Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The alarm blaring is not his own. Oikawa would normally reach over and snooze the damn thing, but the strange chimes that are so…gentle set him on edge instantly. 

He sits up, and the whole world just goes to shit. 

Oikawa is not in his room. This room has bookshelves full of paperbacks and hardcover books, an organized closet with no door, deep maroon walls, a desk under the single window with black-out curtains. It’s actually more bewildering that the desk is perfectly neat, for just a second. Blindly, muscle-memory more than anything, he reaches for his phone. 

It’s on the bedside table like it’s supposed to be. 

But it isn’t plugged in like it always is. 

“You plug it in overnight and over-charge the damn thing and it trains your battery to run out faster, Stupidkawa.”

The phone isn’t his. 

He silences the alarm in a daze, trying to make sense of the phone in his hand. It looks like the same model he owns, but the case is a simple and sleek black one that’s free of scuffs, and the lock screen—

God, the lock screen.

Oikawa only recognizes a few of the people in the group photo, and that’s a technicality. Recognizing Bokuto Koutarou and Akaashi Keiji is like recalling a one-off dream from a year ago. They’re at the center of the group of teenage boys, two girls, three adults, who all stand in front of some building Oikawa doesn’t recognize. They’re wearing matching athletic wear. Everyone is smiling except for Akaashi, who looks mostly amused, eyes on Bokuto at his side, who is beaming like an actual movie star and has an arm slung over Akaashi’s shoulder. 

Like instinct, Oikawa makes to open the phone with his thumbprint. 

He screams when it unlocks. 

The phone drops, vanishing among the plush blue blankets that aren’t his. Panicked, shaking, Oikawa stands, falls, and stands again, bringing his hands up to further inspect in pure horror, since they’re not his hands. They’re calloused and thin like his, but the color is wrong, he’s missing that scar Iwaizumi gave him when they were eight on his thumb—

Oikawa screams again for good measure, and he hears it, too — it’s not his voice.

In blundering terror, he searches for a bathroom. Thankfully, he seems to be alone in whoever’s house and draws no curious strangers to stare as he tears open door after door, falling into a bathroom on the fourth try, and turning on the lights. In the mirror, Akaashi Keiji stares back at him, white in the face, mouth agape and bottom lip trembling. 

Oikawa screams again. 

No one reacts. The house is silent.

“Fuck!” he says with feeling. 

What the hell is going on is on repeat in his head as he stares into the mirror. Oikawa just stares at the mirror, completely at a loss. Is this actually happening? He leans in a little closer, inspecting for lack of anything better to do. Akaashi is a good-looking guy, remembers thinking as such the whole— what? Three, five at most? times he's actually seen the guy. He’s all poise and mystery and all that crap, with good facial structure or whatever, but he has this air about him that says he doesn’t know how to smile. He tries to smile just to be annoying. It looks bizarre. 

He’s controlling Akaashi.

“What the fuck,” he whispers, touching his mouth as it moves. 

Another alarm goes off in the distance. It’s the same sweet and soft one, so Oikawa is inclined to think it’s Akaashi’s. He doesn’t move right away, though, frozen. 

Why? 

How?

And where is Akaashi if Oikawa is in his body?

Wait. He blinks. 

Akaashi has to be in his body. 

Slamming into a few different parts of wall, Oikawa scrambles back to Akaashi’s bedroom and snatches his phone. He silences the second alarm, then uses his thumbprint — Akaashi’s thumbprint, holy shit — to get in, open the phone app, type in his own number without pause. 

It rings. 

And rings. 

“Come on, Akaashi…”

Chapter Text

Akaashi is not one for dramatics, but he might actually faint. 

He stares at Oikawa Tooru’s face in the bathroom mirror for something like ten solid minutes. What is happening? he thinks for the hundredth time. After a rather violent alarm waking him up, finding the phone in question plugged into the wall and accidentally ripping it out, Akaashi blinked himself awake in a bright bedroom full of chaos, posters, strewn laundry. All he had to do was stand up and Akaashi thought he was still dreaming somehow. 

In the bedroom across the hall from the bathroom he’s now in, in Oikawa’s bedroom, the phone that isn’t his own begins to ring.

Blindly, Akaashi goes to it, if only to silence the noise so as not to attract attention. From who? he wonders. Does Oikawa have parents that are home at this hour? Siblings? At least if this happened at his house, Akaashi would be left alone to panic. 

Wait. 

Akaashi looks at the phone and sees his own number on the screen. 

Could it be…?

Against his better judgement, he answers. “Hello?”

“Akaashi?!”

It’s weird hearing his own voice from the other side of a telephone line. It sounds fake, especially with such outward fear driving it. 

“Y—yes. I— Oikawa-san?”

There’s a noise in the distance, and it takes Akaashi a second to process that the sound is somewhere in the house. Oikawa’s house.

“Of course it’s me! You swap bodies with a lot of people?”

“No, I only—”

There are footsteps coming up some stairs, drawing closer. 

“Akaashi, what the actual fuck is happening?!”

“I don’t—” And then Oikawa’s bedroom door is being thrown open. 

Iwaizumi Hajime glares at him from the now-open doorway, unabashed at Oikawa in his pajamas. “Why the hell aren’t you dressed? You have any idea what fucking time it is? Who’re you on the phone with?”

“Uh—”

“Shit,” Oikawa says in Akaashi’s voice.

Undeterred, terrifying, Iwaizumi strides forward and snatches the phone out of Akaashi’s hand and looks at the screen. “The fuck,” he mutters. “You answering spam calls now? Christ.” And he hangs up the call. “Come on, get your shit together or we’re going to be late. Your sister wants us to take Takeru, too, so fucking hurry up already.”

“Uh— y—yes, alright.” Is all Akaashi can manage. He takes in Iwaizumi, who wears a tracksuit that might imply a morning volleyball practice, and begins to awkwardly search through Oikawa’s drawers and closet for the same thing. 

It’s not good enough, apparently.

Iwaizumi groans, pushing Akaashi aside and ripping open the middle drawer to withdraw the tracksuit. “Get fucking dressed, you loser. What're you trying to prove, moping around like this?”

“I’m—”

“C’mon, can’t move and talk at the same time? Get dressed!”

Embarrassed beyond belief despite it not being his body, Akaashi shakily removes his shirt. 

He sees Iwaizumi’s eyes narrow. 

It’s only a flash, a split second, but Akaashi sees the suspicion before Iwaizumi turns away. 

How has he already messed this up? He’s never been as close with anyone as Oikawa and Iwaizumi clearly are with one another. He doesn’t know how to behave, how Oikawa behaves, especially around his best friend, who apparently he’s close enough with that they barge into each other’s houses and know where the other’s clothes are stored. 

Barely pulling the pants up fully, Akaashi flinches as Iwaizumi wrenches around. “Get your duffle and let’s go.”

“It’s…I…uh…” Akaashi looks around the room, which is not technically a wreck, but it’s far from organized. There’s no duffle  of any sort in sight. 

Groaning again, Iwaizumi throws open the closet door and rips it down from the top shelf. “Let’s go, or else we’re going to be late, Shittykawa.”

“Right.”

He’s grateful that Iwaizumi is comfortable enough in the Oikawa household to drag Oikawa himself down the stairs and into a loved kitchen, where a woman that somehow looks exactly like Oikawa yet nothing like him is stuffing food into three bento boxes. She’s distracted, mostly talking with her eyes on the tasks at hand.

“You’re going to be late,” she says.

Iwaizumi scoffs. “Not if Tooru gets his ass in gear.” He accepts two of the bentos. 

The woman offers the third to Akaashi, who takes it in a daze. 

Iwaizumi is stuffing one box into his bag, then grabbing a random backpack from the counter to add the other. “Ready, Takeru?”

From seemingly nowhere, a whole child emerges, bouncing and beaming. “Ready!”

“Then get outside,” Iwaizumi says kindly, tossing the backpack at the child. 

“Thank you two, again,” the woman says. 

“Of course,” Iwaizumi replies with a bow. 

“O—of course,” Akaashi echoes, bowing as politely as Iwaizumi does. 

The woman gives him a strange look. “Well…get going. I’ll see you later, Tooru.”

“Right.”

The second they’re in the front hall, just out of sight of the woman in the kitchen and the child waiting for them outside, Iwaizumi grabs Akaashi’s arm. “Hey, what the fuck’s wrong with you today? You sick?”

Probably, Akaashi thinks. But he only offers, “No, just, uh…just tired, Iwaizumi.”

He turns to stone. Iwaizumi, nothing but violent life and forceful energy thus far, turns into a frozen snapshot in time. His eyes are piercing and fierce, more so when he frowns like it’s on and with purpose this time. 

“What did you call me?” he asks lowly. 

Oh no. Akaashi wracks his brain in a panic, trying to recall anything about what Oikawa might call Iwaizumi besides his name. The two are obviously close, but how close? He can’t draw up any memories of the two addressing each other when they met last year. He doesn’t want to overstep, even though he’s obviously already under-stepped. Akaashi starts to tremble. 

Iwaizumi’s gaze loses the harshness, softens almost imperceptibly.

Okay, maybe they’re even closer than Akaashi thought. He trembles a little harder involuntarily, gulps. 

“Uh…Iwa-kun?” he says quietly, half-questioning. 

Sighing, still tense but looking more worried than wary, Iwaizumi steps closer, too close, and reaches out to Akaashi with both hands. His palms are warm and calloused but somehow soft, and they hold Akaashi by the jaw like he’s breakable. 

They’re far too close. Akaashi’s only ever been this close to—

“Are you okay?” Iwaizumi asks, and it’s horribly gentle, like something Akaashi isn’t meant to witness. 

“I—I’m…”

There’s too much warmth in Iwaizumi’s eyes, too much care. 

Akaashi swallows hard on a sudden lump in his throat. “I’m fine. Just…just tired.”

Chapter Text

Oikawa hopes Akaashi isn’t being pummeled to death by an irate Iwaizumi. Maybe he deserves it for being so freaking perfect and for this whole body-swap nonsense, but even if it’s somehow actually Akaashi’s fault, Oikawa still thinks it wouldn’t be fair. Angry Iwaizumi is not something to wish upon anyone. 

Thankfully, all of Akaashi’s uniforms are hung in sets, so he dresses easily. Not finding any sort of volleyball paraphernalia, he assumes Fukurodani doesn’t have morning practices. Also thankfully, after spending a few minutes on Google, he finds that Fukurodani is fairly close to Akaashi’s home, meaning it’ll be an easy walk with only a short bus ride to get there with a few minutes before the starting bell. Nothing crazy.

Just outside the imposing entrance gates of Fukurodani Academy stands Bokuto Koutarou in the flesh. 

Oikawa has watched the Fukurodani team play numerous times through screens as well as from unfamiliar stands at competitions and camps, and he’s met both Akaashi and Bokuto a little more than briefly last year a couple times. But this massive wall of an ace on the court looks so much smaller in a school uniform. Something about the tie really gives him little-kid-at-church vibes. His hair is still spiked all to hell, making him recognizable, and Oikawa realizes he’s slowed down ever so slightly in half-awe only because, when Bokuto looks up from his phone, he spots who he thinks is Akaashi. 

His whole body smiles. Bokuto leaps at Oikawa, beaming and saying far too loudly, “Akaashi! Good morning! You’re later than usual!”

“A—am I?” Holy shit, does Bokuto wait for Akaashi? They’re in different years, Oikawa remembers the line up, remembers how formally Akaashi always addresses Bokuto, even when the guy was literally draped all over him. But maybe something changed in the last several months? He smiles awkwardly, trying desperately to remember absolutely anything about Akaashi.

“Whoa, a special Akaashi smile!” Bokuto cheers. 

Well, shit. 

“C’mon, ‘Kaashi! Let’s get in before the first bell. Like you always say, early to class makes you smart!” Bokuto laughs. “Or something.”

Oikawa tries not to grin at that, since Akaashi clearly has no sense of joy, and lets Bokuto grab him by the wrist and lead the both of them into Fukurodani Academy.

The school feels massive. It’s not really much larger than Aoba Johsai, according to his frantic Google search earlier, but it feels like it. There are more staircases than a high school deserves, and the walls feel older than the dirt they’re built on, yet the whole place is impeccably clean, the air like it’s fresh from a filter. Bokuto holds onto Oikawa’s wrist the entire time they weave through the student body. He wonders if this is normal. 

As Bokuto chatters about some movie he saw recently, Oikawa realizes that he has absolutely no idea where he's expected to be. There aren't exactly signs for where second year students go, nevermind Akaashi-specific directions, and with only a few minutes until the first bell is to ring for tardies, he doesn't really have the luxury of searching and guessing. And while he knows Akaashi and Bokuto are close on the court (and apparently off, at least a little bit), he throws all caution to the wind and hopes for the best in his desperation, his fear.

“Uh…Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto stops walking immediately, grinning as he looks at Oikawa, giving him his full and undivided attention. 

What the fuck.

Swallowing thickly, Oikawa asks, knowing it’s probably out of Akaashi’s norm but not really caring, “Could you walk me to class?”

And there are a couple different ways Oikawa pictured this going: 

     1) Bokuto could beam and take it in stride and joyfully walk his lovely Akaashi to class. 

     2) He could deflate apologetically and politely decline in favor of getting to his own class on time.

     3) He could wrinkle his nose and ask why he’s being so clingy and refuse. 

There are different variations, none of which would be the end of the world, exactly, but the reaction Oikawa gets from Bokuto is not a single one of them.

Bokuto’s face goes stormy. “Is it happening again?”

“Uh…what?”

“Of course I’ll walk you, but I’m not just going to stand by and let this happen, Akaashi.”

What? Oikawa panics. Abort, abort, abort! He flounders. “Uh— I— nothing’s happening?”

Even Bokuto's voice is different, a total switch from puppy-dog-joy to might-eat-you-alive-predator. “What did he do this time? When?”

“I— I don— it’s really not—”

But Bokuto steps closer, reaches out to hold Akaashi by his forearms now. They’re not overly close, there’s definitely room for a whole person between them, but the sheer devotion of Bokuto's attention on him makes Oikawa want to squirm. 

“You’re my best friend,” Bokuto says with sincerity that ought to be illegal. “All you have to do is say the word, and I’ll kick his ass, you know that, right?”

This is 100% a conversation Oikawa was not meant to witness. His throat goes dry with how lost he is as to what to say. He wasn’t expecting this, that Bokuto is Superman to Akaashi’s Lois Lane, that infallible, taller-than-Iwaizumi Akaashi apparently seems to have some guy that messes with him at school and that bright-and-cheery, actual-shooting-star Bokuto is ready to throw hands at the drop of an Akaashi-shaped hat. 

But, even knowing next to nothing about Akaashi, all of that is probably why he’s likely told Bokuto not to do anything. 

He clears his throat. He’s careful not to smile. “Of course I know that, Bokuto-san.”

“Good.”

"B—but nothing's— nothing's going on."

"Really?"

God, Oikawa hopes not. But he says, maybe lies, "Of course."

"Okay." The severity slips away with his frown, and Bokuto takes Oikawa by the elbow. “Then let’s get you to class!”

Chapter Text

Akaashi and Iwaizumi are not late to Seijoh’s morning practice. They don’t talk much, little Takeru doing most of that on the route to his school, and Akaashi hopes that Iwaizumi just assumes Oikawa is tired from a poor night’s sleep for the quiet that takes them between there and Aoba Johsai. But Oikawa is also their team’s captain. He’s upbeat and playful and optimistic and full of life, and the Seijoh team will be expecting that from him, poor sleep or not. 

Panic bubbles in Akaashi’s chest. 

He doesn’t know these people. He knows his team, knows that a straightforward approach is always well-met, but Oikawa probably rallies his team with bright, encouraging words, probably a wink and a hair-flip. He certainly seems the type, even when Akaashi didn’t do a damn thing to his hair. He hangs back as Iwaizumi walks into the stand alone gymnasium, asking for a minute, which is thankfully gifted to him, and frantically pulls out Oikawa’s phone. 

Oikawa answers on the second ring. 

“Your freaking school starts this goddamn early?” he hisses. 

Oh. Akaashi didn’t even think about that in the chaos of everything else. Fukurodani starts easily an hour before most other high schools, hence why their team very rarely has morning practices. But that’s irrelevant for now. 

“I’m about to walk into your gym and face your entire team and I have no idea how to be you,” he says in a rush.

“Akaashi-kun, you’re about to play volleyball, don’t sound so sad,” Oikawa says. “You could be redoing a class in advanced math, like me. Where’s my pity?”

“I—”

“Stop, we don’t have time, upset as I am. And I am upset, by the way.”

“Uh…I’m…sorry?” Does he think this is Akaashi’s fault?

Oikawa hums. “Thank you. Now, the best I’ve got for you is to just go in there and do your best.”

“What?” Because surely that’s not all Oikawa has to offer. 

“What?” Oikawa laughs. “You’re a vice-captain, Akaashi-kun. You know how to talk to a team. You’ve got this.”

“I’m not you.”

“Do you want to be?”

“While I’m wearing your skin? Yes.”

“So crude! You and Iwa-chan ought to get along just fine in my absence.” The eye-roll is almost tangible. “But, to more important things, I don’t have the time to explain how each person likes their sets, so you’re just going to have to wing it. Stick to medium-height? But most of them don’t want them too close to the net, so—”

That makes Akaashi frown. “Really? Why?”

“Because it— wait, are you trying to spy on us?!”

“What?” 

“Why else would you ask?”

“Because I’m about to have to set for them all?” Akaashi says, utterly baffled. “You really think I’m trying to steal your team’s secrets right now? I’m just trying to survive.”

“That reminds me! My class is 3-1. I had to ask Bokuto to walk me to class to figure out where you’re supposed to go.”

“You what?”

“Text me as much you can, okay? I have to go.”

“Wait—”

Oikawa hangs up. The time on the phone is exactly when classes start, and Akaashi pockets the phone a split second before Iwaizumi opens the gym doors. He doesn’t have time to further panic about being Oikawa or what might’ve gone through Bokuto’s head when Oikawa asked him to walk to class, because he’s being ordered, “Get in here already.”

Akaashi doesn’t even need to start saying anything to the Seijoh team. He walks a half-step behind Iwaizumi to them, opens his mouth after they stop, and Iwaizumi takes over instead. It’s a blunt speech about some recent defeat in a practice match in their prefecture, that it was a practice match that they’ll be learning from, and he points to players directly and insists they discuss what they learned or think they need to work on. Honestly, Akaashi is impressed by the approach. 

He calls for stretches, which the team does. This is easier territory. Akaashi hurries to change into his shorts and pads before returning, then goes through the same routine as he does back home. During one in particular, however, his right knee twinges. It’s a sharp pain that dulls immediately after, somewhere deep within. He attempts to flex it out. 

He gasps when it sharpens. 

“Are you kidding me, Oikawa?” Iwaizumi hisses out of nowhere. He’s right at Akaashi’s back, and there’s no other way to describe his face than perfectly homicidal. 

“Uh-oh,” one of the players, a second- or third-year by the look of him, says pleasantly. 

“What?” Akaashi asks. What did he do? Doesn’t Oikawa stretch? 

The sound of Iwaizumi’s teeth grinding answers. It’s alarming. 

Not as alarming as when his fist thrusts out, grabbing the majority of Akaashi’s shirt collar, and he starts physically dragging him toward the changing rooms. 

“Shit, Oikawa, you done did it now!” another player catcalls. Similar cooing echoes around the gym as volleyballs start filling the space, as the net is erected, as Iwaizumi bodily throws Akaashi through the door he’s wrenched open. 

Akaashi trembles in the open area of the entry. He’s taller than Iwaizumi in this body, maybe even in his own, he doesn’t remember, but there’s something raw about the power he carries underneath that tanned skin, both physical and otherwise, and it makes Akaashi shudder. He reigns in what he can. It’s useless against the sharp glare Iwaizumi shoots him after slamming the door shut. 

Some of the fury in his eyes dissipates at Akaashi’s involuntary flinch. Not much, though. “Look, you fucking moron, I thought you grew the fuck up!”

“I—” Akaashi’s mouth just hangs open. 

“Okay, fine, I’ll start: where the fuck is your brace?” Iwaizumi demands, pointing directly at Akaasi’s right knee.

Horror pierces him. 

“What?” he whispers. He doesn’t even care that he’s not being anything like Oikawa just now, all the raw terror of this fresh information washing over all of Akaashi’s already fried nerves.

“You know it doesn’t make you weak or some stupid shit,” Iwaizumi is ranting, “so why’re you pulling this out of nowhere? You can’t just not wear the damn thing and think—”

A dense fog of panic is starting to fall over Akaashi. He can’t breathe. He saw the knee brace in Oikawa’s bag but didn’t think much of it; there were also two regular kneepads, not just one, so he figured it was an in-case-of-emergencies thing. Thank god he didn’t actually play, what if he did irreversible damage to Oikawa’s knee? Is he supposed to be wearing it outside of volleyball, too? What if just the walk to school inflamed something serious? What if even just the way Akaashi walks is putting too much strain on it? What if Oikawa can’t play now because of Akaashi’s thoughtlessness? What if—

“Hey, whoa—” Iwaizumi’s lecture seems to have ended at some point, as he now is right in Akaashi’s face, concern all over his face. “Are you crying? What—”

Is he? Sucking in a shaky breath, Akaashi tries to swallow but fails, and he blinks rapidly, feeling the heat of tears that have yet to fall fill his eyes. 

“Tooru.” Iwaizumi’s voice is low and grates on something that hurts Akaashi’s heart for him. “What the hell is going on with you today?”

His voice comes out too quiet. “I’m not…”

“What?” Those hands find Akaashi’s face again, steadying. 

“I’m not Oikawa.”

Chapter Text

Re-attending second-year classes is the best-case scenario for this sort of nightmare, Oikawa thinks. He absolutely abhors doing it over again, but at least it’s familiar, something he’s done. Unlike poor Akaashi, who’s sitting through classes an entire year above him. Hopefully he at least tries to take notes. 

He hasn’t heard back from Akaashi since after his first class, when he only asked what class he was in, weirdly enough. Oikawa texted a few more times throughout the day, just to ask how things were going, but got nothing in return. Akaashi’s likely busy, or maybe it’s not as hard for him as Oikawa thinks it is. Either way, Oikawa tosses Akaashi’s phone into his bag and heads to Fukurodani’s afternoon practice with hornets of nerves in his chest. 

“Akaashi!” Bokuto shouts the instant Oikawa walks through the gym doors. He’s waving frantically as he rushes over. “I couldn’t find you at lunch! Where were you? Were things okay today?”

He’s being just as Bokuto as Oikawa knows him to be, but his questions have a certain intensity to them. 

“I spoke with one of my teachers today,” he lies, knowing full well that he spent the entire lunch block hyperventilating in the bathroom. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, that’s okay! Are you sure you’re okay today?”

No. But Oikawa says aloud, “I’m alright, Bokuto-san, thank you.”

“You’d tell me if you weren’t, wouldn’t you?”

There’s that unnerving clarity again. It’s like Bokuto can see through people. 

“O—of course.”

“Good.” 

They’re called forward by the Fukurodani coach, who has them stretch and set up for a skirmish. Throughout the stretches, Oikawa relishes in the lack of pain while being fascinated by the flexibility that Akaashi seems to have. He can reach much further almost every which way than he can as himself. 

In the skirmish, Oikawa and Bokuto are on the same team. The starting players are all on the same team, actually. The other team is the underclassmen and reserves. It’s meant as drill-work for the starters, strenuous practice for the others. Oikawa nods his approval at nobody, gets in position. 

He thinks things are going okay, flying under the radar like Akaashi likely does, being such a drab perfectionist, until he sets the ball in the middle of an early play and shouts, “Bokuto-san!” Bokuto swings his arms, flying up to the ball, and spikes it directly over the net with perfect grace and power. Oikawa wants to grin, but he keeps himself in ‘Akaashi mode,’ only allowing himself a quick glance over, which ends up stopping him in his tracks. 

Bokuto is just…staring. Head tilted just barely, he stares at Oikawa like he has X-Ray vision, not blinking once. 

They win the skirmish by a landslide despite a handful of Oikawa’s sets being missed. He tries to assure himself that it could have been worse. Nobody directly called Akaashi out on having an off day, so maybe that means it’ll go by without comment? 

“What’s wrong with you?” one of the starters — Oikawa really should’ve been trying to figure out their names — hisses at him as the ending stretches begin. 

“What?”

“Whaddya mean, ‘what?’ You played all…” The player waves his hands around uselessly, making a face. “I don’t know, you‘re acting weird. Bokuto’s noticed, too. He’s been staring at you the whole practice.”

Has he? Oikawa glances over at Bokuto, who is, in fact, staring at him intently. “Oh. I…didn’t notice.”

“How? You’re like…the Bokuto-whisperer.”

What does that mean? Oikawa thinks, baffled. 

“Yeah,” another starter nearby says softly. “If we noticed you’re all off today, Bokuto definitely did. You got him all worried.”

“So fix it. Before he goes into one of his moods and we have both of you being weird.”

Oikawa feels like they’re all speaking some half-version of Japanese. What are they talking about? Moods? Why would Bokuto be weird just because Akaashi is having an off day?

“Is he not just…focused?” Oikawa asks, hopeful. 

The two players burst out laughing. It calls most of the gym’s attention to them, and Bokuto crosses his arms. His eyes are on Oikawa, who averts his gaze. 

“Akaashi, c’mon,” one says, settling down. “You know Bokuto better than any of us. When have you ever seen him act like that?”

Never. Then again, Oikawa’s never seen Bokuto at his normal, either. He just frowns, sighing. It comes naturally with the expense of the day. It just so happens to fit Akaashi’s entire vibe, too. A bonus, he supposes. 

Once they’re dismissed and showered, Oikawa intends to bolt for the bus station. He wants to be alone in Akaashi’s creepily-neat room and maybe cry himself to sleep. 

Bokuto, however, has other plans. “Akaashi!” 

“I— I really need to go, Bokuto-san,” he tries. 

But Bokuto is fast as fuck, apparently, and slides between Oikawa and the gym doors. A few of the players ‘ooh’ and ‘awhh’ and slip past them, as Oikawa is frozen in place by Bokuto’s piercing stare. He doesn’t even have to ask or touch, he just nods off to the side and Oikawa complies, feeling like the first to die in a scary movie. When it’s just them, alone with the echoes of an empty gymnasium, Bokuto crosses his arms. 

“What’d he do to you?”

“What’d— what?” Because that was not the question Oikawa expected. 

“Kanada.”

Is that name supposed to mean something to him? “He…what? No, Bokuto, nothing happen—”

“Then what’s wrong?”

Everything. “Nothing.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“What?” Genuinely confused, Oikawa makes a face he can’t help. “Why would you think that?”

“You were almost late for school—”

“I had ten whole minutes—” 

“—and you asked me to walk you to class—”

“I thought we were friends?”

“We are!” Bokuto says, not a shout but louder than his list, his eyes wide with concern that makes Oikawa feel like he’s kicked a baby bird. “That’s how I know something’s wrong. You avoided me at lunch. Your sets felt…” He huffs. “They were fine, but they weren’t yours, if that makes sense. You were— you’re just— all day, you just haven’t been you, Akaashi, and I’m worried.”

And it’s this sweet and pure worry that gets him. Oikawa is no stranger to friendships, close and distant, formal and childish, of nettling someone until they try to push you into traffic and sleeping in each other’s beds because what difference does it make? But Oikawa, aside from Iwaizumi’s rather harsh version, has never had such a friend that pulls him aside like this, says so blatantly, ‘I see you, I feel you, I want to hear you and help you,’ with the rawness that Bokuto apparently does for Akaashi. 

Bokuto deserves to know that his best friend is in Miyagi. 

So, against his better judgement, Oikawa says after some time, with a quaver in his voice, “I’m not actually…Akaashi.”

Chapter Text

Iwaizumi gets them both sent home for the day. He listened to Akaashi bumble through explaining the situation the best he could, ending on a fear-heavy ramble about how he ruined Oikawa’s knee beyond repair, before turning and leaving the changing rooms entirely without a word. Akaashi sat in stunned silence for a few minutes before Iwaizumi brought the Seijoh coach, who asked if it was true that he was vomiting. Mutely, still dazed, Akaashi nodded, which was more than enough for the coach to not only send him from practice but to alert the school as well. Iwaizumi offered to walk him home, and he never left.

They sit on the edge of Oikawa’s bed together, both staring at the floor. 

“Shit,” Iwaizumi says for about the dozenth time. 

It didn’t take as long as Akaashi worried to convince him. Once they settled at the Oikawa residence, he pulled out Oikawa’s phone, texted his own phone number, and got all the proof Iwaizumi apparently needed.

You
What class are you in?

     Akaashi Keiji
     ????? This is YOUR schedule, you lunatic! You ought to know what class I’m in!

     Which I’m taking for a SECOND time, mind you! 😒I don’t know what god I pissed off enough to make me body swap with a second year, of all things.

     How did morning practice go? How’s Iwa-chan? Mattsun? Makki?? Anyone?? 

     Also, how do you not use emojis?? I’m having to actually hunt for them since you don't have a RECENTLY USED 🙄

     Akaashi??

All Iwaizumi did was read them as they came in, frown deepening with each new message. 

“Shit,” he said. Face a little pale, he looked at Akaashi like he was actually seeing him for who he is. “How in the hell?”

But it’s not a question either of them can answer. 

“You never addressed his knee,” Akaashi says now. 

“His— oh.” Iwaizumi slides off the bed and touches Akaashi’s right knee over the brace he put on for the walk home. Pulling it down, he rubs either side of the kneecap with both thumbs, looking up at Akaashi questioningly. “Does this hurt?”

“No.” It’s the truth, and it gives him some hope. 

“Good. You don’t need to wear the brace all the time, but he wears it for volleyball for support.” All the same, he pulls the brace back into place before standing. “Its an old injury from when we were kids. Nothing serious, but his doctor told him to take extra care when he's playing to avoid something worse happening in the future. It’s fine, I promise.”

“Good,” Akaashi breathes. He slumps forward to hold his head in his hands. “I…I don’t know what I’d do if I hurt Oikawa permanently.”

“Me either, to be honest.”

Akaashi nods at the floor. 

“Uh…thank you, by the way,” Iwaizumi says quietly. “For telling me, I mean.”

“I think I would’ve given myself away at some point anyway, given time.”

“You already basically did.”

“What was the first clue?”

“Calling me by my name.” Iwaizumi is smiling sadly when Akaashi looks up. “He doesn’t do that even when he’s pissed. Even when he’s sad or trying to be serious or anything.”

“But you…you didn’t say anything.”

“Well, gotta be honest, Akaashi, my first instinct was not to assume my best friend’s body had someone else in it.”

Huffing a chuckle through his nose, Akaashi nods again. 

“He also never misses a chance to try and show off or put on a performance for the team, even if he’s not up to it. I’ve watched that psychopath be in tears and then turn around and shit out the most encouraging speech you could write. It’s freaky.”

“Oikawa sounds like quite the character.”

“He is.” 

Quiet takes them. Iwaizumi assured Akaashi that Oikawa’s parents worked and wouldn’t be home until closer to dinnertime, so they have the Oikawa household to themselves. It’s their safe haven for this first day, which they agree to take for themselves, just to collect their thoughts and eat Oikawa’s food. They agree to call Oikawa when he’s finished with Akaashi’s classes and afternoon practice, but until then, they simply exist. Iwaizumi gives Akaashi a more detailed run-down of Oikawa’s life, of what his schedule is like, how he acts with everyone, what sort of things to expect from his parents, his sister and his nephew, the two people he saw that morning and the two people he’s most likely to run into in the house. It’s calming, in a way, learning about Oikawa almost clinically, how he’s all showboating and flamboyant confidence while also being a conspiracy-theorist, a perfectionist, scared of the dark, a secret-softie, and Akaashi finds himself falling asleep from sheer exhaustion after they eat an early lunch, taking it all in quietly, grateful that Oikawa has a friend such as Iwaizumi Hajime.

Chapter Text

“Huh,” is all Bokuto says.

Oikawa is aghast. “‘Huh?’” he echoes. “‘Huh?!’ That’s all you have to say?!”

“Well, I don’t have anything else to say right now. Oh wait! Do you know why you’re all switched up with Akaashi?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t be here.”

“Really? ‘Cause just ‘cause you know why it happened doesn’t mean you have the way to fix it, does it?”

Oikawa’s mouth opens, but he stops, closes it. “That’s…actually a really good point.”

“Thanks!” Bokuto beams. He hums after, taps at his chin. “But maybe we should think about it? Like…why would you two switch bodies? Do you know each other?”

“As much as you and I know each other. Probably even less, since he’s a second year.”

“What’s that got to do with knowing him or not?”

Cocking a brow, Oikawa says, “Not everyone is as close with their underclassmen as you seem to be.”

“Oh.” And curiously…his cheeks dust pink. “Well, he’s my setter! A—and my vice captain, it’d— wouldn’t it be weirder to not be close?”

Now this is just cute. Oikawa waves a hand flippantly, smile twisting to tease. “Don’t be so embarrassed, Bokkun! You’re right, you and Akaashi’s relationship is nothing to be ashamed of!”

Bokuto goes even redder. “I—it—it’s not— it’s nothing like that! We’re just super duper good friends!”

“Mmhm, I’m sure,” Oikawa drawls. “But, fascinating as your friendship is, I think we ought to focus more on getting your best friend back, don’t you?”

“Oh, right! But wait, are you sure Akaashi’s in your body?”

“Yes. We talked on the phone for a few minutes this morning.”

“Good,” Bokuto sighs. “It’d be harder if he was in someone else’s body and we had a triangle going.”

“Minor miracles,” Oikawa mutters. 

“How is he?”

“He was just as freaked out as I was, thank you for asking me how I felt, by the way, but I haven’t actually heard from him since school started.” 

“Can we call him?”

“We?”

“Yeah! I wanna talk to my Akaashi myself!”

Oh. Naturally. With a quick nod, Oikawa takes out the phone he’s now considering, pretending, is his. He bites at his lip. “Well, our afternoon practice still has a half hour. He won’t be home for another forty-five minutes, probably.”

“Jeez, you guys practice this late?!”

“Our classes get out later.”

“Really? Weird!” Still, though, Bokuto is grinning. He adjusts his backpack. “Why don’t we go over to Akaashi’s together while we wait? His parents work crazy late all the time, and I never get anything done at my place, so we usually go to his.”

“Cute.”

“N—not— it’s not all the time! Just—”

“Chill, Bokkun, your little crush is safe with me.”

Seemingly struck by invisible lightning, Bokuto flinches in place like a violent, self-contained explosion, all exposed skin going fully red. His mouth opens and closes several times but, much to Oikawa’s delight, nothing manages to come out. He leans in, settling his face into the best impersonation of Akaashi he can, and deadpan’s, “You do like me, don’t you, Bokuto-san?”

Bokuto screams. 

Oikawa slaps his hands over his ears. “What the hell, Bokuto?!”

“Don’t do that!” he cries. 

“Jesus, okay! Don’t scream like that, you’ll break someone’s eardrums. God, just—” Sighing, Oikawa gestures toward the gym doors they never passed through. “Get us to Akaashi’s house?”

Bokuto does, with blind efficiency and boisterous commentary, making sure Oikawa knows all the strange intricacies of Akaashi’s route, neighborhood, even his house. Apparently, it was a relatively older home with newer remodels and additions, the main one being the attic and Akaashi’s bedroom. They arrive, make some food, and lounge in the dark bedroom Oikawa woke up in that morning, talking about why any of this could be happening. Oikawa knows it’s fucking aliens. Bokuto is convinced it’s some version of fate, the universe, blah blah blah. 

“You sound like a romantic, Bokkun.”

“Maybe? I wouldn’t know.”

“No?”

“Nah, my parents have always hated each other.”

“Uh…what?”

“Just that. We’re all in the same house, but they’re sort of horrible to each other. If that’s marriage, I don’t want it.”

Which is…awful. Even his own sister, who had a baby out of wedlock for reasons likely similar to Bokuto’s parents, at least believes in love. “Not seeing love in your parents doesn’t mean you can’t be a romantic, Bokkun,” Oikawa says, tone just teasing enough to pass as casual versus rude. “If anything, I’d say you’re more prone to it.”

“Wh— huh?”

“Aoba Johsai’s practice is long over,” Oikawa says instead of replying. “Akaashi should be back at my place by now; want to call?”

Chapter Text

Akaashi wakes to, yet again, violent ringing. He spams just as violently, adrenaline ricocheting all through his body like dry ice. Launching up, his hand smacks a wall, hard, and hisses as he jerks it into his chest.

“Shit, you okay?” Iwaizumi’s voice asks.

Akaashi’s heart sinks. 

It wasn’t a dream.

“It’s just Oikawa’s phone,” Iwaizumi continues. “He never hears it because he’s always fucking talking, so it’s as loud and obnoxious as he is.”

“Oh.”

“It’s your number.” He answers Oikawa’s phone, putting it on speaker. “Oikawa?”

“Aka— Iwa-chan?”

“Yeah, uh…Akaashi told me everything.”

“Oh thank god, because—”

“Is Akaashi there?”

“Bokuto-san?” Akaashi gasps. 

“Akaashi!” Yeah, that’s him alright. Even through the phone, he’s distinct. Just the sound of his voice, too loud, too bright, too much, eases some of the tension in his chest. 

“Yeah, I sort of spilled it after practice,” Oikawa says. 

“At least you made it through practice,” Iwaizumi chuckles. “Akaashi had a breakdown before we were even done with stretches this morning.”

“What?!” Bokuto shouts. “Is he okay? Akaashi, are you okay? What happened?”

“N—nothing, I—”

“He didn’t put your brace on and thought he single-handedly ruined your ability to walk.”

“I wasn’t that dra—”

“Oh no, Akaashi-kun, I’m so sorry!” Squealing, Oikawa sounds about ready to burst out laughing. “I didn’t even think to mention the brace! But no need to worry, I’m sure you didn’t do anything life-altering in the span of one practice.”

“Nah, nor did we stay after that. I told Irihata you were puking your brains out and got us both out of school for the day. Well,” Iwaizumi pauses, seeming to think it over, “I got you out of school for the day. I just skipped.”

“Iwa-chan, how delinquently bold of you. So you didn’t even have to pretend to be me all day? How unfair! I pretended to be you all day!”

“And you did a pretty bad job of it,” Bokuto supplies. 

“I did my best!”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t, I just said you were a bad Akaashi!”

“You’re just a freaking Akaashi-Keiji-mind-reader, that’s not my fault—”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi calls over the bickering, which quiets down. “We gotta like…address the elephant in the room. Why the hell are Oikawa and Akaashi switched?”

Akaashi clears his throat. “I think the better question is: how do we go back?”

“Right you are, Akaashi-kun! Because if I have to re-do all my second-year classes, I’m going to die.”

“You’re so goddamn dramatic.”

“It’s the truth!”

“Well, what are the options, do you think?” Bokuto asks. “Like, in movies and stuff, people switch bodies because they’re supposed to like, learn something.”

“Like what?” Akaashi asks. Because while maybe that’s how the movies go, he can’t imagine what he’s supposed to be learning from being Oikawa Tooru. 

“Maybe it’s destiny trying to up your setting games!”

“Bokkun, dear, why the hell would the universe swap us just to make us better setters?”

“It’s a legitimate guess!” 

“There aren’t any bad ideas,” Iwaizumi says thoughtfully. “The way I see it, we can wait it out, or we can do something. And doing something about it feels a hell of a lot better than waiting.”

Akaashi nods fervently. “Agreed.”

“Well, what can we do if we don’t know what we’re supposed to be doing?” Oikawa asks. “If we knew what we were supposed to be learning, it’d be easier. I mean, we can just work extra hard in practice tomorrow? Try different techniques?”

“So long as Akaashi gets to the practicing part.”

He shoots Iwaizumi a glare. “Without any information, I think my worry was perfectly valid.”

“It was,” Iwaizumi says with a shrug. “Doesn’t mean I’m not teasing you over it.”

“Hey!”

“It’s his way of showing love, Bokkun, don’t worry over it.”

“How long should we try it, though?” Akaashi asks then. “The longer this goes on, the more likely we are to be found out.”

“Why would that be bad, though?”

“Bokuto-san, this is not something that just happens. Oikawa-san and I would probably be taken by scientists for study.”

“Oh my god,” Oikawa whispers. “What if it’s the government’s fault? What if we’re test subjects and—”

“Will you drop your conspiracy-therory shit?”

“We are in fantasyland as it is, Iwa-chan! This could be real!”

Bokuto interrupts, “What if it’s as simple as touching?”

“Touching?” Akaashi echoes. 

“Yeah! Like, what if you two just have to touch, and then bam! You’re back in your own bodies?”

Humming, Iwaizumi meets Akaashi’s eyes with interest. “Maybe. Not a bad idea to try it, at least.”

“Try it?” Akaashi scoffs. “We’re easily two hours apart.”

“Then we meet.”

“How? Both of us have school, practices.”

“We fake sick. It sucks, but—”

“All four of us are the entire leadership for both teams.”

“Which sucks, sure, but we have to try something!”

“What about this weekend?” Bokuto interjects. “It’s only three days away, and we don’t have weekend practice because of that camp last week, remember, ‘Kaashi?”

He’s right. 

Huh. 

“That’s…a good point, Bokuto-san.” He looks back to Iwaizumi. “What about Seijoh?”

“We only have one practice this weekend since we did a practice match last weekend. So we’re free Sunday.”

“One day ought to be enough to at least try some things out,” Akaashi says slowly. “We could brainstorm other ideas to try between now and then to optimize that timeframe.”

“Wait,” Oikawa says then, “if Bokuto and I are free both days, why don’t we come up there Friday evening and just stay?”

“Where would you stay?”

“Akaashi-kun, have you never had a slumber party?”

“No.”

“You wouldn’t, ugh.”

“Wait, really?” Bokuto asks. 

“It’s— no, it’s not come up before.”

Iwaizumi is even looking at him strangely, like he wants to frown but won’t for some reason. “They’d stay here,” he says. “Oikawa’s parents are used to a bunch of guys crashing the place; this won’t be any different. He’s got the space and the futons to make it work.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed!” Oikawa titters. “So for now, we’re agreed? Akaashi and I will work extra hard in practices, and if we don’t switch back by this weekend, Bokuto and I will come up Friday night and stay through Sunday?”

“As good a plan as any.”

Akaashi nods. It really is just about all they can do right now. All they have is hope. Hope and, unfortunately, time.

Chapter Text

Oikawa wakes to more sweet chimes. The only reason they wake him at all is because everything is so weird that he’s primed for anything. It’s a little less jarring, though not by much, to wake up as Akaashi Keiji. The room still feels like a cave and the house is terrifyingly quiet, but he has a note on the phone that Akaashi shared with him that details as much about his day-to-day life as possible, so there’s more confidence as Oikawa gets ready. 

Why Akaashi gets to school so early is beyond him, though. It makes no sense to sit in an empty classroom for thirty minutes when he could take that extra time for sleep. But he did agree to meet Bokuto at his and Akaashi’s normal time, so Oikawa grumbles through it. 

“You made it!” Bokuto greets at the gates. 

“I made it yesterday, too, why wouldn’t I today?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m just proud you made it!”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. “Are you always so bright and cheery this early?”

“Of course!”

“And Akaashi deals with it?”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, he’s not exactly Mr. Bright-and-Cheery himself.”

“Oh.” That seems to give Bokuto pause, right as they’re walking through the front doors. “Well, he might seem real serious, but he’s goofy in his own ways!”

“How?”

“It’s hard to explain. Like, he does this thing—”

“You know what?” Oikawa interrupts, throwing a hand up and rubbing his temple with the other. “Nevermind. It’s too early to hear you gush about Akaashi.”

Bokuto pouts. Even his hair looks like it wilts. “Awh, but he’s the best.”

“Ever going to tell him that?”

“I do!”

“Not clearly enough,” Oikawa mutters. 

“What?”

“Nothing. I guess I’ll head to class? Akaashi says he goes straight there.”

“Yeah, but he’s usually earlier than this. I’ll walk you again!”

“It’s really okay, Bokkun. I’ve got it today. I even tied my own shoelaces this morning.”

Bokuto tilts his head. “Do you normally not?”

Groaning, Oikawa pats Bokuto’s unreasonably massive bicep. “Never change, Bokkun.” And he turns away. 

He isn’t as near-late as he was yesterday, but Oikawa would be damned if he was actually going to sit in an empty classroom for half an hour by himself. Ten minutes is far more reasonable, he thinks with a yawn as he climbs the stairs. There are a fair amount of students still milling around, talking, hurrying to class, trading books, laughing. It’s all very normal, very mundane. 

Until it isn’t. 

Something snags Oikawa’s shoulder, twisting him and slamming him into the hard wall and knocking the breath from him. 

What in the—

There’s a guy in front of him. 

They’re about the same height, but this guy is easily twice as wide as even Bokuto, and even if it doesn’t look like it’s all muscle, it’s painfully clear in his iron grip on Oikawa’s arm that he’s stronger than the pudgy belly suggests. His eyes are curved in a more European way though he’s otherwise quite basic: short black hair, brown eyes, flawless pale skin. He scowls. 

“Where’ve you been?” the guy growls. 

“Uh.” It’s the best Oikawa’s got. 

“Think hiding’s going to keep you from me?”

“Look, I don’t—”

And the guy straight up suckerpunches him.

Oikawa has taken many volleyballs to the face. He’s run into things before. He’s been on the receiving end of Iwaizumi’s projectiles. But never, not even once, has he been directly punched in the face. It’s hot, the pain that bursts from somewhere in his sinuses behind his nose, which fuck, is surely broken, and Oikawa tries to cry out but finds a hand faster than his shout slapping to his lips. With the pressure in his nose, he can’t breathe. 

“You know the deal,” this guy hisses into Oikawa’s ear. “You keep being gay, I keep making you pay for it. Take it back and maybe you won’t have to skirt around like the pussy you are.”

What the fuck, Oikawa thinks in a panic — he really can’t breathe — is this guy for real? He puts both hands on the guy’s chest and shoves with all his might. 

Nothing happens. His hand grips Oikawa’s face harder, overlong fingernails digging into his skin. 

So, naturally, Oikawa kicks the guy in the dick. 

With a yelp, the guy drops like a sack of rice. His nails drag down Oikawa’s face, scratching all the way, but his hand is gone and Oikawa sucks in air like a dying fish, reaching up to touch his face. Did he actually get Akaashi’s nose broken? It doesn’t feel like it. Then again, everything is vaguely numb, hot to the touch, sensitive with pain his adrenaline is keeping at bay for the time being. He is, however, shocked that his nose isn’t bleeding. There’s nothing, just hurt, even when Oikawa sticks a finger up one nostril to make sure. He looks around. 

The hallways are still, yet not. The students around them are awkwardly averting their eyes, turning to walk other directions, words turning into whispers. Which is outrageous! Akaashi was literally just attacked in the second year hall and none of these assholes give a shit? 

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Oikawa all but shouts at large. “I’ve got it.”

The guy, still clutching his groin on the floor, shoots a murderous glare at him. “You forget who the fuck I am? I could ruin your life, Akaashi!”

“You already are, if this is how you treat me for— what? Being gay?” Which, not that Oikawa is surprised, sadly, but still shouldn’t be an issue in this century.

“My father—”

“Oh my god, a real-life Draco Malfoy?”

“You’re what’s wrong with Japanese society these days.”

“I beg to differ,” Oikawa snaps, and, for good measure, steps hard on the guy’s toes as he stumbles past on shaking legs. When he throws himself into Akaashi’s desk five minutes later, he wants to cry. He can’t help the tears that well up. He’s never been so scared in his life. 

What the hell has Akaashi been putting up with?

Chapter Text

When Akaashi has a brief break between Oikawa’s upper-level maths and his university-level literature — something he was looking forward to, thank you very much — he’s a little startled to see that he’s receiving a call from Oikawa. 

He taps Iwaizumi’s shoulder, who glances at the caller-ID and nods, before accepting the call and putting it on speakerphone for the both of them. 

“Hello? Oikawa-san?”

“You have a fucking bully and didn’t think to tell me?”

Ice drenches Akaashi from the outside in. He sucks in some air, careful, controlled, and goes to take the call off speaker, but Iwaizumi grabs his wrist. It’s…strangely gentle. He doesn’t speak, even, just looks at Akaashi with a question that’s loud, vague. 

 Akaashi clears his throat. “Were you late to class, then?”

“Late? Late? I had ten whole minutes, Akaashi! Why didn’t you tell me about him?!”

“I— we— I sent you my schedule. I figured you—”

“Is that why you’re so freaking early to class?!”

“It’s better this way.”

“How?!”

“What did he do to you?”

“He slammed me against the wall and punched me right in the goddamn face, Akaashi!”

Iwaizumi’s eyes go wide. He grips Akaashi’s wrist harder, just marginally, and tilts his head in a more intimate question that he ignores. 

“What did you do?” he asks Oikawa instead.

“Do? I kicked him in the nuts!”

“You—” Akaashi gulps audibly. “You didn’t.”

“I most certainly did! I couldn’t breathe when he grabbed me!”

Which…hell, Akaashi thinks in a frozen panic. This is bad. “You have to apologize.”

“I— excuse me?!”

“You have to apologize, Oikawa-san. It’s— Kanada’s family is very influential. He can—”

“He can suck a toe for all I care!”

“His parents could potentially affect my father’s position.”

“How? Akaashi, tell me right now, how does any of that translate to you being some asshole’s personal punching bag because you came out?”

Akaashi chokes. “C—came out?”

“Yeah, he— wait, what does he usually say to you?”

“No, tell me what he told you today.”

“Fine,” Oikawa huffs. “He said you two had some sort of agreement that he could kick your ass whenever he wants because you’re gay?”

Akaashi swears his vision blurs. He feels distant, vacant, and he hears Iwaizumi’s voice speak, Oikawa’s reply, and Akaashi feels the phone slips from his hand, hears how Oikawa asks if Akaashi is actually out, hears Iwaizumi tell him to shut the hell up, hears how Akaashi’s next class is about to start, hears Iwaizumi tell Oikawa to stop being himself for a few hours and hang up. It’s a daze, how time is meaningless, how Iwaizumi takes Akaashi by the shoulders and holds him close, pulls him so their faces are closer than is appropriate, says something like a question. All Akaashi can do is nod, but Iwaizumi frowns at that. 

“No you’re not,” he says, voice like it’s coming from a great distance. 

“I never came out,” Akaashi whispers thinly. 

“Okay.”

“It’s not okay.”

“Why not?”

“If Oikawa-san didn’t dispute Kanada’s accusation, I’m royally fucked, Iwaizumi-san.”

“But— what? How?”

“Kanada’s family is a prominent one in the church that mostly governs our neighborhood.”

“Oh.” Then, realizing, he says with feeling, “Oh.”

“We’re not members, but the Kanadas essentially run the neighborhood. My father owns a small business in the area. He could get shut down if I’m less-than-desirable.”

“Shit.”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Iwaizumi releases Akaashi with one hand just so he can run it through his hair and fall back onto his shoulder. “Okay. Then we call Oikawa back and tell him what to do. He’s an idiot, but he can follow rules if he has to. How— jeez, how big of a deal is it in your school if you’re gay?”

“At school? Not a big deal at all. With Kanada and our neighborhood? Extraordinarily. And Kanada likes to throw his weight around.” 

“Does anyone else know this is going on?”

Akaashi blinks. “What?”

“This shit with this guy. Does anyone know he’s fucking punching you in the face regularly?”

“It’s not regularly,” Akaashi corrects automatically. “I avoid him by getting to class early.” 

“You’re missing my point, dude.”

“Other second years have seen it, but they don’t comment. Bokuto-san knows it’s happened before but…”

“But what?”

“I don’t want him to get involved.” Akaashi meets Iwaizumi’s eyes head-on then, hoping to convey how serious he is. “He wants to set things right and protect me. But if he lays a finger on Kanada and he presses charges in any capacity, his volleyball career is over.”

“Okay,” Iwaizumi says again. “Okay. But…this isn’t right, Akaashi. You know that, right?”

With a stab through his heart, Akaashi lowers his gaze, speaks softly. “If Kanada wasn’t right about me, I’d be inclined to believe it.”

“Dude.”

“It’s how it has to be right now, Iwaizumi-san.”

“Like fuck it does!”

“I’m sorry Oikawa-san had to—”

“Oikawa’ll be okay, this is just bullshit!”

“I can’t change how things are.”

“No, but you don’t have to deal with it at your own expense!”

“It’s just—”

“You being gay doesn’t mean you have to deal with this shit!”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re not alone! Oikawa and I are both openly bisexual and don’t have to deal with this crap!”

A bitter smile twists Akaashi’s lips. “Then Miyagi’s more forward than Tokyo.”

“No, this is about standing up for yourself!”

“Then I’m weak; just say it.”

“Fuck, Akaashi.” Grabbing at Akaashi’s neck with both hands, something gently firm, grounding, familiar, he frowns like he wants to cry out obscenities. “You’re not weak, you’re like…in danger. This dude just decks you whenever he gets the chance?”

“Which is why I don’t let him get that chance,” Akaashi says stiffly. 

“But why?”

“To protect my father and keep Bokuto-san from getting suspended.”

“You don’t really thing this kid can get your dad’s shop shut down, do you?”

“I’d rather not risk it.”

With an aching groan, Iwaizumi smacks his forehead to Akaashi’s collarbone. A distant bell rings. “This isn’t right, dude.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s right.” It’s the truth, but it grates against Akaashi’s throat all the same, painful and thick.

“Oikawa’s not going to be quiet,” Iwaizumi says as he pulls back. “He’s going to tell me about any and every instance, you know that, don’t you?”

Which is horrible. If Oikawa just followed his detailed itinerary as he was supposed to, nothing would have happened. Akaashi feels awful enough that he almost played on Oikawa’s bad knee; now he has to worry about Oikawa being blindsided by Kanada by not following the schedule he desperately texted him? 

“It shouldn’t be often,” he manages, barely, as Iwaizumi gives his neck a reassuring squeeze, as he pulls away reluctantly. 

Shaking his head, looking more like a stressed parent than a worried friend, Iwaizumi only says, “It shouldn’t be at all,” before walking toward his next class.

Chapter Text

Oikawa knows he looks like absolute hell. He caught sight of himself — of Akaashi — in the bathroom mirror halfway through the morning, saw how his nose is a massive bruise waiting to fully form, how he has scratches along his jaw on one side from those too-long fingernails. Oikawa knows he looks like hell yet he strides with purpose to the lunch room, eyes peeled for one Bokuto Koutarou. 

“Oikawa!” he shouts, unbothered by the strange looks he gets from passersby. “I was—” And his voice shifts, changes from every Bokuto that Oikawa has ever known into something horrid and dark. “What happened.”

It’s not even a question. It’s a demand, something furious and painful. 

Oikawa touches at Akaashi’s face. “It’s pretty bad, huh?”

“Freaking awful! What happened.”

“Some guy threw me against a wall and punched me for being gay. Is this a normal thing for Akaashi?”

There isn’t an answer right away. For several seconds, Oikawa watches as Bokuto freezes, manually restarts, and turns a slightly alarming shade of red. With trembling fingers, he reaches out, touches Oikawa’s face — Akaashi’s face — with an unsteady hand that’s devastatingly gentle. “It hasn’t looked this bad in weeks. Maybe months. I thought it was over.”

“Yeah, well, apparently Akaashi is lying through his teeth to you, because this guy means business,” Oikawa says bitterly. 

“He…he never said he was…that he…”

Looking up, Oikawa finds Bokuto biting his lip, clearly lost. 

“That what?” he prompts. “That he’s gay?”

“Huh?” His face squishes in bemusement. “No. I mean, I’m— that’s not the problem, I just…” Now his expression falls, lips pinching together, shoulders and hair slumping. “He never said Kanada was messing with him because of that specifically. And he’s been telling me nothing’s happening for weeks. Why…why doesn’t he trust me?”

Ooof. Oikawa bites his lip, then regrets it because it feels tender like his nose. “I don’t think it’s that he doesn’t trust you, Bokuto.”

“Then why won’t he talk to me about this? I’m trying to help and he won’t let me!”

“It’s…I…” Oikawa swallows, unsure. He really ought to just tell Bokuto the truth. Then again, this is Akaashi’s thing; if he doesn’t want to tell Bokuto, that’s his business, right?

“It just hurts,” Bokuto says quietly, and his hurt hurts.

Fuck it. Bokuto deserves to know and Akaashi could stand to get the stick out of his ass. 

Oikawa lays a hand on Bokuto’s arm. “He thinks this guy can affect his dad’s work.”

“What?”

“I called him when I had a minute between classes earlier. He said the guy is from some influential family and could ruin his dad’s position? But, let’s be honest here, he’s also probably trying to look out for you, too, Bokuto.”

“Me?” It’s like the idea is impossible. “Why— how could Akaashi being bullied mean he’s looking out for me?”

“Well, if you knew he was getting punched everyday, what would you do?”

“Kick Kanada’s ass!”

“Exactly.” Oikawa fixes him with a severe look. “And while most people wouldn’t say anything either way to avoid the teachers, this Kanada asshole seems like the type to turn you in the second you touch him and get only you in trouble.”

Mouth forming a comical ‘O’ shape, Bokuto freezes. 

“But,” Oikawa continues, voice betraying the vague excitement stirring deep under all the horror of the morning, “I think I have an idea of how to stop Kanada once and for all.”

That catches Bokuto’s attention, perks him right up. “Really? What?”

“I know we don’t really know each other, but do you think you could trust me for all of ten minutes tomorrow morning?”

Chapter Text

     Akaashi Keiji 
     Hey!!!! Bokkun and I have a beautiful plan to get that asshole off your case!! You can thank me later 😘

     Bokuto Koutarou 
     Hey kaashi Oikawa said Kanada messed wit h him this morning and I just wanted to say that like you can talk to me about this

     Because I wont do anything you dont want! I just want to be here for you

     So like when I do whatever the heck Oikawa has planned tomorrow morning to fix this once and for all like just know i’m doing it because youre my best friend and want to help you if I can okay??

Akaashi wants to scream. What in the world does Oikawa think he can do to stop this thing with Kanada? He stares at the messages, stressing silently while the Aoba Johsai team readies for afternoon practice around him. Slipping onto the bench beside him, Iwaizumi reads over his shoulder and grunts. 

“Sounds like Bokuto wants to help.”

“Which is great and all, but it’s Oikawa-san that’s going to get me killed.” He opens the other message. 

But Iwaizumi only scoffs. “Honestly, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“How am I not supposed to worry about this, Iwaizumi-san?”

“Because you’re here, not there.” Iwaizumi cocks a brow. “What’re you going to do to stop Oikawa and Boktuo of all people from hundreds of miles away?”

Which is a fair point. Tension reigns supreme all the same, even through stretches, through warm-ups, through the Seijoh coach snapping that Akaashi is in his own head too much, through two other third-years teasing Akaashi for taking himself too seriously with drills. It’s nerve-wracking in a way Akaashi hasn’t felt in a long time, this out-of-control feeling, that the world is revolving against him and he’s only susceptible to the danger. It has him strewn thin.

So when, halfway through practice, when someone Iwaizumi calls Makki misses Akaashi’s set because it’s apparently way too close to the net, when the coach vanishes, when the managers vanish, when some blonde kid with a scowl that could kill stomps in, Akaashi feels like he’s ready to snap when all eyes turn to him to handle whatever is about to unfold. 

He grabs Iwaizumi’s shirt just above where it’s tucked into his shorts. “Who is that?” he murmurs under his breath. 

Just as quiet, just as close, Iwaizumi says, “Kyoutani, second-year. Good shot at ace but won’t consistently show up to practice and has a shitty attitude. Almost broke a first-year’s arm a few weeks back because he wouldn’t work with his team.”

“Why is he even here, then?”

“That’s sort of what everyone’s thinking.”

Fantastic. Akaashi wants to groan, but he clenches his teeth instead. “Iwaizumi-san?”

“It’s okay, I can take care of—”

“How often does Oikawa-san throw his weight as captain around?”

“Uh…sort of…never? Not in the way you’re implying. Why?”

Akaashi doesn’t answer. “Great.” And he breaks away, stalks straight for the kid that’s angrily throwing his duffle against the gymnasium wall. 

The kid, Kyoutani, looks up as Akaashi approaches. And while Akaashi is purposefully not hurrying or strolling, he knows there’s intent to how he walks, how he’s not trying to be Oikawa at all just now, stretched thin and annoyed, so when Kyoutani scowls even deeper, lip curling with some ready-made retort, Akaashi interrupts, ready to handle this his way. 

“Kyoutani-kun,” he deadpans. Something about the address stops the guy in actual motion, freezing him solid. Akaashi isn’t even giving any real emotion, he’s just talking, getting his point across as a fact rather than a problem. “If you want to be our ace next year, you can’t show up whenever you want; that’s not how it works.” He takes a step back, not wanting to press someone’s personal space, allowing himself to slip into the manners he’s always adhered to so purposefully. “We’re not at a loss for players, you are replaceable if you can’t commit. So either be here and be a team player, or get out. I have better use of my time as captain than begging someone who doesn’t want to be here to make the effort.” And for good measure, he holds Kyoutani’s gaze steadily, unblinking, no emotion, not even the irritation that bubbles under the skin that isn’t his, nothing showing but disinterest, unconcern. 

Akaashi turns away only after Kyoutani blinks, calls out at large, “Let’s end on a skirmish! Starters versus next year, let’s go!” Then, almost like an afterthought, he turns and points directly at Kyoutani. “You’re taking Iwa-chan’s spot on our team.”

“I— what?”

Iwaizumi is right up in Akaashi’s ear suddenly, hissing, “He’s an opposite hitter.”

“Get moving,” is all Akaashi says to them both. 

And while the morning practice went well enough that Akaashi trusts the Seijoh starters, especially Iwaizumi, to play as well as he normally does, he’s in a different headspace now. He sticks Kyoutani exactly where Iwaizumi normally would be, and, after making sure the teams are set, he slows as he passes the guy, Kyoutani, who looks between screaming and throwing up, not looking at him as he says, “If you cost us this match or hurt someone, you’re out,” and keeps walking. 

And it’s an exhilarating disaster at first. Akaashi sets exclusively to Kyoutani the entire time, sending him sets right at the net, sets that require him to run, to wait, to watch, to react with only trust he clearly doesn’t have in Oikawa or the team at large. Akaashi watches as he misses, as his spikes are blocked, as he nearly slams into Hanamaki to make a receive that he has no business even attempting, and Akaashi, when they’re a point down for the third time, strides over to him. 

“You’re in the wrong sport if you’re trying to hurt your teammates,” he says bluntly. “You owe Hanamaki-san—” He curses himself internally for the slip-up but powers through. “—an apology for almost knocking him straight to the ground, and you owe this team at least four points.”

“And where the fuck do you get off, pretty-boy? You think you just get to do whatever the hell you want because you’re the captain?!” It’s the most Kyoutani has spoken to Akaashi, who shrugs. 

“I might be pretty, but not only did I earn my position as captain, I’m the one who’s actually going somewhere.” And he turns away. 

Insanely, amazingly, Kyoutani plays perfectly after that. 

He calls for the ball. He doesn’t run into a single teammate. He hits nine out of ten of Akaashi’s tosses, and almost all of them result in a point. He rebounds, he listens. It’s exactly what an ace is meant to do, it’s vaguely reminiscent of playing with Bokuto, strangely enough, how Akaashi has to verbally manhandle Kyoutani into being a respectable volleyball player mid-game. 

They win. 

Even the opposite ‘team’ cheers, and one second year in particular looks about ready to burst with second-hand pride. Akaashi looks over and finds Kyoutani already looking at him. With a vague lift of his brows, Akaashi nods at him, then turns towards the changing rooms, ignoring if enjoying the whole of the Aboa Johsai team in high spirits at his back.

Honestly, he feels better. 

Chapter Text

Oikawa is early to meet Bokuto. Both of them worked particularly hard in Fukurodani’s afternoon practice, even going so far as to stay more than a couple hours after official practice to continue, leading to a bit of a late night — not that Oikawa is willing to admit that a second-year’s homework requires any thought process on his part, that’d be stupid — but nothing would have kept Oikawa from putting in motion his genius plan to stop Kanada from bothering Akaashi ever again. Bokuto, in true loyal-puppy form, doesn’t even know what’s about to go down; all he needed to know was that Oikawa is going to keep Akaashi from ever being targeted by Kanada again and he was on board, full-stop. It’s sort of weird, honestly. Oikawa is used to friends that constantly call him out or question his validity in any regard, so having someone, someone like Bokuto, no less, put his entire faith into him…it’s a little insane. 

But he’s willing to put that aside, even after Akaashi spent half the evening stress-texting Oikawa, demanding to know what he planned to do while simultaneously trying to talk him out of it. Oikawa did a fantastic job of dodging all the direct questions, deflecting by asking about the Aoba Johsai practice and getting nothing in return. 

It’ll be worth it.

“Oikawa,” Bokuto whines instead of cheering, “Akaashi’s mad at me!”

“No, he’s not,” Oikawa says dismissively. 

“He is! He kept asking what we were going to do today, and when I told him I don’t know, he thought I was lying!” 

“That’s just literally how friends work, Bokkun.”

“Akaashi has never accused me of lying to him!”

“He’ll get over it.”

“What if he doesn’t?!”

“Then he’ll die, I guess,” Oikawa groans. “Look, I don’t get why he’s so stressed out, either, but I promise you, there is a solid 98% chance that my plan is exactly what will get Kanada off Akaashi’s back. Or anyone’s back, really.”

“He thinks you’re going to get yourself hurt! You’re not, though, right?” Bokuto asks, his sincerity disgustingly genuine. “I don’t want you getting hurt, either.”

“Bokkun, you know what I told Iwa-chan when he texted me about all this?”

“No?”

“I told him to trust me. And you know what he did?”

“Uh…trusted you?”

“Exactly. He called me a vulgar name and dropped it because he knows I’m not going to purposefully get my own ass kicked for no reason. Now come on, let’s go.” He leads the way into the school. “Now, remember what you’re going to do?”

“Yeah!”

“Just make sure you’re quiet so no one knows it’s you, and we’re golden.”

“Right.”

The halls are just as busy as they were yesterday. The students mill as before, and Bokuto walks with Oikawa again into the second year hall, keeping close, eyes peeled. He and Oikawa both hesitate when they catch sight of Kanada.

He’s watching them. 

“He’s pathetic,” Bokuto grits under his breath. “He never does anything when I’m around because he doesn’t want to run the risk I’d actually hit him.”

“Well, no one wants to get punched.” Grabbing his shoulder, Oikawa turns Bokuto’s attention to him. He grimaces at the solid force of it. He doesn’t think he could ever get used to being someone’s entire world like this. “Okay, now touch my face.”

“Uh…” Bokuto pokes his cheek.

“Are you naturally this dense?”

“Hey!”

“Just— ugh, pretend I’m Akaashi for real for a second.” And he slips the back of Bokuto’s hand into his palm, brings them both up to cup Oikawa’s jaw, toeing the line between friendly and intimate. 

Something soft peeks out in Bokuto’s expression. “Oh.”

“Yeah. And with Kanada watching, he’s taken the bait. So do your part, yeah?”

“Okay.”

Oikawa steps back, letting Bokuto’s hand fall and offering a wave as he turns away. But instead of going to Akaashi’s classroom, he heads for the restroom. 

Like the predictable idiot he apparently is, Kanada is right behind him. 

Like the competent sidekick he luckily is, Bokuto slips in before the door shuts without being noticed.

“You’re shameless,” Kanada hisses like a snake, rushing Oikawa and shoving him against the far wall hard enough that his head smacks it with a sick thud. It hurts, but Oikawa bites his tongue. Kanada’s hands are on him, one fisting painfully in his hair and the other tangling the knot of his tie with his shirt, and it feels a little like he’s actually going to kill who he thinks is Akaashi, just the motivation Oikawa needs to push past the instinctive fear and ruin this guy.

Like a delicate feather, he touches Kanada’s chest, just with the tips of his fingers. 

“I think I know what’s really going on,” Oikawa says quietly. 

“You— I’m trying to help keep this world from going to hell!”

“And yet, as much as you try and try and try, you can’t hide from yourself, can you?”

Kanada turns to granite. His eyes fly open wide.

Bingo.

With more confidence, added sultriness he’s sure Akaashi absolutely doesn’t have, Oikawa twists like a treat in Kanada’s hands, able to loosen the grip he has on his hair and tie. Those sausage fingers lie more flat, curl more…softly. A disgusted shiver shoots down his spine when Kanada moves his hand further back, cupping his head by the back rather than trying to pull his hair. But Oikawa isn’t a quitter. He walks his fingers up Kanada’s chest delicately.

“You want me,” he says, “but you can’t have me. And that just pisses you off.” Cringing internally, he cups Kanada’s face gently, lifts his own chin invitingly. “Doesn’t it?”

Kanada’s mouth opens, hangs. Nothing comes out. He releases Oikawa’s tie completely, moves to tentatively touch his neck like it’s porcelain. 

And truly, it’s sort of sad. How many guys have been kept in an angry closet like Kanada? But he’s a predator, and he’s apparently been not-so-straight-up assaulting Akaashi for months, and Oikawa can’t bring himself to pity the guy too much. He leans closer, enough that he tastes the way Kanada’s teeth clearly weren’t brushed this morning. 

“So if you’re going to be an asshole, at least be honest with yourself.”

And Kanada kisses him.

Well, he tries to. Oikawa turns at the last second and gets a cheek-full of too-wet lips, an over-sized body pressing close, thick hands trying to possessively curl through his hair, wrap around his back, that horrid breath all over him—

“Okay, that’s enough!” Bokuto shouts suddenly, and it’s like Kanada gets struck by lightning for how he jumps back.

Oikawa takes a deep breath and lets out the horrified shivers he’s held at bay. “Did you get it?” he asks Bokuto.

“Yeah.” His face is a little pale, but he nods and holds up Akaashi’s phone. “Holy shit, dude.”

Kanada gapes, eyes bugging out of his head. “I don’t— what did—”

Now, Oikawa thinks, for the clencher. Fast and precise, he stalks forward until Kanada has his back nearly against a sink, stops when only an inch separates their faces. Coldly, cruelly, even, he smiles. 

“If you can’t be nice or keep your hands to yourself, I’ll have no choice but to put that video of you trying to kiss me on the big screen at your church.” The smile slides off his face. “Don’t ever fuck with me again.”

Kanada nods once, face one of terrified bewilderment. 

Nice.

Oikawa spins around and skips over to Bokuto, who hands him Akaashi’s phone in a daze. He does glance to see that, indeed, Bokuto took the video, which includes the almost-kiss. Oikawa beams. 

“Alrighty, then! Looks like we’re all done here, Bokkun! Let’s get to class, eh? Wouldn’t want to be late!”

Chapter Text

“Really, Bokuto-san? Blackmail? That’s so reckless!”

“It wasn’t my idea! I didn’t even know he was going to do that! I wouldn’t’ve let him!”

“Which is why I didn’t tell you.”

“Really really, ‘Kaashi! Please don’t be mad at me!”

Iwaizumi is shaking his head next to Akaashi. “Give the guy a break. It’s not his fault Oikawa is a menace.”

“Rude!”

They’re on the phone all together again, mostly at Akaashi’s insistence to properly interrogate them about whatever they did, and he was horrified as Oikawa gleefully told him. For one, it makes his skin crawl, thinking about Kanada touching his body and Oikawa like that, and for two, there’s no guarantee this will keep Kanada from retaliating even more severely.

“Please, Akaashi-kun, you weren’t there. You didn’t see his face. He was positively petrified.”

“He really sorta was,” Bokuto adds. “I don’t think he’s going to mess with you again, that freaked him out way too much, I think.”

“Still, though—”

“I’m still very very sorry! And I really am, but also like, I’m so freaking glad you’ll actually be rid of him, you know? For real this time.”

“Maybe.”

“Well, until we know for sure, I’m walking you to class everyday. Hell, or just everyday anyway, avoid all of it altogether!”

Heat finds Akaashi’s cheeks. “You really don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to.”

Deliberately avoiding Iwaizumi’s gaze, Akaashi says quietly, “I’m sorry for not telling you, Bokuto-san.”

“It’s okay! You were just scared!” That smile, the one that isn’t ear-to-ear but is full-force all the same, warm, overly kind, is in his voice. “And now you know you can trust me if it starts back up!”

“I trusted you, that’s not—”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Then everything’s even better!”

Iwaizumi snorts. “How’s volleyball been going for you two over there?”

“Amazing!” Bokuto chirps immediately.

Oikawa hums in agreement. “It’s different, playing with the Fukurodani team, but I felt more meshed with them today. All that extra practice really helped, didn’t it, Bokkun?”

“Heck yeah!”

“Extra practice?” Iwaizumi repeats at the same time Akaashi asks, “How much extra practice?”

“Iwa-chan, you’re not allowed to be mad at me!” Oikawa says defensively. “Akaashi’s body doesn’t have a bad knee!”

“It will if you overdo it,” Akaashi mutters.

“Hush, you’re not helping!”

“It was only a teensy teensy bit longer than how long you and me do extra practice, ‘Kaashi, for real!”

Groaning, Akaashi rubs at his eyes and tells Iwaizumi, “Bokuto-san has no sense of time. They were easily there three extra hours.”

“Oikawa, you little shit!”

“I don’t have a bad knee!”

“That’s not the fucking point.”

“God forbid I found a perk to being body swapped, Iwa-chan. Besides, isn’t that what we agreed we’re supposed to be doing, working extra hard at our sets? Are you and Akaashi just vacationing over there?”

“Of course not,” Iwaizumi snaps. “But we’re not going to get ourselves hurt or sick or something by way overdoing it.”

“It’s not way way overdoing it, honest!”

“Maybe for you, Bokuto, but this asshole—”

Oikawa gasps. “I am just as capable as Bokuto, you horrible, horrible person!”

“Okay, look,” Akaashi sighs. “There’s no real stopping them. And they can’t do that tomorrow.”

“How do you know?”

“I booked their train for pretty much right after their practice gets out. They won’t have time.”

Both Bokuto and Oikawa moan. Laughs find Iwaizumi in contrast. 

“Geez, Bokkun, what’s it like having a mother for a best friend?”

“He’s not my mother, he just cares about us.”

“Cute.”

“Isn’t he?!”

Akaashi wants to die, especially when Iwaizumi elbows him teasingly. “We ought to go,” he says. “We have homework, which I know you two do, too.”

“Please, I breeze through your homework.”

“Then you can help Bokuto-san.”

“Oooh, yeah! Are you just as smart as Akaashi?”

“I’m a whole year older than him!”

“So…maybe?”

Oikawa only groans in reply. 

“Alright, see you guys tomorrow,” Iwaizumi says. “And take fucking care of yourself, Oikawa; that’s not your body to fuck up.”

“I don’t fuck up my own body, either, Iwa-chan, I was merely cursed.”

“Yeah, yeah, see you tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait!”

Bokuto speaks then, before Akaashi can, and his voice is lowered, almost sad if it weren’t for the obvious smile in it. “I miss you, Akaashi. I can’t wait to see you.”

A full-body blush bursts everywhere all at once. He swallows, keeps his tone level, and says, “I miss you, too. See you tomorrow,” before hanging up as fast as he can without looking crazy.

Not that Iwaizumi doesn’t notice. “So. You and Bokuto, huh?”

“We’re friends, yes.”

“C’mon, my best friend is Oikawa; you can’t bullshit me. You like him.”

“The same way you like Oikawa-san?” Maybe he can’t bullshit well, but he’s a master deflector.

But Iwaizumi just nods. “Yeah, exactly like that.”

Pure honesty is not what Akaashi expected. “Oh. Uh…if…if you’re aware of how you feel, why don’t you tell him, then?”

“How about you answer that one first, Akaashi,” Iwaizumi laughs.

“Easy. I don’t even know if Bokuto-san is gay.”

“Wow. Okay, for one, if Bokuto isn’t gay, he’s probably bisexual, and if he’s not either somehow, I’ll give you one of my kidneys for free if he doesn’t like you specifically as an exception. And for two, I can’t tell Oikawa because we’ve know each other for fucking ever. You can’t just spoil a friendship like that with feelings. Besides, what if he sees me as a brother? You know how fucking weird I’d make it if he does?”

“I might not have siblings, but I haven’t seen many brothers toe the line of flirting the way he does with you.”

“That’s just who he is, though.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re just making excuses, Iwaizumi-san, which is surprising coming from you.”

“Hey, back atcha, Akaashi.” But he’s grinning, and, bizarrely, Akaashi finds himself grinning back. 

Chapter Text

Oikawa winks at Kanda as Bokuto walks him to class at a normal, reasonable time, and there’s a savage sense of victory when he flinches. The rest of the day is just like the other two; classes, lunch with Bokuto, more classes, volleyball. And while both he and Bokuto want to stay and abuse the freedom to practice as long as Iwaizumi and Akaashi won’t let them, their train does leave soon after practice. They barely have time to shower and dress down in casual clothes before they’re having to hurry to the station, dropping through the doors literally as they’re closing. 

“Man, Akaashi really didn't want us to waste time, did he?” Oikawa scoffs as they search for seats.  

“He’s such a super-planner. He probably wants to get as much time all together as we can to get you guys fixed. Oh, here!” Bokuto sits down next to a window with a spare seat facing him, which Oikawa takes. They slide their duffles, packed with a couple days worth of clothes, under them. The train starts to move.

“So.” Oikawa steeples his fingers at his lips, leering over the tips of them. “Bokuto.”

He lifts a brow. “Uh…yes?” 

“We have two and a half hours.”

“Yeah?”

“And then we’ll be with Iwa-chan and Akaashi.”

Bokuto pumps his fist in the air. “Heck yeah!”

“Meaning, I won’t be able to ask you this once we’re there.”

“Ask me what?”

“Why haven’t you asked Akaashi out yet?”

It sort of looks like Bokuto implodes. His eyes blow wide, red exploding in his cheeks at an alarming rate and worrying shade, and he tenses so much, so abruptly, that every exposed muscle Oikawa can see is flexed as though on display. His pants are already sort of tight, maybe he’ll rip straight through them. Oikawa barely keeps his deliberately sweet giggle from turning into a donkey’s haw at the thought. 

“Why so terrified, Bokkun?” he asks kindly. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“A— uh, are…we?” Bokuto hardly manages.

“Of course we are! And what are friends for if not to help you through whatever is holding you back from wooing Akaashi precisely the way you clearly want to?”

“I don’t— he’s— you can’t just woo Akaashi!”

A middle-aged couple across the aisle from them shushes him. 

“S—sorry!” he stutters out as he bows his head hastily. 

Oikawa elegantly covers his mouth to giggle, earning him an embarrassed glare. “Sorry, Bokkun, I only ask because it’s just painfully obvious how smitten you are and I wish to help soothe whatever your mental block is.”

“It— I don’t— he— ugh!” Groaning, Bokuto rubs his face once, then looks out the window with a grimace. “I don’t…know if he feels the same way.”

Oikawa sighs, because honestly. “Bokuto—”

“No, really! Like…he’s my best friend, and I’m pretty sure I’m his, but he…I don’t know, we don’t talk about girls or boys or anything like that. He only ever said he was gay because one of our teammates asked him point-blank. I mean, he treats everyone the same, so there’s no way to even tell if he did like someone, and—”

“Oh, Bokuto, Bokuto, Bokuto,” Oikawa sighs with sympathy. “That first day, when you didn’t know I was me yet? At practice, there were some players talking to me during stretches and you should hear how plainly they talk to Akaashi about how close you two are.”

“Well, we are?”

“No, like how they told me how Akaashi acting odd affects you, and how you acting odd affects him. You mean more to him than I think you realize.”

“I…I mean, sure. But what if it’s not the same, though?”

“Wouldn’t it be better to know?”

Bokuto rubs at his neck. “Gah…I…I don’t know, maybe? I don’t want to lose him.”

And ain’t that a bitch? “I can understand that, at least,” Oikawa relents. 

“Yeah, I bet. You and Iwaizumi have the same sort of thing going on, huh?”

“No, it’s entirely different!” he retorts reflexively. He’ll be damned if he’s being as dumb as Bokuto. His and Iwaizumi’s situation is entirely different. After all— “We’ve been friends since we were kids. There’s a high chance he sees me as family more than a potential—” He waves his hand vaguely. “—interest. If he does, my confessing any feelings I might have could seriously ruin our friendship, and I’m not willing to risk that.”

Dubiously lifting his sharp brows, Bokuto huffs. “I don’t know, Oikawa, that sounds sorta like exactly the same thing.”

“You would think that.”

“Thanks!”

“I'm insinuating that you're being dumb.”

“What the heck, I didn’t do anything!”

“Yeah, and that’s your problem, isn’t it?”

Bokuto kicks Oikawa’s shin.

“Hey!”

“Look, maybe I don’t know Iwaizumi or anything, but if you’re trying to get me to confess, you ought to do it, too.”

“It’s different,” Oikawa insists. 

Bokuto only shrugs at that, a lot of his blush faded by now, and pulls out his phone. “Suit yourself. But you should. I bet Iwaizumi feels the exact same way and is just thinking the same thing you are so you're both being stupid for no reason.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?”

All he gets in return is a grin and an easy, “Akaashi tells me almost everyday.”

Chapter Text

Waiting at the train station after Seijoh's afternoon practice, Akaashi finds himself fiddling his fingers nervously. It’s cold despite the sun, and he rubs at his knuckles, shivering under the most casual jacket he could find. Oikawa certainly has style if the options available in his bedroom are anything to go by, but Akaashi was more inclined to be comfortable. So he wears a worn pair of denim jeans, slip-on sneakers, and a blue sweater under the zip-up hoodie with a green alien head on the breast. Iwaizumi had made a strange face at the sight but otherwise didn’t comment. 

The train pulls into the station. Akaashi swallows, forcing himself to stop fidgeting. 

Crowds exit and enter the train in orderly queues. Salarymen and women, families, tourists, and, among them, two teenage boys that cause Akaashi’s breath to catch. 

It’s strange, out-of-body, watching himself walk through the busy station. Oikawa has done something with his hair so that it’s not as wild as it naturally dries, and he’s dressed almost formally, in gray slacks, dark Vans, and Akaashi’s warmest blazer. What’s weirder, though, is how Oikawa carries Akaashi’s body; he has his shoulders back, chin tilted upward, and he’s grinning openly at something Bokuto is saying. There’s this…animated sensation to him, making the whole thing look fake somehow. 

And then there’s Bokuto. 

“AGHAASHEE!!”

“Oh no.”

Iwaizumi nods without looking over. “Same.”

“Why’re they like this?” Akaashi asks, right as Bokuto bodily slams into him. 

Unlike most other times, however, he melts.

Bokuto has never shied from affection. He’s the entire reason Akaashi has become less stiff about it himself over the last two years. Bokuto touches everyone; he high-fives, kicks, hugs, rubs hair, grabs wrists and arms and hands and pulls. And while Akaashi generally prefers his space, there’s undoubtedly always been an exception when it comes to Bokuto. He accepts the touching willingly, and even if he's overstimulated, he can politely pull away, and it's still a relief that Bokuto understands it’s not any form of rejection. 

He doesn’t do that now, though. Akaashi turns into an overwhelmed, gelatinous form of a person, leaning against Bokuto’s front to get as close as he can, reveling in familiar pressure all around, familiar hands on his back, familiar scent in his nose, familiar chattering in his ear. He hugs back, arms tight around Bokuto’s waist, just as tight. 

“Oh my god, ‘Kaashi, I’ve missed you,” Bokuto breathes. 

“Yeah, I…me, too.”

Pulling back, Bokuto gets a strong grip on Akaashi’s biceps and stares directly into his eyes. “Whoa. Like…you’re Oikawa! But I see you. Does that make sense?”

“Holy shit, it does,” Iwaizumi answers. Next to them, he and Oikawa are also embracing, but it’s…different. 

Akaashi wants to avert his eyes, but he’s transfixed on seeing his own body wrapped around Iwaizumi like a human koala, literally in his arms with legs around his waist, both hands on his shoulders to look down at him with such stark adoration that it’s almost indecent. 

“Jeez, Akaashi, you’re super light,” Iwaizumi says, eyes never leaving Oikawa. 

“Uh…am I?”

“Are you calling me fat, Iwa-chan?”

“Lay off the milk bread and maybe you could be this light, too.”

“How dare you!” But Oikawa is still smiling. 

Akaashi glances down at his — Oikawa’s — body. “I don’t think we’re all that different in size, Iwaizumi-san.”

“We aren’t! I checked. I have like two kilograms and just as many centimeters on you, that’s it!”

“You checked?” Akaashi asks. 

“Of course! I needed to know how off my game was going to be in your body. Wait.” Finally tearing his eyes off of Iwaizumi, Oikawa makes a face. It’s a little horrifying. “You didn’t?”

“No? I was more worried about surviving.”

“You just winged it? That’s ballsy, Akaashi-kun.”

“Wow, that’s so freaking cool!” Bokuto cheers, and he scoops Akaashi up into a hug that lifts his feet from the pavement. “You’re literally the coolest!”

“OhmigodIwa-chanputmedown!”

“I— what the fuck is wrong with you?” Iwaizumi hisses as Oikawa suddenly flops like a fish in his arms. 

He lands deftly, and he grabs Akaashi, tearing him out of Bokuto’s arms and wrestling him into his own. It’s more than a little insane, watching himself so close, tongue sticking out in determined concentration. A warm hand grabs his, and Akaashi freezes in anticipation. 

Nothing happens. 

Oikawa grabs his other hand so they’re joined by both, his frown going steep when nothing continues to happen. He laces their fingers together. He pulls Akaashi into an uncomfortably tight hug, then reaches his hands up and touches the skin of his back, then smashes their foreheads together. Just when Akaashi wonders if he’s crazy enough to try and kiss him, Oikawa groans and flops back against Iwaizumi’s chest dramatically. 

“Well that’s disappointing,” he pouts. 

Iwaizumi shoves him off but keeps him close, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “It was a fifty-fifty shot. C’mon, though, you and Bokuto are probably all stir-crazy from the train.”

“Definitely,” Bokuto says. 

So they leave. It’s not a terribly long walk to Oikawa’s house, just long enough for Bokuto and Oikawa to stretch their legs and for the four of them to share whatever else they might’ve left out over the last few days of scattered texts and calls. Oikawa is aghast that Akaashi not only wore his hair without any styling, but that he also somehow managed to wrangle Kyoutani into behaving, even through the handful of practices that have followed since he showed up. Personally, Akaashi doesn’t quite get it. Kyoutani seems like a brat, but he’s like any other player; he just wants to do well and be seen. Oikawa tells him he’s simplifying people too much. Bokuto and Iwaizumi laugh. 

Although he hasn’t encountered Oikawa’s parents more than a couple times, Akaashi is a lot more familiar with his sister and nephew now. They’re kind, and they clearly love Oikawa, whose lips purse oddly as Akaashi awkwardly introduces him to his own sister when they enter. 

“Such handsome gentlemen,” she comments with a smile. “And you’re staying a few days, is that right?”

“Thank you for having us!” Bokuto says. 

“Of course. Be comfortable, please, and I’ll see that Takeru doesn’t bother you all too much.”

Oikawa collapses to his bedroom floor with a happy mewl. Iwaizumi snorts, shutting the door behind them, before maneuvering him out of the way and sitting down to lean against Oikawa’s dresser. Bokuto sets his bag by the door and hurries to Akaashi’s side, settling beside him on the floor so that their legs are pressed together. Across from them, Oikawa has unabashedly laid himself across Iwaizumi’s lap like a protective cat. 

Quiet takes them, a comfortable silence. 

After a few moments, Oikawa asks what they’re all thinking. “Okay, now what?”

Chapter Text

“Well, now we have two days to try and switch back however we possibly can,” Akaashi says. 

“And if we can’t?” Oikawa shoots back, not unkindly. 

“Then we spend Sunday working out a plan for the long-term.”

Bokuto lays a hand on Akaashi’s knee. “Shit, I don’t wanna think about that.”

“We have to be practical, Bokuto-san.”

“But being practical sucks.”

“Of course it does,” Oikawa says, then adds, “That’s why, and how, I know…that aliens did this.”

“If you were in your own body, I’d throw you out the window.”

“Iwa-chan, Akaashi’s poor body has been through enough violence without your horrid threats!”

Iwaizumi flinches, and Oikawa has instant regret. That was a little underhanded, especially since he knows Akaashi’s nose is sporting a hell of a bruise along the bridge that neither Iwaizumi nor Akaashi himself have seen until half an hour ago. 

Iwaizumi looks at Akaashi. “Sorry.”

“Please don’t be. I wasn’t the one who had to take that punch to the face.”

“But you have.”

Akaashi shrugs like a psychopath. “It’s been a while. You don’t have to tiptoe around me.”

“I’ll, uh…keep that in mind.” Iwaizumi glares down at Oikawa. “But, instead of thinking everything’s aliens—”

“Which only doesn’t make sense because you guys don’t remember being abducted or anything,” Bokuto interrupts. 

It makes Oikawa sit up. “People are abducted all the time without knowing!”

“But they’re also like, missing time or remember a bright light or other things, right?”

“...right.”

“And since neither of you mentioned it, you probably didn’t experience that, right?”

“No,” Akaashi deadpans. 

“Well, I mean, I don’t remember anything technically, but that doesn’t mean—”

Iwaizumi talks over him, the ass. “So instead of that, maybe we’re better off looking into body switching stories specifically. There aren’t any quote-unquote ‘real’ stories out there that I could find in the last few days, but there are a thousand movies and books out there. Maybe they’ll offer an option we haven’t done yet.”

“We could, I guess,” Oikawa scoffs, “but Bokuto and I basically already did that. I’ve barely slept because that’s all I’ve been doing is falling down internet rabbit holes about souls and crap. Essentially the reasons for a body swap are—” He starts ticking them on his fingers. “Random, you need to learn something about yourself, you need to expand your worldviews by walking in someone else’s shoes, aliens, funky amulets, witch’s curse or similar, voodoo, a literal brain transplant by a mad scientist, and, again, random.” He slumps back over Iwaizumi’s lap, masking his breathing in the grounding smell of him with a sigh. 

“Yeah,” Bokuto says, “so the ways to switch back are basically waiting it out, touch-activated, you learned something about something, finding the person who cursed you or break the amulets or whatever, or get the guy to put your brain back in the right body.”

“Well, I think it’s safe to say that aliens and mad scientists are out,” Akaashi offers. “I think we’d have some scarring if someone ripped open our heads.”

Iwaizumi nods. “And touch didn’t work. And neither of you have some new weird piece of jewelry, I take it?”

“No,” they answer together. 

“Either of you piss someone off recently?”

“Hey! Maybe Kanada’s a witch, Akaashi!”

“Bokuto-san, if that were the case, wouldn’t he have known I was switched?”

“Yeah, he definitely thought I was Akaashi, Bokkun.”

“Oh. Good point.”

“What about you?” Iwaizumi bounces his knee under Oikawa’s ear. “You annoy everyone you come in contact with. What’d you do?”

“How rude! I am nothing but a delight! But…no,” he adds more seriously. “I don’t recall anyone being particularly upset with me in recent weeks, no.”

“That leaves the learning-something one, then,” Iwaizumi says. 

“Which is the most realistic option, but I can’t imagine what Oikawa-san and I are meant to learn by being each other.”

“I can tell you what I learned about you, Akaashi-kun.” He sits up again, leans right up against Iwaizumi’s side. It’s like he’s starved and can’t satiate the feeling of touching him, knowing he’s near again. Oikawa points a finger at Akaashi, who frowns. “You need to stand up for yourself when people are mean to you.”

Now he scowls, and Oikawa isn’t sure he’ll ever not want to throw up at the sight of his own body held so lax, expression so lifeless or severe with no in-between. It gives him the serious creeps. 

“Alright.” Akaashi’s eyes narrow. “Then I think you need to be more direct with your teammates, stop dancing around what needs to be said.”

Before Oikawa can be properly offended at the attack on his leadership style, Bokuto in true Bokuto-fashion interjects with enthusiasm too big for the small bedroom. 

His eyes are on his phone. “Hey, hey, hey! I think I have an idea to get more ideas!”

“What does that mean?” Iwaizumi asks. 

“It means—” With fanfare, he flips his phone around for everyone to see. “—I just found a local psychic!”

No one answers. Oikawa thinks his brain slammed into some metaphorical wall with surprise. Akaashi looks like he might jump out the window on purpose. Iwaizumi, on the other hand, bursts out laughing. 

“Bokuto, what the hell?” he laughs. “What the hell’s a psychic supposed to do?”

Undeterred, Bokuto beams. “Maybe they can give us some more ideas! They’re more…magicky, voodoo-y, you know?”

“I— well, shit, that’s not bad logic.”

Oikawa gasps, astounded at the audacity. “But aliens were too crazy for you?!”

“Shut the hell up.”

“No, I refuse to be swept under the rug like this!”

“Even if this is aliens,” Akaashi counters dully, “it’s not like we can just contact them and ask for our bodies back, Oikawa-san. Unless they show up on their own and you can properly gloat about being right, I think a—” His nose wrinkles. “—psychic isn’t a horrible idea.”

“Whooo!” Punching at the air, Bokuto cheers. He flops onto his stomach in the middle of the room to better show Iwaizumi the address on his phone. “It’s nearby, right? We can go tomorrow when your practice is over! 

At a glance, it really is quite close, directly across the street from a shopping mall Oikawa and Iwaizumi have been to more than several times. Akaashi is rubbing his forehead like he has a headache behind Bokuto’s shining energy, and Oikawa can't help but agree with both. A psychic? It’s a long-shot and it’s crazy, but the whole reason Oikawa and Bokuto traveled here was to do everything possible to reverse this chaos. And if a psychic just happens to be one of the ‘everything?’ So be it.

Chapter Text

It’s only a few hours later, after the four of them eating dinner with Oikawa’s sister and nephew and opting to watch a movie instead of further strategizing, that Akaashi finds himself lying in a cluster of unfamiliar futons in a room that’s become entirely too familiar, Bokuto at his side under the blankets. It’s not strange for them. Though traveling games and camps aren’t constant by any means, Bokuto has always chosen to sleep next to Akaashi. It’s comforting, even, having something from home so close after being out of place for days. 

Their voices are quiet in the dark, even Bokuto’s. 

“It’s sorta weird to see your body snuggling up with Iwaizumi over there.”

Akaashi nods. It’s unnerving, to say the least, watching as though through a poorly edited filter as his own body tugged Iwaizumi down under the blankets, curling into his side and falling asleep almost instantly. What was almost worse was how soft Iwaizumi looked at his body, running fingertips up and down his spine, before falling asleep as well. 

“Is it…” Akaashi hesitates. 

“What?”

“Weird? Talking to me like this?”

“Nah, not— well, not that weird,” Bokuto says with a sleepy chuckle. “Like, you look like Oikawa technically, but I can tell it’s you, so that makes it not weird. Because you’re you and you’re back. With me.”

Akaashi blinks. 

“Hey, ‘Kaashi?”

“Yes?”

“Why…why didn’t you tell me that Kanada was still messing with you? If you trusted me?”

“It was because I trusted you, Bokuto-san.”

“How’s that work?” 

Rolling onto his back, Akaashi sighs. “I knew that if I told you it was a regular occurrence, you’d try to step in and fix it for me.”

“I wouldn’t’ve—”

“You would, and that’s not a bad thing. You like to fix things when you can, even if you don’t think it all the way through.”

Bokuto’s pout is clear in his voice. “But I listen to you when you ask me not to do something.”

“Of course you do. But how long would you have?”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So that’s all.”

“It wasn’t because…because of why Kanada was targeting you?”

Quirking a brow, Akaashi looks over. “What do you mean?”

Even in the dark, especially with his squirming, Bokuto’s nerves are apparent. “You didn’t not tell me because you like…thought I’d be weird about you, uh…about you being gay?”

“Oh. N—”

“Because I’m not like that, I promise.”

“I know, B—”

“Like, you’re amazing, nothing could ever change that.”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says firmly, sitting up to cover Bokuto’s mouth with his hand. “Of course I know all that. I would never think so little of you.”

Wriggling to get his mouth free, Bokuto sits up, too, leaning close, eyes wide and worried. “Are you sure? Because I know you’re real private about that stuff.”

“I’m not, though?”

“You never talk about it.”

“When have you and I ever talked about sexuality or love?”

“Well, we— we should! Isn’t that what best friends do?”

A gentle laugh bubbles out of Akaashi, who shakes his head. “There’s not a rulebook for friendship, Bokuto-san. But if you want to gush about girls to me—” Which sounds horrible. “—I’m not going to stop you.”

Bokuto’s lips twist in thought. It seems to be a couple thoughts, his lips loose then taut, his brows angling flat, his chest moving with the large breath he sucks in and holds. “I don’t—” He exhales. “—think I like girls.”

What. 

“Or boys?”

What?

“I mean like, in general? But I’ve gotten crushes and think I’ve— uh.” Giggling awkwardly, Bokuto gulps as he averts his eyes. “I think I know what it’s like to be in love. So like, I can like people, but I don’t really notice people like that in general or randomly? Does…does that make sense?”

“Of course it does,” Akaashi says with a shrug, ignoring the chilling hope now taking hold in his chest. 

“It’s not super normal, though, is it?” Bokuto’s shoulders slump, just marginally. 

Which won’t do. Akaashi reaches over and lays his hand on his shoulder, waits for Bokuto to look up with tired eyes. “Bokuto-san, there is nothing wrong with you. And when you find someone—” God, Akaashi’s heart feels like it’s beating wrong, but he keeps breathing steady, keeps Bokuto’s gaze. “—they’re going to know that.”

There’s no answer. Bokuto just stares back at Akaashi from inches away, concern in the background of his big, amber eyes. He’s doing that amazing thing he does, where he’s seeing straight through Akaashi, something he’s always genuinely appreciated, especially whenever he’s been overwhelmed or overthinking and their roles reverse and it’s Bokuto bringing Akaashi back down to earth. 

Akaashi doesn’t want him to see him too clearly, though. Not this time. 

Not right now. 

“Let’s get some sleep,” he says, slipping his hand away and lying back down. 

“Y—yeah. G’night, Akaashi.”

“Good night, Bokuto-san.”

Chapter Text

Oikawa knows that Iwaizumi is a little weaker to him than he normally would be. Oikawa also knows that Akaashi is very likely also a little weaker to Bokuto than he normally would be. He uses this to his and Bokuto’s advantage and gets the other two to agree to let them come to campus while they’re at practice. Is it silly? Absolutely. But it’s also a win. Because while it was literally heaven to sleep in Iwaizumi’s arms and in his own bedroom, Oikawa doesn’t want to be far apart so soon. 

Or like, ever again. But…details. 

He and Bokuto stay outside the gymnasium, though, going to the nearby soccer fields instead with a volleyball and a lot of energy. They toss back and forth, receiving, spiking toward the soccer goals, until they’re dripping with sweat in spite of the windchill and their water bottles are long empty. 

They only stop when Iwaizumi’s voice hollers out, “Are you two fucking serious?”

Oikawa almost takes Bokuto’s pass to the face. “Oh, Iwa-chan! Are you two already done? That was a rather short practice, no?”

“No, Stupidkawa, it was our usual time.” Crossing his arms, Iwaizumi and Akaashi stand on the edge of the field, showered and carrying their — well, one is his — duffle bags. “You’re going to stink all to hell.”

“You’ve missed it,” Oikawa quips back easily. 

All he gets is an eyeroll in return. 

They go back to Oikawa’s house to drop off their things, and Oikawa uses that same weakness to get a fast shower for him and then Bokuto, who is only getting exasperated, if fond, huffs from Akaashi all the while. 

Oikawa smiles sweetly as he drags Iwaizumi out of the house by the wrist. 

The psychic is stuffed in what could only be called a crevice of a shop in a little office district across the large roadway from the mall. His name is Yuyka Ko, and he’s about four thousand years old with smoke for eyes. There’s no way he can see anything, yet when Oikawa leads the way into the tight space, he’s swift and agile as he hurries toward them. He’s so small and slight, he’s like a ghost. 

“In, in,” Yuyka murmurs, gesturing. 

When the door shuts behind Bokuto, the whole place plunges into darkness. 

“Uh.”

“In, come,” Yuyka’s soft voice says somewhere nearby, right about waist-height, and it takes all of Oikawa’s self control not to scream. 

Iwaizumi steps in front of him. “Hi, we’re—”

“Lost.”

“Uh…yeah, in more than one way. We—”

“In, in, please. I’ll light the candles.”

“This place has serial-killer vibes,” Akaashi deadpans at Oikawa’s back. 

“He’s smaller than my nephew; if he gets fresh, I think we can handle him.”

“‘If he gets fresh?’” Iwaizumi snorts. “What era are you trying to be from?”

“I’m just—”

Further into the darkness, a match strikes, and light breaks the black. Yuyka is hovering over a short wooden table with more chairs than can fit at it, and he begins lighting candles, one by one, until four are flickering full-force. It gives the shop an eerie feel. Oikawa swallows and grabs at Iwaizumi’s jacket on instinct. He reaches around to pat Oikawa’s hand. 

“Chill. We’re fine.”

“Come,” Yuyka calls like a whisper, crooked fingers beckoning them closer. 

They do, Oikawa with a lot of reluctance, not really wanting to die in someone else’s body, and sit at the table all on one side. Oikawa is crammed between Iwaizumi and Akaashi, who has Bokuto on his other side. He tries not to bounce his leg. 

Sitting on the complete opposite side of the table, Yuyka looks like he’s about to drop the hottest scary story with how the candlelight shadows his wrinkled face. He says, “You are lost.”

“We’re in the wrong body,” Akaashi says clearly. 

Yuyka’s brows furrow. Oikawa swears some of the hairs fall before his eyes. 

“Yeah, it’s—” Iwaizumi clears his throat. “It’s weird. They— these two—” He points a thumb at Oikawa, then Akaashi. “—just woke up switched a few days ago. And we’re…I mean, I think we’ve tried all we can think of. But we’re running out of ideas.”

“Hm.”

“I know it sounds super weird,” Bokuto says earnestly, “but it’s the truth! And we wanted to know if you could help us with figuring out how to switch them back?”

“Hm. I see.” 

Does he? Oikawa thinks. 

Yuyka reaches out across the table with both hands, around the candles. “Hands, please.”

Sharing a dubious look with Akaashi, Oikawa takes one hand from his lap, watches as Akaashi does the same, and then, together, they reach out and take tender hold of Yuyka’s ancient hands. His skin is frigid, like the guy doesn’t have any blood flow whatsoever and he’s just an animated corpse. It almost makes Oikawa jerk back, but he sees Akaashi actually hold onto Yuyka tighter, and he figures that he’s being dramatic. For once. 

There is a certain…energy to the whole atmosphere. All the little hairs on Oikawa’s arms and at the back of his neck are coming to full attention, like there’s lightning to strike at any moment. He presses his leg against Iwaizumi, who presses back. 

“Your hands, too.”

“Ours?” Bokuto asks. 

“No, no. These boys.” And he squeezes Oikawa’s hand. 

“Oh, uh…” He looks back at Akaashi wearing his freaking face, not a single thought showing, and offers out his other hand between them, palm up.

Akaashi takes it, and lightning strikes. It shocks him at the fingertips like static electricity. 

“Oh, yes…” Yuyka says softly. “You two are out of body, hearts lost…”

“That’s literally what we just told you.”

“Hush, Akaashi,” Oikawa hisses. 

“These changes are…rare, and can be beautiful. There is something both of you seek yet fear…something that…that…” Yuyka breathes in through his nose sharply. 

Akaashi tenses in Oikawa’s hand.

“It is love that you both seek.”

They both make a face. “Love?”

“Lost. Fear has you lost. So your heart was traded to another’s—”

“That makes no sense,” Iwaizumi says. 

Yuyka ignores him, leaning closer to the candles, cloudy eyes fierce somehow, to whisper, “Foreign forms bring out bravery. Find that love, and you will no longer be lost.”

With a quiet cough, Akaashi starts, “But…what if…um.”

“Hm?”

Akaashi shoots Oikawa a silent cry for help, to form the question he cannot. Because Oikawa knows exactly what the problem is: they've found love, but they don't have it. 

Yuyka answers first, though. 

“Ah,” he rasps. “Then you’ll need that bravery moreso. The fairytales are real, sometimes. Your body knows where it belongs. Your heart will follow.”

Without warning, the candles all blow out.

Chapter Text

Akaashi is quiet, they all are, on the walk back. They go back to Iwaizumi’s house since it’s closer and will be empty for a few more hours. Yuyka didn’t charge them anything, just ushered them out of his shop after the candles extinguished and Oikawa shrieked and nearly broke Akaashi’s hand. He shut the door on their questions, murmuring something too soft to hear all the while. It made Akaashi want to scream in frustration. He was also relieved to be out of that place. 

Once they’re in Iwaizumi’s bedroom, a much more tidy and slightly larger space than Oikawa’s, they sigh as a group. 

“That was such a waste of fucking time,” Iwaizumi groans. 

“How do you figure?” Oikawa asks. “We got what we went there for.”

“What, a freak show?”

“Another idea, you idiot.”

“And what’s the idea, genius?”

“That scary old man made it perfectly clear: fairytales are real sometimes, and Akaashi and I are supposed to find love to switch back.”

Which is not technically not what Yuyka told them, Akaashi thinks, but it certainly sounds insane when coming out of his own mouth in Oikawa’s lilt. 

Iwaizumi grinds his teeth. “Meaning?”

And with full conviction, he replies, “True love’s kiss.”

The nearest thing to Iwaizumi happens to be a hardback novel on his bedside table. It launches straight at Oikawa like a missile. 

“We’ve tried everything else, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa cries as he dodges. “We’re all grasping at the universe’s tiniest straws!”

“And you think true love’s kiss is the fucking answer?!”

“I don’t know, that’s the point!”

“I think we—”

Iwaizumi shouts over Akaashi’s attempt to speak. “Just because some nutjob psychic thought you two were in love—”

“Obviously me and Akaashi aren’t in love, Iwa-chan, don’t be—”

“He’s just a fraud making shit up because we’re a bunch of desperate teenagers, you complete moron!”

“It makes sense, though!”

“In what fucking way?!”

Oikawa takes a breath, then rubs at his forehead with all ten of his fingers. “It’s worth a shot, at least, don’t you think?”

“I think,” Bokuto interjects over Iwaizumi’s incoming retort, “that anything’s worth a shot at this point. It’s been almost a week! What else do we have to lose?”

No one has an answer for that. 

Iwaizumi pinches the bridge of his nose. “So…what? We just all start kissing each other and see what happens?”

“Don’t be so naive, Iwa-chan. Obviously you and I would be kissing and Akaashi and Bokuto would be.”

Heat ruptures all over Akaashi. What’s become of his life? 

“Real rich,” Iwaizumi snorts, “maybe Bokuto’s doomed to get stuck with you and I get Akaashi.”

“How rude! You’d be lucky to be with me.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Oikawa blanches. “What?”

Ignoring him, Iwaizumi turns to Akaashi and Bokuto. There’s a flush to his face. “Okay, so what do you think? Are we supposed to like…kiss the body of the right guy? Or the mind? Heart? What would your…not-body be called?”

“Your soul, you brute!”

“Uh…” Akaashi hesitates in the wake of Iwaizumi’s steadfast ignoring of Oikawa in the background. He swallows. This entire conversation is out of his depth. “I think…maybe the body? Since that’s what you’d be…used to? Plus, Yuyka mentioned our bodies know where to go, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Bokuto says, making a face. “It’d be weird to kiss Oikawa’s face anyway.”

“Hey!”

“But for us, we’d be kissing the…uh…” Akaashi clears his throat. “You might think you’re kissing me, but Oikawa would know he’s kissing you. Does that affect anything?”

Groaning, Iwaizumi swipes a hand over his face. “This is all just a bunch of guesswork. I say we just get this over with.”

It’s Akaashi’s turn to blanch. “Like— just— here?”

“You have a better idea?”

“I…” His voice fails him. He meets Iwaizumi’s determined gaze before flitting over to Bokuto, who looks just as prepared if a little queasy. 

And, of all people, Oikawa steps in. He lays a hand on Akaashi’s shoulder. “Mmmaybe we should…uh…separate? Seems weird to watch each other.”

“This whole thing is fucking weird,” Iwaizumi mutters, but gestures all the same for Akaashi to follow him out of the bedroom. 

Akaashi looks back at Bokuto, who reaches out to squeeze his hand. “We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable, you know.”

“What?!” Oikawa squeaks. 

Scoffing breathlessly, Akaashi squeezes his hand back. “This is necessary, Bokuto-san. I’ll be alright.”

“Maybe you’ll be back in the right body in a minute.”

“We can only hope, can’t we?”

Bokuto’s smile bolsters him, gives him the strength to pull away and follow Iwaizumi into a secondary bedroom across the hall. 

Shutting the door, Iwaizumi shakes his head. “Sorry, the spare room is sort of the only other place I’d be doing this.” 

“You make out in your family’s spare bedroom?” Akaashi blurts. 

Iwaizumi cocks a brow. “You expect us to make out?”

“N—no! I—” 

“Look, this is weird as shit. But…fuck, don’t let him know I said this, but Oikawa’s actually right more than he’s not. And it’s…it’s worth a shot, even if it sucks…right?”

The tremor in that final word, the only fracture in the armor Iwaizumi always seems to wear, calms Akaashi. He’s just as nervous. 

They look at each other. At least six feet separate them. 

Iwaizumi steps forward first. Akaashi almost flinches, but he holds still, keeps to himself, tries not to throw up as the distance diminishes, when Iwaizumi takes his face in both hands, holds him like he did that first day, when he thought Oikawa was upset and didn’t know why. They’re closer than they were that time, mere inches between their faces. Akaashi could count every freckle on Iwaizumi’s face if he had the wherewithal. As it stands, he just gulps and tries to remember how to breathe. 

“Okay,” Iwaizumi says quietly, his breath fanning over Akaashi’s mouth, “here goes nothing, huh?”

And then their lips touch. 

Akaashi was primed for the world to end or to snap back into his own body or maybe for it to even hurt, but none of that happens. All that happens is Iwaizumi presses his lips to Akaashi’s, soft and sweet in a way that makes him feel like he’s witnessing something private. His eyes are squeezed shut, so he doesn’t see what face Iwaizumi might be making, but the way he tries to move, tries to coax Akaashi into kissing back, it’s obvious that this is all wrong for both of them. 

Like he’s been burned, Iwaizumi suddenly jerks back. “Sorry!” he snaps, face as red as Akaashi is sure his own is. “Sorry, fuck, I can’t— I know it’s you and it’s weird!”

Exhaling, Akaashi nods. He’s almost shaking with relief. “That has to have been the weirdest first kiss in history.”

“Are you shitting me, Akaashi?!”

He tilts his head. 

“I was your first kiss? What the fuck.”

“It didn’t seem…very…pertinent…” he says, trailing off. 

“Jesus, we could’ve at least— dammit, Akaashi, we could’ve done this the other way first if I knew!”

“Oh.”

With a groan like a growl, Iwaizumi rubs his whole face with both hands. Then he shoots a devastated look Akaashi’s way before ripping the door nearly off its hinges. He does the same for his own bedroom door. 

“It didn’t fucking work,” he announces.

Clearly, as Bokuto and Oikawa are making nearly identical faces at each other from across the room, oddly irritated rather than the molecular embarrassment that Akaashi has in his actual soul at this point. 

Not that there was probably technically anything wrong with how Iwaizumi kisses, but…

“That was weird,” Bokuto whines, eyes finding Akaashi’s. “It looked like you but didn’t feel like you!”

“I am not an ‘it!’” Oikawa snaps. 

“Okay, take two,” Iwaizumi says. 

“What’s take three supposed to look like if this doesn’t work?”

“Shut the fuck up, Shittykawa, and get over here.”

“It’s a legitimate question!”

Grabbing a fistful of Oikawa’s shirt collar to drag him into the hall, Iwaizumi mutters darkly, “If this doesn’t work, I’m jumping off the nearest bridge,” then slams the door shut. 

Akaashi feels like a livewire of nerves. Alone with Bokuto for the first time in a week, in this situation, with the expectation that they share Oikawa’s idea of ‘true love’s kiss’—

“Whoa, ‘Kaashi, you okay?”

Oh, he is breathing a little erratically. He sucks in some air, trying to catch his breath. “Of course, Bokuto-san.”

“No, you’re not.” Coming closer, Bokuto’s face softens. It’s falling like it always does when he’s worried, and it makes Akaashi’s heart clench painfully, makes him gasp when those wide hands take his forearms into their palms, hold him with purpose. 

“I can’t believe we kissed them,” is what Akaashi ends up saying to the floor between them.

“Hey, at least you got Iwaizumi, he’s not a total asshole.”

“Oikawa-san isn’t that bad, I don’t think.”

“Well, you can kiss him next and get the whole experience.”

Akaashi’s voice drops to a whisper as his eyes lift to find Bokuto’s. “I don’t want to kiss either of them.”

A nervous smile pulls at Bokuto’s mouth. “Am…am I okay?”

And fuck it. 

Akaashi leans forward and kisses Bokuto right on the mouth. 

Instantly, it’s vastly different than kissing Iwaizumi. 

Akaashi gasps at the intensity of pleasure rippling through him from a mere press of lips. He and Bokuto are barely even touching, yet joy explodes from every point of contact, erasing all the fear, the nerves, the anxiety of the last several days in two heartbeats that feel like they belong at the tail-end of a volleyball game. Akaashi moves his lips instinctively, slow, testing.

Bokuto pulls back, just enough to rest their foreheads together. 

“It’s you,” he purrs happily. “It’s really you.” Then he dives back in. 

Stumbling back slightly, Oikawa’s body still more slight than Bokuto’s, Akaashi hums in pleasant surprise as arms wrap around his waist, as his own cling to Bokuto’s neck and shoulders, as their lips press and slide against the other, as they breathe the other in, as a wall finds his back. Kissing Bokuto is like kissing a summer sunset, vibrant and promising, and Akaashi is a lost soul to the inevitable. He hugs Bokuto tightly, kisses openly, feels like he might cry with this, something familiar and new, something grounding. 

Contrastingly, he’s lifted by thighs that aren’t his, arms that are Bokuto’s hauling him up so his legs can wrap around his waist. It’s overwhelming, making Akaashi light-headed with this new closeness. Their lips part, their tongues touch, and it feels as if the world disappears for a split second. 

Akaashi could die happy like this. He gasps involuntarily, squirming at the weight pressing down upon his front, the rumpled blankets under him, the tongue that chases his once more, that tastes…different than two seconds ago. 

He freezes, eyes flying open.

Iwaizumi is lying atop him, legs straddling his waist, one hand in his hair, the other halfway up his side under his shirt, tongue in his mouth. 

Gagging as he tries to pull back without accidentally biting down, Akaashi thrashes a little wildly, yanking his hands out from under Iwaizumi’s shirt.  

“Iwaizumi-san—”

His eyes open. They widen immediately. “What the—”

They both half-yelp, leaping away from the other. Iwaizumi stumbles back and barely catches himself. Akaashi sits up on the bed, jerking his knees into his chest. They stare at each other, both breathing heavily. 

“What—” Iwaizumi starts, stops. He swallows. “What the hell is happening.”

Completely lost, more than a little dazed, all Akaashi can think to say in his own voice is, “So…you do apparently make out in here?”

Bokuto screams from the other room. Oikawa screams in response. There’s a loud thud that Akaashi can assume is Oikawa being dropped. 

Iwaizumi blinks. He still looks rattled, but a smile starts to break over his face. 

“It worked?” he asks. 

Akaashi nods. “I…I think so.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

Chapter Text

Oikawa is quiet, they all are, on the walk back. They go back to Iwaizumi’s house since it’s closer and will be empty for a few more hours. Yuyka didn’t charge them anything, just ushered them out of his shop after the candles extinguished and Oikawa shrieked and probably almost broke Akaashi’s hand. He shut the door on their questions, murmuring something too soft to hear all the while. It made Oikawa want to cry with the frustration of it. He was also relieved to be out of that place. 

Once they’re in Iwaizumi’s bedroom, a very missed space, they sigh as a group. 

“That was such a waste of fucking time,” Iwaizumi groans. 

“How do you figure?” Oikawa asks. “We got what we went there for.”

“What, a freak show?”

“Another idea, you idiot.”

“And what’s the idea, genius?”

“That scary old man made it perfectly clear: fairytales are real sometimes, and Akaashi and I are supposed to find love to switch back.”

Which is exactly what Yuyka told them, but he realizes that sounds insane when said out loud.

Iwaizumi grinds his teeth. “Meaning?”

And with full conviction, he replies, “True love’s kiss.”

The nearest thing to Iwaizumi happens to be a hardback novel on his bedside table. It launches straight at Oikawa like a missile.

“We’ve tried everything else, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa cries as he dodges. “We’re all grasping at the universe’s tiniest straws!”

“And you think true love’s kiss is the fucking answer?!”

“I don’t know, that’s the point!”

“I think we—”

Iwaizumi shouts over Akaashi’s attempt to speak. “Just because some nutjob psychic thought you two were in love—”

“Obviously me and Akaashi aren’t in love, Iwa-chan, don’t be—”

“He’s just a fraud making shit up because we’re a bunch of desperate teenagers, you complete moron!”

“It makes sense, though!”

“In what fucking way?!”

Oikawa takes a breath, then rubs at his forehead with all ten of his fingers. “It’s worth a shot, at least, don’t you think?”

“I think,” Bokuto interjects over Iwaizumi’s incoming retort, “that anything’s worth a shot at this point. It’s been almost a week! What else do we have to lose?”

No one has an answer for that. 

Iwaizumi pinches the bridge of his nose. “So…what? We just all start kissing each other and see what happens?”

“Don’t be so naive, Iwa-chan. Obviously you and I would be kissing and Akaashi and Bokuto would be.”

“Real rich,” Iwaizumi snorts. “Maybe Bokuto’s doomed to get stuck with you and I get Akaashi.”

“How rude! You’d be lucky to be with me.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Oikawa blanches. What? “What?”

Ignoring him like the asshole he is, Iwaizumi turns away to face Akaashi and Bokuto.“Okay, so what do you think? Are we supposed to like…kiss the body of the right guy? Or the mind? Heart? What would your…not-body be called?”

“Your soul, you brute!”

“Uh…” Akaashi’s eyes flit between Oikawa and Iwaizumi. “I think…maybe the body? Since that’s what you’d be…used to? Plus, Yuyka mentioned our bodies know where to go, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Bokuto says, making a face. “It’d be weird to kiss Oikawa’s face anyway.”

“Hey!”

“But for us, we’d be kissing the…uh…” Akaashi clears his throat. “You might think you’re kissing me, but Oikawa would know he’s kissing you. Does that affect anything?”

Groaning, Iwaizumi swipes a hand over his face. “This is all just a bunch of guesswork. I say we just get this over with.”

It’s Akaashi’s turn to blanch. “Like— just— here?”

“You have a better idea?”

“I…” It seems Akaashi’s voice is failing him. 

It’s clear that none of these three prudes are going to make this happen. Oikawa steps into the circle, lays a hand on Akaashi’s shoulder. “Mmmaybe we should…uh…separate?” he suggests. “Seems weird to watch each other.”

“This whole thing is fucking weird,” Iwaizumi mutters, but gestures all the same for Akaashi to follow him out of the bedroom. 

Akaashi looks back at Bokuto, who reaches out to take his hand. “We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable, you know.”

“What?!” Oikawa squeaks. Because yes the fuck they do.

Akaashi scoffs. “This is necessary, Bokuto-san. I’ll be alright.”

“Maybe you’ll be back in the right body in a minute.”

“We can only hope, can’t we?”

Bokuto smiles something horribly sappy, eyes following Akaashi as he finally steps away and into the hall with Iwaizumi, who shoots Oikawa a pained look as he shuts the door behind them.

Bokuto exhales, “Gahhh.”

“You’re telling me, Bokkun.”

“So…we just…” He turns then, giving Oikawa that unnerving 100%-undivided attention he hates so much. His shoulders square. “...kiss?”

It’s intimidating. Oikawa halfway sneers as he says, “That’s what we all agreed to, isn’t it?”

“You’re right.”

“I— what are you doing?!”

Because Bokuto is striding right up into Oikawa’s space, all those muscles making a wall of him and blocking out the light like some horrible solar eclipse, reaching for him like the monster he is—

“Look,” Bokuto says as his hand falls to Oikawa’s shoulder. “I don’t really want to kiss you, either, but let’s just try? Because I’d rather my first kiss be with Akaashi, but I want him back in his own body more.”

Oikawa’s jaw hits the floor. There’s no way he heard that right. “You— your— Bokuto, you’ve never kissed anyone?!”

“No, why d’you sound so surprised?” And the idiot actually looks serious.

“You’re— you’re serious.”

“Yes? I wanted to save it for someone special.”

“But then why don’t we—”

But it’s too late. 

Bokuto leans in with all the grace of a drunk elephant, pressing his lips smack to Oikawa’s. There’s way too much pressure, and their noses bend awkwardly, and Oikawa is struck mostly with thoughts of how to keep Akaashi from being suffocated when Bokuto tries kissing him. His hands are on Bokuto’s face before he can stop himself, jerking him back half an inch to glare at him. 

“You are going to kill Akaashi if you kiss him like that.”

“Wh—” The skin around Bokuto’s eyes goes red. “What? I’ve never done this before!”

“Then take notes.”

“Wh—”

Oikawa brings them together again, holding Bokuto back from smashing against him. He only has seconds, probably, and he spitefully thinks that Akaashi owes him big time when Oikawa starts moving his lips, starts kissing Bokuto like kisses are supposed to be. He positions his face where it needs to be to avoid suffocation, moves his mouth gently with his own. He even breathes purposefully so Bokuto can get a feel for the rhythm. 

Right as he plans on stopping anyway, thank you very much, Oikawa is practically thrown across the room. 

Bokuto’s face is a caricature of shock. There’s definitely irritation in there, too. Unfounded, but still present. 

Oikawa wipes his mouth and hisses, “You’re welcome,” just as Iwaizumi rips the bedroom door open.

“It didn’t fucking work,” he announces.

Clearly, as Iwaizumi and Akaashi are both red like the blood of beets. Poor Akaashi looks like he’s transcended to some plane of embarrassed existence beyond them all. 

“That was weird,” Bokuto whines at him. “It looked like you but didn’t feel like you!”

“I am not an ‘it!’” Oikawa snaps. He did Bokuto a favor.

“Okay, take two,” Iwaizumi says. 

“What’s take three supposed to look like if this doesn’t work?”

“Shut the fuck up, Shittykawa, and get over here.”

“It’s a legitimate question!”

Grabbing a fistful of Oikawa’s shirt collar to drag him into the hall, Iwaizumi mutters darkly, “If this doesn’t work, I’m jumping off the nearest bridge,” then slams the door shut behind him. He throws Oikawa into the room across the hall before slamming that one shut, too. 

“Really, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa can’t help but say. “The spare room where your grandparents always stay? That’s a little kinky, even for me.”

“Shut the hell up, you fucking virgin.”

“Below the belt, such shame you bring.”

“I will kick your ass.”

“Before or after kissing me?” Oikawa is going for annoying, his favorite defense mechanism, but the words come out softer than intended. 

Iwaizumi visibly deflates. Deflates, but there’s still tension all over him. 

He’s nervous. 

It makes Oikawa feel a little better. 

He reaches out, and Iwaizumi meets him halfway, threading their fingers together before pulling him into an embrace; their clasped hands are at their sides, but Oikawa’s free hand holds Iwaizumi’s jaw, relishes the palm against his lower back in reply. 

“Bokuto is the worst kisser,” is what Oikawa ends up saying into Iwaizumi’s hair once they’ve settled. 

“Well, Akaashi was like a corpse, so.”

“A match made in Awkward Heaven.”

“Oikawa?”

He lifts his head, leans back just enough that their noses brush as their eyes find each other. “Yeah?” he whispers. 

“I—”

Oikawa kisses him. 

And instantly, it’s worlds different than kissing Bokuto. 

For one, Oikawa can breathe. For two, for three, for infinity, there’s this roasting heat that scalds his insides from the center outward. He and Iwaizumi are touching head to toe, pressed together as they always were meant to be, familiarity molding beautifully with the newness of lips to lips, of tasting Iwaizumi’s soft sigh on his tongue, of being led to the bed and guided to lie down, mouths never parting. 

They end fully prone atop the blanket, Oikawa ready to die happy with a front full of Iwaizumi, his entire presence all-encompassing, grounding him like nothing else ever could, when they both giggle a little breathlessly. 

“God, it’s really you,” Iwaizumi breathes, and there’s a joy in it that makes Oikawa want to cry. 

He yanks him back down instead. 

With more fervor, Oikawa kisses Iwaizumi, kisses him like his life depends on it. He opens up fast, nibbling at his bottom lip, swallowing the gorgeous groan that it draws out. Hands unsure where to go, what to touch first, Oikawa drags his nails down Iwaizumi’s back gently, slips under the fabric and hesitating, unsure if he wants to push up or down, feel those back muscles or—

Iwaizumi licks a stripe over Oikawa’s lips as his hand climbs up his side, skin-to-skin, and he should be ashamed of the moan it tears from him. Mouths properly open to do so, they come together, tongues meeting like a dance, and it feels as if the world disappears for a split second. 

Oikawa clutches harder, wanting to feel skin, but finds a teeshirt back under his palms, a furious distraction from how weightless he feels in this moment, pressed against some hard surface, a tentative tongue chasing his that…isn’t the same one he tasted just seconds ago.

He freezes, eyes flying open.

Bokuto is holding him like he’s nothing, pressing him against Iwaizumi’s bedroom wall, both hands on the underside of his thighs, tongue in his mouth. 

Pulling back, dazed and utterly lost, all Oikawa can think to say in his own voice is, “So you did take notes.”

Bokuto’s eyes pop open and go as wide as dinner plates. “Wh— Akaashi…?”

“Uh…no.”

For a longer moment than necessary, they stare at each other, blinking. 

Bokuto snaps out of it first, and he screams, which causes Oikawa to scream, which furthermore turns into a yelp as he’s unceremoniously dropped onto the floor. 

“You— he— what the—” Bokuto isn’t even breathing. 

Oikawa nods, but a smile is taking him over as he finds his feet. “Bokuto, it worked.”

“It did?”

“Yeah.”

“Holy crap.”

Chapter Text

The sun is about to start dipping into late afternoon when Akaashi steps onto the station platform. He has the bag Oikawa packed for him over his shoulder and he’s in his own body again, the air is crisp if cold, and their train is due to arrive any minute. 

“You guys sure you want to leave this late?” Iwaizumi asks for about the sixth time. “It’s really not a big deal to stay.”

“Thank you, but I’d rather sleep in my own bed if I can.”

“Still, though. Be careful, you hear?”

The smile that finds Akaashi is easy. “Of course, Iwaizumi-san.”

Oikawa pouts. “Oh, stop being so formal with us, will you, Akaashi-kun? We literally lived each other’s lives. You kissed my boyfriend!”

“All the same—”

“Twice!”

“Oikawa-san, you kissed mine twice, as well.”

“Details.” He waves the hand that isn’t holding Iwaizumi’s dismissively. “Regardless, we’re friends whether you like it or not.” 

“He’s sort of right, you know,” Bokuto comments. 

Releasing each other, Iwaizumi and Oikawa step closer to Akaashi and Bokuto. Oikawa grabs Akaashi to pull him into a tight hug. “Thank you,” he whispers. 

“For what?” 

“You’re the sole reason I get to kiss Iwa-chan whenever I want.”

“I also got your kouhai mostly in line.”

“You’re welcome for getting Kanada off your ass.”

Clinging to Oikawa’s sweater a little tighter, Akaashi says, very honestly, “I do thank you for that. Not how I’d do it—”

“You’d’ve just taken the abuse, you loser.”

“—but I do appreciate your care.”

Oikawa pulls back to hold Akaashi by the shoulders. “Text me sometimes, you hear? Actually, I’ll just bother you; I’ll do all the work.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” And with an annoying ruffling of Akaashi’s hair, Oikawa winks, turns to where Bokuto and Iwaizumi are shaking hands like American businessmen. 

Iwaizumi essentially swaps places with Oikawa, who is throwing himself into Bokuto’s arms, and grabs Akaashi by the shoulders. It’s reminiscent in energy to how he held who he thought was Oikawa, but there’s a ruggedness to it that makes it more friendly, more out-loud. 

Akaashi is grinning without meaning to. “Thank you for helping me.”

“Dude, thank you for helping me.”

“But I didn’t do anything.”

“Akaashi?”

“Yeah?”

“Give yourself more credit, will you?”

That hits Akaashi. He doesn’t know what to say, isn’t sure what to do. The best he manages is taking a soft three-fingers-full of Iwaizumi’s shirt hem, look into those dark eyes without flinching. “I’ll try. Thank you for…everything.”

“Literally, Akaashi? Anytime.”

Emotion lumps hard in his throat, but Akaashi keeps his face neutral as he and Bokuto disentangle from Iwaizumi and Oikawa, as Bokuto slips his fingers between Akaashi’s, as Oikawa grabs hold of Iwaizumi. Bokuto is a beautiful sort of shameless, and he brings Akaashi’s knuckles to his lips, kissing them reverently. 

“Let’s go home, huh?”

Akaashi is the one that leads them into the train, finds their seat by a window not far from the door. He sits them side by side, and he looks over Bokuto and out the window, watches with less discomfort and more warm fondness as Iwaizumi and Oikawa cling to each other, trying to both watch the train as it loads and be involved in the other, hands on the other’s jaw, eyes for no one but each other. It’s less weird than it is sweet, a new sensation for Akaashi, who doesn’t even bat an eye as Bokuto takes his entire face in both of his hands, looks him in the eye with that piercing, knowing gaze. 

“I’m so glad you’re back,” Bokuto says, right before he kisses him in the middle of a nearly-full train to Tokyo. 

And Akaashi can’t bring himself to care. He kisses Bokuto back, breathes steady, relishes in how his body is his own, and hopes, prays, feels how things are right again, how the universe is as it’s meant to be, that things are exactly the way it’s supposed to be, that the future is right and bright, something to look forward to.