Chapter Text
“Akaashi-san, where do you think you’re going?” Tenma asked, voice projecting over the cheers from the crowd (after a particularly nice save by Hinata). “The game’s already started, you know!”
Standing, Keiji offered his companion a blank look, as if the answer was obvious. After picking up his backpack, he replied, “I’m going to get rice balls from Onigiri Miya. If I don’t hurry, they might be sold out.”
Tenma scoffed, tucking a strand of messy dark hair behind his ear. “Don’t give me that look. How would I know?”
Not considering that worthy of any response, Keiji turned and walked away without a word, hurrying over to the small Onigiri stand situated on the side of the court.
The gym was rather lively and reminded Keiji of his time spent playing in high school. Sometimes he missed the rush of controlling the ball, sending logical sets to whoever he thought had the highest probability of scoring. It had been thrilling, both physically and mentally, though not something he was interested in pursuing as a career.
Watching Koutarou play professionally helped sustain his passion for the sport. He could stay adjacent to volleyball, without all the commitment. So he was perfectly content with dating a volleyball player, in lieu of becoming a professional athlete himself.
The opportunity to see Koutarou run around in little shorts and long knee pads, offering only a tantalizing tease of his thighs, was simply an added benefit. One that Keiji was very, very thankful for.
And it was that enticing image that reminded him that Tenma was correct and the game was, in fact, already going on. He should probably stop standing around reminiscing about his high school days (and his boyfriend’s deliciously toned thighs) and hurry up to Onigiri Miya before they actually run out of food.
Since there were a couple people already in line waiting to place their orders Keiji studied the menu on his phone, so he could decide exactly which fillings he wanted to try. The real Onigiri Miya was located in Osaka, and Keiji had only been to the restaurant twice; both times when he was visiting Koutarou there.
A small commotion pulled his attention from his phone to the counter. It seemed the current employee manning the counter—a young girl, maybe in her teens—was being replaced by another. Greeting the elderly woman who was next in line, the man lifted his head and Keiji got a nice view of his face. And oh—
He looked good. And vaguely familiar.
Dark chestnut hair peeked out from under his hat, falling right above thick brows and pretty pewter eyes. Keiji let his gaze wander lower and was captivated by the way his arms strained against the confines of his black t-shirt. Watching as he perfectly rolled and packaged the woman’s order, before handing it to her with an adorably crooked grin.
The facial features had a light going off in his head.
Yes, that’s right, Keiji remembered now. Miya Atsumu has a twin.
Little nerves fluttered in the pit of Keiji’s stomach as the woman vacated the line, order now in hand, and it was suddenly his turn to face this handsome, boy-next-door-looking man up close. Though Keiji had lots of practice keeping his cool on the outside, even when his mind (or in this case, his pulse) was running at unsettling speeds.
A few measured steps later, and Keiji was standing in front of the counter, eyeing the man with what he hoped was a cool, expressionless face. Recognition flared in those deep gray eyes, and Keiji was flustered even further. Did Myaa-sam actually remember him from high school?
Words. What were some words? He needed to say something, anything. What sounded normal? They were at an Onigiri place, so something along those lines? Yes, good idea.
Keiji cleared his throat. “Onigiri Miya’s rice balls are very good. Do you still not have a Tokyo branch?” He tacked that question on at the end because he really did want to know.
“Thank you.” Half of Miya’s mouth quirked up, flashing straight white teeth. “Not yet, but we might open one this spring.”
Nodding, Keiji tapped his index finger on the counter in a nervous rhythm. “That’s good news, then. Osaka is a long commute for Onigiri.”
Miya laughed, low and breathy. It was ungodly—how attractive he was. Especially considering how Keiji had met the other Miya on multiple occasions, and not once had he ever felt even a smidgen of attraction to his boyfriend’s teammate. So, why this one?
“Yer Fukurodani’s setter, right?”
One curt nod was all the confirmation Keiji offered, too distracted by the notion that one of high school volleyball’s best players must have not only noticed him at nationals, but also remembered him, years later.
“I thought so.” Miya’s grin widened, perhaps pleased that he had guessed Keiji’s identity correctly. “Remind me of yer name again? Sorry.”
“Akaashi Keiji.” He answered, voice smooth and calm (which was not an accurate depiction of how he felt on the inside). Gesturing toward the restaurant’s logo, he asked. “And you’re the other Miya, yes?”
“Miya Osamu. But everyone calls me Osamu. Wouldn’t wanna be associated with that scrub over there.” He jerked his thumb to the court, where Miya Atsumu was up to serve. The blond stood at the endline, clutching his fist in the air, and suddenly the band went quiet. A shiver ran over the audience in the silence.
It was quite the dramatic show and Miya (the one standing next to him) snorted as his brother jumped, slamming his hand down on the ball with practiced skill. The entire audience watched as the ball flew over the net, landing near the painted white line.
The line judge lifted his arms, declaring it as out.
“Lame,” Miya said from behind the counter. “Tsumu tried way too hard to look all fancy at the start.”
Keiji laughed lightly at the comment, before noticing Miya Atsumu shoot an obviously disgruntled glare directly at his brother. Could he hear them? No, he couldn’t. Not with all this noise. Twin telepathy then? He mused to himself. How frightening.
As an only child, Keiji always found sibling dynamics rather interesting. Unlike Koutarou, who had two older sisters, Keiji grew up with only his parents. Since they couldn’t have biological children, his mothers had adopted him when he was a toddler; he had no memories of his life before becoming part of the Akaashi family. Sometimes it had been lonely, with no siblings and his mothers frequently working, but he wouldn’t trade his parents for the world. Being raised by loving, queer parents was something he did not take for granted.
“Anyways,” Miya ignored his brother’s scowl. “What can I get for ya?”
“Two pickled plums and one tuna mayo.”
“Gotcha,” he answered with a smile. Taking his card, he swiped it through the tiny machine attached to his phone. After the transaction was complete, he grabbed a few of the premade onigiri and wrapped them up neatly before placing them in a small paper bag with the restaurant’s logo stamped on the front.
Murmuring a polite thanks, Keiji turned to head back to his seat.
“Akaashi-san,” Miya called, accent twisting over the letters of his name in an endearing sort of way. “Are ya stoppin’ by the afterparty later?”
“Oh.” Keiji was caught off guard, not expecting the question. “Yes, Bokuto-san and I will both be attending. Two of our close friends are the hosts.”
“Cool. Guess I’ll see ya there then.” Miya waved at him in goodbye, gray eyes filled with genuine warmth. The butterflies that had previously settled in Keiji's stomach were suddenly flying all over again.
Quickly, he returned the wave with a flick of his hand, then hurried off to his seat. Winding through the crowd, he returned to Tenma’s side, handing him one of the pickled plum onigiri from the bag.
Luckily the game was exciting enough to hold his attention. (Seriously, Keiji would be dreaming of his boyfriend’s tiddy receive for weeks.) But every so often, Keiji would catch his eyes wandering to Onigiri Miya, searching for the man behind the name.
It was during one of those secret glances that he saw Miya grinning bright, pride practically radiating off him as he cheered for his twin, who had just made an amazing set. The expression held unbridled joy, effortless love. It was beautiful. So was he.
And Keiji thought maybe, just maybe, he had a little crush on Miya Osamu. Just a little one. A baby one. Really. Nothing to make a fuss over.
Except he knows his boyfriend as well as he knows himself, so he knew Koutarou was going to be merciless. It's been awhile since Keiji had feelings for someone else or dated another person. Which meant Koutarou was going to try to be The Perfect Wingman, and encourage him to—in Koutarou’s own words—shoot his shot.
Koutarou flirting on his behalf… a nightmare, truly.
Keiji smiled to himself, memories of his boyfriend trying to set him up with past crushes came flooding to the forefront of his mind.
Koutarou had known that Keiji was polyamorous before confessing to him, as Keiij had come out to him as poly and gay when he was fifteen. After lots, and lots, and lots of discussion, they’d decided to start dating during Keiji’s third year, with Koutarou remaining monogamous.
It’s been very successful so far. The two of them had great communication, unconditional trust, and always respected each other’s boundaries. He’d dated here and there throughout their relationship, the longest being seven months. They’d never had any problems, well, except that one incident. But that hadn’t had anything to do with Koutarou or himself. That was all his ex’s fault and Keiji’s blood boiled at the reminder. He shoved away the memory, or else he’d be irritated the rest of the day.
Long story short, Koutarou was extremely supportive of Keiji’s other relationships with different partners, even occasionally becoming friends with them. But none of them had ever turned very serious, not like with Koutarou.
He wondered, briefly, what it would be like to date Miya Osamu.
Pushing the thought aside, Keiji refocused on the game in front of him, lips tilting up as Koutarou landed a powerful hit down the line. The spiker turned towards the audience, finding Keiji and staring straight at him, before blowing an obnoxious kiss in his direction.
A warm, tingly feeling coursed through his veins at the display, even as his cheeks warmed. It was embarrassing, yes, but it was also very Koutarou. And the love he had for Bokuto Koutarou was enormous, unfailing, and all-consuming, so he could handle being in the public eye, at least a little.
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“Kaaashi!” That was the only warning he got before strong arms were wrapping around him, lifting him off the floor in a tight squeeze. “What did you think of the game? I played great right!”
“Hi, Bokuto-san.” He pinched his bicep, eliciting a sharp yelp. “Put me down.” After he was planted firmly on the ground, he replied. “The game was exciting. You played well.”
Keiji eyed his boyfriend’s pecs. Fresh from the shower, water dripped from his two-toned hair, staining his gray t-shirt wet. “I particularly liked the chest receive.”
Heat flared in gold eyes, then he teasingly sing-songed. “Were you thinking naughty thoughts about me?”
Threading their fingers, they headed towards the exit. There was plenty of time to kill before the after-party later.
“Yes,” Keiji replied. “And Miya Osamu, as well.”
Koutarou whipped his head around to look at him, and Keiji had to suppress a smirk at his boyfriend’s gaping mouth.
“Keiji!” He laughed, recovering quickly. “I knew you liked him from those texts you sent during the game.” He’d sent a few messages to Koutarou, telling him about meeting Myaa-sam. However, Keiji hadn’t realized that Koutarou read them already, or that he’d been so obvious. “You were simping for Tsum-Tsum’s brother and his onigiri during the whole game weren’t you?”
“No, trust me. I paid close attention to that tiddy receive of your’s.” His boyfriend snorted, grin widening. “And of course I watched the confession.”
Happiness glittered in his eyes. “Yeah! That was so emotional. I almost cried when Kageyama started crying. Shou-kun looked really happy.”
Karasuno’s freak duo finally got together today, right after the game ended. He was pleased for both of them, especially Kageyama. When Keiji moved to Tokyo after graduating, the two of them reconnected, cultivating a budding friendship.
“It’s good they’re together now,” Keiji said.
Drops of water sprinkled from wet hair as Koutarou nodded in agreement. Then he squeezed his hand. “Don’t think I’m gonna let you change the subject that easily. Tell me about your crush!”
They were only a couple blocks away from their hotel. The afternoon sun beaming overhead and a light chill was in the air courtesy of November.
“It’s nothing,” Keiji murmured. “I just think he’s handsome and seems kind and he knows how to cook very well.”
“I’ve never met Tsum-Tsum’s brother,” Koutarou mused. “Now I wanna! Gotta see how pretty he is.”
“Well, you can. He’ll be at the party tonight.” He replied, then instantly regretted his words when Koutarou lit up with enthusiasm.
“Kaashi! That means I can be your wingman tonight!”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Why not?” He whined. “I’m good at it. Remember the ballet dancer you dated? That was all thanks to me!”
“All you did was bake cookies for me to bring on our first date.” Keiji replied, blankly, as they walked in the lobby; Koutarou managed to hold the door open for him without untangling their hands.
“And did you get a second date after?” The door softly closed behind them. “Yes! Thanks to my baking skills. I’m a great baker!”
“Mmhhh,” Keiji hummed in response. There was no disagreeing with that—he really was fantastic at baking, meanwhile Keiji couldn’t cook or bake to save his life. Doing anything in the kitchen made him unreasonably anxious, a feeling of helplessness washing over him whenever he tried to make anything more difficult than toast. He chose to avoid the kitchen altogether. Although, he did enjoy watching Koutarou flit around the kitchen wearing the little apron Keiji bought him for Christmas last year.
“Sorry, Kaashi, but you’re shit at baking,” Koutarou frowned, before perking right back up. “Don’t worry, though! That’s why you have me around.”
The elevator dinged and they walked in, Keiji pressed the button for the fourth floor, then answered dryly. “That’s very reassuring. Thank you, Bokuto-san.”
“What kind of cookies do you think Myaa-sam likes?” Bokuto pondered.
“I don’t know.”
“Or wait, he’s a professional chef. Maybe I shouldn’t make any food for him. What if he doesn’t like it?”
Sighing, Keiji pulled his boyfriend out of the elevators as soon as the doors opened. “I’m not planning on asking him out, so don’t worry about it.”
“Why not?”
“Too complicated.” A small beep indicated the hotel door was unlocked and Keiji walked in the room with Koutarou trailing after him. “He’s your teammate’s brother. I wouldn’t want to make anything awkward if it didn’t work out.”
Seeming to consider this, Koutarou plopped on their bed with an expression Keiji recognized as his boyfriend’s thoughtful face. He placed his backpack in a chair, then pulled off his sweater, opting to change into one of Koutarou’s t-shirts, before crawling on top of the bed with him.
Fingertips traced the curve of his cheek. “Why don’t we see what happens tonight? You haven’t had real feelings for anyone else in a long time. Not since…”
“Don’t remind me of that bastard.” Keiji grumbled, leaning into the hand cradling his cheek.
“I just don’t want you to miss out on an opportunity with someone you like,” Koutarou continued. “I want you to be happy, Keiji.”
Letting their foreheads bump together, Keiji placed his hand over Koutarou’s. The heat from his palm warmed Keiji’s cold skin. “I am happy. If I really wanted to date Miya Osamu, then I would ask him out. But it’s just a crush, we only spoke one time. Like I said before, it would be too complicated.”
“Alright,” Koutarou said, but Keiji knew he’d probably bring it up again. “I still wanna meet him tonight, though! Pretty people are fun to look at and if he caught your attention, then he must be really hot. You have high standards.”
“By saying that, you know that you’re indirectly complimenting yourself, right?” Keiji suppressed a laugh, biting his lip in order to maintain his aura of seriousness.
“Yeah, duh. I’m sexy. My tiddy receive speaks for itself.” Lifting his head, Koutarou winked at him, before leaning down once more to give him a kiss.
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The afterparty was exuberant and would have been overwhelming if not for the fact the entire bar was rented out by Kenma and Kuroo, leaving only about eighty people in a space meant for hundreds. Even Keiji, who came from generational wealth and was due to inherit a sizable fortune, was impressed.
Hours passed in a blur of tequila shots and dancing. (Keiji loved to dance when he drank and Koutarou was more than happy to indulge him). And when they weren’t grinding together on the dance floor, there was always someone to catch up with.
Throughout the night, they made their way around the room, mingling with old friends and new acquaintances alike. Starting with Sugawara-san and Sawamura-san, who were camped out by the bar. Then, they stopped to find Tenma chatting with Tsukishima Akiteru and Tanaka Saeko, making for an interesting trio. Finally, they ran into multiple of Shiratorizawa’s alumni, who were performing some sort of make-shift karaoke on the bar’s tiny stage, and Koutarou joined them for a few songs, serenading Keiji with dramatic flair.
Now, they found themselves secluded in a quieter part of the bar, in a lounge area filled with cozy chairs and velvet couches. Curled into each other, they spoke with Kageyama and Hinata, who were sitting across from them.
The four chatted for a while, discussing the earlier game and confession, then moving on to Keiji’s work as a manga editor. Kageyama seemed genuinely interested in his work, asking lots of questions and listening with rapt attention, and he couldn’t help but feel flattered.
Moving to Tokyo had been such a big change, Keiji was glad he’d reconnected with Kageyama. That’s how he’d been introduced to Ushijima-san too, and the three of them frequently hung out, with sometimes Sakusa-san joining as well.
The conversation flowed easily until Koutarou subtly elbowed him, gesturing towards Miya Osamu who was walking their way, holding something in his hands.
Lips pressed against his ear. “He’s coming over here.”
“I can see that.” Turning, he gave his boyfriend a tiny glare. Koutarou simply raised his eyebrows up and down in response.
“Akaashi-san.” Miya’s voice was just as soothing as it’d been this afternoon, and Keiji felt himself melt a little into the couch. “I wanted to bring ya and Bokuto-san some of my leftover onigiri from the game today.” Miya gave them a charming, crooked smile, holding out a box of food.
“Since ya seemed to enjoy them so much earlier. And oh,” he turned to Kageyama and Hinata. “If ya two want some, please feel free. There should be plenty.”
Poking Keiji in the ribs, Koutarou stood before he could stop him. He took the box from his hands, then clapped Miya on the back. “Thank you so much, Osamu-san! Keiji told me all about you and your onigiri. He was raving about it!”
Flushing slightly, Miya’s grin widened under the praise. “Well, thank ya.”
Bokuto nodded, multi-colored hair bopping along with him. “Yeah! And he said you were really handsome.”
“Bokuto-san!” Akaashi berated, hoping his blush wasn’t visible under the dim lighting.
Miya chuckled, deep and throaty—even Koutarou seemed to be affected by the sound, his hand noticeably squeezing tighter on Miya’s shoulder.
“Yer too nice, Akaashi-san.” Gray eyes twinkled at them, sweeping over the entire group, lingering on—not only Keiji—but Koutarou as well. How curious. “When it opens, stop by my Tokyo store anytime.” Keiji watched as Miya glanced briefly at the fingers wrapped around his arm, before adding, “Ya too, Bokuto-san.”
Gaining back some semblance of composure, Keiji equipped himself with his prettiest smile, then leaned forward to take the onigiri box from his boyfriend.
“Thank you, Miya-san.” Keiji said, voice almost teasing. “But I must insist, I’m really not very nice at all. You, truly, are just that handsome.”
Koutarou, whose smile hadn’t dimmed the entire conversation, lightly ran his hand down Miya’s arm. “See? I told you! And I have to agree with my boyfriend.”
Miya blinked once, twice, then his previously charming smile transformed into something more akin to embarrassment, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck.
However, before he could reply, a phone started ringing from his jeans’ pocket. Taking the phone out, he checked the contact, then looked up with a smile that fell somewhere between sheepish and apologetic.
“Sorry, it’s my boyfriend. But thank ya for the compliments.” He offered them a parting wave and started to walk away, then turned back after a moment’s hesitation, making eye contact with Keiji and Koutarou. “The two of ya are pretty handsome yerselves.”
Now it was Keiji’s turn to blink, and he startled when Koutarou sat next to him on the couch, thighs pressed together.
“Catch ya later.” Osamu nodded towards the loveseat. “Congrats Kageyama, Hinata.” Then walked away, pressing the still-ringing phone to his ear.
Very curious, indeed. Wheels spun in Keiji’s head, ideas that had lingered in the back of his mind for years finally coming to fruition. What if….? No, Keiji stopped his wandering thoughts. Koutarou had never seemed interested, and he didn’t want to push him into something he might not want. And, not to mention, Miya Osamu has a boyfriend. Which makes this all the more complicated.
Sighing to himself, Keiji contemplated what he should do about these feelings, as Kageyama and Hinata said their goodbyes, walking away hand-in-hand. Koutarou’s head rested on his shoulder, a steady presence that kept Keiji rooted in reality.
“So what do you wanna do, Keiji?” Koutarou asked, nuzzling further into his neck, and he knew he wasn’t asking about their plans for the rest of the party. “Myaa-sam is really handsome. I like his laugh.”
“Kou.” His boyfriend lifted his head at the use of the nickname. “I’ve decided that I’m not going to ask him out. I was already debating since he’s your teammate’s brother, and knowing he has another partner.” Keiji shook his head. “I won’t risk messing up anything for your career. Not over a little crush.”
Koutarou laid back down on his shoulder, cuddling against his entire side, and Keiji felt warm all over. “Alright, Kaashi, if that’s what you really want.”
“Yes, Bokuto-san.” The image of Koutarou caressing Osamu’s arm flicked across his mind, along with the way Koutarou’s eyes lit up when he heard that low, breathy laugh, and how gray eyes had lingered over both of them. Keiji swallowed. “That’s what I want.”