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SPRING
The first time Bokuto Koutarou sees him, he forgets to jump over a hurdle and falls face first on the track. It’s a humiliating feat his track and field teammates will make sure to remind him of for the rest of his high school days, and beyond. When he lifts himself to his knees, the left side of his face throbs and blood steadily drips from his nose to the ground.
His teammates rush to him and his best friend, Kuroo Tetsurou, who must regret not having his phone on him now, helps him up.
“Are you okay?” Kuroo asks and strengthens his grip on Bokuto’s forearm to prevent him from wobbling.
“Kuroo, I think I’m in love,” Bokuto says, his eyes drifting back to the cause of his fall. All those times he’s made fun of love at first sight have come to bite him in the ass.
“You’re also bleeding. Come, love-struck fool, I’m taking you to the nurse’s.”
His head spins, but Bokuto fights the haze to cast another glance at the outdoor archery practice next to the field, protected by the shade of tall trees. There, a dark-haired boy, along with the rest of the archery club, is looking at the commotion Bokuto’s caused. Their eyes meet and Bokuto looks away.
Next day, Bokuto keeps one eye at the hurdles and the other on the boy whose back is straight and pulled taut just as the string of his bow. The arrow he dispatches swishes past his cheek without scraping him and hits the target with flawless precision. Hakama, archery clubs’ uniform, give the boy’s features elegance that Bokuto wishes he could appreciate from up close.
Plagued with wishful thinking, Bokuto sighs and picks up his pace so he can finish this lap and see the boy again during the next one.
Kuroo sprints until he’s next to him, and falls into his running pace.
“Should I find out who he is?”
“No,” Bokuto says and pouts in protest for being caught red-handed. “You’re stealthy like an elephant in a china shop.”
“Wow. Good thing your shameless staring is subtle,” Kuroo says. He’s a little out of breath but his point hits a sour spot.
Bokuto whines and gives Kuroo a defeated look. Kuroo, smug and smirking, knows he’s right.
“I’ll ask a friend of a friend of a friend who has a cousin who has a friend with a friend in our school to find out who he is for us.”
“What?”
“See. It’s a perfect crime,” Kuroo backs his confidence up with a grin.
“Fine, do it.”
During lunch, Kuroo comes to the rooftop with a slip of paper he dangles in front of Bokuto’s face and a Cheshire cat’s grin to attest to his victory.
Bokuto takes the paper and crumbles it in his hand. “This feels like cheating.”
“You’re being dramatic. Just read it.”
His fingers tremble as he unfolds the paper.
Akaashi Keiji, 1-4.
“Akaashi Keiji,” Bokuto tests the name tastes on his tongue; it’s graceful and sharp, just like Akaashi’s face.
Kuroo sits down next to Bokuto. “A first year, which explains why we didn’t see him before.”
Bokuto crumbles the piece of paper again. “Since I officially feel like a creep now, what’s my next move?”
“Well,” Kuroo says and ruffles Bokuto’s unruly hair. “You can start by making sure he knows your name too.”
Bokuto eats his lunch and sulks.
Opportunity presents itself when Bokuto comes to practice early and spots Akaashi on the field, doing stretches in gym clothes. A couple of his club mates are doing the same but since they’re not interacting, Bokuto decides it’s alright to approach. Outside of his archery uniform, Akaashi looks less like royalty and more like an actual freshman.
Bokuto saunters over as casually as he can despite his legs turning into uncooperative pieces of wood as the distance between him and Akaashi shortens. He leans on the railing behind Akaashi and harrumphs loud enough to alarm him. Akaashi gives Bokuto a perfunctory glance before he returns to stretching.
“So,” Bokuto says, twirling his thumbs, “doing rotating stomach stretches, huh?”
Akaashi turns to him again as if to check Bokuto is talking to him and not somebody else.
“Yes,” Akaashi says. His voice is even, smooth as silk. It suits his sharp features and piercing, dark eyes.
“Good, that’s good. Stretching is good,” Bokuto says, aware of how ineloquent he must sound. It’s hard to find the right words when his eyes are glued to Akaashi as he raises himself on his arms, his hips on the ground and long legs sprawled under him. He bends his shoulder towards the ground. Bokuto appreciates the elegant, mouth-watering display for what it is – Universe’s way of taunting him.
“Yes, it is,” Akaashi says and repeats the stretch three more times before he lifts himself up and dusts his clothes. He walks over, leans on the railing next to Bokuto and wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand.
Bokuto notices, with the subtlest hitch of his breath, that Akaashi is almost as tall as he is; all long, nimble limbs and fierceness of an athlete.
“You’re the one who fell the other day,” Akaashi says.
Bokuto fights the urge to lie down and curl up. “You saw that, huh…”
“It was hard not to. You took down an entire row of hurdles.”
Bokuto’s foot taps the ground in hopes earth will split open and devour him whole. He doesn’t know what to say. With Kuroo, Bokuto’s tongue comes up with quips faster than his brain can process them but with Akaashi he feels tongue-tied, more so when he’s trying to leave a good impression he’s already ruined.
“Did you know that when you run by at the same time I shoot, you’re almost as fast as my arrow?” Akaashi’s voice tears through the silence.
Bokuto’s heart is so loud he doubts he’s heard Akaashi right. “You—you watched me?”
“Sometimes.”
Bokuto thinks about the water bottle he’s left in the locker room. “And you’re an awesome archer. You never miss your target.”
“Thank you,” Akaashi says and tucks a piece of his hair behind his ear. The gesture is so charming that Bokuto can tell he’s embarrassing himself by openly staring, and yet he can’t convince himself to look away.
“I’m Bokuto Koutarou, second year,” Bokuto blurts out in fear of missing his chance.
Akaashi gives a tiny, polite smile and Bokuto worries he might be rejected. Then, he says “Akaashi Keiji, first year.”
That day, during practice, Bokuto runs with a desire to move any potential audience and with enough passion to justify Akaashi’s interest. Kuroo eventually figures out what’s happening and can’t stop grinning about it.
Bokuto takes his chances and comes to practice early again. Akaashi is there, without fail, this time lashed into his uniform as he fiddles with his bow. Bokuto has to cross the entire field and jump over a fence to reach him, but he does so with his legs lighter than yesterday.
“Did you see me run yesterday?” Bokuto asks, his voice giving away his eagerness to hear Akaashi’s reply.
Akaashi looks up from his hands and his eyes glint, for a split second, with the same kind of playfulness Bokuto sees in Kuroo when he’s up to no good. “You should start on your stretches Bokuto-san, if you plan to run as fast as you did.”
If cupid is real, its bow has just pierced through Bokuto’s heart and can never be dislodged.
Bokuto realizes he should, indeed, go and stretch so he adds: “I eat lunch every day.”
Akaashi raises an eyebrow. “What a coincidence, me too.”
“No, I meant, I eat lunch on the rooftop. It’s nice and breezy there in the spring so, if you want, you can join us.”
“Us?”
“My friend and I,” Bokuto says.
“Okay.”
“You’ll come?”
“Sure.”
“Looking forward to it!”
“What if he doesn’t come?”
Bokuto talks with his cheeks puffed and full of half-chewed food. Kuroo is by his side in a palpable good mood; he takes Bokuto’s victories as his own and celebrates them quietly within himself.
“Is this dejected-mode-Bokuto speaking?” Kuroo teases as he’s poking him in the ribs with his elbow.
“Maybe…”
“Come here.” Kuroo sprawls his legs and puts his lunch box aside. With a sigh that is nothing short of dramatic, Bokuto lies down and rests his head on Kuroo’s lap. Kuroo strokes his hair, gently around his ears because he knows that’s where Bokuto feels the best.
“You put your hair through so much, how’s it still so soft? I hate you honestly.”Kuroo says and Bokuto knows he’s tryng to put his mind at ease so he plays along.
“Don’t want to hear that from you. Not everyone can look like a Dragon Ball character with the help of a pillow.”
Bokuto’s eyelids grow heavier and he finds himself drifting to sleep when the doors to the rooftop open. He doesn’t think much of it because Kuroo and he don’t have the monopoly over the roof and sometimes other students come to eat here too. He listens to soft footsteps coming his way but keeps his eyes shut.
“Hey,” Kuroo says. “I’m Kuroo Tetsurou.”
“Akaashi Keiji, nice to meet you.”
Bokuto’s eyes fly open and he jumps away from Kuroo. He’s almost overslept Akaashi and the thought of it fills him with horror. Akaashi’s in their standard school uniform. Black does good to his pale skin, it makes him look translucent in the spring sun. His lunch box is set on his knees and he picks food out of it carefully and chews slowly, mouth closed.
“Does Bokuto-san often fall during practice?” Akaashi asks.
“No,” Kuroo says and smirks in a way that is completely telling if one knows what to look for. “Only when he’s distracted by something. Or someone.” Bokuto shoots Kuroo a glare of warning.
“He doesn’t seem like a type that’s easily distracted.”
“You’d be surprised.”
“Stop talking as if I’m not here,” Bokuto quips, crossing his arms and frowning.
Kuroo guffaws and nobody speaks until he’s had his fill of laughing.
“So, Akaashi, why archery?” Kuroo asks.
Akaashi shrugs and doesn’t reply until he’s finished chewing a piece of carrot. “It’s a quiet, individual sport,” Akaashi replies. “What about you, why track?”
“I wanted to improve my stamina,” Kuroo says. Akaashi nods and then looks at Bokuto, his dark eyes impassive.
“I—I just like to run. When I’m running, I don’t have to think. I just move and I get there and if I’m first it’s even better.”
Kuroo grins. “A true romantic.”
“Indeed,” Akaashi says.
Bokuto likes the way Akaashi looks at him then, soft and fond with a hint of a smile crossing his lips.
Akaashi greets Bokuto if they cross paths in the morning, and he spends almost every lunch with him and Kuroo. Sometimes, Kuroo makes an excuse and leaves with but a single wink behind Akaashi’s back. Later, Bokuto pays him back with a grilled mackerel pike.
A sudden afternoon downpour leaves a dozen of unfortunate students standing near the entrance waiting either for their parents to pick them up or for the rain to let up. Bokuto stands next to Kuroo and twirls his umbrella victoriously.
“Oho ho, so unusual for Mr. Kuroo to be unprepared,” Bokuto teases and playfully pokes Kuroo in the chest with the tip of his umbrella.
“Bokuto. I love you but I’m going to shove that umbrella up your—“
“What is that, Kuroo? I can’t hear you from outside the Loser Bin.”
“Mind if I join you in the Loser Bin?” Akaashi comes to stand next to Kuroo, umbrella-less and grim-looking. His hair curls at odd angles because of humidity, but he looks as pleasant as ever. Perhaps Bokuto is a bit biased. Just a bit.
Bokuto shrinks back. “Akaashi. I didn’t mean—“
“It’s alright. I should’ve known better than to come to school with no umbrella during this season.”
“Say that again,” Kuroo sighs and looks into distance as if he’s mourning for all decisions he’s made that led him to this very moment of having no umbrella.
Bokuto puts the tip of his umbrella down to the ground and straightens his back like soldiers do. “Akaashi. If you want, I can walk you home.”
“Are you sure?” Akaashi says. He seems eager to leave. “I live that way.” Bokuto follows his finger and finds that it’s pointing in the direction opposite of his house.
“Alright! Let’s go,” Bokuto says. He doesn’t miss Kuroo’s hand when it flies to his mouth to prevent him from laughing. Bokuto sticks his tongue out to him as he opens the umbrella.
“What about you, Kuroo-san?” Akaashi asks. He’s already under Bokuto’s umbrella, huddled close, and Bokuto can’t focus on what he’s saying.
“My mom is coming to pick me up,” Kuroo says. “Get going, kids.”
Bokuto matches Akaashi’s walking pace; it’s slow and careful as they make their way over puddles. Bokuto’s right shoulder is wet and the coldness on his skin keeps him grounded in reality.
“Akaashi,” Bokuto says. He puts his right palm out in the rain to gather some rain and then smacks himself in the face. Akaashi glances at him but his expression remains deadpan. “I was wondering if you have any plans for the summer vacation.”
“I plan to avoid sunlight,” Akaashi says. Out of the corner of his eye, Bokuto sees he’s fiddling with his fingers, yet he remains calm and expressionless.
“Want to avoid sunlight together? I have every play station console there is.”
“Sure.”
Bokuto stops walking and Akaashi ends up standing in the rain. He quickly retreats under the umbrella. His shirt is already soaked and Bokuto thinks about sneaking a peek but he’s too busy staring at Akaashi’s face.
“Bokuto-san…?”
“You will come hang out with me?”
“That’s what I said,” Akaashi says. He takes a step closer and Bokuto feels a self-conscious flush suffuse his face. “Bokuto-san, your house is in the opposite direction, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Bokuto confesses. He can’t tell lies when he’s hypnotized with the way Akaashi’s eyelashes flutter over his eyes.
“A true romantic,” Akaashi says. And he’s smiling; a gentle, intimate smile that Bokuto has the veil of rain to thank for. Bokuto almost drops the umbrella and runs away because he’s sure—he’s sure his heartbeat is louder than the rain hitting the ground.
“I said I’d walk you home,” Bokuto says. He shrugs, pretends nonchalance.
“Walk me home, then.”
Bokuto does just that.
SUMMER
Me
i’m so nervous. cleaned the whole house twice!!!!!
Kuroo
your mother must be proud. or calling an exorcist :p
Me
Kuroo this is serious!!!
Kuroo
you got this i believe in you
me
the only thing I got is the high chance of diarrhea
Kuroo
TMI
Me
sorry
he’s here
later
Having Akaashi in his house feels right. Akaashi makes one stroll around the room without touching anything and sits awkwardly on the bed with his palms balled into fists on his knees. His eyes dart around the room again and Bokuto wonders what he sees. There’s nothing about his room that Bokuto finds extraordinary: there’s a desk, a TV, consoles lined next to one another, sports magazines and manga, DVD collections. Perhaps the only odd thing about it right now is that the floor is clear of any scattered clothes and disks.
“So,” Bokuto says and pulls out a game from his collection. “I was thinking we could play Crash Bash.”
“Ah, that relic from the past.”
“Hey,” Bokuto says, raising eyebrows. “You’re making me feel old.”
“You’re only one year older than me,” Akaashi says. “Let’s play it.”
Bokuto starts the game and gives one controller to Akaashi. He sits at the foot of the bed next to Akaashi’s legs. Once the start menu appears, Akaashi slides off the bed to sit on the floor next to Bokuto. He pulls his knees towards his chest and places his hands with the controller between them.
Bokuto’s aired the room twice and he’s even left the window open but Akaashi is so close Bokuto finds it hard to breathe. Akaashi’s shoulder brushes against his when he bashes the buttons and Bokuto’s skin burns at the place of contact. He’s wearing a sleeveless shirt but he might as well be wearing a leather jacket in the scorching sun.
“Bokuto-san, we’re on the same team,” Akaashi says at one point, when Bokuto sends a ball flying into his goal by accident.
“I know that, I just hate this level.”
Despite the minor setbacks, they win three rounds. Bokuto sets the controller down and tips his head back and rests it on the edge of the bed. He turns his head towards Akaashi and meets his eyes. Akaashi’s eyes say so much and Bokuto grows frustrated at himself that he cannot understand their language, and despite his shame, cannot look away either.
“What is it?” Akaashi asks.
“Your eyes are gorgeous,” Bokuto blurts. Then his mouth initiates panic mode. “I mean. Yes, your eyes are beautiful. But it’s the general truth. Everybody thinks so. That’s what eyes are for. Also, for looking at things. Not necessarily me. I mean—You know, eyes do that. They help you see and—“
“Bokuto-san, you’re sweating.”
“It’s the heat.”
“Right.”
They meet like this for the rest of the summer. Sometimes, Kuroo joins them. As it turns out, Kuroo is an even worse team player than Bokuto.
Bokuto often catches Akaashi smile.
“Kuroo. You’re a genius. Where did you get this?” Bokuto jumps around Kuroo and takes his shorts off in the process. It is late in the afternoon but it’s not as hot as it was yesterday.
“Found it in the attic,” Kuroo says and grins.
Akaashi stands next to them, staring with his mouth gaping. “It’s an inflatable pool for children,” he says.
“Genius,” Bokuto repeats. Kuroo and he exchange glances and devious smirks. The water in the inflatable pool glistens in the sun, cold and inviting.
Akaashi takes a step back.
“Kuroo-san, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says through his teeth, eyeing them with suspicion. “Don’t.”
Too late.
Wet and out of breath, they sit on the patio and try to dry off with towels Kuroo’s mother has brought them. Bokuto runs the towel through his hair and when he stops, his hair falls into his eyes. He doesn’t like how he looks when his hair is down like this.
“Who are you? Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asks and reaches out to touch Bokuto’s hair. His own hair is stuck to his face too but he looks refreshed and shining even after he’s been chased around the yard with fistfuls of cold water.
“Mean! That’s mean, Akaashi.”
Kuroo, who’s just walked out, breaks into a boisterous laugh.
“And who are you?” Akaashi asks again, this time directing the jab at Kuroo. Kuroo’s hair, wet and clinging to his face, is surprisingly tame like this and gives him a youthful appearance.
Kuroo stops laughing. It’s Bokuto’s turn to clutch his stomach and guffaw.
“I’m the person who will lend you a shirt so you better be nice,” Kuroo says and tosses a dry shirt to Akaashi. Bokuto tries not to think about Akaashi taking his clothes off in Kuroo’s bathroom.
Exhausted from running around and laughing, they are quick to turn in. Kuroo falls asleep first and breaks into snores that have Bokuto thinking he’s stuck in a cave with a bear.
“Does he always snore like that?” Akaashi asks. He’s wearing Kuroo’s shirt and lying in a futon next to Bokuto’s.
“Not always. But often enough.”
Bokuto’s already playing Pokemon on his phone, the screen illuminates his face and prickles his eyes until he gets used to it. His limbs are heavy and tired and this is just what he needs to lull him to sleep.
Akaashi scoots closer, the sound of rustling nothing against Kuroo’s snoring, and rests his head on Bokuto’s forearm. Bokuto doesn’t have a split second to react before Akaashi’s facing his phone and watching his character move around a colorful world through half-lidded eyes.
“May I?” Akaashi asks. His voice, albeit drowsy, retains its sharp quality. And it’s right next to Bokuto’s ear. Bokuto’s body gives an involuntary shiver.
“S-Sure,” Bokuto says and prays Akaashi doesn’t decide to move his head to his chest. If he does, he’ll learn that Bokuto’s erratic heartbeat is more violent than Kuroo’s loud snoring.
Eventually, he falls asleep with his arms above him, afraid to touch Akaashi any more than his heart can handle.
“I didn’t want to tell you yesterday because I knew you’d freak out, but look,” Kuroo says and gives Bokuto his phone. “I took it when I woke up.”
It’s a picture of Bokuto and Akaashi sleeping. Bokuto is on his back and his right arm is underneath Akaashi’s head. Akaashi tossed his left hand over Bokuto’s stomach and his left leg is intertwined with Bokuto’s right leg. They both look defenseless and comfortable. When Bokuto woke up yesterday, he was alone in the room while Kuroo and Akaashi were already eating breakfast.
“Send it to me, please.”
AUTUMN
“Ah, autumn. When leaves fall just like my hopes and dreams of dating a cute archer boy.”
“You’re being dramatic. As usual,” Kuroo says. “You’ve had plenty of chances to ask him out this summer.”
Bokuto crosses his arms as they walk towards the school gates. “At this point, I like him enough as a friend to not want to risk him hating me.”
“Yes, but you’re torturing yourself. And, consequently, me.”
Bokuto groans because Kuroo is right; of course he’s right, he’s always right. He decides to focus on his running instead.
If Akaashi’s not using his bow when Bokuto runs past, he waves at him and feels his chest tighten when Akaashi waves back.
He endures.
“We’re going to win every race,” Bokuto says over his lunch, his chin held high and a proud smile on his lips.
“I don’t think that’s possible,” Akaashi says.
“Akaashi. Whose side are you on?”
“The side of logic.”
“Well, realistically speaking, we have high chances of winning the relay at least. There are good runners on our team,” Kuroo adds. He’s been training a lot lately and his stamina is top notch. He could win long distance if he tried. “Plus, Bokuto is our ace.”
“That, I am,” Bokuto boasts. “Akaashi, will you come watch us?”
“I will,” Akaashi says as if Bokuto didn’t even have to ask.
Bokuto feels he can sprint around the world to the rhythm of his heart beating.
Bokuto and Kuroo’s team wins the relay and Akaashi treats them to ice-cream afterwards.
Kuroo leaves first after practice so Bokuto finds his way to Akaashi’s practice that seems to still be in session. He stands by the door and watches. Akaashi’s gotten better in the past few months. He’s focused, of supple fingers, just like the string of his bow. Bokuto wishes Akaashi would look like him the way he looks at the target: with all his attention, without a sliver of hesitation, and never looking away until there’s a gaping hole in his chest where Bokuto’s heart once was. He’d give it to Akaashi, if he wanted it.
Bokuto sighs.
Once practice is over, Bokuto waits by the lockers.
“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi calls.
“Hey,” Bokuto says. He pushes himself away from the lockers. “You hit every target right in the middle today. Have you considered competing?”
Akaashi touches his hair and pushes it in his face. Bokuto thinks he’s blushing. “No, not yet.”
“Why not? You’re great.”
“Thank you,” Akaashi says. “But I’m not ready. I want to practice more. Maybe I’ll compete when I’m a third year.”
“That’s two years from now…”
“Yes.”
Bokuto touches Akaashi’s shoulder before he can stop himself. “I’ll come cheer for you!”
Akaashi doesn’t push Bokuto’s hand away but he does glance at it once. Bokuto leaves it there.
“That will only make me nervous, Bokuto-san.”
Bokuto’s heart sinks. “Nervous? Why?”
“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi looks around them as if to check they’re alone. “I don’t want to do this here.”
“Do what? Akaashi. Did I do something to make you uncomfortable?” His hand clutches at Akaashi’s shoulder; not to hurt him, but to hold onto him out of fear he might escape.
Akaashi closes his palm around Bokuto’s wrist and pushes him behind the lockers. It’s not perfect seclusion but at least they won’t immediately be seen should somebody walk by.
Bokuto listens to the silence and hears only his blood rushing through his veins in panic. His eyes are glued to Akaashi’s and he doesn’t speak.
“Bokuto-san.” Akaashi says, his voice a note lower than usual. “I’m going to kiss you now. If you don’t want me to, stop me. Okay?”
Bokuto, eyes wide and darting around Akaashi’s face in search of clues for this improbable situation, nods once.
Akaashi squeezes Bokuto’s wrist, gently, and guides him lower so he can press a kiss to his lips. Bokuto melts, pliant, and thinks of pillaging heaven if this turns out to be a cruel dream. Akaashi’s mouth is insistent and his tongue coaxes Bokuto’s lips into opening. Bokuto’s dizzy with the smell of Akaashi, his closeness and his warm mouth.
“Oh,” Bokuto murmurs when they part, unable to take his eyes off Akaashi’s lips. They are still wet and inviting. “That was nice.”
“It was very nice.”
“Again?”
“Your wish,” Akaashi says and leans up to kiss Bokuto again.
“You’re holding hands under the table. I see you,” Kuroo says during lunch. They’re in Kuroo’s classroom as it’s too cold to eat at leisure outside. “I’m glad you finally sorted it out. You were embarrassing.”
“You have extraordinary observation skills, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi deadpans. His thumb is caressing the back of Bokuto’s hand and Bokuto can’t bother to reply.
“Drop the –san, it’s weird at this point.”
“Kuroo,” Akaashi says.
Bokuto jolts at that, his chopsticks falling from his mouth, and his hand squeezes Akaashi’s in a bout of excitement. “Then, Akaashi, call me Koutarou.”
Akaashi, and Kuroo, give him incredulous looks followed by raised eyebrows.
“Bokuto-san, don’t speak with your mouth full.”
“Akaashi.”
Kuroo laughs, and laughs.
SPRING, a year later
Akaashi takes part in a tournament a year earlier than he’s planned. Bokuto is in the audience, cheering him on, with Kuroo stepping away from him and pretending he doesn’t know him. Bokuto catches him by the wrist and convinces him to be as enthusiastic about cheering as he is.
Akaashi smiles once before he surrounds himself by the intense air of focus that engulfs the entire audience in pure awe.
He takes first place.
WINTER, two years later
“I was so nervous,” Bokuto whines, his hands covering his eyes as Akaashi wipes evidence of sweat and sex off their bodies. His limbs feel heavy but so, so sated. Akaashi made sure to undo him knot by knot and then put him back together with equal care. Bokuto looks at him and doesn’t have to hide his affection. He tucks a strand of hair behind Akaashi’s ear and Akaashi’s gives him a look so warm and gratifying that Bokuto wants to give himself to him all over again.
“I loved it. Loved you,” Akaashi says. A few moments ago he was insatiable like a wild beast, but now he has a demeanour of a tamed animal. Bokuto loves both.
“Me too.”
They change clothes and spread out clean sheets and blankets to snuggle under. Akaashi puts on a movie while Bokuto fiddles with his phone.
“Kuroo will be here soon. He’s bringing snacks.”
“Cool.”
“Oh. We gotta air the room. He will smell it and give us that shit-eating grin of his. Annoying cat.”
“I know. Quick.”
Kuroo enters their apartment with his arms full of snacks. He sniffs the air and grins but doesn’t say anything.
“I’m glad you’ve officially turned into true lovebirds and all but I hope you won’t forget about your favourite friend, me, somewhere between making out and exchanging love-struck glances that give me stomach-ache.”
Bokuto sticks his tongue out.
“Want to snuggle with us while watching the movie?” Bokuto offers as Akaashi opens a blanket for Kuroo to squeeze in. Akaashi’s ears are still red and Bokuto wants to kiss them.
“Would love to,” Kuroo says and throws the snacks at their feet and then dives underneath the blanket.
In retrospect, Bokuto thinks, he owes hurdles for a lot more than a nosebleed.