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“I’m home.”
Akaashi glanced up from the documents he was mindlessly flipping through to watch as his husband sadly shuffled into their house. Bokuto’s spiked up hair was drooping, like he’d been caught in the rain, but his suit was just as dry and clean as it was when he’d left the house this morning.
Well. Almost as dry and clean. Akaashi got a better look as Bokuto shrugged his shoes off and came into the living room to collapse on the couch. There were spots of red specks staining the white fabric, like someone had taken a paint brush and flicked crimson paint onto him.
Akaashi knew it wasn’t paint though. It never was, in their line of work.
“Rough day?” He asked, and pushed the papers aside, onto the coffee table in front of their couch. They were important documents, renewed trade agreements between Fukurodani and Nekoma, and needed to be approved ASAP, but they could wait.
Bokuto wordlessly nodded and shuffled over when Akaashi held his arms open, tucking his head into Akaashi’s neck.
“We found one of the members of that gang that's been encroaching on our territory.” Bokuto mumbled, voice muffled. “I cut off three of his fingers trying to get him to spill where his boss was and he wouldn’t talk. And now I’ve got his blood on my suit. This is my favorite suit Ji.”
Akaashi hummed and tangled his fingers into his husband's hair, feeling the droopy spikes break up and go soft and limp under his touch. “That's okay honey, I can take it to get dry cleaned tomorrow when I take these documents to Konoha.”
“Why bother? It will just get bloody again when the guy doesn't talk tomorrow.”
“Now, now.” Akaashi cupped Bokuto’s face with both of his hands, forcing the other to look him in the eyes. Bokuto’s eyes were a duller gold than usual, but still bright and gleaming nonetheless. “You should ask someone else to give it a try.”
“Konoha already did. Even Mister Jack of all Trades Master of None couldn’t do it.”
“You can always ring Kuroo and ask him for help. I’ve heard Nekoma’s had trouble with gangs encroaching on their territory too- I don’t think he’d turn you down.”
Kuroo was good at these kinds of things, Akaashi had found. The head of the Nekoma yakuza was as good at extracting information as his right hand man Kenma was at gathering it. And it certainly helped that he was best friends with Bokuto- even if he didn’t have a personal investment in this case Akaashi couldn't picture him turning his ‘best bro’ down.
Running one of the largest Yakuza groups around was hard work, but it was easier when you had good friends. It certainly didn’t hurt that said friends were all quite imposing figures in the Yakuza world.
Still, Bokuto sighed and slumped further down on the couch. “That feels like giving up though. I want to do it myself. They are encroaching on my territory.”
“Asking for help isn’t giving up. It’s what friends are for. And they are encroaching on our territory. We’re in this together.”
Bokuto hummed, but was otherwise silent.
“Look,” Akaashi took his hands and stood up from the couch, pulling Bokuto along with him. “You’ve had a long day. You should rest. Do you want some food? I think we have left over Yakiniku. You want that?”
“Yakiniku sounds good.”
Akaashi nodded and reached over to mess up Bokuto’s hair before taking his hand and pulling him out of the living room. “Go get changed into something comfy while I heat it up.”
Bokuto muttered something incomprehensible and slipped away down the hallway while Akaashi made himself at home in the kitchen, digging through the fridge to find the Yakiniku, popping it onto a plate and into the microwave when he found it.
Bokuto returned shortly, donned in an old tee shirt and sweatpants, and he sat down at the kitchen counter while Akaashi waited for the microwave to finish. He pulled it out just before the timer would ring- lord knew their microwave was like a banshee- and began to make his way across the kitchen with it.
“Now,” Akaashi started, setting the steaming plate of Yakiniku in front of his husband. “Why don’t you tell me something good that happened today.”
“Nothing good happened.” Bokuto pouted, already halfway to pulling the plate over. “That was the whole point. Today was awful.”
Akaashi shook his head and sat himself down on the other barstool. “Just one thing. It doesn't even have to be a big thing.”
Bokuto heaved a sigh and said nothing, putting a piece of meat in his mouth to excuse his silence. Akaashi let him, waiting patiently as he chewed.
“It’s good.” Bokuto said once he had swallowed. His expression was melting into soft contentment, like all was right in the world again. It was one of Akaashi’s favorite looks on him, and maybe on other days Akaashi would let it woo him, but not today.
“One good thing.” He demanded, ignoring Bokuto’s whine of distaste.
“Well…” Bokuto leaned back on the barstool chair, his gaze falling onto the ceiling. “Komi showed me pictures of this dog he saw the other day. That was nice, I guess.”
“Then was the day really all bad?”
“I got blood on my suit. And made absolutely no progress with that gang guy.”
“But you also saw a picture of a cute dog.”
“Cute dogs won’t change the fact that the surrounding gangs are getting brave.”
“And I told you to ask Kuroo for help.” Akaashi said gently, taking Bokuto’s hands in his so that he would look at him. “Asking for help isn't giving up. You're only one person and you can only do so much on your own. We want to support you.”
Bokuto’s mouth opened and closed again, like he was fishing for words to rebuke and coming up empty. Eventually, he just sighed and pulled his hands back to poke at his Yakiniku. “Why are you so nice all the time?”
Akaashi didn’t try to hide the small smile worming its way onto his lips. “It's just what I do. Promise you’ll call Kuroo in the morning and ask him to help you out?”
“You won't let this go until I say yes.”
“Correct.”
“Fine, fine.” Bokuto threw his hands up in a terribly over dramatic manner, cocking his head to the side. “I’ll ask him to come help.”
“Good.” Akaashi reached over and ran his hand through Bokuto’s hair roughly, thoroughly messing it up beyond any hope of being fixed before hopping off the barstool. He was halfway to the living room again when Bokuto’s brain caught up and he squawked indignantly.
“Keiji! Not fair! It's gonna get all frizzy now!”
“Sucks to be you I guess!”
Bokuto’s answering whine was ignored.