Archive of Our Own

Bokuto unlocked the door and the tiny bell jingled. He flipped the light switches and smiled for a moment at the portrait of his grandfather that hung over the huge fireplace across the room. The musty smell of old books wasn’t something most of his friends ever enjoyed, and to be honest Bokuto didn’t care for it either. But it always managed a soft wave of nostalgia for the old man who had listened to Bokuto’s ramblings while the small boy sat on his knee. 

Bokuto’s own father had barely spared a second when it became obvious Bokuto wouldn’t inherit the family love of literature. But his grandfather had seen something special in the over-eager boy. His passing had hit Bokuto the hardest. 

It was him who had founded the bookstore in the early 70s upon arrival from Japan. Bringing the name that had adorned the very bookshop he himself had grown up in, the one run and managed by his own father in Tokyo. Fukurodani. He had shaped it into a neighborhood staple. 

Bokuto’s father polished Fukurodani into a gem that continued to thrive against the competition. He got involved in the rare book trade, and branched into college textbooks. All the while knowing Bokuto would likely be the one to run over a century of family history into the ground. 

When the day to retire finally came, his legs barely able to keep him standing, his memory failing him, he cried. Bokuto cried too, privately, in his bedroom. Knowing he’d be the one to drive a century of family tradition into the ground. 

The summer was the worst time to take over the shop. No students to buy textbooks- an enterprise that was falling more and more with students reselling books or buying digital. No older students in town to come in and browse while pretending to be more knowledgeable than they really were. Bokuto had grown to know his regulars. He’d grown a knack for retaining customers much better than his father had. But it was clearly not enough, especially not to impress his still invested father. 

Every time his dad went over the financials, it was just disappointed sighs and tuts. It had been three months, and Bokuto’s last hope was the upcoming semester. 

Or it was. Until the bell over the door rang one especially warm August mid-morning. 

Bokuto was hovering under the A/C vent, holding his shirt out to allow a draft across his bare skin. “Oh!” He turned his head over his shoulder, and saw a man about his age. He had short, black hair that flipped out at the ends reminding Bokuto of old photos his grandfather had taken. The man’s dark green blue eyes were hooded but were quickly blown wide before shifting away.  Then Bokuto realized his shirt was still riding up across his stomach as he relished the last few seconds of direct air. He dropped his shirt and gave a quick half bow that his father would have scolded him for. Then he ran his fingers through his hair, his usual warm grin for customers lifting into his cheeks. “Welcome to Fukurodani ! What can I help you find today?” He noticed a slight flush on the man’s cheeks, and sweat beginning to condense at his hairline, a sheen across his whole face and a small dark spot in the shape of a V at the collar of his shirt. 

The man cleared his throat and focused on his messenger bag, “My name is Akaashi Keiji, I’m a journalism senior at the university.” He pulled out a notebook and pen, “I’m doing my senior thesis on small town features, and everyone told me I had to check out your bookstore. I looked at the website, but I still had a couple of questions and no one replied.” He fumbled with his things as he tried to reach into his pocket for a wallet, “I can give you my professor’s card to vouch for me if you need it.” 

Bokuto reached out to grab the man’s cellphone as it slid off the top of his notebook where it had been balancing, “Umm, no that’s okay, I believe you.” He gently set the phone down on the counter. “Akaashi?” He asked, curiously.

“Yes!” The man answered quickly, his eyes still wide. “It’s Japanese.”

“No, yea.” Bokuto smiled and nodded at the business cards on the counter, “so is Fukurodani.”

“Yea….” He was quiet, a small smirk on his lips, before he cleared his throat, “So…Is that your name?” The man asked as he clicked the pen and started writing.

“No, It’s Bokuto. Bokuto Koutarou.” The man paused for a second, staring. Bokuto averted his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck, his elbow high in the air. When he glanced back, the man had tucked his head low. But Bokuto saw the eyes glance up a few times at his arm. 

He quickly dropped it.

Akaashi cleared his throat and asked, “so are you the manager, or?”

“Yea, I’m running the place. My grandfather started it, my father kept it going, and now it’s my turn,” he shrugged and had to bite his tongue from adding ‘ to destroy what they built.’

Akaashi nodded, intent on his notebook now, “the sign out front says established 1973? That would be your grandfather?”

Bokuto nodded and tilted his chin in the direction of the portrait. “That’s him,” he came around the side of the counter and motioned for Akaashi to follow him. And he did, without question. Leading him to the fireplace, which had unsellable and ruined books stacked inside for the aesthetic , Bokuto looked up at the smiling face wearing a dark blue yukata with a gold pattern. “He died when I was a kid.”

Akaashi nodded, but didn’t write anything down. “I saw on the facebook page that you’ve been in the bookselling business for over a hundred years, though?” he asked, curious. 

Without looking away from the portrait Bokuto added, “yea, his great-grandfather opened the first Fukurodani shop in Tokyo, and it had been in the family until grandfather decided to immigrate here in the 70s.” 

Bokuto heard quick scribbling and peaked at Akaashi who was balancing the notebook on his hand as he wrote feverishly, “wait, he left Japan in the 70s? But that was when its economy started to do well?” He sounded incredulous, “why would he leave ?” 

Bokuto shrugged his shoulders, it was a story his grandfather had told him once when he was very little. “He said he saw an opportunity.” The fond smile was involuntary.

“Right,” came a whisper to his left. Bokuto jerked his head and caught Akaashi’s eyes. Only for a second, but it sent a shock through him. “Right,” it was louder and more sure this time.  Akaashi was nodding his head. “Well, that answers my questions, Umm.” He clicked the pen a few times and then bowed suddenly before turning around and walking out the door. 

Bokuto just stared, then smiled. 

He walked back to the counter and saw a black phone glistening in the sun, “oh wait!” he shouted to no one, and ran out the door, hoping to catch its owner. Who was long gone… He tapped the phone a few times on the palm of his hand then turned back into the shop, “don’t worry, he’ll be back for you,” he told the phone as he tucked it safely behind the counter before standing back in front of the A/C. 

It took longer than he’d expected for Akaashi to return. The entire day passed before he was shyly standing at the counter when Bokuto made his way out of the storage room. He hadn’t even heard the bell jingle, and the way Akaashi was leaning over the counter, Bokuto realized that may have been intentional. 

“It’s under the counter, I’ll get it.” Bokuto said with a chuckle, the other man froze and turned slowly. His cheeks were flushed again, but this time Bokuto was sure it wasn’t the heat. “You’re not as dependent on your phone as most of us are.” He said, shouldering the heavy box of textbooks in one arm as he lifted the counter door to step behind it. 

“No, I am, I just-“ he stalled, and his cheeks got redder, Bokuto noticed they were quite round for as lithe as his t-shirt and jeans alluded. The kind of cheeks that made him want to squeeze them between his hands as he leaned close- Bokuto shook his head. Quickly. 

“It’s fine,” he said, and handed the phone back. 

“Actually- if you don’t mind, I had a couple of extra questions?” He tucked the phone into his pocket and pulled out a much smaller notebook than the one from that morning.

“You just carry that with you?” Bokuto asked, laughing. 

Akaashi shrugged, an equally good natured smile on his lips, “you never know when you’ll stumble across inspiration.”

“Don’t you mean a story?” Akaashi looked confused,  Bokuto cleared his throat, “you know, cause… you’re a journalism major?”

Akaashi’s eyes widened a little before he looked away, “oh- right. Yea.”

They both sat in awkward silence for a second before Bokuto asked, “you had more questions?”

“Right!” Akaashi quickly fell back into reporter mode. “You said your grandfather came here because he recognized opportunity. What did you mean by that?”

“Oh!” Bokuto ran a hand through his hair and puffed his cheeks as he blew out a breath. It had been a long time since he relieved that memory and it was a little fuzzy. But he tried the best he could, Akaashi was watching him closely, so he felt the need to get it right. To not sound like an idiot as he explained, “Umm, well, I remember he said the 70s were a time when a lot of second generation Japanese were starting to better themselves here, and that they would ‘ have need of a knowledgeable bookseller to go with their new found enrichment .’” He quoted, chuckling as he threw his voice deeper and raspier, like his grandfather’s had been. He looked at Akaashi who had a soft smile on his face, “sorry.” He said quietly.

The smile fell, but the gentleness in his eyes didn’t, “No- it’s clear you two were close.” He wrote something down and looked back up, “if you don’t mind me asking,” he paused, “how long ago… did he…?” He trailed off and Bokuto tilted his head in confusion, “when he passed?”

“Oh!” He was an idiot, “right! Umm. I was 11, so…” He did the math, and was aghast to admit it took him a little longer than usual as he stressed about hiding his finger ticking away the numbers for subtraction, “I think 2005.”

Akaashi looked up for a second, and Bokuto was afraid he was going to make fun of how long it took to give an answer, but instead he said, “oh- you’re only a year older than me?”

Bokuto stood a little straighter, “Oh, yea I guess so. I graduated last year. So… That would make sense I guess.” He could hear his best friend’s voice in his mind, ‘ Wow, poetic. ’ He mentally told Kuroo to shut up and smiled widely. “I guess that makes me your senpai!” He said, putting his hands on his hips as he took a wide stance. 

“Oh, Bokuto-san, I don’t think that’s necessary…” He trailed off, and even though his face was impassive, Bokuto could hear a smile in his voice. 

It wasn’t senpai , but it still gave him a shiver to hear the honorific fall from that small, lovely mouth. 

Bokuto cleared his throat and turned his attention to the box of textbooks he’d brought behind the counter that needed to be inventoried. “Did you have any other questions?” He asked, hiding his glowing cheeks from view. 

“Oh- umm, not at this time.”

“Oh, okay…”

There was quiet, and Bokuto assumed Akaashi had left, despite the lack of bell jingle. But then he said, “could I come back though, if I do?”

Bokuto looked up quickly, Akaashi had a hopeful look in his eyes and it was mirrored in Bokuto’s heart, “Y-yea. Of course. I’d be happy to answer them.”

Akaashi nodded and left. Bokuto fell back onto the ground with a heavy sigh, the wall behind him shaking slightly against the weight thrown into it. The textbooks forgotten.

Akaashi didn’t come back for three days, and Bokuto had about given up the stupid hope that he’d see the handsome student again. 

But on a particularly humid, rainy Saturday, two weeks before the semester started, the bell jingled. And Bokuto jerked away from the hazy dreams he was lulled into. “Welcome to F- Akaashi!” He declared, unable to hold in the excitement. 

“Bokuto-san.” Was the calm, but happy reply. 

“I didn’t think you were coming back,” he admitted. 

“I had to do a few other interviews… and some research.” He fiddled with his fingers as they both stood, staring at each other in comfortable silence until Akaashi cleared his throat, “I have a question though. You don’t really have an online presence like the other shops in town, you didn’t have anything online. Why is that?”

That gave Bokuto pause, he walked behind the counter to put some distance between them, and finally shrugged, “it was something my dad was really against in the early internet days, and I never really thought about it I guess.”

Akaashi nodded, “actually, I was hoping you had a book I’m looking for?

Bokuto watched Akaashi’s fingers twist around themselves for a second before turning to the computer without a word, “Well, if we don’t I could always order it,” He smiled but then quickly added, “I mean, if you wanted.”

“That would be great- I don’t mind coming back.”

“Great.”

They were silent before Akaashi nodded towards the computer, “are you ready for the name?”

“Right! Yes!” Bokuto focused all his attention on the screen in front of him, and in doing so missed the amused smirk on Akaashi’s face. Once he entered the title, Bokuto explained, “hey, hey, hey! You’re in luck!” 

“Oh?”

“We have a few copies in stock.”

“Oh… Yea, that’s great.” 

Bokuto was sure he imagined the disappointed twist of Akaashi’s lips when he finally looked back at him. “So, just follow me,” he walked around the counter and led Akaashi to the back corner. The one where the wall was thinnest, so you could hear the music from the cantina next door. They were playing a slower samba, and Bokuto leaned forward over the piles of books at the foot of the shelves. According to his grandfather’s organization system, it was originally shelved somewhere on the second shelf. But that didn’t mean it stayed there over the years. “Sometimes people move books around and we don’t notice it for years.” Bokuto explained as he stretched forward. He felt his shirt ride up slightly, and he felt the pull of the muscles through his legs and into his lower back. 

“Right.” Came Akaashi’s slightly distracted voice. He was probably a little overwhelmed by the clutter, most people were. And Akaashi seemed the organized type who would be miserable with seemingly random piles of books in every available space. 

“But there’s three copies, so hopefully one of them has stayed where it's supposed to…” he mumbled, he really had to go through one day and reorganize everything. He was reaching up and shifting books to look behind them, as most shelves were two rows deep, grunting at the strain on his muscles. 

“Sure.” 

“Hey, hey!” Bokuto proclaimed, and he felt, more than saw, Akaashi jump from surprise. He turned to face him, and noticed his entire face was bright red, “Oh- are you okay? It’s a little warm back here with all the insulation from the books…. But- I found it!” He waved the copy that had the least amount of damage in front of Akaashi. 

“Ah- perfect.” Akaashi reached forward just as Bokuto was falling back onto the heels of his feet. In their trajectory, Akaashi ended up slapping lightly against Bokuto’s bicep, and rested there for a moment. His eyes widened and his face flushed deeper, “I’m so sorry!” He finally pulled back and tucked both his hands behind his back. Bokuto watched his arms flex and realized he must be twisting his fingers. 

“It’s no problem, you didn’t do it on purpose.”

They walked back to the front of the store in silence. One of Bokuto’s arms slightly warmer than the other. 

“I noticed a lot of cool genre books back there,” Akaashi jerked his thumb over his shoulder, but the movement was stiff, as though rehearsed. 

“Oh, yea. My grandfather loved them. They’ve probably been back there since before he died.” Bokuto smirked and gave a small huff of a laugh. “Actually I used to love them when I was a kid. I’d go back there and look at the covers and then pretend I was in a spaceship. Whenever a customer came near me, I’d pretend they were an alien.” The grin turned into a grimace. “ Most didn’t like that very much… My dad made that stop from day one of running the shop.” He laughed.  

Akaashi was smiling but then his brow furrowed a bit, “didn’t you say your grandfather died when you were 11? You were still playing pretend?”

“What, and you weren’t?” 

Akaashi just smiled, almost indulgently. “Hey, so. With all those genre novels, you know there’s a market for them, right?”

“What?” Bokuto handed Akaashi’s card back. 

“Especially the classic 80s pulp stuff, like you’ve got.” Akaashi put the card in his wallet and pulled out his phone. “I have a friend who collects them, and he’s paid hundreds of dollars before.” He was showing Bokuto a search result. “Yea, this one. It looked like it was in good condition. I bet you could sell all of them and make a good profit.”

“But- no one buys those…” Bokuto vividly remembered his dad wanting to just recycle them for the few dollars they could earn. 

Akaashi smirked, and Bokuto felt a pleasurable chill down his spine. “Maybe not here. You should try to put some of them online. I could help.” He seemed nonchalant, but Bokuto was willing to try anything to keep the shop open. To keep his grandfather’s dream alive. 

“You’d help me do that?” Bokuto asked in a small voice. 

Akaashi stared at him for a second, then looked away quickly, “I like supporting local. Anyway, I have some time tomorrow. If you wanted.” 

“Tomorrow would be perfect!” 

They both smiled, before the bell jingled, “Welcome to Fukurodani ,” Bokuto said cheerfully before nodding a goodbye to Akaashi’s raised hand. 

It took two weeks of Akaashi stopping in for an hour or two every other day, coffees in hand.  When the project was finally over Bokuto tried to pay Akaashi. Who refused, saying it was in his best interest for a local bookstore to stay open. For his project at the very least. Bokuto found his easy smile a little less easy when Akaashi said that. 

Four days later Akaashi popped by looking for a book for his uncle, an avid antique book collector. “And they weren’t online, so here I am.”

“Oh- yea. I didn’t think it was a good idea to advertise how expensive they are…. Don’t exactly have the best security situation here.”

Akaashi nodded, “you could always have the price be inquiry only.” He suggested as he followed Bokuto to the glass bookcase he’d noticed a few times. 

“Well that’s almost the same thing, isn’t it?” He unlocked the case and handed Akaashi a dark gray binder that had been hidden from sight. “This was my dad’s pet project anyway. I have no idea what to do with them. I’ll probably try to sell them off at some point, they’re expensive to house, insurance wise, too.”

Akaashi nodded and flipped through a few pages, not really paying attention to what was printed on them in his father’s clean handwriting. Bokuto waited for Akaashi to inevitably say what was on his mind. “You know. My uncle’s actually an antiques dealer. I could give you his information. He could help you move them. If you wanted.” He didn’t look up, and pretended to be reading the list in front of him. But his eyes didn’t travel the page like someone reading. 

Bokuto smiled softly, “Yea, that would be great actually.” When Akaashi looked up, Bokuto realized they were much closer than he meant, had he swayed closer? No, Akaashi must have leaned in. It was the only explanation. He caught Bokuto’s eyes and Bokuto watched his Adam's apple drop as he swallowed. They both looked away quickly and Akaashi handed the binder back.

“So did you choose a book?” Bokuto asked, ready to pull something down from the shelf. 

“Oh yea, this one.” He pointed at an unassuming little brown thing, Bokuto nodded. He was on autopilot as he read the total and ran the charge. 

“I hope he enjoys it.” Bokuto said quickly. Akaashi nodded. Bokuto nodded back. 

Akaashi started to leave before he turned around like a thought just occurred to him, “So your grandfather collected the classic sci-fi, and your dad got into the antique books, how are you going to leave your mark?”

“I guess- I hadn’t really thought about it” He didn’t want to say that if he could keep the shop from closing that would be enough.

Akaashi nodded, clearly not satisfied with the answer, then he left without another word. 

And then Akaashi didn’t stop by for weeks, 

The semester was almost over when Akaashi finally appeared in the door. Just standing outside. Bokuto jumped when he came out of the storage room to see the shadow in the window. But didn’t acknowledge him. He walked to the counter, still pretending he hadn’t seen Akaashi being an awkward weirdo standing outside a bookstore. Then the shadow faded, and Bokuto realized Akaashi was leaving. 

Without realizing his feet were even moving, Bokuto practically slammed the door open, “Akaashi?” He shouted after a quick calming breath. 

Akaashi jumped and turned to face the shop. “Oh! Bokuto-san!” 

There was that shiver again. “Did you need something?” he asked. Though, if Akaashi needed something, he would have come inside. What a stupid question. 

They stared at each other for a second, and the Akaashi gave a slow nod then said, “Yea, I wanted to ask you something.” Bokuto’s smile brightened immeasurably. He’d hoped, but he was always bad at reading - “What do you think about the shop hosting a book release?”

Wow, he was really bad at reading people.

“Oh- Umm. We’ve never done one before…” His hand loosened on the door handle, and he suddenly realized they were shouting across the parking lot. “Why don’t you come in and we can go over details.” And the AC would cool his embarrassed cheeks. 

Standing across each other at the counter, Akaashi relayed how his friend had been in the home stretch of a book release and they’d been staying up late every night to finalize all the plans. Akaashi had recommended the local book store, and the publicist for the book thought it was a great idea. He was smiling the whole time he was talking about how he’d spent the last few weeks. 

Bokuto thought he looked beautiful, and his stomach burned in an emotion he hadn’t really felt since middle school. 

“I can rearrange the new book space, bring a table in, I don’t have chairs though.” He said, trying to focus on the task at hand. This could be good publicity for the shop, that was the most important thing. 

Akaashi’s grin only bloomed. “Don’t worry about that, I’ll make it happen.” Akaashi leaned heavily over the counter to look at the calendar with Bokuto.

With a deep breath through his mouth, Bokuto could still somehow smell the delicious aftershave or cologne or whatever it was that Akaashi wore. It must have been expensive if it was still so potent after sweating in the mid-October heat all day. With leather notes and a lingering citrus that made his mouth water, Bokuto could almost imagine his skin would be even more flavorful and quickly leaned back as Akaashi encroached into his space. 

Akaashi watched him with unreadable eyes before tucking back a little bit. “So I was thinking this weekend? If that’s okay?” He seemed a little less enthusiastic, but Bokuto nodded quickly.

“Yes that weekend works great.” He cleared his throat and closed his eyes. Akaashi was still so close. He needed to calm down, he needed to calm his breathing. But Akaashi was still so close… He took a slow, deep breath so that it was as silent as possible. As expected, he was enveloped in Akaashi. He snapped his eyes open and Akaashi was staring at him. “Oh, did you say something?” He asked as though breathing deeply while a friend- acquaintance?- stood so close, “Sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night.” He turned away and pretended to fiddle with a notification on the computer screen. 

“No it’s fine. I just- I’ll bring everything we need to set up, don’t worry about anything. You’re doing enough just letting us host it here.”

Us. Bokuto nodded, “anything for a friend.” He looked back, and thanked god. 

Akaashi smiled that rare, soft smile and Bokuto was glad he’d had that deep breath a second ago because he suddenly found it hard to breath. “Well, I’ll let you get back.”

“Yea, we’ve actually been pretty swamped between the online orders and your uncle helping me move the antiques.”

Akaashi nodded and tapped the counter as he pushed off, “I’m glad.” At the door he turned back around, ‘I’ll be back on Friday to help set up.”

Friday came, and Bokuto was jittery. Akaashi was about to arrive… with the author. 

Yet Bokuto still felt a small smile when the bell jingled an hour before closing. “What’s this I hear about a free release party?” His blood ran cold. His father was staring in the doorway. “I knew you’d run this place into the ground, but to do it so blatantly?” jingle   “Your grandfather would be ashamed of you! What were you thinking, Koutarou? ”

Bokuto stared at Akaashi who was standing in the door, a box in hand, glaring at his father, and suddenly he was remembering one of the first things Akaashi had said to him, “I’m leaving my mark.” Bokuto turned back to his father, “if you want to see the books, we’re making profit again, and more than when you were running it.”

“You’re destroying your grandfather’s dream. My dream.” 

But Bokuto was already shaking his head, “this is the future, we can’t be afraid of it. Things are run differently now, and this store is going to succeed. Past me.” He tilted his chin down. Letting his father know that he was well aware of what had always been whispered about him behind his back. That he wasn’t going to accept that as his future. 

His father raised up and turned on his heel. He stormed out of the shop and pulled the door slammed behind him. The tiny bell fell to the ground and shattered. 

Akaashi had barely moved out of his way, but stood there, shocked. “Bokuto-san,” he whispered. He looked down at the box in his arms.

“Is that the book?” Bokuto asked, ignoring the pang of his father’s disappointment at him not being a disappointment. 

Akaashi’s head jerked up, “I mean, we don’t have to do this now. I’ll let my friend know something came up.”

Bokuto tilted his head, “well, that would definitely ruin the Fukurodani name.” He chuckled and Akaashi gave a small smile. “Let me see it,” he said softly holding his hands out. This was the book Akaashi had clearly become heavily invested in. The book that was by someone who clearly meant a lot to him. He ignored the sourness in his belly at the thought. 

Still clearly a little uncomfortable, Akaashi set the box down and opened it. And pulled out a slim novella with a pretty minimalistic doodle of a crow. 

“Oh!” Bokuto exclaimed, “I didn’t realize it was a kids’ book.”

Akaashi finally laughed, “it’s not. It’s a novella.” Bokuto nodded sagely, familiar enough with the word. “One of the books he used for his comp was The Hen Who Dreamed She Could Fly .”

Bokuto nodded again, “I actually read that.”

Akaashi smiled brighter. “Here, this copy is for you.” 

Bokuto took it gingerly, “seriously?” He flipped open the cover and saw it was signed, “oh, this is going in the display case.” Akaashi laughed and picked up the box. 

They spent the next two hours rearranging the room, setting up chairs and accepting deliveries from other friends of Akaashi’s. 

When the shop was finally ready, with 25 minutes to spare, Bokuto crossed his arms and admired their hard work. “Maybe we really should do more releases like this. When you publish your thesis, make sure to mention it.” 

Akaashi nodded, “I already finished it, but when I’m an editor I’ll be sure to come to you with all my releases.”

Bokuto paused, “editor?”

Akaashi’s smile turned almost bashful but before Bokuto could confirm, Akaashi walked away to adjust something on the display table. “I got an internship with a publishing house. That publishing house actually,” he nodded pointedly at the display of books for the release. 

“What? But- they’re-“

“My friend pulled a few strings.” 

The burning gut was back, “oh, right. I’m sure that’ll be nice though. Working together.” Be happy for him. 

Akaashi snorted, “oh god, not at all. I don’t know how his girlfriend puts up with him every day. I’m going to specifically request to never work on another of his books again if I can help it.” 

“Girlfriend?” He didn’t mean to sound so relieved.

Akaashi stood straight, “umm, yea.” He still hadn’t turned around. 

“Oh.” The phone rang and Bokuto wanted to kiss the heavens for putting an end to his misery. However, everything came with a price, the other line was his mother asking why his father was in a fouler mood than usual. Bokuto peeked under his lashes at Akaashi who quickly pretended to straighten chairs. 

Turning around so as to not make his friend any more uncomfortable, Bokuto explained what happened to his mother. She just sighed. “You know, as much as he loved reading. He was never good at words.”

“He managed to convince you to marry him,” he teased. 

His mother giggled, “a moment of weakness on my part, I assure you. But especially since he's started getting worse…” She trailed off, the constant shadow of his father’s illness ever present even over their phone line. “He always hoped you’d succeed at something else so you wouldn’t have to be miserable doing something you never had an interest in.”

“What are you talking about?” He hadn’t realized his voice had escalated. “He always wanted me to fail?”

She sighed, and he could hear her switching ears, “you make it sound so harsh. You were never a reader, never into books and all that. You were always running around and were so loud and big. He didn’t know how to handle you, but he knew you never belonged in the shop. You’d never be happy there.”

Bokuto felt his eyes slide to the left, and had to almost restrain his head from turning just enough to be able to see Akaashi. “You’d be surprised.” He thought about how excited he was for the release, to have all those people filling the shop. He thought about joking with his regulars, and asking the freshmen students about their classes. The kids coming in and discovering a classic mystery for the first time. He didn’t have to be an academic to enjoy what he did. He felt the wind from outside, the indicator that someone had opened the door. “But our event is about to begin, I’ll talk to you tonight. Love you.”

She wished him luck and he hung up the phone with a smile. Then he turned around and Akaashi was standing in front of him, waiting. “I’m really sorry you got in that fight with your dad, but.” He was torn, he bit his lip, he twisted his fingers, “you clearly love this store. Watching you run it, talking to the people in town who come here. It’s like you work magic or something. And it’s been doing great! So I don’t really understand what your dad’s so mad about. But… this store deserves to survive, and you deserve to help that happen. I don’t want you to think all of this is pointless, because it’s not. I know you said your dad is basically afraid of the future, but you can’t be afraid of that, of change, or you’ll never move forward. It’s your turn to leave your own mark on this place.”  

“You’re right,” Bokuto said, leaning forward. “Time to follow my own ideas. Good thing you kept coming back with more questions, huh?”

Akaashi just laughed, “those were just excuses.”

Bokuto leaned back a little more to get a better look at him, “what?”

Akaashi leaned forward to close the distance again, “I’d finished the project after that first visit. I was trying to get the courage to ask you out.” He whispered.

Bokuto swallowed harshly, glancing down at Akaashi’s lips when he saw the tiniest flash of pink dart out for just a second.  He pulled his eyes back up but noticed Akaashi’s own dark teal eyes focused lower, on Bokuto’s lips.

It was at that moment that Bokuto closed the distance between them, both of them smiling into the kiss.