Work Text:
It was fitting, really, for Bokuto Koutaro to be known as a star.
He was one of those people that seemed to steal all the air in a room simply by stepping into it, after all. A boy with a presence so imposing it made people unconsciously turn their heads his way, and once they did, it became near impossible for them to tear their eyes away. There was a certain magnetism to him that seemed to rival that of the Sun’s, and something as simple as standing near him could make you feel on top of the world.
And yet, underneath all that, he was still just a boy.
Akaashi found Bokuto in the equipment room after the graduation ceremony was over. He had squeezed his body under a table the same way Akaashi had seen him do a hundred times before, with his arms wrapped around his legs and his forehead resting on his knees.
“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi whispered as he approached Bokuto, almost as if he were approaching a wounded animal (slowly, careful not to make any loud noises). “The team was looking for you,” he added as he sat down cross-legged right in front of Bokuto.
“Hey ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto mumbled. His voice lacked its usual brightness, and Akaashi found himself wondering, not for the first time, how this absolute world of a man managed to make himself seem so small sometimes. Akaashi’s heart ached for him (more than it usually did, which was saying a lot) .
It was no secret that at some point during these past two years, Akaashi had grown soft for Bokuto. He’d started to crave his presence like he needed it to breathe. Learned to crave that bright smile, that earnest praise, and those casual, devastating touches that always left him feeling as though he’d been struck by lightning or set ablaze.
Akaashi had become acquainted with the way Bokuto’s lips moved around the syllables of his name, with his slightly crooked pinky finger, and with the way he took his tea (three sugars, no milk, and a splash of cold water) . The smell of the laundry detergent his mother always bought, his handwriting, his definition of a “perfect toss”. The way his voice sounded in the mornings, and over the phone late at night. How dull his eyes looked on bad days, and the soul-crushing urge to reach out and touch that came over Akaashi each time he saw Bokuto deliberately trying to turn himself into a speck of dust.
They were sitting close enough to touch, as they always were, yet Akaashi kept his hands on his lap, silently cursing his cowardice (as he always did).
“What happened?” he asked after clearing his throat, because even after all this time, he still couldn’t read Bokuto’s mind.
Bokuto let out a sigh, hugging his knees closer to his chest and turning to face Akaashi. Dried tear tracks and watery, red rimmed eyes made for a devastatingly beautiful picture. “Do you think…” he took a deep breath. “What if we drift apart after this?” Bokuto asked, voice breaking halfway.
Ah.
“My sister told me the other day that she doesn’t really keep in touch with her friends from highschool,” Bokuto started rambling, twisting one of his shoelaces around his finger. “She said that a lot of stuff changes once you get into college, you meet new people, make new friends and— and you’ll meet new people too, you’ll be the captain! Maybe things will be easier for you now that I’ll no longer be—”
Akaashi simply refused to hear the end of that sentence.
A switch flipped, his body moved faster than his brain, and suddenly his hand was reaching out for Bokuto’s almost by inertia. He braced himself for the imminent burn as he gently covered Bokuto’s hand with his own. It never came.
Bokuto bloomed under Akaashi’s touch. He took a deep breath, chest rising and falling slowly, before baring his palm. His skin was pleasantly warm, his palm only slightly clammy, and Akaashi could swear he felt him shiver the minute he dragged his thumb over the delicate skin of his wrist. He pulled Bokuto’s hand onto his lap, carving a space for himself as he threaded their fingers together.
As they held to each other like anchors, Akaashi could no longer tell who was supposed to be comforting who.
Bokuto looked down at their joint hands before dragging his thumb over Akaashi’s skin. “You’re my best friend,” Bokuto mumbled quietly. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, looking up at Akaashi with a smile that was eons away from his usual bright, toothy grin.
I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose you.
Ah, shit.
Akaashi’s feelings threatened to explode out of him like a supernova, but he’d long ago mastered the art of keeping them contained. “Not now,” he thought. This wasn’t about him. Task management; he’d done it a hundred times before. He swallowed hard, squeezed Bokuto’s hand, took one, two, deep breaths, and opened his mouth, hoping his brain had had enough time to come up with an answer.
“Waseda’s only a forty-minute train ride away from our school,” he whispered, gaze fixed on Bokuto’s thumb. That could work.
“How do you—”
“I looked it up when you got your acceptance letter,” Akaashi admitted, feeling his cheeks heat up because of the implications. “It’s not that far away, and we don’t have afternoon practice on Fridays so it won’t be hard for me to visit—”
“‘Kaashi…”
“You could even come play with us on Saturdays if you’re free and if you still want to—” Even though he knew he was ranting, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. He’d thought about this, about Bokuto graduating, about what came after that.
He’d thought about it extensively, with a knot around his throat and the uncomfortable kind of butterflies on his stomach. And now that they were actually talking about it, words seemed to be spilling out of Akaashi’s mouth without his permission. His hand shook in Bokuto’s grasp. “Since I’ll be the captain next year I could use your help—”
“Akaashi,” Bokuto said, slightly raising his voice and squeezing Akaashi’s hand, effectively making him look up. The minute bluish eyes met amber ones Akaashi felt his heartbeat quicken. There was a softness to Bokuto’s gaze he’d never seen before, a warmth that managed to melt the last pieces of ice warding Akaashi’s tender heart.
So he surrendered, letting the warmth of a star melt him to the ground.
“I don’t want to lose you either,” Akaashi whispered, even though he felt like Bokuto was looking right through him.
And then the corners of Bokuto’s mouth curled upwards, slowly, almost shyly, into a soft smile. And then, Akaashi found himself smiling back almost unconsciously, because how could he not, when Bokuto was looking at him like that , when Bokuto’s earnest smile felt like a small blessing (a breath of fresh air, a glass of cold water on a warm day, a quiet whisper of love).
Bokuto took a deep breath as he rubbed his eyes, and then uncurled himself from under the table. He inched closer to Akaashi, extending his legs in front of him and bracing his weight on his arms behind him. “I guess that settles it then,” he then said, sounding more like himself than he had in the past fifteen minutes.
And then he raised one of his hands in front of Akaashi’s face, extending his pinky finger.
Akaashi chuckled before wordlessly sealing the promise. “As simple as that?” he asked in a whisper.
Bokuto nodded. “It’s not that far away.”
And Akaashi had to agree. Forty minutes and a few kilometers were nothing for a boy who’d long ago decided he’d follow Bokuto anywhere just to bask in his warmth for a little longer.
(Forty minutes and a few kilometers were nothing for a boy in love.)
They stayed like that for a while, sitting together in comfortable silence while Akaashi played with Bokuto’s fingers (and Bokuto stared at Akaashi’s hands) . They stayed like that until their butts started hurting from sitting on the floor for way too long, until Akaashi remembered why he had gone to the gym in the first place.
“Shit,” Akaashi mumbled after what could’ve been hours. “The team’s probably still waiting for us in the main gym,” he added, begrudgingly rising to his feet and dragging Bokuto up with him.
“You think so?” Bokuto asked. The sun had already started to set, sunlight filtered in through the windows, covering everything in a golden hue.
Akaashi nodded. “They wouldn’t leave without taking one last picture with their star,” he said, letting his lips curve up into a smile.
Bokuto replied with a smile of his own, one of those ones that almost made Akaashi instinctively look away to avoid getting blinded. “You’re right!” he said, standing up tall and puffing up his chest, exuding confidence. “Let’s go then, captain,” Bokuto added, pulling on Akaashi’s hand.
The lack of a teasing lilt in Bokuto’s voice left Akaashi stunned, and the earnestness made his cheeks turn impossibly red. He let himself be guided out of the gym by Bokuto, and, as they walked hand in hand through the petal-covered courtyard, Akaashi tried (and failed) to will his erratic heartbeat into submission.
As he’d predicted, their teammates were still waiting for them. They were sitting on the floor by one of the corners of the gym, and Akaashi didn’t miss the way every single pair of eyes flashed down to his’ and Bokuto’s joint hands the minute they came into view.
“Took you long enough!” Konoha exclaimed dramatically before locking eyes with Akaashi and raising an eyebrow. “So, did you finally—”
“C’mon,” Washio interrupted, standing up and walking towards the center of the gym. “We need to take the pictures before it gets completely dark out,” he said, effectively censoring Konoha with a glare.
Akaashi had never been more grateful for Washio Tatsuki in his life.
The rest of the team stood up as well, following Washio. “Let’s take them outside with the cherry blossoms!” Suzumeda suggested as Yukie handed her phone to an unsuspecting second year.
Soon enough, they were all huddling together to fit into frame. “The captains should be in the middle!” Komi suggested, pushing Akaashi and Bokuto into the center and motioning for the rest of the team to form around them.
And then Bokuto placed an arm around Akaashi’s shoulder, pulling him impossibly close and leaning into his space until their heads almost bumped together. Distantly, Akaashi could hear the second year Yukie had recruited counting them down, but all he could focus on was on Bokuto’s hand on his shoulder —burning him even through layers of clothing— on the way he smelled, on the freckles that dotted his nose (god, he was fucking beautiful).
Eventually, he managed to snap out of it. He forced himself to tear his gaze away from the boy standing next to him and faced the camera, relishing in the warmth that came from standing closely to a star and the weight of his arm around his body. He let himself breathe in deeply and slowly, senses overwhelmed by the smell of Bokuto’s laundry detergent and fancy, grown-up cologne his older sister got him for his eighteenth birthday.
Bokuto’s arm tightened around his shoulder, and when Akaashi looked up, Bokuto was already looking down at him. And for a moment they simply stared at each other with soft smiles on their faces. Akaashi felt his cheeks heat up, but he didn’t have it in him to feel embarrassed about it, not when Bokuto was looking at him like that , not when Bokuto’s cheeks almost matched his’ in color.
And then, in the flash of an eye, the moment was over. Their teammates started dispersing, grabbing their bags, throwing on their jackets, and leaving Bokuto and Akaashi standing by themselves in a daze. A pink petal landed on Akaashi’s head, Bokuto reached out to brush it off, making Akaashi immediately miss the weight of his arm around his shoulder.
He watched Bokuto’s Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed. “Akaashi I–”
“Wait!” Yukie interrupted, making both Akaashi and Bokuto snap out of the haze they were trapped in and instinctively take a step away from each other. “We need a picture of the two captains standing together!”
Bokuto rubbed the back of his neck. “Yukippe, it’s already pretty late and–”
Akaashi interrupted him by making an affirmative noise. “Here, Yukie-san,” he said, handing Yukie his phone, before turning to face Bokuto again.
He was staring at him dumbfoundedly. “‘Kaashi?”
“C’mon,” Akaashi said while motioning for Bokuto to stand by his side. “We don’t have many pictures together, Bokuto-san,” he added, because, as sentimental as it may sound, he wanted a keepsake. Something he could look at to remember this day.
Bokuto nodded as he inched closer to Akaashi.
An arm wrapped around his waist, catching Akaashi by surprise. “Bokuto-san?” he asked as Bokuto leaned in closer, almost hugging him from behind. A warm cheek pressed against his’, and Akaashi had to remind himself to keep breathing.
Yukie smiled behind the camera. “Three, two, one!” The arm around his waist tightened, Akaashi let himself lean into Bokuto’s side as a soft smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “Done! I took more than one,” Yukie said, handing Akaashi his phone back.
“Thank you, Yukie-san,” he mumbled, pocketing his phone.
Bokuto’s arm was still around his waist. “I’ll take you home, ‘Kaashi,” he whispered, as he did every Friday afternoon, and Akaashi nodded.
Their houses were in completely opposite directions, which is why, when Bokuto first offered to take Akaashi home on a gloomy Friday afternoon, Akaashi protested.
(“It’s inconvenient,” he said. “I need to take the train and it’s rush hour. Besides, it’ll take way too long for you to get back home.”
“I don’t mind,” Bokuto said, tying his shoelaces.
“Bokuto-san...”
“Akaashi.”)
In the end, Akaashi ended up relenting. And then it happened again next Friday, and the Friday after that. Akaashi stopped protesting after the fourth time it happened, and after the fifth, it became part of their routine, a tradition.
A tradition he felt selfish for enjoying, but how could he not, when their hands always brushed together as they walked side by side to the station, when he always ended up with his back pressed against the train walls and Bokuto caging protectively over him, his own hands coming up to grasp at Bokuto’s hoodie (for stability, of course) .
As they walked to the station it occurred to Akaashi that this was it for their little tradition. No more train rides spent trying to avoid Bokuto’s gaze for his heart’s sake, no more afternoon walks spent making idle conversation and trying to ignore the way his heart skipped a beat every time their hands brushed together.
If Bokuto noticed Akaashi was unusually quiet, he kept it to himself.
Akaashi walked down the stairs feeling a little unsteady on his feet, and pushed his way through the crowded train in a daze. His back hit the wall, as it always did. Bokuto placed his hands on the wall to brace himself, effectively shielding Akaashi from the rest of the world, as he always did.
And then Akaashi wrapped his arms around Bokuto’s waist, squeezing tightly as he rested his forehead against Bokuto’s chest. His throat felt tight, his eyes stung, he refused to cry on the train. He heard Bokuto whisper his name once, twice, and then he felt Bokuto’s hand come up to his head, holding him tightly against his body.
If a few tears managed to escape his tightly shut eyelids, no one had to know.
The train-ride went by unusually quick, and soon enough Bokuto was guiding him out of the crowded train car, his fingers wrapped tightly against Akaashi’s wrist. Akaashi expected him to let go once they were out of the mass of bodies, but he didn’t. He held Akaashi’s wrist as they walked out of the station, as they made their way to Akaashi’s house.
Two blocks in, Akaashi intertwined their fingers together and found comfort in the fact that Bokuto’s hands were shaking as much as his.
They passed by the small convenience store that carried Bokuto’s favorite egg sandwiches, by the big tree near the park that had sheltered from the rain way too many times, and by that one house with the unusually friendly cat that they both loved. Bokuto seemed to be walking slower than usual, almost as if he was trying to delay the inevitable, almost as if he thought they could freeze time simply by standing still for a couple of breaths.
Akaashi thought he might as well give that a try.
And so, when he spotted the familiar lamppost outside his apartment complex, he stopped walking, swaying forward the minute Bokuto crashed into his back. It was slightly colder out now that the sun had set, yet Bokuto’s hand was warm in his. Akaashi wanted to stay like this forever.
“Akaashi?” Bokuto asked as Akaashi turned around to face him.
This time he let his tears run freely down his cheeks.
Because it had been a long day. Because he was not good with change. Because a certain star had told him once he was allowed to be weak. Because he struggled to imagine a future without Bokuto by his side.
Bokuto looked at him dumbfoundedly. “‘Kaashi, what’s wrong?” he asked, stepping forwards and letting go of Akaashi’s hand to gently cradle his cheeks.
(Bokuto Koutaro was full of contradictions. The fact that those strong hands of his could be so gentle, so soft was the one that baffled Akaashi the most.)
Akaashi took a deep breath and counted to three, allowing himself to bask in Bokuto’s shine, in his warmth, before stripping off his metaphorical armor for good (because if not now, then when?) .
“I think I’ll miss this the most,” Akaashi confessed as Bokuto dragged his thumbs under Akaashi’s eyes, wiping his tears away. “Thank you for bringing me home, Bokuto-san,” he mumbled, closing his eyes and leaning into Bokuto’s touch.
“‘Kaashi,” Bokuto said quietly. “Wait… there’s something—” And then he stepped away abruptly, taking all of the warmth with him and leaving Akaashi feeling unsteady on his feet.
In the blink of an eye, Bokuto ripped away a button from his blazer.
“Bokuto-san?” Akaashi whispered as Bokuto grabbed one of his hands and pulled it towards him, then watched with wide eyes as Bokuto carefully placed the button on his open palm.
Recognition hit him like a fucking train. Bokuto had ripped away his second button. Akaashi felt dizzy. The world was spinning and the light above their heads was flickering incessantly and Bokuto was warm and his amber eyes were staring straight into Akaashi’s soul.
Task management. Akaashi forced himself to snap out of it. He couldn’t afford to jump to conclusions right now. “Bokuto-san,” he whispered, squeezing the small button between his sweaty palm. “You do know that this—”
“I know what it means, yeah,” Bokuto interrupted, and Akaashi watched with wonder the way his cheeks reddened. “I’ll try to come on Saturdays. I’ll pick you up from school and take you home.”
Akaashi frowned, and was about to open his mouth to protest before Bokuto interrupted him again. “I want to do it,” he said, grabbing Akaashi’s free hand. “Please, let me,” he pleaded, with that soft voice only Akaashi got to hear.
His body moved faster than his brain. Akaashi wrapped his arms around Bokuto’s shoulders, pulling him into a tight hug. He hid his face into the crook of Bokuto’s neck, inhaling deeply and relaxing the minute he felt strong arms wrap around his waist, keeping him in place.
“Okay then,” Akaashi mumbled against Bokuto’s skin. “Please take good care of me,” he whispered, feeling Bokuto’s laugh reverberate throughout his whole body.
“You’re too formal Akaashi!” Bokuto said, tightening his arms around Akaashi’s body and lifting him off the ground.
And then he started spinning.
“Bokuto-san!” Akaashi gasped, bringing a hand up to the back of Bokuto’s neck as their surroundings blurred together.
Bokuto was laughing, loudly and unabashedly. He was laughing and Akaashi felt lighter than he had in days because he was clutching Bokuto’s button between his palm and Bokuto’s arms felt really nice around his waist and god, he was so ridiculously happy he couldn’t help but laugh as well.
They pulled away after a while, dizzy, red-faced and out of breath. Bokuto’s hair was tousled and his amber eyes seemed to have a shine to them that wasn’t there before and god , he was so fucking beautiful and his hands were coming up to cup Akaashi’s face and—
And then he leaned forward, shyly pressing a kiss to Akaashi’s cheek.
It was barely a peck, a spur of the moment type thing, a reflex, something you do before your brain has time to catch up, unthinkingly.
But Akaashi’s face instantly heated up. He didn’t know where to look, didn’t know where to place his hands, didn’t know what to do with all the love he felt for the boy that stood before him, staring at him as if he were the moon.
Bokuto scratched his nape as he pulled away. “Sorry was that– if it was too much just—”
Akaashi held onto Bokuto’s shoulders before leaning forwards and pressing his lips against Bokuto’s. Even though it was a chaste, short kiss, it was enough for Akaashi to realize that people weren’t lying about the fireworks. It was enough for Akaashi to realize he could very easily become addicted to the feeling of Bokuto’s lips against his, a thought equal parts terrifying and exciting.
When he pulled away, Bokuto chased after him unconsciously, and who was Akaashi to deny his star of a second (and a third, and a fourth) kiss?
By the fifth kiss, Bokuto’s hands came up to cradle Akaashi’s cheeks, fingers absentmindedly toying with his hair and ears. A tongue prodded Akaashi’s bottom lip, eliciting a gasp out of him which Bokuto took as an invitation to delve further into his mouth. It was uncoordinated and messy and inexperienced and it made Akaashi feel electrified from head to toe.
And then he remembered where exactly they were standing (outside his apartment complex, underneath a shitty lamppost, out in the open for everyone to see).
Akaashi pulled away, red-cheeked and out of breath. “Bokuto-san,” he whispered.
Bokuto was breathing heavily and he was looking at Akaashi as if he needed him to breathe. His cheeks were as red as Akaashi's, his lips were slightly shiny, his hair messier than usual. “Akaashi…” he mumbled, slightly leaning forward to chase Akaashi’s lips and grabbing his waist to pull him closer.
Akaashi unconsciously arched into his touch as he placed both hands over Bokuto’s mouth. He forced himself to look away from Bokuto’s needy gaze, feeling every ounce of self-control he had left on his body slipping away by the second.
“‘Kaashi,” Bokuto said, voice muffled by Akaashi’s hands.
“Stay?” Akaashi mumbled —allowing himself to be selfish, to be needy— as he leaned forwards to rest his forehead against Bokuto’s.
Stay. Stay the night. Stay forever.
Akaashi felt the way Bokuto’s mouth curved upwards into a smile underneath his hands and couldn’t help but answer with a soft smile of his own. Bokuto nodded, taking one of Akaashi’s hands in his and turning his head to press one, two kisses against Akaashi’s palm, giving him goosebumps.
Their shaky hands found each other effortlessly. Akaashi intertwined their fingers together and guided Bokuto inside.
“That’s my favorite one,” Bokuto mumbled, pointing at the picture on Akaashi’s phone as he traced Akaashi’s spine over his shirt with the tip of his fingers.
They were going through the pictures they had taken earlier that day as they lay together in Akaashi’s tiny bed. All the lights were off, but the moonlight that filtered in through the blinds covered Akaashi’s room in a soft, pale glow.
Akaashi hummed, trying to familiarize himself with the feeling of cold feet pressed against his underneath the covers. With the feeling of being held by someone else, of casual touches that weren’t casual at all, with the warmth that seemed to have settled on his chest hours ago.
It was one of the pictures Yukie had taken of the both of them. The two of them seemed to be unconsciously leaning into each other’s spaces, completely lost in the other’s orbit, and they were staring not at the camera, but at each other, all soft smiles and soft eyes (like two people in love).
“I agree, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi whispered sleepily, quickly setting the picture as his lock screen before placing his phone on the bedside table and lying back down on Bokuto’s chest.
As he dozed off to the sound of Bokuto’s heartbeat and the feeling of his fingers slowly tracing circles on his back, he couldn’t help but feel like things would work out in their favor, after all.