Chapter Text
Kei let's his shoulder roll as he kneels at the edge of the gym, hand pressing into the sore spot at his neck.
"Good practice, Tsukishima!" A teammate slaps him on the back as they jog past. He flinches before he can stop himself.
It's late, later than he wants, but at least the bus will be less crowded. He tightens the laces on his shoes, glancing out the corner of his eye to watch a few of his teammates straggle.
When they laugh, Kei feels a sting in his chest that he purposefully designates as annoyance, rolling his eyes at the way they look so comfortable with each other, arms slung across shoulders, making plans for the weekend.
He's struggling to connect with the team. It's been three months since he joined, three months and still there is an unmistakable divide between him and the other players. He expected this at the beginning, he knew they would test him. It's the natural position of a team to question the quality of its members, but he's proven to them time and again that he's worth it. He's useful.
And still, there's a wall.
He wonders if they'll ever trust him, and a part of him is resigned to the fact that they might not. That part of him is difficult to contain, it writhes against his chest and spits out insults, builds defense, shuts people out. If they think he's untrustworthy, then he'll be just that. But that part of him is painstakingly pushed down every day.
Kei realizes it has taken him his entire internal monologue to tie his shoes. He scoffs at himself, stands and hoists his gym bag.
His teammates are still gathered in a clump near the ball cart. He wonders if they'll notice when he leaves.
"Babe!"
It's as if a row of strings has snapped, and his whole body goes light.
Bokuto Koutarou is wearing his signature jackal grin and standing in the doorway of the gym with his hands on his hips.
Kei's heart, as always when seeing one of his boyfriends, reminds him suddenly that it still exists by pounding against his ribcage.
Koutarou meets Kei in the middle of the gym floor, launches into a hug that crushes Kei's arms to his sides. He can feel his feet lift off the floor, but the embarrassment of that is overwhelmed completely by a feeling of relief. It feels the same when they're in a crowded place, and Koutarou puts a gentle hand on the small of Kei's back. An anchor.
"What are you doing here," he asks, and even as his voice sounds annoyed, he knows Koutarou can feel the way his body relaxes.
"I'm here to pick you up." Koutarou says this like it's an obvious answer. "It's late."
"I could've taken the bus."
Koutarou shrugs. "It's no problem." His hands linger in Kei's. "Gives us some quality time."
It's understandable. All of their schedules are so different. Kei spends most of his time in class and practice, so when he's home, he's studying or sleeping. Koutarou is constantly traveling for work, so the likelihood of them being home at the same time has become increasingly rare.
Kei feels like this moment should be savored for all it's worth. He wants nothing more than to go as quickly as possible, get in Koutarou's crappy Honda Civic so they can be home and eat dinner, maybe watch a movie and/or have sex. Most likely, Koutarou will have to leave tomorrow morning or afternoon for a practice or an interview or a photoshoot. Kei feels anxious anticipation in the pit of his stomach.
"Let's go," he says. "I'm hungry."
"Sure!" Koutarou snatches Kei's gym bag, a knowing look in his eyes.
Kei is about to follow Koutarou out when someone clears their throat behind him.
"Tsukishima?"
He turns.
Two of his teammates are standing there. Ishii Tsutomu and Sumida Takahiro. They have identical starstruck expressions on their faces, and suddenly Kei realizes the situation. They're looking past him, at his boyfriend, who stands in the doorway with a polite smile on his face, one eyebrow raised in question as he glances quickly at Kei.
They must know him, maybe even follow the Jackals and watch their games. By the way they're fidgeting, he might be a favorite of theirs.
Kei huffs, but the possibility of a connection with his teammates has him pulling his boyfriend back over to them.
"This is Bokuto Koutarou."
Koutarou waves. Kei can almost feel the way his body language changes as he goes from Koutarou, to Japanese National Volleyball Player Bokuto. The gym practically crackles with the energy he's radiating. Kei's teammates are staring up at him in awe.
Tsutomu suddenly bows, very deeply. "It's nice to meet you, Bokuto Koutarou!"
Takahiro bows as well. "Would you be willing to show us the famous Stacked Slap?"
Bokuto tilts his head, eyes bright. "Oho, you guys are in for a surprise." He put his arm around his boyfriend. "Kei here helped me create that move, spent weeks practicing it with me. If you want someone to show you The Slap with perfect technique, he's your man."
They're looking at Kei now with wide eyes and a new perspective. Kei marvels silently for a moment at the way Bokuto is capable of turning people's eyes to whatever he wants.
Bokuto's gaze is steady and quietly expectant.
"Tch," Kei rolls his eyes. "Sure I created the move, but I'd never give it such a ridiculous name."
Bokuto laughs, and his hand is firm against Kei. "That was all me." He checks his watch over Kei's shoulder. "Keiji's waiting with dinner. Ready to go?"
Kei nods. He checks his shoelaces again, before they say their goodbyes and begin to head out.
"Wait!" Takahiro calls after them. Kei turns around again, ready to make an excuse before they start asking for autographs.
"Tsukishima," Takahiro says instead. "Earlier, a few of us were making plans for a beach trip, volleyball and barbeque."
Kei is silent, waiting for clarification.
"Would you like to come?"
Kei pushes down the desire to turn and jump Koutarou's bones, because Kei knows this is because of him. His teammates, their sudden openness, Koutarou did that for him. He swallows and nods.
"I'll need the details."
Takahiro looks surprised, but he grins anyway. "I'll add you to the group chat."
Kei makes it all the way to the car before he is yanking Koutarou against him, a hug so warm it soaks into him.
Koutarou puts one hand against the nape of Kei's neck, and tugs lightly at his hair to get Kei to look at him.
"Can we kiss now? I've been waiting forever."
Kei can smirk for only a moment before their lips meet, soft and wanting. Koutarou always kisses like it's the last kiss he'll ever have, throwing himself into it with the fervor of a dying man. Kei feels lightheaded as Koutarou holds him by the waist and leans up into him to slot their mouths together, over and over until Kei's lips are swollen and his pulse is erratic against his skin.
When they get in the car, Kei takes Koutarou's hand and holds it tight the whole drive home.