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Akaashi is a little overwhelmed. 

His sets were the reason Fukurodani had lost the practice game against Nekoma. There’s about a week left until the Prelims, and while it’s not unusual for Fukurodani to have trouble with Kuroo’s blocking or Kenma’s analytical side, they’ve never lost in two sets this quickly. 

Akaashi knows volleyball isn’t an individual sport, but a setter carries the responsibility to put the volleyball in the most convenient and advantageous place for each of the spikers, in the same way that ace’s break through triple blocks and opposites score points steadily.

“Hey, hey, Akaashi.” Bokuto leans on the sink with his arms, to the left of Akaashi. “Don’t worry about it.” They’re in the locker room, Bokuto having chased after Akaashi when he left the court for a breather. Of course, since this is just a practice game, they’ll continue to a third and fourth and fifth set for fun but Akaashi needs a moment. 

“I know, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi reassures, filling up his water bottle in the sink. Bokuto’s holding the tap open although it’s unnecessary and he’s catching his breath.

Akaashi is thinking about what he did wrong. His feint was too obvious with Kenma’s quick eyes, and his serves just need more practice if he’s getting two in the net. For the next few sets, he should focus on getting the ball up, more time is always something they can work with, instead of rushing and sacrificing a few inches from the spiker in exchange for speed. Bokuto and Washio’s engines are still hot, so Akaashi should try to draw more out of them. 

“Hey.” Bokuto nudges Akaashi’s elbow. Sparks, still. Even though they started dating two months ago, the sparks and the butterflies haven’t gotten better. 

“Akaashi—” Bokuto reaches out and turns off the tap. Akaashi hadn’t realized water is spilling over the top of his water bottle and running down his hand. 

“Oh, thank you.” Akaashi turns it off, screwing on the cap. He shakes his wet hand over the sink before realizing Bokuto is watching him. 

“Anything wrong, Bokuto-san?” 

“You seem kinda distracted,” Bokuto notes, his head slopping to the right and eyebrows furrowed. “Want to take a breather? Are you sick?” 

“No, I’m okay. Thank you though.” 

Akaashi knows resting is important in any sport and their first-year setter, Anahori, is just raring for a chance to set against Nekoma, but Akaashi doesn’t want to stop. 

“You sure?” Bokuto lets go of the sink. He’s watching Akaashi hesitantly. 

“I’m sure,” Akaashi insists. 

He knows Bokuto understands where he’s coming from. They have similar views on volleyball, despite their contrasting personalities. Both of them can read the court, apply plays and have an honour code of wanting to stay on the court until the end. 

Bokuto nods, before heading towards the gym. 

Okay. Akaashi breathes in once, out once. Focus on height. Spacial awareness. Stay in sync with the rest of the team. Give Bokuto solid tosses. 

That reminds him. “Bokuto-san, sorry about that toss.” One of his tosses in the second set was too close to the net, forcing Bokuto to tip it over more than spike.

“Huh?” Bokuto turns in confusion. “Oh, it wasn’t really your fault because Komi’s receive was off in the first place.” 

Oh yeah. Akaashi forgot about that. 

“Right,” Akaashi corrects. He holds in a sigh. Being tired and the stress of finals coming up must be getting to him more than he thought. 

“Akaashi,” Bokuto accuses, hand about to push the locker room door open. “You better not be blaming yourself for the two sets we lost.” 

Normally Akaashi would say he isn’t, but Bokuto will know he is.

“I’m just,” he tries, “annoyed with myself.” 

Bokuto narrows his eyes. He sticks his hands on his hips, looking down at Akaashi from all one inch. 

“No one is allowed to annoy my boyfriend,” he says strictly. “Not even my boyfriend.” 

Akaashi grins a tiny bit. Boyfriend. 

“Akaash, you know it’s not your fault, we’re a team.” Bokuto sounds practical, like he’s sprouting common sense. “Don’t dump it all upon yourself.”

“I know,” Akaashi responds reflexively before Bokuto gives him a skeptical look. 

“I know,” Akaashi repeats, slower because he does know. Volleyball, at its core, is a team sport, even if Bokuto likes to stand out, and only Komi can save particular hits.

“You do? Make sure you do,” Bokuto orders like he’s not the one who always needs coaching. “We’re not leaving the locker room until you know.”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi tries to reproach. He hears the lit of amusement in his voice. “I got it.” 

Bokuto’s face softens into a smile. “Good. We’re going to beat Kuroo’s ass into the ground now.” 

That sobers Akaashi up. He’s got to rise for the occasion. 

Bokuto notices when the smile falls instantly, reaching up a hand to Akaashi’s shoulder. There’s an echo of volleyballs against the court from the other side of the door, and Akaashi can hear Yamamoto’s boisterous laughter from here. 

“Keiji,” Bokuto says softly. Bokuto only calls him Keiji when they’re alone. It’s a privilege that comes with dating, one Bokuto loves. He exercises it when they’re studying alone, or walking home and everyone else is a few paces ahead of them, or when they’re kissing to the soundtrack of 80s movies. 

“Keiji.” Akaashi’s aware that somehow they’re close now, one or two steps apart, and Bokuto’s hand is drifting up to his shoulder, coming to rest on the side of his neck. 

“Don’t feel alone on the court.” Bokuto continues. “We’re right here, and we’ll be holding down the fort if anything goes wrong.” 

Akaashi swallows. Bokuto’s not saying everything will be fine or he won’t make mistakes, he’s saying it’s okay to make mistakes and Fukurodani has his back. 

“You’re fighting the cats with us, alright?” Bokuto thumbs over his cheekbone. The gesture is so sweet Akaashi finds his hands floating to rest on Bokuto’s arm and around his back. This is too intimate for school grounds, for their volleyball locker room and teammates right over the wall. He’s well aware of that, but maybe it’s okay to take risks sometimes.

“Okay,” Akaashi exhales. Gold orbs meet his own green ones. “Okay.”

A chest bumps into his. If everything around them quieted down, Akaashi’s certain Bokuto would be able to hear his heartbeat. Maybe he can anyway.

“Can I?” Bokuto asks, voice hushed. 

Akaashi nods, shifting his weight onto his toes to lean forwards. The hand cupping his face gently titles it up as Bokuto leans down. 

And of course the butterflies bloom, wings scratching the sides of his ribcage and tickling all his nerves. 

Bokuto kisses him, sweetly and with support, holding Akaashi steadily. 

The butterflies don’t abate when they pull back, a pink tint on Akaashi’s neck and Bokuto’s hand still embracing him. 

Lips fall on his nose momentarily again. Bokuto’s grinning, he’s shimmering, as he always does after a kiss.

“Alright now?” Bokuto checks in again earnestly. 

“Mhmm.” Akaashi dips his head once. He’s less overwhelmed. “Let’s go beat Kuroo-san’s ass into the ground."

“Yosh!” Bokuto yells, swinging open the locker room door with vigour and lunging towards the rest of Fukurodani. Watching them is confronting, it’s a reminder they’re there for him and he’s there for them. Akaashi knows he’s lucky to set to Fukurodani, and lucky to watch Bokuto play.

---

Akaashi’s late, he’s late, he’s late. The watch on his wrist tells him it’s fifteen minutes past when he should’ve been on the subway to Bokuto’s game. It doesn’t help Akaashi’s also hungry and tired—work was strenuous today. He fidgets with his fingers.

Tenma Udai, Akaashi’s work partner from the manga firm and a Karasuno alumni, is accompanying him to the MSBY Jackals vs Schweidan Adlers V. League game. They’re going to interview a few players after for an Olympic special in their magazine. Even though Akaashi went to see one of Bokuto’s official games two weeks ago, he’s excited for this one. He’s sure Bokuto will be beyond eager to play against former alumni and their high school friends. 

The subway finally pulls up to the right stop and Akaashi hurries through the crowds. Tenma is hot on his heels, mind still probably focussed on his looming new manga.

“Here.” Akaashi yanks open the doors to the gymnasium, Kamei Sendai Arena, to a few people milling towards the court and the sound of a referee whistle. They’ve started already. 

“Akaashi-kun.” Tenma swerves to the left and Akaashi is pleasantly surprised. It’s an onigiri stand. Miya Onigiri. He’s been there a few times before; it’s got top-quality ingredients and above average service.

“Let’s hope they aren’t sold out,” Akaashi says to Tenma as they get into line. He knows how eager both teams of this match will be so it’ll be nice if he gets something to curb his appetite. 

When they get to the front of the line, Akaashi thinks Osamu recognizes him. Maybe from the team party a few months ago or perhaps even high school. He picks the nanohana and salmon roe onigiri. Tenma gets the ume okaka and salmon.

“The onigiri here is really delicious, do you think you’ll open a Tokyo branch?” Akaashi asks Osamu as he pays. If they do, then he can finally put into action the plans of raiding an onigiri shop. 

“Thank you, it’s still under review,” Osamu replies, looking gratified. It’s impressive that he runs his own business, especially in the food industry. 

He and Tenma duck into the gym, and he’s taken back to Fukurodani and their gym. Same bright lights, same cleaning smell in the air, same squeak of shoes and the way the volleyball conducts the entire gym from the top row of seats to the setters.

Akaashi’s eyes are drawn to Bokuto. He’s on the opposite side of the court, in his #12 MSBY jersey and his long knee pads. Never grew out of that habit from high school. Akaashi smiles. Bokuto’s in a receiving position, thighs bent and hands held in anticipation. At the moment, the ball’s floating above Kageyama’s head, and then in a split second it’s in front of Hoshiumi and almost on the court except the MSBY’s libero, Shion Inuaki, saves it. 

“It’s been a while,” Tenma exhales. He played volleyball in high school too. Akaashi nods. They find seats close to the court, next to Kuroo and Kenma. who get along with Tenma. Kuroo’s wearing a suit, something about being here for work, and Kenma’s sporting a beanie and a huge jacket. Ever since he became internet famous, Kenma only goes in public wearing generic imposter-y clothes. 

It’s crazy to think Akaashi played with many of the players on the court, now in the professional leagues. They’ve all got such intense hunger that’s radiating up from the court and challenging each other to reach for the higher stage. 

The first and second sets pass with the momentum swinging back and forth. The Adlers are the reigning champions of the title but the Jackals are adapting. They’re sneaky, with Hinata’s speed and Sakusa’s spikes. And Bokuto, of course. He’s leaping and running, blocking stronger than before and calling for tosses dependently. 

“His playing style is a little different,” Kenma remarks on Akaashi’s right. 

“It is.” Akaashi nods. 

Kenma’s right. These past years Akaashi’s watched Bokuto’s build himself up so every little thing doesn’t bother him. The weaknesses he used to keep track of in high school have mellowed out, being replaced by things like #3 - he can’t stand spotty wifi when they’re on Facetime or Skype, and #21 - he’d rather lose both his right and left hand than let Akaashi cry alone. Akaashi lives in Tokyo and Bokuto lives in Osaka with the Jackals, about a two-hour Shinkansen ride away. 

They see each other as often as they can and call all the time. It’s a hybrid of long-distance and trust. Since Bokuto travels for games periodically when he’s in a city close to Akaashi, they’ll meet up and go on dates, or kiss each other blue. For this game, Akaashi travelled two hours north with Tenma from Tokyo but it’s worth it. After this game and drinks, he’ll be spending the night with Bokuto.

Kuroo whistles at a clean cross shot. It’s got a spin the Adler’s libero just can’t correct, and the Jackals get the shot.

Bokuto looks up towards the stands, squirting from the glare of the lights and gives Kuroo a thumbs up. He spots Akaashi and waves two hands like a beacon. 

“Akaashi!” Akaashi can hear him from here. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed. The way Bokuto says his name, with warmth and excitement. 

Akaashi waves, grinning ridiculously. This is inappropriate, to interrupt a game just to say “hi”, but Akaashi couldn’t count the number of high school games Bokuto interrupted for smaller reasons, like he thought there was a rainbow outside or he left his school bag in the music down. Down on the court, Atsumu says something to Bokuto, whose jaw drops and shakes his hands in denial. Kuroo laughs from up here. 

“That’s not different at all.” Kenma looks at Akaashi from the side. “He sounds the same.” 

“I guess so,” Akaashi responds, hoping the eyes from the rest of the stadium will get off him. 

At the beginning of the fourth set, it’s 2 – 1 for the Jackals. Hinata’s receives have improved immensely from high school, when he had to rely on Daichi and Nishinoya to cover his blind spots. Really, all the development in this game is eye-opening. 

“Has their quick gotten faster?” Kuroo asks, eyes narrowed at the ball. Atsumu and Hinata are a force to be reckoned with. Akaashi had been surprised the moment he heard of someone else besides Kageyama who could set a quick like that to Hinata.

“Think so.” Kenma sounds curious. “I wonder how.” 

“Practice,” Tenma reasons. “And idiotic determination.” 

Bokuto plunges in for a back attack at that moment, leaping up. 

Akaashi once asked Bokuto if he realized when he’s about to spike he’s got this little smile. A little quirk of the corner of his lips and wide eyes like there’s no block he’s afraid of and it’s an adventure. Bokuto had shaken his head, and even though he had tried to sense it during his next practice, he hadn’t.

Akaashi’s really glad it’s still there. It’s like a signal Bokuto thinks the ball will always score, until sometimes it doesn’t. Even then, he’s gotten proficient at picking himself up right away. 

And that’s tided over to the rest of his life. Bokuto makes an attempt to learn about taxes with Akaashi, and he remembers to be on time, to keep coupons and how to make somewhat rational decisions. Now, when Kuroo’s involved it’s a different story, but he’s grown. It makes Akaashi’s heart swell with pride and affection. 

“Yosh!” The game’s been climbing from a deuce. 24 – 25 for the Jackals. 

The edge of Akaashi’s seat is digging into his thighs; he’s transfixed by the game. Atsumu’s serve forces Kageyama to chase it down and set it, with one hand. Romero, the Adler’s ace, takes advantage of an opening only for Hinata to dig it up. Atsumu sends it right back.

“That’s fast,” Kenma comments on his minus tempo with Hinata. It is. Blink and you’ll miss it. 

Kageyama’s block focuses Hinata to evade, but not enough. As it’s falling back over onto the Jackal’s side, he uses his foot to save it in midair. Atsumu sets to Bokuto. 

Ah. There it is. The smile.

Akaashi finds himself grinning as Bokuto slams the ball, scoring and sealing the win for the Jackals, 3 – 1.

“I can’t believe we played with those guys.” Kuroo’s looking down on the court wistfully, hands in his fancy suit. “They’re crazy.” 

Kenma nods. 

On the court, the Jackals are cheering and congratulating Hinata for his midair save. He’s jumping around; reenacting the plays animatedly like they weren’t all there. Bokuto ruffles his hair as they go to line up. 

“So we’re interviewing number 12, right?” Tenma asks.

“Get some dirt on Bo, Akaashi,” Kuroo urges. He’s such an enabler, only second to Suga. 

“You know him?” Tenma pulls a pad of paper out of his coat with all their standard questions for interviews. 

“Yeah,” Akaashi admits. He didn’t avoid telling people about Bokuto, but he also didn’t rent out billboards in Shibuya for it. Bokuto already shone on the court, Akaashi could selfishly keep some of his light for himself. “We played on the same team in high school and stayed friends for a long time.” 

Guess there’s no avoiding it. “We’re um, dating now.” 

Tenma’s disbelieving. “One, you’re dating Bokuto Koutarou-san? Number 12? And two, he’s your boyfriend? ” Particular emphasis on boyfriend. 

“Oh no. What did Bokuto do now?” Kuroo grins. 

“He’s the reason no one could do anything at our firm on Valentine’s day because Akaashi-san here got four dozen rose bouquets.” 

Kuroo cackles. 

“Did you have a hand in that?” Akaashi should’ve realized it sooner. He’d been teased endlessly about the roses and the whole firm had reeked like a perfume store after.

Kuroo only laughs harder. 

“So, we’re going to interview your boyfriend?” Tenma deadpans. Kenma lets out a small huff of amusement.

“I thought you told Tenma-san this already.” Kuroo’s laugh still hasn’t changed.

“Kuroo—” Akaashi’s voice is full of reproach. 

Tenma shakes his head. “No, I get it. The world is small. That’s cool, you played together in high school?” 

“Yeah, we did.” Akaashi thinks back to when he was exchanging those post-game handshakes, watching Komi and Bokuto horse around and everyone challenging each other at training camps. 

“Akaashi was the setter and Bokuto was the ace,” Kenma says. “They were pretty good.” 

“We were better,” Kuroo argues. 

“We won more practice games,” Akaashi points out. He’s picked up Bokuto’s competitiveness against the cats, even years later. 

“We could take you any day. Right, Kenma?” 

“No,” Kenma states, much to Kuroo’s horrification. “Kuroo, they’re literally interviewing Bokuto for the Olympic special.”

“Well.” Kuroo sounds pretentious. 

Tenma gestures to Kenma and Kuroo. “You two played, too?” 

“You bet.” Kuroo nods before looking out onto the entire stadium. “Most people in this gym have probably played volleyball before, maybe with someone on the Alders, or Jackals, or both.” 

Akaashi nods, spotting Kindaichi and Kunimi across the court, old Karasuno alumni, Osamu, even Washijo, the old Shiratorizawa coach if he’s not mistaken. 

“It’s a reunion,” Tenma says. It is. Kenma nods. Akaashi’s sure that even if people aren’t here in person, they’re watching through screens at home. Right now, Kageyama and Hinata are going off at each other again, their signature, “I’ll beat you next time,” etc, etc. Some spectators might find it childish, but anyone who plays volleyball knows that your opponents help you grow the most. Your opponents can be your strongest ally.

“Well.” Kuroo stands up. “Kenma and I are going to go talk to Chibi-chan for a JVA deal and press.” Kuroo’s here on work too, on behalf of the Japan Volleyball Association to work on promotion deals with the Jackals. “See you later?” 

“Yeah.” Akaashi waves them off. Kuroo never missed drinks. He and Tenma climb down the levels of stairs, making their way over to the designated press section of the gym. During important matches, it’s so full Akaashi has to fight tooth and claw to the front, but today there are only four reporters.

“So,” Tenma starts. “Childhood friends to lovers?” 

Scarlet. Akaashi’s neck might be scarlet. 

“Tenma-san!” Honestly, he’s grateful that Tenma isn’t bothered by the whole not straight thing. So far, they’ve been lucky. The Jackals absolutely love Akaashi and making fun of Bokuto, not to mention not all of them are completely straight either; but on the street, there are still snide glances and faces made when they publicly hold hands. 

“And now we’re going to interview him? That’s so cliché my teeth hurt.” Tenma’s smiling. 

Akaashi doesn’t know what to say. 

“That would be an insanely good manga plot,” Tenma mulls. He’s starting a new one in seven weeks, which is an insanely short amount of time to plan, characterize and finalize some plot. “Slice of life and rom-com, if you two were dating in high school. Or, if you guys played a lot of volleyball maybe shonen.” 

Akaashi clears his throat. “Bokuto-san and I met in high school, so I’m not sure if that qualifies as ‘childhood.’”

“Details, details.” 

Akaashi feels his phone buzz. Omw! from Kou.

“He’s coming soon,” Akaashi relays. He knows the Jackals address any demanding problem right after in the changing rooms after games, dissecting and finding ways to solve it.

“Okay.” Tenma instructs, “Let’s stick to the script for the beginning and then switch to free after. If you two—”

“Akaashi!” He’s quieter, and Akaashi instantly knows Bokuto’s trying to be professional about the interview. Of course, there’s the crazy wide and sweet smile on his face but he walks up with restraint, smiling at Tenma too. 

“Hi, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi resists leaning into him naturally. Bokuto's still wearing his jersey still, although he fixed his hair, possibly with Atsumu’s help, and showered. “This is Tenma Udai-san, my boss and the co-leader of Weekly Shonen Vai.” Tenma sticks out his hand. 

“Please call me Tenma.” Bokuto shakes his hand. “I used to play for Karasuno too, a long time ago. Thank you for taking time out of your schedule for this.” 

Bokuto nods eagerly. “Of course, thank you for working with me.” 

Tenma grins. “I’ve heard about your affiliation with Akaashi-kun. Very sweet, if I may say.” 

“Keiji!” Akaashi grins involuntarily. Don’t get him wrong, he likes being called, “Akaashi”, but “Keiji” is something else. His first name just sounds so pretty on Bokuto’s lips. 

“Sorry, it just came out with Kuroo and Kenma.” Akaashi ducks his head. “And now Tenma-san has a face to put to the rose incident.” 

Bokuto grins widely, rocking on the balls of his feet. He’s still fired up from the game. 

“Anyway.” Akaashi pulls out his voice recorder. “Should we start?” 

“Based on your recent stats and the impressive number of goals you’ve managed to rack up, do you think you’re in top form?” Akaashi completely transforms when he’s interviewing. Bokuto remarked on it once, saying he sounds all business-like and similar to a news anchor. The three of them are in the lobby of the venue as a sound muffler. The lobby is grand, all sloping ceilings and funny statues on the wall. 

Bokuto shakes his head. He’s been incredibly receptive to all their questions, providing anecdotes about Sakusa and Atsumu’s fights over ramen broth, his specific and broad goals, and what everyone should know about volleyball. Exactly when Tenma and Akaashi usually have to dig for. 

“Not exactly, I’m just trying to play normally.” Bokuto’s told Akaashi about this “normal” thing before but he’s still not sure exactly what it means.

He tries, “Does that mean this is your new normal?” 

“Everyone else is so strong, they have their own talents and skills and I’m normal in the way we’re all climbing to a higher stage, trying new things and honing old experience. Anyone who isn’t giving their 120% would be devoured,” Bokuto explains. 

So he means it’s normal to give 120% here, and he’s simply doing the same. 

Akaashi nods understandably. “I see. Everyone is reaching for their top form.” Tenma takes a note. 

“Can you tell us about the Jackals as a team?” Tenma clicks his pen and Bokuto perks up at the mention of his teammates. “Do you have pre-game rituals, jokes, or gym competitions?”

“We do!” Bokuto instantly jumps on the questions. “Before games Sakusa always mediates and Atsumu mimics him, and then Barnes will give us an overview of the team we’re playing to code words for plays and goals for today, oh and Hinata always brings this little box of antacids for our stomachs and right before Sakusa will tape anyone’s hands.”

Akaashi can tell there’s more he could say, and he might personally hear them later, but Bokuto holds back for the sake of time. It’s been over an hour. 

“That’s incredible. They’re like family to you, no?” Tenma’s writing furiously. 

“They are, especially since we travel so much and have to know each other to play well.” Bokuto’s rocking back and forth on his feet. “We bond over getting food and training, and of course, volleyball.” 

“Is there anything else you’d want to tell young kids just getting into volleyball, or people who are thinking of trying it?”

Bokuto sticks out a hand like he’s thought of this. “I want to tell people they should find a community that wants to help them crush the next guy, and will support risks and make the losses feel less awful, because volleyball is a team sport.” 

“Alright.” Akaashi knows Bokuto recognizes how crucial everyone on Fukurodani was in high school. “We can write that in.” 

Tenma takes the voice recorder from Akaashi. “Again, this is Bokuto Koutarou, #12 from the MSBY Black Jackals, on November 18, 2018, with Udai Tenma and Akaashi Keiji from Weekly Shonen Vai. Thank you.” He switches it to off. 

“Akaashi-kun, I’m going to see if I can get a word in with their athletic trainer for some more content, but feel free to stay behind with Bokuto-san.” Tenma doesn’t give Akaashi a chance to answer. “See you tomorrow!”

Tenma bows to Bokuto. “Thank you for letting us interview you, and good luck with your next game.” 

“No, thank you.” Bokuto bows back. “Thank you, oh, Keiji! Thank you too.” 

“Bokuto-san—” Akaashi sighs. He turns to Tenma. “Good night Tenma-san, have a good night. Stay safe.” 

Tenma waves once, and then is off. 

“Keiji, you were so professional today, all—” Bokuto does an impression of Akaashi—”’How do you think this outcome will shape your future starting line’—and—‘Can you tell me more about the team chemistry?’” Bokuto laughs. 

“You played well today too.” Akaashi allows himself to step a little closer to Bokuto. Not intimately, just so their orbits overlap a little more. “If you haven’t spiked it at the end successfully I’m sure Kageyama-kun would’ve taken advantage of the opportunity.” 

Bokuto nods, surely. “And then Hinata would’ve run up like he does to block Kageyama and man! Now I wish we got to play longer.” 

“Next week, right?” The Jackals have another game. Akaashi absentmindedly takes the arm offered to him, naturally interlocking. 

“Yeah, but it’s not against the Adlers. Do you want to walk around the venue once?” Bokuto looks so hopeful at the prospect of spending time together before debriefing with his team. 

“Okay.” Akaashi smiles. “Let’s do that.”

Akaashi readjusts his glasses when they step outside. It’s chilly outside. Maybe winter’s coming early. He glances over at Bokuto only in his jersey, who isn’t even shivering. Superhuman for sure.

“Hey, Keiji.” His name is prettier when Bokuto says it. It really is. 

Besides Akaashi and Bokuto, there are some stragglers milling around or waiting for acquaintances.

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you for coming to watch me. I know you came with work too, but still. It’s nice knowing you’re watching us play.” Bokuto reaches out, pulling on Akaashi’s brown sleeve so it covers more of his wrist. 

“Of course. This one was too special not to be here.” With all their friends, Akaashi would’ve come to watch even if work wasn’t sending him. “And now we have drinks.” 

“Drinks!” Bokuto squeezes his arm. “Stay with me at the restaurant tonight, okay?” Bokuto never let Akaashi off the hook after the one time he’d run outside with Kenma and Oikawa only to get lost. 

“Only if you beat Kuroo at arm wrestling.” Not that Akaashi needs to egg him on.

“Of course I will. Watch me beat him.” Bokuto grins goofily, like they’re back in high school and it’s completely acceptable to invade restaurants only to arm wrestle when drunk and talk about sports. 

Akaashi laughs at it. He loves it. He loves Bokuto’s smile. 

Bokuto asks with his eyes, smiling only growing when Akaashi nods in consent. 

Being in public never bothered Bokuto as much as it bothered Akaashi. Any side-eye was met with squeezing Akaashi’s hand only tighter and asking if he was okay at home. Once, Bokuto had kissed him in front of a homophobic couple who had spat at them, lifting Akaashi off his feet and spinning around like the movies. It was magical. 

Kissing Bokuto is also magical. It’s like home is wrapping its arms around Akaashi, pulling him in; and the butterflies are still there. They’re always there for Bokuto. 

A thumb ran over his cheek, warm hands against the cold air and if he could, Akaashi would hotwire them to his heart and keep them there. Bokuto’s hands are rough and calloused and hold him like the sky holds clouds, or sheet music holds melodies. 

Whimsically, but with absolute, steady certainty. With happiness. 

Bokuto’s radiating happiness when they pull back. Akaashi wonders if his cheeks ever hurt from smiling, glowing all the time. 

“I’ll see you tonight, okay?” Bokuto says. 

“Yeah,” Akaashi exhales. And then childishly, “I’ll miss you.” He’s annoyed at himself for saying that out loud, but it’s true. It’s harder to leave Bokuto after being with him. Withdrawal, and all. God, he sounds like a princess straight out of a fairy tale book. What kind of Cinderella ball thing was all this, “I’ll see you tonight.” Akaashi can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or doesn’t care.

Bokuto laughs. “It’s only an hour or two.” 

Akaashi fixes him with a monotone look. If deadpan could be a look, that would be it. 

“I’ll miss you too.” Bokuto kisses him once again, short and sweet, before stepping away. He waves energetically once, looking over his shoulder before falling into a jog. 

Akaashi watches him disappear behind the venue doors before cursing himself. This is princess and prince or royalty shit. He sighs, but he knows it sounds wistful. 

---

There’s so much screaming, it’s ear-deafening and soul-shaking and Akaashi’s yelling too but the arena’s so loud he can only feel the vibrations in his throat and down to his core. His voice blends with the millions of other spectators that just watched Japan snatch the bronze medal at the Olympics. 

The National team is falling over each other in a pile in the middle of the court, Hinata lunging for anyone he can hug and coaches rushing out to congratulate them. The crowd is still in awe at the last quick Atsumu and Sakusa (Sakusa!) pulled off in the nick of time to secure a deuce and then the rallies ensuing that seemed to test the patience of time itself. 

“Holy shit!” Kuroo yells, pumping his fist in the air from Kenma’s booth. Since he’s a sponsor, he’s extremely close to the court. Akaashi’s right beside them with work passes and a new intern. “These guys are insane!”

They are. The number of dives and saves and such intense serves are making Akaashi’s head spin. He’s got so much to cover.

“That might be the play of the year, folks, the Japanese National Team just stole the game from the defending champions with Morisuke Yaku, their libero who set to Kageyama Tobio, who is traditionally their setter, wow, everyone—”

Akaashi’s hands hurt from clapping and he drinks in the sight of the entire team joyful and celebrating. They got off to a rough start at the Olympics and now they’re here. Taking home bronze. 

“Akaashi! Let’s go down!” Kuroo’s pulling on his shoulder with a maniacal grin. 

Akaashi stands up, and he can still feel the cheering in his blood, it’s echoing in the air from the stands. Even the other side cheers for the good game. 

“Kenma! Kenma!” Hinata’s jumps on Kenma, full force and then would’ve gone tumbling to the ground except Kuroo backs them up. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Hinata’s hugging and shaking Kenma so hard Akaashi’s worried about his eyes. 

“Yes, yes.” Kenma pries of Hinata’s hands. “You weren’t boring.” 

“Kuroo-san! Akaashi-san!” He’s slipping into high school nicknames. “Did you see at the end? When I received like bam and the Yaku, Yaku set—oh my goddess he has to get MVP—and then Kageyama went whoosh and it slammed into the ground and we won, oh my goodness, did you see, did you see?” He’s bounding around the three of them like a jack-in-a-box, jumping with each sound effect. 

“I did.” Akaashi smiles at the boy he used to practice against. 

“We did, Chibi-chan. Your receives could rival Yak-kun’s now.” Kuroo grins at the former alumni who comes over and bowls Kuroo over. 

“Yaku-san! Your set was so cool, it was amazing!” Hinata’s yelling and bounding and Yaku’s yelling and bounding and Akaashi’s laughing at them all. 

“Oi! Boke!” A hand snatches Hinata’s hair. Kageyama. “Nice cover.” 

Hinata looks so self-satisfied. But then Kageyana’s watching him expectantly and Hinata petulantly keeps his mouth shut. 

“Hey!” Kageyama shakes him around. “Hey!” 

“Nice spike!” Hinata leaps onto Kageyama in a giant bear hug, prompting another stream of, “boke, boke, boke.” 

Kenma huffs with amusement. 

“Some things never change,” Kuroo remarks as the two former Karasuno players run into Atsumu who says something to piss off Kageyama and makes Hinata grin. 

“Never.” Akaashi’s eyes are moving to find that one person. 

“Kaashi!” He hears footsteps coming from behind him at an alarming rate and then Bokuto’s jumping onto him, a smile taking up half his face. 

“Kaashi! Kaashi! We won, we won!” Akaashi manages to catch him with his arms, supporting his waist as Bokoto swings around joyfully. “We won!” 

“You did.” Akaashi’s filled with cups and cups and heaps of joy, if it could be measured it would break the scale because Bokuto’s so happy, his heart’s even louder than the cheering and Akaashi can hear it. “You did it.” 

Bokuto grins stupidly for a moment, drunk on victory and adrenaline. 

“We got bronze,” he says with giddy. “We won!” Bokuto lets out a holler, swinging his fists in the air when Akaashi sets him back down on the gym floor. 

“Watch me get gold next time,” Bokuto challenges Akaashi. 

“I know you will, But Kou—” it slips out “—Koutarou—” he decides is fine, even in public. It’s a special day. “—I’m proud of you. I’m really proud.” 

Bokuto’s jaw falls open and he blinks rapidly. Then faster than Akaashi’s eyes can catch up he pulls off his Olympic jacket for National Japan, the red one, and throws it over Akaashi’s shoulders. 

“Wear it,” he says over the cheers around them. “Put it on, Akaashi.”

In the back of his mind Akaashi knows this is Bokuto’s jacket, people will know something’s up, but he pulls it on quickly. It sags around his shoulders. It’s bright red, matching all the uniforms of the team with a snug collar and geometric patterns. Bokuto reaches down and snaps up the zipper. 

“Keiji, you helped me too, this is your victory as much as it is mine,” Bokuto spills, he’s struggling for words and Akaashi doesn’t have any either. 

So he throws himself around Bokuto again, arms wrapping around his neck. Bokuto catches him with ease, recounting and game wildly, wildly and with an abundance of energy. 

“Did you watch, that—the cross shot, with Atsumu, his tosses are getting so much better, I was worried it wasn’t going to get it past the blockers, but I did—and then when Yaku—” 

Akaashi kisses him. 

He didn’t mean to, he just did and then he’s pulling back in shock and worry he just exposed Bokuto, but Bokuto’s smiling even larger.

“It’s okay, Keiji.” 

Akaashi swallows, nodding and trying to keep his head on straight. He’s intoxicated by Bokuto’s jacket hugging him, and cheering that’s passing him in slow motion, and the bright, million-watt smile in front of him. 

“Again?” Bokuto asks with confidence. 

“Again.” 

Bokuto’s kiss screams passion, it screams this is us, we’re here, we won . Akaashi’s arms are around his shoulders, and there are hands on his waist, holding him steadily and Akaashi could live in this moment forever. If it was painted as a picture, the colours would be fluorescent and acrylic, permanent and bright and vibrant. 

Somewhere close to him, Akaashi hears Kuroo’s laughter and Hinata screeching, camera shutters and there are probably millions of eyes on them but Akaashi doesn’t care right now. 

“Keiji, thank you, really. Thank you,” Bokuto says when they pull back. He’s so happy that Akaashi hurts, in the best way possible. 

“Of course, stupid.” Akaashi kisses him again. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Because this is it. This is his world.

---

Bokuto is a tactile boyfriend, fond of kisses and handholding and being connected. Akaashi doesn’t mind humouring him.

And it makes sense, of course, he’s extra touchy today. 

It’s the day of their wedding. 

After the National Team took home gold in 2025, in the evening, Bokuto proposed to Akaashi. They were in Paris, walking near the river when Bokuto had sunk to one knee, tripping over his words and just asking Akaashi to stay by his side, to choose him over and over, to love each other.

He said yes, yes, always.

So here they were, a few measly hours away from being married. 

Damn. 

They’re in one of the storage rooms, being stupid. Stupidly dancing to a slow dance song, one from the 80s they’re both familiar with from high school and the afternoons spent kissing, humming and rocking back and forth. 

It breaks all the rules. The one to start apart until the ceremony, to spend the last moments untied with their family, to be welcoming and thanking guests with their parents, to be getting ready and speaking with their groomsmen.

However, Kuroo and Kenma are handling the magic behind the scenes. 

And even if they weren’t, Akaashi can’t bring himself to step out of Bokuto’s embrace. Their right hands are locked together. Akaashi’s other one is looped around Bokuto’s waist and Bokuto’s hand is on Akaashi’s chest. 

It’s cramped in the storage room, with boxes or extra cutlery and napkins, stacks of chairs and about ten brooms. It’s dark too, and Bokuto blends in with his dark suit. His hair reflects the faint light from the crack in the door as they sway back and forth. Simple, easy steps that are somewhat out of place with the music. 

“Keiji?” Akaashi hears the mingling guests outside. 

“Yeah?” 

Bokuto guides their feet to a stop. He brushes a hair through Akaashi’s hair even though Akaashi knows it’s organized. Or was a second ago. Bokuto’s is brushed back, and by god, Akaashi has to convince him to wear it like that more often.

“I just—” He chokes. 

“Mhmm?” Akaashi prompts, gently, gently, gently. Bokuto looks pretty here, in Akaashi’s arms. He’s pretty all the time, on the court, in their shared apartment, in old oversized clothes and when the rain has drenched his hair. 

“I love you.” 

Bokuto says it so honestly that Akaashi’s heart inflates, floating up towards the ceiling and through the roof. 

He swallows, although it’s hard. Bokuto’s funny like that. Even though everything is easy with him, sometimes the simplest things become challenging. Like breathing, in high school, and setting volleyballs some days. Like walking, forming thoughts, articulating his ideas. Even now, before their marriage, Akaashi’s isn’t sure he’s mastered his vows. 

He means them, of course, and knows them inside out, but how do you really articulate how much you love someone? It’s a feeling, a huge, gaping, billowing feeling that’s hard to just promise. A promise seems like such an underwhelming concept compared to Akaashi’s love for Bokuto. 

“I love you too,” he says instead, even though that’s an understatement. “I love you so much.” That’s a little better. 

Bokuto sighs through a smile. He looks at their hands holding each other in the faint light. 

“Ready?” Akaashi asks. “Ready to get married, fiancee?” Ready to have a gold ring on that ring, one that matches mine?

“I’ve been ready for a long time, Kaashi.” 

Akaashi laughs. 

So have I , he thinks. So have I.

Akaashi is going to be given away by his mom, who loves Bokuto wholeheartedly. Both of them are lucky their parents were mostly supportive, even though they came out to half the world in one go. He walks down the aisle, slowly, intent in each step towards his future.

Kenma, Suga, and his brother are waiting for him at the end of the aisle as his groomsmen. Kenma offers him a small smile of confidence, encouragement as Akaashi walks past the aisles. Their wedding is a smaller event, with about seventy family and friends. They smile as he walks by. Akaashi registers Komi, and Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, Daishou, everyone he met in high school volleyball here. It’s funny, how a hobby he picked up in middle school is now at the center of his world. 

Without it, he wouldn’t have gone to Fukurodani, and Nationals. Without it, he wouldn’t have been able to joke with Kenma, go out for coffee with Suga, go to training camps with Fukurodani. Without it, he wouldn’t have met Bokuto.

When he and his mom reach the altar, Akaashi smiles at her, brightly. 

“Thank you.” He means it. He really does.

She nods but Akaashi can see the tears hovering in her eyes. His mother lets his arm go, and then Akaashi’s alone at the altar. He turns around, slowly, but like usual, but eyes are magnetically drawn to Bokuto. Or where Bokuto is supposed to show up. 

His groomsmen come out first. Akaashi can hear Kuroo sniffling already, and Kenma’s quiet laugh at it. Hinata’s brighter than the sun when he waltzes down in his spiffy suit, and Konoha looks content. They all nod at Akaashi, smiling like they’re in on a secret. 

The room changes. The music shifts, people perk up, Akaashi senses him. 

Bokuto appears. Same dark suit, same slicked back hair and radiant eyes from the supply closet, but Akaashi forgets how to breathe again. Bokuto has a talent for doing that.

He walks up with a beat in his step, in the middle of too-fast-I’ll-get-whiplash and too-slow-hurry-up-so-I-can-kiss-you. Akaashi’s shaking. He’s overwhelmed, it’s only Bokuto, but it’s Bokuto. It’s Bokuto, his best friend and lover, his person he wants to go through life with. It’s a lot right now. 

And then Bokuto’s standing beside him, closer than they practiced because he senses Akaashi’s distress. He shots a quick look at Akaashi, you okay?

Akaashi smiles wobbly back. Yes. Yes.

The vows are also too long and too short. Too much and not enough. Every superlative under the sun.

“Keiji.” It’s Bokuto’s turn to say his vows. “Keiji Akaashi.” 

Akaashi’s feel himself slip and fall a little more in love. His name, of course, is still pretty on Bokuto’s lips. 

“I’m in love with you.”

Bokuto continues, “You know I am. I’ve been in love with you longer than I haven’t. I’ve been in love with you longer than I knew, or you knew, or anyone knew. And I don’t see that changing ever.” 

Bokuto’s speaking honestly. “I know, I’m lucky to have you, I’m lucky to love you and I’m incredibly lucky that you love me back. I wrote my vows about a million times—Kuroo can tell you how many vow versions he had to listen to—but that’s not important. I wrote them about a million times and it still wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what I wanted to say.” 

Bokuto takes a deep breath. “I suppose, what I’m trying to say is—” 

He exhales. “I love you.” The three words are so honest, so pure and unfiltered and maybe Akaashi was wrong, maybe those words can capture how you feel about someone because Akaashi knows acutely that Bokuto’s swelling with love like an ocean after a rainstorm, he’s feeling as viciously as Akaashi is. 

Akaashi’s vows feel off-center now; how is he supposed to compete with that? But Bokuto’s so attentive to the words he’s saying that Akaashi continues, speaking from his heart and deriving from the paper he wrote a week ago, just to explain how fucking much he feels. 

The venue is silent after Akaashi’s vows save for Kuroo’s quiet crying. 

And then words pass by, flying off the paper, and into Akaashi’s life, and then the two rings are staring at him. 

Gold bands, one for Bokuto and one for him, solid with a design on the inside they both picked.

Bokuto’s hands shake as he takes Akaashi’s. 

“Can I?” He asks. 

“Yes, yeah,” Akaashi breathes out unsteadily. “Please.” 

Bokuto laughs. “Keiji, I really love you.”

“I know.” He does, because he feels the same way. Akaashi watches the gold band slide firmly onto his fourth finger. It’s stealing his breath too, it’s hard to speak. But he takes the other band, a slightly bigger size, and guides it to Bokuto’s fourth finger. 

He looks up at Bokuto once, just to catch his eyes, full of readiness. Bokuto nods, encouragingly. 

It fits perfectly, as they planned, and Akaashi grabs Bokuto’s left hand to compare with his. Two bands, two gold futures. 

And then there are words again, but Akaashi can only see Bokuto, and his impossibly wide smile, his giant gold orbs and how joy is etched into every line of his face. 

“—may kiss!” 

Akaashi pitches towards Bokuto, arms flying straight out and colliding like black holes. Bokuto holds his chin, and this, this is the easy part about being in love. The kissing, holding each other, the whole concept of loving is easy when it’s Bokuto. 

“Keiji,” Bokuto says his name so tenderly when he pulls back Akaashi could cry. 

They’re married. Married. 

Akaashi laughs with joy. Bokuto’s laughing too, god, he’s beautiful, and it’s everything.

“I love you.” Akaashi kisses him gently again, even though it’s hard to kiss and laugh at the same time. He knows Bokuto knows, but this is also easy. To say it.

“I love you too,” Bokuto promises, that’s how it sounds, like a promise, and then Akaashi is crying. He feels tears streak down his cheeks, even though he couldn’t be smiling wider. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Akaashi repeats though crying and smiling and so much. 

Bokuto kisses him again. 

“Keiji,” he declares. “Let’s grow old together.” 

Akaashi is a little overwhelmed, and in the best way possible.