Work Text:
‘“What makes the desert beautiful,” says the little prince, “Is that somewhere it hides a well,”
-The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupery
----------------------------------
The first impression Akaashi Keiji gets of Bokuto Koutarou is by no means a good one.
Akaashi is respectable and clever and composed, even as a five year old. He'd rather read a book then play in the sand-pit or have nap time, or whatever the other kids do in his class. His teachers don’t seem to understand this- neither do most people, actually. Akaashi would probably care more if he wanted friends.
(He learnt the hard way that potential friends do not like to be told the truth. Apparently you should not tell other children that they have bad breath. Or that they need to shower. Or that they need to either wear dresses that come down lower, or not wear stained underwear.)
(He was just trying to be helpful, although no adults seemed to believe that.)
Akaashi Keiji is fine with being alone. Or so he tells himself, until a boy with broad shoulders and a broader smile sits across him one day, his sturdy frame taking up the entirety of the frail kiddie-stool.
“Hello!” the boy says. He smiles impossibly wider, showing rows of pearly white teeth. His hair is strange, spiky and dark, wreathing his head like a crown. His eyes are large and golden, and they meet his unwaveringly. It’s like looking into the sun, and Akaashi suddenly feels uncomfortable.
“Your hair is weird,” Akaashi says finally, breaking the strange silence that has settled over them. “You look like an owl.”
“Thanks! Your hair is cool as well! And i like your eyes! Green eyes are cool!”
I didn’t say yours was cool, Akaashi thinks to himself. And it wasn’t a compliment.
The other boy is smiling so widely though, fire in his sunshine eyes, touching his owl hair appreciatively, as if it might run away if he doesn’t protect it. Akaashi doesn’t think he’s ever been looked at like this before. He’s not sure if he’s been smiled at before.
“You're w-welcome,” Akaashi says instead, staring at the ground. It's the first time he ever kind-of-lies to anybody. It’s also the first time he stutters.
(And both are not the last, mostly because of this strange boy)
His name is Bokuto, Akaashi learns. He’s not sure if he wants to learn this either, but Bokuto won’t stop following him, even to the bathroom. Akaashi hides inside a stall for ten minutes, but Bokuto, (After initially trying to come in the stall with him, and being soundly rejected), waits outside, chatting amiably as if nothing is different. Akaashi sits cross-legged on the closed toilet seat, hands folded neatly in his lap, pretending to want Bokuto to go away. He’s half expecting, when he comes out finally, for Bokuto to be standing in front of the mirror, applying lip gloss and taking selfies, like the girls in those chick flicks his mother watches do.
He’s not, though. He’s pressing his face up to the door, sticking out his tongue and rolling his eyes back up into his head. “Boo!” he shouts when Akaashi comes out, and laughs when the other yelps in fear.
(Akaashi Keiji was perfectly fine being alone, he administers, as he watches Bokuto howl with laughter on the floor)
(But he also learns that Bokuto-san is six years old, and he likes owls and crayons and barbequed meat. When he grows up he wants to be a volleyball player or a bird. He doesn’t like bullies or naptime.)
(Akaashi decides this is all useless information, but he remembers it all anyway)
(He was perfectly fine being alone, even if Bokuto’s eyes shine brighter than the stars)
When Akaashi Keiji is seven years old, he finally gives in to Bokuto’s whining and agrees to join the ‘kids volleyball club’.
It isn’t very fun at first. The ball is awkward and large and his fingers are clumsy and small compared to it, and whenever he tries to dig the ball it ends up shooting back in his face. He likes setting, though, because then Bokuto gets to spike it. It goes in the net nearly every time, but Bokuto is smiling, and to Akaashi, it’s worth the world.
(“We’ll get better, Akaashi!” Bokuto promises him later. He’s gripping one of Akaashi’s hands between his own, and his hands are large and sweaty and warm. Akaashi pulls away, but wishes he didn’t as soon as Bokuto’s face crumbles slightly)
When Akaashi Keiji is eight, things are different.
One thing is he can play volleyball a little better now. He can dig the ball perfectly almost every time, and his sets are flawless for his age. But Bokuto is something else- A hurricane of whipping spikes and sharp smiles and clever golden eyes, either obliterating all opposition in a flurry of movements to graceful and powerful for a nine year old.
“He’s going to be something great,” He overhears one coach say to another one day, “If he can keep his emotions in check.”
He relays this to Bokuto later, as they’re walking home, who gives him one of those smiles which makes his stomach swirl uncomfortably. “There’s not an ‘if’ about it. I’m going to be great.” He turns around, standing on his tip toes until he’s towering over Akaashi, all 5’1 feet of pure wonder. “ I’m going to be great! ” He yells to the sky, as if expecting all the planets to align themselves in agreement.
(If he asked them to, Akaashi supposes, they probably would. The universe seems to revolve around the supernova that is Bokuto Koutarou)
“You’re disturbing the neighbours. Stop shouting,” He says instead, burrowing his head back into his book.
“Boring, Akaashi!”
He doesn’t honour that with an answer- Of course he’s boring. Compared to Bokuto, everything is.
“Akaashi!” He’s whining now, because he knows Akaashi can’t stand it. “What am i meant to do now?”
Akaashi glares at him. Bokuto’s eyes are as vibrant as ever, glittering coins that Smaug would probably die for.
(Akaashi can relate to Smaug, on this occasion.)
He doesn’t realise he’s staring until Bokuto clears his throat nervously, eyes flicking to the ground. “What are you looking at?”
Akaashi’s face burns at being caught, but he answers honestly. “You,” he says, regretting it instantly as Bokuto’s eyebrows shoot above his hairline. “Um- your eyes. You have- nice eyes?”
“Really? You really think that? I have nice eyes?” he bounced on the balls of his feet excitedly, grinning. He reminds Akaashi of a puppy, slobbery and hyper and affectionate.
“I mean-” he breaks off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. He can feel Bokuto staring at him, his gaze making himself feel uncomfortable and itchy, as if he was picking apart the very embroidery of Akaashi’s soul. “They’re golden. I like gold.”
Eloquent, he scolds himself, but when Bokuto says, “I think i prefer green eyes, though. They’re the prettiest,” He feels as if he’s flying.
When Akaashi is twelve, he is awkward bones, gawky limbs and broken stutters.
He is also still friends with Bokuto Koutarou, which he finds surprising. Akaashi has never been known for keeping friends.
(He guesses it’s be hard to lose Bokuto, though. The other seems to be more attached to him than he is to his own family. It’s still nice though, when he waits for Akaashi so they can walk home together, or when he sits next to him in the lunch hall even though all his older classmates wonder why a baby like him is hanging out with a cool teenager like Bokuto.)
(Bokuto doesn’t seem to notice, but Akaashi does. Akaashi does.)
(Smirking has never given him so much pleasure)
Puberty is also a thing.
Twelve is not a good year for Akaashi Keiji.
He’s just packing up his things one day, when Bokuto comes bounding into his classroom. “Akaashi!” he yells, buzzing like he’s inhaled a bucket of coffee. “Akaashi, Kuroo gave me the best idea!”
Akaashi is about to reply, when a boy around thirteen enters, with slanted almond eyes and a sinister smirk. And his hair-
“What’s wrong with your hair?” Akaashi blurts out. It’s as if Kuroo got an electric shock- it's dark and pointy, sticking straight up, with a section fanning out over his right eye. He looks, in a word, ridiculous.
Kuroo and Bokuto do not seem to share this notion.
Bokuto gapes at him, as Kuroo stutters out, “It’s bedhead style! It’s hip! And what kind of a greeting is that?”
Akaashi Keiji does not think ‘bedhead style’ is cool. Akaashi Keiji would like this strange cat-boy to leave so him and Bokuto can go home.
(Once again, Kuroo and Bokuto don’t share this motion.)
“Akaashi! I’m going to dye my hair white!” Bokuto claims, grinning broadly. He looks like he’s just won the lottery, and Kuroo is smirking enthusiastically, nodding his head.
“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says finally, once he’s sure he’s not dreaming. “You’re going to take hair advice from Kuroo?”
Kuroo squawks indignantly, and Bokuto blinks, long chocolate lashes fanning over golden eyes. “Yes,” he says dumby.
“And you’re going to dye your hair white, when you are only thirteen?”
“Yes!” Bokuto fist pumps. “Awesome, right? So, what do you think, Akaashi?”
“I-” he breaks off, looking at the ground. He can’t help but feel so young and clumsy, so out of place with these two- older and taller, sharp jawbones and bright eyes, full lips and hair, lithe arms. And him- younger, even if only by a year- stringy and gawky arms, blemished skin, the last of his baby fat still clinging to his cheeks and waist.
“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I think- i think you would look really nice with either, Bokuto-san.”
When he looks up, Bokuto is staring at him with his mouth open. “Akaashi!” he wails, heat flooding in his cheeks, (Although Akaashi could just be imagining it.) “What am i meant to do now?”
“What!” he defends. “You asked!”
“I didn’t think you’d respond like that!”
Kuroo snickers, and Akaashi can feel himself turning bright red. he barges past Kuroo and Bokuto quickly, clutching his bag to his chest. “I’m going to walk home with Kenma today,” he says quietly, and pretends not to hear when Bokuto yells at him to wait up.
(When Bokuto shows up to school the next day, he’s got stripes of white decorating his hair. “You said both colours were nice,” he explained, “so i kept both.”
“You’re stupid ,” Akaashi replies. “And you look even more like an owl now.”
Just as he did when he was six years old and they first met, Bokuto takes this as a compliment.)
Akaashi Keiji is fifteen, and he is beautiful.
Akaashi is pink lips and heavily lidded eyes the colour of rainforests. Akaashi is pearly skin and curls of ink, swirls of blotting on smooth parchment. Akaashi is wrinkled noses and creased foreheads and snide remarks. Akaashi Keiji is pale chocolate freckles and a soft voice and slender fingers. Akaashi Keiji is in love with Bokuto Koutarou.
(Bokuto Koutarou is not in love with Akaashi Keiji)
(Bokuto Koutarou is also beautiful, but in a different way. In a, Eyes-brighter-than-the-stars, heart-warmer-than-the-sun, soul-as-as-complex-as-the-universe kind of way. Bokuto Koutarou is a boy on the outside, and he may be a boy with rather spectacular arms, but on the inside he is a galaxy.)
(Akaashi Keiji falls in love with this galaxy.)
“Toss to me! Akaashi, toss to me!” Bokuto demands, scuffing his feet impatiently. The linoleum floor squeaks under his trainers, jolting Akaashi from his thoughts.
(Akaashi Keiji falls in love with an annoyingly loud galaxy, nonetheless.)
Being in love with your best friend kind of hurts, in a way Akaashi doesn’t know how to describe. He knows everything about Bokuto- the way his nose flares red in the cold, the way he can’t handle spicy foods, (although he insists he can) the way he will freak out if he loses anything, even monopoly- But it doesn’t feel like enough.
(Perhaps he should be grateful, that he could have this much. Akaashi is selfish though, so painfully selfish.)
“I’m coming, Bokuto-san.”
Bokuto grins at him, and it’s been ten years, but it’s still like looking directly into the sun.
(Dear god, it’s been ten years.)
(Akaashi can’t believe he hasn’t managed to move on yet)
Volleyball is natural to him now, and he can barely remember the days where his tosses were clumsy and rough, failing more often than not. It feels like instinct to him now, the ball spiralling gracefully from his fingertips, and Bokuto spikes it, palm slamming against the soft shell of the ball. It hurtles towards the floor, ricocheting off and hitting the back wall. Akaashi has no doubt that, if a blocker was there, it would’ve ripped right past their fingers.
“Gaah!” Bokuto grins, stretching his arms above his head, his fingers netting together. “That was a good one! Tell you what, Akaashi, when i’m captain next year-”
“If you’re captain,” Akaashi interrupts.
“When i’m captain next year” Bokuto continues smoothly, “i’ll make you my vice!”
“I’ll only be a second year, though. It would be unfair to the other third years.” he sets the ball again, but Bokuto doesn’t jump for it. It bounces weakly on the floor, rolling off the court.
“I’m serious,” Bokuto says, moving closer. Akaashi steps backwards. “So am i,”
“You might not even be captain next year, Bokuto-san.” he sets the last ball, and Bokuto catches it this time.
“I’m gonna prove you wrong, Akaashi! Just you wait!”
Seventeen year old Bokuto proves sixteen year old Akaashi wrong.
He also makes Akaashi his vice. (“ I told you so, Akaashi!” “Yes, you did, Bokuto-san.)
“You didn’t have to do that,” Akaashi tells him one night. It’s one of the few times he accepts Bokuto’s invitations to sleepover. “I’m not even that good compared to most people.”
Bokuto props himself up on one arm, facing Akaashi. He can’t make out his face in the dim light, but he thinks he’s frowning. (Bokuto doesn’t frown very often, but Akaashi always feels personally responsible when he does.) “Don’t say that, Keiji.” his voice is strangely soft. “You’re my best friend, you know? I don’t like it when you undermine yourself.” he settles back into his pillow. “I don't like it,” he whispers, and Akaashi thinks he’s talking more to himself at this point.
He doesn’t know what to say, so he turns away, facing the wall. He can feel Bokuto’s sunshine eyes boring holes into his back, burning brightness even in the dark of night.
“Goodnight, Bokuto-san,” he says.
(It isn’t until later that week, when he thinks back to their conversation, he realises Bokuto called him Keiji. )
Bokuto wakes him up the next morning by jumping on him, then demands pancakes. (“Bokuto-san, it’s your house.” “Yes, but you’re pancakes are the best, Akaashi!” ) It’s six am, and Akaashi wonders if Bokuto ever sleeps. He also wonders if Bokuto will call him Keiji again. He wouldn’t object.
(Bokuto looks really nice first thing in the morning is another thing he thinks. His eyes are wide and shiny and bright, and his hair is plastered to his cheeks with frizz. He’s wearing an old t-shirt and boxers, and Akaashi has never been so glad that Bokuto thinks he is straight.)
“Do you remember Kuroo?” Bokuto asks him, through a mouthful of pancake. He’s got maple syrup smeared on his cheek and Akaashi barely resists the urge to wipe it off.
“I do. And you have food on your face.”
Bokuto scrubs at his cheek with his sleeve, missing the spot completely. “He goes to Nekoma now.”
“Mmm. That’s nice.” (Akaashi does not think it is nice)
“We’re going to be seeing him soon, at training camp,” Bokuto scarfs down the rest of his pancake, scooping up some syrup from his plate with his finger and licking it. (Akaashi would like to tell him off for being unhygienic, but he is too selfish.) “So i thought we could all meet up, me, you, him and Kenma.”
Akaashi pushes his plate away from him smoothly, standing up. “Thank you for telling me before you told Kuroo i was coming, Bokuto-san.”
Bokuto’s forehead creases. “But… i didn’t?”
Akaashi refrains from rolling his eyes. “Exactly.”
“Wait… are you mad at me?” Bokuto frowns, standing up as well.
“No.” (He is, but it’s too embarrassing to admit. It’s for a dumb reason, but he can’t help but feel...jealous?) “But i think i’ll go home now. Thank you for having me, Bokuto-san.”
“Akaashi-” Bokuto frowns, sidestepping towards him, and Akaashi bows his head.
Before he leaves, he brings his hand to Bokuto’s cheek and wipes away the syrup there. Bokuto’s skin is much softer than he expected, and it sends untamed tingles down Akaashi’s spine. His face burns red as he chokes out an apology, grabbing his things and leaving hastily, even though Bokuto keeps asking him to stay.
(He runs all the way back home as soon as he’s sure he’s out of Bokuto’s view, and breathless and ashamed, he brings his fingers to his lips to taste the syrup there.)
(It’s the sweetest thing he’s tasted in his life.)
(Neither of them mention it, but the air between them is denser somehow)
From: Bokuto-san
Akaashi i texted kuroo and told him we won't be able to make it and i'm sorry if your mad i'm sorry i didn't as you before
To: Bokuto-san
*you’re
To: Bokuto-san
...and thank you
---------------
The time to go to training camp appears, and suddenly Akaashi is third wheel to none other than Mr. Bed Hair Extraordinaire, Kuroo Tetsurou.
Okay, so maybe he’s being melodramatic. He’s just so used to it being, Akaashi-and-Bokuto, so when it suddenly becomes Bokuto-and-Kuroo-and-oh-yeah-Akaashi-as-well, he isn’t sure how to cope.
(“ You’ve grown up well,” is the first thing Kuroo says to him, smirking. Akaashi half-wishes he knew how to make a fist.)
Kuroo ends up being greater than Akaashi initially gave him credit for, though. (Which is saying a lot, as Akaashi hates being wrong.)
He’s staying for extra practice one night- later than Bokuto, even- and he’s just about to set the ball up again, when a voice breaks his thoughts.
“Yo,”
He recognises it instantly, and turns to see Kuroo leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed against his chest. “You’re out late.”
Akaashi turns back to the ball after letting his gaze trickle slowly over Kuroo, (And if he sets it with a surge of malice, it’s because he’s tired.) “I could say the same to you.”
Kuroo laughs, moving closer. “It’s late out,” He says, but his voice is softer this time, more caring. “You should rest up. You need to get some sleep.”
“What i need is to get stronger,” He paused, wiping at his forehead with his sleeve, breathing heavily. “Better.”
“That’s stupid. You’re plenty good already, Akaashi. Everyone thinks so. Bokuto won’t shut up about how amazing you are- ‘Did you see Akaashi’s tosses today? Isn’t he adorable? Did you see how he bites his lip when he's concentrating real hard? And how he plays with his hands? Isn’t it cute? Isn’t it?’” he mimicked, rolling his eyes. “It’s sickeningly adorable. He’s like a lost puppy.”
Akaashi stared at him, open-mouthed. “Really? He really thinks i’m-” he began excitedly, clearing his throat at Kuroo’s raised eyebrow. “-Does he really talk about me?” he tried to finish coolly.
Kuroo frowned. “Um, yeah. Haven’t you noti- oh,” he nodded. “You guys are doing that dumb dancing around each other thing, aren’t you?”
Akaashi feels the blood rush to his cheeks. “N-no! What’s that supposed to mean?”
Kuroo is already turning away, but Akaashi can feel his smirk. “Get some sleep, Akaashi,” he calls. “You don’t want to be tired in the morning.”
(Akaashi really wishes he could form a fist)
(But he also kind of wants to kiss Kuroo)
(Not as much as he wants to kiss Bokuto, mind you)
The next day Akaashi stares at Bokuto for longer than is socially acceptable. His sets are messy, mediocre and his digs are downright terrible. Bokuto pulls him aside, eyes wide and worried.
“Akaashi? Are you OK? You kind of suck today.”
Akaashi blinks at his bluntness. “I’m sorry. I’ll try harder.”
Bokuto bites his lip. “Kuroo told me about you staying up late last night,” he admits eventually. “Are you sure you’re not too tired?” his golden eyes are heavy with concern, and Akaashi notices his hand is resting on his shoulder. He’s been so tired, he hadn’t even realise.
He moves away.
“I’m fine, Bokuto-san. Honestly.”
(It’s a lie, and they both know it.)
“Could we… talk? After practice?” Bokuto offers cautiously, and Akaashi’s heart sinks.
This is it, he thinks. He’s going to tell me i’m not good enough, i’m too weak, that he’s going to leave me behind.
“Of course, Bokuto-san,” he says instead.
“Great! Let’s get back to playing, yeah? You’re gonna do amazingly, i know.”
“Yeah.” his heart swells at the compliment.
Somehow, Akaashi plays better, as if Bokuto’s words filled him with skill.
After practice, Akaashi is nervous, all shaking hands and chewed lips.
Bokuto waits for him. His eyes are soft and nervous, but he smiles nonetheless at Akaashi.
“You wanted to speak with me, Bokuto-san?”
“Er, yes..” Bokuto scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “About that…”
Akaashi cocks his head, curls of mahogany falling over his face. “Bokuto-san?”
“I- I like you!” he blurts, and Akaashi’s mind goes blank. “I, i really like you- like, in a kissing way. And it makes me really sad, when you think you aren’t good enough- You are! If anyone isn’t good enough, it’s me, because-”
he never does finish his sentence, because Akaashi steps forward and wraps his arms around the other, emerald meeting gold, before their lips meet and Akaashi’s universe implodes.
Akaashi has never kissed anyone before. He’s not sure he’s doing it right, but it feels really nice, so he supposes he is. Bokuto is doing this thing where he’s pushing at Akaashi’s lips with his tongue lightly, and that feels nice as well.
(Bokuto tastes of citrus and pocket mints and sweat. Akaashi decides this is very important information.)
Akaashi breaks the kiss finally, but Bokuto keeps holding onto his waist, and for once, Akaashi doesn’t pull away.
“That was good,” Bokuto says finally. “That was really good. But- why did you kiss me?”
Akaashi blinks, considering. “Because i like you,” he replies, and Bokuto smiles with one thousand watts. “And because you said you weren’t good enough.”
Bokuto furrows his eyebrows. “Did i just have to say that i wasn’t good enough for you to kiss me?” he pouts childishly. “Awww, man. I would've said it ages ago if i’d known.”
Akaashi rolls his eyes, because really, he hasn’t realised yet? “Everything you do makes me want to kiss you, Bokuto-san.”
“Really? Even this?” Bokuto pulls a face, peeling his lips back and crossing his eyes. Akaashi giggles, (Oh god, he giggles ) and Bokuto seems to melt a little in his arms.
“Yes,” he says finally. “It does make me want to kiss you.”
Bokuto smiles brightly, and finally it's not like looking into the sun, hot and untamed and burning. It’s like looking up at the stars on a warm summer evening, hopeful and warm and loving. “Prove it,” he says, breath ghosting over Akaashi’s lips.
(Akaashi does.)
-----------------------
‘He kept making her feel like it was safe to smile’
-Eleanor and Park, Rainbow Rowell