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White light pierces through a chink of the window, the digital clock on the nightstand ticks in the otherwise soundless room, displaying bright red numbers that make Keiji nauseous.
He blinks, once, twice, then groans, rising from his spot on the bed to slam the clock and turn it around to face the wall, then slumps right back down, face on the pillows.
2.34 a.m. Keiji wonders which of the gods up there it is that wants Keiji to suffer so much. He has to be awake and ready for class in five hours and a half. Great.
He wonders if the window in the other room succeeds on doing what all windows should do, blocking the light. Then again, it's not really the light impeding Keiji's sleep.
Either way, he's too tired to move to the other room, the one that would have been occupied by his roommate, if he had one.
It was supposed to be some freshman whose faculty Keiji hadn't bothered to check, who never did actually move in, or even show up, for some reason Keiji was even less interested in knowing.
The ideal situation. No one leaving dirty bowls in the sink, no occupied bathroom, and Keiji gets to stay in the dorm and lay in the dark as much as his soul desires, alone, without anyone ever bothering him.
His doorbell rings once, loud and clear and unmistakable.
Keiji doesn’t have any acquaintances who would think of disturbing him at this god forsaken hour.
The doorbell rings again.
To tell the truth, his eyes have started stinging. Keiji has been awake for the past almost nineteen hours, after all. His brain starting to allucinante is the only sensible explanation.
The doorbell rings a third time, dragging its high-pitched screech for a good three seconds, straight to Keiji's temples.
He sits up yet again, picks up his glasses, and drags himself to the door.
"Oh, hey! Hope I didn't wake you up, well, maybe I did, sorry 'bout that! I'm Bokuto Koutarou."
Keiji blinks. A few thoughs pass through his (very slow) mind:
1. Why is a Hot Stranger standing in his college dorm room's doorway in the middle of the night;
2. Why is the Hot Stranger beaming at him, and then;
3. Keiji isn't wearing any pants.
He wonders if, maybe, he has effectively fallen asleep, after all. Maybe that was just his alarm clock ringing. This ought to be the start of an interesting wet dream, no complaints there.
Keiji barely registes Hot Stranger coming inside the apartment, not until he feels the ghost of his touch on his arm, making his skin tingle and his mind race. That feels way more real than any hot dream ever should.
He cleans his glasses with the hem of his shirt.
"What are you doing," Keiji asks, but it doesn't quite sound like a question and now Hot Stranger is placing–what looks like–a gym bag on the kitchen counter and looking around the room like he has any business being there in the first place. Which he has not.
Maybe under different circumstances.
He whips around to look at Keiji with wide, shiny, golden eyes, golden? and for a second he tilts his head and blinks, as if he were the one who ought to be confused by Keiji's behavior, and the entirety of this situation, really.
"I'm your new roommate. I've just gotten here and I need a place for tonight, sometime in the next few days they'll ship my stuff and all!" Hot-New-Roommate says way too loudly. "They said they were gonna tell you and stuff... Man, they haven't even given me the key yet," he adds, murmuring more to himself than to Keiji.
Keiji just stares at him. He still isn't wearing pants.
Then Hot Roommate smiles, closed lips, wide and sweet and just bright enough to feel intimate, an appropriate smile for a two a.m. conversation in the kitchen (which is also the living room, whatever).
"Sorry again, I didn't want to wake you up! I really though they'd tell you..." He moves to open and check each and every cupboard, looking for god knows what, but still manages to be unexpectedly quiet while doing so. "How about some hot chocolate to make up for it, and then you can go back to sleep. What's your name, by the way?"
"Akaashi Keiji." He isn't sure anything will ever be as sweet and as tender as Hot Stranger Bokuto Koutarou's smile. He accepts the hot chocolate anyway.
Maybe the gods aren't so bad.
Keiji stares down at the book on his coffee table. He has so many questions. The book stares right back at him, four hundred pages, hardcover, five thousand yen worth of knowledge and all. It's been twenty minutes, and it still hasn't given Keiji any answers. It really isn't worth those five thousand yen.
The sun is starting to set, slow and steady, and the living room is bound to fall into darkness anytime soon.
The table is cluttered, very cluttered, with sheets and notes and other books and the laptop he's used to submit an essay forty minutes ago and still hasn't bothered to put away. His tea has gotten cold.
He shifts his legs, from an uncomfortable position to a mildly less uncomfortable one, and he knows nothing more than he did half a hour ago, except that he fucking hates studying on the coffee table.
Still, it's the only free surface in a sea of backpacks and gym bags and a couple of boxes that really shouldn't occupy as much space as they do. Much like their owner, Keiji thinks bitterly.
Their owner, who has just burst his door open, effectively reminding Keiji that's not his door anymore. Who Keiji promptly ignores, because he deserves it.
Hot Stranger Roommate Bokuto Koutarou has been living in Keiji's (their) dorm for a whole week now, effectively remaining just that: a stranger.
He doesn't spend much time there, so Keiji might as well stop putting so much effort in correcting himself when he refers to it as his dorm, rather then theirs.
Bokuto doesn't even sleep there every night, Keiji can always hear clicking of door and tiptoed footsteps, and lack thereof, while lying awake in a too bright room, without having the chance of using the other one.
Not that he's ever effectively done that before Bokuto's arrival. He regrets it now.
"Hey!" Bokuto greets, rushed like he's in a hurry, like he's taking that one moment of his busy life, jammed between duties, just to reach to Keiji.
It's annoying, irritating, infuriating, for some reason. It's ridiculous, Keiji had previously spent two weeks in total bliss, contemplating forever getting rid of the mere concept of roommates from his mind. And now, the very absence of his roommate, expansive and loud and nosy and everything Keiji dislikes, is a persistent itch in his mind, one he scratches and scratches in an obstinate manner, one that is destined to bleed soon.
Perhaps it's not even that. Perhaps it's just knowing Bokuto deems himself worthy of coming and going, to and from a dorm full of his stuff, like he damn well pleases. As if he owed Keiji nothing, as if he had the right to just burst into Keiji's life one day, keep coming back for a breath, just an "hey", but never effectively staying.
A hand places a takeaway cup on the coffee table, right in front of Keiji's eyes, and jolts him awake from his dumb daydreaming.
"Sorry, I really don't wanna bother you," Bokuto tells him, he's lowered himself to Keiji's level and is not quite whispering, but that's something pretty close.
He's smiling that smile again, intimate and tender, and Keiji should really start counting how many times he's apologized already. It's always just a "hey" and a "sorry" and a smile, and despite his annoyance Keiji never really gets what he's sorry for.
"I just though I'd bring you some tea. Y'know, cause the sink's always full of mugs and you've been studying a lot, even tho you don't sleep much, I don't think." Keiji's looking at him, and all the confusion he's feeling must be displayed on his face, because Bokuto isn't looking at him anymore. "Oh! I also assumed you'd like tea because it smells like tea a lot in here. It's nice."
There's a very slight blush on the bridge of Bokuto's nose, so faint that Keiji isn't sure he would have noticed if it were slightly darker, it makes him look even softer than his smile and his eyes.
"Thanks," Keiji murmurs, because every time Bokuto's there with him feels like a dream, and Keiji really doesn't want it to end, this time.
He takes the cup, brushing his hand on Bokuto's fingers because he might as well, at this point, since he's been staring at Bokuto with a wonderstruck expression, probably.
Bokuto smiles even more. "'Kay, I'll leave you to your books, then." He stands up and goes for the door, Keiji's eyes following.
"Will you come back?" He asks, because he's evidently not thinking at all. Regret burns in the back of his neck, and he realizes Bokuto probably has no idea what he's talking about. "Tonight, that is."
As if it'll make the question any less ridiculous.
"Oh... Huh," Bokuto isn't looking at Keiji. He scratches his cheek, then rubs his hands on his jeans, then scratches the back of his neck with the other hand.
He is clearly uncomfortable, stuttering miserably before the door. Keiji is making him uncomfortable. Irritation and anger ripple back inside him, thundering all around the room. Of course he wouldn't be worth of Bokuto Koutarou's company, ah. He almost wants to laugh, but he doesn't really have the strength to.
"... Yea, I mean– If you, if you have to... If you don't want me here, I can stay somewhere else. If you want... Yea."
What.
So he's been assuming stuff. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course you can stay here." Keiji's tone is firm, but there isn't any bite to it as he begs his voice not to waver. "I'm ordering takeout."
The moment Bokuto closes the door behind him he's left alone once again, in the darkness of a quiet room that doesn't feel intimate anymore, but rather empty, and quite frankly suffocating. He still needs to study.
At seven p.m. Keiji's still alone, studying in the living room.
At eight p.m. he's given up on studying and he's trying to get some chores done.
At eight forty-five he's given up on doing anything at all, and he's laid on his bed mourning his sore back. Bokuto still hasn't come back.
At ten past nine Keiji has entered a heavy state of grogginess. He doesn't hear the door opening, but he does feel his bed tip to his side and a hand coming to rub his back. Keiji finds it very comforting.
"Hey," Bokuto greets, and this time it is a proper whisper. "What's the matter?"
Keiji can only grunt in response, but Bokuto's hand doesn't stop soothing his back and his face comes nearer Keiji's ear.
"I'm going to cook something, and then we can crush on the couch and watch a movie, if that'll make you feel better."
That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever told Keiji. He admits on maybe, probably, being slightly biased, because he's currently on the verge of sleeping, he's very sad, and his stomach is collapsing on itself out of hunger.
The point still stands, and Keiji thinks it's unjust, plain and simple like that. This is a complete stranger, offering to cook dinner because he's feeling down; a complete stranger buying him tea because he has noticed Keiji's mugs in the sink of a dorm he never occupies, unlike his boxes and bags. A stranger smiling at him like they've known each other a whole lifetime, and been in love for even more.
A stranger that would rather spend his whole day out than learn to coexist with Keiji, one that hasn't even bothered to unpack yet.
Dinner is delicious, like the hot chocolate had been, and takeout will never taste nice again, Keiji doesn’t think.
Bokuto apologizes when Keiji manages to gather a little bit of strength, enough to stand up and make his way to the kitchen (which is also the living room. Really, there's only three rooms).
Keiji is very confused, but he's also very lightheaded, and he only half catches Bokuto explaining how he's gotten rid of the three boxes that used to occupy the kitchen counter, and then apologizing some more because he hadn't though about it and they must've bothered Keiji so very much. Which isn't entirely accurate, but Keiji's still basically asleep, so he doesn't tell him that.
The movie is even better than dinner, if such thing is possible (apparently it is). Bokuto is as loud as he always is, and seemingly keen on interrupting, a lot, but his comments are funny and his laugh is contagious, and watching him being so deeply engrossed is endearing.
At some point Bokuto's head drops on Keiji's shoulder, who resorts to shove popcorn into his mouth, trying to stop a grin. He then proceeds to throw popcorn at Bokuto while snorting at his affronted face.
The next day Keiji goes back to the dorm during lunch and finds a bowl he does not own filled with katsudon, beside a mug of steaming tea on the kitchen counter. He doesn't own that mug, either.
By the end of the first month of college Bokuto's unpacked, and all of his–mostly owl themed–possessions occupy the dorm like an everlasting reminder that he's there.
The door closing and the steps leading to Bokuto's room every night, the lunches left on the counter, three times a week, the huge coats and the equally big shoes at the door manage to remind Keiji of his constant presence despite their lack of interaction.
When Keiji finds a hoodie abandoned on the couch he decides that he has every right to borrow it, and laying on the ground is made just a little bit more pleasant that night.
The kitchen counter is finally free of boxes and bags, it has been for quite some time now, so he goes back to studying there most of the time.
When the sky starts getting darker and the air becomes cold he switches on the kitchen lights, moves on the couch, laptop on his lap, and puts on one of the sweaters Bokuto's thrown on the coffee table that day.
He isn't sure Bokuto knows about it, he's never really given Keiji permission to wear his clothes, but Keiji assumes leaving them around for him to find is as intentional as cooking him lunch three times a week and leaving his mug with the owls near Keiji's teabags, because Keiji likes that mug a lot.
Bokuto never comes back before eleven at night, when Keiji's already given up doing anything more than laying on his bed, window closed, never quite sleeping.
So, when Bokuto opens their door shortly after dawn, Keiji can't help but give him a wide-eyed look from the couch.
Bokuto looks as surprised as Keiji feels closing the door, and he wonders why wouldn't he be expecting the his roommate, who basically never leaves their dorm to be there.
"Oh, hey," Bokuto greets, but he's not smiling like he usually does, and he blinks a little too much while eyeing the sweater Keiji is wearing.
Keiji feels strangely defensive at that, then disillusion and embarrassment make their way to his stomach as he tries to hide behind his laptop as much as he can.
"You're early," he murmurs, and it's an useless statement, but he doesn't have anything else to say.
It feels weirdly domestic, in a way.
"Oh, yeah. Class was canceled, didn't really have time to make other plans." Bokuto goes straight to the kitchen, to make dinner, Keiji supposes.
He has half a mind to move on the counter and study there while Bokuto cooks. Maybe they could chat, Bokuto's jokes are funny, and Keiji could use a laugh. Bokuto doesn't look like he's in the mood for jokes, though. Keiji wishes he was a bit funnier, maybe he could make Bokuto laugh, then, and they'd both feel a little better.
Someone taps on his shoulder, and Keiji realizes he's been staring at his empty word document for at leat five minutes, about the time Bokuto's taken to make the tea he's offering Keiji.
Along with the tea, a tiny, tiny smile, one that's barely there, threatened to be eaten by the shadows casting in the room. One that makes Keiji's eyes sting and his chest ache.
He can't bring himself to do anything more then nod. Their fingers brush as Keiji takes the cup, and he thinks that it would be a perfect moment to lift Bokuto's spirits, just a little bit. He should do something, anything to make him see how much Keiji appreciates the tea in the owl cup and the food and the sweaters–even if he hasn't been leaving them there for Keiji to find–. Something to show that he's always welcome to stay in the dorm, as much as he pleases, and Keiji wouldn't mind having him there at all.
Bokuto goes back to the kitchen, the moment dissipates in the dark of the room. Keiji wonders if it's ever really been there, in the first place.
Seven minutes later he's finished his tea, and that's the only thing he's accomplished. He closes his laptop, because that Word document is as empty and as threatening as before, and he stands up to put the empty mug in the sink.
His eyes flick towards Bokuto's face, for a bit more than just a moment. He seems more relaxed, and Keiji really doesn't have enough strength to try and explain the relief he feels.
The kitchen is very warm, almost cozy. The air smells nice, and it is pure instinct making Keiji rest his forehead against Bokuto's broad back.
For a fleeting moment, everything falls into place, and Keiji realizes he's never felt more at ease, surrounded by the yellow light and the sound of oil sizzling and Bokuto's warm presence and his glasses jabbing in his face, even.
He brightens in an instant, his chest gets lighter and lighter, and he can't help but smile a little at how utterly ridiculous the situation has been from the start. He spends a lot of time being irritated, but now he can't remember how nor why. How can Bokuto's sole presence have such a huge impact on him? Has Keiji always been this malleable? He should ask his friends next time he visits.
"Huh... What are you doing?" He feels Bokuto's voice thunder in his chest, all the way to Keiji's forehead. His tone is tangled with a dark mixture confusion, uneasiness, and something Keiji can't quite understand, and he doesn't really want to, he decides.
It is pure instinct that makes him storm into his room. He makes sure to slam the door.
Instinct has never failed him so hard.
To be fair, Keiji isn't the type to rely on instinct, or guts, or whatever reckless people claim to follow whenever they fuck up real good, so the percentage of failures in that field is infinitesimal.
That percentage has just grown exponentially, for the first time since middle school, and keeps growing and growing and growing, looms over him, sending thrills down his spine.
He's left his laptop in the living room, so he comes to the conclusion that the only thing he can do is hug his knees and spin on his chair as he questions his existence.
Instincts tell him to just pack all his shit and go away from the dorm as soon as he can, tomorrow, tonight even; maybe if he's cautious enough Bokuto won't notice until it's too late and Keiji's already on a train to the opposite side of Tokyo. Then he gets the urge to scream at Bokuto, because all of this is his damn fault, for some reason Keiji can't quite pinpoint, but he's sure is there. In the end, he just wants to cry.
He does none of these things, of course, because relying on instincts to solve a problem those very same instincts have caused would be foolish, and Keiji feels enough of a fool already.
There's a light knock on the door, so light he must have imagined it, surely Bokuto wouldn't come all the way to his room to further embarrass Keiji, or express all his disgust, or whatever. Maybe he's mad at Keiji, it'd be an understandable reaction, he deserves it. Maybe he's moving out because he couldn't stand Keiji before, and this was the last strand. The possibility makes his heart sink, he can already feel the dark rooms and the sleepless nights and the cold tea, full of loneliness.
The second knocking is louder very real, though, and all Keiji can manage is a "what" that comes off muffled and way weaker that he'd hoped.
When Bokuto opens the door it's with such delicacy, such regard, and it fills Keiji to the brim, threatening to spill at a sudden movement or a misplaced breath.
"Hey," Bokuto greets, because that's how he always greets Keiji, but his smile is more apologetic than usual. "What's up?"
"Studying." Keiji unfolds himself in a sitting position and nods to a pile of open books on his desk–he has no idea what they're even about, at this point, but Bokuto doesn't either, so it's fine.
It's fine until Keiji remembers he's wearing Bokuto's sweater. He's not fine anymore.
"Well, I brought you dinner." He has, indeed, and it looks delicious, even more than the hot chocolate in the cute owl mug, that Bokuto must've washed just to make Keiji feel better. Instead, it makes his heart ache a bit more.
"Thanks."
Keiji waits for Bokuto to go away.
He feels vulnerable, more than he would like, more than he's ever felt, and he has a feeling something horrible is about to happen.
He wants to be left alone, and he makes it very clear, turning to face the bowl on his desk (on his books, rather) and saying nothing more.
He thinks he's done a good job, until Bokuto decides to sit on his bed, and Keiji thinks that maybe it's his own fault for being so weak. Or maybe Bokuto's shit at reading his signals.
It's really not that, Keiji knows deep down. He represses that knowledge jamming it between the dread and the image of that owl cup and the anticipation (the bad kind).
"You study a lot," Bokuto starts, and it's so painfully clear, he feels uncomfortable and awkward, Keiji would've felt some sort of second-hand embarrassment, if he weren't experiencing that embarrassment on first hand. "Don't you ever do, like, interesting stuff?"
Keiji's right eye twitches. "Excuse you, Modern Japanese Literature is fascinating."
Bokuto crushes on his bed, facing the ceiling, so Keiji dares spin a little to face him the best he can.
"Akaashi!" He cries, because screaming this late in a dorm full of college students is the sensible thing to do, clearly. "I meant, like, hanging out with your friends or something."
Keiji's legs make their way back to his chest. "None of my friends live nearby." He rests his chin on his knees. Then, after a pause, he adds, " And I don't know anyone on campus yet."
He would be surprised at this kind of honesty in any other situation, he thinks, then he wonders why this time is any different from the dozens of other times he's talked to a stranger. Or maybe an acquaintance (very hopeful thinking there, Keiji is perfectly aware).
Bokuto opens his mouth, and although Keiji can't see his face very well he knows he's changed his mind. Instead he says, "Is that why you never leave the dorm?"
"Is that why you never are here?" Keiji's tone is a lot harsher than Bokuto's. Because you have better friends? And then, because you don't like me.
Bokuto props up on his forearms to glare, actually glare, at Keiji and who the fuck does he think he is.
"At least I have an interesting life. With friends and adventures and stuff that's not just books, y'know."
Keiji furrows his eyebrows and scrunches his nose as much as he can. He doesn't really know what to answer, because Bokuto's fundamentally right, and although he would never admit it, Keiji's very prideful, too much even.
"That's what reckless people say before fucking things up. Badly." And then they blame it on instincts. "I'd rather be mature as a person than pretend to be a teenager running away from responsibilities my whole life."
Bokuto's eyebrows rise, and under them his eyes go wide, so golden Keiji thinks they could start shining at any moment. His face is almost comedic, and Keiji's pretty sure he would've laughed, were the circumstances different.
Ah, he thinks in a sudden rush of awarness, that's the first time Bokuto's ever heard him swear. Hell, that's the longest sentence he's ever uttered in front of Bokuto. He really wishes it wasn't.
"Isn't literature just crazy people being reckless and doing crazy people shit, tho?" At that Keiji's quite taken aback. He struggles not to show it, because he really doesn't want to give Bokuto that satisfaction. That's not how it works, not at all, but he does have a point. It's very abstract and vague, but a point nonetheless. "You could start by hanging out with my friends." Bokuto smirks, then Keiji sends him his most blank look and Bokuto starts grinning, instead. Keiji glares.
He feels like a spoiled child, desperate for any sort of attention, or maybe a child who's being ridiculed by his parents, in front of the whole family at the Christmas dinner table. If that's the case, his parents aren't showing him enough love.
"You never spend time with me anyway, what's the point."
Bokuto stops smiling as some sort of realization hits him, in a way that's so plain and clear on his face. It should make him feel vulnerable and scared, Keiji thinks, the extent to which he lays his mind in the open, but it doesn't. It just manages to make Keiji feel small and intrusive, instead.
"You study a lot," Bokuto repeats, like it explains anything at all. Which it absolutely does not. "I'll take you somewhere, then, and we can do interesting and mildly reckless shit together."
At that Keiji huffs, but he's smiling a bit behind his knees. Bokuto can't see it, Keiji doesn't think, but he probably knows anyway. Keiji doesn't mind that he does.
He grins at Keiji, open and light and bright, and at that point he might as well be reading Keiji's mind. He wonders when he became so easy to read, then he wonders if it's just Bokuto that makes him readable.
"That's a date, then," He beams, and with that he heads back to the living room.
It takes three seconds, then Keiji has the same realization, and although he can't see his wide eyes and the glorious blush aggressively spreading on his face, Keiji is sure Bokuto knows about that, too.