Chapter Text
Bokuto Koutarou had only just turned eighteen years old. It was the day after the yearly Tokyo training camp, this year also having a guest school of Karasuno from waaaaay up in Miyagi. It was so cool! They’re accents were a bit different and they seemed softer in comparison to the players on the other teams. He liked the first year, especially. Especially Hinata and Tsukishima! Kageyama is a good setter, he admits, but not as good as Akaashi. It’s almost enough to bring a smile on his face when he remembers his best friend, Kuroo, introducing him to Karasuno’s captain, Sawamura Daichi. The soft, warm look on Kuroo’s face when he looked at Sawamura with a small vulnerable smile on his face allowed Bokuto to dig up memories of all the shojo mangas he’s read, replacing the protagonists with the two instead.
He flexes his fingers in their rope bindings, unable to see their movement. They itch to touch a ball, to reach up up up into the air and feel the air pushing against the skin of his palm as he brings it down, quick as a whip and as powerful as a hammer, to slam the ball down on the other side of the court.
That was one week ago.
He was walking home from the metro stop. He, as usual, called his dad when he boarded the train, got off it with the rest of the third years and Akaashi at their usual stop, and was about to enter their residential area. One of his three older sisters- his favorite one- was back from university for the weekend so Bokuto could spend some time with her, and he was excited for that! Athletics ran in the family- his eldest sister (older than him by seven years) had held the title of best high school setter. His second older sister five years older than him is a tennis player. And then his favorite, older than him by four years, is a martial artist. All of them play professionally.
He feels like a failure to his sister, he thinks. She must be so worried. Knowing her temper, she’s probably exploding at anyone he had talked more than a word to at his week at training camp. But he wasted it. Wasted of all those hours dedicated to sibling bonding, with her tossing spikes to him and him practicing whatever variant of martial arts she’s learning so she can use him as a sparring partner. It also helped him keep his muscles tone and lean, a full body workout that increased his flexibility as well, allowing him to make better shots and have a wrist flick so close to that of Itachiyama’s ace.
It’s funny. He was strong. He was on the taller side of the population. He knows how to defend himself. But he was still kidnapped. All it took was a well-placed end of a call, grabbing and tying his hands, and gripping his neck until it bruised.
It still hurts.
He curls tighter in the mall confinements of the box he’s locked in, hands tied behind his back, knees forced to be drawn to his chest, head bent over to rest his forehead against them. He wonders what his sisters are doing. He wonders what his dad is thinking. Does he think Bokuto was kidnapped? Does he think he got caught in a crash, just like his mother? What about Akaashi, what about his teammates, what about his coach? What about Kuroo? Did anyone call Hinata or Tsukishima and tell them that he’s missing?
The first three days had him in a house or apartment. They tried to silence him, they tried to break him. They didn’t wear masks because they were confident that he would never be able to free himself. But he knows better. He’s an ace- his team needs him. He led them to the semi-finals in the fall Interhigh. He led them to victory at Nationals in the Summer Interhigh at the end of his second year. He’s going to win again and again, and when high school doesn’t give him enough victories, then onto the professional league where he’ll be the king and the court will be his kingdom
But if these people succeeded, none of that would happen. If they succeeded, he would be muted on his own volition, his independence taken away. He would become submissive. He would become a slave if he wasn’t sold ( sold) to someone who would harvest his organs and sell them for more than they bought him for and make the rest of him into human hamburger steaks.
It was scary. Really scary. He wouldn’t imagine any of his friends getting kidnapped, much less himself. It was one of those things you would think up in the middle of the night and then suddenly become relieved when you realize it won’t happen to you. It’s something you hear on the news for a snippet- student kidnapped, woman paralyzed, dead body- before switching it to the current volleyball game.
They tried a few things. Bringing his skin close to fire. Punching and kicking him until he bruised. Starving him. They didn’t want to kill him and they said they want to keep away from marring him, but only because that would lower his worth.
On day four, they didn’t give him any food or water. They told him that when he stays absolutely still except for blinking and breathing for an hour, only then will he get food. He failed. Day five, he got a small bowl of old rice, still cold and slimy from the fridge. He had to eat with his mouth, like a dog, like an animal, but food was food.
Day six he was stuffed in this box and was given food once. If he had to use the bathroom, he had to do it here, stinking up his confinements for a few hours, pushing his mouth against one of the holes poked for oxygen- breathing from there was his only relief.
And now he’s crying.
“D-dad” he sobs “A-a-akaashi, Kuroo… I don’t wanna be here anymore.” He presses his forehead tighter against his knees, body jostling and head hitting the top of the box at a harsh movement of the car or whatever he’s in. “I don’t want to…”
For one week, Akaashi Keiji wonders what happened to Bokuto-san. When he asked his teachers, they wouldn’t give him straight response. When Kuroo called him, he couldn’t give him a response either. To be honest, he was considering calling the annoying middle blocker to ask him if he knew about Bokuto’s whereabouts. Coach had started to get angry, but that passed when Konoha said that Bokuto never came to any of his classes.
It was two weeks later, surfing through his phone on the way to the locker room to change for practice when he saw the latest news, only posted half an hour ago:
High School Volleyball Star Bokuto Koutarou Missing as of Fourteen Days Ago. Police and Private Investigations Find Nothing. - Read more-
He doesn’t press -read more- like his mind urges to, like the logical part of his mind wants him to do under the impression that he could find something that the police and investigators hadn’t. Instead, he turns to his heart. He fumbles to keep his phone from dropping, quickly sending the article to Kuroo, and sprints to the locker room.
He never saw any of his senpais cry before. There is a first time for everything, he thinks, as he wipes away his own panic induced tear that manages to leak out during the run there. Bokuto-san...missing. Kidnapped. The day they came back from training camp is what the day was fourteen days ago. With a slowly rising panic, he realizes those days, those weeks, can become longer. They can stretch into months, into years .
Maybe they won’t even get his best friend back.
Closing his eyes as he walks to the door to find coach and tell him what he found out, he prays to the gods that Bokuto is at least alive. He doesn’t care what else, just make sure that Bokuto is kept alive.