Chapter Text
All Akaashi wants is a quiet place to write his essay.
It’s Friday night- technically, Saturday morning- and he’s been kicked out of his dorm room. He hasn’t actually been kicked out, but from the copious amounts of alcohol stuffed in his roomie’s friends’ backpacks as they paraded into the shared space, it’s pretty clear that his room isn’t going to be an option for getting any work done. Akaashi just hopes nobody pukes in his bed this time.
The library is closed, Kenma is home for the weekend (and it’s way too fucking cold to walk across campus to the apartments anyway), and the lounge has been taken over by some sort of LAN party. Starcraft, he’s pretty sure, if the chorus of “You must construct additional pylons” means anything.
So, dorm kitchen it is. The concrete floor is cold and the whole room smells faintly like burnt popcorn, but as far as study spaces go, Akaashi could do worse. The kitchen’s in the basement so it’s quiet and there’s a large table that he can spread his notes and books out on for his all-nighter. And, to be frank, it’s a kitchen in a dorm filled with 21- and 22- year old guys, so, very rarely in use. In fact, Akaashi himself has only been down here a few times (usually to burn his own popcorn), but desperate times and all that.
He’s fully in the zone now. The Lord of the Rings soundtrack is playing softly through his speakers and his fingers are flying over his laptop. He’s sure the grammar is atrocious, the spelling even worse, but that’s a problem for daytime-Akaashi, one who isn’t running on Red Bull and steam.
A loud clang pulls Akaashi out of his zone with a start.
“Aaah, so sorry! I was trying to be quiet, but the pan slipped…”
Akaashi blinks, unable to speak because was he really so buried in his work that he didn’t notice a literal Greek god walk into the kitchen at 3 in the morning and start cooking? Black and white hair a wild mess, sweatpants slung low on his hips, and the brightest pair of golden eyes he’s ever seen...Akaashi’s concentration is shot, but he’s not going to complain at the moment.
“Are you making eggs at three in the morning?” he asks instead.
The guy laughs, nods, and turns back to his pan and Akaashi thanks every deity he’s never believed in because that laugh has done something to Akaashi’s insides and he’s pretty sure he’s too exhausted to keep his facial expressions as carefully controlled as he usually does.
He tries to go back to his essay, he really does, but now that he’s so aware of the other guy’s presence, it’s hard not to keep discreetly peeking over the top of his laptop. He watches the lines of his shoulders (oh, and they are very good shoulders) as he stirs the eggs in the pan, reaches for the block of cheese and the grater (because of course he shreds his own goddamn cheese), adjusts the single earbud in his ear. Akaashi wonders what he’s listening to.
Then he’s piling a panful of cheesy scrambled eggs onto a plate and turning back around and Akaashi snaps his eyes back to the words on his screen.
“Hungry?” The guy hovers near the table, uncertain, looking at Akaashi. “I mean- if you’re busy, I can go-”
Akaashi’s stomach interrupts, betraying the refusal that was forming in his mind with a loud growl.
He flushes, but the other man just flashes Akaashi a grin that threatens to split his beautiful face in two. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”
“Oh, um, you really don’t have to-” but before Akaashi can finish his weak attempt at a protest, the plate is set down in a clear space between them and a second fork is produced and handed to Akaashi. “Uh, thank you,” he says, closing his laptop and shoving his papers to the side to make a little more room. “I guess I really should eat something that isn’t instant ramen or chocolate-covered espresso beans.”
“No worries! Thank you, actually...I made way too much. I don’t think I’ll ever learn how to cook for one.” he laughs and takes a bite of the eggs. Akaashi does the same and struggles to hold back an obscene noise because goddamn these are probably the best scrambled eggs he’s ever tasted.
“I’m Akaashi Keiji,” he says after a couple more blissful bites. “And thank you for the eggs. They’re ridiculous. Did you put crack in there?”
Bokuto’s grin widens even more, if that’s possible. “Bokuto Koutaro. And no crack, just a stupid amount of cheese. I’m glad you like them. Although,” he taps his fork against his chin thoughtfully as his wide, golden eyes roam over Akaashi’s face, “if I’d known I was going to be cooking for someone so cute, I’d have made something more impressive.”
Akaashi flushes again, but he allows a pleased smile to creep over his face. “Well maybe now that you’ve discovered my super-secret study spot, you’ll get another chance to impress me.”
Bokuto takes that challenge and runs with it.
It becomes something of a routine. Akaashi and Bokuto keep going down to the kitchen; Akaashi does his best to work on his homework and study for his exams while Bokuto cooks, but it’s difficult. He always has his earbuds shoved in his ears, face screwed up in concentration as he works, tip of his pink tongue poking out while he whisks eggs or chops vegetables or flips pancakes. Akaashi really loves watching him cook.
They eat fried rice and talk about their classes. They eat homemade pizza and talk about their families. They eat pasta and talk about their hobbies.
Akaashi is reserved, quiet, private. He notoriously hates most people, which is probably why he and Kenma get along so well. In theory, he should hate Bokuto, too. Sure, he’s ridiculously hot, but he’s also loud, brash, impulsive. He’s just...a lot.
But Bokuto is also soft. He’s sweet and flirtatious and blushes almost as much as Akaashi does when he pays him a compliment or when Akaashi can’t keep a lewd noise from slipping past his lips when he eats something Bokuto makes. He’s also smart as hell. Akaashi learns that Bokuto is always listening to audiobooks of his class texts because he has a hard time focusing. But he’s learned a workaround and has been on the Dean’s List ever since he figured it out. And he’s perceptive, practically attuned to Akaashi’s emotions. He knows when Akaashi’s had a bad night or when he needs to vocalize his train of thought for his essay. They aren’t in the same classes, but Bokuto listens all the same.
“‘Kaashi?” Bokuto asks one night. He’s standing at the stove, a ladle in one hand, earbud in the other. Akaashi isn’t sure what he’s making tonight, some kind of soup, but it smells delicious. It always does.
“Hmm?”
“Are you going home for break?”
Akaashi lets out a harsh laugh before he can stop himself. “Uh, no.” At Bokuto’s inquisitive look, he elaborates slightly. “Let’s just say the less time I spend in that house, the better.”
Fortunately, Bokuto doesn’t press the issue. Instead, he grins and says, “Good!” Akaashi cocks an eyebrow and Bokuto flushes slightly. “I mean, it doesn’t sound like a good situation at home and I’m sorry about that. That really sucks. But I’m not going home either. My parents are going on some cruise, some weird second honeymoon thing. I don’t know, they made it pretty obvious I wasn’t invited. But that’s okay because I really wanted to ask you on a proper date after finals and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to wait three-”
Akaashi crosses the short distance between them and cuts off Bokuto’s rambling with a chaste, but firm, kiss. It lasts all of two seconds, but that’s long enough for Akaashi to find out that Bokuto’s lips are warm and soft and that when he’s caught off-guard, a pretty pink blush tints the tips of his ears. Akaashi wants more of that.
“I’m going to say yes, if that makes it easier to ask.” Akaashi murmurs, tugging playfully on the sleeve of Bokuto’s tee shirt.
Bokuto huffs out a laugh. “Can I take you out after finals?” he asks, bringing his free hand up to cup Akaashi’s face. He rubs a calloused thumb over Akaashi’s cheekbone, pulling a slight shiver out of him.
“Hmm,” Akaashi pretends to consider, but leans his head into Bokuto’s touch, enjoying the way those golden eyes widen and then narrow with mischievous understanding.
“Tease,” Bokuto mumbles, pulling Akaashi in close for another kiss, this one far less chaste. Their lips slot together like they were made for each other and Akaashi has to hold in a gasp as Bokuto’s teeth graze his bottom lip. Bokuto kisses like his personality- enthusiastic and experimental, strong in the way he holds Akaashi flush against his body, but gentle in the way one hand tangles in his dark curls, brushing a thumb behind Akaashi’s ear and making him full-body shiver.
They break apart, gasping like teenagers, when a hissing and sizzling sound reaches their ears. The soup’s boiled over, but neither can find it in them to care.