Work Text:
the start.
The bell jangles noisily as Koutarou pushes the door open with quite some force. Stepping in from the cold, he’s met by sound of bowling pins clacking against each other as they fall, All I Want For Christmas Is You blaring from the speakers and the sight of his friends standing in line for the front desk. He made it on time!
Walking over to them he calls out, ”Hey, hey, hey!” and they all look up at the sound of his booming voice.
”Hey, hey!” Kuroo responds, and greets Koutarou with their handshake.
Next, Koutarou does his handshake with Watari, then the one he has with Atsumu—who’s wearing reindeer antlers, then his and Sakusa’s, and then he turns to Keiji and it hits him…They don’t have a handshake! Koutarou doesn’t have a special handshake with his best friend.
”Hello, Bokuto-san,” says Keiji with a small nod. His white t-shirt shines in the blue light and on it is a Christmas tree with SETTER spelled out in ornaments. Fascinating.
Koutarou brings him in for a tight, one-armed hug that has Keiji eliciting a surprised little grunt. Hugging by way of saying hello isn’t something they usually do, but Koutarou feels an urgent need to make seriously sure Keiji knows he’s just as important as all the friends Koutarou has personalized handshakes with. More important! The important-est!
All throughout bowling, he can’t stop thinking about his oversight.
He watches the bones in the back of Keiji’s hand as he picks out a jade green ball, sinks his middle and ring fingers into the holes to get a grip and then swings his arm back before delivering the ball. All the Santa-painted pins except for one fall down and Keiji brings his hands together for a small, pleased clap. Those are great hands, Koutarou thinks. And they’d be perfect for a handshake; honestly, how does he not have a handshake with his best friend?
This must be rectified.
(Look at him using the big words).
one.
Snow has piled up on the windowsill and the credits to Love Actually roll on the TV. The sun went down as they watched the movie, but despite the dark sky, outside is bright with city lights augmented by Christmas lights and glistening snow on the rooftops.
”Akaashi,” Koutarou says, pulling his leg up onto the couch and turning to his friend, who’s lying propped up against the arm of the couch.
”Yes?”
”Do you remember when we went bowling?”
”I do, actually,” says Keiji, pushing himself up into a seated position. ”It was yesterday.”
”Right. Anyway,” Koutarou continues, slapping a hand onto his knee. ”I realized then that I have a fun and special handshake with, like, all my friends, except for you, and you’re my best friend.” He pouts. ”I’m really, really sorry!”
”There’s no need to be sorry, Bokuto-san.” Reaching over, Keiji gives Koutarou’s forearm a comforting squeeze. ”I hadn’t even thought about that.”
”You hadn’t?”
Withdrawing his hand, Keiji shakes his head in a calm, reassuring manner.
”Okay.” Koutarou nods to himself. ”That’s good. But we have to make one now!”
”All right. Let’s do that.”
”Cool! I’ve lots of ideas.”
Keiji smiles. ”I’m sure they’re very good.”
Ready to get to it, Koutarou jumps up off the couch and offers his hands to Keiji to pull him up, too. As Keiji puts his hands in Koutarou’s, he’s struck once again by what great hands they are; strong, and soft, and capable. But they’re not just objectively first-rate. They’re also the hands that bring the most comfort when placed on Koutarou’s shoulders, the hands that are so endearingly shitty at video games, the hands that straighten his ties and even though he’s a professional player now, they’re the hands that bring him his favorite sets. Koutarou had better make this handshake good.
He tugs Keiji to the middle of the living room—where they’ll have the space for something epic—and starts showing him all the moves. The Side Five, The Dap, The Slap, The Snap, The Snail, The Hip Bump and The Super Fly High Five, to name a few. ”What do you think?” Koutarou asks once he’s gone through his repertoire. ”Any favorites?”
”They’re all great moves, Bokuto-san,” Keiji says, gazing at his hand and turning it over. (The skin is slightly reddened, and Koutarou reminds himself that Keiji’s hands aren’t as calloused as they used to be and makes a note to hold back a little going forward). ”I did think of this one other thing we could try, though.”
”Let’s try it!”
”Um…” Keiji chews on his lip. ”Perhaps we should just go with what we have.”
”What? No, I want to try the thing you thought of!”
When they don’t involve him cooking, Keiji always has great ideas!
Tilting his head to one side, Keiji looks thoughtfully at Koutarou, a slight squint to his eyes. ”Okay,” he eventually says, in a soft voice.
Then he takes half a step forward, coming to stand super close to Koutarou, and carefully takes one of his hands. Interlacing their fingers, he runs his thumb back and forth along the side of Koutarou’s. ”Maybe this could be our handshake,” he suggests. ”Just this?”
Koutarou finds himself swallowing as he stares down at where their hands are joined, his skin against Keiji’s that’s just a shade more tan. ”Yeah…Let’s go with this.”
”Okay,” Keiji says quietly. ”Then we have a handshake.”
”Yeah.” Tentatively, Koutarou tries giving his hand a little squeeze. ”Cool.”
”All right.” Suddenly, Keiji’s hand is no longer in Koutarou’s and he’s walking backwards towards the kitchen. ”What’s for dinner?”
As he stands alone in the middle of the living room, Koutarou feels left behind and as if his head’s been spun around. And as if he really needs to process something, although he’s not sure what.
But whatever it might’ve been, it’ll have to wait!
Because Keiji should not be left alone in a kitchen.
two.
Koutarou always takes stairs two at a time, not wasting any time; so, of course, he’s in front of Keiji’s door in no time.
But today feels different. He sort of wishes he’d taken the stairs like a turtle because he has kind of a queasy feeling in his stomach and he can’t stop thinking about the handshake that might or might not happen. God, he can still feel the ghost of Keiji’s fingers between his and his mind won’t stop taking him back to two days ago, to standing in each others’ space in Koutarou’s apartment—which feels twice as much like home when Keiji’s there.
Deciding that indulging these thoughts is solving nothing and that seeing his best friend will make him feel better, Koutarou shoves his finger against the door bell.
When Keiji opens the door, he’s wearing the same weird t-shirt with a dog on it that he used to wear in high school and a grey cardigan, and it’s not like Koutarou hasn’t always thought he was cute, but, like…he’s cute.
”Hey!” Koutarou greets. Loudly—even for him.
”Hello, Bokuto-san,” says Keiji, stepping aside to let him in. ”How are you?”
”Great!” Koutarou grins at him as he steps out of his shoes. ”Always good to be here.”
The line makes Keiji smile, and damn it if making Keiji smile isn’t Koutarou’s favorite thing.
Without even really thinking about it, and with a way too awkward and sudden movement, Koutarou extends his hand to him.
What follows is a superlatively long second where Keiji just blinks and stares at it.
But then he takes it. Interlaces their fingers just the way he did before and just like that, Koutarou can’t remember what he was so nervous about. Keiji’s hand in his feels comforting and right, and the soft strokes of his thumb make Koutarou’s skin tingle as if fairy dust is being sprinkled on it. He doesn’t want to let go. Like ever.
Like ever?
Alright, there might be reason to be a somewhat nervous, holy shit.
Keiji does let go, though.
”How was practice?” he asks.
”Practice?”
”Did you not just come from volleyball practice?”
”Oh, yeah.” Koutarou resists the urge to lift his hand up and stare at it to inspect if it looks any different, because it certainly feels different. ”I did.”
three.
”My sister’s been obsessed with Secret Santa since she was a little kid, so we’ve always done it in my family, in addition to the normal presents,” Kuroo says. ”It’s fun.”
”It’s not fun,” Konoha complains, sadly stirring his Whiskey Sour. ”I got the most impossible person.”
”How hard can it be?” Koutarou asks.
The restaurant they’re in is dimmed lights and dark wood. Candles cast a flickering light on the tabletop and the sound of talk and laughter rumbles through the space, mixing with jazz music. A fireplace adds the smell of wood burning.
”The hard part is that it’s supposed to be something personal!”
”Nah,” Kuroo waves a hand. ”Whatever, just get your person something you would want.”
Koutarou pouts, and takes a sad drink of water. He loves giving gifts! ”Man, I wanna do Secret Santa, too!”
”I’d bet you’ll have more fun than us,” says Kuroo.
The bell above the entrance door jingles and Koutarou realizes that Kuroo is right. He is beyond happy to miss out on Secret Santa.
Because the reason he’s not participating just walked in, looking flustered and windblown and handsome in his gray ski jacket. The jacket he’ll be wearing when he and Koutarou go skiing for Christmas.
Koutarou’s hand shoots up into the air and he waves Keiji over.
”Hi,” Keiji says, and smiles apologetically. ”I’m sorry I’m late.”
Sliding into the booth next to Koutarou, he says, ”Hi,” again, but this time just to Koutarou. And he hooks his little finger together with Koutarou’s on the seat under the table. ”Did you order?”
”Yeah, a while ago. The food should be here soon.”
”Oh,” Keiji says, obviously trying to hide his disappointment.
Koutarou snorts with amusement. ”Don’t worry about it. I ordered for you; okonomiyaki with extra onigiri. That work?”
Keiji blinks. ”Yes. Thank you, Bokuto-san.”
”Of course.”
Their fingers are still interlocked beneath the table, and the connection is loud.
Kuroo and Konoha keeps talking about Secret Santa, but Koutarou stops listening. There’s a whole festival of electricity going on between his little finger and Keiji’s and there’s nothing else to think about. Koutarou allows his eyes to go to Keiji, and as if he can feel Koutarou’s golden eyes on him, Keiji eyes flit to Koutarou and their gazes meet for a blink. Like they’re sharing a secret.
Maybe they are.
four.
Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s apartment is loud with working-on-getting-drunk people and Christmas pop songs. The place has been completely transformed for the holidays; garlands framing the windows, glittery Santa figurines in random places and a beautiful Christmas tree brimming with fancy, flashy ornaments.
In the middle of the festive living room, Koutarou is engaged in a game of egg nog beer pong.
Maybe it could be argued that eggnog beer pong isn’t a good idea, but Koutarou would disagree. Because while the current state of the ping pong ball might be a bit iffy, it’s fun and he’s winning. Sticking his tongue out the corner of his mouth, he takes aim for the left of the two red plastic cups remaining on the other side of the table and shoots.
”Eyyy!!” he shouts when the ball hits home, and gives Kuroo a big hug as they watch Kageyama and Tsukishima take turns emptying yet another cup.
”Keiji!” Oikawa’s enthusiastic voice calls out, and Koutarou’s head snaps over his shoulder to see him bounding over to Keiji and bundling him up on a hug.
It’s unfair, Koutarou thinks. Oikawa’s only known Keiji for like two years and he’s already so easily physically affectionate with him.
He looks amazing, is the next thing he thinks, as he takes in his best friend.
A Christmas themed shopping bag with a reindeer on it dangles from his hand as he takes off his jacket to reveal a light grey button-down beneath a darker cardigan. He’s wearing his seriously flattering black jeans. Recently, he’s been stressing about how he needs to get a haircut and how wearing a hat messes with his hair, but Koutarou just thinks he looks cozy. Like the picture of endearing and hot.
Depositing the sticky ping pong ball in Kuroo’s hand, Koutarou walks over.
”Hey,” he says, shoving his twitching fingers in his pockets. It’s been one week of the handshake and it already feels unnatural to not take Keiji’s hand when he sees him. ”Merry Christmas.”
”Merry Christmas, Bokuto-san.” Keiji gifts him with a cute little smile. ”I have something for you,” he says, and holds up the shopping bag. ”Come with me?”
”Yeah! Cool!”
Keiji walks ahead of him through a mistletoe-adorned doorway, and Koutarou follows him into a dim-lit hallway where it’s just the two of them. Stopping a few steps ahead of Koutarou, Keiji turns around and holds his hand out to Koutarou, fingers reaching.
Koutarou takes it—he can’t imagine a world in which he doesn’t.
Pulling him by the hand, Keiji leads them into Oikawa’s room. The lights are off, but the room is illuminated by the snowy city outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. Sitting down on the floor in front of them, Keiji leans back against the side of the big bed and Koutarou joins him. Frost like crystals adorn the glass.
”Here.” Keiji lets go of Koutarou’s hand to place the shopping bag in Koutarou’s lap. ”It’s from my grandma.”
”Your grandma remembers me?! We only met super quick that one time!”
”I think you’re difficult not to remember.” Keiji smiles quietly. ”She loved you.”
”What? She loved me?”
Assuring Koutarou that she really did, Keiji urges him to open the gift, so he does. Pulls at the red, velvety ribbon that seals the bag and opens it to reveal a red piece of fabric with white snowflakes embroidered on it. It’s a Christmas stocking! Turning it over, Koutarou finds his name embroidered on its other side, and beneath it…a horned owl perched on top of a volleyball!
”This is awesome! It’s like crazy detailed!”
”I’m glad you like it.” Keiji traces the lines of Koutarou’s name with his finger. ”She also made a matching one for me, with a rufous-legged owl carrying a volleyball under its wing.
Koutarou wants to see it! He can’t wait to hang them both up on the mantelpiece in the little cabin he’s rented for them for Christmas. The cabin that was maybe a little way too expensive, but so cute that Koutarou says it’s totally worth it. It has a fireplace! And he has a pretty neat contract with his team, anyway, so he can swing it.
”I can’t wait for Christmas!” he exclaims, then drops his head back against the soft mattress and turns to look at Keiji. ”You know, my grandma also loves you.”
”Really?” Keiji leans his head back, too, and Koutarou stares at his jawline.
”Yeah! At her eighty-fifth birthday party, after you left, she grabbed hold of my shirt, pulled me in and said, and I quote,” Koutarou leans in closer as he imitates his nana’s crone-like croak, ’Koutarou-kun, God gave with both hands when he made that boy.’”
A loud laugh escapes Keiji. ”She did not.”
”She totally did!”
”Okay, Bokuto-san.” Keiji shakes his head with an amused smile on his lips. He sits up to pack the stocking into the shopping bag again. ”That was very sweet of her to say, then, although rather excessive.”
”What?! I don’t think it was excessive!” Koutarou softly bumps their arms together and lowers his voice as he says, "You’re the best, Keiji.”
His pretty eyes focused straight ahead, on the wintry city, Keiji grabs Koutarou’s hand and gives it a tender squeeze that feels a whole lot like he’s saying No, you are.
five.
Koutarou blows on the steaming teriyaki sauce. ”Open up,” he says, and feeds it to Keiji to taste. ”How do you like it?”
Keiji nods as he swallows. ”Good.”
Dropping the spoon into the sink with a clatter, Koutarou drags Keiji along to inspect the meat frying in the plan. ”It’s almost done. Let’s set the table.”
They haven’t let go. Keiji got to Koutarou’s place forty minutes ago and they did their handshake and then…they just didn’t let go. It’s a pretty damn inconvenient way of cooking, and Keiji nearly cut Koutarou's fingertips off when they were hacking up a cucumber, but Koutarou is not letting go. Just…no way.
Together, they carry the food to the table—which takes them five rounds—and then they go to the cabinets to acquire plates and glasses. Koutarou grabs the plates and Keiji grabs the glasses, but then one of them starts slipping out of his grip.
Dashing forward with the plates, Koutarou manages to sort of catch it before it falls and the glass ends up on the plate. It spins a turn, the glass clanging against the porcelain, before it stills.
They look at each other and break out in silent laughter, clutching each other’s hands.
”We’re going to break something,” Keiji giggles.
”I don’t care,” says Koutarou.
They’re standing so close their hips are brushing against each other and Keiji looks happy. The smile on his face is especially wide and open, and the look on his face as he looks into Koutarou’s eyes is almost expectant. Maybe definitely expectant. They’re so close.
Should I kiss him? I think he might like it if I kissed him.
The timer on the rice cooker goes off. It blares its loud and terrible ringtone through the kitchen. Suppressing one big as fuck sigh, Koutarou pulls Keiji along after him to go turn it off. He’s disappointed the spell broke before he had time to test the waters and lean in, but, like, he’s not that disappointed.
Cause they’re still holding hands.
They finish setting the table, and then it’s time to sit down opposite each other. The idea of letting go of Keiji’s hand insults Koutarou’s soul. So, when he shoots a glance at his best friend and finds him looking hesitant, too, he decides to just shove his plate and shit over to the other side. God, he’s being obvious. His hand is getting clammy.
Keiji squeezes it.
It’s quiet, this dinner. They don’t say much, but at the same time it feels like they’re communicating more than ever before. In the way they lean into each other’s space. In how freely they eat off of each other’s plates. In the way their hands rest on Keiji’s leg, the back of Koutarou’s hand against his thigh.
”You’re such a good cook,” says Keiji, munching on a piece of meat.
”I’ll cook for you all weekend,” Koutarou promises.
”You don’t need to do that, Bokuto-san.”
”I want to.” Koutarou bumps his knee against Keiji’s. ”I can’t wait until we go.”
”Me either, Bokuto-san,” Keiji says softly, meeting Koutarou’s eyes. ”I love going away with you.”
Koutarou’s chopsticks still in the air and he drops his bit of rice onto his place.
Smiling at him, Keiji feeds him a dumpling.
+one.
The moment practice ends, Koutarou’s out of there. He’s in the shower before any of his teammates are even in the locker room, and he rushes through that shower. Then he rushes through toweling himself dry and rushes through throwing on his clothes. He shoves a hat onto his still pretty wet hair and then he’s out of there.
The sun has gone down when Koutarou exits the building. He scans the parking lot and finds Keiji leaning against the door of his car, typing on his phone with a focused look on his face. There’s a streetlight above him, illuminating the slow snow that’s falling on him, dusting his shoulders and hair. Koutarou wants this scene in a snow globe.
”Hey, there!” he calls.
Keiji looks up, and smiles as he immediately pockets his phone.
That’s the one I love, Koutarou thinks.
Jogging the last few paces, he holds his hand out for Keiji to take. ”I was thinking,” he says. ”We should expand our handshake.”
”Okay, Bokuto-san,” says Keiji as he takes Koutarou’s hand. His fingers are chilly. ”How should we expand it?”
”I’ve an idea…” Flipping his grip on his hand, Koutarou looks into Keiji’s eyes and watches them go wide as Koutarou brings his hand to his lips and inclines his head to kiss the back of it. ”What do you think?” he asks.
Biting his lip around a smile, Keiji says, ”I like it very much Bokuto-san.” He lets out a happy snort and then schools his features into a mock-serious expression. ”But now that our handshake is longer, I think we’d better practice it a few times to get it down.”
Throwing his head back, Koutarou laughs with elation. ”You’re so smart, Keiji.”
It’s giddy and magical, standing there in the parking lot and taking Keiji’s hand, giving it a kiss, letting go, and doing it all over again. Keiji’s cheeks are rosy and it’s so cute, and Koutarou’s sure his own cheeks are just as pink. He’s always taken some weird pride in being someone who just doesn’t blush, but right now he does not fucking care. He’s happy! He kissed Keiji’s hand and Keiji wanted him to do it again and again.
”I think we’ve got it now,” Keiji says, several agains later. ”But I have an idea for another thing we could add.”
”Alright,” Koutarou smiles. His stomach feels like there’s a tiny Koutarou with a trampoline doing backflips in there. ”Go for it.”
He holds out his hand. Keiji takes his hand. Koutarou brings their clasped hands to his lips. Kisses Keiji’s.
And then Keiji leans up and presses his lips to Koutarou’s cheek.
He smells like roses and he’s perfect and when he starts to pull back, Koutarou doesn’t let him. Bringing his free hand to the back of Keiji’s head, he pulls him in for a real kiss. Lips on lips, tasting each other and smashing through the line between friends and lovers. He backs Keiji up against the car and lets his hands travel down his neck, down his body and to his waist. Keiji clutches his jacket, pulling Koutarou closer, and his kisses are perfect. Koutarou loves and wants him so much.
When they break for air, Keiji’s lips are swollen. ”I’m not sure this qualifies as a handshake anymore,” he breathes.
”Think you’re right,” Koutarou grins. ”I’m pretty sure this is making out.”
With a chuckle, Keiji gives Koutarou the gift of another peck on the lips. ”I’m not sure our handshake ever qualified as a handshake.”
”Yeah, sorry I never gave you one like all my other friends.”
”That’s all right, I’ve never wanted to be like your other friends.”
”That’s, uh, really cool…” Koutarou brushes his fingers through the snowy hair at Keiji’s temple. ”Cause you’re definitely not.”
”No?” Keiji quirks an eyebrow, looking up at Koutarou with his dark eyes.
Koutarou hums in mock-thought. Then he cups Keiji’s face, runs his thumbs along the bones of his jaw, and kisses him. Winter has never been so warm.
They stay close when they pull apart, breathing the same air.
”Look, I was already looking forward to this weekend, but…” Holding Keiji even closer, Koutarou presses a line of kisses from his temple down his cheek. ”Now I’m really looking forward to it. Don’t know if we’ll get any skiing done, though.”
”We should at least ski a little bit, Bokuto-san,” Keiji says, smiling as the snowfall picks up around them. ”But I’ll make out with you on the chair lift.”