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Things are simple, with Bokuto.
Most people would disagree, but most people haven’t spent enough time to get to know him, either.
“He’s so loud.”
“He’s so moody.”
“He’s so…Bokuto.”
Yes, yes, and yes, but Keiji doesn’t see the issue with that.
When Bokuto does well, he wants to be praised. When Bokuto does poorly, he wants to be comforted. It’s only a matter of judging and responding in kind.
Above all, he thinks Bokuto just wants to be witnessed. And why shouldn’t he be? He’s a spectacle in and of himself– a man of power and charisma and ridiculous charm. Keiji saw him, really saw him, during his first-year tryouts at Fukurodani, and he hasn’t been able to look away since.
Keiji watches him, all these years later. It’s no longer from the court, but that’s alright. Bokuto shines even brighter than in high school. His whole team does, really – MSBY Black Jackals is a team full of monsters – and even still, he manages to stand out.
Miya Atsumu sets him up with a perfect shot, and Bokuto’s spike sends it crashing through EJP Raigen’s defenses. The crowd’s roar is deafening, a cascade of ricocheting cheers, and Keiji is right there with them.
Down on the court, Bokuto’s teammates all but tackle him to the ground in celebration.
Keiji smiles. (How could he not?)
“Hey, hey, hey, Akaashi!” That’s all the prompting he gets before he’s swept up in a crushing hug. Bokuto’s a little damp from having just hit the showers, but he’s warm and smells like fresh linens. Keiji only wheezes a little bit. He squeezes back, though, and lets the butterflies in his stomach do their worst.
“Hello, Bokuto-san.”
Bokuto sets him down and beams. Impossibly, his smile seems even deeper than it was on the court.
“You didn’t tell me you were coming to our game!”
“I wasn’t sure if I could make it,” Keiji answers, smoothing down the sleeves of his sweater. He’s always run a bit cold, and it’s only gotten worse after college. “The mangaka I’m working with had several late submissions.”
That brilliant smile shrinks ever-so-slightly.
“You didn’t overwork yourself did you?” Bokuto’s mellowed out some over the years, so it’s not a full-on mood swing. Still, Keiji doesn’t want to be the one to dampen his light even the smallest bit.
“I wouldn’t be here if I did.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Just like that, Bokuto seems to re-inflate. His smile is back in full force, and he bounces excitedly on the heels of his feet.
“Good! Oh man, I’m so glad you came! Hey Tsum-tsum, Shoyou, Omi-omi! Look who’s here!” Bokuto locks onto his teammates emerging from the locker room. Keiji feels his chest warm. See? Simple.
Keiji leans around his large frame to give them a wave.
“Akaashi!!” Hinata squawks and bounds over, somehow even more energized than Bokuto. Atsumu greets him with a slow grin and wanders over, Sakusa his quiet shadow. Keiji’s friends with them, he would say. Sakusa offers him a small nod, while Hinata and Bokuto accost him with excited retellings of the match. Atsumu does as much, too, though he’s considerably less loud about it (Nonetheless excited. He tries to play it cool, but Atsumu is just as enthusiastic and talks more than the both of them combined).
Keiji listens politely, hands in his pockets, content to listen and chip in whenever it seems right. Sakusa, a kindred spirit, winds up next to him while the other three engage.
“The team is headed out for drinks. Bonding and celebrating.”
Keiji blinks away from the conversation. He knows the other man enough to translate what he’s really saying. Please accompany us so I can be in sane company for the night.
“Oh, yea! Akaashi, you should come too! I’m sure the other guys won’t mind.”
The small smile on his face ticks a little wider.
“I’d love to, Bokuto-san.”
The bar that the rest of them are meeting up at is only a few blocks away.
It turns out that a few members of Raijin (Sakusa’s cousin and Atsumu’s friend) are coming along too, and the four of them alongside Hinata are a little ways ahead, leaving him and Bokuto to trail behind. Keiji suspects it’s Sakusa and Atsumu’s doing. Ever since they went official with their relationship, they’ve been a couple of quiet menaces. Bokuto may be oblivious to Keiji’s affections, but it took all of one meeting for them to put two and two together.
So they bring up the back of the noisy pack, Bokuto chattering about anything and everything, Keiji listening intently and pointedly ignoring the tingling beneath his skin whenever their hands brush.
“Man, when Suna sent Omi-omi’s spike back down it was like, waah, so crazy! But then Inunaki dug it out and I was like bwaa! And Tsum-trum set it to me and it hit my palm perfect. Komori couldn’t even move! Wasn’t it crazy, ‘Kaashi?”
“Yes, Bokuto-san. Though–” they turn a corner just in time to see the Hinata vanish into a bar across the street. The hand on the crosswalk flashes, and they come to a stop.
Bokuto looks at him with big, curious eyes. “Though?”
“Though I’m sure you could manage to pull off anything.”
Bokuto blinks, and the glow of the stop light reflects off his cheeks as if in a deep blush. It’s also blustery outside, so that could also be it.
A sheepish smile pulls at Bokuto’s mouth and he rubs the back of his head nervously. It doesn’t look right on him, nerves.
“Aw, ‘Kaashi, you can’t just say stuff like that.”
The stop sign begins to count down from twenty-five.
He tilts his head. “Stuff like what?”
Bokuto stutters, and Keiji’s eyes widen with realization – that is blush. Bokuto’s blushing. He trips over his own tongue, the sign counting in the background of the busy street, until he gestures wildly. “Stuff like– like– cheesy stuff.”
“Cheesy stuff,” Keiji parrots. He raises an eyebrow, smirk pulling at his lips.
Bokuto huffs. “Yes. Cheesy stuff. Like you’re in a shoujo, or something.”
The smirk melts into a teasing smile, and his heart picks up. “I didn’t know you read stuff like that, Bokuto-san.”
“I don’t! Usually. Omi reads them, and I borrow them on trips sometimes.”
“Oh?” Keiji files that bit of information away. See if he tries to pull anything like this again.
“Y-yea.”
“Walk,” the sign says. Bokuto stuffs his hands in his pockets and quickly steps out onto the crosswalk.
Keiji frowns. Did he say something wrong? He pauses briefly, watching the broad of Bokuto’s back, before hurrying after him. His stomach twists with unease. Ah, he must have said something wrong. Bokuto’s less on a hair trigger now, but maybe he teased a little too much. He didn’t mean to ruin the mood, not when the night is on such a high.
He’s so busy at his work, he rarely gets nights to spend with his friend like this. He’ll just– he’ll just fix it. Simple.
Bokuto makes it across the street and a few strides away from the bar before Keiji catches up with him.
“Bokuto-san,” he gasps, a little breathless from the cold. He catches the sleeve of Bokuto’s jacket in his fingers, “Wait.”
His friend pauses mid-step. He turns, but keeps his gaze pointedly away from Keiji’s. That uneasy feeling tightens in his gut.
“I apologize if I said something to upset you,” Keiji says, desperately trying to catch his eyes, “I was only teasing.” Slowly, reluctantly, Bokuto shifts to look at him. The unease turns to a pinch. “I can leave, if you want?”
“No!” It’s sudden, and loud, and Keiji cringes at the volume. Bokuto’s hands slip from his pockets. He plays them in the air between them. He seems to hesitate over something, then abruptly clasps Keiji’s hands in his own. It takes all of his willpower not to freeze.
“No,” Bokuto says, softer, “I don’t want you to go. I miss you. I don’t get to see you as much, ‘Kaashi.”
Relief hits him like a tidal wave, but his heart still thumps thunderously in his chest. His eyes trail down to where they’re joined at the hands. Bokuto’s are larger, rougher. Almost clumsy-looking next to Keiji’s. But they’re warm, and solid. He suppresses a shiver.
“I miss you too, Bokuto-san.”
The fingers tighten. “Really?”
Keiji manages to tear his eyes away from their hands, looks up at Bokuto.
Bokuto’s an emotive person, but if you ask Keiji, he’s most expressive in the eyes. Right now, he looks so sincere. So vulnerable. Honeyed, almost golden eyes look down at him in the multicolored lights of the city, and Keiji can’t look away. He’s transfixed. He almost forgets how to speak.
“Really,” he manages, the words sticking in his throat, “Really, I do.” Somehow, finds himself looking at his lips, “More than most people, actually.”
And then Keiji doesn’t see anything other than Bokuto, and those lips are pressed to his. His brain processes for exactly half a second– Bokuto-san’s kissing me, Bokuto-san’s kissing me– before his eyes flutter shut and he presses back.
Bokuto smells like soap and clean clothes, and is so, so warm. Suddenly those hands are no longer on his own, but pressed gently on either side of his hips. Keiji’s travel up, over the expanse of muscle and broad shoulders, and he cups the back of his neck to tug. His nails scritch the short hairs at the base of Bokuto’s skull, and Bokuto coos into his mouth, and–
“Holy shit! Ya owe me six-thousand, Omi.”
Keiji is suddenly and violently reminded that they are standing in the middle of the sidewalk.
He breaks the kiss and looks around, disoriented. Atsumu hands off the door handle of the bar like a gremlin, a massive grin dimpling his face. Behind him, Sakusa scowls (effectively, even behind a face mask) and stands with his arms crossed.
“You couldn’t have waited another ten minutes, ” he huffs, glaring at the both of them.
“Huh?” Bokuto eloquently puts. Keiji looks down at where he’s still holding his hips. Heat rushes to his face and he pulls back. Bokuto looks upset for all of point-two seconds before Keiji takes his hand.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Six-thousand yen,” Atsumu preens, ignoring them, “Omi thought you'd both need liquid courage before confessin' to each other, and I said Bo would work up the guts to do it sober. True love prevails! This is why yer my favorite, big guy.”
Keiji sputters, his brain blue-screening at the word love.
Bokuto just smiles. “Aww, you’re my favorite too, Tsum-tsum! After Akaashi, I mean.”
Keiji's mind pieces itself back together just in time to break into a horrible blush. Then the rest of what Atsumu said catches up with him, “Wait, you knew?"
Sakusa looks unimpressed. “Of course we knew. Everyone who knows the two of you knew. Everyone but you knew. And now I owe this oaf six-thousand yen.”
Atsumu elbows Sakusa. He’s the only person besides Komori that Keiji thinks could get away with it. “It’s either that or you admit I’m better at readin’ people than you.”
Sakusa scowls deeper and starts digging for his wallet.
“I’m still confused,” Bokuto half-whines, “You and Omi-omi were betting on us?”
“Bokkun, sweetheart, buddy,” Atsumu drawls, snatching the proffered money from Sakusa’s hand, “Anyone with eyes can see how hard yer crushin’ on each other.”
Keiji wants to melt into the concrete. Bokuto looks back and forth between the two of them for a moment before whirling to face him.
“You like me, ‘Kaashi??” He says, eyes shining.
Gods help him, he does.
“Yes, Bokuto-san,” he sighs, “Of course I do. We just made out in the middle of the sidewalk. I have for a very long time.”
“What?” Bokuto looks as if Keiji just handed him the moon and the stars. It makes his stomach do somersaults. “I– I’ve liked you since forever, too!”
It sets something off like sparks in his chest. “You have?”
“He has.” Atsumu and Sakusa say in tandem.
Bokuto practically vibrates in place, eyes aglow. “So– so does this mean– we can be boyfriends? And I can kiss you whenever I want?”
Somehow, Bokuto finds the exact thing to say that completes Keiji’s transformation into a tomato. Honestly, boyfriends – as if they’re not in their mid-twenties.
“If that’s what you want.”
“Are you kidding me?” Bokuto suddenly gets very serious. He pulls his hands from Keiji’s to plant them on his shoulders. “‘Kaashi, I want that more than anything.” Then, softer, careful, “Is that what you want, too?”
Keiji reaches up to cup Bokuto’s face in his hands, and Bokuto’s arms go limp at his sides like wet noodles. He closes the short distance between them, tilting Bokuto’s head down, and presses a soft kiss to his lips.
“Of course.”
“Y’all are cute ‘an all, but I’m freezing my balls off over here. Can we get inside– ow! Omi!”
Sakusa hauls his boyfriend by the ear and nods, “We’ll save you a seat.”
The door closes behind them, and the both of them are left alone on the street. Bokuto laughs – it sounds like music – and dips down for another kiss.
Keiji hums, warmth lodging itself in his chest. He gladly obliges.
Everything else is simple with Bokuto. Perhaps it should have been a given that this would be, too.