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Bokuto isn’t quite sure why it happens, or why it happens then. It just does.
It’s a fairly ordinary Tuesday afternoon practice. There’s a fortnight or so until their next official match, and Bokuto’s spikes have been particularly good that day, if he says so himself. The whole team is feeling more connected than they’ve been before, with solid receives and fluid motion as they control the ball from one to the other, a seamless chain, until it’s in Akaashi’s hands, and he’s pushing it from the tips of his fingers, arcing up perfectly into the space in front of Bokuto’s palm, drawn back and ready to slam it over the net. Bokuto glances across as he jumps, the moment stretching before him as he hangs in the air: he sees Akaashi’s outstretched fingertips, his dark eyes following the path of the ball, the tips of his messy hair sticking to his sweat-damp forehead and the hint of a satisfied smile playing at the corner of his mouth, and Bokuto thinks, ‘That was a perfect set. I love you.’
He then misses the spike, slams his hand down through empty air, and falls face-first into the net.
He hears the ball bounce off to the side, and a moment later Akaashi’s face pops into his field of vision. He looks more exasperated than anything else, but there’s concern in his voice as he holds out his hand to help his captain to his feet.
“Everything okay, Bokuto-san?”
Bokuto takes the hand, and clambers up to his feet. Admittedly, not his smoothest moment, but he wasn’t really to blame, considering the life-altering realisations which are currently sparking off in his brain. He stares at Akaashi, not really registering that he’d been asked a question. Oh. Oh.
“Bokuto-san?”
There’s a pulling motion on his hand, and he realises that he’s still been gripping onto Akaashi long after he’d stood. He drops it instantly, playing with the collar of his jersey instead. It’s always so hot in the gym. Akaashi raises an eyebrow at him as he takes his hand back.
“Not going to go into another of your sulks, are you?” He asks, and Bokuto realises for the first time that the rest of the team are staring, looking worried.
And suddenly, Bokuto is smiling so widely that his cheeks hurt, laughing and clapping his setter on the shoulder.
“I don’t sulk, Akaashi! So mean!” He looks across to the others, and booms out a ‘sorry!’, still smiling uncontrollably. Why on earth would Bokuto be sulking when he’s In Love?
Practice resumes, with a mixture of confusion and relief from his teammates. Bokuto’s serves consistently go out, or straight into Komi’s waiting arms, or, once, into the side of Washio’s head. Bokuto should probably be more worried than he is about the repercussions of that one, but right now all he can think about is how fluffy Akaashi’s hair looks, or how endearing the sceptical arc of his eyebrow suddenly is, or the intensity in his eyes when he sets the ball, and… Bokuto should probably have spiked that one. Oops.
They head home a little earlier than usual (probably to Bokuto’s benefit) and he sprints away from the others the second they finish cleaning the gym, with a hurried goodbye shouted over his shoulder. He runs the whole way to the train station, grateful for once that he and Akaashi live in opposite directions. He can’t stop grinning manically to himself for the entire train ride. When he gets home, he distractedly eats his dinner, hugs his mother, and heads straight up to his room, where he arranges his homework neatly across his desk, and proceeds to completely ignore it in favour of plotting his next move.
Bokuto knows enough about high school romances and shoujo manga to know that he needs to leave his sweetheart a note in their shoe-locker, or bake them cookies as a gift, or something, before he can confess his undying affection. He’s a horrible cook, so baking anything is totally out – it would be unfortunate if he poisoned Akaashi, definitely not the kind of attention he’s looking for from him.
So, a letter.
By the time midnight rolls around, Bokuto feels like he must have written a hundred, possibly even a thousand drafts of his note, and he’s still no closer to something he wants to give to Akaashi. He finally remembers the homework as he clears his desk of the abandoned pages, uncovering them from where they’d been buried under sheets of notepaper bearing wildly crossed-out text. Oh. Oops.
Bokuto throws the paper away a page at a time, balling them up and trying to spike them into the bin, then collecting the ones he misses and trying again. He changes into pyjamas, sets his alarm an hour earlier than usual so that he’ll have time to get the homework done, climbs into bed, and falls asleep with a smile still stretched across his face. After all, why worry about anything when you’re In Love?
---
The next day, Bokuto successfully (or so he hopes) fields questions from his class rep about why he keeps grinning to himself and happily sighing, buys melonpan for a confused, sceptical Akaashi at lunch, and doesn’t even mind when their modern literature teacher makes him read out loud to the class in their afternoon lesson. During practice he feels hyperaware, spiking every ball that comes his way (and keeping a majority of them inside the line) and receiving more accurately than he has in weeks. Akaashi is constantly in his field of vision, with a slightly concerned look playing around his expressive eyebrows, but Bokuto is too happy to care too much.
At home, he checks his phone, and finds a message from Kuroo, asking him how training is going, and when they’re next playing each other.
To: Kuroo
Subject: Re: Hey hey hey!
If you want to play against us that badly, pester your coach to arrange another practice match! I’m too busy to do it, what with having to be the captain and the ace AND trying to tell Akaashi that I love him on top of all that! You should cut me some slack!
He should probably feel more self-conscious about that, but it’s Kuroo, and anyway, Bokuto thinks that being In Love is nothing to be ashamed about. He sort of wants the whole world to know, actually. He flops on his bed dramatically, and sighs another happy sigh.
His phone chirps, and he picks it up to read Kuroo’s reply.
From: Kuroo
Subect: Re: re: Hey hey hey!
Oho, so you finally figured it out! I’ll let you get on with that then, and hopefully beat you in a match soon. Let me know how it goes, hope he says yes!
There’s a moment where Bokuto holds the phone above him, reading the message over again. Then he drops the phone painfully onto his face. He swears, then turns off his light and climbs into bed fully clothed, pulling the duvet up over his head and ignoring his homework again. This time, he doesn’t set an alarm.
In all the time since he’d realised that he was In Love with Akaashi, he’d never once considered that Akaashi might not feel the same way.
Bokuto doesn’t go to school for two days.
Of course, it makes sense that Akaashi wouldn’t love him back. For starters, Akaashi probably isn’t even into guys (unlike Bokuto, who loves who he loves and doesn’t really notice their gender). And even if he was, Bokuto is nothing but a source of exasperation to him, on and off the court. Akaashi is always having to babysit him, through moodswings and eccentricity. He knows that he can be silly, and clingy, and too loud, and that it grates on some people. Why would Akaashi want to spend even more time with him than he already has to, if he’s just going to be an annoyance?
His mother comes in to check on him when he tries to refuse dinner, and he reluctantly eats two bowls of rice, a plate of tamagoyaki, three slices of ham, a dish of vegetables and a bowl of miso. Really, it’s a miracle he has any appetite at all, but he decides that he owes it to his mother to try, even if he’s currently In Despair.
That night he lies in bed in sorrow, contemplating the futility of life, and the heartbreaking truth that even one of the top 5 under-18 volleyball players in Japan is ultimately doomed to die alone.
---
On the second day, after several more hours of existential woe, he gets a text from Akaashi.
From: Akaashi
Subject: Ill?
Hi, Bokuto-san. We missed you at practice yesterday. Nekoma want us to play them next weekend. Hopefully you’ll feel better enough tomorrow to come to school, but if not, please let me know when would be a good time to deliver your missed homework. Thanks.
Bokuto feels his heart swell gently. Akaashi had missed him? Or was it just that practice had been quieter without him? He raises a hand, stares down at his palm. He’s missed playing, too, even if it’s only been two days.
For the first time since he entered his slump, he fully takes stock of himself. His hair is hanging around his face, greasy and gel-clumped, and – he lifts his arm above his head, sniffs gingerly at his armpit, and grimaces immediately in regret – he stinks. Right. Showering would probably be a good start.
By the time he’s done, sitting at his desk in clean, comfortable pyjamas, things seem a little clearer.
Whether Akaashi reciprocates his feelings or not, he’s a good enough friend and vice-captain not to hold it against him. And besides, tomorrow’s a Friday, so even if everything does go horrendously wrong in every conceivable way and Akaashi decides to move to Hokkaido to avoid him forever, he’ll at least have the weekend to try and fix it. Besides, being In Love is far too much for him to try and hide.
Bokuto takes a deep breath. He’s a man with nothing to lose.
He ends up writing a fairly simple note, asking Akaashi to meet him behind the gym before afternoon practice so that they can talk, then has to copy it out all over again because he accidentally signed the first one with his name. He draws a simple heart at the end of the second one, so that its meaning can’t possibly be misinterpreted, folds it in half, and slips it inside his English textbook so he won’t forget it.
Then he does his homework, brushes his teeth, and goes to bed.
---
He’s ten minutes late for morning practice because of slipping the note into Akaashi’s locker, but the team still seem excited and happy to have him back when he enters the gym. He’s nervous and slightly jittery, but he supposes it’s out of his hands now, and he just has to wait.
Akaashi walks over to him and greets him with a small smile.
“You’re feeling better then, Bokuto-san?”
Bokuto feels the grin spreading across his face again, completely involuntary and impossible to suppress, even if he’d wanted to.
“Yeah, much better now! I’m ready to hit some spikes, Akaashi!”
He nods, small and serious, in response, and goes to grab a ball from the carriage.
“You missed warm up, though. You should probably start running now, before the coach realises.”
“Akaashi! So mean!” Bokuto throws up his arms in defeat, and laughs deeply, before starting to run.
School passes horrifically quickly, and lessons are over before Bokuto really has the chance to prepare what he wants to say or do, but it’s not like he isn’t used to winging it at other things, so this will be fine too, right?
Akaashi is already waiting for him behind the gym, leaning against the wall with his usual casual grace.
“Hi, Bokuto-san. What did you want to talk to me about?”
Bokuto feels suddenly wrongfooted.
“But how did you know it was me?!”
“I spend several hours a week going through permission slips for away matches with you,” Akaashi tells him, with a fondly exasperated half-smile. “It’s not like you tried to disguise your handwriting on the note.”
“I’m in love with you, Akaashi,” says Bokuto, ridiculous grin spreading across his face again.
Akaashi nods, thoughtfully.
“Yes, I thought you might say that.”
He steps, very deliberately, forward towards Bokuto, and Bokuto finds himself being pulled into a hug. Akaashi’s hair is every bit as soft as he’d imagined where it rubs against the side of his jaw.
“So that’s a yes? You’ll go out with me?!”
Akaashi winces, leaning back slightly into Bokuto’s hands, which have come to rest against his middle-back and shoulder blades.
“My ears, Bokuto-san.” He rubs gently at the shell of the ear nearest Bokuto’s mouth, as if it would repair the damage from Bokuto’s shouting. Then he catches Bokuto’s eye out of the corner of his own, and shoots back a rare, warm grin. “It’s a yes. If you promise not to try and deafen me again, anyway.”
To his credit, Akaashi doesn’t shout in surprise when Bokuto lifts him by his waist, spinning him around and around, kicking up the dust from the dry ground behind the gymnasium, whooping for joy. He just tightens his grip on Bokuto’s shoulders, and laughs like he’s only just discovered how to do it.