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If Bokuto hadn’t caught himself at the last second, he would have put hair gel on his face and moisturizer in his hair. He really shouldn’t’ve stayed up all night studying, but what choice did he have? Mornings were for volleyball practice, afternoons were for classes and more practice. Which left little time for activities like homework or sleeping, and even less time to call his mom.
She texted him practically all the time. Things like “Good luck on your game tonight! I’ll be watching” and “We’re so proud of you…”
He was happy that she watched his games, but it was just another reminder of how much she was counting on him. His mom, his sisters, his former teammates, his whole hometown. They all wanted to see him play big at Fukurodani University. He’d felt the pressure when he played in high school, but it was different now.
A text notification lit up on his phone, displaying the time. He had five minutes before he needed to leave, if he was going to make it to his biology exam on time. All he could do was grab a protein bar and pull on his jacket, before heading out the door, passing by his unconscious roommate/best friend Kuroo who’d been up all night writing a paper.
If he walked fast enough, he’d be able to get a can of coffee from the Good vending machine on the other side of campus. The Bad ones only ever seemed to have weird sugary drinks and expensive barley teas that got stuck on their way down. But even the promise of Good hot coffee meant little to him: the straps of his backpack made his shoulders ache, and his feet dragged along the pavement.
It wasn’t just this morning. Everything made him tired, made the sky and the trees turn gray. Kuroo had once jokingly said that he was the kind of person who couldn’t see life’s colors unless he was in love—
—the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. Bokuto stopped and stared at the stranger walking past.
Sleep-tousled hair and long lashes, a face sculpted with the gentle gay hands of a Renaissance artist. A white collared shirt and a baggy brown sweater, cup of coffee from the cafeteria in hand: a whole bookworm look that Bokuto had never seen anyone pull off so well. Over his shoulder was a worn leather bag with a patch from the literature department, paperback novels threatening to spill from the top. His expression was grumpy, like a cat just woken up from a nap, but how did it look so beautiful?
Where he’d only felt hollow tiredness before, his body now thrummed with energy. Blood pounded in his heart, rushing to his face, every nerve screamed and sang. Before he could recognize his fight-or-flight response kicking in, his back had already met the side of a brick wall, lungs heaving.
You idiot!
As soon as he realized what his body was doing, he fought against it, peeking over the side of the wall for another glimpse at the enchanting stranger. He looked intelligent, like the sort of person who graduates and then becomes a young, hot genius professor.
He was walking with someone, a friend, because boyfriends don’t walk together like that. Bokuto would certainly hope that if he was walking with the beautiful stranger, Mr. Professor wouldn’t be looking so absentminded and running his fingers through short curls, oh god—
He certainly seemed like that Cruel Professor type, that would look at you over the rim of his glasses and twist his pretty mouth into a disapproving frown, which in the weirdest way made your pants tighter—
Wait, where was Mr. Professor?
Bokuto blinked. The mystery man was gone. His head swerved around like a buttered Hot Wheel car, but there was no sight of him. Except—
Where Mr. Professor had been standing, a book.
He rushed to pick it up, to return it to its owner, but Mr. Professor was already gone. Instead, he ran his fingers gently over the broken spine. Selected Poems of Oscar Wilde. On the first page, in the long, thin scrawl of an inky black pen, was written Akaashi Keiji.
Akaashi. Professor Akaashi. A laugh bubbled out of him—Professor Akaashi suited him really well.
Bokuto’s phone beeped.
[Text from: kuroo] good luck on your exam
[Text—delivered] Thanks bro!
He put his phone back in his pocket, flipping through the pages of the poetry book. The realization nearly knocked him off his feet.
“—MY EXAM?!” He gasped so loudly that a few other students turned around to look at him, but he was already dashing across campus. He ended up being late, but only by a few minutes, so the professor let him in the classroom.
Bokuto might as well have missed his exam. With how much room Akaashi had taken up in his mind, there was hardly any space left to process biology questions or remember their answers. He’d ended up running out of time, one of the few left in his desk filling in bubbles at random until the professor came around to collect their tests.
If Akaashi had been his professor, he would have studied harder.
A yawn found its way from his throat as he left the classroom, stretching his arms into the air. The grogginess he’d felt after waking up now returned to him, settling in his heels that dragged themselves to the nearest balcony.
A rush of early spring air greeted him, the late morning sun kissing his face and gently pulling down his eyelids. Bokuto settled onto a corner of the floor, tilting his head back and drinking in the midday warmth until he inevitably fell asleep.
Dreams of ocean-colored eyes and long fingers both tortured and tickled his brain, frustrating him so much that he woke up and pulled out the poetry book. Akaashi Keiji. Maybe if he went to the literature department, he would get the chance to leave him a note, maybe even meet him in person—
He stood up, his mind made. Until he looked out onto the grass and saw Akaashi sitting right there. His back to a tree, another book elegantly propped open against his knees.
“AKAASHI!” He blurted out.
Thankfully, Akaashi was too absorbed in his book to notice. Bokuto scrambled into the building, parkouring down stairs and nearly crashing into people until he finally stumbled outside, hurrying over to where Akaashi sat. “Are you Akashi?”
Akaashi looked up from his page, squinting. Finally, in the most angelic voice in the world, he said, “I’m Akaashi.”
Bokuto took off his backpack, digging through it. “I have your book. You dropped it.” His face was hot and his fingers didn’t work right; they opened and closed around the poetry book like a broken crane game. After a short moment that felt like forever, he extended the paperback.
“Oh.” Akaashi blinked. “Thank you.” He accepted it, hugging it close to his chest. Bokuto hoped he wasn’t imagining that little blush on his cheeks. “Why don’t you sit down? And tell me your name.”
Bokuto beamed, plopping himself beside Akaashi. He felt like he’d been asleep for a hundred years, and his prince had just kissed him awake.