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Akaashi swirls the last dregs of his drink and stares into his glass. A rippled, distorted version of his own exhausted face wobbles back at him. He takes the deepest breath he can manage, considering he’s sandwiched into his seat between a senior editor and a design intern, then sighs.
Why had he agreed to come to the company's New Year’s party again?
“Udai-san’s ultimatum,” Akaashi thinks aloud, muttering into his lukewarm drink.
If you say the words ‘Yes, I’ll go with you’, it’ll give me the strength to finish this manuscript on time, Udai had said to Akaashi, as he crouched in his usual spot outside Udai’s door.
Understandable. So then why’d he tell Bokuto about it?
As he watches Bokuto hold court with Akaashi’s manager and a pair of sales representatives, Akaashi answers his own question again: because Bokuto would have been upset if Akaashi didn’t mention the event. Besides, considering they live together, Akaashi could hardly hide it from him. Not when Bokuto springs to attention when Akaashi so much as takes the garbage out to the curb. Bokuto, who’s halfway to the door before Akaashi so much as suggests going out, had been ecstatic at the invitation, in direct inverse to Akaashi, who was exhausted simply thinking about the night ahead.
The thought of subterfuge was not only even more draining, but saddening; it would have been just plain cruel to lie about it. Over the years, Bokuto had always managed to ferret out the few secrets that Akaashi had attempted to keep, and it had wounded Bokuto every time, occasionally to the point of tears. So Akaashi doesn’t keep secrets anymore, because the thought alone of causing Bokuto that kind of pain again makes his stomach twist. It’s even more unbearable than this: spending his precious free time eating rapidly cooling food and listening to his superiors repeat the same stories.
“And all for no pay,” Akaashi muses. “So it’s quite literally free time.”
Eri, the senior editor to his right, asks, “Sorry, Keiji-kun, have you been…talking to me this whole time…?”
Across the table, Udai replies in Akaashi’s place, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, no, don’t mind him. He, ah. Gets like that sometimes.”
Akaashi reaches for the platter of chalky French fries, simply because it’s close at hand, and because he needs something to keep him occupied, to help whittle down the time even by a few seconds.
“Keiji!” Bokuto booms from across the room, loud enough to be heard even in this cacophony. When had he gotten all the way over there? How did he end up with an arm slung around Akaashi’s supervisor of all people, and how did he manage to have the surly man grinning from ear to ear? “Wanna ‘nother drink? Ueno-san and I are lining up for more!”
Akaashi shakes his head, and the unlikely duo turns back toward their conversation. Akaashi imagines Bokuto must be dazzling him with an astounding Olympic tale. And he supposes his manager must be thinking how drab Akaashi seems by comparison, no doubt wondering how and why Bokuto chose someone like him for a partner. Well, that would make two of them.
It’s only natural that half the people in the room have been gravitating toward Bokuto all night. No, it’d be more accurate to say he’s pulling them into his orbit. And while Akaashi can and does resent them for pressuring him into attendance, and for hogging his partner, he can’t blame them one bit for being susceptible to Bokuto’s magnetic pull. After all, Akaashi himself still is, even now. So much so that he’s debating whether it’s worth it to risk stepping outside of his relatively quiet slice of table seating and wade out into the rest of the rented restaurant, just for the chance to spend a little more time with Bokuto.
But no. He won’t interrupt. He won’t risk it. He’ll wait it out here, where it’s safe and relatively tranquil, where there’s relatively little to disturb him.
The year is about to turn, and here Akaashi is, having hardly budged from his seat since he sat down. Surrounded by the same faces. The same banal gossip. The same ridiculously long hours. The only differences are the cramped, dimly lit restaurant they’ve rented out, the free-flowing cheap liquor, and the impending new year that’s still far too many hours away.
But tonight, Akaashi thinks, as his partner brings him a glass of water, there’s also him. Bokuto. Who Akaashi still can’t believe has agreed to share a life with him. Who manages, in a way that never fails to surprise Akaashi, to brighten up even the dreariest nights.
“Yoink!”
Bokuto plucks another two yakitori skewers off the tray as soon as the server sets it down. As he nibbles away, not waiting for the chicken to cool, he goes back to telling a publisher—or maybe a writer—or maybe an editor—one of Akaashi’s coworkers, anyway, about all the famous athletes he's met at the Olympics, and by the time he’s done, both his skewers are picked clean. But he’s only talking about his time on the world team because he’s been asked. Everyone’s been asking him about it, a lot, and of course he’s gonna answer when they do—but really he’d rather know more about their work, because it’s related to Akaashi’s work, and there’s so much more that goes into it than he thought. Also becuase it gives him a chance to ask about Akaashi and think about him and hear about him, and Bokuto can't pass up a chance to do any of that, ever.
So every chance he gets, Bokuto turns the conversation back toward his partner and what he does and what his coworkers do, and how their work relates to Akaashi's work, and about copy writing and color spreads and digital manga readers and wow. It hits him halfway through a conversation with one of Udai’s assistants that this is like… like a real life actual industry event! And sure, he’s been to those before, for team sponsors and the V. League and even back in college for networking mixers, but still! This one is literary! And there are so many smart people! And they all know Akaashi!
Bokuto feels smarter just from standing in the same room as them, eating the same food as them—the same really, really good food—singing karaoke with them, and of course, of course, that includes the smartest person that Bokuto knows, maybe even the smartest person of all, ever: Akaashi, who’s looking as tired as always but also as adorable. Which is very, very adorable, because he’s also the best looking person Bokuto knows (no matter how much Atsumu hates hearing that), and of that, Bokuto is 100% sure.
Ueno, Akaashi’s supervisor, invites Bokuto back to the bar for another round of drinks, but first, Bokuto scans the room to see if Akaashi wants one too. It’s reassuring to see that Akaashi’s still sitting in the same spot as he was a while ago. He’s like an oasis, an island in all the excitement, a little bubble of calm dressed all in black. So dignified. Bokuto thinks hard about how else he’d describe Akaashi if he had the vocabulary his partner does.
Refined! That’s a good word. He’ll have to remember to use that when he gets back to their table.
And really, Bokuto has been trying to make his way back to Akaashi for a while now. But earlier, on his way back from the bathroom, some of the party guests had pulled Bokuto into a conversation, and by the time the conversation ended someone had taken his seat beside Akaashi, and now he keeps getting distracted by all the new waves of karaage and grilled mackerel and potato croquettes, and he keeps overhearing publishing lingo that he wants to ask about, and so he just…hasn’t managed to get back to Akaashi yet. But he will! It's been on his mind the whole time, getting back over to Akaashi. And he'll take some water over when he does, even though Akaashi said he didn't want anything, because Bokuto knows he hasn't had much water today and he doesn't want Akaashi to get one of his headaches later.
This is great. He’s so glad Akaashi told him about this party. As someone leans in to take a picture with Bokuto, all the thinks about is how he can’t wait to get back over to Akaashi and share all the cool things he’s learned tonight.