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It’s a slow day at the coffee shop that Akaashi Keiji works at.
He wasn’t here for the morning rush because he was in class, and the late afternoons are always so empty and quiet. There are a few groups of college students studying at some of the tables, but all of them had already ordered and received their drinks. Calming music plays through the speakers of the shop, and other than the soft thrums and hums of the beats, there’s no noise aside from the hushed chatter of the students.
He’s the only worker in the shop at the moment, as his next coworker won’t come in for another two hours or so. He doesn’t really mind, though, since there isn’t much work to do at the moment. But having a conversation with a fellow employee would help to speed up time. Keiji had been standing and waiting for a good ten minutes now, fiddling with his apron and staring up at the ceiling fan.
Man, it really is getting hot lately.
Keiji is sweating a bit, even with the fan on and him being indoors. Summers in Osaka are always rather warm and humid, and now the weather is starting to hit full-force for the year.
Just then, the door jingles, signaling that someone has entered. Keiji straightens up, preparing to greet the new customer. Or, rather, four new customers.
They fill the once-quiet shop with noise. So, so much noise.
The one to the farthest left, a beach blonde with thick, furrowed eyebrows, seems to be shouting at the man on the farthest right, who has curly black hair and is sporting a scowl. The two in the middle, a shorter boy with fluffy orange hair and a man with silver-and-black streaked hair seem to also be yelling at each other, but with beaming smiles on their faces. Seems like this is just the noise level for a typical conversation between the two of them.
“Yer so mean ta me fer no reason, Omi!” the blonde shouts at the curly-haired man. “Can’t believe ya sometimes!”
“What?” ‘Omi’ replies rather stoically. “You deserved it.”
“I deserved ta get the locker room door slammed in my face?!”
“Yup.”
“Bokuto-san! Practice went so well today!” the bubbly orange-haired man hollers loudly in excitement despite being right next to the person he’s talking to.
“It really did, Shouyou! We’re gonna crush the practice game tomorrow!” ‘Bokuto’ and ‘Shouyou’ slap their hands together in a resounding high-five that makes one of the college students (who are now very disturbed from their work) jump.
“Excuse me.” Keiji clears his throat pointedly, and all four men suddenly straighten up.
“Sorry,” ‘Omi’ says stiffly, shooting a glare at the blonde before stepping in front of the group. “I’ll take a plain black coffee under the name Sakusa.”
“Omi’s always so borin’,” the blonde mutters under his breath, earning another scathing look from Sakusa.
“I’ll have an Americano with extra cream under Hinata!” the orange-haired Shouyou declares.
“Iced cappuccino under Miya, with a side of yer number,” The blonde winks at Keiji, who ignores the follow-up remark as he notes down the order. Miya visibly sulks after that, which causes Sakusa to snicker quietly.
“I’ll take a cupcake frappuccino with extra sprinkles, lots of whipped cream, and a cherry on top! Name’s Bokuto!” the silver-haired man declares. Keiji tilts his head, trying not to laugh as he rings up the order. Is that even considered coffee, at this point? The drink’s basically just pure sugar, and is mostly on the menu for children. But here this grown man Bokuto is, smiling so brightly as he asks for his loaded cupcake frappuccino.
Keiji can't help but crack a small, amused smile.
The four men briefly jostle over who will pay for the drinks before the silver-haired Bokuto wins when he pushes his large frame in front of his friends, ignoring their protests, before handing Keiji his credit card with a wide grin. “Here’s a tip, too!” Bokuto leaves a generous cash tip on the counter.
“Oh, that goes in the tip jar.” Keiji nods to his left where it’s sitting.
“Nah, you should take it!” Bokuto continues to beam at him, holding out the bills insistently. Keiji hesitates, but takes the money. He knows he’s not allowed to pocket the money all for himself so he’ll just put the tips in the jar later (it didn't seem like Bokuto would be backing down any time soon, anyway.)
Keiji gets to work on the drinks. Even while he’s busy, he can still hear the four men chattering amongst themselves, loud as ever. Once he almost drops the milk when one of them (Miya, he thinks) dramatically slams his hands on the table in an attempt to assert dominance.
He finishes the drinks as fast as he can, because while it’s certainly a pleasure to have loud customers in the shop, Keiji doesn’t want to chase those poor college students (who now look like they’re on the verge of leaving) away.
I can’t believe I’m making this for a grown man, he muses as he gets to work on the cupcake frappuccino. He steals a glance at Bokuto. Bokuto’s definitely not bad-looking; he’s handsome, to give an understatement. His spiky hair, however slightly-unnatural looking, suits his bright and sunny personality well. Since he’s entered the shop, Keiji doesn’t think Bokuto’s ever stopped smiling. His golden eyes are flecked with sparks from the fading sunlight shining through the window; Keiji thinks his eyes are a pretty color. Bokuto’s tall; that’s even clear when he’s sitting down. When had come by the counter earlier, he was a good few inches taller than Keiji himself, who’s already considered to be well above-average. Bokuto’s also well-built, with broad shoulders and muscular arms. His jawline is sharp and carved, and his strong chest looks like it’s about to burst from the black t-shirt that’s stretched over it. Definitely doesn’t seem like the type to order a drink of pure sugar.
Keiji’s not sure why he’s spending so much time studying a customer. Perhaps it’s because his order caught him off-guard. One would never expect someone looking like that to request a cup of sugared diabetes.
Just then, Bokuto makes eye contact with Keiji. His face lights up with a smile and he waves. Keiji blushes furiously and resumes making the absolute travesty of a coffee drink.
Finally, when he’s done shaking on the extra, rainbow-colored sprinkles that Bokuto had specifically requested, he calls the four men over to get their drinks. They take their sweet time making their way to the counter, and Keiji is admittedly starting to get a headache from the volume of their conversations.
He thinks that next time it’s quiet in the coffee shop, he’ll just sit back and appreciate it.
“Thanks a lot!” Bokuto says as he eyes the drink Keiji made for him with excitement. He takes a small sip, and his eyes widen. “Wow! This is amazing!”
“Is it?” Keiji muses.
“Yeah! It’s great!” Bokuto grins widely. “And you remembered my extra sprinkles, too! All the other baristas never put enough sprinkles.”
“Bokkun! Hurry up!” Miya calls from the entrance, where he, Sakusa, and Hinata are waiting for the lingering Bokuto.
“’Kay, ‘kay, I’m coming!” Bokuto rushes towards them, leaning tower of cupcake frappuccino in his hand (the cherry is dangling precariously on top of the mountain of whipped cream), but not before waving at Keiji over his shoulder and saying, “Thanks, Akaashi-kun!”
And, even though Keiji knows his nametag on the front of his shirt is plain for anyone to see, he still finds himself a little flustered.
-
Bokuto comes in again the next day, by himself, at around the same time. He greets Keiji like an old friend, which should throw Keiji off, but he figures this is just Bokuto's personality. Keiji finds that he doesn’t mind it, either. Bokuto is very friendly but not overbearingly so; he makes Keiji's lonely shifts interesting.
“I had to come back for another awesome cupcake frappuccino!” Bokuto explains. “You’re awesome, Akaashi-kun!”
Keiji almost runs into the counter in surprise at Bokuto's bold delcaration, but casually plays it off with a shaky smile and a small nod of thanks.
And so Keiji makes yet another cup of a sugar rush in (barely) coffee form.
(Though Keiji isn’t sure if Bokuto ever really needs a sugar rush from the way he acts).
Bokuto comes in the day after, and the day after that. He becomes a regular, daily customer and always orders the exact same thing: a cupcake frappuccino with extra sprinkles, lots of whipped cream, and a cherry on top. And Keiji is always happy to comply, even if it means Bokuto's booming voice and vivacious laughter will drive out some of the college students studying at the nearby tables. Because Bokuto always stays for a bit after he receives his order, chatting with Keiji. There are never many customers that come by during these times, anyway, and on the rare occasion that there are, Keiji has to reluctantly tear himself away from conversation with Bokuto to fill their order.
It’s about two weeks of everyday visits to the coffee shop before Bokuto brings up the friends he had visited with the very first day he walked in.
“Yeah, the first time, I came with Tsum Tsum, Omi, and Shouyou! You remember, right?” Bokuto laughs, a hearty sound that makes Keiji feel warm, for some odd reason.
“Yes, of course I do.” Keiji shakes his head, sighing. “How could I ever forget?”
“They’re my teammates,” Bokuto explains, and Keiji recalls that Bokuto said that he’s a professional volleyball player. Makes sense, given his physique. What doesn’t make sense is why a pro athlete would order a cupcake frappuccino with extra sprinkles, lots of whipped cream and a cherry on top every single day. “They’d probably love to see you again!”
“Oh?” says Keiji, starting on making Bokuto’s cupcake frappuccino of the day.
“Yeah! They know all about you, Akaashi!” Bokuto beams at him. Keiji feels his ears turn red, and he turns away to hide it.
“Oh?” he repeats, trying to keep his cool. He isn’t sure why his heart is beating so fast, or why his breath is catching in his throat, or why he can’t seem to look at Bokuto the entire time he’s making the sugary creation.
“Yup! I keep telling them that you’re really nice and make the best coffee!” Bokuto grins ever wider.
“That’s very nice of you, Bokuto-san,” Keiji replies, grabbing the can of whipped cream to create the mountain that Bokuto loves.
“By the way, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto suddenly says. “Next time you make a coffee for me, can you put it under 'Koutarou'?”
Keiji nearly drops the whipped cream.
“H-Huh?” he stammers intelligently.
“Koutarou! That’s my first name!” Koutarou laughs heartily. “Don’t mind if you call me that, too! But you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”
“It’s quite alright.” Keiji pauses. “Koutarou-san.” Koutarou beams happily.
“Well, I’ve actually got a practice game tonight, so see ya tomorrow!” Koutarou takes his sugary drink of terror and waves to Keiji, who’s still a bit shocked. He asked me to call him by his first name?
“Wait, Koutarou-san!” Keiji calls after Koutarou, who turns so quickly that he nearly spills the drink in his hands.
“What is it, ‘Kaashi?” Koutarou asks cheerily.
“Keiji,” Keiji says slowly. “Keiji. You can call me that.” Koutarou grins, nodding eagerly.
“Alright, no problem, Keiji-kun!” With that, he waves merrily once more before leaving Keiji alone in the shop.
Keiji isn’t used to silence anymore, not since Koutarou’s started coming around.
Once again, the only sounds filling his ears are the hum of the ceiling fan, and the tap-tap-tap of a single college girl writing her essay on a laptop in the corner of the cafe.
-
Keiji doesn’t think Koutarou’s ever missed a single day of a cupcake frappuccino since the first time he came in.
No matter that Koutarou’s a professional athlete that should be eating healthily, or that he shouldn’t even have time to stop by each day. But every time, without fail, even if for just ten to fifteen minutes at times, Koutarou would wander in with a desire for his daily cupcake frappuccino. Sometimes, he would even bring along his teammates, who are just as boisterous and full of energy as always, but Keiji's started to grow a slow liking to them as well. They may be an strange group, but they all seem to mean well, at least, from what Keiji's seen from them.
“Come to one of my games, Kei-kun,” Koutarou suddenly prompts one day, three months into his visiting streak to the coffee shop. He hands Keiji a rectangular strip of paper, a ticket to a volleyball game. MSBY Black Jackals vs Schweiden Adlers.
“Oh, this is the important one you’ve been telling me about, right?” Keiji asks.
“Mmhmm!” Koutarou hums excitedly. “Some of the players on the Adlers are people I played against back in high school! Their setter and two of their wing spikers! Old friends!” He chortles, taking a sip of his frappuccino.
“High school, hm?”
“Yeah, did you go to school around here too?”
“Nope, I’m from the Kagawa prefecture.” He only came to Osaka a few years ago to study at one of Osaka’s well-known universities.
“Ever played volleyball before?”
“A bit.” Keiji shrugs. “I was in my school’s volleyball club although we never entered into the national circuit. It was just a fun club activity.”
“We should play together sometime!” says Koutarou eagerly. “I didn’t know you knew how to play!”
“Alright,” Keiji agrees. The older male beams.
"What position did you play?"
"Setter."
"Really?!" Koutarou's entire face lights up with a huge, radiant smile. "Well, I'm a wing spiker! I want you to set to me one day!"
"Maybe I will," says Keiji, chuckling and averting his eyes down at the floor to make it less clear how flustered he is. No matter how many times he sees Koutarou's smile, he still can't get over how beautiful and contagious it is.
"I bet your sets are the best, Kei-kun!" Koutarou declares. "Just like your cupcake frappuccino!" Keiji's heart rate speeds up and his cheeks burn.
"...Thanks, Koutarou-san," Keiji murmurs, voice wavering slightly.
“Well, come to my game tomorrow!” Koutarou repeats, gesturing to the ticket now held in Keiji’s hands.
“Sure.” Keiji doesn’t think he has anything to do, anyway at that time, anyway. The coffee shop is only open until 3 PM on Saturdays and Sundays (Keiji really thinks that the place is trying to go out of business). His exams aren’t for another few weeks and he’s been studying his ass off recently. He thinks he deserves a break.
“’kay, see you there!” Koutarou checks his watch. “Ah, can’t stay for long today, Kei-kun! See you!” With that, Koutarou dashes out of the shop; a short visit today. Keiji looks at the ticket in his hands, turning it over. V League Division 1, Keiji muses. A real hotshot, huh? But he’s already known that. Not like he’s been tuning into whatever Jackals games are on television since Koutarou first mentioned that he plays on the team.
Keiji has to admire Koutarou’s skills on the court. Well, of course, he’s a pro, so it’s natural that he should be a good player. But Koutarou’s one of the best of the best, definitely nothing like anyone Keiji’s played with or against at his recreational volleyball club. Koutarou’s told Keiji that he used to be the ace of his high school, Fukurodani Academy, and even led them as Captain to runner-up at nationals. And, as Keiji watched Koutarou’s amazing plays on TV, he was surprised Fukurodani didn’t claim victory.
Keiji’s closing up for the night (again, the only worker on the late afternoon shift. He swears that the place will shut down soon) when he receives a text from Koutarou.
‘Don’t forget! Tomorrow at 5 PM sharp!’ it reads.
‘I won’t forget. See you tomorrow,’ Keiji replies. He smiles, locking his phone before going on his way back to his dorm.
-
Weekends are typically more busy than usual, but Keiji is stuck with the late shift as usual, anyway. By the time he clocks in a little after noon-time, the morning rush has already ended and he’s ready to endure another few hours with his friend the ceiling fan. Recently, he’s also taken interest in the complex patterns of the ceiling tiles.
“Hey, Kei-chan!” Koutarou seems to be in a rush, and Keiji peers behind him to see Sakusa, Miya, and Hinata waiting impatiently outside. All of them are already dressed in the warmup jackets and pants; they look like they’re on their way to the game.
“Hurry up, Bokkun!” calls Miya. “Time’s tickin’!”
“Oh, right.” Koutarou smiles sheepishly at Keiji. “We’ve gotta be at the stadium in fifteen, but I wanted my frappuccino first!” he explains, and Keiji just shakes his head, already starting to make his drink.
“Are you sure you want this before one of your big games?” Keiji questions as he prepares the sprinkles container for another violent shaking.
“Of course!” Koutarou insists. “Your drinks always put me in a good mood! And I’ve gotta be in a good mood if I wanna win the game!”
Keiji figures he can’t argue with that.
“Holy shit, that’s a lot of whipped cream,” Keiji hears Sakusa comment lowly with a hint of disgust in his tone. Keiji kinda agrees.
“Does Bokuto-san really need that many sprinkles?” Hinata says, confusion lacing his tone.
“Nah, think he jus’ wants ta spend every lick of time he can with that barista.” Miya chuckles. “I mean, who can blame him? He’s really cute.” A violent pinch in the arm from Sakusa. “Ow, Omi!”
“Here you go, Koutarou-san.” Keiji presents him today’s cupcake frappuccino with two cherries. “An extra one for good luck,” he says before Koutarou can ask.
“Really? A good luck cherry just for me?!” Koutarou grins from ear-to-ear. “Thanks so much!”
“Hurry up!” Miya hollers.
“Coming~!” Koutarou sing-songs, practically skipping away with his drink in hand. “See you tonight, Kei!”
The minutes seem to pass by agonizingly slow for the rest of Keiji’s shift that day.
He keeps glancing at the clock, but for every five minutes he counts in his head, one minute ticks by. He’s counted the number of times the ceiling fan can spin until he gets dizzy (an impressive one-hundred and two times) and how many ceiling tiles there are (but he always loses count so he needs to start again after some time).
The door opens once more, and in walk three men. They’re all wearing white training jackets and white sweatpants, with ‘Schweiden Adlers’ embroidered into the fabric.
Oh, players from the team that Koutarou-san is going against tonight, Keiji notes.
The tallest one, a man with close-cropped olive colored hair and an intense, dark gaze, orders a single black coffee under the name Ushijima. The black-haired, blue-eyed one apparently called Kageyama hurriedly follows in Ushijima’s footsteps, although he asks for a bit of milk in his coffee as an afterthought. The shortest of the trio, a white-haired male with piercing yellow eyes, requests a cookie from the small selection of baked goods that the coffee shop offers instead of a drink.
“You don’t enjoy coffee, Kourai-kun?” Ushijima asks after they finish paying (individually) for their coffee (and cookie) and Keiji turns away to start preparing their order.
“Nah, I’d much rather have a cookie!” Hoshiumi says confidently. “You don’t have a problem with it, do you?”
“No, not at all.”
The black-haired male is silent.
“Nervous, Tobio-kun?” Ushijima questions plainly.
“No,” Tobio says.
“A lie!” Hoshiumi chortles. “He’s facing off against his old teammate, why wouldn’t he be nervous?”
“Ah, yes. I’ve heard that Hinata Shouyou has become quite a force to be reckoned with,” remarks Ushijima. Keiji realizes that these may be the old high school acquaintances that Koutarou had been referring to. If the Kageyama guy knows Hinata, then it’s more than likely.
“Thank you very much,” Ushijima says solemnly upon receiving his plain coffee. Kageyama nods in thanks as well, before almost choking on his coffee. Keiji is worried that he accidentally made some kind of mistake with the drink, but Kageyama makes no move to look at Keiji; he’s smacking his lips together and wincing; it’s too bitter for him.
“Should’ve asked for more milk,” Keiji hears Kageyama grumble under his breath.
“Good cookie!” Hoshiumi compliments with his mouth full of chocolate-chip.
“Glad you’re enjoying it,” Keiji says pleasantly, moving to wipe the counter and prepare to close for the day. It’s almost 3 PM.
“Excuse me, you dropped this.” Keiji turns around and Kageyama’s holding his ticket; it had fallen out of his apron pocket and onto the counter.
“Oh, thanks.” Keiji quickly abandons the rag he’s using to wipe with and stuffs the ticket back in his pocket.
“You’re coming to our game tonight?” Hoshiumi questions excitedly.
“Yes. Can’t wait to see all of you play,” Keiji replies kindly, going back to cleaning.
“Are you an Adlers fan?” Hoshiumi continues to press.
“We have to get going, Kourai,” says Ushijima.
“Well, are you?” Hoshiumi repeats. Keiji shrugs.
“I’m neutral,” he says. He isn’t. “I just want to watch some good volleyball, is all.” That’s part of the truth.
“Do you want my autograph?!” Keiji hears Hoshiumi shriek as Ushijima and Kageyama practically drag him out of the coffee shop. Keiji chuckles to himself. Are all pro volleyball players this odd?
No, he reconsiders, thinking of Koutarou. Odd isn’t the best word to describe it. Maybe… special. Yeah, special. In a good way.
-
That night, Keiji arrives at the stadium early. There aren't many people in the stands yet, save for a few squealing girls that are looking around wildly for glimpses of the players and some of the stadium staff. Keiji does a double-take when he realizes how close his seat is to the court. He wasn’t expecting Koutarou to give him the worst seats in the stadium, but certainly not one of the best ones.
There’s already someone sitting in the seat directly next to his, a tall and well-built male with rumpled, black hair peeking out from under a black baseball cap. When Keiji gets a good look at his face, his eyebrows draw together in confusion.
“Miya?” he asks uncertainly. Last time he checked (literally just a few hours earlier!), Miya was blonde. But then there’s this man, with the exact same features as Miya: thick eyebrows, dark hooded eyes, and chiseled jaw. Keiji blinks a few times, but Miya's familiar face is still there on a man with dark hair.
“That’s me,” the man hums serenely. Keiji frowns. Never has Miya ever (at least not in the few times Keiji’s seen Miya) looked so calm and collected.
“Shouldn’t you be… getting ready for the match?” Keiji questions, confused. The man stares at Keiji, dumbfounded for a few moments, before throwing his head back, laughing out-loud.
“I see, ya thought I was ‘Tsumu.” He grins. “’m Miya Osamu. And that dumbass on the Jackals, that’s my twin brother.”
“Oi, yer the dumbass ‘round here!” Atsumu suddenly appears out of nowhere, Koutarou, Hinata, and Sakusa hot on his heels.
“Ya jus’ keep tellin’ yerself that.” Osamu responds mildly, but Atsumu’s no longer paying attention to his twin. His eyes are now fixed on Keiji.
“Hey! The cute barista made it!” Atsumu grins. “Bokkun wouldn’t stop talkin’ ‘bout ya.” Keiji glances at Koutarou, who suddenly seems like he’s trying to shrink behind Hinata (a very difficult task, really).
“What’re ya doin’ out here, anyway?” Osamu snorts. “Doncha have a game yer gonna play in like… thirty minutes?”
“Well, Bokuto-san wanted to come and say hello to Akaashi-san!” Hinata pipes up. Keiji feels his breath catch in his throat, and when he dares steal a glance at Koutarou, he doesn’t seem to be faring much better. Koutarou's cheeks, neck, and ears are all stained red.
“Shou-kun,” Koutarou mumbles. “You weren’t s’pposed to tell.”
“Oops.” Hinata doesn’t look sorry at all.
“Why am I here.” Sakusa sighs.
“Do you… do you wanna come to the locker room with me, Keiji?” Koutarou suddenly blurts out. Everyone — Keiji, Hinata, Sakusa, the Miya twins —stares at him, bewildered at his bizarre request. “I-I mean! ‘Cause the coffee that the coach bought us today kinda sucks and I want you to taste it!” A lame excuse, but hey, Koutarou was put on the spot so Keiji has to hand it to him.
“…Sure?” says Keiji.
“Good luck, loser,” Osamu tells his brother as the players and Keiji move to leave the court to go to the locker rooms.
“Don’t need it,” Atsumu responds dismissively.
“Yeah, I know.” The two brothers grin at each other, violently bumping their fists together.
“Ow,” Atsumu mutters under his breath, rubbing a soothing palm over his knuckles as they walk away.
“There’s no coffee in the locker rooms, is there, Koutarou-san?” Keiji asks testily as he follows the older man away from the chatter of his teammates on the other side of the room.
“…No.” Koutarou wilts a little. “Well, even if there was..." He pouts. “Could never be as good as yours anyway.”
“You’ve never had anything but my cupcake frappuccino,” says Keiji with a raise of his eyebrows.
“Well, all my friends say your coffee's good! Even Omi, and he doesn’t like many things.”
“It’s certainly difficult to mess up a plain black coffee…”
“Gah, you get my point!” Koutarou’s grinning, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand. “…Thanks for coming, Keiji.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Koutarou-san.” Their short conversation is interrupted by a chorus of disgusted groans and wolf whistles. They glance towards where the rest of the team are gathered, only to see Sakusa and Atsumu wrapped together in a passionate kiss.
Keiji almost wants to laugh, because what the fuck? He was beginning to think he was imagining the odd sexual tension that's always surrounding the two of them. Still, he keeps his mouth shut.
“Their usual good-luck kiss,” Koutarou muses. “They do that before every game. We haven’t lost a game since they've started, so I guess it works.”
“Really?” Keiji shifts on his feet.
“Yeah.” Koutarou flicks his gaze back to Keiji. “Definitely not gonna work as well as the good luck cherry you gave me, though.”
Keiji flushes.
“I don’t… I don’t suppose you’d want a good luck kiss, would you?” Keiji pauses to take a deep breath. The look on Koutarou’s face is unreadable; he’s never been unreadable since Keiji first met him months ago, always wearing his heart on his sleeve. It almost scares Keiji. “Y-You know… just in case the cherry isn’t enough.” Koutarou’s looking down at the ground, biting his lip. The furious blush that had covered his features back on the court is now making a full-force return.
“O-Only if you’d be willing, Keiji,” he finally says after a few moments of silence. That’s all Keiji needs to hear.
Keiji surges forward, gently taking hold of Koutarou’s broad shoulders. Koutarou’s stiff under Keiji’s touch, but relaxes once Keiji rubs a comforting circle on each of his shoulder blades with his thumb. Then Keiji leans up slightly to press a light kiss to Koutarou’s cheek.
“There,” Keiji breathes in Koutarou’s ear. “For extra-good luck.” Koutarou’s expression is vacant, as if trying to process what just happened.
His golden eyes trail down to Keiji’s lips, a small spark of desire flaring to life in his eyes.
“After you win.” Keiji smiles, removing himself from Koutarou completely. The older male pouts slightly, but nods slowly.
“After I win,” he parrots, gaze still focused on Keiji’s mouth.
And after the Jackals win against the Adlers 3-1, Koutarou doesn’t even spare a second to celebrate with his team before he’s rushing towards the stands. All the way towards where Akaashi Keiji is waiting in stands, arms wide open for him to run into.
It didn’t matter to Koutarou that, in that moment, that there were thousands and thousands of people in the stadium along with thousands and thousands of fans tuning into the sports channel from their homes all watching him run towards Akaashi Keiji. All that mattered to him was claiming the kiss that he was promised with victory.
There’s a flurry of excitement coursing through Keiji’s veins as Koutarou’s mouth presses against his in a fervid kiss. It’s enthusiastic, passionate, and just a little bit out-of-control — very Koutarou.
All the cameras and eyes in the stadium turn to them, and Koutarou thinks he can vaguely hear his old teammates from Fukurodani chanting, “Yeah, Bokuto-san! Get some!” and Hoshiumi screeching, “He was a Jackals fan all along!”, but he can’t be worrying about that, no, not when he’s lip-locked with the gorgeous barista he’s been trying to win the favor of for the past few months. He never thought that he would ever get this far; he brain is going into slight overdrive and he can’t believe it’s really happening. Not only that, it had been Keiji that had made the first move, and it was Keiji that offered a kiss, and Keiji that had —
Koutarou’s thoughts are a mess until Keiji’s hands reach up to rest on his cheeks, calming his mind immediately and leaving it with a wide, blank expanse of bliss.
They finally pull away from each other after a good while, out-of-breath and panting. Stars seem to dance in Koutarou’s golden eyes as he looks Keiji with such joy, it’s like he’s about to explode.
Even the whole volleyball game couldn’t compare to the exertion Bokuto Koutarou felt from kissing Akaashi Keiji for all but ten or so seconds. But he had loved it, loved it more than anything.
“You taste better than a cupcake frappuccino with extra sprinkles and lots of whipped cream,” is the first thing that Koutarou can say to Keiji through his shallowed breaths.
“Even with a cherry on top?” Keiji chuckles, just as breathless.
“Even with two cherries on top."