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Bokuto has never really been much of a coffee person. It’s too bitter, the smell is overpowering, and the caffeine is bad for his nerves. But he’s always appreciated the coffee shop right across the street from his gym. He thinks the snuggling owls engraved onto the spacious window panels are adorable, and the way the shop seems to glow from within when he passes by it in the early mornings feels homey and comfortable. The little cardboard cups that the patrons carry out are intricately decorated in spirals of white, black, and gold. It’s not even a conscious thing really, but for some reason, he always finds himself admiring the cozy little cafe as he passes it by going to and from the gym. Something about the atmosphere, the happy-looking patrons, the way the architecture makes it look more like a bookstore than a coffee shop just leaves Bokuto helplessly charmed by it.
He never would have gone inside under ordinary circumstances. But one Saturday a monsoon rolls in right as he’s just wrapped up his morning workout. The downpour leaves the gutters overgorged, and rivers rippling down the streets. Damn. Bokuto might still have braved jogging home, but he just dropped a good chunk of change on his super-cool new workout shoes and the thought of getting all that squashy new foam soaked depresses him. He doesn’t want to hang out at the gym all day, either. And then he remembers the cafe. Right across the road.
The storm has gotten so bad that he’s still fairly soaked, even after only a brisk jog across the street. He opens the door and the heavy scent of coffee hits him. Ugh. Bokuto wrinkles his nose, but he supposes it’s what he’ll have to tolerate for somewhere warm and dry to wait it all out. There are round little tables scattered around the room and the walls are lined with bookshelves. Huh? Is this also a bookstore? No wonder Bokuto had thought it looked so library-esque from the outside! Bokuto gapes at it all as he shakes the rainwater out of his hair and wipes the excess droplets off his jacket. He looks up and—
Bokuto’s soul is punched out right of his body. Like he’s just been hit over the head with a ton of bricks. He freezes; his eyes go wide and round as dinner plates. Time seems to come to a standstill.
The most gorgeous man Bokuto has ever seen in his life is standing behind the counter. He isn’t looking at Bokuto. He seems entirely transfixed on his task, wiping down white ceramic mugs with beautiful hands. Gorgeous hands, even. Bokuto didn’t know beautiful hands were a thing, but he cannot deny the evidence so plainly in front of him. Long slender fingers, his delicate tendons flexing enticingly, the graceful, purposeful way they move. And then there’s the rest of him: inky black curls framing soft porcelain skin, a sweet mouth pursed into a concentrated frown, thick brows that draw the eye to his piercing gaze, and the longest eyelashes Bokuto has ever seen. Bokuto didn’t think this kind of beauty existed outside of movies and magazines, but here it is right here before him. It’s all Bokuto can do to stop. And stare. And gape.
Bokuto has no earthly idea how long he stands there. The concept of time is entirely lost on him. The strikingly gorgeous man sets down his mug and startles at the sight of him.
“Oh!” he says, and wow, even his voice is beautiful. Tenor, melodic, and soft. Bokuto’s heart is doing backflips in his chest. “Sorry, I didn’t see you come in.”
He folds his towel neatly before stepping toward the cash register. Cute . The gorgeous man blinks up at Bokuto expectantly.
“What can I get you today?” he asks.
Bokuto snaps his mouth closed. A shiver ripples up his whole body. He’s speaking to him.
“Um!” Bokuto squeaks and oh god he’s squeaking. “Hi!”
Hi? There’s an actual angel standing right in front of him and all Bokuto can think of to say is hi? Goddammit, what the hell is wrong with him? The cashier blinks like Bokuto has surprised him, but then his expression softens into a warm smile.
“Hello,” he returns, sweet and shy.
That’s it. Bokuto is done for. He’s found him, this is his future husband right here. Bokuto is certain of it. Bokuto glances down at the name tag pinned to the strap of his cute little apron: Akaashi. Akaashi. Nice to meet you, Akaashi. Bokuto can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with him. He’s going to wake up every morning drinking the sight of his beautiful face; he’ll hear the sweet tenor of his voice saying hello over and over again. Bokuto’s belly is alive with electric butterflies, skittering through his skin and shooting sparks through his fingertips. His grin is too big and undoubtedly dopey-looking.
“Um,” Akaashi says. There’s a faint flush to his cheeks. “Did you need something?”
Huh? Oh fuck! Bokuto shakes himself, trying to snap out of it.
“Coffee!” Bokuto blurts out. “I— I came to get coffee!”
Akaashi has a strange little smile tugging on his lips. He peeks up at Bokuto through the thick line of his lashes.
“Well, I would certainly hope that’s what you came for,” he says, in a low voice.
Wow. Look at him. He’s so perfect. Bokuto is so glad he’s decided to marry him. He fidgets with the strap of his gym bag, nervously shuffling his feet.
“I— I’ve never been here before,” he admits. He forces himself to look away from Akaashi with great effort, gaze darting up to the black chalkboard menu hanging above their heads. “I— um.”
God, there are so many words written up there. Bokuto is not an excellent reader to begin with and the handwriting isn’t exactly excellent either. He squints, mouthing along as he tries to decipher it.
“Better hurry up,” Akaashi says, voice rich with amusement. He folds his arms over the POS system and rests his chin atop his wrists. “I have quite the line.”
Bokuto jolts. He whips his head around but the place is entirely empty. Line? What line? Akaashi makes a strangled sound.
“I’m sorry,” he says, bashfully. He slinks off of the POS system and looks away. “I was— I was just kidding. I think the storm has driven everyone else off.”
Bokuto swivels back around to stare at him. He narrows his eyes suspiciously. And then promptly bursts into laughter. His duffle bag scrapes the floor as he doubles over.
“You’re funny, Akashi!” he cries.
Akaashi clears his throat. “It’s Akaashi.”
Shit. Bokuto better get this right; it’s going to be his last name someday after all. He furrows his brow and puffs out his chest as he concentrates.
“Ah-kaa-shee,” he says, drawing out each syllable.
Akaashi smiles sweetly. “Very good.”
Bokuto’s belly flutters with his praise. Akaashi looks down, lips pursing strangely and fiddling with his fingers. A nervous habit? Bokuto wonders. That doesn’t seem right. Surely Akaashi is too gorgeous to ever be nervous about anything. Bokuto is certain he has everyone fawning over him, catering to his every whim, and bending over backwards to catch the barest hint of his smile. That’s the only rational reaction to such a serene, untouchable beauty like Akaashi. He should never have a reason to be nervous. Bokuto wishes he could reach across the counter and soothe his fidgeting hands.
“Did you need recommendations?” Akaashi prods.
Fuck, right coffee! Bokuto doesn’t know the first thing about ordering coffee. What does Kuroo get when he orders? Bokuto is drawing a blank.
“I… yes!” he manages. “I want… I want whatever you think is best!”
Akaashi’s eyes glitter with interest. The corner of his mouth twitches upward like he’s fighting back a smile.
“Whatever I think is best, hm?” Akaashi repeats, something warm and syrupy laced in his tone. “That’s quite a lot of power you’ve just given me.”
“I trust you!” Bokuto says, clasping his hands into fists and pumping them. “You’re the coffee expert!”
How does Akaashi’s face get prettier when he flushes? When Bokuto blushes he becomes an unattractive beet-red. Akaashi, however, is somehow soft and delicate with color flooding his cheeks. Like rose petals or champagne. Akaashi moves over to the coffee machine, chewing on his bottom lip.
“Can I get a name for the order?” Akaashi asks.
“Oh!” Bokuto jumps. “I’m Bokuto! Bokuto Koutarou!”
Akaashi smiles and Bokuto’s heart leaps in his chest. If Bokuto didn’t know any better he’d think the troublesome organ was trying to escape his ribcage and fling itself at Akaashi directly.
“Okay, Bokuto-san,” he says. “I’ll make you my favorite.”
His favorite . Bokuto has to know what it is. What sort of partner doesn’t know their husband’s coffee order? Bokuto drops his duffle bag over on the table closest to the countertop and then hurries back to watch Akaashi work. Akaashi glances over at him, his flush deepening.
“Wh-what brings you out in this weather, Bokuto-san?” he asks.
Stammering? Is Akaashi actually the shy type? But he’d been so bold with his teasing earlier! What an enigma. Bokuto wants to know every single thing about him. He wants to crack open Akaashi’s brain and explore every nook and cranny. And then delve into his heart and wedge himself in there somehow while he’s at it.
“I work at the gym across the street!” Bokuto exclaims. “I— I didn’t wanna jog home in the weather.”
Akaashi hums like he understands. He flips on a switch and steam billows out of the fancy espresso machine.
“I’m surprised I haven’t seen you before then,” he says.
“I've always been meaning to stop by! I love coffee!” Lying, lying, he’s such a liar, what is he doing?! “The owls on the front outside are so cute!”
Well at least that last one is true. Akaashi’s smile makes the dubious morality of his falsehoods seem insignificant.
“Me too,” he admits, almost sounding bashful. “Both coffee and the owls.”
“Really?” Bokuto says, breathlessly.
Akaashi clears his throat. The tips of his ears are pink.
“Yeah. They’re cute,” he says. He flashes him a soft smile.
You’re cute , Bokuto opens his mouth to say it, but wait, is that coming on too strong? These kinds of things should be handled with care, shouldn’t they? Fuck, Bokuto should have listened more when Kuroo was bragging about his ‘rizz.’ It suddenly feels like he’s been thrust into a test he hadn’t bothered to study for.
“They’re super cute,” Bokuto agrees, eager to please him. Fuck, fuck, fuck, okay what else can he say? Say something charming, clever even. Something that’s sure to impress him. “They’re statistically the cutest animal.”
Akaashi makes a soft sound of surprise. It takes Bokuto a second to realize it had been a laugh. Akaashi shoots him a grin, eyebrows tilted up like he can’t quite believe it.
“Statistically?” he repeats, amusement evident in his tone.
“It’s a fact,” Bokuto continues. He holds up one finger as he speaks. “One, they have big eyes, which everyone knows makes animals cute. Two, they’re fluffy and soft, which is very cute. Third—”
“Those… aren’t statistics. Bokuto-san,” Akaashi interrupts, squinting his eyes at him skeptically. Bokuto’s heart pounds. His mouth is dry as sandpaper in the blink of an eye.
“They aren’t?” Bokuto asks.
Akaashi’s mouth twists in amusement.
“I think you have the word confused,” Akaashi explains, gently. He stirs cream into the coffee with elegant flicks of his wrist. “Statistics require gathering data and taking practical measurements. I’m afraid that something as subjective as ‘cuteness’ would be extremely difficult to take any statistics on.”
Bokuto blinks three times. He gasps suddenly.
“And you’re smart too?!” he cries, clutching at the silvery spikes of his hair. He shakes his head, disbelieving “Oh wow! Wow, Akaashi! You’re—"
Bokuto struggles to find the right thing to say. It ends up being the only thing that’s been on his mind since he first set eyes on him.
“You’re perfect!” Bokuto blurts out.
Akaashi rocks back on his heels like Bokuto physically struck him. He makes some kind of noise— not unlike a repressed squeal— and his mouth squirms into an uncomfortable line. He looks away, tucking his face into his elbow, the back of his neck flushing a deep red.
“I— I wouldn’t—” he struggles. He clears his throat and braces himself on the counter. “No one is perfect, Bokuto-san.”
So cute. So earnest and so effortlessly charming. He’s doing a terrible job of convincing Bokuto that he isn’t perfect right about now. Bokuto laughs.
“How can you say that?!” Bokuto cries. “You’re funny, you’re smart! And you’re beautiful too! You’re like the perfect guy!”
Akaashi pushes his glasses up his nose, shooting him a stern look.
“Is that all it takes to be the perfect guy, Bokuto-san?” he asks, dryly. Bokuto puffs out his cheeks in defiance, placing his hands on his hips.
“Well it’s a pretty good start!” he protests.
Akaashi’s breath hitches. He chokes. He covers his mouth with his hand, and his body heaves. It takes Bokuto a few seconds to realize it but he’s— he’s laughing! Bokuto is alive with glorious triumph. He’s definitely doing something right if he’s managed to make Akaashi laugh like this. Full-bellied and breathless, pink with his giggling. Akaashi looks back up at him and clears his throat, trying to compose himself as he smooths down his apron nervously.
“I…” he says, still breathing hard. “I suppose you have a point there.”
Bokuto preens.
“I’m pretty smart too, huh?” he boasts.
Akaashi looks amused for some reason. His eyes are sapphire blue, Bokuto realizes then, as they dance with delight. Wow. Bokuto really has hit the jackpot. Akaashi scans Bokuto’s body quickly and turns back to his work. He sprays whipped cream on top of the coffee and peppers chocolatey powder on top.
“You’re also very funny,” Akaashi says, in a low voice. He then places the white mug on a little white dish and hands it to him. Their fingers brush as Bokuto takes it and tingles race up his spine at the contact. Akaashi swallows, looking at the floor shyly.
“And… and the third thing too,” Akaashi says, giving him another once over.
Bokuto takes eight full seconds to process what he’s just said. Partially because he’s still reeling from their fingers touching, but mostly because Akaashi looks so hopeful, so expectant and just so beautiful that it knocks the wind out of Bokuto entirely. He wonders what colors Akaashi would like for their wedding. Bokuto has always been partial to gold and pale pink personally. Bokuto thinks a spring ceremony would be best. Akaashi would look so lovely with cherry blossoms swirling around him, maybe a few catching in his inky curls. And then it would be like every year the earth was celebrating their anniversary with them. He’s going to have to ask for his ring size. Is Akaashi’s family the traditional type? He’d better ask. Also, what is Akaashi’s given name? He can’t very well call him ‘Akaashi’ if they’re both about to be Akaashis soon enough here. Bokuto stands there, dazed and still holding the mug of coffee, smiling like an idiot.
“Okay,” Akaashi says, a strangely wheezy quality to his voice. “Well. I’m sorry. I thought—”
Sorry? Everything Akaashi’s just said hits him like a sharp slap to the face. Bokuto gasps and the coffee drops out of his hands, smashing to pieces on the floor. Akaashi jumps.
“You’re! You just! Beautiful! The third thing is beautiful!” Bokuto shouts. He jumps from foot to foot in his excitement, clutching his face. “Oh! Oh wow! Really? Me?”
“Bokuto-san!” Akaashi cries. “Stop! There’s broken glass!”
“We’re perfect!” Bokuto cries, only half-listening. “Oh my god— Akaashi! You and me! We’re perfect!”
“Please don’t hurt yourself!” Akaashi is shouting. “Stay still!”
Bokuto freezes with great difficulty, hands still raised and shoulders crowded to his ears. But he has to obey. Wasn’t one of the marriage vows something about obedience? Bokuto frowns as he struggles to remember. He can’t help wiggling his shoulders in a little happy dance as Akaashi drags over a trash can and a mop.
“Akaashi, let me help you with that,” Bokuto insists.
Akaashi gives him a withering look.
“I can’t very well let a customer clean up,” Akaashi says.
“But it’s my fault!” Bokuto protests, stooping down to help him pick up glass pieces very carefully. Akaashi sighs.
“Please don’t cut yourself,” Akaashi says, but allows Bokuto to help him. They pick up the shattered ceramic piece by piece with careful hands. Akaashi’s long, elegant fingers seem like they were born for the task and Bokuto can’t help but admire it.
“Sorry for making a mess,” Bokuto says, softly.
Akaashi hums. His mouth twitches.
“Well,” he says. “I suppose no one is perfect after all.”
Bokuto jolts in surprise. And then promptly laughs.
“Akaaaaashi!” he cries. “Are you teasing me?”
Akaashi looks up at him, grinning mischievously, and for a brief moment Bokuto sees it all. Everything flashes through his mind’s eye in less than a second: their fingers brushing in the popcorn bowl during their movie date, Akaashi carrying around a giant plushie Bokuto wins for him at the carnival, splitting one milkshake with two straws, a road trip to the beach where Akaashi wears a floppy sun-hat as they watch the sunset, Akaashi in a tux with dreamy look on his face as flower-petals swirl in the air around him. They’ll buy a house, Bokuto is thinking two kids--maybe more if Akaashi thinks they can handle it-- and lastly he sees Akaashi’s face, wrinkled with smile lines and soft with age, but still just so beautiful. Because this is it. This is him.
“I might be,” Akaashi admits. “Is that okay?”
Delight bubbles inside Bokuto, too pure and potent to contain. It comes bursting out of Bokuto in all-too happy giggles.
“Tell you what,” Bokuto says. “Go out with me, and you can tease me all you want.”
Akaashi’s lips spread into a slow, sweet grin. And Bokuto knows it’s the perfect way to start their forever.