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“Rough night?” the guy beside Bokuto gives him a pointed look.
Bokuto grins at him crookedly. “Oh, Kuroo, you know me too well. What gave me away?”
Kuroo sighs, and then makes a big show of examining Bokuto from head to toe. “You reek.”
Bokuto snorts. “Of what? Teenage hormones? Drugs? Alcohol?”
“Jesus, all three,” Kuroo laughs, shaking his head, “I don’t even know how you’re going to make it through the day.”
“Kuroo,” Bokuto says in a serious tone, shifting in his seat, “this is standard college student protocol. Get horny, get high, and get drunk.”
“Bokuto,” Kuroo mocks Bokuto’s tone of voice, “this is standard you protocol. It’s the start of the second semester and you show up looking like an ex-convict.”
“How are you so sure I’m not an ex-convict?” Bokuto preens, waggling his eyebrows.
“Lord, I can’t even talk to you right now. We have around 20 minutes before class starts,” Kuroo chuckles, “get your shit together, man.”
Bokuto gives Kuroo a look that says it all: Make me. It really isn’t Bokuto’s fault that he’s like this today. He really didn’t mean to down more bottles of beer than usual. If his liver could talk, he’d probably have to wear ear muffs by now. Kuroo had a point, though—he did have to get his shit together. But how could he, when he was experiencing an episode of love sickness?
“So, who was it?” Kuroo prods.
“Who was who?” Bokuto says, feigning stupidity.
“Who did you break up with, dumbass?”
“Dickhead, you know I’ve never been in a fully committed relationship since, like, four years ago,” Bokuto laughs, “I really envy you and Kenma.”
“Yeah, bro, Kenma and I are hella tight,” Kuroo snickers, “it’s kind of your fault that you hook up with anything that moves and has a hole in it.”
“I’m not that horny!”
“Bokuto,” Kuroo says, drilling his gaze into Bokuto’s, “you undress everyone you want to hook up with, with your mind.”
“Dude, that’s besides the point,” Bokuto complains, “I never really had to do that. I could just use my hands to undress them already.”
Kuroo chokes out a laugh. “Is this your way of telling me that you’re oozing with sex appeal? I’m not into you, shithead. Chill out. You’ll find your Kenma. Just not my Kenma.”
“That’s the problem, Kuroo,” Bokuto says, “I think I’ve already found my Kenma.”
Kuroo stops in his tracks. “So? What’s the problem, then? If you can hook up with anyone you want right from the get-go, how is this Kenma so different?”
Bokuto looks down, suddenly very interested in the floor. He can feel the blood rushing to his ears. “I… don’t know. I’ve never really felt this way before.”
“Jesus Christ, you sound like a middle-schooler,” Kuroo teases, and then places a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder. “Dude. Bokuto. My man.”
Bokuto lifts up his head, heaving out a sigh. “What?”
“Get. Your shit. Together.” Kuroo says firmly. “If you won’t, I’ll do it for you. Where is this girl? I’ll tell her you want to dick her down.”
“You fucking dickhead,” Bokuto groans, “that’s not what I want. I want to get to know him better is all.”
Kuroo freezes. “There are two things I want to point out from what you’ve said just now.”
“Oh, yeah?” Bokuto challenges, “what?”
Kuroo holds up his thumb. “One, this is a guy.”
“Yeah, so? What’s new? I’m bisexual, you know.”
“I’m getting there,” Kuroo says, and holds up a second finger. “Two, you want to get to know him better.”
“Yes, I do,” Bokuto says, “like I said, I’ve never felt this way about someone before.”
Kuroo tries to process what Bokuto just said. “You… don’t want to dick him down?”
“No!” Bokuto shrieks, absolutely mortified, and then lowers his voice before his classmates could smack him upside the head for being too noisy, “I mean… I want to, but doesn’t that happen like, after the fourth date?”
Kuroo snorts. “Bokuto Koutarou has enough commitment to make it to the fourth date? God, I must be dreaming.”
“Oi, help me out here!” Bokuto begs, “I helped you out with Kenma. The first time you guys fought, you came crashing into my house, wailing and drunk.”
Kuroo pauses for a moment. Bokuto knows he’s only pretending to think. He already knows Kuroo’s answer.
“Alright, I’ll help you,” Kuroo sighs, “where is he, anyway?”
As if on cue, a raven-haired figure steps into the classroom. Calculating, cool, and deadly. He scans the room for a seat. This guy may be the new kid, but the way the other kids were eating him up and processing him meant only one thing: he’d be at the top of the hierarchy soon. Bokuto sits up as straight as an ironing board. Kuroo raises an eyebrow at him. This is exactly how the other kids reacted whenever Bokuto would step into the room.
“Him? Why him?” Kuroo says, mortified, “he’s a Bokuto Koutarou rip-off!”
“Except he’s way hotter, packed with cash, and couldn’t possibly be a player,” Bokuto whispers, absolutely helpless, “you’ve got to help me, Kuroo. Mom, I love him!”
“Lord, shut up,” Kuroo grumbles, “do you even know his name? How sure are you that he won’t play you?”
“I’m not sure, but help me anyway,” Bokuto pleads. “His name is Akaashi Keiji.”
As if he heard him, Akaashi Keiji looks across the room and pins Bokuto in place with his stare. Bokuto is frozen and absolutely helpless, and it makes Kuroo want to pity and laugh at him at the same time.
And then, unexpectedly, Akaashi’s lips tug up into a smirk. Though Bokuto may look like he’s only coolly returning Akaashi’s gaze, one playboy to another, Kuroo knows that Bokuto’s heart is running a marathon. He would enjoy watching the push-and-pull of a relationship with a dynamic as exciting as this.
Akaashi breaks the staring contest first, and proceeds towards a seat near the front. Bokuto inhales deeply, released from the spell that was Akaashi Keiji’s eyes.
Kuroo, with zero intention of alleviating Bokuto’s helplessness, leans into Bokuto’s ears and whispers, “it looked like Akaashi was undressing you with his eyes.”