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Bokuto doesn’t notice it at first. Waking up next to you, as normal, he doesn’t notice the way your mood differs to other mornings. It’s not his fault – you don’t talk in the morning, you’re not a morning person. He doesn’t think much of it as he kisses you on the forehead, nuzzling your nose with his and dusting a light kiss across your lips to wake you up as you curl further into the pillows, blankets to your chin and your eyes start to slip shut again. Usually, you’d make little noises of complaint, but you’d still rise with him to go for a run and back with time enough to get ready for work.
You don’t have work today, and you don’t seem inclined to go for a run, so he lets you fall back asleep, making sure to tuck the blanket around you as he leaves. When he returns, you’ve made it to the living room, curled up against the arm of the couch with a mug of barely touched coffee. You don’t turn away from the TV when the door opens and he toes off his shoes at the entry, and you seem almost startled when he calls your name softly. Bokuto greets you with a bright grin regardless, leaning over the back of the couch to press a kiss to the top of your head, your temple, your cheek and finally your lips.
You laugh, soft and quiet, returning the kiss, even as your nose scrunches at the smell of sweat. Bokuto takes the mug of coffee from your hand, setting it on the side-table as he leans in closer, practically climbing over the back of the couch to pull you in for another kiss, deeper.
“Kou, you need to get ready for training.” Your voice is quiet as you place your hand on his chest, not quite pushing him away. Bokuto pouts for a scant moment, dusting one last kiss to the tip of your nose as he rolls off the front of the couch.
“I’m going.” He hands you back your coffee and drops his hand on top of your hand for a brief moment before heading to get ready for training.
It’s only as he’s shouldering his duffel that he realises the coffee mug had been stone cold in his hand.
When he emerges from the bedroom, you’re in the same position, and he glances at the mug in your hands as he passes by the couch – you haven’t taken even a sip since he left you, nearly twenty minutes ago. Bokuto frowns, and turns to drop a kiss on the top of your head. You startle, looking up at him with wide eyes, as though you hadn’t heard him traipsing about. Maybe you were just invested in whatever was on the TV. “Whatcha watching?”
You seem confused by the question, before looking at the TV, almost as though you’d forgotten you’d turned it on. “Oh. The morning news, I guess.”
It’s an odd response, but you give him a small smile, leaning up for a kiss. He responds to the silent request.
Bokuto was touchy-feely, affectionate, sometimes overly so, but you had always loved it, melting into his hugs, and always returning his kisses. You would let him lie down with his head in your lap, your fingers running absently through his hair, or sit next to you with his head on your shoulder, letting him hold your hand and fidget with your fingers, filling his constant need to be touched, comforted, loved. He kisses you once more, chaste and soft, murmuring an I love you against your lips. You smile again, chasing another kiss before nudging him to the door.
It’s only when he’s already driving to the MSBY gym that he recalls the way your smile hadn’t reached your eyes and had slipped as he turned away, your face going blank, eyes losing focus once more as you turned back to the TV. Something about it bothered him, made him feel uneasy.
It stays lingering on his mind throughout the morning’s training session, from the warm-ups to the individual exercises, and even during the practice games. He misses quite a few balls, and has to run a lap of the gym to make up for it each time. The three on three sees him on a team with Atsumu and Hinata, who are both watching him in confusion.
(“I thought he didn’t go emo-mode anymore?”
“This doesn’t look like emo-mode, Atsumu. Maybe he’s not well?”
“Go talk to him, then.” )
“Bokuto, are you okay?” Hinata still has to look up at Bokuto, though not quite as much anymore, and the question knocks Bokuto out of his mind, finally realising where he is.
“Yeah, I’m fine. C’mon, let’s win this thing!” It’s easy to slip back into the high energy he always has, and their three man team beats Sakusa’s easily.
He calls you during lunch.
Usually, it would just be an exchange of text messages so he could still interact with his teammates (“hows training my love?” “GOOD WE WON PRACTICE MATCH AGAIN” “ofc u did. pass my love to the others & dont forget to invite shoyo for dinner tmr” “will do ♥ need me 2 pick up anythin on the way????”) but today, he excuses himself from the cafeteria, settling on a bench outside in the sunlight as he dials your number.
It rings.
And rings.
And rings.
And rings.
Just when he’s about to hang up and try again with a slowly but steadily rising sense of panic, you pick up with a quiet, “hey, Kou. Everything ‘kay?”
He knows it’s because he never usually calls during the day, only when he’s on his way home, but the concern in your voice warms his heart. “Hey, baby. Just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Mmm.”
“What’ve you been up to today?” He doesn’t let your answer deter him, making sure you can hear the smile in his voice.
“Hmm? Oh. Just… watching TV.” He wonders if you’ve moved at all since he left. “How’s training?”
“Crazy. We won the three on three. Hinata accidentally spiked into the back of Atsumu’s head again. I think he’s doing it on purpose.” He rambles on about training, as you make small sounds at the appropriate times to reassure him you’re listening. He hears the creak of the leather couch in the background, accompanied by your heavy sigh, and he lets his sentence peter out. “Are you… okay?”
“Mhm. Just lying down. M’tired.” Your voice sounds muffled, and he assumes you’ve tugged a blanket over you. He frowns, but softens his voice when he speaks again.
“Okay. I’ll let you rest. Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll pick something up on my way home.”
“M’kay.”
“… I love you.”
“Love you, Kou. See you.”
Hinata finds him as lunch ends, staring at his phone with a creased brow. “Bokuto, c’mon, time to go back to the gym… you okay?”
Bokuto shrugs, and Hinata takes a seat next to him on the bench. They can be a few minutes late. He’s worried about you, he tells Hinata. “When I left this morning, something was off. I called her, but she barely gave me one word answers, and just said she was tired. But I feel like it’s more than that.”
Hinata looks troubled as Bokuto explains, lips pursed in thought. Finally, he lets out a short breath, turning to Bokuto. “If you wanna go home to her, I’m sure coach would understand.”
As appealing as the thought is, and though his heart aches to be with you and figure out what’s wrong and how he can help, he shakes his head. “She said she’s gonna rest. I’ll see her tonight. We’ve only got a few more hours anyway.”
Before they head into the gym, Bokuto drops a hand heavily on Hinata’s shoulder, squeezing once to convey his gratitude before he runs off to join the rest of the team with a bright smile that doesn’t betray the worried thumping of his heart.
It’s dark when he gets home, dusk just spilling over into evening as he balances his duffel and dinner while kicking his shoes off, calling for you through the house. The lights are off, and as he flicks them on, he takes it all in.
The TV is off, but there’s a rumpled blanket on the couch and one of the throw pillows has fallen to the floor. The only thing in the sink is your mug of coffee from the morning – he notices that you hadn’t poured it out, and it remains at the same level it had been this morning. Bokuto places the containers on the island counter, and makes his way through the house to find you.
You’re in bed, the top of your head visible under the blankets.
Bokuto’s thankful he had showered at the gym, stripping down to his boxers and undershirt as he climbs into bed behind you. His hand slides over your middle, pulling you to him, and you turn to face him, surprising him with the fact that you’re awake. He smiles softly at you, but it falters when your face remains… not quite blank, but absent. As though you’re not really focusing on him, but you let him tuck you into his chest anyway.
You can hear the way his heart beats erratically, and you can hear how he swallows the lump that’s rising in his throat. “Sweetheart?”
Your answer is a small tilt of your head as you reposition yourself against him, a leg sliding between his to get closer to his warmth, every line of your body close to his. He notes absently that you’re in the same pajamas as this morning. “Something’s wrong, baby. Please, won't you tell me?”
It’s uncharacteristic of him, to be speaking so softly, almost begging you to tell him what was wrong. You don’t speak.
It’s not that you don’t want to.
It’s that you can’t.
Some days… some days it all gets too much. Some days you wake up tired, and no matter how much you sleep, it doesn’t help. Your brain races at a million miles an hour, but the words die in your throat. You know you should have made the most of your day off and tried to overcome this, but you didn’t even have the energy to keep your eyes open when Koutarou had woken you for your morning run. You’d used most of your words when he’d called, almost as though you had a daily limit on how much you could speak. Or at least – you did on days like this. That you’d spoken at all was a surprise in itself to you – before you met Koutarou, when these days happened, you wouldn’t speak a word. Not to your parents, not to your friends. They’d understood, for the most part, that you’d speak when you were ready.
While you had been casually dating, it had been easy to hide these days from Koutarou. If you’d had energy, you would be texting him, giving some excuse or other why you couldn’t hang out that day. He’d reply with bright messages of love littered with emojies and riddled with text-speak, saying that it was okay and he’d see you when you were free next. But since moving in with Koutarou, you hadn’t had one of these days. Not until today.
This had, at least, been one that you knew was coming. Sometimes, most often, they sneak up on you without warning. Whether it’s waking up and immediately falling back asleep for the majority of the day, being unable to respond when spoken to, or spacing out as you fall into your head again. Rarely, you’d be able to anticipate it, like you had this time.
Your temper had been short in the days prior, though you hadn’t outright snapped at anyone, you’d been close to it. It had taken massive amounts of energy to complete even the smallest tasks, and you’d struggled to hold conversations. So you’d emailed your boss, saying you would be taking the day off, and had gone to sleep early in an effort to try and pre-emptively beat the drained uselessness you knew would be coming. Clearly, it hadn’t worked.
Koutarou is talking quietly, his tone soft and full of feeling, and you hear it as though coming out slowly from underwater – you realise you’d spaced out again, lost in your own head, as you been had when he came back from his run, when he’d gotten ready for training, and when he’d left for the day.
You need to say something to him. To explain. You owe him that much, and as you lift your head from his chest, you’re surprised to note his watery golden gaze as he falls silent. You swallow, take a deep breath, and he waits with a concerned crease to his brow as your lips part –
– but you don’t know where to start. You don’t know how to even begin explaining this behaviour, how to explain that sometimes your mind is so loud that you need to shut everyone else out to try and deal with it. You don’t know how to explain that you feel guilty for not doing the most basic of tasks, but you can’t find the willpower to do them. You don’t know how to explain that even brushing your teeth, washing your face, making coffee and moving to the couch had taken all the energy you’d had, and you’d had to take a long, long nap to try, unsuccessfully, to restore some of that energy.
The words die in your throat again, and for the first time, the numbness that usually accompanies these days gives way to frustrated tears that’s spill over your cheeks. Tears fall from his eyes too, but you’re once again surprised when Koutarou seems to know exactly what you need. His arms, still around you, tighten as he tucks your face into his neck with one hand on the back of your head, his fingers carding gently though your hair. He murmurs soft reassurances, soft words of love, kisses to your head as your tears leave a wet patch into the collar of his shirt.
It takes you a while, a good while for the silent tears and sniffles and hitching breaths to quiet down, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let up with his comfort, even as his words fall silent. Finally, finally, you look up from his neck, wiping your eyes with the sleeves of your shirt, his red eyes watching your every movement. You still feel the need to explain to him, knowing that he deserves an explanation, but the thought of trying to speak again feels… almost nauseating.
But the look in his eyes, the concern, the heartbreak, the worry, the helplessness that knowing something is wrong but he doesn’t know how to help, it hurts. You let out a shaky sigh, rolling away from him and onto your back, looking up at the ceiling. Koutarou lets you, but your legs still remain tangled with his, his warm hand resting on your hip, thumb tracing comforting circles. He doesn’t rush to fill the silence, or prompt you again to tell him what’s wrong, but it’s written on his face.
It would be so much easier if you could just text him like you used to.
Wait.
You free your hand from the covers, slapping about on the night stand until you locate your phone, bringing it to you and opening up the notes app, your tired, puffy eyes squinting as you bring the brightness down. Koutarou watches you in confusion, but stays silent, even though curiosity burns at him as you type.
After a few minutes, the sound of your nails tapping against the screen quiets. You hesitate, before handing the phone to him. He accepts it, confusion rife on his face as he begins to read.
I’m sorry for worrying you. This is gonna sound so stupid, it’s just my shitty brain. Sometimes my brain just won’t shut up and the only way I can cope is by going silent. Sometimes its just not speaking for a day or 2, or sometimes I sleep all day, or sometimes its both. This is the first time its happened since we moved in together. Its just my shitty brain being shitty and too loud that it takes all my energy to quiet it down and I’ve always dealt with it alone and I wanna speak and explain this all to you with my voice but I cant get the words out they just get stuck and they wont come out. I’m sorry for worrying you.
He mouths along as he reads, the concerned crease in his brow deepening the more he reads, and he lets out a quiet sigh as he looks up at you again. You almost look away, embarrassed and ashamed of your behaviour, but he speaks in that same, soft voice he’s had all night. “How long has this been happening? Since before we started dating?”
Hesitantly, you nod. You can see the moment his heart cracks at the thought you’d been dealing with this alone for years.
Koutarou wants to say, “why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you come to me and let me help?”, but from the way you watch him, apprehensive, cheeks tinged pink with guilt and shame, your eyes tired and red, he recognizes that frustrated words wouldn’t help you at all right now.
So instead, he locks your phone, placing it on the nightstand, and pulls you back into his arms with a long sigh, until you’re flush against him with barely a breath of space between you.
“You don’t have to speak, don’t have to answer what I’m gonna say, okay?” His voice is barely above a whisper as he tucks the blanket around you. You nod against his chest to let him know you’re listening, and he continues.
“I was so worried about you today. But – but –” He keeps talking as you shift guiltily in his arms. “I’m glad you told me. I’m not the best with words, and I don’t… I don’t really understand what you’re going through, but I’ll try. I wish you’d told me sooner – not just about today – but even before we’d moved in together. I… I don’t want to let you go through these things alone. But now I know. And I wanna help, even if it’s just holding you like this all day until you’re ready to speak again. And I don’t want you to ever apologise for this again. This isn’t your fault. It’s… from what you’ve told me, it doesn’t seem like something you can control. So maybe, maybe when you’re feeling better, we can work out some way for you to let me know when you’re feeling like this, and we can work through it together, okay?”
His chest stutters under your cheek as he takes a shaky breath, kissing the top of your head. “I love you.”
Your tears spill again, and you raise your head to meet his own misty gaze. He really wants to kiss you.
You kiss him before he can. Soft, chaste, salty with tears, and you rest your forehead against his.
“I love you.” You murmur back.
Once you’ve both calmed down, he convinces you to shower, with the promise that he’ll help you. He even carries you to the bathroom, sitting you on the edge of the counter as he turns on the water, letting steam fog up the bathroom as he helps you undress and does the same himself, making sure the water is the right temperature before helping you off the counter and under the spray with him.
Koutarou treats you with soft touches and kisses, washing your hair with gentle hands, washcloth soft over your body. He keeps your arms locked around his neck, your fingers idly toying with his hair and when he kneels to run the washcloth over your legs, your hands fall to his shoulders, and he presses soft kisses to your belly, your hips as you yawn for the third time, your eyes slipping shut.
He’s quick to bundle you up in a towel, wrapping one around his hips and carrying you to the bedroom. He sits you on the bed, pulling on his boxers before helping you dress, all with gentle words and the ghost of his lips on your skin. You should feel helpless, useless as he even helps you pull on your underwear, dresses you in his spare Jackals sweatshirt and a pair of shorts, but instead all you feel is warm, loved, safe. Your mind is quiet. Drained, and empty, but quiet.
He dries your hair too, the sound of your (shared) dryer loud after such silence, and you both make a face at the noise. Your eyes meet his in the mirror, and you both laugh. It surprises you. When your hair is dry enough, he quickly dries his own, before he picks you up again.
“I can walk.” That you’re able to speak it so easily is another surprise – but today had been one surprise after another, after all. What’s one more?
“Nope, you’re reserving your energy for eating some of the deliciously spicy curry I brought home. That means I get to carry you around like the queen you are, for I am your humble servant!” His mood has brightened considerably compared to how he had been when he first got home, almost back to his normal self, if at a lower volume. So you accept it, resting your head on his shoulder for the journey from the bedroom to the kitchen, where he sets you down at the dining table and goes to warm up the containers he’d left sitting on the counter.
Midnight sees you both curled up in bed again, trading soft kisses, legs tangled together, bodies so close you didn’t know where Koutarou ended and where you began. He blinks sleepily at you, brushing his nose against yours with a quiet, content hum that conveys every ounce of love for you he has in his body.
Your lips quirk in a small smile, and you give him one last kiss, tucking your face into his neck as his hand strokes lazily up and down your spine, slowing in time with his deepening breaths until he finally falls asleep. You follow soon after, your mind finally quiet.