Work Text:
WEDNESDAY
Bokuto Koutarou descends down a narrow set of stairs that lead to fine glass doors. On the doors hangs a "please do not speak louder than two whispers" sign. Bokuto wonders why Kuroo would enter such a place, let alone recommend it to Bokuto himself, his equally loud counterpart. As soon as he enters, Bokuto is wrapped in dim brown light of floor and wall lamps and soft ambient music that gently covers the sound of people flipping pages of books, whisper-chatting with their friends and tapping away on their laptops. There are no windows which allows for intimate atmosphere; along one of the walls there are two couches on which some people appear to be snoozing. The place is packed yet it's solemn, like one would expect to see in a library.
Bokuto navigates between the tables and ends up at a counter. No one is manning it and, behind it, Bokuto sees neatly displayed mugs next to the menu with plenty of coffee, tea, cappuccino and lattes to choose from along with light snacks.
He harrumphs awkwardly when he notices a patch of dark, messy hair sticking out below the counter.
“Just a second,” a controlled voice responds in what must’ve been a two-whisper quality.
Bokuto fidgets and leans on the counter in an attempt to peak over it without being obvious. “I was told you’re looking for employees.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve also heard there’s an angel opening the open-mic night every day,” Bokuto says to keep the conversation going.
“Did Kuroo-san tell you that?”
He did—
Bokuto recoils from the counter when the owner of the voice gets up.
“Akaashi,” Bokuto exclaim and the name has a foreign quality on his tongue. He lowers his head because he can feel daggers on his back for being too loud.
Akaashi, unfazed, rests his palms on the counter.
Bokuto blinks, wondering if Akaashi Keiji would disappear if he continues doing so. Akaashi’s arms are adorned with black ink of wolves swirling around each other like they’re waging a battle against each other. Akaashi’s kept his hair the same, perhaps shorter in the back. His eyes are as dark and sharp as Bokuto remembers them from their shared days on the court. Bokuto swallows, but it does nothing to alleviate the burn in his throat caused by words he doesn’t have.
“Hello, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says after what feels like an eternity of staring and not believing. “Kuroo-san told you about this place, but not about me.”
Bokuto nods.
“Do you still want to work here, if I choose to employ you?”
Bokuto hesitates. Finding a part-time job seems like a worry from another century; he has more pressing wounds to tend to. “Akaashi, when you moved away—did we—did we stop being friends?”
Akaashi cracks the knuckle of his forefinger and Bokuto hates the sound. His voice is firm when he says, “You don’t stop being friends when you move away. You stop being friends when you fail to pick up the phone for three years.”
Bokuto can't think. “What are we, then?”
“A barista and a customer.”
“Akaashi…” Bokuto takes a step closer to the counter and Akaashi pushes himself away from it.
“Lucky for you,” Akaashi says after he’s cast a glance at the wall clock to their left, “there’s an angel singing here tonight.”
It’s 9pm and Bokuto needs to sit down. He watches Akaashi walk to a small, round stage set up in front of the tables with a confidence to his gait that one gains with years. He takes a guitar, the only other instrument next to an electronic keyboard, and sets it on his thigh. He taps the microphone once and Bokuto is speechless with the idea of Akaashi being the center of the attention – all eyes in the café are on him.
“The following thirty minutes of open-mic night will be opened with the acoustic version of Daniel Bedingfield’s Gotta Get Thru This.”
Akaashi strums the guitar with those skilled, thoughtful fingers he’s once tossed the ball to Bokuto, and begins singing.
Bokuto doesn’t blink, Bokuto barely remembers to breathe; he becomes a single nerve, held together by his cowardly spine, that is wired to respond only to Akaashi and the sound of his voice, the sight of his closed eyelids as he caresses the strings of the guitar.
Nobody moves until the song is over and Akaashi opens his eyes. He says, “Thank you.”
In those couple of seconds of silence, Bokuto hears his heartbeat rage against the cage of his chest with the same intensity it did when he was spiking a ball past the wall of seemingly impregnable blockers.
His eyes follow Akaashi as he gets off the stage and a blonde-haired woman replaces him to play on the electronic keyboards.
Akaashi positions himself behind the counter again and he faces Bokuto.
“I will hire you, if you still want the job.”
“I do,” Bokuto says. He’s moved and hurt and aching and longing and confused and happy – all at once and he can only do so much to keep himself still on the stool and not jump at Akaashi to hug him, or to apologize, or both.
Akaashi smiles briefly, no teeth. “Now we’re the boss and an employee.”
“The boss and an employee. Progress,” Bokuto says and doesn’t know why that feels like a victory.
“See you tomorrow at four thirty, Bokuto-san. Don’t be late.”
THURSDAY
Kuroo Tetsurou’s pajama bottoms ride low on his hips when he opens the doors of his apartment at 5am. He looks at Bokuto through half-lidded eyes and his bed-hair is as dark and messy as the bags under his eyes. He steps aside to let Bokuto pass.
“I know what you’re going to say,” Kuroo says, his voice ridden with drowsiness. He closes and locks the doors.
Bokuto sits at the kitchen table, his leg bouncing and eyes darting around Kuroo’s living room.
“Why didn’t you tell me Akaashi works there?”
Kuroo takes a sit across the table from Bokuto. “He doesn’t work there, he owns that. I thought you wouldn’t go if I told you.”
“I wouldn’t!”
Kuroo rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his hair and it does nothing to help its cause. He yawns without putting his hand over his mouth. The apartment is cold but he’s shirtless and doesn’t seem to mind.
Bokuto scrunches his nose. “How long did you know?”
“I found out yesterday.”
“But he was studying at the Kyoto University.”
“He was,” Kuroo says. “All he’s told me is that his old man fell ill and could no longer take care of the café so he offered it to Akaashi, no hard feelings if he didn’t want it. Akaashi was happy to jump at the opportunity.”
Bokuto raises an eyebrow. “Really? But Akaashi is—he is—smart and all.”
Kuroo smirks and sets his elbows on the table. “He is. But there are all sorts of intelligence.”
“You’re giving me that ‘I-figured-out-something-you-didn’t’ look and I want to punch you for it,” Bokuto says, pouting.
“Cut me some slack,” Kuroo says and leans back into his chair with a sigh. “I knew you’d come banging at my door. Not at 5am though.”
“Sorry,” Bokuto mutters. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Figured.”
The flow of the conversation is interrupted when the doors of the bedroom open and Tsukishima Kei, ruffled and sleepy-eyed, comes out. His glasses are slightly askew, put on hastily, and he looks like Kuroo does – wrecked with exhaustion. Life of medicine students must be difficult.
“Morning, Tsukki,” Bokuto greets. Then his eyes fall on Tsukishima’s crotch. “Nice underwear.” They’re baby blue, yellow stegosaurus pattern.
“Thanks,” Tsukishima murmurs and begins to rummage through cupboards, pulling out three bowls. Bokuto and Kuroo watch him silently as he stumbles around the kitchen, preparing cereal. Once he’s done, he sets a bowl on the table for each of them and sits down.
“Gourmet food for breakfast, how nice of you Tsukki,” Kuroo teases and takes Tsukishima’s palm in his to press a kiss on it. Tsukishima shoots him a glare that doesn’t bite. Bokuto digs in.
“Did you tell him something about me?” Bokuto asks, his mouth full of cereal.
Kuroo swallows a mouthful before he answers, “Only that you’ve quit your job three months ago and decided to study for a high school volleyball coach instead.”
“Is this about Akaashi-san?” Tsukishima pipes in. He’s making long pauses between putting each spoonful of cereal in his mouth. His metabolism is slow in the morning.
“Yes,” Kuroo says. He looks at Bokuto. “Tsukki’s going to work for him.”
“Mondays, Fridays and Saturdays,” Tsukishima says. “You too, Bokuto-san?”
“Yep,” Bokuto answers. “Kuroo, how did you find him?”
“By accident,” Kuroo says. “A friend from college recommended the place. It’s quite popular among med students recently since it’s quiet, secluded, dark and has an official half an hour break via that open-mic night thing.”
Bokuto remembers Akaashi holding the guitar. “Akaashi can sing.”
“I didn’t know that,” Kuroo says.
“Me neither,” Bokuto says and drops his spoon in the bowl. The spoon clangs and the sound covers Bokuto’s whine. He buries his face in his palms. “I know so little about him.”
“Oh no,” Tsukishima says. “Is he going to—“
“Yes,” Kuroo says. “Let him. He has to get it out of his system.”
Bokuto comes to work thirty minutes early, which is an hour after his classes have ended, and slams head-first into café’s locked doors. Akaashi unlocks the doors fifteen minutes later.
“You’re early, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says as he lets Bokuto in.
Bokuto notices, as he walks past him, that he smells of freshly brewed coffee. Empty, the café looks eerie.
“I wanted to impress the boss,” Bokuto says, nervous because Akaashi’s turned away and he can’t see whether he’s smiled.
“Follow me, Bokuto-san.”
Akaashi takes him to the room behind the counters; it’s small and lined with counters, brewing machines, coffee beans, pots, mugs, snacks, everything one would need to run a café. There are staircases that lead upstairs.
“What’s up there?” Bokuto asks.
“Dad’s apartment. Well, my apartment,” Akaashi says. “It’s my apartment.”
Bokuto knows Akaashi’s parents have divorced when he was in middle school. Akaashi’s lived with his mother until he moved away for college.
“I will briefly explain what your duties are. If you have any questions, ask.”
Bokuto nods. Akaashi tells him what he is to do. It’s simple enough, and the pay is substantial.
“You will work Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays,” Akaashi says.
“When Tsukishima isn’t working.”
Akaashi’s expression doesn’t give him away, but his shoulders slouch. Bokuto feels a knot in his stomach tighten with guilt.
“Akaashi. Listen, about what happened, I—“
“Bokuto-san. I understand,” Akaashi says. He turns to Bokuto and his expression is soft, if not sad. “You started working after high school. I moved away a year later. You con— And then you didn’t contact me. I didn’t contact you. It happens.”
“Yes, but it didn’t have to happen. I let it.”
“We let it,” Akaashi corrects. He crosses his arms; it puts his tattoos in plain sight and Bokuto wants to know when he got them, or how it feels to touch them.
“Can we be friends again?”
Akaashi is silent. Bokuto doesn’t count for how long the silence stretches between them until Akaashi speaks again.
“Bokuto-san, do you have time?”
Bokuto blinks in confusion. “Yes…?”
“Then we’ll see. In time.”
Bokuto’s quit his job after two years because he couldn’t handle routine, silence and obedience the office job of a business man entailed. He knows himself only when he’s loud and passionate and moving. He’s spent many nights at Kuroo’s, talking about wanting to quit until he’s finally decided to go through with it. He didn’t like studying, but he wanted to be a high school volleyball coach so it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.
He’s been running out of his savings so finding Akaashi and getting this part-time job seemed too good to be true. It’s either a gift or a cruel way to punish him.
When the café opens, with its working hours being 16.30 – 23.00, Bokuto finds it easy to move between the tables, chat in a low voice with customers and glance at Akaashi once in a while while reminding himself to be patient.
When Akaashi sings again, Bokuto spills coffee over the counter and cleans up the mess before Akaashi returns.
“You should’ve sung for the team before games. It would’ve boosted our morale.”
“It would’ve destroyed my morale.”
“Aw,” Bokuto moans. “Are you blushing, Akaashi?”
“I’m not,” Akaashi says and turns away to wash some mugs. “Get back to work.”
Bokuto hums the song Akaashi has sung for the remainder of the evening.
FRIDAY
“Look at me,” Kuroo says and slaps his palms over Bokuto’s cheeks, forcing him to meet his eyes. “You love studying. Studying is fun. Say it with me.”
“Are you trying to brainwash—“
“Say it with me.”
“I love studying. Studying is fun,” Bokuto says the best he can with Kuroo’s palms squeezing his cheeks.
“Good,” Kuroo grins and lets his cheeks go.
Tsukishima strolls to their table with a refill of coffee and a nice frown to accompany it. “You’re loud,” he says and Kuroo apologizes.
Bokuto watches as Tsukishima pours coffee into his mug, the sound lulling him to sleep. They’re sitting at the table in the corner of the café, studying. Well, Bokuto is studying. Kuroo tagged along because he wanted to tease Tsukishima on his first day of work.
“Why do I have to know these things? I’m going to be a coach,” Bokuto says once Tsukishima’s gone. He flips through his textbook, dejected.
“You have to know how bodies work.”
Bokuto groans.
“Take a little nap,” Kuroo suggests and Bokuto eagerly pounces at the idea.
He presses his cheek to the cold page of the textbook and makes himself as comfortable as possible. Kuroo plays with his hair with one hand and swipes through his phone with the other one. He listens to the murmurs around him and dozes off.
Bokuto doesn’t know how much time has passed, as he begins to drift between awareness and sleep, when he senses another person near their table.
“Did he fall asleep?” It’s Akaashi’s voice.
“Yes,” Kuroo replies.
Bokuto doesn’t move; his breathing is steady and his heart in his throat.
“Akaashi. Are you mad at me?” Kuroo asks. He keeps his voice to a whisper.
“I’m not mad,” Akaashi says. Bokuto feels more fingers stroking his hair. He imagines they are Akaashi’s. They probably are; they are tender, hesitant, nothing like Kuroo’s. “A part of me knew it would end up like this.”
“Good, then,” Kuroo says. Bokuto hears him take a sip of his coffee. The fingers in his hair intertwine. “You did always prefer him over me for some reason.”
“What a cruel thing to say after all those frowns we shared behind his back, Kuroo-san.”
Kuroo chuckles. Bokuto can tell he’s trying hard not to laugh out loud.
SATURDAY
“Kuroo, did you know you can literally break someone’s heart,” Bokuto says. He’s lying on Kuroo’s kitchen table, his head on his upper arm.
“Does it say so in your textbook?”
“…No. I Googled it.”
“Bokuto. You are a procrastinator.”
“I have a broken heart.”
Kuroo lifts his gaze from his notes. His are neat and organized and a lot like Tsukishima’s. Bokuto is distracted by orderliness; he works best in chaos, with spontaneity.
“So does he, I’m sure. Talk to him about it,” Kuroo says as if it’s the simplest thing to do.
“The last time I told him, he moved away and I never contacted him again.”
“Don’t run away this time.”
Bokuto opens his mouth and screams silently. Kuroo laughs.
“What’s really on your mind?” Kuroo asks. Bokuto lifts himself up and sets his eyes on Kuroo’s torn couch.
“It’s kinda hot that he’s my boss but he still calls me ‘Bokuto-san’.”
“You kinky owl,” Kuroo says, grinning. “That is hot. I’m still trying to convince Tsukki to call me—“
“Don’t you dare say it!” Tsukishima’s voice emerges from the bathroom.
Kuroo sighs and shakes his head. “It’s a lost cause.”
“Hang in there,” Bokuto says.
SUNDAY
Lost in thought, Bokuto tosses a volleyball ball at the wall. His angry neighbour comes knocking at his door. He spends fifteen minutes apologizing. He falls asleep at 6pm after binge watching a superhero anime.
MONDAY
Bokuto comes to the café in time to hear Akaashi sing. He sits at the table in the corner he likes to refer to as ‘his’ table. He’s passed the exam so he’s in good spirits. Buzzed on coffee and euphoria, he waits until Akaashi approaches his table to gently wrap his palm around Akaashi’s wrist. Akaashi looks at Bokuto’s hand for a while before he uses his other hand to set himself free.
“Bokuto-san?”
Bokuto retracts his hand and stares at Akaashi, wide-eyed.
“How much coffee did you have in the past few days?” Akaashi responds to Bokuto’s silence.
“I stopped counting.”
“Exams?”
“Yes. But I passed.”
Akaashi gives him a smile and Bokuto catches it before it disappears. “I’m glad.” Akaashi walks away.
Bokuto, tired from jumping from one emotional extreme to another, slouches in his seat and listens to someeone sing a song he doesn’t recognize.
A minute later, Akaashi returns with a muffin and puts it on Bokuto’s table. “On the house.”
Bokuto swells with hope. And something else entirely.
TUESDAY
“You’re going to keep coming in early, won’t you?”
“Sorry,” Bokuto says.
The chairs are set on the tables and only a few lights are on.
“I didn’t say it’s a bad thing,” Akaashi says. “Put the chairs down and wipe the tables.”
“Alright!”
Bokuto likes having something to do when they’re alone like this. He can busy his hands with manual work while stealing glances at Akaashi’s direction without rousing suspicion.
He finishes fast and finds Akaashi in the back room, making stock. He stands by the door and knows he’s fidgeting and staring but he can’t stop himself from doing either.
“Bokuto-san, you’re making me nervous.”
“Sorry,” Bokuto says.
“You don’t have to apologize for everything.”
“It’s a start.”
Bokuto comes closer. Akaashi is wearing a black t-shirt and jeans, that’s become his outfit on choice, and he varies it every once in a while but he always keeps his sleeves short or rolled-up to reveal his tattoos.
“You’re staring at my tattoos,” Akaashi says. “Are they that fascinating?”
“They’re unexpected.”
“You look like you want to touch them,” Akaashi says. He’s put the pen down. After all these years Bokuto still doesn’t understand why it’s so easy for Akaashi to read him.
“Am I that obvious?” Bokuto says and his smile is entirely nervous.
“Yes.”
Akaashi turns to Bokuto and raises his arms to him. Blood rushes to Bokuto’s face.
“Is it really okay?”
Akaashi nods.
Bokuto steadies himself as he puts his hands on Akaashi’s arms. He traces the tattoo with his fingers, lightly at his forearm but with determination when he reaches Akaashi’s bicep. His own breathing is shallow when he allows his thumb to slip underneath Akaashi’s sleeve. It’s just skin, Bokuto reminds himself, but it’s soft and pale and inked and Akaashi’s. He tears his eyes away from Akaashi’s tattoos to look at Akaashi’s face only to find him heavy-lidded, his lips parted.
“Akaashi. I have to say something.”
Akaashi shakes, as if coming awake from a dream, and Bokuto stops touching him.
“Don’t. It’ll make it weird,” Akaashi says.
“I know. But I can’t live like this. I—“
“That’s the problem, Bokuto-san. It’s always about you,” Akaashi says. He didn’t raise his voice, which makes it all the worse. Bokuto goes cold. Akaashi closes his eyes, inhales and opens them again. “We’re not kids anymore. I don’t have to coddle you. I don’t have to—I don’t—“
“Akaashi. I still like you.”
Bokuto hopes his sentiment will reach Akaashi. When it doesn’t and Akaashi takes a step back, Bokuto shivers.
“Don’t you think I know that? I know everything about you. I employed you knowing that.”
“Then why—“
“Because I need time, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says. His nose is red. “You confessed to me on the day I was leaving. Then you ignored me, changed your number, told Kuroo not to tell me anything. I was confused and alone and hurt and it’s been years since then.”
Bokuto looks down and grabs at his sides. “I’m sorry.”
He hears Akaashi exhale a shaky breath and when he looks up, Akaashi composed, as if none of this has happened. “Okay. Can you work today?”
“Yes.” He feels like he’s falling apart at the seams but he can’t leave Akaashi in a pinch because of his selfishness – again.
“Go open up.”
That night is the first night Akaashi doesn’t sing.
WEDNESDAY
Classes drag on forever. Bokuto focuses on them so he doesn’t think about Akaashi.
He comes to work at 16.30 sharp.
Akaashi doesn’t comment on it.
THURSDAY
“Tsukki!” Bokuto says in awe as he looks at his bowl of his cereal. “Did you upgrade your gourmet cereal recipe?”
Kuroo is taking pictures of his bowl. “There are brown and red ones.”
Tsukishima rolls his eyes, but plays along anyway. “I’ve combined two types of cereal in a single bowl.”
“This one’s a keeper,” Bokuto says and winks at Kuroo.
“Indeed.”
He’s been moping around all of yesterday but he woke up this morning thinking that Akaashi hasn’t rejected him, but asked him for more time. Bokuto owes him a lot more than that. So he eats his cereal and laughs with Kuroo and Tsukishima and hopes that sometime in the future, Akaashi will be here to laugh with them.
Bokuto comes to work early and finds Akaashi in the back room, changing strings on his guitar.
“Do you take requests?” Bokuto says as he leans on the door-frame. His hands are in his pockets because his palms are sweaty. He’s made his decision, but facing Akaashi doesn’t get easier on his nerves. He feels sixteen again, crushing on his setter and not doing anything about it for years until he does it all wrong.
Akaashi looks up at him. “Sure.”
“Seaside. By Kooks.”
Akaashi reaches up to his face, as if he’s going to face palm, and covers his mouth with his hand. He’s smiling. “Subtle, Bokuto-san.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Akaashi plays it anyway, and sings better than Bokuto’s imagined it.
Kuroo comes around 10pm with a thick book under his arm and drinks about five cups of coffee before Bokuto decides to veto his self-destructive behavior.
“Go home and sleep,” Bokuto says and takes Kuroo’s cup away.
“I have an exam tomorrow.”
“You’ve been studying like crazy. If you don’t pass, none of us have a chance at passing anything.”
Kuroo makes a low sound in his throat.
Akaashi comes up to them. Kuroo pouts at him.
“Boss, your employee is denying my customer rights.”
Akaashi puts his hand on Kuroo’s forehead. “Kuroo-san, please go home and get some sleep.”
“Ha!” Bokuto sticks his tongue out.
“I’ll call Tsukki.”
FRIDAY
Kuroo is convinced he’s passed the exam with flying colors – Bokuto has no reason to doubt him – so they end up drinking sake because they’re adults and sometimes adults drink. Kuroo passes out on the couch and Bokuto surmises he will sleep the weekend away considering how tired he is.
Bokuto stumbles out of Kuroo’s apartment and makes his way to Akaashi’s café. He doesn’t know why he’s decided to go there. He sticks to the walls of buildings, because the world spins less when he’s holding onto something, and stumbles inside.
Then he’s seeing stars. Or a black hole. He gets sucked in.
Bokuto struggles but he opens his eyes after a couple of failed attempts. He doesn’t know where he is but it’s brightly lit and smells of coffee and plants and books. He drags his eyes lazily across the room until he sees Akaashi standing in front of a kitchen counter and he realizes where he is. Bokuto closes his eyes and presses them tightly together before opening them again.
Akaashi is wearing grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt and his ass looks dreamy and Bokuto wants to bury his face between his shoulder blades and he’s still tipsy and shouldn’t be here when he’s like this.
“I have impure thoughts, Akaashi,” Bokuto says. His voice comes out groggy. He didn’t notice how dry his throat is until he spoke.
Akaashi pulls out a glass and fills it with water. He brings it over to where Bokuto is lying on the couch.
Bokuto pulls himself up with the sheer power of his will.
“Can you drink this glass of water despite your impure thoughts?”
“I can try.”
Bokuto takes the glass and brings it to his lips. He drinks half of it and he’s already falling back on the couch. Akaashi catches the glass and puts it down.
“This is not how I wanted my first time at your place to be,” Bokuto says. He’s closed his eyes.
“Is that so? How did you want it to be, Bokuto-san?”
“Are you trying to take advantage of my honest, drunk mouth?”
“Maybe.”
Bokuto chuckles; he doesn’t have strength for much else.
“I’m thinking about kissing you. But I won’t. Not like this.”
“You’re an extremely controlled drunk,” Akaashi’s voice is a lullaby to Bokuto’s ears, low and tinged with playful teasing.
“One of my many good points.”
“’Many’ is arguable.”
“Just as I remember. You’re never on my side,” Bokuto says. His cheeks hurt even from this amount of smiling. He opens one of his eyes to look at Akaashi. “Except when it counts. Then you’re always on my side.”
Akaashi takes a while to respond. His face is so softened by fondness that Bokuto thinks he must be too drunk to see otherwise. When Akaashi responds, his voice is almost a whisper.
“Bokuto-san, you’re drunk.”
“We’ve established that.”
“Go to sleep.”
SATURDAY
The smell of toast and eggs wakes Bokuto. He stretches on the couch and his entire body turns against him, starting with a splitting headache.
“’Morning, Bokuto-san.”
Bokuto gets up, slowly, and once he establishes that the floor isn’t trying to open up and swallow him, he walks over to the kitchen and sits down. Akaashi’s already eating and Bokuto doesn’t wait long to dig in.
It takes him a couple of minutes to realize it’s morning and he’s in Akaashi’s kitchen, eating Akaashi’s food, and that Akaashi’s taken care of him last night; memories of it are hazy but they’re there.
“What’s on your mind?” Akaashi asks. He’s picked up on minutest cues on Bokuto’s face, the ones that give him away.
Bokuto puts his toast down and looks Akaashi straight in the eye.
“I’m just thinking about how I fucked up so bad,” Bokuto says.
“Getting drunk hardly counts as fucking up.”
Bokuto shakes his head and regrets it immediately. He says, “Not that. I fucked up with you. I wasted time and feelings when being with you is so simple.”
Akaashi doesn’t look away but Bokuto knows he’s buying time by chewing slowly.
“Are you always like this when you’re hung-over?”
Bokuto remembers the time he, Kuroo and Tsukishima got drunk when Tsukishima got into college. The following morning, Bokuto was lying between them and was talking about his feelings for hours.
“Yes,” Bokuto admits. But he doesn’t let Akaashi dodge his words like this. “But I mean it.”
“I know you do,” Akaashi says. “Do you remember how you confessed the first time?”
“’Akaashi, I like you. You’ve set my heart on fire. Because you’re a setter.’” Bokuto recites; he remembers it word by word. He’s spent an entire night thinking of a perfect confession but blurted out the most random, awkward thing that came to mind.
Akaashi laughs. It’s the most heart-warming sound Bokuto’s ever heard. His cheeks are dusted with a lovely shade of pink.
“I still can’t believe you attempted to use a pun in your confession.”
“I was so nervous, it just came out,” Bokuto scratches the side of his face.
Akaashi bites his lip and reaches out to catch Bokuto’s hands in his own.
“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says in a voice that calls the entirety of Bokuto’s confession. “Say it again.”
Bokuto doesn’t hesitate. He squeezes Akaashi’s hands. “Akaashi, I like you. You’re set my heart on fire. Because you’re a setter.”
Akaashi tries hard not to laugh again, and succeeds. Bokuto’s heart is beating so loud that he worries neighbours might call 119.
“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi’s voice is tinged with a smile but he holds himself together. “I like you. You’ve spiked my heart into—“Akaashi stops. His face is the darkest shade of red. He doesn’t continue.
Bokuto lowers his head and laughs with his mouth closed.
“Akaashi, I’m going to die,” he manages to say.
“You will, if you mention this to Kuroo.”
When Bokuto’s eyes meet Akaashi, Bokuto feels sixteen again.
SUNDAY
Bokuto’s idea of a first date is hanging out at Akaashi’s place and talking. Akaashi drinks tea and lets Bokuto touch his tattoos as they laze around on the couch.
“You never told me why you got these,” Bokuto says.
“I just wanted them,” Akaashi says. “I was doing well in university but I realized it wasn’t where I wanted to be. It didn’t feel right. Working at my dad’s café fits me perfectly and gives me freedom to express myself.”
Bokuto smiles. He finds it funny that they’ve both thought they were pursuing their dreams after high school yet they ended up going in opposite directions from where they’ve started. Even so, all led them to this moment – content and together. Bokuto’s aware that he’s hurt Akaashi but Akaashi’s been giving him tiny second-chances ever since they’ve reunited and Bokuto intends to repay him in full.
“I’m going to quit working here,” Bokuto reveals. He’s been thinking about it last night and realized it’s for the best.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’ll find another job,” Bokuto says. “Plus, it’s very distracting when you call me ‘Bokuto-san’ when you’re the boss.”
“You’re just a pervert,” Akaashi quips. He isn’t wrong. “Last night you told me you wouldn’t kiss me because you were drunk.”
Bokuto doesn’t remember that part, but he’s glad his drunk-self is a gentleman.
“I’m not drunk now,” Bokuto says. He stops running his fingers up and down Akaashi’s arms and puts his palm on Akaashi’s face instead. Akaashi turns to him, eyes glinting and eyelids heavy.
“You’re not.”
Bokuto kisses him, all at once, and Akaashi opens up to fit Bokuto so perfectly that he’s thankful they have an entire day for this.
MONDAY
“Look at our adorable boyfriends working, Bokuto,” Kuroo says. He’s standing next to Bokuto, a smug grin adorning his face.
“Our most adorable boyfriends,” Bokuto adds.
Tsukishima gives them their coffees with a theatrical scoff.
“Akaashi-san, we should put up a restriction for those two.”
Akaashi, who is working a bit further away, says, “I’m considering it.” When he turns away, Bokuto almost misses it, he smiles.