Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Precipice.

Bokuto’s heard Akaashi use that word once. He’s not quite sure what it means, he’d forgotten to ask. He’s got an idea, though. Standing here, in the midst of the crowd congregating on the gym floor, the word precipice pops to mind.

Playoffs are over, brackets are set for Nationals, and Fukurodani has punched their ticket once again. Outside the spring air nudges the cold from the trees; water clings to icicle tips. The victors linger on the court with their families. So too have a few college scouts, all adorned with sharp sleek polo shirts tucked into slacks and baseball caps emblazoned with different logos. All of them eye out Bokuto, his family stands back and watches proudly.

Bokuto’s eyes dart between them. A swooping feeling settles low in his stomach.

This kind of feels like when he walks home with Akaashi. Akaashi strides slowly, Bokuto teeters next to him, balancing one foot in front of the other on the curb. He leans too far one way, flat of his shoe tipping over the line between pavement and asphalt, and for a split second he feels the low swoop in his gut before Akaashi’s arm darts out and steadies him.

It is Bokuto’s final year of high school and Fukurodani has punched their ticket to Nationals. Outside, the afternoon sun warms the blooming spring buds. College scouts are gathered around him with pamphlets and brochures and baseball caps with little unfamiliar logos.

They’re all on the precipice of something.

Bokuto takes a deep breath, takes a step forward, and introduces himself.

The next few minutes are a flurry of “nice game” and “you’ve got quite the arm” and “so much potential” and Bokuto’s got so many pamphlets pushed into his hands they’re falling out of his arms. He talks to coaches from so many universities that they start to blend together: Osaka, Nagaoka, Loyola—America?—Tsukuba, Chuo, and each of them have their own admissions numbers, and academic specialties, and he’s got to make grades but if he does they’ve definitely got a spot for him, and- and…

…And the ledge he’s teetering on suddenly seems a lot taller than he thought.

Bokuto accepts yet another pamphlet and thanks the coach graciously. Once the man smiles and turns to go, he takes a quick, steadying breath, and scans the gym once more. One of the scouts is talking with his dad, a tiny blue dragon breathing fire on the breast of his shirt. Another is writing something in a notebook adorned with an orange crest. One stops to return an errant volleyball that Washio’s little brother has bounced into his path.

And then Bokuto sees Akaashi across the gym. He’s with his mom, but their eyes meet on instinct.

Akaashi glances once at all the scouts.

He smiles, rolls his eyes, and turns away.

The message comes through loud and clear.

How amusing, the look says. Bokuto recalls the remark from warm-ups. All the scouts had been in the front row of the stands observing, notebooks in hand.

Hm? What’s amusing? Bokuto had asked.

Akaashi had received a toss and set it high, his fingers steady, sharp steely eyes analyzing the set even as it went up. Only after Sarukui hit it cleanly into the floor did Akaashi turn to Bokuto with that very same smile on his face.

They think they have a chance with you.

And just like that, Bokuto’s feet are on solid ground.

“Hello,” a coach says. “I’m Hasaba Junichi, from Tokai University. I really enjoyed today’s game, I’d love to see you play at the next level.”

Bokuto turns his attention from Akaashi to the scouts, feeling steadier now even though the swooping feeling has intensified. It’s a strange sensation.

“I’m Bokuto Koutarou,” he says, grinning wide. “And the next time you see me play, I’ll be in the pro league.”

“How do we know the universe is still expanding?” the teacher asks, in fourth period earth science. Bokuto doesn’t know. He’s still trying to wrap his head around the whole stars-are-gas-thing.

But it makes sense, he figures. He’s put on five pounds this spring. His coach said if he wants a real shot at the pros, he needs to get stronger. The muscle has to come from somewhere. If the universe stayed the same size how would anyone ever gain any weight?

“Have you ever seen the sky at night?” The teacher asks. “What color is it?”

Everybody can answer that one.

“Exactly,” commends the teacher. “But if the universe were truly infinite, as we think it to be, wouldn’t stars fill up every last bit of it? Shouldn’t they stretch out in every direction, so the sky is completely light?”

Bokuto tries to imagine it. A whole sky, filled with nothing but the light of stars. He wonders how anybody would ever get any sleep.

“That’s how we know the universe is still growing,” finishes the teacher. “There’s still space between the stars. There’s still room to grow.”

It’s a little dizzying to think about. There could be entire worlds in the empty spaces of the sky. Universes within universes.

So much potential, a voice echoes in his ears.

“Now,” says the teacher. “Please take out your worksheets and I will come around to collect them.”

Perhaps one of those universes doesn't have homework. Maybe Bokuto should find a way to travel there.

The third-years’ time on the volleyball team slowly but surely reaches its end. Coach Yamiji gives more life advice than he coaches. The upperclassmen talk about their futures during the warm-up stretches.

Konoha finds the need to jam three years’ worth of excitement into two weeks.

Akaashi lets out an exclamation of surprise as he opens his locker and dozens of multicolored balloons burst out. In an instant, Konoha is on the floor cackling. Komi and Sarukui join in. Even Washio chuckles.

Bokuto laughs at the tinge of pink on his vice-captain’s cheeks and kicks up the balloons that have bounced over to him.

“Surprise!” says Konoha, once he is able to speak.

Akaashi just sighs and stares at the balloons. Bokuto kicks them up and they float down gently, spiraling and twisting in the commotion of the locker room.

“Do you intend for me to float home today?” Akaashi asks. This earns another guffaw from Konoha.

“We’re celebrating,” he says by way of explanation. “As upperclassmen, our days here are numbered, so we’d like to show our gratitude for you.”

“Your days were always numbered,” Akaashi interjects, frowning. “The only difference is that you can conceptualize that number now.”

Konoha rolls his eyes. Bokuto mouths the word conceptualize.

“Whatever. Anyway,” Konoha continues. “We know you only have so many days left of dealing with him.”

He points to Bokuto.

“And it is high time we celebrated that.”

Akaashi’s eyes widen. Everybody laughs and cheers.

Bokuto is grinning, but his chest feels tight.

“Thanks, Akaashi,” he says, playing along. He bows. “I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

By the time he’s straightened, Akaashi has schooled his face back to neutral.

“You say that as if you’ve made it anywhere,” he responds.

A chorus of “ooooh’s” follows and Bokuto clutches a hand to his chest.

“Akaashiiiii! You said just yesterday that you could see me playing in the next Olympics!”

“Yes,” responds his junior. “And today, I can see us doing flying dives for being late to warm up.” He turns and makes his way out of the locker room. “Please hurry up.”

Snickers and protests follow him out. He’s right, though; Coach Yamiji is already there and pointedly looking at his watch. They set up the court in record time and begin stretching just as the clock chimes, and the team breathes a sigh of relief.

It’s a tiny reprieve before another conversation starts up.

“I applied for that internship the career counselor told me about,” says Komi. “And turns out fifty other students are already signed up.”

“Damn. Apparently she told the whole year,” laughs Konoha. “Did you guys hear about it, too?”

He turns to the rest of them. Sarukui grins, Washio nods, Bokuto looks back blankly.

“...Bokuto-san, you did see the career counselor, right?”

Akaashi’s eyes are on him now, too. Bokuto scratches his neck and occupies himself with his shoelace.

“I- uhhh… no,” he murmurs.

Akaashi doesn’t say anything, but he does sigh, and the message is clear.

Bokuto meant to do it, he really did. It’s just, this week was really busy, and the appointment sort of slipped to the bottom of his to-do list. He already had a career in mind, after all.

“I’ll do it tomorrow morning,” he promises. Akaashi gives him an exacting look.

“That’s what you said on Monday.”

A bout of laughs goes around the circle.

“This is exactly why we’re celebrating,” Konoha says. “If Bokuto makes it to graduation, it’s because of you.”

Akaashi rolls his eyes.

“If Bokuto-san makes it to graduation, it’s at the mercy of his math teachers.”

“Akaashi!”

The circle breaks into laughter again and Akaashi looks at Bokuto. Bokuto can’t stay mad at him, not when he’s smiling like that.

(He can’t stay mad at him ever, really. It’s Akaashi.)

A call from their coach snaps them to attention and the team wraps up their stretches.

“Seriously though, Akaashi.” Konoha grunts as he pulls Komi to his feet. “You’re going to have so much free time once you don’t have to be with him 24/7. What are you going to do with it all?”

Bokuto feels his chest get tight again.

Akaashi glances at him, then away. His lips tighten into a tiny frown, and the tips of his ears burn light pink.

“We’ll see,” is all he responds, before the coach comes over to start their practice.

“Where do you see yourself in 10 years?”

The career counselor has light, almost silvery hair, and horn-rimmed glasses attached to a string of beads that dangles around her neck. She eyes Bokuto over the tops of the glasses.

“Playing volleyball,” he says.

She laughs, briefly, before realizing Bokuto isn’t being humorous.

She clears her throat and pushes the glasses up her nose. The bead string clacks at the movement.

“Besides that.”

Bokuto frowns.

“It would depend on where I was playing,” he answers. “If I was on a team in a big city, like Tokyo, I’d probably spend my free time expl-”

“That’s not what I meant,” the career counselor interjects, head shaking. The bead string sways back and forth. “I meant if you didn’t play volleyball.”

Bokuto swallows. His frown deepens.

“If I didn’t play…?”

The lady sighs and pushes her glasses up from where they’ve slid down her nose. The beads jangle loudly.

“Say the volleyball thing just didn’t work out. What if you get hurt, or you’re just not… I don’t know, for whatever reason. No volleyball. What will you do then?”

Bokuto blinks. He blinks again.

He’s honestly never thought of it before. Every time he thinks of the future he sees how he is, right now. Trying to think of something past that is like looking into a big, dark, empty space.

“Bokuto-kun, I only say that because I’ve got your file here,” she continues. She gestures to her computer- which he can’t see- and clicks a few times. “Your teachers all agree. You’re a hard worker, and you’ve got excellent interpersonal skills.”

She turns back to him and pushes her glasses up her nose once more.

“I think you would thrive in a good business program. If you really want, there are very good universities that allow you to play volleyball while you pursue your degree. You’d be prepared no matter what happens.”

The bead string must be for decoration because it’s doing a terrible job of keeping her glasses on her face.

“But- I-”

“I say this because I care about your future,” she interrupts gently. She leans forward, the glasses slip further. “It’s clear that you really love playing volleyball. And it’s natural to plan your future around the things that you love. But you have so much potential, Bokuto-kun. I just don’t want you to waste it all by betting everything on something so ambitious.”

There are those words again. So much potential. Somehow they feel sour now, twisted.

Bokuto must have quite the look on his face because she smiles sympathetically and slides a jar of candy over to his side of the desk.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she says. “I want all my students to chase their dreams. But my job is to make sure you have a backup plan in case you never reach them.”

Well, Bokuto thinks, staring at the bead string swinging back and forth, back and forth. It’s a little late for that.

He takes a piece of candy and holds it in his palm, trying to ignore the feeling of hurtling back to Earth.

“Oh! And before I forget,” she says, grabbing a brochure from a pile on her desk. “I’d like you to look at this internship opportunity.”

It takes zero point eight seconds for Akaashi to decipher that something is wrong with their captain.

Honestly, Bokuto is surprised he’s able to hide it for that long.

“Your footwork is sloppy, Bokuto-san,” he says. “Please clean it up before the game begins.”

In typical Akaashi fashion, the words are simple and to-the-point. It’s taken two years for Bokuto to figure this out, but this is Akaashi’s way of showing he cares. It’s kind of… endearing.

Maybe. He’ll have to ask about that word later.

Either way, Bokuto nods and returns to the spiking line. He can’t afford all these useless stray thoughts clogging his brain, not right now.

Fukurodani are playing in a preliminary seeding match. This isn’t on their typical schedule, but this year Morikawa High and Fukurodani are dead even in points for seeding in Spring Interhigh.

Not that Bokuto minds. It means that for one more time in their home gymnasium, he gets to feel the thrum of the crowd as they file into their seats. He gets to hear the whack of the ball echo against the white-and-gold walls. He gets to watch Konoha’s usual lazy grin sharpen into ruthlessness. He gets to see Akaashi’s gaze turn laser-sharp, and feel his eyes on Bokuto’s every move.

It gets his heart racing, every time.

Bokuto is back at the front of the line. Akaashi stands and waits for the toss. The ball goes up, and so does Bokuto. It floats in front of him - the set is perfect, as always- and he swings his arm back for a cut shot.

Except.

The ball comes down with a thud. So does Bokuto.

The team stands in silence.

He hadn’t hit it.

“Dejected mode before the game even starts,” he hears Konoha mutter behind him. “That’s gotta be a new record.”

Bokuto stares at his hands.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says. “Floating the ball at its highest point is outside of my skill set. If you’re going to hesitate for that long I suggest you work with Kageyama-kun from Karasuno.”

His tone is blunt, but his eyes are soft, probing.

What is it? The look says.

So Bokuto confides in him at the next water break. Akaashi’s frown deepens as the story is told.

“So the career counselor told you you’re not good enough to play professionally.”

“Yes. Kind of? But it made me all confused,” Bokuto wails, shaking his head. “What if she’s right? Would a real pro player practice their cut shot in warm-ups? Or am I supposed to be good enough to just DO it?”

Akaashi doesn’t even seem to be listening. He’s scanning the gym as the crowd settles in for the match.

“Hm,” is all he says.

“What are you looking for?” asks Bokuto, a little irritated that his pressing issue is being blown off like this.

Akaashi doesn’t turn to him, he continues to scan. “Is she here?”

“Who?”

“The career counselor.”

Bokuto frowns. He scans the crowd. There’s no sign of the lady’s silvery blond hair. And if she were here he would be able to hear the jangling bead string on her glasses from all the way down in center court.

“No,” he answers.

Akaashi’s searching gaze finally lands on Bokuto. His lips quirk up into a half-smile.

“Then how does she know you’re not good enough?”

Bokuto’s eyes widen.

(They win the game, three sets to none.)

Bokuto’s teacher is staring at him. Bokuto shrinks a little under his eyes, but keeps his hand up.

(He’s never raised his hand in class before. That’s probably why he’s staring.)

“Bokuto-kun? Do you… have a question?”

“Yes,” Bokuto says. “How do you know where a star will pop up next?”

The teacher frowns. “I’m… not sure what you mean.”

Bokuto shifts in his seat impatiently. “The other day, you were talking about how the universe is still growing. You said that as it grows, there will be more stars in the sky. How do you know where the next star will be?”

The teacher is still staring at him. He puts his chalk down.

“I don’t think there’s a way,” he starts slowly. “Even the stars we see now are actually thousands of years old, because that’s how long it takes for light to travel to Earth. A star could be born right now—many, really, in all different directions—but we won’t know until we see it.”

We won’t know until we see it.

Well, that’s… great. That’s great.

Bokuto’s disappointment must be obvious because the teacher sighs and gives him a sympathetic smile.

“I can see that wasn’t the answer you were looking for. But then again, I’m guessing this doesn’t actually have anything to do with a newfound interest in astrophysics, does it?”

By now all his teachers know that math and science have never really been Bokuto’s thing. And from what he’s heard, physics is the math OF science.

He’s got no choice but to shake his head. The teacher laughs.

“Well then, let me tell you this,” he says. He picks up his chalk again and tosses it from hand to hand as he talks. “Predicting the future is tricky business, but that’s what science is all about. You take what you know and use it to predict what you don’t know. And if there’s just one thing you take away from this class, let it be this.”

The teacher points the chalk at Bokuto.

“Every time you test a prediction, whether you’re right or you’re wrong, you learn something. You might not find what you were looking for, but you’ll certainly know more than you did before.”

He lowers the chalk, smiles.

“That’s the beauty of trying.”

Here’s what Bokuto knows.

He knows there’s no better feeling of hitting a spike straight into the opponent’s court.

He knows how quickly his fatigue fades at the sound of the final whistle.

He knows every time they win, his team is on the court in an instant. Komi jumps onto Washio’s back. Konoha’s excited yells are so loud the first-years flinch away. Akaashi’s gaze is locked on Bokuto, eyes brimming with wild, unbridled pride.

He knows he wants to chase that feeling until his last breath.

As they line up for their very first match of the National tournament it hits him, all at once, like lights on a runway leading the way forward.

This is how he makes his prediction.

“We’re going to win,” he says. “The whole thing.”

Akaashi is to his left. He turns to look at Bokuto, Bokuto sees the fire in his eyes.

“One match at a time,” replies Akaashi.

Bokuto feels the swooping in his gut again. This is a precipice.

“One match at a time,” he echoes, and together they step onto the court.

The funny thing about waiting for a star to appear: sometimes, no matter how long you wait,

No matter how far you see,

No matter how hard you try,

It never comes to light.

There might be beauty in trying, but that doesn’t make it any less painful.

It’s true, Bokuto does learn from every outcome.

He learns he hates losing. This isn’t entirely new, but now he’s absolutely, 100% certain it’s the worst feeling in the world.

He learns that the cheers of the opposing team is the loudest silence there is.

He watches his team hold back tears as they thank their supporters, and learns that he wanted this for them as much as he wanted it for himself.

They’re riding back to school on the bus in total silence. Night has long since fallen; they’ve stopped once for bentos on the way. Most of the team is now dozing in their seats. All except two: Bokuto, who hadn’t much felt like eating, and Akaashi, who was seated next to him.

“Akaashi,” he says.

Akaashi, who had been gazing out at the stars, turns to face him. His eyes are shining in the moonlight.

“You’ll make it back here next year. And you’ll win for sure.”

They’re empty words, just to fill the crushing silence.

Akaashi’s lips purse, he picks at his bento. “We are losing our ace, two of our best hitters and a top libero.”

Bokuto shrugs, stares past him at the night rushing past.

After his whole high school career ends on one single play, he only knows enough to say one thing for certain. But maybe that’s the thing he’s supposed to… to… conceptualize from all this.

“Well. No matter what, we have something not a lot of other teams have.”

Akaashi looks to him, questioning.

“And what is that?”

Bokuto meets his eyes.

“Love.”

Akaashi must choke on his food just then because his eyes widen and he makes a strangled sort of cough.

“Love,” he repeats, his voice unnaturally high. A question.

“Love,” Bokuto confirms, gesturing in explanation. “For volleyball. We made it this far because we worked so hard. We worked so hard because we were trying to reach a dream. And we plan our biggest dreams around the things that we love.”

Akaashi stares at his hands and lets out a long, controlled breath.

“I can see it when I look at you,” Bokuto continues. “And Onaga, and Anahori, all the rest of you. You love volleyball. Right?”

Akaashi meets his gaze again and Bokuto swears he sees the stars reflected in his eyes. There’s something else there, too. Something burning deep in the space between them.

Akaashi opens his mouth, closes it. He looks away.

“Yes. Very much so.”

Something pulls in Bokuto’s stomach. Akaashi didn’t have to say anything, really. Bokuto’s seen it there as far back as he can remember, buried deep beneath his perfect sets and his sharp remarks and his shining eyes, humming like a promise.

He really, really wanted this for them.

He nods, tries a smile. “You’ll come back here for sure.”

If his words sound more like a wish than a prediction, Akaashi doesn’t comment on it.

They sit in silence for a while longer. Akaashi returns to his bento. Bokuto opens his. The bus rolls on, the night lingers, the stars pass through the sky inch by inch.

“Bokuto-san,” says Akaashi, softly.

Bokuto turns to him. He’s still staring out the window.

“Hm?”

A hesitation.

“What’s your biggest dream now?”

It’s Bokuto’s turn to pause.

He sees volleyball; he always has. But the image flickers now. It slips with the feeling of college pamphlets stuffed into his arms. It wavers with the echo of jangling bead strings, and darkens with stars that will never come to light.

And yet, it persists. Bokuto thinks of volleyball and sees past the falling edge of this precipice. He feels the slam of the ball against a court. He sees his team bask in the glow of victory. He feels love in every bit of it.

He sees the fire in Akaashi’s eyes, and might just be a prediction—a shot in the dark—but the answer burns bright as it always did.

“I’m going to become a volleyball star.”

For a moment, Akaashi simply looks at him.

Then he laughs. It’s not incredulous, or pitying. It’s a small chuckle, light and short, almost as if in relief.

Akaashi looks down and picks the meat off his rice. He plops it onto Bokuto’s bento.

“Then you need to fuel yourself accordingly.”

The message comes through loud and clear.

Bokuto can’t think of a good enough thank-you, so he settles for a grin. Akaashi understands. He returns the smile, quickly, then averts his eyes to the window.

Graduation comes in a whirlwind and, yes, it sort of does come at the mercy of his math teacher.

Bokuto doesn’t mind. Four extra problem sets (and four extra nights spent at Akaashi’s house) are a small price to pay.

The day of the ceremony comes, and he laughs and cries and earns congratulations from friends and teammates and family. He’s giddy off praise and the weight of flowers in his arms. Everything feels rosy, warm.

His sister tackles him in a hug, her bright laugh fills his heart. She hands him a stuffed jackal.

“I was torn for a while between this and an owl,” she confesses. “I stood at the toy shop for ages. But today’s about your future! So here he is.”

Bokuto wraps an arm around her and grins at the Jackal’s beady little eyes.

So, yes, there’s that thing about the future. Bokuto’s been selected for summer training with the MSBY Black Jackals of the V.league, Division 1. He’d accepted, of course, right there on the phone. Just like that, his future wasn’t some far-off dream. It was right there, in front of his eyes, close enough to reach out and grab.

A feeling swoops low in his stomach. There’s no balancing on a precipice, not today. Today, Bokuto’s got both feet on the edge, looking out, ready to jump.

He looks around. His mom is chatting with a parent of one of his friends. Konoha receives flowers from a blushing classmate, speechless for the first time in his life. His youngest sister laughs and chases after Washio’s little brother.

And then, across the field, Bokuto meets Akaashi’s eyes, almost as if on instinct.

Dappled sunlight paints his face a rosy gold. He’s admiring the cherry blossoms before he turns to Bokuto and smiles.

Everything feels rosier, warmer.

Bokuto hands off the flowers to his sister and makes his way through the crowd. Akaashi meets him halfway.

“Congratulations,” he says.

Bokuto thanks him with a grin.

“You were right, Akaashi,” he admits. “I’m mostly graduating because of you.”

Akaashi’s cheeks flush light pink, he shakes his head minutely.

“You did just fine on your own,” he says quietly.

Bokuto chuckles. He knows how much he owes to his teammates, and to Akaashi. He’s tried to make it known every day since he got the call.

“Look,” he says, because they’ve fallen into silence. Bokuto holds out the stuffed jackal. “My sister got me this. Isn’t it cute?”

Akaashi accepts the animal gingerly, touching its pointed ears. Something about his tender look makes Bokuto’s heart leap.

“She said it was either this or a stuffed owl. I think she knows I already have a bunch of stuffed owls,” he rambles. “Plus she said, today is about my future, so-”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi blurts.

Bokuto closes his mouth with an audible snap. Akaashi’s eyes find his, briefly, intensely, before they dart back down to the stuffed animal.

“I need to tell you something.”

Bokuto realizes he’s holding his breath.

“Okay,” he says, in one short exhale.

Akaashi takes a breath. He looks up, finds Bokuto’s eyes. Something burns in there, deep and urgent.

He opens his mouth, closes it. Takes another short breath.

“I-”

“Go on-”

They speak at the same time, both stop abruptly. Bokuto chuckles and shifts from foot to foot. Akaashi smiles and looks away.

Bokuto, inexplicably, feels like they’re teetering on something.

Akaashi looks down at the jackal again, and for a split second, his brows pinch together.

Then he sighs, and the words tumble out.

“I love volleyball because of you.”

Bokuto’s breath hitches in his throat.

Akaashi meets his eyes, again, fleetingly, before he bows.

“Thank you, Bokuto-san.”

For a moment, all Bokuto can do is stand there, eyes wide, no doubt a dumb look on his face. The words sink like stones and settle right at the very bottom of his heart.

Neither of them realize he’s moved until Akaashi has straightened to find Bokuto’s arms wrapped around him.

He can’t quite find the words yet, but it’s okay, because neither can Akaashi. Bokuto’s head is nestled in the crook of his neck, he squeezes tears from his eyes. He’s not sure where they came from. It doesn’t matter much, anyway. Bokuto holds him tight, breathing in something distinctly Akaashi, feeling his breath stutter against his shoulder. It’s all he can do right now.

Because here’s what Bokuto knows:

He knows that Akaashi has set for Bokuto in high school for the last time.

He knows there are no more spiking practices running late into the night, or long bus rides, or locker room talks.

He knows he stands on this ledge alone, but when he looks back Akaashi is always there.

He’s ready with a steady hand. Or a perfect set. Or an expertly crafted remark.

When Bokuto turns to find him, he’s always, always looking back. There’s comfort in the color of steely blue-green. Comfort and something else, something that sparks a light deep in his gut, something that tells him, yes. This is it. Take the leap.

He knows this is his precipice, but it’s their dream.

“It’s not over,” he mumbles into Akaashi’s shoulder. “It’s not over.”

From deep somewhere in his chest, the words ring out like a truth. He squeezes his eyes shut, but everything he knows is already seared on his eyelids.

It won’t end here.

He won’t let it.

In all of the universes he’s yet to find, there’s not a single one where Akaashi never plays with him again.

Chapter Text

For a while, Bokuto’s at it alone, and the prospect is a little more than intimidating.

Joining the V.league is like stepping onto a track in the middle of a race. It’s equal parts exhilarating and terrifying; he tries to find his footing and learns quickly not to get trampled in the process.

He adapts quickly, mostly for the better. He can’t afford to be in a foul mood for very long, not when there are other players always eager to take his place. He hits all sorts of sets now. He’s got a pre-workout ritual to steady his mood before practice. He’s rarely homesick; he simply doesn’t have the time.

Still, for a while it’s difficult. Volleyball is what he loves, and it’s what he’s good at. But as it turns out, the same is true for everybody. For every spike he makes, there’s a blocker ready to stop it. Every serve is met by a receiver who grins when the ball goes up. Every block he makes is another shot for the wing spiker on the other side.

Bokuto stays to serve balls after practice, half the team stays, too.

He thought it might feel freeing, at first. He wouldn’t be alone at the top. But right now he feels the opposite. He’s never felt as lonely as he does now, surrounded by people just like him.

Give it time, he reasons to himself. It’s only been three months or so, two of them being preseason. He’s only recently, officially, made the roster. They’ve only had three matches.

(He’s only played in one of them. He tries to pay it no mind.)

This is a talk he has with himself on a lot of nights alone in his one-bedroom apartment way out in the middle of Osaka. Although his team has been welcoming, inviting him out for drinks after practice, he can’t help but feel a little out of place among the older players. He counts down the days until their bye weekend; once their Friday practice is over, he packs his bags and takes the first train out to Tokyo.

His family meets him at the train station with cheers and hugs and celebration. Just being around them lifts his mood; his laugh echoes through the station. It’s the first real laugh he’s had in a while.

Still, his eyes keep finding their way to the clock on the wall. The fifth time it happens, his mom rolls his eyes, gives him a knowing look, and nods.

“Go,” is all she says, and he’s off like a shot.

The gym is still alive with shouts and the sound of the ball slamming against the court by the time he gets there. He smiles, soaks in the sight of the building, takes a breath, and enters with a “hey hey hey, what’s going on in here?”

The play is forgotten and Fukurodani’s volleyball team is around him in an instant. Onaga’s hugging him, then Anahori’s patting him on the back, and questions fly in from all different sides until the coach relents and ends practice then and there, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

Bokuto fields the questions for a while, laughing and telling his team about his time in Osaka. It’s nice just being here again, seeing the afternoon sunlight filter in through the gym windows, taking in the smell of Icy Hot and wood polish, hearing the bouncing ball echo off the walls–

–and meeting Akaashi’s eyes across the gym floor.

Akaashi smiles, lightly, and holds a hand up in greeting.

Bokuto’s heart leaps.

He waves back and bites his lip so his smile doesn’t take over his entire face, looking first to Akaashi, then to a nearby cart of volleyballs, then back to Akaashi with a hopeful gaze.

Akaashi’s eyes roll. He appraises Bokuto with a look.

Bokuto’s hopeful gaze turns sheepish.

Akaashi sighs, and turns to one of the first-years.

“Please leave the net up, Kurogawa-kun.”

Bokuto grins.

The weekend passes in the blink of an eye. He’s got to be back in Osaka by Sunday, so by Saturday night he’s got his things packed and kisses his mom and dad goodnight.

He’ll leave at dawn and catch the first train back in the morning. That is, if he can get any sleep. Which—after a couple of listless hours where his thoughts are too loud—Bokuto decides is a no.

That’s how he finds himself walking down the street in the middle of the night.

Every step he takes reminds him how good everything is. Was. Is? He’s not too sure. What he does know, for certain, is that this weekend- being home, with his siblings, eating yakiniku at their dinner table, hitting spikes with Akaashi late into the evening- made him feel like him again. Like he belonged there.

Bokuto finds himself in the driveway of a dark house. He should have known, really. Every time he’s worried his feet lead him here on instinct.

Akaashi’s house is large, with a vast blank driveway that’s usually unoccupied. His mom is a nurse and takes night shifts most weeks. His dad is a bank manager and is away on business all the time.

A light goes on in the kitchen when he knocks, and there’s shuffling in the hallway soon after.

Akaashi looks dishevelled when he opens the door. His glasses—he wears glasses now, and he squints less—are crooked on his face. One side of his face is wrinkled like it had been buried in a pillow.

“Bokuto-san,” is all he manages, blinking blearily.

Bokuto just stares at him for a moment. He thinks, out of nowhere, that getting glasses did Akaashi well. They frame his face.

Akaashi, he decides, has a nice face.

He’s shaken out of his reverie by a dog barking in the distance. Akaashi looks that way, then back to Bokuto, and questions with an eyebrow.

Bokuto swallows. “I can’t sleep.”

For a moment, Akaashi just looks at him. Then he grabs his keys and ushers Bokuto out onto the sidewalk, locking the door behind him.

“So neither can I, I guess,” Akaashi grumbles. “C’mon.”

His tone is blunt, but his eyes are soft. The question is obvious.

They walk in silence for a bit, because Bokuto’s not sure how to start. The words are there, somewhere, but they feel unreachable. The summit of a mountain that he can only stare up at.

“I watched your game against Tachibana,” says Akaashi.

Bokuto looks at him, but Akaashi’s staring straight ahead. “I’m glad they put you in for the third set.”

There’s a stray lock of hair sitting on the frame of his glasses. Bokuto, inexplicably, has the urge to brush it off.

He doesn’t. “What did you think?”

Akaashi ponders this for a second. “Your wing spiker Barnes is incredible.”

Bokuto scoffs. “Akaashi!”

Akaashi finally looks at him, humor twinkling behind his glasses. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Sure. Fine. Barnes is incredible. But-

“Are they really that much better than me?”

Akaashi ponders this for a second with a critical stare. “No,” he concludes. “Technique-wise, you are not at all behind. I think you may even have an edge in power. I think the one thing that they have over you is chemistry.”

“Chemistry,” echoes Bokuto, softly.

Akaashi nods. “It’s clear they’ve been playing together for years. You’ve only had three months. Give it time.” He looks down, twists his fingers together. “When you connect with your team, you are unstoppable.”

Bokuto lets out a breath and feels the tension ease in his chest.

“Huh,” he says, smiling. “I guess I always knew that was the problem. But it sounds better hearing it from you.”

Akaashi looks at him, almost startled. Bokuto just grins.

Akaashi huffs, amusedly, and stares back ahead at the street. “You’re a professional player,” he mumbles. “Seeking the opinion of a high school student.”

“Not a high school student,” Bokuto corrects. “You.”

Akaashi looks at him, Bokuto grins. “You’ll play in university soon.”

Akaashi doesn’t respond.

They walk in silence for a while. Bokuto thinks, briefly, that he ought to let Akaashi get some rest. He’s a menace when he’s tired. Still, he finds he’s not quite willing to part ways just yet.

They stop and sit at a park bench. The night is quiet, cloudless. The moon is a thin sliver overhead, the rest of the sky is dotted with stars.

If Bokuto stares long enough, he can imagine them moving, dragging the moon across the sky, ticking down the seconds until he has to return to Osaka.

There’s something ominous in the big dark empty vastness of it all.

“You know,” he starts softly, staring upward. “When people tell you you can be a star, they never mention how many of them are already up there.”

Akaashi’s eyes find Bokuto. Bokuto keeps his gaze on the sky, and swallows.

He feels the words he’s been holding onto bubble up and escape into the night.

“Nobody warns you that you might get lost in all of them.”

Akaashi’s gaze is still on Bokuto. Bokuto finally meets his eyes, and he looks…

heartbroken.

Bokuto swallows again.

“I know I-I’m lucky,” he says in a rush. “It should be enough to just be there. But- I just-”

Bokuto feels his voice break, and curls his arms around his waist. “I don’t want to leave everyone behind. I- I want to be seen.” By Akaashi. By his family. By all his teammates, by the Tokyo he grew up in. It’s a selfish request, really, after everything they’ve done for him.

That’s probably why his voice gets so small. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Silence overcomes them. Bokuto’s confession festers in the night air.

Akaashi stares at him, something that looks a lot like betrayal still etched on his features. Bokuto can’t meet his eyes. This was their dream, after all.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says softly.

Something hums deep in his voice.

Bokuto turns his head at the movement of Akaashi leaning back on the park bench, his gaze on the sky.

“Look,” he says, and points. “There are three stars there, in a line. The third is connected to those, forming a kind of cup. The Big Dipper. Do you see it?”

Bokuto has to squint, and tilt his head into Akaashi’s shoulder, but- “yeah. I- I kinda see it.”

Akaashi gestures with his finger. “And look where the cup is pointed. Follow that line up, that way. What do you see?”

Bokuto traces the line with his eyes.

“A really bright star,” he murmurs.

“The north star,” Akaashi confirms. “Polaris.”

Akaashi drops his hand. His gaze remains skyward.

“There are millions and millions of stars in the sky. There are so many, you couldn’t count them all before sunrise.” Akaashi points again. “But if you follow the line of the Big Dipper up, up into the sky, you will always find the north star.”

Akaashi’s gaze finds Bokuto.

“And it’s always shining brighter than anything else,” he says.

The words hang in the air between them. Bokuto wants, more than anything, to be able to reach out and grab them.

“Akaashi,” breathes Bokuto. “You’ll find me, right? When I’m a star.”

Akaashi’s face drops a fraction of a centimeter.

“Well, you’ll never be a star at metaphors,” he grumbles, looking away.

Bokuto’s not quite sure what that means, but he reaches out as the moment breaks. He needs—suddenly, urgently—to hold on to this. To hold on to, to—

—To Akaashi’s hand, is what he grabs. He holds tight as Akaashi looks at him, startled for a moment before he schools his face back to neutral.

“Akaashi, please,” he says. “Promise me. When I’m a star, promise you’ll keep finding me?”

He doesn’t know how much he needs it until the words are out there. His future—the Black Jackals, Osaka, everything—is because of the boy in front of him. He doesn’t know volleyball if Akaashi’s not there.

Akaashi gazes at Bokuto, something light dancing in his eyes. He takes a breath, it hitches in his throat.

Then he looks down at their joined hands. Slowly, carefully, he adjusts his grip so that they’re clasped together.

“Always,” he whispers, like a vow.

Bokuto’s sister got him a little stuffed Jackal for graduation, and it sits on a shelf in his apartment in Osaka. She confessed, once, that she debated between that and an owl. The jackal is cute, there’s no doubt. Still, the owl would have been an equally viable and fitting option.

Because Bokuto throws himself off ledges and cliffs and mountains. He shoots himself into space, aimed for the stars—

And he flies.

Articles upon articles are printed about the newcomer that came to the scene out of nowhere. The Black Jackals shoot to the top of the league standings. Bokuto finds himself in the starting rotation, announcers gush about how he connects so well with the others, it’s like he’s known them for years.

And sometimes, it feels like he has. There are times they go out for drinks that feel like they never end. There are movie nights where they stay up talking and laughing until the sun goes up.

He stays late after practice to serve balls, half the team stays with him. They joke and tease and receive spikes late into the night until their bodies ache and captain Meian returns to yell at them. Either Meian, or a little ding from his phone that sounds more and more stern every time he hears it.

(Even the others recognize it by now, a chorus of “oooooh’s” goes up every time it rings.)

Take a break, texts Akaashi. You’ve got a big game tomorrow.

Bokuto can’t stop the smile that comes to his face every time.

You don’t know what I’m doing, he replies. Who’s your source?

I don’t need one. I can hear you hitting serves from Tokyo.

He grins wider and sends back a photo of him sticking his tongue out.

The season goes on much like this. The Jackals win games, one match at a time. Bokuto scores match points and celebrates and goes out with his team. Announcers call his number, the audience responds with roaring cheers. Akaashi texts after every game (Your services were very accurate today, Bokuto-san. Or: That was quite the cross shot in the second set. Or—once after he and their setter had been awarded V.League co-players of the week—Congratulations. Well-deserved).

(Bokuto responds that’ll be us in a couple of years! to the last one, and gets a We’ll see in response).

Sometimes things don’t go their way. He gives opponents wins with a serve into the net. Blockers read his cross shot AND his straight shot and he’s forced to improvise. They lose three matches in a row and fall to fourth in the standings.

Still, Bokuto leads them back up, one match at a time. He knows what it’s like to leap, then fall. He’s shot himself skyward, aimed at a star that never appeared. He knows, despite all of this, that he belongs among them. No matter what he shoots for, and no matter where he lands, he won’t fade into the background. Not to the people who matter the most.

(Your serve was so fast even the referee couldn’t see it, texts Akaashi after they lose a crucial match and fall out of championship consideration. Bokuto’s crying and snorts so hard a snot bubble shoots out of his nose.)

So he gets up, gets back to practice. He rallies his team. They take leaps, aim high, shoot far. The falls are worth the times they float to victory, lifted by the roar of the crowd, Bokuto’s face lighting up at the sight of blue-green eyes brimming with pride. It’s worth it. It’s all worth it.

Until it’s not.

Akaashi’s fingers twist around each other. He doesn’t meet Bokuto’s eyes.

Bokuto feels like he’s falling through Fukurodani’s gym floor.

“You’re… quitting volleyball,” he echoes.

The words feel bitter in his mouth. Akaashi, impossibly, nods.

“After high school, yes,” he says, quietly. Like he knows how fragile Bokuto is.

Outside, the chatter of the graduation festival continues uninterrupted. Bokuto had come to give his congratulations to Akaashi, only to find him standing in the gym, staring up at the stands, alone.

“Why?”

Akaashi still doesn’t meet his eyes. He doesn’t need to, though. Bokuto can see how empty they are.

“I’m not good enough.”

The words trail off into silence, like smoke.

“But you-” Bokuto’s throat feels tight. He swallows. “You have the BEST sets!”

Akaashi looks away.

“I did,” he says. “Because they were for you.”

Every word feels like the earth crumbling beneath his feet. Bokuto scrambles for a foothold.

“You love volleyball. You- you said you love volleyball.” Bokuto swallows again. “You- when you love something, you plan your biggest dreams around it.”

Akaashi opens his mouth, hesitates.

He closes it. Takes a shaky breath.

“If love was all it took, I’d be on the court next to you.”

Every word feels like a shot to the gut. Bokuto struggles for a response—what does that even mean?—but he feels like he’s stumbling through the dark to even find words.

“I-” is all he gets out.

The silence feels emptier than before.

“I have to go,” whispers Akaashi. “I- I’m sorry.”

And then swiftly, almost robotically, Akaashi turns and walks away.

Away from the gym.

Away from volleyball.

Away from Bokuto,

Without so much as a backward glance.

If the future hangs off a precipice, Bokuto’s thrown himself off ledges and cliffs and mountains.

He’s watched entire matches from the sidelines. He’s lost playoff games with a serve to the net.

He’s shot himself into space, aimed at a star that never appeared.

Bokuto thought he’d felt the worst feeling in the world before.

That is, up until right now.

Up until a dream so real he could feel it burning,

Up until the light from a star he thought he could see,

Dies in front of his eyes.

The Black Jackals learn very quickly that newcomer Miya Atsumu has an ego.

On the very first day of training, he recognizes Bokuto and tells him that he had better be able to hit his sets. Now, after practice in week two, he walks straight up to him and asks—

“Alright, what the fuck is your problem?”

The problem, so to speak, being that Bokuto has been inconsolable ever since they got back from the weekend. The young spiker is almost never down, and bounces back quickly. His motivational speeches are usually enough to get a laugh out of—if not inspire—all of the older players. But this week, he’s kept to himself, and gone straight home after every practice. Even his usual spiky hair flops in his face as he mopes around on the court.

The team is at a loss of what to do. Meian has invited him to every movie night and bar outing, but he’s refused all of them. The team has never seen him so down, and are frankly out of ideas.

This is probably why they don’t say anything when Atsumu drops his ball, throws his hands up in frustration, and tells Bokuto, “This whole boo-hoo me thing has got to stop. Ya walk in here every day with a big ol’ cloud over yer head, and it’s gettin’ everybody down. You can either tell us what’s goin’ on, or you can get outta here, and don’t bother comin’ back until you can look at me without makin’ me feel bad for havin’ a good time.”

Atsumu Miya has an ego. He also has a point.

Bokuto sighs.

He has been miserable. He feels even worse to learn, now, that he’s let the whole team down.

“‘M sorry,” he mumbles. “I learned some bad news when I went home.”

The gym falls into heavy silence.

“Well?” pushes Atsumu. “What is it?”

“Miya,” chides Meian, but Atsumu waves him off.

“Yer gonna tell us,” he tells Bokuto. “Because clearly ya can’t process it on yer own.”

His tone is sharp, but there’s some sort of softness in his eyes.

It reminds Bokuto of someone else, and it’s probably why he finally sighs and stares at his hands.

“My best friend quit volleyball,” he admits.

Silence. And then—

“That’s it?”

Bokuto’s sadness is replaced, briefly, by confusion.

“What-”

“Fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” says Atsumu. “That’s it?”

“Well- yeah-”

“My twin brother quit volleyball after high school,” Atsumu continues, and now he’s just angry. “You don’t see me layin’ on the ground durin’ water breaks.”

To be fair, Bokuto had tripped—

“Yer tellin’ me you’re THIS depressed because your best friend quit volleyball.” Atsumu throws his hands up again. “It’s not like he died. What’s so sad about it?”

Bokuto sputters in protest. “Well- it’s…”

…But he can’t really answer that. It just is. Isn’t it?

Atsumu sighs, his eyes soften.

“Look,” he says, a bit more gentle. “I get it. It hurt when my brother said he didn’t wanna play anymore. But this stuff, it’s just… it’s not for everybody, ya know?”

Maybe not, Bokuto wants to protest. But for Akaashi, volleyball was his thing.

It was their thing.

Atsumu squeezes his shoulder. “If yer anything like me, yer sad ‘cause ya feel like ya lost something. If you wanna get over it—and God knows we all want you to get over it—figure out what that something is. Then find a way to get it back.”

Atsumu pats him once on the back, and leaves the court without another word.

The rest of his teammates look at each other. Meian shrugs, and follows Atsumu to the locker room. The rest of the team follows.

Bokuto is left on the court alone.

The silence is loud. He picks up a ball that’s been left behind, just for something to hear. He tosses it up, hits it.

SMACK.

Atsumu’s words echo in his head as he picks up another one.

Toss, hit.

Ya feel like ya lost something.

SMACK.

Well, he did, didn’t he? He lost…

Toss, hit.

SMACK.

…something.

Toss.

The thought teeters on the edge of… of being conceptualized, but it doesn’t fall.

Hit.

Huh. There would be no more of that. No more Akaashi using big smart words just to piss Konoha off, and Bokuto learning them.

SMACK.

No more knowing looks after practice. No more taking down the net, well past the sun disappearing below the horizon, just the two of them.

Toss.

No more tosses that go up with “Bokuto-san!” ringing out, something humming deep in Akaashi’s voice.

No more warm-ups, no more feeling every nerve in his body spark at the feeling of Akaashi watching him. No more glances, right before game time, seeing the fire in Akaashi’s eyes, and knowing something so certain he could see it shining in the distance.

Hit.

But there would still be tosses to hit, and wins to chase. Plenty of them.

There would be plenty more times to leap off ledges, not knowing where he’d land. Plenty more shining dreams to shoot for.

SMACK.

He’s got his team at his back. He’s got a setter that cares about him, in his own angry sort of way. He’s got his family back home cheering for him. He’s got everything he’s ever wanted, except for one thing.

Toss.

He didn’t lose volleyball.

He just lost—

The ball hits the court.

Oh.

For a while, all he hears is the pounding of his shoes against the pavement, and his heaving breaths. There’s the occasional sound of a car honking, off in the distance, or a dog barking as he sprints past. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t even notice, really.

Bokuto has seen stars. He’s stared up at the dark spaces between them, trying to see the worlds hidden there, the ones he can only predict. He sees futures for himself, for his friends, and does his best to aim for them. He sees victories. He sees championships. He sees homecoming dinners with his family, his sisters laughing and showering him with little stuffed Jackals.

His feet land him on a familiar unoccupied driveway, almost as if on instinct, and then he hears the knocking of his fist against the door, and the thump of his travel bag as it hits the grass.

Bokuto sees bus rides, late at night. He sees perfect sets that seem to float forever in the afternoon sunlight. He sees walks in the park after everyone’s gone to sleep. He sees bentos with meat piled high, a little off-center, as if it had been plopped there unceremoniously.

A light comes on in the kitchen. There’s shuffling in the hallway. The door opens, and even though Bokuto’s got his hands on his knees, eyes squeezed shut to fight the dizziness, he hears the soft intake of breath.

He sees steely blue-green eyes, bright with amusement when he tries to make a joke, laced with concern when he forgets how to spike, brimming with pride when they win a match, and always, always burning deep with something only Bokuto gets to see.

“Bokuto-san,” says Akaashi somewhere above him, and Bokuto takes one more heaving breath and straightens, blinking.

Past volleyball, past his team, past his family, past everything else, he sees Akaashi.

He’s always seen Akaashi.

“I love you,” he says.

Akaashi’s mouth opens, his eyes widen.

“And not because you’re… doing anything,” Bokuto clarifies. He’s yet to catch his breath. “Or you’re… trying to be someone special. I mean, you-” another breath- “you are special, but not because of volleyball.” He’s rambling now. “Or school. Or anything. I just-”

He takes another breath, steadies himself.

“I just love you. And that’s it.”

Silence.

Akaashi’s eyes still burn bright and deep. They always have. Perhaps they always will.

“How far did you run?” he asks, breathless,

and the message is clear.

Bokuto laughs and steps forward. He brushes away a stray lock of hair that perches on Akaashi’s glasses, rests a hand on his cheek.

Akaashi’s hand comes up to his jaw, and holds him like he’s not sure he’s real. His eyes are still wide, searching, shining.

Bokuto smiles.

When their lips meet, his eyes flutter shut, but he can still see stars.

Akaashi sighs and his hands curl into his shirt, tugging him closer. Bokuto brings both hands up to cup his face. He learns there is a better feeling than spiking a ball. Akaashi’s lips are soft, and warm, and Bokuto kisses him again, and again, and again.

Akaashi stumbles backward and Bokuto follows through the doorway. Akaashi’s lips are soft and insistent, his hand cards through Bokuto’s hair, the door creaks shut behind them.

“My bag,” Bokuto mumbles distractedly.

Against his lips, Akaashi huffs out a laugh. They break apart for Akaashi to open the door and for Bokuto to shuffle out and retrieve his travel bag from the driveway.

When he comes back in, though, Akaashi is standing there, fingers twisting around each other.

Bokuto leaves the bag and is beside him in a second.

“What is it?”

“You’re serious,” Akaashi says, a question. “About… this. If you’re not-” he laughs, haltingly- “I’m never going to recover.”

For a moment, Bokuto can only stare at him.

Then he laughs, steps forward, gently takes both of his hands. Akaashi stares up.

Bokuto presses their foreheads together, and lets the words tumble out.

“When I think of myself in ten years, fifty years, one hundred years,” he whispers, like a vow, “I see myself with you.”

He feels Akaashi’s breath stutter against his lips, and kisses him again.

For a while, they exist in the spaces between.

Hotel rooms, facetime calls, airports, text bubbles. Bokuto’s got a busy schedule as the Black Jackals’ starting wing spiker, especially now that they’ve made the playoffs. Akaashi’s got university obligations. Plus he’s got a new internship. Apparently, for all the good he was at volleyball, he’s even better at writing.

They’re spending their time as most young adults do: chasing dreams, taking leaps of faith, both alone and together. For every stumble Akaashi has, Bokuto is there with a phone call and a meal (“The delivery man said he’s been waiting outside your door for ten minutes, Kaashi! Take a break!”). For every goal that’s left unreached, Akaashi is there with a text (Perhaps if Miya-san weren’t staring at Sakusa like that, he would’ve made that dig).

They’ll take it, for now.

There are things they can’t see, and futures they can’t predict. The universe as they know it blows wider and wider with every passing second; stars multiply by the millions. Still, they fall together through it all, perhaps without reason, perhaps aimed at something that burns, far off, for only them.

Here’s what they know for certain:

There are thousands and thousands of fans in a stadium crowd. There are so many, you couldn’t count them all before a game ends. But, after Bokuto Koutarou makes a kill, he always glows bright with a grin and a shout. And if you follow his eyes up, up into the stands—

Some days, through the TV cameras—

Or through the phone of his favorite streamer—

You’ll always find Akaashi Keiji, and he will always be smiling back.