had his starting spot, and never felt like he was going to lose it over anything. But he’s not going to say anything about that to his sister; she already torments him enough.
“Whatever you say, Kou. Just get your homework done, would you?”
He and Akaashi grow to be on friendly terms. Sometimes Koutarou passes on walking back with Saito and Hirota so he can walk with Akaashi to their bus stop before he rushes to catch his train. Akaashi listens to him talk about anything without interrupting or looking bored or annoyed. Sometimes they chime in with their own comments, or share their own thoughts or stories. Patient, kind, thoughtful.
Sometimes Konoha will drag Akaashi into the classroom they all eat in for lunch, giving them the chair between Koutarou and Yukie. They listen to Komi talk about his favorite scenes in action movies, and offer Sarukui advice on how to ask out the girl in his piano class. They talk about their sister’s rugby games, and chime in when Yukie starts going on about musicals.
Koutarou’s not sure how he missed the fact that they’re good friends with a lot of the rest of the team, but he finds them flitting around all over the court, and all over the school, talking to all of them. They join him and Saito and Konoha to get pork buns after a practice they end early, and Koutarou keeps finding himself staring.
Akaashi’s interesting. They keep napkins in their backpack that they offer to the rest of them once they finish eating, because of course no one else thought to grab any. They snort when they laugh at one of Konoha’s lame jokes — they laugh at one of Konoha’s jokes — and their shoulder keeps knocking against Bokuto’s as they walk. They know a stupid amount about old American rock music, rivaling Saito’s own knowledge, and Koutarou thinks this might be the most he’s ever heard them talk at one time.
“You should come out with us this weekend,” Koutarou tells them when they reach their bus stop. “We’re going — us ’n’ Komi ’n’ probably Hirota — to see Kingsman. Komi won’t shut up about it, y’know. And, I don’t know, Konoha wanted to go look about getting some new kneepads, so. We’ll probably just end up going around. You wanna?”
“I’d like that, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says. “Thank you.”
It’s another of Akaashi’s strengths, Koutarou decides, watching them talk to Komi after the movie, both of them fully animated, that they get along well with just about everyone they know. They fit in wherever anyone will have them, and at the very least, is polite. Koutarou wonders what else they have hiding under the surface. Akaashi makes him curious.
Akaashi’s quick-witted. They always have a good comeback or sharp joke to make when the moment calls for it. A lot of the time, Koutarou finds himself the target of their jokes, but he doesn’t mind it, not really. He knows Akaashi doesn’t actually mean any harm by it, and it’s not like Koutarou doesn’t joke about them a fair amount.
They’re sensitive, always attuned to everyone else’s emotions. They balance the team well, and know how to make everyone feel better after a stressful match. When they lose in the quarterfinals of Nationals, they bear the burden of everyone else’s heavy shoulders. Koutarou knows they’re disappointed as well, but that they’ll let it out in private.
(At dinner, while everyone else is picking at their food, Koutarou tells them they played well. Gives them reassurance he’s sure they need, even if they won’t show it.
By the end of the night, when they’re parting ways, Koutarou’s gotten a smile out of them. Their bottom front teeth kind of overlap a little bit.)
They’re touchy. This takes longer for Koutarou to notice than it should, but they’re probably the touchiest member of the team. Komi always wants to be holding someone’s hand and will take anyone’s without second thought, and Konoha’s always leaning on or against whoever he’s with. Koutarou himself likes arms around shoulders and the evening training camps where he can lay his head in his teammates’ laps while they all talk and play card games. Akaashi, though — they’re the most physically affectionate person Koutarou knows. They’ll hold Komi’s hand all evening while they play cards, curl an arm around Ono’s shoulders to comfort him after a lost match, link arms with Konoha while they walk through stores.
They’re one of the smartest people Koutarou knows, too. They help tutor some of the other students in his class on science and history, and sometimes comes around to Konoha’s while they’re studying on weekends. Even if they don’t know the material, they have tips to offer on how to memorize material, or work with certain formulas. As a contrast, though, they’re terrible at English. It’s the one thing Koutarou might actually be better than them at. They try, and focus hard during their study sessions. Still, when they don’t understand something, they’ll tug on Koutarou’s sleeve for help, and he’ll translate.
They have the world’s biggest sweet tooth. Koutarou mindlessly stores it on Akaashi’s list of weaknesses. They’re the first to pull from Sarukui’s stash of Kit-Kats when he offers them after practice, and keeps lollipops next to the napkins in their backpack. They arm wrestle Washio for who’s going to buy mochi ice cream on their way to the bus stop three times a week.
He thinks one of Akaashi’s most notable qualities might be their hands. They’re strong, graceful, elegant. Long fingers that know how to direct the perfect toss during matches, a gentle touch to inspect aching shoulders and soothe pulled muscles. Nimble enough to get out even the worst knots in everyone’s shoelaces. Restless hands that twist together, fingers that tap on every available surface, click their pen endlessly while they work through math problems.
Koutarou spends, probably, more time than he at all should seeking out Akaashi’s hands. It’s a comfort to hold them, fingers perfectly curled between each other. He watches them carefully open Kit-Kat wrappers, and holds his breath when their fingers comb through his hair while he plays Mario Kart on Komi’s living room floor. They fold politely behind their back while they listen to their coach speak before games.
Strong hands, graceful hands, hands Koutarou hates to let go of. Hands that say more about Akaashi than words probably ever could.
Somewhere along the line, endearing gets put at the top of the list of Akaashi’s strengths.
Somewhere along the lines, Koutarou puts on his own list of weaknesses: Akaashi Keiji.
Koutarou is named captain in his third year. Some part of him feels like he doesn’t deserve it, but a larger part knows he’s earned it. He’s put more work into practice, which, in part, is thanks to Akaashi staying late with him to work on his straights (strength #38: considerate), and cares far more about the sport. And all the observation he’s done has helped him play more smoothly with the rest of the team.
Akaashi is his vice captain, of course, naturally. (This is in part due to strengths #2, #18, and #26: patient, organized, helpful.) They both spend early mornings and late evenings in the club room discussing strategy, how to accommodate for Washio’s sprained wrist, music and dramas and if they should get pork buns or ice cream on the way home (weaknesses #4, #12: sweet tooth, doesn’t think Dance the Night Away is the bop of the century, and strength #66: agrees that Hana-kun should just confess to Abe-kun already, it’s been eight episodes, come on).
The team does amazing throughout the year. It’s something Koutarou’s stressed about again and again, now that Saito and Hirota and all the other third years are gone. He believes in his team, but it’s always scary to have a whole new lineup on the court. Akaashi reassures him every time he starts to ramble on the walk to their bus stop (strength #3: good at handling everyone else’s emotions), and by the time Interhigh rolls around, Koutarou is confident that Fukurodani will dominate.
Volleyball isn’t the only time Koutarou’s spending more time with Akaashi. They eat lunch together — sometimes with some of the rest of the team, usually just the two of them — study at each other’s houses, get ice cream and go shopping together on weekends. Koutarou likes it, likes being around Akaashi, likes Akaashi. A scary thought, at first, but less so with time. Even if Akaashi one day rejects him, Koutarou knows they’ll do it with care. They’re too considerate to break his heart.
“Just tell them,” Konoha says, words jumbled around the lollipop in his mouth. “We’re gonna graduate soon, you don’t wanna miss your chance.”
Koutarou shuffles the cards in his hands. When it comes to talking about Akaashi, his hands become just as restless as theirs. Too many feelings spilling out, leaving him bouncing and stuttering and overflowing with it. “Yeah, just, I don’t know. I don’t want to make it weird right before Nationals, if we’re gonna be spending all that time together. What if I tell them and they reject me and then I have to sleep in the same hotel room with them? That’s gonna be uncomfortable.”
“But if you tell them and they feel the same, and then you’re sleeping in the same hotel room—“
Koutarou throws his hand of cards at him, scrunching his nose at Konoha’s cackling.
“Then after,” Komi says, actually trying to be helpful. Koutarou doesn’t miss his smile at Konoha’s stupid joke, though. “If they reject you—“
“Which they won’t,” Sarukui mutters. Or, at least, Koutarou thinks he does.
“—then it’s not like you’ve gotta see them all that much anyway. We’re all done here after volleyball, so it’s not like you’re having to run practices or anything together after that. No weird discomfort around them then. Besides, who says you’re sharing a room with Akaashi? Maybe I wanted to. You know they’ve never seen Star Wars? I’ve gotta educate them while I’ve still got the chance.”
“Like Akaashi’s gonna spend any time watching movies during a tournament,” Konoha says. “They’ll be too busy obsessing over videos of the other matches with Bokuto.”
“Who needs it? We’re gonna win anyway,” Komi grunts.
“You don’t know that,” Koutarou says, fingers fidgeting. Komi grabs his hand to stop him.
“I absolutely know it. We’re not going to lose.”
Konoha side-eyes Koutarou. “If we win—“
“When.”
“When we win, Bokuto’s gotta confess to Akaashi.”
Everyone else nods, as if it’s even their decision to make. Koutarou turns his hand in Komi’s. It’s not like he should keep putting it off anyway. Like Konoha said, they’re graduating soon. Nationals isn’t a bad time to do it.
“On the off chance we lose?” Sarukui says.
“Bokuto still confesses, and treats us all to pork buns.”
They do win. Koutarou’s heart is in his lungs when the final buzzer goes off. He barely registers the rest of the team charging him, arms and bodies wrapping around him, the yells and crying all a buzz in his ears. Nationally, first place, Fukurodani Academy.
He’s gone out with Akaashi every night over the course of Nationals. Late jogs out that turn into slow walks back, braving the cold to get out the extra restlessness over the stress of the tournament. They discuss strategy, and what to do to accommodate Komi’s jammed fingers, and what is the bop of the century, then, enlighten me, Akaash’. The last night there isn’t an exception.
Akaashi has an extra bounce in their step and an easy smile on their face as they walk along, hand laced with Koutarou’s, keeping both of them warm. They review all the plays of the day, let out all the things they had been stressed about all weekend but didn’t want to burden anyone with, swing their joined hands between them. All Koutarou can do is stare and swallow the lump in his throat.
The midway point is halfway around the small lake next to the hotel. As they start their return, Koutarou brings himself to speak up.
“Hey, Akaash’, I wanna . . . I’ve been . . . for a while . . . I didn’t want to say anything, before the tournament, in case it made things weird, you know, but . . . see, it’s like . . . I like you, Akaashi. I really, really, really like you.”
Akaashi doesn’t blink. Koutarou can’t tell if it’s the cold turning their ears red or if they’re actually blushing. He wants — needs — them to say something. Anything at all.
“I know, Bokuto-san.”
“You— What?”
Akaashi snorts, smile pulling at their lips. They swing their hands between them, fingers still laced together. “You’re kind of obvious, you know. I’ve been waiting for you to say something.”
Strength #2.
“I was beginning to think I would have to do it myself. For as observant as you are about people, I think you missed the pretty obvious signs that I like you, too.”
For the second time that day, Bokuto’s world stops. He feels himself grinning, knows his grip on Akaashi’s hand tightens.
“Really, Akaashi? You really—“
“Really, Bokuto-san.”
(Akaashi’s strengths, #40, #41, #48: beautiful smile, beautiful laugh, great kisser.
Koutarou’s weaknesses, #1-108: Akaashi Keiji, Akaashi Keiji, Akaashi Keiji.)