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Bokuto breaks his window with a rock at one in the morning.
It's accidental sure, but it will cost him. He'll pay for the damage with his soul, he knows - his parents will demand it. But the thought gets pushed aside.
He's not surprised. Akaashi's been waiting. In fact, he's tired enough that he can't count the number of hours he's been awake without having to start over multiple times. The fatigue should be crippling, but he can't close his eyes, nor does he want to.
-
He meets Bokuto in his first year. The second he walks through the gymnasium doors, Bokuto is there in front of him, almost as if it's fate. He collides with a muscular chest and broad shoulders - golden eyes paired with a childish grin don't match. Great first impression, he chides himself inwardly (Akaashi could never be called awkward, but in a school he doesn't know, he's anything but poised).
Akaashi takes a generous step back to remedy the awkward intrusion. A healthy distance born of respect takes purchase in the space between them, and Akaashi silently takes in a breath to calm his racing heart. He's not nervous - he tells himself - and he doesn't show it if he is.
Akaashi steels his expression - a mask of indifference is his outfitting of choice. He stares straight ahead at the boy - a second year, his memory provides - with a name he can't remember. He doesn't try because he'd rather be given the chance to cover up his forgetfulness before it bites him in the ass.
Golden-Eyes perks up like a puppy dog, his entire being bouncing with excitement.
"Are you the new kid?" Akaashi opens his mouth but gets approximately zero seconds to answer. "Washio said you'd be in practice today! I'm Bokuto - Bokuto Koutarou - but you can call me Koutarou!" Akaashi won't. Such informality is not his style, especially with someone he just met. He hopes Bokuto won't mind.
"It's nice to meet you, Bokuto-san," Akaashi nods in place of a more interesting greeting, his heart still beating too fast in his ears. When you're raised as a perfect poster child for your rich parents, even the slightest slip up in manners or composure turns your mind into mush. "Akaashi Keiji."
"I told ya you can call me Koutarou, but okay," He bounces behind Akaashi, undeterred as he pushes the poor first year the rest of the way through the doorway.
-
It's raining the first day Bokuto approaches him outside of volleyball practice.
It hadn't taken them long to feel like teammates, even less time to become friends, but they only ever saw each other at practice. In all honesty, Akaashi is okay with that. And it's not because he doesn't think Bokuto is worthy of being his friend, but Akaashi isn't up for being causal friends. If they're forced together after school for a couple of hours, he can enjoy Bokuto's presence, but he hates surface-level friends. He doesn't have the energy nor the motivation to maintain a friendship unless it's bone-deep and, more importantly, permanent.
He can't imagine Bokuto being too permanent.
Bokuto is the kind of person who's friends with everyone and can relate to anyone, as Akaashi observes - not a bad thing, mind you. But, he imagines, it must mean that Bokuto has a lot of casual friends, friends he texts occasionally, that are momentary cures for boredom when he's not in practice or school.
Akaashi would rather not get involved. Plus, Bokuto is far too attractive for Akaashi's closeted gay self to make it through a peaceful first year.
Akaashi's pretty sure he's made it abundantly clear that he desires no outside contact with anyone - from his classes, even from practice. But Bokuto either doesn't take the hint, or chooses to ignore it, as is evidenced by the fact that he bounces up to Akaashi at the bus stop after school. Akaashi sends him a sideways glance but keeps his expression neutral - just because he doesn't want to be friends with him doesn't mean they can't be friendly.
"Hey, 'Kaashi! Mind if I share?" Bokuto doesn't seem to share the same penchant for formality that Akaashi does. He ducks under Akaashi's umbrella before the first year has a chance to say yes. He would regardless, but Bokuto cuts out the middle man.
You're already soaked, he wants to say. An umbrella won't do you much good. He stays silent, though. Akaashi has learned that correctly timed silence is the cornerstone of sophistication. Bokuto has, apparently, learned no such thing.
"Y'know, you're really good for a first-year. When I was a first-year, I was always tripping over my own feet," Boktuo says like he wasn't a first-year just a summer ago. Akaashi looks up, observing the droplets of rain that waterfall down his clear umbrella, the gunmetal clouds that hover above the lone pair. "But you're like, SUPER grateful. And you're really good at setting. Coach says that new kids usually take a few months to figure out which position they play best, but you've already hit your stride. Ahead of the curve in everything, I guess."
Akaashi actually turns his head this time, and Bokuto notices. He's cute with his hair down, Akaashi's thoughts betray him, but thankfully his facial muscles are still on his side. There's a silent question in those golden eyes, 'what did I say?'
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Oh- I just mean that you seem like, really smart and everything," Bokuto touches the tips of his index fingers together. Cute, Akaashi's brain screams. Shut up, he screams back. "I didn't mean to...offend you or anything."
Fuck, he got the wrong idea.
"Oh, you didn't," Boktuo laughs - musical - and Akaashi bites back an audible sigh of relief.
"Oh good. I just can't tell. Y'know, you're always so-" Bokuto clamps his lips shut almost as fast as the words leave his mouth, golden eyes fixing on Akaashi like he might've just broken him. Akaashi is hard to offend, hard to make angry. Yes, he often gets mildly annoyed with people, but rarely does he ever get upset.
"So?"
"I...I just mean..."
"I get it," Akaashi is used to people getting the wrong idea about him.
Silence and unemotionality are trained habits by now. He is the trophy on his parent's shelf. Straight-A's, a pretty face, only a first-year and already the first-string setter on his school's volleyball team. Any parent would dream of having a child-like Akaashi. But with that comes what some might call a...chilly personality. He's used to being quiet and on display. It's almost easier that way. Sometimes he forgets he doesn't have to be around people who are supposed to be his friends.
"Oh...cool! Hey, wanna exchange numbers?" The excitement in Bokuto's tone is palpable and Akaashi's face catches on fire - he can only hope it doesn't show as bright as it feels. At least, before he remembers that not everyone in this world is gay.
He blinks languidly. Hit the reset button.
"Sure."
-
Akaashi breaks his own code for friendship two months into the school year.
He doesn't intend to fall so deeply into friendship with Koutarou Bokuto, but he does anyway. They text about things, things completely unrelated to Bokuto needing help with math, and Akaashi asking for assistance with serving practice. They talk on the phone about things like what humans with wings would actually look like - Akaashi's middle school anatomy tutoring suddenly comes in handy.
Sometimes an insecure part of him wonders if he's overestimating the depth of their friendship. Maybe he's texting someone else right now, just trying not to get the conversations mixed up, he wonders one night as they debate the ranking of various flavors of limited addition Pockey. But the thought quickly gets discarded when Bokuto claims Coconut is better than Vanilla. A wrong needs to be righted. Akaashi can think about the complex inner-workings of friendship later.
Occasionally, Akaashi will feel the chill of brief jealousy run down his spine when Bokuto gets excited about talking to someone who isn't him. But he must remind himself in those times that friendship - unlike a romantic relationship - is not exclusive. Bokuto can be friends with whoever he wants.
Plus, Akaashi can't complain. Bokuto has done something his previous friends hadn't been able to: he always comes back. He texts back when Akaashi is sure he's probably busy, he's always ready to call Akaashi, he gets excited over the mundane of Akaashi's life. He genuinely cares. It's...nice.
Still, though, Akaashi keeps his mouth shut. Bokuto seems to think Akaashi is on another level of cool. He's not sure - hopes it's not the case - but he worries that Bokuto might only be his friend because of some perceived level of potential for popularity. But Akaashi doesn't want to risk finding out.
-
Akaashi never really cared about soulmates.
I mean, he does - or he will, eventually. But he's a first-year. He has until he's seventeen to live free of a binding name on his wrist to dictate his future.
Sometimes, he thinks it might be nice not to know. He knows a lot of people, most people, in fact, find lasting and permanent love in the name on their wrist. He knows it's natural. But Akaashi's seen the kind of emotional carnage it can cause.
It's not uncommon for people to find out the person who's name they have on their wrist does not return the sentiment. It's not the majority, he knows, but it's a statistic - one in ten people, or something along those lines. But it doesn't stop him from worrying. Having first-hand experience with it makes one apprehensive.
He tells himself it's not a big deal - whoever he gets is whoever he gets. It is, or will be, an immovable, unchangeable fact. It won't matter if he gets who he's hoping for (especially considering he doesn't even know who that is yet), because either way, it's set in stone.
People have tried making it work with others who aren't their soulmates - "We're in love. A name on my wrist means nothing." - but well-documented studies show about a nine out of ten chance that it won't work out.
Fate isn't something that can be cheated. If it isn't meant to be, it just isn't. Akaashi knows this. But still, he can hope. He doesn't want to hope, but he knows he will.
It will only be a matter of time before he falls for Koutarou Bokuto. He knows this because he can already feel it happening. Bokuto's every movement is alluring, his every word has Akaashi waiting for the nest with bated breath, his personality sparkles - a shining star amongst a school of dull space rocks. It will only be a matter of time - a countable number of days, a couple of years, it makes little difference. Akaashi may not have the gift of foresight, but anyone can feel themselves falling.
-
Bokuto brings it up the first time Akaashi visits his house.
They lay among a few scattered owl plushies (Bokuto liked owls an adroable amount, Akaashi has learned) half-listening to music softly playing through Bokuto's earbuds. Akaashi likes the fact that he listens to a combination of sweet, poppy music and songs from K-drama soundtracks. Quite the romantic, aren't you, he thinks to himself as a nearly invisible smile etches its way across his lips.
It's raining outside, a fact so characteristically October, otherwise they would be practicing volleyball serves. Bokuto takes his chance now. Akaashi can tell he's been waiting just because of the eagerness of his question. They've only been in silence for a few minutes, and he's already talking. Usually, it takes a bit longer.
"So, what do you think about soulmates?" He asks. The subject weighs strange and heavy on Akaashi's chest. What does he think about soulmates? "Not asking because I wanna know who you want to be your soulmate or anything. I mean, you're only a first year. I wouldn't expect you to like someone that much or anything. Just wondering 'cause everyone else talks about it a lot but you never do."
Akaashi he never actively tried to put any thought into the idea of soulmates. He doesn't particularly want to.
While everyone else tries to figure out preemptively who their's will be, which name will appear on their wrist, Akaashi is studying his pre-calc textbook with just as much precision. While girls and guys alike agonize about who their true love will be, Akaashi stresses over whether or not he's far enough along on his prescribed course to get into an ivy league on early admissions in two years.
"I think they're stupid," He wants to gauge Bokuto's reaction, but he doesn't want to give away how much he discreetly cares.
"Why's that?"
Akaashi pauses. Why is it that he thinks as such? Maybe he's preconditioned to not believe in the sanctity of something as prescribed as soulmates. Maybe he doesn't trust a name on his wrist, an entity he can't see or put a name to calling the shots for him. Or maybe it's all much more surface-level than that.
"I don't think they really mean anything."
"What are you talking about? Of course, they mean something!" Bokuto seems offended, and Akaashi momentarily panics over what word exactly set him off. "They're the person you're going to fall in love with and be with forever! Aren't you at least a little excited to know who you get to spend the rest of forever with?"
Akaashi breathes an internal sigh of relief. He should know by now, three months into their friendship, that Bokuto seldom gets genuinely angry. He doesn't think he's ever seen it.
"Just because someone's name is on your wrist doesn't mean they're the person you're going to be with forever," Bitterness rings in his tone. Akaashi can only hope it doesn't shine through.
"But...that's what soulmates are, right?" Bokuto looks saddened by Akaashi's words, and a pang of guilt runs down the first year's spine. Sometimes, Akaashi wishes he had that sort of genuine belief in the forever aspect of soulmates.
He briefly entertains the concept of telling the story of a boy and a girl who fell in love when they were too young to know about fate, who tried their damndest to love when destiny told them not to. Who wrecked themselves and their family for their supposed love. Who couldn't make it work in the end. Eventually, they got it right - in the end, they found their happiness. But the cost was their son's childhood, twenty years of their lives, and a most potent form of heartbreak.
But Bokuto is a shimmering spirit. He deserves to stay that way. Some say fifteen is too young to be jaded, but those some are blissfully ignorant fools. So instead, Akaashi says,
"I guess, yeah."
-
Akaashi meets Kuroo at their first training camp. It's also where he meets Kenma.
Kuroo is tall, like Boktuo. Handsome too. Not Akaashi's type - too much fuckboy and not enough innocence - but he seems genuine. He sorely lacks formality, much like Bokuto (probably a reason they get along so well), but he makes up for it with interest. There's no trying small talk to test Akaashi's patience. He can appreciate that about someone. However, despite this, he makes Akaashi burn.
It's a strange experience - and a harrowing one - to watch Bokuto sink so easily into a best-friend-type relationship with this boy Akaashi's never met before. He momentarily wonders if he's just a replacement for this Tetsuro Kuroo in between training camps, but his jealousy is tamped down when Kenma arrives on the scene.
He is a short boy - short by volleyball standards - with blond highlights and a PSP seemingly glued to his palms. He presses his head against Kuroo's shoulder, molds his body to the middle blocker's side as he barely register's Akaashi and Bokuto's presence. Maybe they're dating, Akaashi briefly considers - almost hopefully.
They aren't, to Akaashi's slight disappointment but he will learn not too far off in the future that it doesn't matter. Maybe he should be more worried that he's putting so much thought into the harmless interactions Bokuto and Kuroo share, maybe he should be concerned about how his mental fortitude is crumbling, but he doesn't have the mind to be. Rational thought gets replaced with budding insecurity and his cool demeanor turns chilly.
"You shouldn't be jealous," They're out for a midnight walk the first time Kenma speaks to him more than a shallow greeting. They shouldn't be out here. It's too late at night and if they were to get caught, they'd be running laps until their legs broke.
Akaashi's eyes snap to the side at the accusation. He hopes Kenma can't see the fissures in his marble mask as he tries not to turn his head too fast. Is this kid a mind reader? He questions despite knowing Kenma is the same age as him. Kenma doesn't look at him, eyes focused on the small Animal Crossing villagers lighting up his screen.
"I'm not-"
"Don't lie. You're Akaashi, right?" Akaashi nods, questioning and slow. "I've been there with Kuroo before. Don't worry. They're like brothers. And they only see each other like, once every few months. So it makes sense that they're basically glued together."
Akaashi remains silent as shame sinks in. He should be better than this, he knows. But it's hard for a kid who's never had a genuine friendship like this one. Fear of losing etches itself into every interaction they share.
"Plus, he spends most of his time talking about you anyway."
Kenma is gone - back to Kuroo's side to snuggle against the taller boy's warmth - before Akaashi has a chance to ask what he means.
He spends the rest of a sleepless night thinking about, decidedly not tossing and turning but laying on his side. Bokuto had insisted on sleeping right next to him because he didn't want to make the innocent first-year sleep next to the third years who would most certainly be talking about gross girlfriend stuff. But the big puppy dog of a spiker had crashed the minute his head hit the pillow.
Quality bodyguard, Akaashi thinks fondly as he stares at Bokuto's sleeping figure laying nearly suffocated under a pile of blankets. His hair, normally spiked, is smushed against his forehead, his limbs are splayed out ungracefully, his features are soft in the pale blue light radiating off of third years' phone screens. He's very pretty, Akaashi observes. Though he's sure it's a known fact.
Bokuto's hand is stretched out most clumsily off his mat, palm opening toward the setter. Briefly, Akaashi entertains the idea of laying his hand in Bokuto's, maybe just touching their fingertips together to close the small distance. He's sure the spiker would be warm, even in the chill of December. Maybe Bokuto would even let him. He stretches out his hand, the cold hitting his skin sharply, and sighs into the warmth that radiates off his best friend. I could hold his hand, he thinks.
He doesn't. Cowardice hides behind reservation.
-
Winter break is fast approaching.
Akaashi should be happy, but he's not. While other kids are giddy for a week away from school and a chance to spend the holidays with their loved ones, Akaashi dreads fancy Christmas parties full of entitled pricks. Bokuto is busy over the break, too. He's flying to California in the states to vacation with a family friend.
All this means is that winter break will be typically lonely. Akaashi will spend his mornings practicing - homework, the violin, setting, whatever his parents have planned for him. And he will spend his nights in a stuffy tux, dancing with the daughters of potential investors in his parent's company. In that respect, winter break isn't much different from a normal week.
So he cherishes his last few days with his best friend before they inevitably part for a week that will feel like a year.
They get hot chocolate in the park. Its cobblestone pathways that lead through greenery planted to resist the cold are abandoned. Akaashi likes it that way. He likes having him and Bokuto in their own secluded world. Just them with cups of hot chocolate warming their hands surrounded by seclusion.
Bokuto looks like a child on Christmas morning as he watches two Mourning Doves flit around each other on a branch, silvery wings fluttering softly. He rambles on about them, but Akaashi only absorbs half of the information he's saying. Akaashi likes to think he's a good listener, but Bokuto's adorable smile has his brain running down sidetracks.
"Do you think birds have soulmates too?" Again with the soulmates. Akaashi's jaw tightens at the thought.
"I already told you what I think about soulmates," He states matter-of-factly. He hears Bokuto sigh and almost feels guilty.
Maybe if Bokuto had grown up with parents who couldn't love each other and arguments about the future of a child born between two people who were never meant to be together, he would feel less optimistic about the idea.
Does he even consider the fact he might not get who he wants? And even if he does, that person might not have his name on their wrist? Akaashi wonders.
"I know, 'Kaashi...but do you mind if I ask you about 'em? I mean, you're my best friend, right?" Akaashi stops dead in his tracks at the title. Bokuto had never explicitly defined them until now. He's always just been, 'This is Akaashi!' 'Hey, 'Kaashi!' 'Aghhaaaaashiiiii.' He stares down at the chocolately liquid in his cup as though it's betrayed him.
"Of course, Bokuto-san," He's weak against the formalizing words; best friend.
"Why do you hate them so much? You always say they're stupid," Bokuto's voice is tender, and Akaashi resigns himself to his fate. Bokuto may be a total dunce, but he's kind more than anything. Akaashi may love him for it.
"My parents weren't soulmates," He doesn't want to see Bokuto's reaction. It will probably be something along the lines of pity. Pity makes Akaashi feel nauseous. "They fell in love in high school and thought they could cheat fate by not meeting their soulmates. But then my mom met hers and things kind of fell apart..." He takes a moment not to remember. He doesn't think about sitting in his room with a math worksheet as his only comfort. Ironic, he doesn't remember thinking.
"They argued about it until I was twelve and then they kind of just...gave up. Mom went to Paris and lived happily ever after," Another pause to gather his thoughts. He still doesn't make eye contact with Bokuto. A sigh escapes his lips to fill the silence. "My dad met his two years later at a charity auction, but I still remember how sad he was. The worst feeling in the world is when you love someone and they can't love you back."
The sentiment hangs heavy in the air for a long moment. Bokuto stays silent, Akaashi shoves his one freezing hand into his pocket while the other swirls the cooling liquid in his cup languidly. I should've brought gloves, he muses.
Neither Bokuto nor Akaashi breaks the silence between them until Bokuto pulls off a mitten and dips his hand into Akaashi's pocket, lacing their fingers. Then they both shatter the glass-like quiet at once. Akaashi with a surprised little huff at the warm contact, Bokuto with,
"You're not gonna end up like them. I know it. You're too smart for it," Bokuto's skin feels burning against his. He loves it. He wants to keep the memory of this moment safe.
"Are you calling my parents dumb?" Akaashi isn't a funny person, but he occasionally tries on a rare brand of sarcasm. Bokuto treats each instance he chooses to try out humor as though he just discovered gold - yet another reason to fall in love with Koutarou Bokuto. He somehow manages to be beautiful in every aspect of his personality. His physicality isn't the only radiant thing about him.
"No! Of course not! But I just mean like...You're like, the smartest person ever," Bokuto grins. His hair is down to accommodate the baby pink hat his little cousin knitted for him. He's perfect, Akaashi hurts at the sentiment. "So, do you mind if I ask you if you've got someone you're hoping it is?"
Akaashi falters in a big way, his mind turning to static. He does it but he doesn't want to say it. Saying it gives it legitimacy. Saying it makes it real. Real things can be broken but thoughts are safe from harm - and yet, Akaashi finds the words bubbling to the tip of his tongue. For all the times anyone has ever called him smart, which is a lot, Akaashi, on a base level, is stupid. Translating big emotions into flimsy words is a skill lost on him.
"It's unwise to hope when you have no control over the future," He swallows his feelings with an intake of icy air. In his periphery, he can see Bokuto's expression fall. It makes his chest ache, but Bokuto should know his opinion of soulmates by now. Repeating the reason for his view would just make him sound like a broken record. "You'll just break your own heart. It's not worth it."
Bokuto doesn't say anything after that. They hold hands all the way back to Akaashi's house, but they don't say goodbye. Akaashi's parents drag him into the depths of their almost cavernous house before they get the chance to.
-
Winter break is lonely for Akaashi, as expected, even more so with the budding anxiety their last interaction brought him.
He's never had someone other than his parents mad at him. He's never had to deal with debating in his head whether or not Bokuto's face or voice gave away any clues as to his state of mind after their last conversation. Bokuto isn't one to be so sensitive, he knows. But secretly, he doesn't. It's a convenient lie he tells himself because he's comfortable with the spiker. It's always easier to tell yourself you know how someone will react. But when you don't, the ground becomes unstable.
He texted Bokuto once at the beginning of the week, and when he receives no response, he decides it's not worth the risk. Not worth potentially being stranded with his own thoughts and insecurities. He wonders when he started caring so much. He wonders if he would do it all again if he knew how much he would overthink.
He would, Akaashi has resigned himself to that fact.
But that doesn't stop the anxieties and insecurities bouncing around his brain from drowning him. The silence isn't quiet when he thinks about Bokuto.
He throws himself against the wall with homework instead. Assignments due weeks in advance are done and stacked neatly at the edge of his desk, pre-calculus problems take up the space of Bokuto's golden eyes and bright smile. His laugh is replaced with harsh drum beats layered over bass. His image is pushed from Akaashi's mind by a third cup of coffee and a bright 02:39 A.M lighting up his phone screen.
He considers for a quick second what he would do if his teachers stopped letting him complete assignments so far ahead of time. But he doesn't dwell too long on what would be a harsh emotional spiral. Sleep deprivation and caffeine are a far more effective substitute.
But his winter break isn't spent entirely alone. Much to his surprise, he receives a request from Kuroo to meet up despite the fact that their only substantial link is Bokuto. Though, he shouldn't be surprised. From what he knows of the guy, he's pretty friendly, and he definitely doesn't harbor Akaashi's penchant for introversion.
Akaashi agrees despite himself. He doesn't necessarily have any interest in harboring some sort of friendship with Kuroo - he seems like a nice enough guy, but Akaashi's weekends are already swamped before Bokuto constantly needing his attention. Not to mention they attend different schools. But it couldn't hurt. And with Bokuto obviously not requiring any attention from him, Akaashi's best reason for going is, why not?
They meet at a coffee shop near Fukurodani - Kuroo says he doesn't mind being the one to travel a bit farther as he can never stay put anyway. It's uncrowded because most people already have plans for the holiday season, and Akaashi likes it that way. The warm atmosphere and seclusion are rejuvenating. It's not the same as with Bokuto, but no one can really make it such without being the spiker himself.
Akaashi stares at the snowflakes that sparkle against the bleak gray sky. A girl named Cora once compared him to a snowflake - "You're pretty, but you're cold as ice," she'd said. At first, he'd been content to just accept the half-compliment, but then she'd poured water on his head because he informed her that he didn't know how to dance. It wasn't a rejection, but she'd taken it as such.
Akaashi always expects awkwardness when meeting new people. He's used to being reactive, he's a piece of art for people to admire and occasionally comment on, not the starter of sparkling conversation. But Kuroo defies expectations with aggression. He seems nearly incapable of being awkward - insensitive, a little bit sleazy, both yes, but his conversation is free-flowing and relatable. Akaashi almost envies his abilities.
He manages to make the setter feel like an old friend despite them having only met once. Even then, only cursory greetings had been spared before Akaashi was being pushed aside in favor of Bokuto. He couldn't blame Kuroo for that. Bokuto was a star and Akaashi was the backdrop of the night sky, allowing him to shine.
They don't talk about anything in particular, nothing that makes Akaashi want to bare his soul to the boy. But his resistances are melted by hot coffee, his guards lulled to sleep by the ache of someone missing. And before long, he finds a pent up worry escaping his lips.
"I think Bokuto might be upset with me."
"Well, what did you say to him? It's gotta be pretty bad if Bo is angry," Akaashi manages not to flinch at the nickname, though it's a close call.
"I told him I thought soulmates were stupid," The setter sighs out, about the most genuine show of emotion he's ever displayed in front of anyone other than Bokuto or his parents. Maybe Kuroo's not that bad, he thinks. Though, like Bokuto, he looks genuinely confused at the idea that anyone could not like soulmates.
"Eh? Why's that?"
"It's a long story," Akaashi opts for the typical excuse, and Kuroo seems to take the hint. A difference between Kuroo and Bokuto, Akaashi notices, is that Bokuto's just too naive to understand when a long story isn't just a long story. Akaashi is thankful for that trait in this moment. It was hard enough trying to open up to Bokuto. He didn't even know Kuroo's favorite color.
"Well, Bo's probably not mad, you know. If that's all, you barely made a nick in his armor," Kuroo huffs out a laugh, and Akaashi nods. He considers smiling, but that's a right reserved for a special few. And then: "I get it though." Akaashi raises an eyebrow.
"Oh?"
"I just mean, I get why he wants to know. Or hopes or whatever. I mean, if Kenma's not my soulmate, I'm literally going to drown myself in maple syrup," It's different for you, Akaashi tries not to be bitter.
Kenma and Kuroo are set in stone as much as any soul mark can make them, Akaashi knows that much. If it weren't for the fact that they'd never kissed or technically made it official, they could be dating. According to Bokuto, they've known each since before middle school. Akaashi's never been a particularly envious person - he's never had the time to be - but he envies Kuroo. It must be so easy for you, he spares a glance to the boy at his left.
"Don't...do that," He responds belatedly, directing his gaze back out the window at the tiny, shimmery ice crystals. There's something so melancholy about the scene - the way the snowflakes go through such a long journey to the ground, only to inevitably melt into a sea of white. His lips pull into a frown. "You sound just like Bokuto. Why do you get so invested anyway? You know you're only going to be hurt if it's not him."
"Well...because I know it's going to be him," Akaashi wishes he had as much confidence in anything he did as Kuroo does in that statement. He's only stating a pre-determined fact. It isn't a hope or a wish, it's a definite outcome. Two plus two equals four. Kuroo and Kenma are soulmates.
"You can't know that," It's not a conscious thought, but an automatic reaction.
"Maybe, but I can feel it."
-
Bokuto shows up at Akaashi's house on the last day of winter break.
Akaashi almost has a heart attack - he said he was going to be back on Monday. But if he does, it's only because Bokuto is adorable; his cheeks are rosy from the slightest bit of sunburn (they don't get much snow in California, Akaashi knows), but his nose is red from the cold, and he's wearing his pink hat, though he brandishes a new scarf to match it. It's gotten colder since he left.
He runs up and hugs Akaashi like they haven't seen each other in a decade, strong arms squeezing him a little too tight - he truly doesn't know his own strength. And all of Akaashi's worries suddenly melt away like the snow soon will in March. Bokuto's innate warmth and penchant for giving good hugs are good for that. They're at a good height too, such that Akaashi's far more slender arms can fit between them to wrap around Bokuto's neck.
However, an invisible weight still presses on Akaashi's shoulders.
"Are...you mad at me?" He briefly wonders how truly gay they must look like this. Bokuto doesn't notice how unnaturally long their contact is lasting, or he doesn't care. Knowing him, it's some combination of bother. He never has been one to care what other people thought of him, but that's just because he's perfect, Akaashi's brain manages.
"No, why would I be mad?"
"Oh...no reason," A thin lie.
"Is it because of what you said last week before I left? 'Cause you can have whatever opinion you want about soulmates. I still know who I want mine to be," Bokuto, sadly, pulls away from him so he can look at Akaashi. Oh fuck. He can feel it. The setter can't help but zone out on those eyes - like golden honey, or maybe sunshine, a syrupy, citrusy combination of the two. Akaashi tries to pinpoint the exact hue. He can't, but it's somewhere in between radiance and beauty. Just for a moment, he willingly loses time.
Languidly, he raises a distracted eyebrow, hoping his request for a repeat isn't too belated.
"What?" Bokuto doesn't say his words again. They're lost as he pulls Akaashi toward his car where his mom is waiting to drive them to school.
"C'mon, we're gonna be late for school. And you're always the one calling me lazy!"
-
Akaashi hates Valentine's Day.
It's a stupid and useless holiday, in his not so humble opinion. There's no point. It doesn't truly celebrate love. Why should there be only one specific day out of each year where you suddenly express all your love and affection for the person you care about? It doesn't make sense. If you really care that much, show them every day.
Akaashi doesn't hate a lot of things, but he hates Valentine's day. He hates the heart-shaped paper streamers lining the hallways in the most abhorrent shades of pink the even planning committee could manage. He hates the comparing of how many "love" letters any one person got, how many gifts. But what he hates most are the confessions.
God, confessions are so stupid. It's not true love. True love is a name on your arm in Kanji. True love has already been decided for you. There's no point. You're setting yourself up for humiliation while simultaneously embarrassing whoever you're supposedly in love with.
One could make the argument that the only reason he's so bitter is because he's never received a love confession before, but even that wouldn't be true. He has a box of "love" letters under his bed because he feels too guilty to throw away someone's feelings like that, but he can barely even remember the face of their creators. He doesn't look at them.
He shouldn't be surprised that Bokuto received a lot of love, literally and metaphorically, but it doesn't really take away the sting - this is just a new reason to hate Valentine's day, he decides. What does dull the stab in his ribcage is the way Bokuto gives up on trying to fit anything in his locker halfway through in favor of shoving the door shut, effectively closing the door on any unwanted love confessions.
He shouldn't take as much solace in the simple action as he does, but he can't help it, especially because Boktuo looks directly at him after, as if Akaashi is a thing far more precious than any love letters.
Akaashi's never been one to expect gifts from people. He thinks, as a tradition, gift-giving is unnecessary and wasteful unless the person is in dire need of something or really, really wants it. But he knows this is an unpopular opinion, so he keeps it to himself - skillful silence comes in handy once again.
Bokuto does not ascribe to this particular opinion, Akaashi has noticed.
Their differences are modeled as Bokuto pulls him into the stairwell and retrieves a box from his school bag. It's small and non-descript. It actually looks as though it may be made of cardboard. Akaashi studies it as though it's the only thing that exists in his universe as his heart beats in his ears in a strong attempt to drown out everything else around him.
"What is this?" His own voice sounds muted against the backdrop of his blood pulsing as he gently takes the box from Bokuto's hands. Its weight is barely anything.
"It's a Valentine's Day present, dummy. Open it!" Akaashi's brain breaks clean in half at the idea that this is an actually Valentine's Day present. He doesn't like Valentine's Day, he wants to say. You didn't have to give me anything. I didn't get you anything. I can't give you anything in return. He doubts Bokuto gives a damn either way, but the guilt along with a burning affection blocked his words in his throat.
He opens it slowly, not because of any apprehension, but because doesn't know what he's expecting. Maybe he hopes it's something sweet, something romantic. Maybe he hopes it's not so he doesn't fall any harder than he already is.
When he slips the top off the small box, it reveals a small silver locket. It's not what he's expecting. But he doesn't love it any less than he should. He loves it more, maybe. Maybe just a little too much.
"A necklace?" Hesitation fills Bokuto's expression, and Akaashi decides he doesn't like the unfamiliar look on him. Bokuto is never hesitant about anything in life - not volleyball, not his choices - but he looks like he might crumble if Akaashi says one thing out of place.
"Before you call it girly-"
"I like it," I love it. How can he not? There's a picture in each side of the locket, one of Bokuto, one of him, which he now realizes is just a printed out picture of them together that he'd cut in half. Sometimes Akaashi didn't think Bokuto could get any more adorable. And every time, Bokuto managed to one-up himself on the matter. Cute is taken to another level with the spiker.
He caresses the shimmering metal with the pad of his thumb, trying and failing to force breath into his lungs. Bokuto had stolen it. Bokuto had stolen a lot of things from him since he'd met him. Maybe he hadn't so much as taken it without permission, however, as Akaashi had willingly given it to him. Maybe it was more that Akaashi had given him more of himself than anyone should ever have. He sighs contentedly and resigns himself to his fate for the nth time.
Okay, he thinks, maybe this isn't all that bad.
"Really?" Genuine disbelief paints Bokuto's lips. Akaashi adores it an unreasonable amount.
"Have I ever lied to you?"
-
Akaashi likes spending summer afternoons with Bokuto.
March is the beginning of warmth, of budding pink flowers and golden sunshine. It's the beginning of late sunsets and free days after school spent with the only person that really mattered enough to Akaashi for him to take time out of his day. The rest of the team is nice, and going out with them is fun on occasion. But sitting on the hood of Bokuto's car eating soft serve is quite preferable to rambunctious group outings.
Bokuto is fiddling with something on his phone, muttering indiscernible frustrations under his breath as they watched the languidly dip below the horizon line. Its lazy descent casts bright oranges and pinks across the sky, highlighting Bokuto's pronounced cheekbones. The setter is convinced he's currently in the presence of the creator of bone structure.
There's a sudden drumming on his thigh, a surprisingly intimate gesture. His head snaps to the side only to be met with the camera of a phone pushed in his face, Bokuto's owl-covered phone case embellished with volleyball stickers it the only thing he sees.
"Smile, 'Kaashi!"
"What-" The command is given almost too fast for him to genuinely react, but he gives his best effort, a soft smile painting his lips. He doesn't smile often, but he adores Bokuto's reaction when he does. It's something between childish wonder and the disbelief that he'd just witnessed something so rare. "Bokuto-san..."
"What the fuck?" Bokuto looks between the screen of his phone that contains a picture Akaashi is sure he'll flaunt, and the subject of said photo who's expression has gone back to deadpan. It's like he can't believe Akaashi is actually capable of expressing joy, like this is a once in a lifetime even he'll never get the chance to witness again. If only Bokuto knew how much he made Akaashi smile when no one was around.
"You told me to smile," Akaashi shrugs matter-of-factly. He enjoys a little too much the act of pretending he doesn't understand what's going on. It seems to make Bokuto's brain turn to mush. His fake innocence is almost convincing. "What?"
It's almost a week later when Akaashi catches a glimpse of Bokuto's phone and sees a familiar picture. They're studying on Akaashi's bed, limbs splayed out lazily with physical and mental exertion (remind Akaashi never to study immediately after practice again) when Bokuto pulls out his phone to check the time and Akaashi sees it.
It's the picture of him, painted against the sunset. He's smiling. Gross, he thinks inwardly, though he doesn't say it because he knows Bokuto would punch him in the face for badmouthing himself. Akaashi knows how other people think he looks, but that doesn't mean he has to think that himself.
He just rolls to his side to nudge Bokuto's muscular shoulder as he flicks his head in the direction of his best friend's phone.
Akaashi's brain malfunctions when Bokuto turns his head too quickly bringing their faces inches away from each other quite suddenly. The proximity, Bokuto's warm breath tingling his lips, the knowledge that if he just tilted his head a little bit, he could kiss Koutarou Bokuto - he couldn't think, couldn't breathe. He felt like his mind might break in half from the heat radiating off his best friend.
He should definitely not be thinking about what Bokuto would taste like. He shouldn't be thinking about Bokuto's fingers in his hair or those hands calloused from spiking wrapping around his waist, thumbs pressing into his abdomen. He shouldn't be thinking about spending the rest of the afternoon with his spiker settled between his legs, arms wrapped around Akaashi's torso as they kiss languidly, lips lazy, limbs intertwined.
He's falling at light speed. At this point, he can't remember a time when cold wind wasn't rushing past him, when he actually felt solid ground beneath his feet. He knows he'll get lost in the golden maze of those eyes, in the slight part of his lips. And he knows he won't find his way back unless he stops this before it begins. There will be a time when he's too far in to back out, he knows, but today isn't that time.
"I'm your lock screen?" He asks flatly. His words earn him a characteristically Bokuto smile. He couldn't ask for more.
"Yeah, 'cause you're pretty."
-
"Hey, 'Kaashi," They're sitting on the roof of Bokuto's house when Bokuto brings it up again. April always provides them with warm nights in which to talk about nothing and everything in particular. Although, this is the first April night Akaashi's spent with Bokuto. It's exponentially more beautiful, the stars are clearer, the warm breeze that passes through makes him shiver contentedly.
"Yeah?" He responds lazily. They're in no particular rush. Tomorrow is a Saturday and Akaashi's parents are out of town for the week. They have all the time in the world and Akaashi likes it that way.
"Would you be upset if it turned out I was your soulmate?" The question stings and he can't say why exactly. Maybe it's Bokuto's doubt that Akaashi really truly could love him, maybe it's the mention of the idea that they could be soulmates. Maybe that's what stings more than anything else. Akaashi doesn't want, doesn't care, doesn't believe in soulmates. But Bokuto makes him want to.
"No," He can only answer honestly, he tells himself.
"Really?" The surprise in Bokuto's voice hurts.
Sometimes Akaashi worries that their relationship is too one-sided. Sometimes he worries that Bokuto gives him too much, expresses his every emotion, tells Akaashi every single deep dark thought he had (to be honest, Bokuto's idea of dark is a five-year-old with a nightlight's definition of dark). But Akaashi is a boy who gives nothing away. He can barely even bring himself to admit his own feelings internally. How is he supposed to say it out loud?
"Why would I be?"
"Well, because then you could never fall in love with a pretty girl or have a wedding like that, y'know?" Maybe the sadness in Bokuto's voice is all in Akaashi's head. He'd like to think it's not, but he's always prided himself on being honest with himself and others. Realism is what he knows best. And he knows that Bokuto doesn't...
"Bokuto-san," His brain rapidly flips between courage and cowardice. The words are stuck in his throat.
"Yeah?"
Will Bokuto care? Will he be weirded out? What if he doesn't want to be friends anymore? What if he thinks I like him? Akaashi inwardly panics. You do like him, his brain supplies helpfully.
How is one to come out to their best friend, though? How is someone supposed to admit the unspeakable to another person, something they can barely even talk about to themselves in the silence of their own head?
He rationalizes over and over again that Bokuto is kind and understanding and loving and he wouldn't abandon Akaashi for something as stupid as his sexuality. But then there's the backdrop of fear that makes him wonder. It makes him wonder how Bokuto would truly react. And a hundred possible scenarios run through his head.
Bokuto taking off at the word 'gay,' avoiding him at school, no longer responding to his texts or requests for meeting.
Bokuto trying to be understanding but the disgust showing on his features as he tries to process the fact that his best friend likes guys.
Bokuto telling him it's okay, that he doesn't care, only for a divide to grow between them because it isn't really okay.
"'Kaashi?" The fall back to reality feels like a punch to the gut. It takes him a while, but in a dragging moment, he's back on Bokuto's roof, sitting under the stars with his best friend.
"Nevermind," He thinks better. Maybe there will be a time when he can say it out loud. Maybe there will be a day in a couple years when he can say it as a passing thought. Yeah, I'm gay. Maybe there will be a day when he isn't so scared of risking friendships and reputation for a secret the shouldn't need to be one. Not today though. His mouth thinks otherwise. "I'm gay."
His world stops turning on its axis and he's scared for it to start. He stares out at the horizon line, barely visible in the darkness of the night. It's painted with the line of a cityscape. It would be beautiful if Akaashi didn't feel his world crumbling around him.
He's always been so good at biting his tongue and swallowing his words. Why can't he seem to with Bokuto?
"Akaashi," Akaashi isn't brave enough to look at his best friend's face. What will he see if he does? Disappointment? Shame? Disgust? Anger? Chin on his knees, eyes staring blankly at the skyline, arms looped around his shins on the roof of Bokuto's house, Keiji Akaashi cries for the first time in years. "Keiji, what's wrong?"
Nothing is wrong, I'm just scared of losing you. I always am.
"Nothing. I've just...never told anyone that before," He divulges instead.
There's a moment of terrifying nothing. Akaashi questions every word he's ever said to the spiker. But then there's an arm around his waist, another tucking in the space between his knees and his chest, and Bokuto's head dips into the crook of his neck. His hair is down - a fact Akaashi appreciates because he's the only one who gets to see it like this - and it tickles Akaashi's jawline as Bokuto breaths gentle exhales against his skin.
He wants this feeling to last forever - the safety of being sheltered and protected and loved. Even if it isn't the kind of love he really wants, it's a kind he can appreciate in the consistency of it. Bokuto is a constant among his turbulent existence. He feels stupid now for ever thinking Bokuto would leave, feels ashamed for his lack of faith in his best friend.
"What are you doing?" His words are cursory. He doesn't particularly care to know, mainly because he's okay with whatever the answer is as long as Bokuto keeps doing this.
The stars fill their silence with radiance. You don't have anywhere to be, they seem to say, it's okay if you'd like to stay here forever. Akaashi does.
"Smothering you with my affection and support," Bokuto whispers finally. I could die happy like this, he thinks. I might be in love with you, he almost says.
"You're so weird sometimes," Are the words that come out instead.
-
The last day of Akaashi's first year is bathed in honey sunshine.
The third years graduate - Akaashi sees people he didn't even know had tear ducts cry. Washio is wiping his eyes. He was always much closer to the third-years than Akaashi ever was. He bids them goodbye nonetheless. He smiles, he waves, he gives brief, one-armed hugs because he doesn't yet understand what it will be like to lose. Not like Bokuto and Washio and the rest of the second years do.
There's no hard rule that they have to leave campus after the ceremony is over, so they don't. Bokuto doesn't want to go home yet and Akaashi isn't looking forward to the typical discussion of how his summer will go. Dialogues about math and music camps, suggestions that he switch to a boarding school for a more rigorous education, are all but ensured at this point.
Instead, though Akaashi knows there will be hell to pay, they sit in the middle of the soccer field still littered with streamers and confetti and talk in hushed tones. There are other people around - a couple kissing under the bleachers, a group of three walking the flimsy metal stands in rounds - but they are alone.
"Hey, so...I know who I want my soulmate to be," Maybe Akaashi doesn't like the word 'soulmate,' maybe that's it. Word association is a powerful thing. "I hope it's you."
"Why?" Akaashi has stopped fiddling with a piece of confetti in his hand. It's no longer a piece of colorful paper. It's an object of his immediate frustration - too small to tear up or crumple, too big to ignore.
"Because you're sweet even though you act kinda cold sometimes. And you're really good at volleyball, and I love volleyball. And you're really smart-"
"Bokuto-san," He cuts off. The spiker doesn't listen, or he doesn't want to. Both are plausible.
"Because I know it will be you," Akaashi hates that. He doesn't know. No one knows. No one can know anything until said thing happens, and by then it's too late to change it. He's briefly reminded of when he and Kuroo talked, "maybe, but I can feel it." And he thinks about the sinking feeling those gave him. Except this feeling is so much worse because this is Bokuto.
"No, you don't."
"Yeah, I do! Akaashi-" Stop.
"Bokuto-san, you don't."
"Keiji-" Aren't you listening?
"Bokuto-san, you can't fucking know! Okay? It's all random. Us even meeting was random. We're random," The words don't taste good on his tongue, and the look Bokuto is giving him makes it worse - an ugly amalgamation of betrayal and shock. Akaashi can't tell if he's yelling, but you'd think he just screamed at Bokuto. No one notices, no one looks. They're alone.
"'Kaashi..." He knows what's coming next and he halts it preemptively.
"It's not some cosmic arrangement of fate, Koutarou. I chose Fukurodani because it was the best school in my area. It doesn't mean anything," Again his statement is bitter, but Akaashi doesn't lie, as a cold-hard rule. And he's broken that rule for Bokuto a hundred times, every time the idea of soulmates come up, he breaks that rule again and again. He's done lying to make Bokuto feel better. Truth hurts, he tells himself. Maybe he believes it. "I happened to go to Fukurodani. I happened to choose volleyball club. We happened to become friends. What if I had chosen the journalism club? What if I had chosen theater?! We never would've even met!"
Bokuto looks like he just ran a hundred miles without stopping. His eyes are wide and tired from his mind tripping over itself to comprehend, his position is awkward but his limbs are limp as though he can't even summon the energy to move. Akaashi knows the expression of pain. It's merely the contraction and relaxation of certain facial muscles to show what words are too weak to, but the biological explanation for it doesn't make it hurt any less.
"Why are you saying this?"
Because I'm not going to be the reason you break your own heart, he almost doesn't say. The words are stuck stubbornly in his throat as he thinks of the way Boktuo's expression will contort if he says his words out loud. He's going to break, he thinks. But then: No more lying.
"Because you're setting yourself up for heartbreak and I'm not going to be the cause of it," He breaks, Bokuto does, as Akaashi stands. He doesn't look at Bokuto. He doesn't want to, he doesn't think he can. Instead, he looks at the ground and imagines how much work it'll be to clean up the confetti. It's scattered in broken little pieces. How could anyone pick it all up, much less put it back together like it was? "I think I should go now," He decides.
So he does.
-
They don't talk the rest of the summer.
Well, they do, but it's only because the team insists on meeting up on, at the very least, a weekly basis and they don't want their nosy teammates reading into things.
So they talk. Not like they used to, but they talk. They talk in small words about Bokuto's aunt visiting for the month of June and occasionally they touch on the topic of Akaashi's parents wanting to enter him into a math competition, but they don't really talk. Akaashi says little. Bokuto does most of the verbalization, as usual.
Sometimes it surprises him that Bokuto's act doesn't drop when they're alone. When they're sitting on Akaashi's back porch because Akaashi needed some peace and quiet and Bokuto followed him like a puppy dog, Bokuto talks avidly about anything and everything that comes to mind. He waits for the off switch, the sudden collapsing of words into silence once the team is out of earshot, but it doesn't come. He considers the possibility that Bokuto might not be upset about what he said, but he doesn't hope.
Sometimes it surprises Akaashi when Bokuto approaches him outside of group gatherings, requesting they go on a walk considering the weather is nice. Akaashi agrees with a silent nod each time. He figures Bokuto must know that something is different. Akaashi isn't the most responsive person to begin with, but now he might as well be a pet rock Bokuto is carrying around with him. Bokuto must notice. He doesn't say anything, though. Instead, he fills Akaashi's silence with words.
There's one humid night in August when Bokuto shows up at his front door in a tank top and pajama pants, normally bright eyes twisted with worry. Akaashi puts on his marble mask as he steps out onto the porch and folds his arms. He can see Bokuto's bike in his driveway, and he wonders how he managed to get out without the sound of the garage alerting his parents.
"Are you mad at me?" Despite the fact that he's taller and more muscular than Akaashi, his hunched shoulders and downturned lips hold no power.
Silence hugs them tightly, clinging to the humid air as Akaashi searches his brain for the right words. No, I'm not mad. You didn't do anything wrong. I'm the one who should be sorry. I thought you were mad. Why is this so complicated? Akaashi doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn't say anything.
Instead, he outstretches his arms, almost as if in slow motion, and curls them around Bokuto's waist. The gap between then and now shortens a little and Akaashi loses time for a moment as they sink together like two puzzle pieces. Akaashi leans against Bokuto's broad frame, closes his eyes against the crook of his neck. Bokuto lets his descent be just as gradual.
They don't say anything, but maybe they don't need to. They should, but they don't need to. They should, but they don't.
A divide takes up the space their words should've filled. It doesn't fix what's fundamentally broken. They still don't talk for the rest of the summer.
-
Bokuto breaks his window with a rock at one in the morning.
It's accidental sure, but it will cost him. He'll pay for the damage with his soul, he knows - his parents will demand it. But the thought gets pushed aside.
He's not surprised. Akaashi's been waiting. In fact, he's tired enough that he can't count the number of hours he's been awake without having to start over multiple times. The fatigue should be crippling, but he can't close his eyes, nor does he want to.
He doesn't know why he's expecting it. He shouldn't with everything Bokuto he'd said to Bokuto three months ago. Bokuto should be ignoring him or yelling at him - a small part of Akaashi wonders if his best friend is going to do just that when Akaashi inevitably loses the battle against himself and goes down there. He doesn't even know if the title of best friends still applies to them anymore. He hopes it does, but he also knows he doesn't deserve it.
He walks through silent hallways. September nights are still warm enough to let him pad down his parent's marble staircase barefoot, out onto the porch despite his brain screaming at him not to. His every movement sparks a chain of apprehension, but he can't stop his feet from moving forward. Maybe he secretly wants the pain this will bring him.
It's Bokuto's birthday, and, in case you're wondering, he does feel bad. Guilt swells heavy in his chest and it hurts. Because Bokuto deserves the world and all the stars in the sky, but all he get's is a coward who's too afraid to talk to him.
Akaashi steps onto his porch, breathing in the warm night air, lungs tingling with the sensation. He directs his gaze toward Bokuto who's standing there, another rock poised in his hand as if he can rebreak Akaashi's window. Of course he's beautiful, Akaashi thinks resentfully as he stares at the image in front of him; Bokuto in a black t-shirt that hugs toned muscles, ripped jeans, grinning at the fact that Akaashi actually came down.
Sometimes it's not fair, Akaashi thinks. It's not fair that Bokuto is perfect, that he could outshine the stars with just a smile. Because how is Akaashi supposed to not fall for him when he looks like this. With his hair down, with his eyes sparkling. He should be angry but he isn't and it makes Akaashi's heart hurt. Don't you get that you're perfect? Don't you see why that makes me frustrated? Because you're not mine to have but you act like you are.
"What the fuck, Bokuto-san," He says because he doesn't know what else to say, because thoughts take up the space his words should. "You broke my window. My parents are going to actually kill me."
"I'm sorry! ...I know," He starts as though they're okay, as though everything's normal. And then his voice falls in a way that makes Akaashi feel like someone just punched him in the gut. It's hard to breathe, his chest aches, he wants to cry but he bites his tongue to quell the burning sensation.
"I just came here to say I told you so," Bokuto drops the rock and uses his right hand to capture Akaashi's fingers with his. His hand is warm, but that's to be expected. Bokuto is warm in every aspect of his being - in his hands, in his voice, mellow and sweet like honey. It's in the way he haphazardly throws his arms around Akaashi when they win games, how he shows affection without hesitation like it's his job to make everyone in the world know how loved they are.
They stop outside the wall that guard Akaashi's house, the brightness of the porch lights now a distant glow as Bokuto withdraws his other hand from his pocket. He still doesn't show Akaashi his wrist, instead choosing to turn Akaashi's hand over in his, rubbing small circles into his palm as if he can massage away the setter's anxieties. It doesn't, but it goes a long way toward achieving that goal.
When Bokuto turns over his wrist, he mutters, "I told you so," so softly that Akaashi almost doesn't hear it over the beating of his heart in his ears. He wonders sometimes if his world is just a volleyball spinning on the tip of Bokuto's index finger considering the boy takes the liberty of stopping its rotation every now and then. He can't breathe. Oxygen is lost on him, even the most basic of involuntary functions become mentally taxing as he reads his own name on Bokuto's wrist in neat Kanji.
He has to think unnecessarily hard just to think of basic words to say. He has a million questions but words are flimsy and he feels too weak to even conjure any to mind. Bokuto lays Akaashi's hand in his, palm face up, but it doesn't stay that way for long. He turns his palm over, feeling Bokuto's callouses create a gentle friction against the sensitive skin of his wrist. And he trails his fingers, feather-light, over the spiker's pulse.
"Why aren't you mad at me? About what I said to you?" He's surprised at the roughness of his own voice, tears lining the back of his throat. He doesn't look up. He's scared.
This might be worse than coming out, he thinks. So much more personal. If someone doesn't want you because you're gay, that's a problem within themselves they should fix. But if someone doesn't want you because they don't want you, it hurts a thousand times more.
Bokuto taps twice with his index finger, a silent request for Akaashi to meet his eyes. The setter does, and he's sure his eyes are glittering with tears. A second time he's broken down in front of Koutarou Bokuto. This boy either has a talent or his existence just makes him weak. Bokuto smiles a soft smile. The sting is sweet.
"Because I get it. You're scared of having your heart broken the same way your parents did," Bokuto runs a hand through his hair which is currently down. It falls in his eyes, and Akaashi thinks he's never seen someone more beautiful in his life. "I understand..."
Silence grips them, but Bokuto doesn't let his statement go unfinished.
"But we're us," Barely a whisper. Akaashi melts.
They're so close now. He can't remember their movements, their slight adjustments in space so that they're standing chest to chest, inches apart. The warmth that radiates from Bokuto is hot and it should be uncomfortable in the humidity of the night, but it's comforting. A safety he wouldn't mind drowning in. Akaashi doesn't think he's ever wanted anything more than he wants Koutarou Bokuto. Because he does, truly, selfishly, want everything. Every part, every flaw, every crack in Bokuto's perfection.
"I'm sorry," Akaashi can't tell if he's apologizing for his words three months ago or what he's about to do or every moment in between that he'd ever given Bokuto anything less than he deserves. But his words are sealed against Bokuto's lips as his hand grips the spiker's wrist, pulling them closer so that their chests press together.
The sweet contact is fleeting, dusting Akaashi's lips with a sparkling feeling of forever, a numbness he won't shake and doesn't want to. But the fear of losing is back. The sudden remembrance that a soulmate can be anyone - a best friend, a sibling. A soulmate doesn't imply romance. The concept of an amorous connotation has no basis in statistics. Just because the majority of the population find the meaning of soulmate to be linked with that of romantic love doesn't mean everyone functions that way.
Akaashi collapses against the wall, hand coming up to shield his face. He's on fire, unable to differentiate the pain in his chest from the burning affection he feels. He's drowning in his own psyche, and the words he wants to say stay trapped behind intricately built walls years in the making. "Fuck. Soulmates don't have to be romantic. Polysemy-"
"Hey, stop covering your face," Bokuto's firm grip pries his hand away from his face. Calloused fingertips brush across his cheekbone, burning trails of a memory he never wants to forget against his skin. "You're too pretty for that."
Bokuto steadies Akaashi with a hand on his waist, and Akaashi willingly gives himself over to the sensation of stardust falling across his skin as Bokuto crashes their lips together. Akaashi's mind turns into white noise - conscious thought is replaced with the intoxicating taste of strawberries against his tongue, all he can feel is Bokuto's body pressed against his, warm, strong, safe. Bokuto's fingers fold around his as Akaashi brings his hand up to cup the spiker's face - an intimate feeling that makes his shiver run down his spine.
Maybe this is what a soulmate really is - someone who can make you feel like you're on fire while being the only thing that keeps you rooted to the ground most days. Maybe a soulmate is the only person that can send you into a euphoric high with only their words or a brush of their fingertips. Maybe Akaashi doesn't care what a soulmate is as long as his is Bokuto.
He breathes a sigh, short of breath against Bokuto's lips as they pull away. Bokuto's arms still hold him impossibly close, as if he's scared to shatter this new reality they're in. He presses another kiss to Akaashi's lips, gentle and languid, a lazy gesture that leaves a lingering sweetness Akaashi hopes will last forever.
"So, are we..." As someone who's never spent a day in his life out of shape, Akaashi has never felt this breathless over anything. It's dizzying, strange, euphoric. He can barely get the words out. "Koutarou, I...I know that... Do you love me?" It might be the most terrifying question he's ever asked. He, of course, receives a very Bokuto response.
Bokuto leans in, lips against Akaashi's ear, his warm breath sends shivers down Akaashi's spine, and he whispers,
"Owlways, 'Kaashi," Bokuto cannot actually be his soulmate.
"No," He untangles Bokuto's muscular arms from his waist. The spiker lets him go without fuss. He could easily overpower Akaashi if he wanted to, he's a six-foot-one mountain of pure muscle mass. Looking at him, you would think he'd be the kind of person to accidentally rip doors off their hinges. But secretly, he can't hurt a fly.
"No what?" Of course, he feigns innocence.
"I'm leaving you. We're breaking up," Akaashi deadpans.
"What- Oh come on! You love me," Bokuto's arms encircle his waist again and Akaashi loops his arms around the spiker's neck despite himself - it's an unbreakable habit, a gesture born from muscle memory. "Come on, say you love me."
"If you keep making owl puns, I never will."
"Well, Owl always love you. Even if you can't return the favor," Bokuto leans in to place another kiss on his lips, but Akaashi wriggles out of his grasp almost skillfully. A smile wants to bloom on his lips, but he doesn't let it. He'll get his chance to smile when Bokuto inevitably caves.
"Goodnight, I'm going back to bed," He informs the spiker in monotone as he begins to walk away. Akaashi might be quietly stubborn enough to keep walking if Bokuto does nothing, but thankfully he doesn't get the chance to test that theory.
"Wait, wait, I love you," An arm catches his waist before he feels himself being pulled against the spiker, chests colliding most ungracefully, but comfortingly warm. Sincerity is syrupy sweet in Bokuto's eyes. "For real. No joke," Their foreheads fall together and everything - the heartache, the fear of losing, the broken window that will cost him his social life - it all fades into the background as Bokuto whispers, "I love you, Keiji."
Is this why parents are so scared of their children dating? Are they worried they'll fall in love? That they'll realize that nothing matters more than this? Of course, his future matters. His grades, the college he goes to, the job he gets, it all matters. But it doesn't matter as much as this.
He'd give it all up for Bokuto, and if his parents say they'd do otherwise they're liars and hypocrites. His mother, his father, they already gave it up. They gave up their family and their lives. The difference with Bokuto is that he'd never ask that of Akaashi.
"I love you too, Kou," Another sweet kiss fills the space between them. It is languorous and soft a lazy affection. Redundancy is nowhere to be found; they could kiss a hundred thousand times - he hopes they will - and Akaashi would never get tired of the feeling. Akaashi doesn't realize his eyes are closed until he pulls away briefly to whisper, "Happy birthday."
-
When Akaashi turns seventeen, Bokuto's name appears on his wrist.
Bokuto cries. Akaashi rolls his eyes and tells him he should've known this was going to happen, that it was obviously going to be him. What he means to say is that it's always been him. And he almost doesn't say it. For another time, Akaashi almost doesn't say what he knows he should. But then he reminds himself of the moment he stopped lying - to Bokuto, to himself - and he says the words. He's done being a coward, Bokuto makes him brave. "It's always been you, Koutarou."
Bokuto cries more. Of course, he does, sensitive boy that he is. Akaashi can't say he doesn't like it - the way Bokuto doesn't bother with toxic masculinity. He's too good for it. It's better than sweet, more beautiful than perfect. So Akaashi lets Bokuto tangle his arms around the setter's torso and bury his face in his chest as they sit in Akaashi's living room. He strokes his fingers through Bokuto's hair, occasionally whispering a praise or an insult - both are welcome.
They spend the rest of their day with their limbs entangled while they watch every movie The Conjuring universe has to offer - Bokuto uses Akaashi as a teddy bear, and Akaashi can't find it in himself to mind. They order takeout and Akaashi's parents give them the house. They talk about the complex inner-workings of the universe while they pass a volleyball back and forth. They whisper sweet nothings that could mean everything between kisses traded back and forth. It's just them and only them, and Akaashi thinks it might be the best day of his life. It's a day well-wasted.
And when they fall asleep in Akaashi's bed, Bokuto's limbs wrapped around him protectively, face buried in the crook of the setter's neck, Akaashi, for once, doesn't worry about the future. He doesn't worry about the stability of lies ahead, he doesn't fear that the ground will suddenly crumble underneath him. Because Bokuto will be there to catch him if it does. He's a constant, a comfort that will span the length of forever, Akaashi knows.
He's no longer scared of falling in love, of knowing who he's meant for. As sleep lures him deeper, he knows, we have forever. Akaashi smiles at the thought.