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You’re nervous, naturally, it's your first year of highschool at a training camp with third and second years who are tons better than you. But you have a lot of shit to prove and a tightness in your chest that can only be released with a spike of a ball and the squeaks on the court.
The setter looks at you with clear disdain when you ask for a toss, probably still mad about the incident from last week, but you hold his stare with unperturbed determination until he rolls his eyes with a nod of his head.
You waste no time going in for the hit, eyes locked on the ball, feet moving on an instinct embedded in you since your birth. Your spine curves deliciously, coiling in then releasing with a snap, the press of the ball smacking pleasantly against your palm.
It feels good, natural even, and you’re ready to gloat to your captain on how great you are when the ball suddenly halts in its path and bounces off the top of your head.
And that's how you meet Kuroo Testurou.
With a block off a ball and coy grin on his face, he eyes you with something akin to mirth from the other side of the net.
And just like that you’re inseparable.
Kuroo comes into your life like a storm as amazing as his skills. Both calming and raging, stable but wild, something that keeps you grounded with a stirring feeling of awe and excitement in your chest that you’re not really sure you want to end.
You exchange numbers the last night before he has to go back to his own school, back to his own life, far away from your own and a team that frowns at your boundless energy. He makes you forget about those things, he makes you forget that your best friend is still in junior high, he makes you forget that you’re alone, and your heart lurches in its confines when he has to leave. You make him promise to text you before he files on the bus with the rest of his team, he grins at you, the sun beating down mercilessly as he shoots “I’d regret it if I didn’t” over his shoulder before climbing the steps that separates you.
The rest of first year flies by after that. Your classes are hell and your teammates still give you a hard time, but you see Kuroo whenever both of you have the time and your mother starts to complain that you’re on the phone too much as you find yourself longing for the weekends that you can see Kuroo again.
Summer break comes, much to your excitement, the woes of school can be forgotten for the time being and you let your inhibitions go free as you run the park with Kuroo, a grin wide on his face as he shoves you for telling him that your grandma can run faster than him.
“Oh yeah?” He challenges, an eyebrow raising up playfully.
You spin around, running backwards to face him. You’re not really worried about hitting anything, knowing that Kuroo will warn you about anything truly life threatening.
“Hhhmm, me and her both would leave you in the dust!” You tease, til he’s sprinting towards you with what you’re sure is malicious intent.
Your feet stumble over themselves, laughter bursting from your chest as you try to escape before he can catch up to you. A fallen branch on the ground goes unnoticed by you both, and as he lunges, your foot catches on the limb before you both tumble backwards down an earthy hill.
The air is knocked out of you when you land on your back with a heavy thud, there’s a weight on your chest and the sound of pained groaning in your ear.
“You alright Bo?”
Eyes crack open, though you’re not really sure when you closed them in the first place, revealing the weight that holds you down as your friend.
It takes you a second to acknowledge the new nickname you’ve been given, the ones beforehand always some teasing variety of insults, but the syllable that flies off his tongue swells you with a giddiness you’ve never felt before, coursing through you like a free flowing river.
The sun halos Kuroo above you, bouncing off soft black locks in an angelic glow, his eyebrows knitted together in genuine concern as all you can do is stare back at him. You can feel the sting of scrapes and cuts from the fall, but it's far outweighed by the weight of him on you, electricity sparking at every point of contact that's only amplified by the intensity of his stare.
Your heart is in your throat, and you’re not sure why, but the air has yet to return to your lungs and you feel a little dizzy as you strangle out around a breathy laugh,
“I’ve never been better.”
Second year approaches in a flurry of unbridled excitement to welcome Akaashi to the wondrous experience commonly known as high school. You feel good about second year, you’re a regular on the team, and the comfort of having someone you know to walk the halls and play alongside with adds an extra bounce to your step. There’s a surge of pleasant certainty in your chest, the warm spring air filters in through the open gym doors as you receive a flying ball. It soars back over the net in a streamline, connecting with the person on the other side.
Akaashi throws you a quizzical look, but you don’t bother deciphering it.
“Your receives have improved since we last played together Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says to you one day, the sun has already started to set, casting orange and red hues across the sky while you walk together from practice.
The blooming feeling of pride at his comment can’t be helped and you beam at your friend. “Thanks man! I’ve been learning all this super cool stuff from Kuroo, with this I’ll be unstoppable!”
Akaashi hums in response, the sound of your feet against the pavement mingling with the sounds of the city.
“Don’t think I haven’t been watching you too though,” you say, turning to Akaashi with a wide smile. The day felt right and it seeped into your veins, exposing itself with every movement and word. “You’re getting pretty good too, those are some crazy tosses you’re doing!” An elbow comes out to nudge him, a small appreciative smile finding its way on Akaashi’s lips when he quietly thanks you for the compliment.
You both walk in silence for awhile, enjoying the song of nature and soaking it in.
“I haven’t met Kuroo-san before, have I?” Akaashi asks.
“Nope! You’ll meet him at training camp though. You are going right-wait-don’t answer that I already know you are, it's going to be so much fun! Kuroo is so awesome, Akaashi,I know you’ll like him! My two best friends being friends wow,” you ramble, Akaashi silently listening.
Best friends, you think, it's the first time you’ve called him that, it rolls off your tongue so naturally it's hard to believe you’ve never said that before.
You wonder if he considers you the same.
Second year training camp is everything and then some. The exhilaration you felt during first year smalls in comparison to the intense rush of euphoria that moves through you as Akaashi sets the ball for you, Kuroo pinning you with a wicked grin from the other side of the net, match after match. Free practice is just as fun if not more, allowing the both of you to go all out and play to your body’s limits, the gym filled with shoe squeaks and boisterous laughter long into the night.
You forget time ever existed during that week, pure energy dictates your life for those few days, stretching the sunset into an ongoing high that lasts even in your sleep and into the sunrise.
The last night of training camp hits you abruptly, rearing its head like a smack in the face, snapping you back into a reality with a whiplash so strong it leaves you disoriented the entire day.
Free practice feels hollow when Kuroo blocks yet another ball that night. Akaashi and Kenma have long gone to bed, preparing for the travel day ahead of them, Kuroo staying by your side as he always has done. As you hope he always will do.
You sit together on the warm grass, bones worn out from the efforts of the week, fireflies dashing around matching the stars above.
“We’re best friends, right?” You wonder aloud, head raised to the sheeted sky, connecting dots in haphazard constellations, your fingers twitching by your side in an energy that's never been contained. It’s an odd question, something that makes your toes curl with nervousness, but the nagging feeling of losing his friendship haunts you, afraid that he sits beside you out of obligation, out of a pity that he wastes his time on someone who’s never been right enough.
He doesn’t hesitate to answer, his voice firm and stable you wonder how he can be so assured all the time, If he’s ever had a moment of self doubt, a shaky feeling that ever made it hard to step into the gym or get through the day. Its inspiring, grounding in a way that he’s only capable of doing.
“I don’t think there’s another title for hanging around someone who reeks as bad as you for two whole years,” he teases but the genuineness is obvious.
You don’t bother hiding the relieved smile, shoving him with a press of your shoulder.
Best friends, you think, it feels good.
Spring tournament makes you want to die.
It makes you feel like you’re on cloud nine.
Its exhilaration wrapped up by anxiety with a bow of immense pressure to top it all off.
Your own match wears you down, strips you down into a tired buzzing mess, the hum of securing a spot in nationals pleasantly vibrating quieted by playing a full match. Your bones ache with exhaustion, begging for rest, but it doesn’t stop you from searching for a front row seat, Kuroo playing before you in his own fight.
It's a blessing, you think, that you didn’t have to play against him. Chest tight simply thinking about being on the other side of the net of Kuroo, not when it's this important, not when the glint in his eyes could stop you dead in your tracks before the match could even start.
Sharp eyes follow his every moment. Block, receive, spike. Your attention solely on him as he maneuvers through the court with a practiced grace. The tenseness in his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed though, you catch the way he glances over at the score repeatedly, and it's not long before your throat gets scratchy as you scream and scream and scream.
You’re practically dangling from the rail when it happens, voice hoarse from cheering for so long and so loud that you barely notice the hush of silence.
You don’t remember when match point arrived, but it does, Nekoma drives their attention on getting the ball, ready to start on the counterattack that would place them in nationals. Kuroo follows the ball, legs long and powerful in the jump to block. To suppress.
To win.
It happens so fast. So quickly that it takes time to register. But all you can hear is the faint bouncing of the ball, the sound deafening as it rolls behind Kuroo’s feet.
There’s no dignity in the way you feel. No pride in the way you scramble to your feet. Not even an ounce of grace when you race to the locker room, heart beating hard and fast and loud , eyes search for tufts of soft dark hair that's found its way between your fingers countless of times.
He’s already of out of his jersey when you find him. Chest bare and hunched over, shielding himself from the world. From everything.
Kuroo doesn’t even glance when you settle next to him on the bench. His hands grip in his hair, tight and unyielding, you want to hold them.
“Hey Testu,” you whisper, voice still gruff from the overuse, but it's not a waste. It’ll never be a waste when it comes to him.
He looks this time.
The smile on his face is joyless, small and painful and forced. It hurts you just to see him like this.
“I’m fine. Promise.” Kuroo whispers back, answering an unspoken question, but the slight of tremble of his lip betray him.
He’s always been strong. Put together and assured. A pillar of unwavering certainty, a promised warmth even on your coldest days.
So what do you do when the one who’s always helped you needs help himself? What do you do when the foundation starts to crack and crumble under a pressure to hold everything in, to contain and withhold years of stress and insecurities?
You do the only thing you can do.
Hold. Support and reassure til the cracks stop overflowing and the boy in front of you doesn’t tremble under the weight of the world.
Hands come to take his hands in your own, peeling fingers one by one from the hold on his head until they’re gathered in your own, long and slender, hardened from years of use and effort.
He’s beautiful like this, you think, vulnerable and broken and hopeless. But far from being weak, still as much as the boy you know him as, skilled and talented and him. Crumbling but not fallen, something that you can fix, together.
You pull him into an embrace, and he surrenders, clinging as you wrap strong arms around him. “It's okay,” you say, because it is.
The hand on your back clenches, the pinprick of tears that refused to fall just minutes ago soak into your shirt.
But it's okay.
You’ll both be okay.
One minute its second year and you’re laughing hard and goofing off without a care in the world and the next you’re captain of a team that you helped form. A team that gets you back up when you are down, a team that doesn’t scold you for your ways but rather rolls their eyes with fond smiles.
There’s still plenty of goofing off, of course. That's something that simply can’t be helped.
It’s an odd twist of fate, a nice little coincidence of sorts, that both you and Kuroo rise as captains in your third year.
You’ve changed since your first year days. Confident, more assured of yourself and your abilities, ready to face the world and whatever it brings with open arms and a wild grin.
Kuroo’s definitely changed too. It's evident in the way he walks, with purpose and intent, head raised high, shoulders lax as he moves through the world with an easy pride. He’s not the same kid that stopped you from across the net those years ago. He’s taller, stronger, lanky limbs now lean, tone muscle from years of use. It's no secret that Kuroo is good looking. A well known fact among everyone from several schools that the Nekoma captain possesses a handsome roguish look about him that is easy to appreciate.
“Aesthetic,” Akaashi tells you one day. Kuroo sits on your right, thigh pressed against yours in the tiny booth, humbly shrugging at the comment. All of Nekoma and Fukurodani crammed in various seats around the restaurant, both teams having decided to go out after an impromptu playful match against each other.
But sometimes you think it's more than that. Aesthetic reserved for the pretty people that pass you on the street, the nice smiles that you meet only once at the grocery store, that you think to yourself ‘oh what a nice looking person’ and proceed to go on through your day without a second thought.
But the butterflies in your stomach when he laughs isn’t fleeting. The playful touches still feel real long after you separate for the week. It unhinges you, leaves you breathless like that day in the park, dizzy and disoriented like a whirlwind. And you feel dumb, downright idiotic that it takes you all this time to realize it as Kuroo laughs and grins, eyes alight when he nudges your hand with his under the table, that the feelings you harbor for your friend isn’t just platonic.
But something more.
“I can’t believe we’re graduating soon,” Kuroo says to you. You walk side by side through the halls at your last training camp. It's early, the day’s first sunlight rays filtering through the windows, warming.
Despite the fact that it's your last time doing this, you feel at peace, content with just being able to experience it once more.
“Ah I remember when I was your age, roaming the halls, reminiscing. What a time it was.”
“Two months!” He squawks, holding up two fingers, indicating the age difference between you.
“Two months is a long time Kuroo,” you joke, tone mockingly wise.
“Well you know, fine young men like myself, get the benefit of being tall. Someone has to protect you small old geezers,” he smirks, purposely looming over you for emphasis.
“I can’t believe this, only two and a half centimeters, two!” You walk on your tippy toes to prove your point.
Its nice joking like this, you think, as you both fall into a comfortable silence, just the sounds of your feet against the tile filling the air. You still have the urge to hold his hand, and training camp nights when he snores softly next to you proves hard not to curl into his side and chase the sleep away from his lips, but as long as he’s with you, it will always be enough.
You wonder what he’d do if you grabbed his hand, intertwining nimble fingers through your own. There’s always been a physical nature to your friendship, several counts of casual couch cuddling at each other’s house as you watch a movie, or little pokes to the stomach, and hugs here and there of reassurance. But it's different now, not bad, but different, now that there’s a new context towards him. You can’t deny the bouts of anxiety of messing up, of ruining a good thing because your dumb heart beats fast when his name pops up on your phone or the way he slings a casual arm around you. It scares you, even keeps you awake some nights, but his friendship means everything, even if you have to suffer a little to keep it.
He looks good in the sunlight, you think as you pass a rather large window, it's absorbed in his onyx hair, creates a glow around his figure like some sort of gorgeous deity.
You wonder if he knows what he does to you, if he’s aware of how the devious looks he gives makes a shiver run down your spine, or how you lean in, entranced by how his lips fit over your name.
It's pathetic, really, how occupied your thoughts are of him. But it's a hobby you’re not yet tired of.
“You know,” Kuroo starts, breaking the silence, staring straight ahead, “I’m gonna miss your stupid hair when all this is over.”
Fondness tugs at his lips and your chest warms as you watch him try to suppress it.
“Not as much as I’ll miss yours.”
Third year flies by in a blur of volleyball matches and graduation prep. You don’t get to see Kuroo as much as you used to, both too busy with preparing for the beginning of adulthood, and you think that it would do you some good, get rid of the constant longing for him.
“Distance makes the heart grow fonder,” you hear your mother say on the phone one day, smiling into the receiver, your father on the line on a business trip.
And truer words have never been spoken because your head spins and your dreams are filled with cheshire grins and black hair as the weeks add up since you’ve last seen your best friend. You almost throw your phone out the window, hand shaking with the urge to hear his voice, to call him and tell him that there are nights when his name escape your lips over and over in dreamy sighs of things that should have been real, could have been real, instead of cooked in overactive imaginations.
And it’s absolute hell. But it's a hell you’ve created on your own, so you’ll deal with it on your own.
But he doesn’t make it easy for you.
Kuroo slides in the seat across from you, awkward as he tries to fit long limbs under the small table.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he greets, all wide smiles and mirthful eyes. The playful pout that forms over your lips is almost instantaneous.
“That's my thing, thank you very much,” you grumble, before brightening, “so hey hey hey! what's up with you man, you look unusually chipper.” There’s dark circles under his eyes, heavy and creasing, but you don’t mention it. It's a common sight among third years with graduation less than a month away, everyone occupied with applying to university, nostalgic parents, and reveling in the last days of their high school lives.
Especially Kuroo, who’s worked his ass off, surely long before you’ve met. It's an endearing trait, something you always admired about him, but it's got the best of your friend sometimes, days where you had to remind him to eat, to stop studying, get some sleep, take it easy.
He shrugs, casual, but you can tell he’s hiding something. Something big, something important.
A hand comes up,winds across the table, slow and methodical, enveloping your own. You fight down the blush that creeps along your cheeks from the action.
It's not that you’ve never touched like this before, but the calloused digits are gentle on yours, and maybe you’re reading too much into it, but the way he runs his thumb over your hand, small and caressing, is intimate and the urge to kiss his lips over and over is powerful when brown eyes meet yours.
“Bokuto,” he says, soft, and you find yourself clinging to the way it rolls off his tongue. Like it was meant to be there. “I got accepted, you know that really prestigious university, they accepted me. I got the letter today.”
And your heart sinks and rises at the same time, lost between being happy for your friend and utterly crushed.
Going to the same college has been in your plans since forever. Talked about it numerous times, imagined the shenanigans you both would get into, the parties, the joys of living together and having your best friend right next to you in your dreams since as long as you can remember.
But in the back of your mind, it wasn’t realistic, and you knew that from the beginning. He has different plans than you, wants to make something of himself other than volleyball, make a true impact on the world. And you can’t help but admire that even if you didn’t want to.
You’ve been accepted into a university not far from Kuroo’s. Full ride. On a volleyball scholarship. They scouted you a long time ago, expressed interest since your second year, a definite in an otherwise bleary future.
“I’m happy for you man, I thought it was something awful, god you’re so dramatic,” you hear yourself say. The smile on your lips is forced, fake, splitting your face until you can’t feel it anymore.
And you hate it. Hate the way he tells you, to make sure you’re okay with it, as if you should be anything but overjoyed for your best friend. But you’re not.
And you hate yourself the most. Guilt bubbles up in your chest. You want to scream. To cry.
That night, you do.
Graduation is heated with emotion as it would to be expected. The visit to the Fukurodani gym was overwhelming, and you’re not ashamed to admit that a few tears sprang to your eyes as you leave your team, your friends, your home. The words Akaashi departs you with is nostalgic, not mournful, but a reminiscing appreciation for all the times you’ve shared and the promise to keep in contact. To stop crying so damn much as he’ll be joining you in less than a year and he’s sure that you can wait, just as you did in your first year.
He’s right, and you will, but that doesn’t stop you from squeezing the life out of him as he awkwardly but affectionately pats your back in return.
Then the doors close behind you for the last time and you feel lost.
And the feeling carries on long into summer, amplified with the unwavering heat and looming responsibilities, as you float through the months with an aimless gait moving you.
Days are crammed with outings as friends try their best to see each other as much as possible before the season is over and everyone has gone their separate ways. You see lot of Kuroo, of Akaashi and Konoha, even of Daichi at some point.
But Kuroo is there. He’s always there. Comforting and calming and exhilarating all at once. Consistent in his playful touches and teasing grins, it's a surprise that your heart hasn’t grown tired of beating so fast all the time. Try as you might, the nagging thought of him leaving doesn’t escape you though, reminded every time his name buzzes on your phone asking you to hang out, how you’re going to have get used that. To the phone conversations instead of hopping the train to see him at odd times throughout the day whenever you want to show him something.
It makes you want to burst.
At some point, you do.
It's late. Late, late, late. The summer air sweltering even under the stars. Kuroo prods your leg with a foot, your top half dangling off the side of his bed, shirt hanging loosely around your neck. The window is open, trying to incite circulation to no avail. Some movie is playing on the screen, an old action flick with cheesy one liners and crappy stunts.
“I’m sweating so much, I smell like ass,” he states, continuing to poke you over and over again.
You snort, almost reflexively. “Sorry to break it to you, but you smell like ass regardless.”
He kicks you this time and you laugh, loud and free. “You sure do know how to make a girl swoon, Bo.”
“Only the best for you, my love,” you quip, pulling yourself back up onto the bed, the blood rushing from your head to where it belongs.
His hair is messier than usual, strands going every which way, pressed into the pillow underneath. You want to card your fingers through it.
“And they say romance is dead.”
“Not with you it isn’t.” And it's the truth, but he doesn’t have to know that. Not yet.
He puts a hand to his forehead, batting eyelashes, mock swooning in a false high pitch. “Oh Bokuto-san, I’ve waited for this moment since I first looked at you, let's run off into the sunset and get married!” Kuroo cracks one eye, peeking, until he’s doubled over in laughter, gasping for air.
You fare no better though, stomach aching as you lean on your friend for support, raucous giggles escaping fervently.
Somewhere between cackling and gasping for breath, you lean into him so much that he tumbles off the bed and in a flurry of limbs he pulls you off with him.
There’s a loud thud, followed by groaning in your ear and the slow shifting of weight underneath you.
And suddenly you’re hyper aware of everything around you. His hips underneath yours. The hands lightly rested on your waist. The faint sound of the television that mingle softly in the open night.
“God, I’m going to miss you so fucking much,” Kuroo admits. face mere centimeters from your own, his breath fanning across your face. Brown eyes pin with you down with an intensity that you’ve never seen before, something different, something more. You’re entranced, lost and dizzy in their depth.
And It's too much.
Overwhelming.
Building in your chest, pumping your veins, until it's the only thing you feel.
“Can I kiss you?” It’s barely a whisper. Faint and timid, hardly audible against the drum of your heart.
But he nods, small but sure, and that's all the conviction you need before lips crash on his. Noses bump, but you’re too euphoric to care, reveling in the way soft lips press against yours, the hand on your waist gripping slightly, steadying.
It's a small, chaste kiss, and you pull back hesitantly, eyes searching his face for something. Anything.
Eyelashes flutter across his cheek, soft and light, but his eyes don’t open. Instead a hoarse sigh escapes him, “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispers, cupping your face and kissing you hard.
Passionate and unyielding, You match the intensity, licking his lips, asking for an entry that he doesn’t hesitate to comply. Hands slide into black hair, dragging against his scalp, eliciting a moan that’s lost between your lips.
And you burst.
Tears pinprick your eyes, daring escape, joyless giggles bubble in your throat until you're laughing into his mouth, pulling back to pepper watery kisses all over his face.
“What's wrong?” He asks, wiping the tears from your eyes with a gentle thumb.
And you’re lost, and confused, not knowing how to feel about the boy whom you’ve just spilled all your secrets to who’s leaving in less than a month. “I just-I just like you so much, but you’re leaving, and oh god I should have told you earlier. I should have told you instead of hiding like a coward, but I’m going to miss you so much,” you ramble, unable to contain the bundle of emotions inside you.
He holds you then. Wraps his arms around you in a tight unrelenting embrace. Like he always does when things are difficult. And you realize, that things haven’t really changed. He’ll still send you dumb pictures, and laugh at your jokes, and pick you up when you are down. Just as you’ve done for him.
“We’ll make it work, just like we always do, alright, it's okay.”
And you believe him.
Because its true.