Chapter Text
Keiji Akaashi was the first person in his family to ever go to university, so it was fairly normal that his parents felt a little dismayed when he announced his intentions of pursuing a degree in World Literature and Philosophy. It was 1968 and people were starting to believe that the world was mending itself after having nearly ripped itself to pieces, and perhaps that was why some adults felt as though looking back wasn’t nearly as interesting as heading towards the future.
“But what sort of job will that get you, my love?” His mum, though a very affectionate one, seemed concerned. She knew Akaashi had it in him to become a magnificent doctor, or perhaps a lawyer or an engineer. But what did someone with a degree in the arts do those days?
“Um, I’m not sure,” Akaashi replied, thumbing through the brochure that had been handed to him by the intern from the University of Tokyo earlier that week. “Teaching, maybe? Or I could go into publishing. That’d be nice.”
His father let out a quiet sigh. He was an accountant, which meant their life in the city was by no means fancy, but it definitely felt like a luxury compared to the way his grandparents lived back in the countryside.
“All right, son,” he finally nodded, squeezing his only child’s shoulder ever so gently. “So long as it makes you happy.”
And it did. Or at least Akaashi thought it would — he loved the idea of being a university student, with his shiny new uniform and his endless reading lists for each class that he took. He marveled at the idea of studying his favourite authors in class, but at the same time he felt worried about the things his classmates back in high school said about the University of Tokyo — that it was impossible to get accepted because of how they were lacking in space for new students, and that the teachers were all old and incompetent, even going so far as fancying them a little too lost in their own ways to consider their young students’ interests.
Thankfully, Akaashi didn’t struggle much with that first part. He passed his exams seamlessly, with near-perfect scores in Literature, English, and History, and perfectly decent ones in Science, Geography, and Maths. The University of Tokyo sent his acceptance letter within a couple of weeks, and before he could really think things through he had already enrolled in his first year for the degree he had been dreaming of for the better part of his last year of high school — which, granted, made him feel a little thrilled, even if he was usually a rather stoic person by nature.
But it didn’t take him too long to realize that his classmates had been right about one thing — the teaching left a lot to be desired. Subjects with mesmerizing names — such as ‘Aesthetics in Classical and Medieval European Philosophy’ or ‘Nineteenth-Century German Poetry’ — ended up being plain boring, with sixty-year-old male teachers who spent two entire hours fiddling with their own moustaches and providing their unsolicited opinion on various subjects that had nothing to do with the topics of the course.
It also didn’t help that he didn’t really click with any of his classmates, either, though that may very well have been due to his extremely reserved nature. He mostly hung out with his closest friend from high school, Kenma Kozume, who always wore his hair a little too long for their teachers’ taste and would be among the first students in Japan to acquire a degree in Computer Science, which was his one true passion. He was quiet like Akaashi, but had a rougher edge to him, which made Akaashi feel safe whenever they were pushed into more social situations. They understood and cared for each other, and Akaashi loved him because of that.
The two of them were strolling down the campus on a breezy April morning when Akaashi first caught sight of a poster announcing the student council’s decision to take over one of the main buildings of the University and protest there for all the students that had been left out for the summer term. Akaashi had always been big on politics, but he usually kept his thoughts to himself, mainly because Kenma wasn’t too political and his parents tended to shrug off every single conversation on that topic. Akaashi understood, though — they had grown up in a very different time and he couldn’t blame them for feeling a little scared about speaking their minds after having lived through a war as children.
Still, he ached for a group of people with whom he could speak his mind freely — he didn’t really need a large group of friends, but he had entered the university hoping that he would eventually strike up a friendship with two or three of his classmates and go on quick walks with them after class, perhaps even joining them at one of the European cafés that were becoming increasingly popular in central Tokyo. He guessed all he wanted was to belong , after all — to feel a little seen, even when he had spent a good part of his life trying to make himself invisible.
“Uh, nope, I’m gonna pass on that one,” Kenma had clucked his tongue, shaking his head a little at the idea of joining the protest. “Getting lost in the middle of a crowd isn’t exactly in my bucket list for my university years, but thank you.”
Akaashi had simply let out a sigh, assuming that it was up to him whether he attended the protest or not. He guessed he would chicken out of it in the last minute — he never really went through with that sort of stuff, at least not in high school, because his parents’ fear would always end up rubbing off on him and made him stay home after all. Which was precisely why he felt all the more shocked when he left his Chinese Poetry class that morning and headed straight towards the Law building, where the protest was taking place. A few students had already gathered around the assembly hall, holding signs and wearing the protesters’ signature uniform — maroon Zenkyoto helmets with their political affiliation scribbled onto it. He just sort of stood there, staring at them with both admiration and the tiniest bit of fear, then jerked backwards involuntarily when a tall, spiky-haired boy exclaimed,
“C’mon, let’s go!”
Akaashi knew him from somewhere, and his eyebrows rose when he realized where he had seen him before — he was Kuroo, Kenma’s neighbour. He vaguely remembered Kenma telling him that they’d been thick as thieves when they were little, even though Kuroo was an extremely extroverted boy and Kenma had always been his more quiet sidekick. He supposed they’d stayed in touch over the last few years, although he wondered whether Kenma knew what his old friend was up to that evening.
Still, it was somewhat comforting to know someone amidst a crowd of strangers, and he meekly followed the group inside the assembly hall, his eyes shifting from Kuroo to the group of boys who had gathered around him. He gulped, not really knowing whether the boy in front of him would recognize him, but ultimately stretched his arm to touch his shoulder gently.
“Hey, uh, hi.”
Kuroo turned around and immediately offered him a smile, which made Akaashi think that he at least looked somewhat familiar to him. “Hey! You’re Kenma’s friend, right? Akaashi?”
Relief flooded through him when the older boy said his name out loud. He had never been exactly popular amongst his peers, and it sometimes worried that people wouldn’t remember him (particularly when he excelled at remembering every single person he met), but that clearly wasn’t the case with Kuroo, who seemed to understand his more reserved nature due to his own friendship with Kenma.
The two of them walked inside the assembly hall together, with Kuroo chit-chatting in a friendly manner about his degree in Chemistry — Akaashi could see that he was very enthusiastic about it, which was surprisingly endearing, because he would have never imagined that a boy like Kuroo could have such specific interests. He knew better than to judge people for their looks, though, so he merely nodded and offered a couple quiet comments on the matter when Kuroo asked him, and mostly let him do the talking as the rest of the group locked the door to the assembly hall.
Having Kuroo by his side made things a little easier, but it ultimately wasn’t enough — Akaashi felt a tug in his chest as soon as he realized that his classmates had successfully locked the door, and that there was officially no way out of the assembly hall. He gulped, feeling a little anxious at the thought of what might happen once the police arrived, and closed his eyes for a second when he realized that he was feeling a little light-headed.
“Hey, hey. Are you all right?”
He supposed Kuroo had been the one to ask him that, but he soon realized that the voice that had just spoken to him was somewhat higher, and a lot softer; he opened his eyes and found a gray-haired boy staring at him, his wide eyes examining him closely. Akaashi’s first thought was that they were the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, which only made him feel even more lightheaded than he already was.
“Hey,” the boy said again, placing a hand on Akaashi’s elbow. “I’ve got some grape juice in my backpack. You want some?”
“I . . . no, yeah, I’m fine,” Akaashi blinked, feeling a little flustered as soon as he realized that the older boy was touching him. “I just . . . I didn’t realize the place was gonna be this crowded.”
“Oh, yeah,” the gray-haired boy said dismissively, then offered him a smile once he realized Akaashi was all right. “Don’t worry, I gotchu. Name’s Bokuto, by the way.”
“Bokuto,” Akaashi repeated. He couldn’t help but think that there was almost something lyrical to it.
The boy blinked. “Your name’s Bokuto too? That’s bonkers!”
“What?” Now it was Akaashi’s turn to blink several times, before shaking his head a little. “Oh, no, I . . . never mind. I’m Akaashi.”
“Akaashi, nice to meet you.” The boy stretched his hand out and shook his hand in an almost comic gesture, which made Akaashi bite back a small laugh. “Well, stay with me for a bit and I’ll introduce you to my friends, all right?”
Bokuto smiled at him again, and Akaashi could have sworn that he felt his insides turn to jelly at such a sight.