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Since the very first day Keiji moved in with Kenma and Kuroo, he decided Kuroo was a pain in the ass. The man absolutely loved to torture him and provoke him, trying to get a reaction out of him, which of course Keiji promised himself would never happen. He couldn’t give Kuroo the satisfaction after all.
Besides, for how much he complained about it, Keiji still loved to banter with Kuroo, getting a hit in and receiving one in turn, fast paced discussions that he could only really have with his flat mate.
Keiji comes home one night, after a terrible date with a guy from his biology class, to find Kuroo and Kenma watching some trashy reality show in the living room. He immediately takes off his shoes and slumps between them on the couch, resting his head on Kenma’s shoulder and closing his eyes while this one rubs circles on his arm in a soothing motion.
“So, I take it the night went well?” inquires Kuroo.
Keiji just groans in response, curling up more beside Kenma and trying to tune out the taunts he’s sure will come at any moment.
“You haven’t gone on a date in so long, poor Keiji, and this one was a disaster too?” There it is.
Keiji slowly opens his eyes and sighs, he turns to Kuroo and stares at him with such ice in his eyes that if tiredness didn’t cloud them, the other would drop dead in an instant.
“It was terrible, really terrible. He had clearly never gone on a date before and I don’t have much more experience, you know, so it was incredibly awkward. And as you can see, I’m back while you two old men are still awake.”
Kenma starts stroking his hair and comments, “He’s an idiot if he lets you get away after you accepted to go out with him. It’s his loss, believe me.”
Keiji smiles a bit at that, sincerely for the first time that evening.
That is until Kuroo speaks again.
“You’ll find your soulmate one day, Akaashi, maybe when you’re eighty. Don’t give up! Although, you’re so unlucky when it comes to love, I wonder what you did in your past life.”
“I don’t want to argue with you now, you’re a douchebag as usual, nothing more, unfortunately.”
“Because there’s no argument here, dear Akaashi,” Kuroo snickers, sensing the topic is not actually a sore one from Keiji’s little fighting smile, one corner of his lips raised slightly, his eyes blazing and his mind working on a retort.
Kenma whispers in Keiji’s ear and his blue eyes light up with mischief. He surprises Kuroo by jumping up on the couch and then on top of him, restraining his movements and tickling the sensitive spot on the side of his ribcage.
Kuroo starts thrashing underneath him, but Keiji’s stronger that he seems and Kenma definitely sat on top of Kuroo’s legs just now.
“Stop, oh my god, Akaashi please, I’ll shut up I swear. Damn you Kenma!” Kuroo menages to stutter out between a fit of laughter and another. Kenma just snickers behind Keiji, tickling him lightly on the soft skin behind his knees.
Finally, when it seems like Kuroo is having a hard time even breathing, Keiji decides to show some mercy and stops the assault, pinning his wrists beside his head and looking down on him with an aura of victory surrounding him.
“Are you done then?”
Kuroo looks up with fiery eyes and tries to engage in a staring contest, not giving up but wary of this new weapon Kenma has given him. “Fine, I’m done, but you have to admit you are particularly unlucky in love.”
Keiji frowns at him and sits down on his hips, giving up the fighting stance but still keeping Kuroo’s wrists locked in his grasp. “It’s not my fault there’s no one interesting at school,” he sighs.
“Oh please, I’m sure there are plenty of interesting guys at school you can go out with.”
Keiji just laughs at him – admittedly, if he only socialized more, he could probably find someone, but he’s not going to agree with Kuroo, so he just asks teasingly, “Oh really, like you, Tetsurou?”
Keiji can feel Kenma’s laugh from where it reverberates on his back, that Kenma’s leaning on.
Kuroo, instead, goes silent for a moment, dumbfounded, and then replies, “Yes, why? Do you think I never go out with anyone?”
“What? That’s not what-”
“Because I do, for your information,” continues Kuroo, unaware of the way Kenma stiffs at his words and Keiji immediately lets go of his wrists. “Actually, I’m dating someone right now, unlike the two of you.”
Keiji is frozen in place, unable to take his eyes off of Kuroo’s fiery hazel ones; they shimmer in the low light of the warm lamp beside the couch, they feel so cold still.
Kenma peaks over Keiji’s shoulder and stares at one point over Kuroo’s shoulder, gaze distant, detached. “What does it mean? Are you dating them or just sleeping with them?”
Keiji can’t help but gasp silently, imperceptibly and slump on himself a bit more. He still feels Kuroo’s strong thighs beneath him, Kenma’s hand on his back, but everything starts to fade as he retires more and more deeply into his mind.
“Sleep with them?” echoes Kuroo. “Have I ever been the type to just sleep around, Kenma?”
Now Kenma meets his gaze, replying, “No, nerd, but you’ve never dated much either.”
A scornful laugh escapes Kuroo’s lips, catching Keiji’s attention again. “Well, now I am.”
Silence falls on the trio, the sound of the television still on reaches Keiji’s ears as if from another apartment; he suddenly feels so very tired, but he’s not ready to give up this remnant of warmth that comes from the touch of his two best friends.
“I’m tired, sorry, I’ll just go to sleep.” Kuroo abruptly sits up, now incredibly closer to Keiji’s face, their noses mere centimeters apart. He’s never felt so keenly the absence of something so close. “I’m sorry your date didn’t go well, Akaashi.” Kuroo doesn’t sound sincere, more like someone who’s just eaten something rotten, but Keiji’s mind is in such a frenzy he’s not sure of the objectiveness of his own observations.
He silently steps sideways in a heap on the couch, Kenma does the same beside him. Kuroo stands up and is about to leave the living room when Keiji hears his own voice say, “Can we meet them?” He gulps. “This person you’re dating, I- I want to meet them.”
Kuroo doesn’t turn around but he halts at the doorway to his room. “Of course.”
“On Saturday then,” Kenma intervenes. “We can go to the coffee shop near the station.”
“Okay.”
And then it’s just them, Keiji and Kenma, sitting on the couch with the television in the background and the light shining sideways on their faces, shadows dancing in their eyes when their gazes meet in the middle, a string of understanding and clarity connecting them, their pinkies linked on the cold leather.
Tetsurou had fucked up.
He realized so as soon as he closed the door of his room and leaned against it to support his weak knees.
He had astronomically fucked up, and all because he panicked. Akaashi’s weight on him, his mischievous smile and his hands on his wrists, not to mention Kenma so close to him too. Of course, he panicked. He’s not supposed to have a crush for his best friends, that’s just not allowed.
Now he’s fidgeting with his pen while sitting in class, not following a word the professor is saying, just wishing he could turn back time and sew his mouth before Akaashi came home. He starts nervously tapping with the pen on the desk. He runs his fingers through his hair – no doubt making it a thousand times messier - in search of an answer to his troubles, maybe a handsome stranger to bring to this “date” with Akaashi and Kenma.
He’s never actually had a fight with his flat mates in all the time they’ve lived together, he’s never even seriously fought with Kenma either, and they’ve known each other basically all their lives. He always bickers with Akaashi, that’s true, but it’s always playful (like before you opened your damn mouth, an annoying voice, that sounds suspiciously like his older sister, reminds him); in any case, they’ve never argued seriously about anything.
Could this even be considered a fight? It was probably more passive aggressive than an actual flaming fight.
What matters now is that the situation is tense, and he can’t stand that. The icy look in Akaashi’s eyes at breakfast, Kenma’s silent disdain, it made him want to scream in his pillow until the situation fixed itself.
He can’t do that, though, he has to fix it himself. But he has absolutely no intention of a making a fool of himself by showing up alone at the coffee shop after boasting about an imaginary significant other.
He’s so absorbed in his own thoughts, it takes a while to realize the guy beside him is tapping along with his own pen on the desk, seemingly following the rhythm Tetsurou is generating.
He halts his movements, staring at the boy in confusion.
“Wait, why did you stop? We were doing great!” exclaims his seatmate, pouting in a terribly adorable way.
“What are you even doing?” asks Tetsurou, incredulous. He can’t help but focus on the muscles of the other’s arms and back when he stretches and puts down the pen, just to turn to him again and flash a charming smile and shining gold eyes.
“I liked your rhythm…”
“Kuroo. Kuroo Testurou,” he replies the unasked question and sees his eyes light up even more, impossibly bright and warm under the hideous neon lights of the classroom. “And you are, mysterious musician?”
He laughs, such a heartwarming sound it manages to cheer him up just like that, if only a little. “I’m Bokuto Koutarou, nice to meet you!”
Their eyes stay locked for a few moments that seem to stretch on forever, until Tetsurou thinks this is getting really weird really fast and he nervously laughs to dispel the tension.
“So, what got you so worried, Kuroo?”
All his worries fall on him abruptly. He was almost forgetting, lost in pools of gold.
“I had a sort of argument with my flat mates and now they want to meet the person I’m dating.”
“Sounds simple enough, what’s the problem? Do they not like this person?”
Tetsurou is fidgeting again. How to explain it all to this handsome stranger without sounding like some weirdo? What the hell, go big or go home.
“The problem is I am not in fact dating anyone.”
Bokuto seems even more confused now. Understandable.
“I lied to them. I panicked and lied to them and now they think I’m dating someone and of course they want to meet them this weekend, but there’s absolutely no one to meet. I’m screwed.”
“Why did you panic?” asks Bokuto. Incredibly, this is the detail hidden in his rant that he’s choosing to focus on.
Kuroo is stunned to silence, racking his brains in search of an answer that wouldn’t paint him as an ever worse loser, dateless and helplessly pining for both his best friends. Something in Bokuto’s gaze keeps him from lying, though, and frankly he’s also quite tired of it.
“Because I’m in love with them, my flat mates I mean. Both of them.”
Bokuto keeps looking at him with understanding – and a hint of confusion still -, but he’s not judging him or pitying him. Tetsurou thinks he may have just fallen in love a bit.
“I can do it!” he exclaims suddenly, a tad too loud, attracting some of their classmates’ attention.
“What?”
“I can do it!” he whispers, getting closer to him; his perfume tickles his nose, a sweet scent he wouldn’t be able to identify but that he instantly adores nonetheless. “I can be your date and meet your friends! We can pretend, like in the movies!”
“I-” stutters Tetsurou. He can do what now? Tetsurou is probably starting to panic again.
This is too much.
This is perfect, though.
He doesn’t need to find a date in time, he can just pretend! Easy-peasy.
“Wait, really? You don’t mind?” he asks, just to be sure; he would never want to put Bokuto in an uncomfortable position.
“Of course I am, man! I suggested it,” he laughs, putting his calloused hand on Tetsurou’s. Please don’t blush, please don’t blush. “It will be fun, and then you can just tell them it didn’t work out.”
“That’s actually a good idea, but we really don’t know each other yet,” Tetsuoru replies, trying to focus on Bokuto’s weird bicolored hair instead of his long lashes, rough skin, defined biceps.
“Then we’ll just have to get to know each other before the weekend,” Bokuto says quietly, leaning in and almost whispering in his ear.
Tetsurou shivers and then smiles slyly. This is going to be good.
That’s what they do for the next few days, getting to know each other.
They spend almost every afternoon after classes together, asking each other questions, trying to come up with an agreed version of how they met and how long they’ve known each other.
Tetsurou knows Kenma and Akaashi, and they’re the hardest people to trick, with their naturally observant nature. Everything needs to be perfectly concordant between him and Bokuto or they’ll see through their schemes immediately.
They go out for dinner a lot, which actually sells their version even better, since he has the chance to tell Kenma and Akaashi he’s “going out with his boyfriend”.
Tetsurou learns which foods Bokuto likes and dislikes – he really likes meat and, surprisingly, vegetables too -, and Kuroo too gets to bring him to his favorite restaurants, make him try the best grilled mackerel near campus and watch him eat everything with pleasure, laughing with his mouth full and drinking with him until nightfall.
Bokuto tells him he has two older sisters, reveals that his hair color is natural and that his entire family has brown eyes except him.
Bokuto also brings him to volleyball practice, and Kuroo hasn’t played since high school, but when he steps foot on the court at the end of their practice and plays for a bit with him and his teammates, he finds he had missed the feeling. He relishes the feeling of the ball on his forearms when he receives it, the magnific sensation that comes when he successfully blocks a spike – the orange haired guy and his grumpy setter really do not appreciate his presence in those moments.
Most of all, he finds he loves seeing Bokuto in his element, having as much fun as ever while also concentrating on his every move to support the team like a true ace.
When they manage a play that grants them the win for the practice match, Bokuto turns to him with glimmering eyes and a wide smile and runs to pick him up in a solid embrace. He twirls him around in his arms with a shout of joy and then puts him down, and they’re so close Tetsurou realizes for the first time that he’s slightly taller than Bokuto.
Unprompted, the thought of just leaning down and capturing Bokuto’s lips in his strikes him.
His eyes flitter between his gold ones and his mouth, his hand already on the other’s sculpted shoulder, he squeezes a bit, he’s about to lean in, to just do it.
When Bokuto’s teammates start making mocking noises of fake disgust in the background.
The moment shatters and everything moves on like it’s supposed to.
It’s just pretending. That’s it. Nothing more.
Saturday comes faster than Keiji predicted.
It’s 4.17 pm when Keiji checks the clock beside the mirror; almost time to leave. When he turns, he sees Kenma angrily brushing his teeth.
“They’ll fall if you keep brushing them like that,” Keiji remarks with a smile, perhaps not entirely genuine, perhaps Kenma sees right through him when he turns to face him.
He washes his face and then asks, looking to the ground, “How can you stand it?”
And because Keiji’s brain is wired to never show vulnerability, he simply replies, “What do you mean?” while facing the mirror again, so that his eyes don’t give him away.
Kenma is not fooled, though, and he knows Keiji well enough to know what he’s doing, bottling his emotions, relegating them to a hidden part of his heart, so that no one can see his suffering, so that no one can see how much he’s losing, the void inside him.
“Stop acting like you don’t care! Stop acting like this is not important, like we’re not important!” Kenma shouts.
Keiji flinches imperceptibly. “It’s easier like this, ok?” he whispers, and then gradually raises his voice until he’s almost screaming, “How can you always get angry? Get emotional? How can you stand to watch your best friend with someone else?! Why did we even ask to meet him?!”
He presses the heels of his hands on his eyes. He won’t cry. Not in front of someone else.
A hand is placed on Keiji’s shoulder, delicately holding on to him, keeping him anchored. And Keiji realizes this is not just someone else, another person he can’t show himself to. This is Kenma, smart, determined, cunning, kind Kenma. His Kenma.
He relaxes his fists and allows himself to lean on his best friend, to let him see him cry – even when a part of him still screams at him to hide.
Kenma rubs his back and sinks his face in the crook of Keiji’s neck.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, warm air puffing on his skin. “We’ll be fine.”
Keiji nods, wiping away his tears with the hem of his pajama t-shirt. “I just want him to be happy. I want us all to be happy.” A pause, charged, their faces now mere breaths apart. “I want you to be happy, Kenma. I love you.”
Kenma, eyes glistening, smiles; the most sincere smile in days. “I want that too. And I love you too.” The last part is a whisper between their lips, lightning through their bones, a promise to cherish each other.
Keiji closes his eyes and then he’s surrounded by Kenma, his perfume in his brain, his taste on his tongue, his touch on his face, in his hair, on his back. Everything is Kenma.
Tetsurou and Bokuto get to the coffee shop a few minutes earlier than the arranged time. They sit next to each other in a booth by the glass wall and Tetsurou starts nervously playing with Bokuto’s fingers, his hand in his own radiating warmth and filling him with courage.
Everything will be fine. They’ll play along just for a bit, then pretend to break up. And eventually, maybe, Tetsurou’s feelings for Kenma and Akaashi will just disappear – he’s sincerely hoping whatever’s going on with Bokuto disappears as well; he can’t handle two crushes, let alone three.
Suddenly, Bokuto stops singing along to the song on the radio. Tetsurou raises his eyes and sees him focused on something behind him, on the outside of the coffee shop.
“Are those your roommates?”
Tetsurou turns around so fast his neck protests with a fit of pain. There, on the sidewalk right beside him, Kenma is walking side to side with Akaashi, their pinkies linked between them.
They don’t notice them, too focused on each other, a delicacy in their gazes that Tetsurou knows isn’t knew – they’ve always looked at each other like that, they’ve always looked at him like that too -, but he recognizes something more there that wasn’t there, a new openness or sincerity perhaps.
“Yeah, it’s them.”
“They’re so pretty.”
“I know.”
“Like, almost too pretty.”
“I know.”
“It should be illegal to be that pretty, honestly.”
“I know.” A sigh. Pause. “Wait, hey! Am I not pretty?”
Bokuto bursts out laughing, squeezing Tetsurou’s hand. “You’re incredibly attractive, babe, but they’re... angels.”
Tetsurou can’t help but blush under Bokuto’s serious expression, his focus on him. He mutters, “Yeah, wait until they start talking. They’re not angels, I’m telling you that.”
“You love them, right? Then, they must be.” There’s such candor in his words, in his tone, in his touch, that Tetsurou can’t help but smile fondly at him, losing himself in his gaze.
A cough interrupts them, making Bokuto and him jump and get away from each other.
There are matching mischievous smirks on Akaashi and Kenma’s faces. Not a good start for this meeting.
Bokuto immediately gets up, banging his knee against the table, cursing under his breath and then righting himself and finally extending his hand towards the newcomers. Tetsurou has to stifle a laugh and when his eyes meet Kenma’s, he sees he’s doing the same.
Akaashi, though, has his hand in Bokuto’s. They’re not shaking them in greeting, they’re just standing there holding hands.
Tetsurou and Kenma exchange a glance, confusion and amusement written on both their faces, but Kenma immediately looks away, as if only the sight of him is painful. Tetsurou feels his heart constrict in his chest.
Kenma coughs, breaking the weird tension between the other two. Akaashi startles and blushes faintly; he starts staring at the ground as if it was the most interesting thing on the world while Bokuto and Kenma introduce themselves.
“I’m Bokuto Koutaro. You must be Kenma, nice to meet you!”
Kenma seems taken aback by Bokuto’s energy, furrowing his brow and quietly answering while shaking his much larger hand.
They all sit once again in the booth and Tetsurou finds himself in front of Akaashi, who is clearly avoiding even looking at him.
He has one hand on Kenma’s knee, Tetsurou can’t help but notice with fondness. They have always been open with physical affection towards each other, surprisingly so, finding comfort in each other’s arms while watching a movie on the couch or sharing a long hug after a tiring day.
They look closer now, though, and Tetsurou is dying to ask what happened, what changed, what did he miss.
But now’s not the time. He has to keep up the façade.
For this reason – and not because he needs support and he knows his “boyfriend” can help – he interlaces his fingers with Bokuto’s on the table, holding on to his hand and receiving a gentle squeeze back that immediately eases his spirit.
“So, how did you two get together?” asks Kenma, zeroing in on their hands.
“We met in class at university, and immediately, I just knew I had to talk to him, and apparently he felt it too!” Bokuto laughs. Tetsurou must admit it’s impressive the way he lies so shrewdly; he definitely did not expect that from him.
“That’s nice. Funny how he never told us about you before a few days ago, though. When exactly did you say you met?” retorts Kenma, staring straight at Bokuto’s eyes.
“Just a couple weeks ago, actually. It was Tuesday the 8th, if I remember correctly,” the other answers without missing a beat.
They go on for quite a while with this sort of staring contest, or interrogation, watched carefully by Tetsurou and Akaashi.
Then the waiter comes to their table and the tension is at least partially dissipated upon loss of eye contact, only to rise again when Bokuto takes his and Tetsurou’s orders, showing off a bit of his knowledge on his tastes.
“Then, are you officially boyfriends?” Kenma asks, while munching on his apple pie.
“Kenma!” whispers Akaashi, grasping Kenma’s bicep with one hand and holding his head in the other.
“Yes, we are,” answers Bokuto with certainty. Tetsurou has to halt while taking a sip of his tea, willing his cheeks not to burn. “Aren’t we, Tetsu?” Now he almost spits out said tea.
Kuroo.exe has stopped working.
Tetsu. Tetsu, he called him. This was definitely not scripted.
Tetsu. He likes the way his name sounds on Bokuto’s lips.
Kenma is the one blushing, unexpectedly, looking at Bokuto as if he’s seen him for the first time. He’s silent now.
When Tetsurou manages to restart his brain functions, he notices Akaashi’s eyes are now on him.
He doesn’t like that look. He knows what it means, it’s the one Akaashi gets when he’s thinking, analyzing.
He needs to be bold. If he shows he’s afraid, there’s no way the other won’t figure him out.
Staring right back at him, Tetsurou hopes he’s radiating confidence, but the only thing he feels is lost. Lost in Bokuto’s voice, saying his name like honey, lost in Kenma’s suspicion, lost in Akaashi’s steely blue eyes, a cold ocean he’s sinking in. He’s not sure he wants to swim to shore.
He just wants to reach out, take back his stupid words, undo his actions, go back to that night and stay closer to Keiji some more, feeling Kenma’s weight on his legs, Akaashi’s hands on his wrists.
But then again, he thinks, turning to glance at Bokuto – who is now in a deep, fast conversation with Kenma on videogames, apparently -, he’s not ready to give this up. This new person in his life, that in just a few days, has managed to light up his world when he was in a dark place.
Akaashi follows his eyes and exhales. Bokuto has a look in his eyes that Tetsurou believes could make anyone fall head over heels for him. It’s the passion in those gold eyes, the smell of victory surrounding him, the light that seems to radiate from his very own skin. It’s a magnetism that seems capable to pull them all in, as if he was the final piece of a perfect puzzle.
Tesurou takes Bokuto’s hand in his again and starts drawing circles on its back, trying to calm his racing heart and equally racing mind.
He can see Akaashi playing with the loose threads of Kenma’s ripped jeans, his downcast eyes failing to see his own hazel ones trying to read his thoughts.
He needs to know.
“So, what’s up with you two?” Tetsurou inquires, trying to keep his tone even, disinterested.
Bokuto and Kenma’s heated conversation stills. Three pairs of eyes set on him, Bokuto’s wide, incredulous ones, Akaashi’s seemingly bored ones, Kenma’s amber slits.
“What do you mean, Kuro?”
“I mean, have you- Do you have something to tell me?”
Akaashi and Kenma exchange a brief glance and immediately Kenma replies, “That we’re together?”
“Together?”
“Together.”
“As in?”
“As in together, as in boyfriends.” Kenma is very clearly irritated.
Tetsurou thought he too would be, but he can only smile at them and nod slightly. He knew already, anyway, since the moment they walked in the coffee shop. No, even before, all those subtle display of affections at home, their lingering looks. He knew it would end up like this probably since Akaashi moved in, but he had never realized until now.
Suddenly, everything comes crashing down on him.
If he had never noticed all these little things about them until now, what else had he missed? What else has he been ignoring, even though the clues were there, right in front of his eyes?
Kenma always letting him be his number two while playing videogames in the living room, Akaashi getting a little too close while arguing with him, Kenma stealing all of his sweatshirts – “for warmth”, even though he has his own – and allowing him to brush his hair and put little colored clips in them, Akaashi always leaving little notes on the margins of the books he lends him, telling him which quotes resonated with him, which scenes he loved, scattering clues for Tetsurou to understand him through the pages and the ink.
Their faces when he told them he was dating someone.
Keiji’s words. Like you, Tetsurou?
Oh.
Oh.
He’s an idiot.
“You’re in love with me,” he blurts out, almost a whisper, so incredibly loud.
Silence.
“What?” Kenma asks, sharply.
Tetsurou abruptly raises his eyes, stands up and declares, “I- I am in love with you, Kenma.”
“What?”
“And I’m in love with you, too, Keiji.”
Their eyes meet, the earth settles, the sky clears, the sun peeking through the glass window, painting them gold.
Tetsurou turns towards the last one at the table, who’s watching it all unfold with a somehow painful, serene expression.
“So, we can end this farce?” Bokuto asks, taking his hand away from Tetsurou’s one.
But he doesn’t let him. He clasps it tighter, holding it close. “And I know it’s soon, but I think I’m in love with you too, Kou.”
His eyes open impossibly wide, hand trembling in his, he gets up too, takes a step forward, grips the back of Tetsurou’s neck ad brings him in for a kiss that makes his knees buckle, takes his breath away, draws him in and keeps him anchored.
When they part, a few millimeters between their lips, their foreheads resting together, Bokuto simply says, “I think I’m in love with you too.”
They both laugh, breathing each other’s air, hands holding each other’s flesh still.
“So…” Akaashi clears his throat, “A farce?”
Tetsurou’s eyes go wide like saucers, Bokuto fidgets with his hands. They look at each other, then look at the other two’s matching icy gazes.
“I might have lied about having a boyfriend…”
“And I might have offered to pretend to be his date for today…”
“And then you fell for real,” Kenma specifies.
Akaashi laughs. Bokuto laughs with him. Kenma cracks a smile, too.
Tetsurou sighs, “Cliché, I know, I know.”
“We’re roommates,” adds Akaashi. “You are a giant, walking cliché, Tetsurou.”
“And you all love me,” he replies, smugly, tapping his finger on Keiji’s nose.
“Unfortunately,” Kenma intervenes.
“Hey!” Tetsurou tries to protest, but Kenma has already turned towards Bokuto to say, “Do you want to come to our place…?”
“You can call me Koutarou!”
“Koutarou,” he tests it on his tongue. It fits perfectly. “Do you want to? So I can show you the videogame I was telling you about?”
“Sure! I’d love to! If Akaashi agrees.”
“Of course you can come, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi easily says, smiling a bit at Bokuto’s enthusiasm.
“Call me Koutarou!”
“It’s okay, Bokuto-san.”
“No, I like my first name better.”
“Bokuto-san.”
“Koutaro.”
“Bokuto-san.”
Tetsuro sits there watching them banter and laugh and he feels like in a museum, and these three people are a painting he could never get tired of admiring. He’d stand for hours, just watching the slope of Keiji’s nose, Kenma’s gentle cascade of hair, the creases on Koutarou’s hands.
He’d like nothing more just than observe how the light hits this painting all day, see how the shadows change, how the colors blend on the canvas, how the lines touch and separate.
But he’s always gotten more than he deserved, unconditional love he’s still trying to figure out how to give back.
“Let’s go home, Tetsurou.”