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Waking up on Bokuto’s couch after a night out isn’t new.
It’s also not new to have the others scattered around the living room.
Nishinoya occupies the armchair. Kuroo and Kenma are snuggling on the chaise of the L-couch, and Tanaka takes up the other two cushions, a pillow barrier between him and the Nekoma alum. Akaashi slumbers on a futon on the floor, where the coffee table sat before you’d all pushed it out of the way.
If you crane your head in the direction of the bedroom door, squinting against the harsh late morning light filtering through the curtains, you can see Kiyoko, Kaori, Yukie and Yachi sprawled along Bokuto’s big king bed in a cuddle pile that looks extremely delightful, if not slightly oppressive. You can see why you opted for the couch.
You notice the man of the house is missing at the same time you register a heavy weight on your chest, and look down.
Oh.
The weight on your chest is Bokuto Koutarou’s head, his arms wrapped around your middle, a leg locked between yours, snoozing contently.
What happened last night?
DING!
“Oh! Whose phone was that? Whose phone went off?” Yachi calls, clapping her hands excitedly. Kiyoko dutifully digs through the stack of phones on the table until she finds the culprit and holds it triumphantly for everyone to see – a phone wrapped in a bright red Kodzuken case. Everyone cheers as Kuroo groans and hangs his head in defeat.
“Off you go, Capitalist!” Nishinoya shoos Kuroo to the bar as he collects his phone from Kiyoko, not quite pouting (but very close to it), making his way to the bar and cursing his never-ending emails as everyone calls out their requests to him.
“This is -hic- the best birthday, hands down.” Yukie throws an arm around the two nearest to her – Bokuto, and you. “You guys are the best. I’m having so much fun.”
You laugh, wrapping your arms around her waist. “It’s always fun to catch up with you all! And it’s so much more fun now that we don’t have to manage these crazy idiots. They’re adults now, they can manage themselves!”
“Hell yeah! My favourite people!” Bokuto pulls you both for a bear hug, lifting you off your feet easily as you both make noises of surprise and laugh, Yukie begging him to put her down. He obliges her, letting Yukie slide out of his left arm as he keeps you held (oh so easily) in his right.
“Put her down, moron.” Akaashi bops Bokuto’s head with the side of his palm, even as you make noises of defiance and wrap your arms tight around his neck. He shifts his grip to hold you more comfortably, sticking his tongue out at Akaashi.
“She doesn’t want to be put down, so mind your business, my friend.” He says, matter of fact and definitely not slurring. He’s content to keep holding you – he’s always loved your hugs, the warmth they bring and the way you pour all your emotion into the gesture. You clearly don’t want to be let down, locking your legs around his hips and resting your head on his shoulder, giggling. He can feel your smile against his neck, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t send shivers down his spine.
After a little coaxing, Kaori and Akaashi manage to pry you two apart and get your feet on solid ground again in the sticky hole-in-the-wall bar, but you remain near Bokuto, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
That perfect moment is when Kuroo returns with a tray of shots, and everyone cheers for him again as he waves good naturedly. Just like you used to in high school, you plant your hands on Bokuto’s shoulders and hop, locking your knees on either side of his waist as you join the raucous whooping. Bokuto grabs your legs on instinct, situating you more comfortably before he raises one hand to whoop with you. Everyone takes a shot from the tray, and on Kuroo’s count, you all throw it back, with varying degrees of disgusted exclamations and faces.
“You cheap chicken! You got bottom shelf stuff, didn’t you, city boy?” Tanaka yells, getting right up into Kuroo’s face – some things never change, you think fondly.
“No-one said there were rules on what I could and couldn’t get!” Kuroo brushes him off with practiced ease, throwing an arm around Kenma with a grin. Kenma himself is looking a little flushed from the alcohol, but a content, easy smile slides over his face as he presses further into Kuroo’s side.
You wrap your arms around Bokuto’s neck, locking them with your hands on your elbows as you bump your head against his, chin on his shoulder with a wistful sigh. He turns his head to look at you, an exaggerated frown on his face that makes you giggle. “What’s with the sad sounds, Bumblebee?”
You nod at Kenma and Kuroo. Kuroo is leaning heavily on his boyfriend, nuzzling the top of his head, lips moving as he whispers drunken words of love that make Kenma go (more) red, hiding his face in Kuroo’s shoulder. “That’s… That’s really cute, Bo. I want that. With like… someone I love.”
You miss the way Yachi and Akaashi throw conspiratorial looks at each other as they overhear you, moving closer as Bokuto hitches you up where you had begun to slide down his back, hands warm and comforting on the backs of your knees.
“And who would that be, bumblebee?” Akaashi asks, borrowing Bokuto’s nickname for you with a sly smile. Yachi catches on, bouncing on the balls of her feet with a gasp.
“Yeah! Who would you want that to be? If you could pick one person?”
“Hmm…” You know exactly who it would be. In fact your head tilts to the side, knocking against his gently, and you let loose a quiet “bonk” that makes you both giggle. “It would be Koutarou, of course. I love him. I need him in my life.”
Silence.
Dead silence falls around the group at your words, so quiet a pin-drop could be heard. They’d all known about your feelings for Bokuto, and his feelings for you. You’d been dancing around it since your time at Fukurodani as the younger manager being trained to take over after Yukie and Kaori left. You’d only had a year and a half to get to know the older boys on the team – and you’d fallen head over heels for Bokuto Koutarou. When your hints and flirts had not been returned, you’d pushed your feelings down and settled with being friends – it was just enough to be in the orbit of a star so warm.
Unbeknownst to you, Bokuto had been the other side of that coin, thinking his advances were not being returned when you joined the club halfway through your second year.
Everyone had watched on with varying degrees of frustration, exasperation, and astonishment (“how can they be so blind?” “Should we step in?” “Nah, they’ve gotta figure it out eventually, right? … Uh, right, guys?”) as you two acted every part the couple without actually being one. You’d even gone on a few dates, and Bokuto had had a girlfriend for a month or two.
And here you were, liquid courage fuelling you as you hung off him like a baby koala, admitting your love for him in front of everyone.
“Aw, bumblebee, you know I love you too!” Bokuto bonks his head against yours again with a bright laugh, and Akaashi’s face falls into an expression that can only be described as my best friend is an idiot, while Yachi slaps a palm against her forehead.
DING!
“Phone! Who’s next!” He shouts, letting you hop off his back as he dives for the noisemaker in the pile, holding up a phone with a clear case, a polaroid of Tanaka and Kiyoko throwing up peace signs pressed between the case and the phone. “Okay, it’s either Tanaka or Kiyoko! What a cheesy couple, who has matching phone-cases anymore? Drumroll, please!”
Nishinoya and Yukie oblige, using the stools they were supposed to be sitting on as their drums as Bokuto wakes the screen with a dramatic flourish. Tanaka cheers as the photo of their Sable German Shepherd puppy appears behind the Instagram notification.
Kiyoko accepts her phone good naturedly, smiling as Tanaka shouts a “sorry babe!” and drags her under his arm, pressing a kiss to her temple, ever the gentleman as he accompanies his girlfriend to the bar. Yachi sees the frown growing on your face, a little upset at the way Bokuto had brushed off your confession so easily, and she wraps an arm around your waist, letting you throw yours over her shoulder and lean against her.
“I refuse to be one of those crying drunks. I refuse.” You declare, squeezing her shoulder as she laughs, returning the one armed hug.
You look down at Bokuto- Bo, Koutarou, with growing horror, your face flushing with embarrassment as he grumbles in his sleep, shuffling and turning until the cheek that had been resting against your chest is visible, marks where your shirt had wrinkled under him imprinted on his face.
Had you really admitted you loved him, needed him?
And he’d brushed it off.
But there was more. There was something in the back of your mind, poking, a teasing, smug little thing saying, just you wait.
“Can we go get food? Is it food time yet?” Yukie asks, where she’s hanging off of Akaashi’s back in a piggyback not unlike how you’d hung off Bokuto in the bar you’d all just been booted from.
“Oh yes! Food time, food time!” Nishinoya has an arm slung casually around Yachi’s shoulders, the younger girl’s face pink as she lets him drag her along. She grins, joining along with the chant as someone in the apartments above the street yells at them to shut up.
You have an elbow linked with Kaori and your hand in Bokuto’s as he pulls the two of you along. Tanaka and Kiyoko lead ahead, hand in hand, while Kuroo and Kenma bring up the rear.
“Be quiet, you little gremlins!” Tanaka shouts over his shoulder, shaking his head. “God, if you two ever had kids, everyone in Japan would need to invest in earplugs.”
Nishinoya gives a delighted gasp, stopping suddenly and bringing Yachi (and everyone else) to a grinding halt in the middle of the darkened street. “There’s an idea!”
“What?!” Yachi exclaims, face beet red as she pulls out from under his arm. “I am not having babies with you!”
“Well, maybe not now, but you should marry me!” Nishinoya states, even going so far as dropping to a knee as Yachi splutters and tries to drag him back up. “Yachi Hitoka, marry me! I really like you! I have since your second year, when you became our number one manager. You were bossy and smart and cute and you still are. I mean, I always liked you, but I really liked you when I was in third. I like liked you. I still like like you. So I think you should marry me! Will you marry me? Please marry me-”
“Stop proposing!” Yachi glances around for assistance, flustered as you all watch on in amusement. Yukie leads you and Kaori in a loud chorus of “aw!” as the blonde is caught between yelling at you to stop and trying to get Nishinoya to stop asking for her hand in marriage. “We aren’t even dating, Nishinoya!”
“So?”
“So? What do you mean, so?! In most places of the world, that’s considered a pre-requisite for marriage!” Yachi buries her red face in her hands as Nishinoya digs in his pockets frantically, before snatching one of the woven bracelets from his travels off his wrist, holding it up to her as though it were a ring as he continues to plead for her to marry him. “If I agree to go on a date with you, will you stop asking me to marry you?”
Immediately, Nishinoya silences and stands, grabbing one of her hands and sliding the bracelet on before tangling their fingers together. “I’m gonna ask you again at the end of every date.”
Yachi splutters as the louder portion of your group whoop, wolf-whistle and cheer for the new couple. Kiyoko gives Yachi a thumbs up, whilst Tanaka and Nishinoya exchange excited shouts (“bro!” “bro!!”).
“I’m calling the police!” Comes the yell from one of the apartments. Kuroo grabs Kenma’s hand and yells, “Scatter! The last thing we need is for Daichi to haul our asses to a cell!”
Kaori slides her arm out of yours to help Akaashi with Yukie, leaving you and Bokuto to stumble down a side street into a narrow alley. You’re both giggling, out of breath as you come to a stop in a playground.
“I think we’re clear!” You whisper conspiratorially to Bokuto. He raises a fist triumphantly in the air as you settle on a swing, kicking aimlessly as you catch your breath. Bokuto moves in behind you, his hands settling on your lower back as he pushes you, giving you the momentum you need to properly swing. Your fingers are tight on the chains, and you close your eyes, letting the air rush over you and the feeling of weightlessness makes you laugh softly.
Your laugh carries on the air, sweet and gentle, and Bokuto can’t help the dopey grin that slides over his face as he pushes you, watching you kick your legs aimlessly.
He wonders if you’d meant it, when you’d said you loved him in the bar. When you said you needed him. He’d responded with a goofy declaration of his own, and you hadn’t reacted – he’d been thankful when Kiyoko’s phone had gone off, signalling the next round in their game.
“Maybe we should get married.” You laugh, and his heart stops. You can’t mean it, surely, and so he laughs.
“Yeah, a double wedding with Noya and Yachi! How does tomorrow sound?” He teases, glad that, with your back to him, you can’t see the dusting of pink on his cheeks. Even if you did – he’d blame it on that last round of tequila Kiyoko had brought back.
“Sure! I think I’ve got a white dress somewhere.” Your chuckle is a little weak, and you look up at the stars as you swing, watching them move with you. “How many kids do you want? This is something we should know before we get married, right?”
Bokuto’s laugh stutters, mind wandering. No, not there, stop it. He’s imagining running after a child with his eyes and your smile. Maybe more than one. He’s thinking of how great it would be to see you holding a baby with your cute nose and his loud voice, demanding attention.
“I think I want at least two.” You say airily. “I’d be fine with more, but two is my minimum.”
“Y-yeah. Two kids sounds good.” He’ll blame the stutter on the alcohol, but you don’t seem to notice as you hum.
“Oh, but where will we live? I suppose I could move in with you. God, it must be so great living on your own. Being an adult. I’m not an adult, Kou, I’m a baby with a drinking permit.” He loves it when you call him Kou. You do it so rarely. Your voice always has this soft lilt when you say it that warms him to his toes. “I love my family, I do, but I so wish I could afford my own place like you’ve got. I don’t have any space!”
“Mhm.”
“So when we get married, I’ll move in with you, but I call the spare room. I need somewhere to work. I suppose we can share a bedroom. What do you think? I’m not that great at cleaning, but if you clean, I’ll cook. I know how much you like my cooking.” Your hair flies behind you when he pushes you, leaving the scent of lilac on the breeze, directly into his face and it’s all he can smell. On the pendulum swing back, it whips wildly around your face, making you look like some sort of ethereal being.
“Mhm.”
“Oh, and last week, I killed a man using a rusty spoon. It took some digging, but I finally got his heart out after two hours. It was still beating when I pulled it out. A little salt, a little pepper, some secret herbs and spices, three hours in the slow cooker with a red wine sauce, and it just melted in my mouth.” You feel so right under his palms when he pushes you again. Just like in the bar, you fit so perfectly to him when you’d jumped on his back.
“Mhm.”
– hang on.
“Wait – what?”
“Ha! Knew you weren’t listening.” You crow triumphantly, digging your heels into the dirt to stop your swing, looking up at him over your shoulder with a smug grin. He holds onto the chains of the swing to keep you steady, his hands just above yours, fingers barely brushing as he shakes his head and lets out a small chuckle.
His eyes are really gold this close.
You can feel the heat of him at your back, his cologne drifting on the summer night breeze and encasing you in its familiar scent. So familiar. Was it the one you bought him for his birthday?
You don’t know who leans in first, maybe you both do at the same time on instinct. You stretch up as he leans down, your noses brushing lightly as he tilts his head to the right ever so, and your eyes begin to flutter shut in anticipation of his lips on yours –
“I found them! Oya, did you two not hear your phones?”
Bokuto springs away from you as Kuroo bursts into the playground, dragging Kenma along by the hand, and you busy yourself straightening your wind-whipped hair as the rest of the group follows shortly after.
“Thank God you’ve got Kenma in your find my friends list. Hey, Miss Manager, why don’t you have me in your find my friends list?” Kuroo continues, waving his phone around in grand gestures. Kenma and Akaashi are watching Bokuto and you a little too closely, both with the same calculating look in their eye. It’s a little scary. “Did I… interrupt something?”
“To be in my friends list, you’d have to be my friend, Kuroo.” You answer his first question and ignore the second, and he places a hand over his heart and staggers dramatically.
“Cut me deep there, bumblebee.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why? Bokubro does.”
“And he’s the only one who’s allowed to.” You flounce off the swing with just as much drama as Kuroo, avoiding Bokuto’s gaze as you link arms with Yukie and Kaori. “I’m sorry, I must be mistaken. I thought it was… food time?”
The magic words set off Nishinoya, Tanaka and Yachi, starting up their chant again as your trio skips along after them, giggling. You miss Kuroo wrapping his arm around Bokuto’s shoulder with an amused sigh. “My dear friend, I say this with love in my heart. You are an idiot.”
Bokuto hangs his head, and Akaashi gives him a comforting pat on the shoulder.
Okay. That’s fine.
Not really, but you’ll sort out the almost kiss in your mind when the person in question is not currently using your boobs as the world’s comfiest pillows.
Your right hand, hanging free off the edge of the couch, presses against your forehead, trying desperately to recall what happened next. With your eyes covered, you miss that Akaashi has awoken and is watching you with a twinkle of amusement as you sort through your memories.
Your group left the park. Stopped at a twenty-four hour convenience store and stocked up on snacks. And then to the bottle shop – for some god forsaken reason, you’d thought it would be a good idea to continue drinking.
“C’mon, we can have this all at my place!” Bokuto waves, leading the swaying and stumbling procession through the darkened streets. You hang back with Kaori, elbows linked once again as you swing your bag of snacks with each step, humming happily as your eyes drift up, watching the stars in awe with each step.
Kaori’s laugh drags you back to Earth. “It’s funny. The way you look at the stars is the way Bokuto looks at you.”
You raise a brow at her. “I look at the stars with respect, mild anxiety and nearing an existential crisis at the implications of the sheer size of the universe and how teeny tiny we are.”
“No you don’t.” She shakes her head, bumping her shoulder against yours. “You look at them in awe, and you get this dreamy expression, and this little goofy smile. Kinda like Bokuto has right now while he watches you.”
“She’s right, you know.” Akaashi’s voice is soft as ever beside you, but you still startle at the interruption, turning to find him at your side, Yukie draped over his shoulders (yet again, snoozing lightly – apparently a sleepy drunk) and he takes your surprised silence as an opportunity to keep talking. “He’s had feelings for you since high school, he just won’t act on them because he doesn’t think you feel the same way.”
You stop in your tracks, both (well, technically all three, if you count Yukie) stopping with you as the gears in your brain shudder to a halt. “No way. This is a mean prank, Akaashi, even for you.”
“It’s no prank.” Yukie mumbles from Akaashi’s neck, groaning in protest as he readjusts his grip on her legs. “Stupid’s been ‘n love with you forever.”
“You’re drunk, Yukie.” You respond, refusing to look in Bokuto’s direction. “Why wouldn’t he tell me himself?”
“ ‘coz he’s a little dumb sometimes. Sometimes he’s really smart. But sometimes he’s dumb.” She yawns. Your heart thumps aggressively in your chest, and you glance at Bokuto just as he looks away.
Fuck.
“Noya! Crack that bottle of wine already, won’t you?” You call, rushing over to Nishinoya and Yachi and the dry, bitter, no-think juice they have.
You, of course, regret this, three hours later when you’re knelt before the porcelain altar in Bokuto’s bathroom, bringing up the snacks you’d scoffed as an offering to whatever God would get you out of a hangover in the morning.
“Aw, Bumblebee…” A large, warm hand combs your hair gently back from your face, another rubbing comforting circles on your back. “You know you shouldn’t mix drinks. The wine was a bad idea, huh?”
Is now really the time to be lecturing me? You want to ask, but you’re interrupted by another heaving retch. You really, really hate vomiting. Your throat burns and your body trembles, tears sliding involuntarily down your cheeks as you heave up the last bits of gross, leaning back against Bokuto’s legs weakly.
To his credit, he deals with the mess that you are well. He sits you on the edge of the bathtub and wraps his hoodie around your shoulders, wetting a washcloth and wiping it over your face, warm and soft and calming, before handing you a spare toothbrush and toothpaste (the little packet they’re in look suspiciously like hotel merchandise, possibly from one of the trips from his out of town games). When your legs still prove to be too shaky to make it to the basin to rinse your mouth out, he lets you lean on him, before sitting you back on the edge of the tub.
“Feeling better?” He asks, squatting before you to look up into your eyes. You make a little whining sound in the back of your throat, hiding your face in the too big sleeves of his hoodie, and he chuckles. “C’mon, Bumblebee, don’t be like that. Here, I’ll get you a towel and some clothes, you can shower. You’ll feel better once you do.”
“Kou, why didn’t y’tell me y’loved me?”
…
…
…
“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
“You sure did.” You peek at him from between your hands. His eyes are wide and his face is red. “What… would have happened if I did?”
Your head is spinning, from the alcohol, from throwing up, from the realisation that he did love you. You shrug dramatically, huffing, speech slurring. “I dunno. I liked you in school. And after. I told you. ‘n the bar, and you brushed it off, ‘cause sometimes… y’only got one braincell sometimes.”
He looks a little insulted for the briefest moment, but as you begin to lean back, he catches you before you can fall into the tub. “Okay, we can talk feelings when you’re sober.”
“You’re drunk too.” Your hands move of their own accord, running through his hair. He doesn’t gel it so much anymore, and it’s nice and soft beneath your fingertips.
He thinks it’s distracting as hell, and his eyes almost roll back as your nails scratch lightly over his scalp. If he were a puppy, his tail would be wagging, leg shaking. “I stopped drinking at the bar, about four hours ago. C’mon, I need you to sit on the floor, so you don’t hurt yourself while I get Kaori or Kiyoko to help you shower.”
“Why? Y’can help me!” You let him put you on the floor, grumbling at the cold of the tiles. Meanwhile, Bokuto has short circuited at the thought of helping you shower, your body wet –
– No. Do. Not. Bad. Bad. She’s drunk.
“I really can’t. Stay put.” He orders, and runs out of the bathroom, beet red and searching for the girls before he can really embarrass himself.
“Oh, please tell me I didn’t.” You whisper to yourself, and the sudden sound of soft laughter filters in as you lift your arm from your eyes, looking for the source.
Akaashi sits up on the futon, looking far too smug. “What should I tell you you didn’t do?”
You both speak quietly, so as not to disturb the other snoozing occupants, particularly the one dozing contently on your chest. “Keiji, please tell me I didn’t invite Koutarou to shower with me.”
“I could, but then I’d be lying.”
“Christ.” You drop your arm back over your eyes, letting the world go blissfully dark.
You can hear Akaashi shuffling around, and when you raise your arm again, he’s moved closer, sitting with his shoulder leaning on the couch as he looks up at you. Bokuto shuffles on top of you again, and absently, you begin combing your fingers through his hair, settling him as he slowly stops moving.
“So I’m guessing you remember what happened last night?” Akaashi asks, and you make a face.
“Mostly.” He’s looking way too amused as you continue to soothe Bokuto absently. “I don’t like the way you’re smiling, Kei.”
“Just wondering if you remember what happened after Kaori and Kiyoko helped you shower.”
… “Oh, God.”
The shower did very little to sober you up. Kaori and Kiyoko have finally managed to wrestle your drunk ass into a pair of underwear (thank you to the always prepared Shimizu Kiyoko with a spare pair tucked in the bottom of her bag) and Bokuto’s Black Jackals sweater, but you’re giving them… quite a bit of trouble with the next article of clothing.
“Pants are evil.” You state, crossing your arms clumsily, the too long sleeves of the borrowed sweater hindering your movements. Thanks to Bokuto’s height, the sweater fits on you like a fashionable dress, and you glare at Kaori as she kneels in front of you, holding Bokuto’s high school volleyball shorts open for you to step into. They were the only pair he had that would even remotely consider staying around your waist. “No pants.”
“Yes pants. Pants good.” Kaori says dryly, trying to lift one of your legs, but you bear down stubbornly, refusing to comply.
“Pants bad.” You reiterate. Kiyoko’s standing behind you, towelling off the ends of your damp hair and running a brush through it, and you can see her in the mirror, trying very hard to hide her grin. “They’re concreting. Constricting. And sweaty. No pants.”
Kaori huffs a sigh and drops her hands into her forehead, at the same time Kiyoko hides her laugh in a cough, turning to put the brush back in the drawer beneath the basin.
They’re both distracted. Now’s my chance.
Without another thought, you run for the bathroom door, make it out and down the hallway to the rest of your group before Kaori and Kiyoko even realise what’s happened. You spot Yachi and Yukie sitting with Nishinoya, Akaashi, and a miserable looking (for what reason, you couldn’t guess) Bokuto, and make a beeline for them, throwing yourself on Bokuto’s lap and wrapping your arms tight around his neck, your noticeably bare legs thrown over Yukie’s. “Keep them away from me!”
“Who?” Nishinoya asks, a brow raised. As you continue your explanation that pants are very evil and I do not wish to wear them, you are unaware of Bokuto’s gaze.
Akaashi is, though. It’s fond, amused, and, if Akaashi is reading his best friend right, a little panicked at the state of your undress. His hands have subconsciously wrapped around your waist, waiting for a break in your slurred declarations about the sins of pants to try and convince you to put on the shorts.
And then you wiggle on Bokuto’s lap, getting eager in your vendetta against pants (Yukie and Nishinoya are now encouraging you to remain pantsless and fight The Man, and Tanaka has joined the group and whipped off his shirt in solidarity), and Bokuto’s face goes pale as he tries to keep the blood from rushing elsewhere.
“Okay, that’s it. It’s pants time, whether you like it or not. And then it’s bedtime for everyone.” With you on his lap, it’s easy for Bokuto to swing you into his arms with one hooked under your knees and the other braced behind your back, marching towards his bedroom. Kaori, standing off to the side of the door frame with an exasperated look on her face, hands him the shorts and closes the door behind you both as you’re dumped unceremoniously on Bokuto’s bed.
“Hey!”
“Hey, hey.” He replies dryly, grabbing your flailing ankle and threading one leg through the shorts, and then the other. His grip is firm on your legs, dragging you closer to the edge of the bed so he can pull the shorts up. His gaze is respectfully focused on the wall until he’s got them up, yanking on the drawstring and tying it tight with practiced movements to keep them from falling down, tugging the sweater down over them before pulling away with a long-suffering sigh. When your hands begin to sneak towards them again, he shoots you a sharp look. “Keep them on.”
You pout in displeasure, briefly considering, in your drunken state, throwing a tiny tantrum to pay him back for all the times he’d gone emo-mode during games, but in the end you lie back on the bed that smells heavily of Koutarou, throwing an arm over your eyes. “You’re so mean.”
There’s silence, and you almost think he’s left, before you hear the springs creak and the bed dip beside you. You lift your arm slightly to find him sitting on the bed, his hunched back to you as he scrubs at his face with both hands. Something about the way he’s sitting, the way he’s not saying anything, sobers you up a little, and you sit up slowly, head spinning lightly from all the sudden movements.
“Kou?”
He stays uncharacteristically silent as you slide into place next to him, trying to pull his hand away from his face. You’re shocked to see his shoulders are trembling. Is he…? “Kou, c’mon. Koutarou~”
It’s the way that you sing his name, tugging his arm insistently, that makes him look up, but you’re surprised to note that his shoulders weren’t shaking because he was crying. His eyes are filled with tears, sure.
Tears of mirth.
“You… Oh God, I can’t…” He can’t string together a sentence between bouts of snorting laughter, arms crossing over his belly as he hunches over with laughter. “You’re ridiculous.”
It takes you a few seconds to process the fact that you have not driven him to tears of frustration, but instead that he’s laughing like a madman. At you. You drop his arm and instead smack his shoulder, frowning. “Cut it out!”
“I…” Koutarou takes a deep breath, trying to reign in his giggles. “I can’t believe you made everyone chase you around the house just to get you to put on pants.”
“Pants are evil, Kou.” You whine, and he loses his composure again, flopping back onto the bed, his hearty laughter shaking the mattress beneath you. It’s contagious, the way he laughs, and your frown cracks. Pretty soon, you’re giggling along with him, lying back on the bed next to him.
It takes you both quite a while to calm down, and even so. Little giggles still slip forward from your lips every now and then. Koutarou’s have subsided, but he’s watching you with a soft, fond smile you’d never seen before.
You roll onto your side, tucking a hand under your head as you smile right back at him. You feel… right, being like this with him. Safe. Cared for.
… loved?
There’s a warm feeling in your chest, and it radiates through you, in time with the breaths of the man opposite you.
He rolls onto his side, mirroring you, so close and yet somehow, not close enough. His hand lifts, hesitantly, brushing your damp hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear, before resting lightly on the side of your face. His thumb strokes your cheek softly, and you never want it to stop.
His eyes drop to your lips briefly and he leans in, uncharacteristically uncertain. Your eyes close in anticipation, tilting your face up to him, heart racing.
Unexpectedly, but certainly not unwelcome, his lips press lightly to your forehead, lingering for the briefest moment. When he pulls back, he doesn’t go very far, resting his forehead against yours with a quiet sigh. “I really want to kiss you. But you’re… you’re so very drunk, bumblebee.”
His words are soft, so quiet, somewhere between adoration and dismay. His thumb still strokes back and forth over your cheek, a gentle rhythm, and you surprise yourself by asking, “Please, Kou. Kiss me?”
He makes a sound, somewhere between a chuckle and a groan, and he pulls you close, arms wrapping around you. Your face tucks into his neck and it’s like… like you were perfectly made for each other, the way he holds you. “I want to. God, I want to. But I don’t want you to regret anything when you’re sober. I love you, but I want you to say it back and kiss me when you can think clearly.”
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
You have never hated alcohol more in your life.
All you want to do is say it to him, kiss him, never let him go.
You want to tell him how you’ve loved him since high school – since that first training camp when you had gotten lost and he’d lent you his jacket while he walked you back to the girls room, talking and chatting, his hair down and soft after his shower, eyes golden and bright.
You want to tell him you had never been more proud of him than watching his first winning V. League match with the Jackals.
You want to tell him that his laughter makes you feel like you’re floating, and his hugs are your home.
You want to tell him that you’ve never felt more right than right now, in his arms.
You want to tell him you love him.
Instead, you press a kiss to his cheek, the tip of his nose, and his forehead. “In the morning, I’m going to tell you something very important.” You tell him. “And you should already know what it is, but I’m going to tell you in the morning, when I’m sober, so you believe me.”
His smile is brighter than any star that had captured your attention that night.
He’d tried to get you to sleep with the girls, but you’d insisted on remaining snuggled in the safety of his arms on the couch. Everyone had been amused, fond, assuming you’d finally gotten your act together. Well, you had, for the most part. It was just the formalities left, you supposed.
Your heart races. Your fingers are still combing absently through Koutarou’s hair.
“So, did you remember?”
You just barely manage to restrain from flinching. You, guiltily, had forgotten about Akaashi. You look at him, cheeks pink. You assume he’s talking about your pants are evil lap of the house, and roll your eyes at him.
“I stand by my opinion on pants. Go away.” You shoo him with your free hand, finally looking down at the man sleeping on top of you.
His weight is a warm comfort, and you know why you’d opted to sleep without a blanket. Your heart thrums happily in your chest, a goofy grin working it’s way across your face.
He loves you.
As Akaashi meanders into the kitchen for some coffee, your gentle strokes of Koutarou’s hair become a little more insistent, as you murmur his name, trying to rouse him.
It takes a few tries, but he blinks up at you sleepily, a drowsy little hum in the back of his throat, but he still smiles when he sees you. He shuffles you both around on the couch until he’s on his back, you half your side, half draped across him. His arms wrap around your shoulders, and his eyes almost slip shut again.
They fly back open when you press your lips to his, softly. His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, returning the kiss.
After a moment, he pulls back, a happy, dopey little smile gracing his lips as one hand comes up to tuck your hair behind your ear.
His lips part to say something, but you’re quicker, kissing him once more to silence him so you can say what you’ve wanted to say since high school. Your voice is a quiet murmur, but you know he hears because the delight on his face warms you entirely.
“I love you too, Koutarou.”