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It starts at seven in the morning when the sun is slipping brightly through the cracks of the blinds in the master bedroom. There’s no noise, no disturbance, just gentle breathing and the slight outdoor noises muffled through the walls of the home.
Tetsurou wakes to the calm kiss of the morning, his eyes fluttering slowly open. There’s an arm slung over his waist, holding him firmly in place, and at his back is a warm mass he assumes to be Bokuto. Based on the fact that the bedroom door is still firmly closed, Tetsurou assumes Akaashi fell asleep at his desk—he’s known to leave the door open by only a crack when he eventually shuffles his way to bed in the late, late hours of the night.
It’s then that Tetsurou remembers, lazily, that Tsukishima is still off playing an away game halfway across the country. That gets him going, his arm flailing around, searching for his phone to send a good morning text. His fingers wrap around something cold and rectangular. He brings it up to his face and the blue light of his screen flashes right in his eyes.
It’s then that he sees it is, in fact, seven in the morning and his alarm should have gone off half an hour ago.
That’s not the worst part, though. The part that really strikes Tetsurou is that Bokuto has practice in half an hour, and with the train ride to the facility plus all the time it’ll take him to eat breakfast and the time it’ll take him to prepare lunch plus he should really shower since Tetsurou can already smell him and he’s sure no one on the train will appreciate that— it’s safe to say that every second counts.
“Koutarou,” Tetsurou tries once, firm and loud. He sits up, pulling Bokuto’s arm from its perch on his waist and hoping the jostle might make it a little easier to wake him.
“Koutarou, Kou,” Tetsurou tries with a little more urgency. He pokes Bokuto square in the forehead and receives not even the slightest reaction. Tetsurou slaps him on the bicep once, twice before he even gets the smallest of twitches and a huff.
With a lack of a better plan, he leans down until his mouth is right next to Bokuto’s ear and takes a deep breath. In the second before he lets out what would surely be a horrible scream, Bokuto’s eyes shoot wide open.
“G’morning,” He hums in a gravelly morning voice. He smiles, and the tips of his teeth catch in the fragments of leaking morning light. Tetsurou’s poor heart clenches, a deep pang of love shooting all the way through him as he sits upright next to Bokuto.
“Morning. You’re late to practice,” Tetsurou says, forgetting he’s still smiling.
Bokuto doesn’t seem to mind—the smiling or the fact that he’s late.
“By how much?” Bokuto asks. He falls back down and nestles his face into Tetsurou’s hip, not quite ready to get out of bed just yet.
“It’s seven,” Tetsurou says. He tangles his fingers in the base of Bokuto’s hair, ruffling at it just gently.
Bokuto grunts, then groans, then rolls over to plant his face in the mess of pillows. Then he groans again. “Ok,” He says, flatly. He maneuvers himself out of the bed in a way that isn’t exactly practical, but gets him to where he needs to be—standing upright on the floor. He’s still moving sluggishly, like he can only be bothered to a certain extent so soon after waking up.
Tetsurou can’t say he’s doing much better as he reaches out again to grab his phone. He sends a quick text off to Tsukishima then sighs as he opens his email.
He starts the draft with an apology, an I’m sure you’ll understand an alarm mishap, and finishes it with a promise to make up for the missed work. He reads it over diligently, three or four times just to make sure it sounds genuine, before sending it off to his boss with another sigh. He’s sure there will be some kind of hell to pay for this, but at the moment Tetsurou finds that worry dull and distant.
He stands, wanders towards the closet just as Bokuto speeds out of the room humming. He’s clutching a towel in his arms and walking with a warming-up urgency—it seems like he’s found the energy he lacked mere moments ago.
Tetsurou dresses quickly, foregoing his usual attention to detail—likely at the expense of some of his professionalism, but people tend to tell him he doesn’t have a lot of that anyway so it shouldn’t matter all too much.
When he’s firmly secured his second cuff link, he speed-walks to the kitchen, cringing as he catches sight of the clock atop the stove. There’s something clawing at the back of his brain, a little memory of his past making itself known.
He remembers a summer, when he was freshly moved out of his parents’ house and spending a relaxing weekend with his grandmother out in the countryside. His new apartment was just too lonely, with all of its foreign creaks and shifts, and he needed to be somewhere familiar to gather his strength.
He had been sitting, watching as the sun started to dip lower in the sky, as it struck orange and bright near the horizon. His grandmother walked out to him, on her patio, and handed him a tray of steaming, fresh melon bread.
He laughed a little, sat up straight to accept the tray. “You’ve been feeding me nonstop since I got here,” He chuckled.
His grandmother smiled, sighed, said, “Most problems can be solved by feeding someone. I’ve found it never goes without thanks.”
Tetsurou, not quite the chef type but able to hold his own in the kitchen, pulls his sleeves as far up as he can and washes them. He allows himself a moment or two to think up a quick and easy meal that can sustain an Olympic-level athlete. Within moments he remembers a meal his mother used to make him, one she would set aside for him to eat as soon as he got home from his later and more gruelling practices, back in high school.
He speeds his way through it, crafting a lunch that isn’t so nice as what Bokuto’s accustomed to, but has all too much care in it. He finishes it just as Bokuto is running out of the bedroom clothed and ready, hands still carelessly shoving his wallet in his front pants pocket.
“Could’ve just made me a bento or somethin’,” Bokuto mumbles around his set of keys, which have—for some reason—made their way to his mouth.
Tetsurou laughs at the thought, knowing how the idea might seem fun to Bokuto, up until he starts getting teased by his teammates for letting Tetsurou mother him like that.
“I just made the first thing I could think of, trust me it’s not as good as it looks,” Tetsurou says, widening his eyes as he hands a stack of containers to Bokuto as if they’re hazardous.
Bokuto takes them without mind, shoving the whole pile into his bag as he makes a run for the front door.
“What, no thank you?” Tetsurou teases right as Bokuto is flying out of the house with a final wave.
Tetsurou gets his thank you, later that day when he gets home from work to Bokuto washing the dishes Tetsurou had sent him with. Bokuto says, with a smile, that the food wasn’t that good— but he really appreciated the thought! He amends as Tetsurou laughs.
“Really, thank you,” Bokuto says, “I owe you.”
“No need,” Tetsurou says, joining in to help with the dishes, “It’s alright.”
—
“I would not recommend going in there,” Is the first thing Tsukishima says to Tetsurou one evening after he’s just returned from work.
Tetsurou’s got one hand on the doorknob to Akaashi’s office and the other flexing upwards, surrendering in a way that’s muscle memory more than anything—it’s definitely not the first time he’s been told not to enter somewhere while the plan was already halfway through.
“Is he asleep?” Tetsurou asks, voice lowered to almost a whisper.
Tsukishima chuckles without humour. “No, the opposite actually. I don’t think he’s slept in…” His voice trails off, calculating the approximate hours in his head before giving up with a little shrug. “He’s entered the immeasurable rage part of sleep deprivation, so I really wouldn’t recommend going in there.”
“Right,” Tetsurou says. Then, again, “Right.”
Tsukishima narrows his eyes, silently asking what Tetsurou had been meaning to talk to Akaashi about.
“Well, he told me uh…” Tetsurou stares off at the clock momentarily, “...Whenever he last came out of his little cave, that he’d finish cleaning up the kitchen. He left a few dishes in there and it hasn’t had a good general cleaning in about a few weeks, but if he’s really doing that bad then I’ll leave him be.”
“Good call,” Tsukishima says.
“He also has to hang his clothes to dry, Koutarou needs to use the washing machine,” Tetsurou recalls, gently like it’s no urgent thing.
“Yuh-huh,” Tsukishima makes, looking at his watch as though he very suddenly has somewhere important to be.
Tetsurou ignores that, now much more focussed on the long list of tasks Akaashi had taken it upon himself to finish. He’d been ranting about it the last time he and Tetsurou had had the chance to go out for lunch together, going on and on about his never-ending list of chores that have piled up while he hasn’t had time over the last few weeks. Add to that the dishes from this morning and the sheer amount of time it’s been since Akaashi has had the time to take care of himself— Yeah, Tetsurou doesn’t think those will be getting done anytime soon.
That’s alright though, he understands. Akaashi’s job has always had an uneven workload that tends to pile up all too much at certain times and leave him with too little on his hands at others. Tetsurou knows this, he’s accepted it as part of the four of their lives together and has learned to make accommodations when needed.
He also knows that if Akaashi were the one in his shoes, something would be done about the mass of chores.
That’s how Tetsurou finds himself changed into more active clothes, wearing cleaning gloves that reach his elbows, and crouching on the floor as he scrubs at the tile of the kitchen. He’s got some playlist or another blasting from the speaker of his phone, placed atop the counter, and a determination fuelled only by care and love.
He’s got a while to get it all done, the whole list that he’s mentally compiled for himself—he’s sure Akaashi will only manage to finish his work sometime before dinner and immediately go to sleep until mid-afternoon tomorrow, and by then he’ll desperately want some relaxation time for at least the rest of the day. If Tetsurou thinks about it like that, as if it’s a simple equation, he calculates that things won’t get done for another day and a half. Or, they wouldn’t have, if he didn’t step in.
He smiles to himself, content that he’s found a way to help out, to keep the order of things.
The song switches to something old, with twangy guitar and crackly audio quality. Tetsurou finishes the floor. He takes the garbage out, he washes the dishes, he hangs Akaashi’s clothes—he even puts Bokuto’s in the wash, since he’s already right there. For hours all Tetsurou does is hum along to whatever is playing and do work around the house.
He loses his grip on time, only realizing how late it’s gotten when Bokuto nearly busts down the door with a kick while trying to carry two armfuls worth of takeout food.
“Hello, hello!” Bokuto calls. Then he notes, “It smells nice in here.”
Tsukishima makes his way out from where he’d hidden himself in the bedroom. He stretches, eyes flicking first to Bokuto and then to Tetsurou.
“Have you been cleaning all day?” Tsukishima asks Tetsurou, his eyebrows knitting into an odd learn of concern.
“Just since this afternoon,” Tetsurou clarifies, setting aside the cloth he’d been using to dust the top of the lights.
“You know what I meant,” Tsukishima mumbles. He goes to grab some food from Bokuto, thanking him quietly while bringing the containers over to the kitchen counter.
“Why’re you cleaning so much?” Bokuto asks, “We don’t have guests coming, do we?”
Tetsurou shakes his head. “It’s all stuff Keiji had been meaning to do. But since he’s been working so much I figured I’d take it off his hands for him, y’know since he’s probably gonna be exhausted for the next few days.”
Tsukishima smiles only slightly, just a warm little thing. “That’s nice of you,” He says, “It really is.”
Bokuto nods along, “I’m sure he’ll really appreciate it.”
There’s a pause. Tetsurou goes to grab dishes and utensils. He passes each to Bokuto and Tsukishima. They eat.
The next afternoon, at 1:13 pm, Akaashi stumbles out of his office. His glasses are only half on his face, his eyes practically shut as Tetsurou watches him approach the quietly playing television.
“‘Morning,” Tetsurou says to him, “You feeling alright?”
“G’morning,” Akaashi replies, “Just tired.” He stands for a second, opens his eyes. “I’ll get to the kitchen later, I just need to shower first.”
Tetsurou hums, “No need, did it yesterday.” He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel the warmest satisfaction licking at his heart.
Akaashi opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. “You did?”
“I did everything on your list.” He smiles, tries to make sure Akaashi knows he did it because he wanted to, not to make Akaashi feel bad.
“Ah,” Akaashi makes, quiet, stunned, grateful. “Well, thank you very much.” And the smile on his face makes it all worth it.
—
It’s Saturday. Saturdays mean one thing for Tetsurou: errands.
Usually, this would be the lowlight of his week, the day he dreads the most out of any, but for one saving grace this time around.
Tsukishima offered to come with him.
The gesture is really appreciated, since Tetsurou tends to spend the majority of the day grumbling to himself about how difficult the many people in the many places he has to go are, and he also tends to find life a little bit easier when he has someone to complain to.
He finds it a little weird, since he knows Tsukishima isn’t usually one to put himself in situations where he knows there will be plenty of annoying people for many hours—especially when it so happens to be his day off. But Tetsurou supposes that’s what love is, a little weird.
“Where are we going?” Tsukishima asks as soon as he’s buckled himself into the passenger side of their car.
“Bank,” Tetsurou says. He starts the car, carefully pulling out of the driveway—it always is safer to back in, as Akaashi always tells him.
Tsukishima nods, content to have his answer. He goes to idly scroll through his phone for a while. Tetsurou turns on the radio, switches the station until he finds one that’s playing oldies rock. They drive like that for a while, in silence, and Tetsurou had almost forgotten how much he likes this, just sitting next to Tsukishima and appreciating his presence.
Then, Tsukishima seems to be confused. The cloud of it comes over his face in mere seconds—not that Tetsurou’s staring while he’s driving, they just happened to be stopped at a particularly long red light and his attention span has been getting worse over the years.
“Why are you going to the bank?” Tsukishima asks, his upper lip curled as if he couldn’t possibly imagine what business Tetsurou would have there. That’s another thing Tetsurou had almost forgotten, how much he loves Tsukishima’s over exaggerations.
Tetsurou shrugs. “Check my phone,” He says, nodding towards the cup holder, where his phone is sitting. “I’ve got a note labelled errands .”
Tsukishima chuckles at that. “You don’t know?”
“Don’t remember. ” Tetsurou corrects. “Keiji asked me to go for something or other, I just agreed and wrote it down.”
Tsukishima finds this absolutely hilarious. He cackles, turning as much as he can while he still has his seatbelt on, and faces Tetsurou. “So you blindly agreed to take on Keiji’s business at the bank ?”
Tetsurou’s ears feel hot, he doesn’t even know why. “Yeah. What’s weird about that?”
Tsukishima shakes his head and straightens in his seat again. “Nothing, you’re just…” He trails off, pursing his lips with a smirk.
“I’m just…?” Tetsurou presses.
“You’re a good guy.”
Tetsurou’s brows furrow. “You’re just figuring that out now?” He chuckles.
Tsukishima shakes his head. “I mean, you’ve got to be a different level of good person to willingly go to the bank for someone else. I can’t think of a single person I would do that for.”
Tetsurou laughs at that. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”
Tsukishima gawks at him. “It’s the bank, ” He says, as if that is enough of an explanation.
Tetsurou thinks about it for a half-second. “Okay fair.”
There’s a moment of silence where everything is just road noise and the ending of a guitar solo on the radio. Just as the DJ’s voice is starting to crackle through the speakers, Tetsurou says, “I’d go to the bank for you, if you asked.”
Then he and Tsukishima both laugh—it’s ridiculous.
“Honestly I think I’d rather give my life for someone,” Tsukishima goes.
Tetsurou shrugs, “I’ll take that.”
After discussing his violent hatred for banks, Tsukishima stays in the car while Tetsurou goes inside. He’s out in a matter of minutes, and Tsukishima exaggerates his shock at the institution’s ability to get anything done promptly.
Tetsurou just shakes his head, taking them next to the dry cleaners to get some of his nicer clothes cleaned. Next, they’re off to the grocery store, then to a home goods store to pick up some office decor for Akaashi, who had once said that looking at the bare walls made him feel “equally as empty”.
On their way home, Tetsurou takes a mild detour, and they wind up in the opposite direction of their house, at a small cafe in the corner of a strip mall.
“What are we…?” Tsukishima asks. Tetsurou had told him that they were done for the day, that they would head home after their last stop. Sometimes, Tetsurou thinks it’s okay to lie.
Tetsurou only smiles as Tsukishima realizes that not only did Tetsurou remember but he went out of his way to bring them both there. Tetsurou swell with pride, he doesn’t just forget when his partners tell him one of their favourite places to hang out, especially when they seem to be upset with the fact that they aren’t able to go there more often—as was Tsukishima’s case.
“I’m treating you for coming out with me today,” Tetsurou says.
They drink tea by the window, soaking in the sun as it filters through the glass. Tsukishima has his hands knit tightly around his cup as though his fingers are chilled, even though it’s plenty warm inside. He looks up at Tetsurou, says, “You didn’t have to do this.”
And Tetsurou, genius he is, reads between every line of it. “You’re welcome.”