Chapter Text
Winter mornings are hard. This is a statement Akaashi has never known more absolutely than he does right now. There’s a muffled bang, the clattering of several kitchen utensils hitting the floor in quick succession, followed by a loud, brash laugh that comes as a burst before being smothered under the quick hiss of a ‘ Shhhhh!’. Usually, such a sound is associated with a sort of sharp harshness, but this particular ‘ Shhhh!’ is weak, cowering and shaking slightly under the strength of the laughter threatening to burst through. He doesn’t need to open his door to guess which of his flatmates is the source of the disturbance- not that he knows his flatmates all that well. Well enough to know who’s noisy and who leaves their dishes in the sink, who stays out late and who leaves behind all their soap bottles in the shower. It’s not that it’s an active decision to remain at a distance- he wants to know them. Wants to go for drinks, to sit in the living area watching movies until he can hear birds outside, to be there knocking things over in the kitchen at 7AM on a Saturday. He wants these things- he does. But it just hasn’t worked out that way so far. It’s not that he’s shy, even, but he doesn’t like to impose. Can’t invite himself into nights out the way others do, doesn’t want to jump into conversations where he might not be welcome and his humour might be perceived as rudeness.
They’re not unkind, his flatmates. In fact, they’re overly friendly a lot of the time. There’s 6 of them, in total, sharing a living space, a bathroom and a kitchen. He only really sees Kuroo, Nishinoya and Kiyoko around however. He’s not too proud to admit that, socially speaking, he’s struggling. Moved in during September, currently it’s early November, and somehow he’s not managed to acquire anything beyond a polite acquaintance here or there, a very occasional study session with Kiyoko, some (promptly but politely rejected) party invites from Nishinoya and the odd Friday evening where he sits and watches volleyball games on TV with Kuroo. They try, but he knows his lack of outwardly displayed emotion can be off-putting to some. Akaashi knew university would be different, harder. More assignments, more pressure, less help. Right now though, it’s just resoundingly lonely.
The neon green shirt hanging off the handle to his wardrobe seems to be staring at him. He has a shift at 9AM, a fact which lingers in the back of his brain like a wine stain on a white carpet. The nametag is basically a taunt. ‘ Hi! My name is Akaashi , please ask me for assistance! :-)’ written in bright green text, the corner peeling upwards slightly where the sticker has come away from its metal backing. Worse than both the tag and shirt combined is the hat. It’s too big for his head, flattens his hair into something awful and has the company logo stitched across the front, as if he’s a walking billboard. It’s a shit job, but it’s a job. He’s in no position to quit and look for something better, a fact painfully hammered in by his recent bank statements.
Immediately as he enters the combined kitchen and living area, it’s like every sense is being assaulted. Kuroo and a man he’s never seen before are stood huddled together over the sink, muttering among themselves as Kuroo seems to be trying to remove something from the bottom of a pan with a chisel-like motion. This does not strike Akaashi as a surprise. Upon hearing his entering, the both of them whip around like two children caught in the act of a playground conspiracy, looking between themselves as if to communicate through glances for a second before both sets of eyes turn upon Akaashi. They both look mildly apologetic, at least.
“Akaashi! Shit, man, did we wake you? I’m so sorry if we did.” Kuroo laughs sheepishly, looking away from Akaashi to glance at the pan behind him once again. “This isn’t your pan, don’t worry.” He adds, face contorting lightly at the mess in the pan. As he speaks, the currently nameless man next to him glances between the pan and Kuroo’s face rapidly, gradually devolving into laughter. It starts with a curl in the corner of his lip, rapidly losing control and snowballing into a shake that racks the entire length of his shoulders and his chest. A long, sharp arm shoots out to elbow his side, yielding a surprised yelp and a shout of Kuroo!
“No worries, Kuroo. I was awake already. Work.” He offers a civil smile to them both as he speaks, gesturing lightly to the uniform. He takes a second to look away from Kuroo and observe the man next to him. He’s tall- not as tall as Kuroo, but tall. Well built, which is something Akaashi can appreciate on a cold morning. Perplexingly, his hair is styled straight upward in some kind of gel that reminds Akaashi overwhelmingly of an owl. It suits him, which is perhaps even more perplexing than the style itself. His eyes are directly fixed on Akaashi, not even looking away once Akaashi stares back. He can’t see the colour under the weak kitchen light, but the way they crinkle at the corners as he laughs makes Akaashi’s face feel warm despite the persistent draught coursing through their flat.
Kuroo nods momentarily, before he seems to realise something and mentally catches himself. “Oh! Akaashi, this is Bokuto. He’s on the volleyball team with me. This mess here is all him.” Another indignant squawk of protest, followed by a shove from Bokuto this time. Kuroo is grinning easily, shoulders lax, turning back around partially to resume his scraping technique.
“It is not! I mean… yeah, it is. But I didn’t know you weren’t supposed to leave it overnight, y’know?-” He reminds Akaashi of a cartoon, the way he emotes with his entire body. It’s shockingly endearing. “-Nobody thinks to tell you this stuff!” He seemingly deflates, huffing and leaning backwards into the kitchen counter to lean on his hands. Kuroo shakes his head lightly at this, snickering as he works. The pan looks pretty bad from what Akaashi can see, but not unsalvageable. He doesn’t recognise it, so Bokuto must’ve brought it from his own kitchen for Kuroo to take a whack at. He allows himself a soft exhale of amusement, looking between the pan and Bokuto’s exaggerated expression of dismay.
“It’s alright, Bokuto-san. It happens to all of us.” He offers. Immediately Bokuto seems to perk up again, turning to Kuroo to stick out his tongue. Akaashi thinks for a second, frowning lightly at the mess in the pan before the memory he’s searching for resurfaces. “Have you tried boiling it for 15 minutes with baking soda, then scrubbing? That’s what my mum used to do, anyway.” At this, Kuroo hums for a second before snapping his fingers, reaching into the far corner of one of the cabinets and retrieving a small tub of the aforementioned powder. Distantly, he finds himself wondering if it came with the kitchen. It’s probably old enough.
“Ah, you’re a genius, Akaashi! Say your thanks, Bokuto. Maybe Kenma won’t kill you for massacring his pan now.” He snorts, a fond expression overtaking his face as he sets to work.
“Akaashi! You’re a lifesaver!” Immediately, Bokuto straightens up to throw himself at Akaashi in a tight hug. Before he has a chance to respond, though, he’s retracted again and returned to his position against the kitchen counter. The warmth is sorely missed, despite only feeling it for a second. “He’s a scary one, Kenma! I had to smuggle that pan out before he saw it-” At this, a small pout. “Stop laughing at me, Kuroo! You asshole!”
“Hey! I’m the one scraping your drunkenly burnt omelette off Kenma’s favourite pan! Watch it, you horned owl bastard!” At this, the two settle into a comfortable state of bickering. Akaashi wants to stay. He wants to stay, to keep laughing with Kuroo, keep smiling warmly at Bokuto, but it’s nearing 8:15AM now and he doesn’t want to be late for his shift. God, he hates his job. He makes his exit quietly, offering a simple ‘nice to meet you, Bokuto-san’ and a smile. He’d say he hopes to see Bokuto around again, which in all honesty he does, but he’s not really sure what he’d say even if he did. He lets himself get away with fantasising about it as he trods to where his car is parked nonetheless.
Akaashi’s car is nothing fancy, but it’s what he can afford right now. It’s pre-owned and the front right door handle sticks in the cold, meaning you have to climb across from the left, but it’s his and he feels an overarching fondness for it despite the many faults and the occasional safety violation. He turns the key, presses down on the pedal. Immediately the car gives out a weak sputter, before going silent again. There’s a few seconds where Akaashi’s brain stops to comprehend what’s just happened before the immediate dread kicks in. He turns the key again, again, again. It makes no difference. About 10 minutes go by of Akaashi staring blankly at the wheel, teeth grit together. Fuck. If he were a person of less composure, he might scream right about now. He really can’t afford this. There’s no money, there’s no time, there’s no public transport running from the flat to the store, he’s going to be late, he’s going to have to phone and listen to his manager blame him, he’s going to- before he even gets the simple luxury of spiralling further, there’s a knock on the window. Spiked hair, sharp nose, wide, affable grin. Bokuto. He steps back from the window momentarily, to give Akaashi space to slip out.
“Ah, Bokuto. Did you need something?” His tone is light, impersonal. He might be having a rough morning so far, but there’s no benefit in letting Bokuto know that. Somehow, he seems to be able to tell anyway, though. Most people struggle to differentiate between Akaashi’s slight expressions, but Bokuto seems like the type of person who feels exactly what you’re feeling in the deepest sense, no matter how hard you try to hide it. There’s a brief moment of consideration on Bokuto’s part, like he’s not quite sure exactly what angle to approach Akaashi from.
“Hey! Akaashi! Well, it seems more like you need something, eh?” It’s a teasing remark, accompanied by a soft, mirthful eyebrow raise. “I’m on my way out to go sneak this pan back into Kenma’s drawer in the kitchen. If you need a ride, it’s no biggie! A friend of Kuroo’s is a friend of mine, or whatever the saying is.” He’s smiling broadly as he speaks, an expression Akaashi feels warmly familiar with despite meeting Bokuto just this morning. He’s constantly moving, bouncing up and down slightly on the balls of his feet with his hands burrowed into his coat pockets. Akaashi feels like he should say no, say he’s very grateful but he doesn’t want to get in Bokuto’s way, doesn’t want to cause an inconvenience. But, unfortunately, there’s a selfish part of him that is both painfully aware of the minutes ticking by and hopelessly excited at the prospect of elongated human contact beyond a simple greeting. An even more selfish part of Akaashi thinks spending 10 minutes in a car staring at Bokuto’s arms sounds like the least he deserves right now, too.
“That… would be very helpful. Thank you, Bokuto-san.” He responds demurely, following the gesture of Bokuto’s head and falling into step next to him. His car is parked close by, black in colour. It looks at least as shitty as Akaashi’s, which makes him feel mildly better about himself. There’s one thing he immediately notices about Bokuto’s car: it’s extremely cluttered, which he could have anticipated. Not necessarily unclean- apart from the few snack wrappers discarded in the cup holder, there’s no actual trash to be seen. It’s mostly a mixture of random sports equipment, books and bags. A half deflated volleyball rolls around in the back seat and he can feel the several gym bags haphazardly piled up in the back seat’s foot compartment digging into his back through the thin chair. The two front seats are left miraculously unobstructed, though there’s a sun bleached cat sticker on the dashboard staring right at Akaashi.
“Sorry about the mess…” Bokuto begins, laughing self consciously and avoiding looking directly at Akaashi for a second before they lock eyes. It’s dark out still, but the winter sun is beginning to peek through the sombre morning clouds and he can see now that Bokuto’s eyes are a deep gold in colour, like two shining medals. He turns his key, several large keychains clacking together as the car starts. “It’s not usually this bad, I swear! It’s just… well, I don’t really have an excuse. Mostly I’m just lazy!” He laughs brightly at this, pulling off out of the parking lot with ease, if a little too fast for Akaashi’s comfort.
“It’s the store next to the gym, which I’m assuming you know where that is considering you’re on the team with Kuroo. Thanks for this again, Bokuto. I’d really be in trouble without you.”
“Aaah, no worries, ‘Kaashi!” He takes his hand off the wheel to flap it nonchalantly in Akaashi’s direction for a second, before promptly settling it back. “You saved my life and cleared me of my pan-related crimes, after all! We’re even now, how about that?”
There’s a comfortable lull between them as Akaashi flashes a subdued, grateful smile, Bokuto’s eyes flickering to the side for just a second to grin back. Bokuto isn’t one to sit in silence, however, so he presses on.
“So what are you studying? You look smart, like a math-y person or something. I suck at math, big time. Kuroo’s mentioned you before, but no details.” Bokuto’s style of conversation, generally, is to just ramble and hope whoever he’s rambling to manages to pick up the pieces. Akaashi finds himself taking in every word that leaves his mouth.
He titters lightly, like Bokuto’s just told a joke. The expression on Bokuto’s face tells him that he doesn’t really know why Akaashi’s laughing, but he’s glad to see it nonetheless.
“I’m actually studying literature. I’d like to work for a big publishing firm someday, I think. What about you, Bokuto-san? You seem like you’re pretty into your volleyball.” Bokuto’s chest puffs proudly at this, reminiscent of a preening bird.
“Yup! I’m on a volleyball scholarship, actually. I’m studying sport science, but ideally I think I’d want to play pro volleyball. Hey, scrap that, I will play it! Gotta keep confidence, y’know?” Akaashi nods- he’s not convinced that such things can be manifested through pure confidence and determination, but he can admire the optimism nonetheless.
“I don’t know if Kuroo-san might’ve mentioned it, but I used to play setter back in high school.” Immediately as the words leave Akaashi’s lips, Bokuto’s hands are flying off the wheel again in an excited flurry of expressions and noise. On anyone else, it would be too much, but Akaashi finds himself actually enjoying the freedom with which Bokuto feels everything. It makes him feel like he can let himself feel visibly, too.
“Whaa-?! No kidding! That’s so fucking cool! Oh, we should totally play sometime! Come on, just one game!” He sees the look on Akaashi’s face and immediately laughs, eyes flitting between Akaashi, the rearview mirror and the road. “Don’t look so… bleugh about it! It’d be real fun.”
Akaashi hums, noncommittal. It would be fun, purely to see Bokuto in a game, watch him play. He doesn’t say this, though.
“Bokuto-san, I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Does your hair freeze that way in the cold?” There’s no response for a few long seconds after he says it, and the panic is immediate. Oh god, he thinks. Oh god the blunt humour type of joke didn’t land and he’s hurt and he’s going to kick me out and watch me roll into the ice on the road behind him and he doesn’t understand I’m kidding and I actually think it suits him and I-
He doesn’t get much further because Bokuto practically explodes with the strength of his laughter, leaning forward into the wheel as his entire body shakes with it. He’s turning pink slightly, trying to control himself and failing with a spectacular splendour as he nears the shop. Every time he calms, he starts again, even harder than before. Distantly, Akaashi notices he feels pretty triumphant.
“Fuck, Akaashi! You’re really funny! To answer your absolutely terrific question, no, it does not. However I am OBSESSED with the idea of trying to make that happen.” He’s calm enough to respond now, though his voice is still shaky with it, wavering now and then to trail off in another fit of giggling. He’s pulled into the parking lot next to the store now, immediately swivelling his torso to face Akaashi as the car comes to a stop.
“Gimme your hand!” He demands excitedly, neglecting to wait for Akaashi’s response before gently taking it from its position in Akaashi’s lap anyway, rifling around in the side of his car door and retrieving a pen. The pen is cold against Akaashi’s skin and it’s running out slightly, but he can just about make out the numbers scrawled across the slightly cracked skin on the back of his hand. “My number! One, so we can get that game going, two, because you’re really funny and we should hang out. Well- not should. We’re gonna hang, whether you want to or not!” Another beam, before he checks the time quickly with a glance at his phone.
Akaashi nods, smiles, thanks him for the ride again, wishes him the best of luck with sneaking the pan back and exits.
As soon as Bokuto’s gone he puts the number into his phone.
---
A week passes. It’s the next Friday, now. Bokuto has been there three nights out of six and Akaashi finds it to be the opposite of a problem. Nobody has ever texted him quite so much as Bokuto, nor has anyone ever warranted such fast responses from Akaashi. It’s nice. Through Bokuto’s reach, he’s acquired Kuroo’s number too. They walk to their lectures together, sometimes they study together, they talk and joke more now and it’s just...nice. It’s probably quite a negative testament to Akaashi’s ability to make friends that he needed a middleman to befriend his own roommate, but it’s easier not to dwell. What matters is that somehow, within a week of knowing Bokuto, he’s felt more companionship and affection than his entire university career thus far. He’s not an overly expressive person- he feels, just as much as anyone, but he likes to keep it to himself. But it’s not as easy to suppress smiles, and snippy jokes, and blunt comments around Bokuto- a fact he finds to be agreeable, to his own surprise. University is still hard- their student flat is terrible, his assignments stack faster than he can keep up, his job still sucks. But it’s not so lonely. He finds that this simple act of companionship is enough for him.
---
Within a month, Bokuto (with a little prodding from Kuroo, too) has wrangled Akaashi into playing two games. Akaashi’s surprised at his own ability to keep up with the ragtag bunch Bokuto had managed to gather for their team- he’d assumed that after he stopped playing in secondary school he’d rust over and lose his touch, but from the way Bokuto whoops every time Akaashi sets to him, he assumes he can’t be that bad. The encouraging grins he gets from Bokuto, as well as the (frankly, quite sweaty) hugs and shoulder thumps make him all the more sure. Bokuto is a kind, sensitive-to-a-fault person, but he struggles to say anything he doesn’t feel. If he didn’t think Akaashi was good, he’d do a terrible job of hiding that fact. Not for lack of trying, of course. It’s probably a good thing that he feels with such vigour and he’s so easily afflicted, then. That’s just Akaashi’s observation anyway. His very, very, suspiciously close observation. Faintly, he wonders if the comparisons his mind subconsciously supplies between a certain pair of gold eyes and the warmth of the elusive sun can be filed under ‘observations’ too.
Kuroo captains the opposite team on both occasions, a man with longer, pulled back hair in a dye job that reminds Akaashi of flan and a bored expression setting behind him. Kenma, he learns. He was in his first year, like Akaashi. He finds a friend in Kenma easily- mostly, because Kenma actually takes the effort to approach him and thank him for his saving grace role in the pan slaughter of the previous month. They find an easy rhythm of snarky comments, a comfortable level of silence and a certain kind of subtle humour that tends to go over everyone else’s heads. Akaashi can appreciate that Kenma’s a quiet person who doesn’t enjoy exertion, finds comfort in finding someone similar to himself in that aspect. In turn, Akaashi’s got an uncanny talent for keeping Bokuto in check that Kenma seems to appreciate greatly. Together, they just about manage to stop Kuroo and Bokuto devolving into full on trash talk mode. At the end of it all, there’s only a quick tearful moment and an exclamation of ‘Bro..!’ needed to get them talking again. According to Kenma, this is a momentous feat.
The cold snap of the weather just keeps getting harsher as they enter December, a fact Kuroo bemoans with great extravagance as they quickly pace towards the library. It’s a particularly severe Monday morning- snow is expected, even. The thought of attempting to sleep tonight, knowing their flat’s central heating is about as reliable as a wonky compass, is enough to almost get Akaashi to join in with Kuroo’s grand display of despondency.
“..Can’t stand this anymore, my fuckin’ fingers are freezing off!” Kuroo mutters, flexing the reddened tips of his fingers a few times as if to try and fight off the encroaching stiffness that cold brings. It makes little effect, and he quickly stuffs his hands back into his pockets as the wind picks up again.
“I’ve offered you my gloves, Kuroo-san. My jacket’s lining is a lot thicker than yours-” This is said with a pointed tone that Kuroo certainly does not miss, sticking his tongue out and furrowing his eyebrows at Akaashi’s glance down at the offending jacket. It’s thin, black denim with no lining or insulation, layered over an old hoodie. “-so the gloves would do you more good than me. Please, just take them.” Akaashi moves as if to start removing his gloves, but Kuroo’s quick to shake his head and sigh in a way that tells Akaashi he’s fully aware he’s making a martyr of himself, and it is entirely purposeful.
“No, no, I’ll just suffer. When my fingers fall off and they kick me off the volleyball team, though, you’ll be the one who has to tell Bo why. Because you didn’t mother me enough.” At this, Kuroo grins and nudges Akaashi’s side. The most Akaashi is willing to offer in exchange during this little barter of expression is a mild eye roll, accompanied by a nearly undetectable mouth twist that makes Kuroo grin even wider.
“It seems more like it’s because you value fashion over practicality.”
“A man has to look good, Akaashi! You wouldn’t understand my plight with those huge doe-eyelashes of yours.” He pauses, scowling for a moment before his expression lightens up again. They’re coming upon the library entrance now- it’s old and grand, at least ten times more so than any other building on campus. In the summer there’s supposed to be ivy clamouring up the pillars on either side of the front door, but right now there’s just brittle, dead twigs. Akaashi can feel himself pick up speed at the mere thought of the space heaters on offer inside. Kuroo decides he isn’t quite finished on his tirade, opening his mouth to continue.
“You know I had a hat on earlier, at practice? I’m sat there, getting packed up to leave the gym, minding my business. And Oikawa- you know Oikawa, don’t you?- well, he has the nerve to tell me I look like a swaddled rooster and laugh at me! It’s a harsh world, Akaashi. I’d rather be cold than give Oikawa ammunition.” At this, Akaashi finally offers a fully formed smile of amusement. This, he can understand at least. He does know Oikawa. He’d probably choose to be cold too.
“Well that probably has more to do with your hair, Kuroo-san.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my hair! At least my hair does this naturally, instead of whatever the fuck Bo has going on.” With this little comment, Kuroo’s laid the bait. Akaashi knows he’s being baited. He bites anyway, against his superior judgement.
“Bokuto-san’s hair is fine. Unorthodox, but so is he. It fits.” As soon as he speaks the word ‘fine’, there’s a certain type of ingenuine smile that narrows Kuroo’s eyes. A dark eyebrow shoots up, and Akaashi can hear the words before they’re even said aloud.
“You always defend Bokuto. That’s interesting.”
“Kuroo.”
“It’s just interesting!” They share a long, dry stare at this. Anyone else might continue pressing, but Kuroo knows when to back off, and so he relents. He pokes fun at Akaashi, but it never crosses the line. This is something Akaashi can appreciate immensely. The ability to be mindful of an unspoken set of social boundaries is one Akaashi values more than he knows how to word. He hopes Kuroo can tell he’s appreciated anyway.
As they enter the library through the heavy wooden doors, there’s a familiar face at the opening desk. Kenma is sat, a university-issued blue lanyard with an ID attached around his thin neck. Right. Akaashi forgot he worked in the university’s library running the log system- he’s not one for jealousy and he likes to think he has a good grasp on his emotions, but the envy he feels for Kenma’s employment situation is deep and seething. As they approach the desk, Kenma offers a quiet greeting to them both, which Akaashi is happy to mirror with a polite nod. Without speaking, Kuroo stops in front of the desk, slinging his bag forward to dig through the main compartment for a moment. Kenma’s eyebrow is raised and he’s giving Kuroo the most unimpressed look Akaashi has ever seen. Bokuto would laugh at it, if he was here. Finally, Kuroo seems to find what he’s looking for with a faint ‘Hah!’. He produces it like a sought-after prize, which makes the reveal of a cereal bar somewhat underwhelming. The look in his eye is one that says ‘do not, under any circumstance, argue with me on this’ as he slides the bar across to Kenma. It’s tense, watching them have a micro argument without even speaking the words aloud. Finally, Kenma seems to decide that conceding is in his best interest and that protesting further would only cause unnecessary exertion. Kuroo looks exceptionally pleased with himself as he walks away, looking behind him to watch Kenma take a bite. It’s a soft moment that takes Akaashi aback, slightly. It’s like he’s witnessed something that was intended to be private. He does not think about white and black hair.
“You know, Kuroo-san, you’re kind of a mother hen yourself, really. Hairstyle notwithstanding.” Akaashi quips innocuously, settling into their library table of choice. It’s the smallest table, but it’s the only one on the lower floor that doesn’t wobble when you try to write on it. There’s a wonky looking bird scratched into the corner, along with the letters H.S + K.T 4EVR! He thinks it’s meant to be a crow, but honestly, he really can’t tell.
“I’m going to ignore that little remark there because I know Kenma is just looking for reasons to eject me from this library and I refuse to make his job easy for him. It’s only because I know he forgets to eat. Don’t you start expecting cereal bars too.” Kuroo glances back at Kenma once more, though he has his back to the two as he types rapidly at the outdated computer system and hasn’t turned to look back so far. He seems to be forcing himself to do it, but he has made progress on the cereal bar. It’s probably more to do with placating Kuroo’s worry than it is with actually sustaining himself, Akaashi thinks. It’s sweet. He responds to Kuroo’s statement with only an understanding hum, retrieving his books and pens from his own bag as Kuroo does the same.
After about 20 solid minutes of analysis and essay writing on Akaashi’s part, chemical formulas on Kuroo’s, the other man’s phone lights up momentarily on the desk. A moment passes in which Kuroo stops to respond. Akaashi wouldn’t care or even take notice, if it wasn’t for the conspiratorial look that Kuroo’s giving him as his eyes flit between the phone and Akaashi like a flickering lightbulb. He doesn’t want to ask. Doesn’t want to know. But he’d rather prepare himself in whatever way he can for whatever that look means. He doesn’t even get a chance to question before Kuroo’s placing the phone face down on the desk once again, leaning forward to rest his head against his palm as he stares Akaashi down.
“Bokuto’s joining us.” Kuroo can’t suppress the quiet snicker any longer at this. Akaashi remains a blank slate, face devoid of anything that could be used as a tell. He’s not giving Kuroo anything.
“I didn’t take Bokuto-san as a man who meshes well with libraries.”
“He doesn’t. Kenma might have a stroke.”
“Yet he’s joining us.”
“Look, I can’t explain it- ” A narrowing of Akaashi’s eyes, an ever widening grin of pure self-satisfaction stretching across Kuroo’s face. “- Oh wait, yes I can, actually! It so happens to correlate with me name dropping a certain someone who has the initials A.K.” Kuroo seems to sink further into his palm as he speaks, sharp, angular shoulders rising with the motion. It reminds Akaashi overwhelmingly of the way cats arch their backs before they hiss at you.
“Maybe he’s decided to take an interest in studying.” Kuroo can’t hold back the scoff at this response. Akaashi can’t even blame him for that one- Bokuto is not somebody who likes to sit in a silent library and be still for even seconds at a time. He’s only known Bokuto for a month, but he knows this to be a fact from personal experience.
“Look, Akaashi, I’m not saying anything. I’m just saying that’s… interesting.”
“Stop calling things that are decidedly uninteresting interesting.”
“I’m just saying! It’s gotta be written in the stars or some shit. I have never, in my entire friendship with him, seen someone keep a lid on Bo even half as effectively as you do. He’s at our place for you way more than he is me, and when he
is
there for me? He basically ditches me for you instead anyway. Remember when we played volleyball last tuesday, and he threw his jacket off, and you fuckin… caught it? In one hand? Like you saw it coming a mile away? It’s literally comical.” Kuroo’s grin hasn’t faded, but it has taken on a degree of genuinity that unnerves Akaashi even more than the previous air of smugness did. He could handle smug and smarmy. An earnest discussion on the unexplainable magnetism between him and Bokuto is considerably harder to handle with a cool demeanour.
It’s unexplainable, mostly, because Akaashi tends not to connect with other people often. He can be friends, he can laugh, he can joke. But real moments of raw human connection are few and far between. He does have moments, of course. Only this morning did he and Kuroo have their unspoken moment of mutual boundary acknowledgement and appreciation. But it’s different, with Bokuto. He’s never consistently had so many moments with anybody else before- it’s almost eerie how close he feels, sometimes. It might just be Bokuto’s penchant for unabashed emotion, but it feels deeper than that. He wants it to run deeper than that. It feels as though they just come together naturally. Like two notes in a chorus, or like orange comes next to red on the rainbow. It’s just how it goes, how it always has gone, how it always will go. If he were more of a romantic and a tad less self aware, he’d even make the stretch to say the universe wants them to connect. He’d never say this aloud. He’s aware of how it sounds.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply here, Kuroo-san. We just get along.”
“Who says I’m implying anything, eh? All I’m doing is commenting on the very interesting things I happen to be seeing. Not a single implication in sight.” He picks up the phone once again as he talks, looking away from Akaashi to type. His composure doesn’t loosen for a second, even when no longer directly under those watchful eyes. “He’ll be here in ten, he says. He’s coming down from the gym.”
“Straight from the gym?” Akaashi asks, trepidation crawling up the back of his neck like the dead ivy that swathes the concrete pillars just outside the library doors. A hyped up Bokuto, fresh out of the gym, in a quiet library where he will be expected to sit patiently and work. There’s a phrase Akaashi remembers, distantly. A bull in a china shop. An owl in a library. It’s not that Bokuto is a blundering fool or an overexcited child- it’s that he quite literally cannot contain his energy. He shakes, he clicks, he bounces his knees, he stands up just to sit back down again. It’s obviously not easy or pleasant for him. He doesn’t like to watch it happen.
“Yup.”
“Kuroo-san, that’s-”
“A terrible idea. Yeah. I’m seeing the flaws in this plan now.” Kuroo thinks for a moment, staring at the work in front of him. “We could meet him outside, say we got bored. His flat is close by. The building he’s in has actual functioning heaters, too.” A moment of consideration passes before they share a mutual nod, packing up in tandem.
“I can’t believe we've only been here for, like, 20 minutes, and we’re packing up for airhead supreme. This is the most useless study session I’ve ever embarked on to date. When I get dropped from this chemistry degree, I’m naming and shaming Bo without hesitation.” Kuroo bites with a sour inflection. Kuroo likes to complain, but it’s without any real heat and packed with a lingering feeling of fondness. It’s obvious Kuroo cares about his friends, visible in everything he does.
They meet Bokuto without trouble. He’s like a stoked flame, exactly as Akaashi expected, chattering at a million miles a minute and gesturing with his hands flying in all directions. He speaks with so much zeal it makes even the most mundane of gym visits sound like the climax to an adventure novel. Each word said with more vigour than the last- his version of events is done so in a way that makes you forget entirely that you’re not actually listening to the plot of an action movie- you’re listening to Bokuto describe the time he dropped a huge dumbbell exactly 1cm away from his foot. It’s impressive, really. The walk to Bokuto’s flat is short, made even shorter by the wind that seems to have only increased in severity.
Bokuto’s flat layout is almost identical to Kuroo and Akaashi’s, albeit marginally cleaner looking and overall more modern. The building is newer, flashier. All Akaashi can think is how much more expensive it probably is. Akaashi and Kuroo’s front door tends to stick as the hinges freeze up or the wood swells in the heat, but Bokuto’s opens smoothly with a simple flash of his keycard ID. The walls are painted white, sterile. There’s an obvious mark underneath it, perhaps a water stain, but at least somebody has made the effort of attempting to cover it up. The common room is empty, as Akaashi would generally expect on a Monday morning. There’s four rooms for four roommates as opposed to six, the other three of which seem to be out. Immediately upon entering Kuroo says something about needing the bathroom, leaving Akaashi and Bokuto alone.
“Hey hey, Akaashi! You’ve never come over before, right?” Bokuto exclaims, pivoting in place to face Akaashi with his full body. He’s in the middle of removing his winter jacket, which he discards easily on a coat rack set up by the front door, reaching out a hand to take Akaashi’s own coat.
“Ah, no, I haven’t. It’s quite similar to where me and Kuroo live. Nicer, though. Warmer.” He says the last word with an appreciative sigh. The warmth of the common area is starting to set in now, the ice edging his bones melting away the longer he’s basking in it. Bokuto’s face falls briefly, eyebrows furrowing.
“Man, I guess it does get pretty cold in you guys’ flat, huh? Well if you ever need to warm up, you know my door’s always open!” With this he returns to his former smile, moving to enter the kitchen area. “You thirsty? We don’t have much in right now. Kenma has some cokes in the fridge but I think he might try and smother me if I ever move in on his kitchen territory again…” He’s pouting, pushing bottles and other items out of the way as he searches. It sets off a particular sort of throb in Akaashi’s chest, a great burst that slowly settles into an uncomfortable warmth. He ignores it.
“There’s no need to worry about me Bokuto-san, I’m totally fine. Thank you, though.” He clears the nervousness in his throat, hovering awkwardly by the kitchen counter. He doesn’t know what to do with himself, shifting weight from one foot to the other. Things usually flow naturally with Bokuto, but the intimacy of being in another person’s space like this has thrown him off guard. He finds his tongue feels too thick and he’s overthinking the simple decision of where to sit, eyeing up the grey sofa and armchair placed in front of the hefty TV. Bokuto doesn’t seem to notice the hesitance in Akaashi’s lack of movement, hip checking him casually as he strides past to slump down onto the sofa cushions. He pats the seat next to him, an expectant look in his eyes and a beam on his face. Akaashi needs no further beckoning.
“Oh my God, ‘Kaashi, I just remembered. The funniest shit ever happened earlier, and it totally made me think of you! I was gonna text you but I stopped myself because I wanted to see your face when I said it so bad. Okay, so, I’m running with this guy called Iwaizumi who’s on the team, right?” Akaashi nods, silently urging Bokuto to continue. The fact that Bokuto thinks of him- sees things, associates them to Akaashi, wants to share them with Akaashi. It makes him feel shockingly tender, like if Bokuto placed a hand on him he’d bend with it, malleable to the touch. The story wouldn’t be as funny if anybody else was weaving it, but Akaashi finds his shoulders shaking as Bokuto comes to a finish. He speaks with his whole body, jumps up, makes sound effects. He speaks to Akaashi like there’s nobody else in the world he’d rather speak to, like there’s nobody he’s ever been so ecstatic to see. He can never quite tell if this treatment is expressed to everyone, or if it’s reserved for him. Selfishly, he hopes it’s something only he gets to feel the full force of.
“So what did he do? After you pushed him? He doesn’t seem like the type to take that lightly.”
“Oh, he totally threw a shitfit. Called me an owl bastard and all. It’s his fault, he started it! He needs to spend less time around Kuroo, honestly.” Bokuto sighs, leaning back into the cushion. There’s a comfortable lull in the conversation where they simply sit, looking at each other and laughing softly. Akaashi allows himself a grin, which Bokuto returns in full force. His hair is dishevelled from his time in the gym and some of the front strands have fallen forward out of place, curled softly against his forehead in a way that Akaashi finds his eyes centering on. He can see where Bokuto’s been running his hands through it. Wants to follow the paths with his own fingers, map it out himself. God, that’s the most cliché thought he’s ever had. It rings true, though, despite the fact it makes Akaashi feel like he’s living a telenovela.
Kuroo returns at that moment, vaulting over the back of the sofa and directly into Bokuto. There’s a mild tussle, some swearing, before Kuroo rolls off with a howl of laughter onto the floor. Bokuto kicks his side softly, attempting to fix his hair with a grumble hair where Kuroo has tousled it out of place even further. Life feels easy, like this.
The hours melt by as if they were a lit candle, thick and warm and easy, his body curled vaguely into Bokuto’s direction from his side on the sofa. They play video games for most of it, for which Akaashi merely offers moral support and the occasional quip that makes Bokuto wheeze. He pointedly makes an effort to firmly remain cheering on Bokuto’s side, purely to rile Kuroo up. It works spectacularly. Usually Akaashi’s a man who remains to a strict schedule, but here it’s as though the hours slip away from him without so much as a whisper. Before he’s even noticed, it’s 5PM and Kuroo is standing from his position on the armchair, leaning backwards to stretch, long back curving with a quick crack as his expression turns to a wince. Bokuto rubs his eyes beside him, stretching his legs out too.
“Yo, so like, I’m on the evening shift at the restaurant tonight and I gotta go. My shift starts in an hour and I have to change and everything. You coming back, Akaashi? It’s fine if not, I’ll call a car or something. Really not in the mood to trudge back right now and end up getting caught in the snow.” Kuroo speaks languidly, the warmth of Bokuto’s flat and the comfort of the chair weighing on his tone, looking at Akaashi as he awaits an answer. Bokuto’s whining before he gets the chance to consider his options, reaching one long arm out to latch a hand around Akaashi’s elbow and pull him into his side.
“Noooo! Don’t leave, Kenma or Yukie won’t be back until late, I don’t wanna be bored and alone! And I’ll miss you! We can make dinner or something!” Bokuto wails, his words taking on an increased dramatic flair the longer he speaks. He’s winding both arms around Akaashi’s elbow now, pressing his cheek into Akaashi’s shoulder. He can feel the shape of his nose and the corner of his mouth through the fabric of his jumper. It’s enough to sideline his rationality completely. Akaashi sighs with a (mostly feigned) hint of resignation, shaking his head lightly at Kuroo.
“I’ll stay. Have an easy shift, Kuroo-san.” At this, a whoop from Bokuto. He disentangles himself and jumps up all across the span of a couple seconds. The feeling is sorely missed.
“Hell yeah! Enjoy your shift, Kuroo. Sucks to be you.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed waiting on a table in my life, but for you bro, I will certainly try.” Kuroo speaks with an unenthusiastic groan, glowering and sticking his tongue out at Bokuto as he nears the door to slip into his thin jacket. There’s a few moments of shuffling as he slips into his shoes, a salute, and he’s gone.
Immediately Bokuto is on him like a wild dog to a piece of steak, dragging Akaashi up by his hands and guiding him into the kitchen. Akaashi lets himself be pulled far too easily, a tranquil expression overtaking his face as he laughs faintly along with Bokuto. He hoists himself up and settles onto the kitchen counter casually, the hesitance of earlier melted away with the warmth that encompasses everything Bokuto does.
“So, what’s on the menu, chef Akaashi? We have a grand selection of… frozen pizza, microwave rice and some ramen cups. Or takeout. Yeesh, I need to hit the shop or something. This is a struggle fridge.”
“Whatever you have is fine, Bokuto-san. You don’t need to cook for me, really.” Akaashi insists. Immediately Bokuto makes an elongated ‘ Blaaah!’ sound, flapping his arm as if to say ‘nonsense’.
“Well you must be hungry, right? I sure as hell am. I don’t want you to go hungry, Akaashi! You need to eat, keep strong, y’know? I’d worry about you!” He says it so nonchalant, as if it’s nothing. But it feels like everything to Akaashi. He gives up on his current task of reshuffling the fridge as if it will magically produce more food to work with, instead closing the door with a soft click and turning to lean against it, looking directly at Akaashi.
“We can just get a pizza. I’ll pay! I know you’re still saving for that car fix-up and I did some overtime at the shop last weekend, so it’s really no biggie! Plus, Yukie’s on shift right now and if we can catch her on the phone, she always puts a little discount on for me if I beg hard enough.” Akaashi is shaking his head immediately at the suggestion, rifling through his back pocket for his wallet. He doesn’t really have the expendable funds for takeouts right now, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hungry and while the thought of Bokuto being willing to pay casts his chest in a warm, syrupy feeling, he doesn’t actually want to impose like that.
“It’s fine, Bokuto-san. I can split on a pizza with you.”
“But Akaashi! Your car! I told you, I got it! If you’re that bothered, you can pay me back by coming to watch our practice or something sometime. That’s what I really want! Put the wallet away because I’m not taking it. I’m placing an order and you can’t stop me.” He’s dialling as he speaks, placing his hand over Akaashi’s lightly to push the wallet away with an overly serious look. Akaashi follows the motion, pocketing the wallet with an eye roll. He’ll just slip the money under the door and run when he leaves. Bokuto would probably be too busy laughing about it to chase him down.
The order is placed. Bokuto ends up calling and hanging up quickly about three times before Yukie is the one who picks up, a fact which he can hear her bemoan harshly through the phone, even though it’s not on speaker. Bokuto is just laughing, the way he always does. It’s hard to hold anything against such an expression of pure warmth. They’re sitting, flicking through the TV channels and making comments, when Bokuto sits at attention suddenly to stare at Akaashi. There’s a Bokuto-shaped shadow cast over his face as Bokuto leans over him, grinning at Akaashi as if he’s just had the idea of a lifetime.
“Your apartment is cold as fuck, right?” Bokuto asks, tone shaking with suppressed excitement.
“You could say that, yes.”
“I have literally the best idea ever. Sleepover! We got a pizza, a futon, heating. You can wear some of my stuff or something to sleep. It’s like a highschool movie!” Bokuto’s staring at him and he’s hopeful- so earnestly hopeful, that Akaashi is hard pressed to say no. He doesn’t like staying anywhere he doesn’t live, doesn’t like lingering and forcing his way into someone else’s space. Bokuto is different though. He wants to envelop himself completely.
“Well. If you want me to, I suppose I don’t have any early lectures tomorrow.”
“Yes-!” A rapid motion of triumph, a fist pumped into the air. “-Akaashi, you’re like, the best! Of course I want you to! I’ll drive you home tomorrow if you want. It’s supposed to snow. I didn’t want you to have to go back in that, and it’ll save you walking in it tomorrow. Fuck, we need a movie, stat!”
Akaashi settles back into that grey sofa cushion, watching Bokuto pat around for the remote like an overly excited puppy. He lets the warmth wash over him like a blanket, lets himself smile fully. He feels, somehow, like he’s where he’s supposed to be. Where he was always supposed to be.
---
It’s the following Saturday. Temperatures have remained on a low, but the snow has degraded to mush at this point. There’s not much surviving through the heavy rain of the past couple days, and what is left is mostly mud and grit. It’s not very pleasant, but city snow never is. He’s on shift, 7:30PM, standing straight, eyes weary from the fluorescent lighting within the small convenience shop. His manager watches like a hawk, it feels like. She’s never liked Akaashi. Everything he does, she takes problem with. It’s obnoxious to the point of pushing even him toward a violent explosion of frustration, but he cools himself and focuses on simply letting the time pass instead. His car can’t afford to get fired for mouthing off, after all. He’s so tired, but he wouldn’t dare to lean forward or slouch under her gaze.
He’s had, in the floweriest terms applicable, a shit shift so far. 9AM til 8PM tonight. He’s been picking up extra hours here or there, but they’re few and far between and hard fought for. The lights bear down on him, constantly. He feels like an ant frozen beneath a magnifying glass in here- it’s stifling. The neon green colour scheme of the company certainly doesn’t help. He picks at the corner of his name tag sticker mindlessly, eyeing up a woman who looks like she’s coming toward the till.
He scans automatically, takes the card automatically. It’s robotic, but he’s beyond the point of offering a falsified smile. This customer seems uninterested in small talk anyway, staring out the shop window into the dark street outside with a tap of her foot. He feels his phone vibrate silently in his back pocket, scanning the card across without even checking. He hopes it’s Bokuto. Bokuto has taken up a lot of his thoughts on this shift so far.
The card declines. He pauses for just a second, looking between the card in his hand and the woman before him. He hadn’t even thought to look, but now that he is looking, he can see it’s not even a credit card. The words ‘Tokyo City Gym Membership’ stare at him in silver writing, his gaze flickering across it lightly.
“Ma’am? I’m so sorry, but this is a gym card. I’m going to need a viable payment, please.” He says it with all the pleasantry he can muster. It’s polite enough, but the woman seems to be looking for a fight today. Her eyes flare and he knows immediately she doesn’t want to make life easy for him. This is the third one today. He considers climbing over the desk and throwing his hat to the floor, like he’s in a movie, like he knows things will just work out alright, like life just fits around him. It doesn’t. He remains at his station, simply steeling himself.
His manager swoops in the minute the woman begins her power trip. Somehow, this feels worse than simply taking the argument with a smile and a company issued apology. He knows it’s going to come up on his report at the end of the month. Fuck, he hates his job.
“Akaashi, how about you take a break, okay? I’ll cover this.”
He needs no further convincing. He’s gone without a second glance to the woman- the situation is seriously tipping him over the edge for today, but he can take pleasure in the way she lays into his manager as he retreats at least. As soon as he’s in the break room, he sinks onto the small bench provided for them. He actually might cry. He’s not a person who cries, but he is human, and sometimes it’s just too much. He pulls his phone out to look at the message, swallows roughly, takes a breath. 7:46PM now. He can stick it- the end is in sight, and Akaashi isn’t a quitter. He can manage. The text is from Bokuto, which makes things feel a little brighter at least. It’s an abundance of emojis but the general gist boils down to ‘call me when you can!’. He can hear the woman raging on even through the closed door of the break room, so he calls. He needs it.
It doesn’t ring for long.
“Akaashi! Hey, hey, hey! How’s your shift going? You get out early?” He sounds so cheerful, like he’s on a separate plane of existence from the dim break room he currently resides in. The steel bench is cold even through the back of his trousers and the light overhead flickers every now and then. There’s a fly trapped inside somehow, throwing itself against the wavering bulb. Akaashi feels the same.
“Ah, no. Just… taking a quick break. What did you want me to call for?” His voice sounds flat, flatter than it does normally. He hopes it doesn’t sound so bad through the phone.
“No reason, I just missed your voice!” He inhales sharply at this. These casual professions of affection catch him every single time. He thrives on them, relies on them for survival. “How’s your shift going? You sound tired.”
“It’s…” He considers lying, but Bokuto would want the truth. “It’s bad, honestly. Like this woman just tried to pay with a gym card. I mean, who pays with a gym card, Bokuto-san?” He leans forward, elbow resting on his knee with his forehead pressed to his palm. Closes his eyes, but the surgically white lighting is burned into his retinas anyway.
“Wow! Even I’m not that dumb. You holding up okay? I can come over after your shift, if you want? I’m not busy!” Bokuto sounds so genuine that it makes Akaashi smile despite it all, huff warmly.
“That’s a lie, Bokuto-san. You have a deadline tomorrow. That’s more important. I have to go, but I’ll see you around. You have a practice match on Monday, don’t you? I’m working tomorrow but I’ll come see you then, okay?”
“Akaashi!” It’s drawn out, a note of real, deep concern sinking into every letter. Bokuto’s the very definition of a bleeding heart, Akaashi thinks.
“I’ll see you, okay Bokuto? If it’ll placate you, then know you’ve helped just by calling. Goodbye.” He hangs up, stares at the phone for a few seconds longer, returns to his post. It feels far too lonely to stay sat on that steel bench with no arm around his shoulder, no excited tone in his ear.
---
His shift comes to a slow, drawn out end, with all the urgency of a crumpled up newspaper floating along the river of rain on the side of the road. As soon as 8PM hits, he’s clocked out. The sky has darkened into a formidable shower outside, ice cold and unforgiving. He didn’t bring an umbrella when he came this morning, totally forgot. He wants to bang his head against the glass of the window. He doesn’t. It’s a 10 minute walk to the nearest bus stop, then a quick bus ride and a further 5 minute walk to his flat. If he just dives in, doesn’t loiter, it’ll be over faster. He tells himself so, anyway. The thought doesn’t make the icy shards of water hammering down outside look any more inviting.
He steps out, jacket raised over his head in attempts to stay as dry as possible. He feels a hand tap his arm, jumps about a mile as he swivels to see who it is. The jacket blocks his peripheral, but as soon as he sees the familiar coat and jersey he knows. Bokuto. He’s stood there under a streetlamp, beaming. He’s soaked through, water dripping down the line of his nose, but he’s still beaming. He looks like the hero in some kind of romantic drama, Akaashi thinks, even under the ominous street lamp that casts an iron-toned shadow over the lines of his face. The rusty glow catches and sparkles briefly in the droplets that linger in his hair, like a crown. Maybe if he’s lucky he’ll dip him by the waist as if he was a prince, too.
“Koutarou?” He’s so surprised the first name slips out without him even meaning it, but it only makes Bokuto smile wider.
“Surprise!”
“Why- why are you here?” He makes an effort to shield Bokuto with his jacket as well, but it doesn’t do much good. Bokuto huddles in and chirps out a thank you at the gesture anyway.
“Well- you sounded sad! Earlier, on the phone I mean. When you were telling me about that woman trying to pay with that gym card. Usually, you’d say something really quick, and smart! But-...” There’s a pause in his words, a still in the air. “-you didn’t. You just sounded, well, sad. So, hey! I figured I’d come walk you home, cheer you up! I didn’t think it’d rain, or I’d have driven. I’m pretty dumb, huh?” And that’s it. It’s such a simple explanation, and so, so earnest. Everything about Bokuto is earnest, though. Right up to the way his hair has renounced all traces of hair gel and keeled over sadly in front of his eyes, the rain sinking further into it with each second.
There’s something manic in the way Akaashi starts to laugh. He’s laughing so hard he can actually feel tears starting to pool, his stomach starting to strain, his lungs setting into overdrive. Usually his laughter is barely laughter at all- it’s a light exhale, a breathy titter. Blink and you’ll miss it. But here he is, standing on the wet, shining pavement with his peeling nametag and company logo hat. And he’s laughing. He’s laughing, laughing, laughing, all because of this boy. This boy and his huge, all encompassing need to give more affection than Akaashi could ever possibly even hope to know what to do with. He’s laughing, all because it’s 8PM, he’s just had possibly the worst shift of his life, he’s exhausted, it’s raining, the cold is biting at him from every angle, his car still doesn’t start right so he’s been walking to and from work, his hair won’t lay flat in the morning, his favourite shirt has a small hole in the seam, the walls in his flat just keep on peeling and because despite everything, despite only really knowing Bokuto for the past five weeks, he’s here. At 8:05PM. In the hammering rain. After the worst shift of Akaashi’s life. In the piercing cold. He’s standing, waiting for Akaashi. And all he has to say for himself is ‘it’s because you sounded really sad earlier, is all’. It’s quick and sharp, a stab in the night, the realisation. The realisation that he wants to kiss Bokuto, that is.
He doesn’t. He just catches his breath, wipes the tears away and smiles. They walk, in the pouring rain with jackets pulled over their heads, hands far too close together yet never close enough. At the bus station, they huddle unnecessarily tight together under the shelter for warmth. They both catch colds a week later, but he can’t find it in him to mind. He never minds when it’s Bokuto.
He thinks he’d walk through the rain and catch a cold ten times over to feel that close to him again.