Archive of Our Own

A heavy knock came from the front door at 5:53 PM; seven minutes earlier than when Bokuto told everyone to arrive.

He'd been pacing the living room for the past twenty minutes, alternating between excitement and mild panic. Snacks? Check. Extra blankets? Check. His mom's explicit threat about keeping the house intact? Double check.

The living room was ready; he'd cleared the coffee table, stacked the coasters within easy reach (his mom would kill him if there were water rings), and tested the TV three times to make sure it was working. The kitchen was loaded with enough food to feed a small army, which was perfect considering Fukuroudani’s appetite. 

Everything was just right.

"Your parents are really gone the whole weekend?" Konoha asked the moment Bokuto opened the door, not even bothering with a greeting. He dropped his duffel bag in the entryway, having zero regard for where it landed.

"Yup, they left this morning." Bokuto smiled, opening the door wider at the sight of his teammates. "Won't be back 'till Sunday night."

"Oh, we're gonna fuck this place up," Sarukui said cheerfully, stepping around Konoha to head toward the kitchen as if he’d been there a hundred times before.

Washio followed with apprehension as he removed his shoes and placed them neatly by the door. "Let's not. Some of us need our captain alive for nationals."

"I would like to keep my life, yes." Bokuto agreed, already feeling queasy at the thought of facing the wrath of his mother. 

Komi and Onaga arrived next. Komi was typing furiously on his phone and Onaga was carrying what appeared to be his belongings in a literal garbage bag. The black plastic caught the porch light, crinkling as Onaga shifted his grip.

"Dude," Konoha eyed the bag. "Did you seriously—"

"It's a heavy-duty one!" Onaga rushed to defend, tips of his ears going red. "And it fits more than a regular bag!"

"That's not the point. Your stuff is in an air-freshened garbage bag.”

The doorbell rang a moment later, cutting off their debate. Bokuto practically lunged for it, nearly tripping over Konoha's abandoned duffel. There was only one person on the team who would ring the doorbell instead of just walking in after knocking once.

There Akaashi stood, perfectly composed as always. The late afternoon light was fading into dusk behind him, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The light caught in his dark hair, and Bokuto forgot how to function for approximately three seconds.

"Hi!" Bokuto greeted, then immediately wanted to kick himself for how breathless he sounded.

"Hello," Akaashi said, with that particular tone of his that always made Bokuto feel like he was the only person in the world Akaashi was talking to. 

Stepping inside, Akaashi slipped off his shoes and placed them neatly beside Washio's. His overnight bag was compact and organized, a stark contrast to Konoha's exploding duffel or whatever the hell Onaga brought.

"You made it." Bokuto was acutely aware he was grinning like an idiot.

"I fear I wouldn't be a good vice-captain if I didn't show up for team bonding," Akaashi replied flatly, but there was the barest hint of amusement in his eyes.

Bokuto closed the door and turned to face the organized chaos of his teammates scattered throughout the entryway and living room. 

Everyone was present, minus the coaches and managers (who'd made it clear they'd rather eat a pair of jeans than spend a night with a group of teenage boys). Planning a day that worked for everyone had been harder than expected, between practice schedules, family obligations and part-time jobs, but they'd finally managed it.

"Okay, so," Bokuto announced over the chatter, reaching for Akaashi's bag without thinking. 

Akaashi, unsurprised, let his bag be taken without a fight. 

"House rules! Don’t break anything unless you want to see me get my ass beat into the ground by my mother." As he spoke, Bokuto carried Akaashi’s bag closer to the couch in the living room, handling it with much more care than he would his own belongings.

"Didn't she use to kickbox?" Komi asked, grinning as he dropped his own bag by the TV stand.

"Yes." Bokuto paused for emphasis. "So if you do break something, we all agree on a story."

"What kind of story?" Onaga asked, genuinely curious.

"Uh, I don't know. A freak earthquake? Spontaneous combustion? We'll workshop it if we need to." Bokuto waved his hand dismissively. "Point is, if I’m going down, you’re all going down with me."

"O’ Captain, My Captain," Konoha said, tone dripping with sarcasm. Then he leaned down and unzipped his bag, pulling out a six-pack of beer. The cans clinked together as he held them up like a trophy. "I brought provisions."

"Oh shit!" Sarukui crowed. "How'd you get that?"

"I told my brother I'd tell our mom about his vape collection if he didn't do me a favor." Konoha began passing the cans around. "Don't be a narc, Washio."

Washio accepted his can without comment, moving a coaster to set it on the coffee table. That was basically approval.

When Konoha held one out to Onaga, he waved him off. "Nah, I'm trying to quit."

The joke landed, causing a ripple of laughter through the room. Even Akaashi's mouth twitched upward at the corner. Bokuto found himself watching that almost-smile longer than he probably should have.

Komi took his can, then immediately squinted at the label. His face fell. "Aw, he got you the shit one."

"No way, really?" Konoha grabbed the box with betrayal written across his features. He held it up to the light as if that would somehow change what was printed there.

"Yeah, it tastes like piss." Regardless, Komi cracked open the can with a sharp hiss and took a swig. His face scrunched in immediate regret, nose wrinkling.

"You know what piss tastes like?" Akaashi asked, deadpan.

Bokuto snickered beside him. Komi shot them both a withering look.

"Alright, alright," Bokuto said, moving toward the kitchen. "Let's actually get some real food going. I've got like, everything." The others followed like a small parade, drawn by the promise of food.

‘Everything’ turned out to be a generous understatement.

The kitchen counter quickly became ground zero for chaos. Bokuto must’ve raided three different convenience stores from the amount of food that sat atop the kitchen island. Family-sized bags of chips, pizza rolls, frozen takoyaki, instant yakisoba, pocky sticks, mochi, ramune in various colors, and an entire shelf's worth of gummy candies sat in a deliberate spread.

The sheer volume of it was impressive, and a little concerning.

"Dude, holy shit," Sarukui said, grabbing the nearest bag of chips. "Are you trying to make me four-hundred kilos?"

"I'm trying to be a good host!" Bokuto defended, ripping open a bag of peach rings. "Besides, Konoha only brought piss beer, so I had to compensate." He ignored Konoha's sour expression and the middle finger he received in response. 

The kitchen descended into organized chaos. The group of boys worked with and around each other to grab and make what they wanted.

"What do we wanna do first, team?" Bokuto asked a little later, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of the microwave humming and Konoha arguing with Sarukui about the correct way to prepare instant noodles.

"Mario Kart," Komi said immediately, the game case suddenly materializing in his hand. "I brought it specifically to destroy all of you."

The migration from the kitchen to the living room happened in waves, each person carrying their own snacks of choice. Within minutes they had the Switch hooked up and the seating arrangement sorted itself naturally. Sarukui, Konoha and Onaga claimed the main couch, Washio settled into the armchair, and Komi constructed an elaborate nest of pillows on the floor.

That left the loveseat.

Bokuto tried not to look too eager as he dropped onto it, the cushions giving slightly under his weight. Akaashi followed a moment later, settling beside him with his usual grace. The loveseat was smaller, meant for two people who didn't mind being close. Their knees were almost touching, separated by just a few centimeters that felt both vast and nonexistent.

Bokuto was hyperaware of every small movement Akaashi made. If Akaashi was just as aware, he wasn't showing it. His expression remained neutral, focused on where Komi was navigating through the game menu.

“Wait, how many of us are there?” Onaga asked, holding up controllers.

“About six… seven–”

“Konoha, shut the fuck up.”

“I didn’t even— I’m being honest!” His giggle said otherwise.

“It’s okay, we can take turns.” Akaashi cut in over the squabble.

Konoha, Sarukui, Komi and Bokuto grabbed controllers with more aggression than what was necessary.

"I call Yoshi!" Bokuto announced, pressing ‘select’ before anyone else even had the chance to look at the characters.

"You always pick Yoshi," Akaashi observed, watching his teammates select their own characters with much more deliberation.

"Duh, because Yoshi's the best."

"Yoshi is mid-tier. At most."

Bokuto turned to look at him, appearing genuinely offended. "Don't ever say that to me again. He’s perfect and I won't hear otherwise."

They settled on Mario Circuit. Konoha shot off with a perfect boost, Sarukui right behind him. Komi was next, racing the kind of precision that suggested he'd been practicing. Bokuto was in seventh, which seemed to be the opposite of where he wanted to be.

"I'm conserving my items," he explained, even though no one had asked. He could feel Akaashi's side-eye. "Stop looking at me like that."

"Sorry." Akaashi said, halfheartedly. "All you ever do is play Mario Kart. Technically speaking, you should be in first place."

“Technically speaking, you should be nicer to me.” 

Their shoulders bumped as Bokuto leaned hard into a turn.

The final lap came down to Konoha and Sarukui. Both were leaning forward as if it would make their karts go faster.

"Move, move, move—" Sarukui chanted.

"Not happening!" Konoha crossed the finish line half a kart-length ahead.

"Fuck!" Sarukui threw his hands up, controller dangling from one wrist. "Fuck you and this godforsaken game.”

"And that," Konoha sat his controller down with exaggerated gentleness, "...is how it's done."

"That's one race. Best of three."

“Only losers say best of three. Loser.”

The controllers were passed around. The next race had Konoha (who used his first place win as an excuse to play again), Akaashi, Onaga, and Washio.

Rainbow Road loaded onto the screen in all its glittering, guardrail-less glory.

Konoha fell off the track within the first fifteen seconds. Washio took first place with calm inevitability. Onaga fell off twice. Akaashi remained steadily on the track until he was repeatedly hit with two red shells that sent him spinning off.

"What the fuck," Akaashi whispered, mostly to himself, causing Bokuto to chuckle beside him.

Second lap. Washio was still in first, untouchable. Onaga had clawed his way back to second through sheer determination and luck. Konoha was third, and Akaashi was fifth.

"Akaashi?" Washio suddenly asked, eyes remaining glued to the TV. "Our last practice match we played, do you remember the notes the girls took for us? I was trying to figure out—"

"Washio.” Akaashi interrupted sharply. “I don't care what you're saying. I'm losing."  

The room burst into laughter, only to grow louder when a heavyweight character slammed into Akaashi's kart and sent him off the edge. "I hate this game," he muttered, watching as Lakitu fished his character out of space.

Washio, unoffended, crossed the finish line first.

"When were we going to know that Washio's party trick is Mario Kart?" Onaga asked, setting his controller down.

"There's many things you don't know about me."

"Ew—,"

"Woah, woah," Komi interjected loudly, his phone suddenly in hand. "Sunbirds versus Wolfdogs started fifteen minutes ago."

Controllers clattered onto the coffee table. Snacks were grabbed and redistributed. Bodies rearranged themselves toward the TV. Seating arrangements became a careful game of Tetris. Everyone squeezed together on the main couch, some settling on the floor to sit between the legs of those above them. Akaashi settled between Bokuto and the armrest, vaguely aware of how heavy his eyelids had gotten. 

When the broadcast cut to the court, the room went quiet in the way it only ever did for volleyball.

The Sunbirds' server tossed the ball. The jump float dropped late, wobbling through the air with deceptive laziness. The ball arced high toward the setter.

"He's early," Bokuto murmured. "Already under it."

The back set came fast and tight. The outside hitter was already in the air, arm whipping forward. The ball screamed past the blockers.

"That timing—" Washio was already half out of his seat.

"The set forced the blocker inside," Akaashi added.

The Wolfdogs responded with raw power. Their server exploded upward, full approach, the kind of serve that was more weapon than technique.

"They want to isolate the setter." Sarukui muttered. 

The serve tore through the seam in the receive formation. The Sunbirds' libero threw himself sideways, catching it off-center. The ball popped up wild and spinning.

Everyone leaned forward.

The setter scrambled, flicked his wrist backward. The Wolfdogs' middle read it perfectly. Stuff block. Clean.

"Oof," Komi winced.

"One-man read," Akaashi said. His shoulder brushed Bokuto's. 

When the Sunbirds rotated back to serve, Akaashi's attention sharpened. 

The Sunbirds exploded into motion. The setter jumped, arms cocked high like he was going to dump it, then his wrists snapped right at the last possible second. The set fired out low and fast.

"Yes!" Bokuto hissed as the opposite met it at full extension. Clean and vicious.

"The setter froze the middle with his eyes," Akaashi said. "Looked dump, set quick."

Bokuto turned to him, bright-eyed. "You would've seen that."

"Probably. The shoulders gave it away."

"See? This is why—" A kernel of popcorn bounced off his head, interrupting him.

"Can you two stop flirting via tactical analysis," Komi said, still watching the TV. 

"We're studying," Bokuto protested.

"You're eye-fucking."

“Wha—”

"Serve," Washio cut in, voice low and tight. 

The broadcast cut to a wide shot. Set point. Wolfdogs up by one.

The server stood at the back line, bouncing the ball. Once. Twice. Then he wiped both palms down his jersey, a nervous action that Bokuto recognized immediately. 

Komi set his phone face-down.

The libero lunged, body fully extended, and barely got under it. The ball popped up wild, spinning, too far off the net. The setter was already sprinting. He dove, arm fully extended, and barely saved it.

Everyone held their breath.

The set floated high and ugly. The outside hitter looped back, adjusted mid-stride, and jumped from ten feet, rolling the ball just over the tape.

Bokuto's hand found Akaashi's knee, gripping tight.

The block was late. The ball hit the floor.

The room exploded.

Bokuto shot to his feet, both fists in the air. "Yes! That's it!"

"He made that! From there!" Konoha was already standing.

“That's knowing your setter'll touch the ball no matter what."

"The hitter never checked the block," Komi said, voice edged with awe. "He just went."

"He trusted the height," Akaashi said. "And the choice."

"That's what makes it work,” Bokuto dropped back beside him. “When you don't second-guess."

Akaashi glanced at him. 

They watched the rest of the match in quieter focus. Adjustments were made on screen. The Sunbirds tightened their serve receive, exploited late closes on the right side. Akaashi tracked it all through increasingly heavy eyelids, his commentary getting softer. Slower.

Three sets later, and it was over. Sunbirds win.

The screen went dark, and someone clicked off a lamp.

The energy in the room shifted from electric to drowsy, the kind of comfortable exhaustion that came after a long day of noise and movement and being surrounded by people. The post-match analysis had devolved into half-hearted arguments about whether the final set had been a comeback or a collapse, voices getting quieter, words starting to slur at the edges.

The house settled into the particular rhythm of people preparing for sleep. The bathroom saw a rotation of bodies; toothbrushes, face washing, and the sound of running water. Someone turned off the overhead light, leaving only the dim glow from the hallway. Sleeping bags unraveling. Someone's phone screen casting blue light across the ceiling before being turned face-down.

"Alright, I'm out." Sarukui said with a yawn, crawling into his sleeping bag.

Mumbled replies followed in agreement, everyone situating themselves for the night. The logistics of sleeping arrangements sorted themselves out with the usual combination of negotiation and mild threats. Most of the boys ended up on the floor, with gripes about Akaashi getting special treatment with his spot on the main couch despite the fact he never said he wouldn’t share. 

"If anyone wakes me before noon, it'll be the last thing you ever do." Konoha threatened from his spot on the floor, curling up under a blanket.

"Noted." Komi chuckled, laying near his pillow fort from earlier.

"Goodnight everyone!" Bokuto called from his place on the floor near the couch, just to earn a few, "shut up, Bokuto"'s in return.

Akaashi let himself sink deeper into the couch, pulling the blanket up to his chin. The fabric still held the faint scent of laundry detergent and something else. Something warm and faintly citrus, the smell of Bokuto’s house. Beyond the gentle hum of the fridge, a neighbor’s wind chimes tinkled outside, their notes thin and lonely in the night.

…he should probably mention the sleepwalking thing.

The thought drifted through his mind, important but distant. He'd been meaning to bring it up all evening. It would be the responsible thing to do, to warn his teammates about the possibility that he might get up in the middle of the night and do something strange or even potentially dangerous.

Three times in the past few weeks he'd woken up somewhere other than his bed. Once in the kitchen with no memory of getting there, once standing in front of the bathroom mirror with the tap running cold over his hands, and once unlocking the front door to his house, awoken by the cold rush of air when he opened it.

But the words felt stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth, trapped behind a wall of self-consciousness that he couldn't rationalize away.

His eyelids felt heavy, and his thoughts were syrupy and slow. 

It probably wouldn't even happen. His mother said it got worse when he was stressed, but he felt fine. The odds of it happening tonight were low.

Low enough that staying quiet felt justifiable.

Sleep took him under before he could reconsider.

Konoha wasn’t sure what it was exactly that woke him up, but something felt wrong.

Not dangerous wrong. Just... off. In that specific three-in-the-morning way that makes the back of your neck prickle even when you can't name why.

A soft shuffle reached him through the haze of sleep; the sound of bare feet on hardwood, slow and careful. Not the frantic chaos of Bokuto’s brilliant late night ideas, nor Komi's zombie-walk to the bathroom. This was something else.

Konoha cracked one eye open, then the other, letting the darkness resolve into familiar shapes.

His brain took a sluggish second to catch up, still half-submerged in whatever dream he'd been having. Bokuto's house. Sleepover. The living room floor covered in a constellation of sleeping bags. The couch where Akaashi had folded himself hours ago like origami.

There, just about where the living room meets the kitchen, someone was standing.

Konoha’s heart jumped. He stilled, his eyes adjusting just enough for him to realize it was his vice-captain.

Akaashi’s spine was straight as a pillar, head tilted at a slight angle like he was listening to something no one else could hear. The ambient glow from the street lamp outside caught the side of his face, painting him in shades of silver and shadow. His eyes were open, but they didn't focus on anything or blink with any normal rhythm. Just long, slow sweeps of his lashes like a doll's eyes closing and opening with a delay.

Konoha propped himself up on his elbows, suddenly queasy. “Akaashi?” he whispered, voice scratchy. “You okay?”

Only silence answered him. 

Before Konoha could decide whether to move or speak again, someone else jolted awake beside him with a sharp inhale that cut through the quiet.

"Woah," Bokuto mumbled, sitting bolt upright in his sleeping bag with enough force to make the fabric rustle loudly. His hair stuck out in every direction, looking even more ridiculous than normal. He squinted across the dim room, eyes adjusting. "What’s going… why is Akaashi standing like he's about to deliver a prophecy?"

Akaashi did not deliver a prophecy. He didn’t even acknowledge that anyone spoke.

"Dude," Konoha hissed. "I think something's wrong with him."

"Really? He's probably just…" Bokuto trailed off, frowning. "Actually, what is he doing?"

"He’s just… standing there."

"Menacingly," Bokuto squinted harder. “Hey, ‘Kaashi? You okay?” He called just a little louder. He wasn’t entirely worried just yet, remaining in the limbo between curiosity and concern. “Do you need something?”

Nothing.

The silence stretched.

Washio stirred in his sleeping bag then, one eye opening to assess the situation. Sarukui propped himself up on one elbow, hair mashed flat on one side. Komi rolled over with a groan, blinking blearily through the darkness.

"Why are we awake?" Komi mumbled, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.

"Akaashi's doing a bit," Bokuto responded, unhelpfully.

"He's not answering us," Konoha clarified, and the unease in his tone made everyone wake up a little faster. The air in the room felt different now, charged with odd tension.

Bokuto pushed himself up to stand, his blankets pooling around his feet. He moved closer with unusual caution, stopping just short of Akaashi's personal space. He was close enough to see the way Akaashi's chest rose and fell in even breaths, but also close enough to notice the complete absence of recognition in his face. His eyes were partially open, but they looked vacant.

"Keiji?" Bokuto tried again, softer this time.

Akaashi turned his head, smoothly, like he was underwater. His gaze slid past Bokuto's face, through him, tracking something that existed only in whatever dream he was currently in.

"Oh," Bokuto's voice lowered. "That's... kinda unsettling."

"Is he sleepwalking?" Sarukui asked, realization clicking into place. He moved to sit up fully now, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "My little sister does this, same exact look. Like the lights are on but no one's home."

Bokuto's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, that's a real thing? I thought that was just in movies?"

"Very real," Washio was more alert now, watching Akaashi with the same focused attention he usually reserved for analyzing opponents' blocking patterns. "And you shouldn't touch him. It can be disorienting if you wake them up suddenly."

Bokuto froze mid-reach, hands hovering awkwardly in the air. "Gotcha. No touching. Just... emotional support from a respectful distance." His arms dropped.

Komi leaned closer to Konoha. "Does he know we're here?”

"Probably not," Konoha murmured back.

Then suddenly, Akaashi started to walk. 

Not with any apparent urgency, just with that same quiet, dream-logic purpose. His feet whispered against the hardwood floor in a rhythm that was almost rhythmic, suggesting that he could see perfectly well despite being asleep.

"Okaaaay," Bokuto drawled, moving out of his way just to immediately fall into step beside him like a satellite locked into orbit. "House tour at 3 AM. Cool, cool, cool."

Everyone stood then (minus Onaga who remained blissfully asleep on the floor), and followed Akaashi into the kitchen. It was a bizarre procession of tired teenage boys following their unconscious setter like he was leading them on some kind of spiritual journey.

The refrigerator opened with a soft mechanical noise. White light flooded out, spilling across Akaashi’s face to illuminate his blank expression. He stared into the fridge’s interior for a long moment, as if contemplating the philosophical implications of leftover takeout boxes.

Behind him, stood his teammates in line, sharing looks of mild confusion.

“I feel like I’m witnessing something I shouldn’t be,” Konoha whispered, looking genuinely unnerved. His hand made its way into the pocket of his pajama bottoms.

“Don’t record this,” Washio admonished without looking away from Akaashi. “I’ll take your phone.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Konoha grumbled, but removed his hand from his pocket.

Akaashi, after apparently finding nothing of use, closed the refrigerator door. Then, pivoting to his left with odd precision, he began to walk again, nearly straight into Bokuto’s chest.

Bokuto stepped to the side on pure instinct, placing himself just enough in Akaashi’s path that the unconscious boy veered smoothly away without resistance. Bokuto moved with surprising grace for someone usually so hyperactive.

“Nice steering.” Komi whispered, grinning.

“I’m very good at being in the way.” Bokuto whispered back, refocusing on Akaashi. He moved to follow him, quickening his pace just enough to place himself in front. “Akaashi,” he prompted, voice casual as he walked backward to maintain a careful distance. “Whatcha up to? Midnight snack? Grocery inventory?"

"...looking." Akaashi replied, slowing to a stop. 

Bokuto froze. He hadn’t expected Akaashi to respond. His voice was so flat and distant it barely sounded like him at all.

"Looking for what?" Bokuto pressed gently, trying to follow the thread of Akaashi's dream.

“...the owl.”

Bokuto hesitated, looking over to his teammates who remained huddled together at a safe distance. Konoha and Komi looked mischievous, as if planning what else they’d tell Akaashi, while Washio and Sarukui still looked vaguely concerned.

Bokuto turned back. “What owl, Akaashi?”

“The owl.” Akaashi repeated, still in that distance monotone. But his eyebrows furrowed slightly, the first real expression Bokuto had seen. “...it flew away… can’t find it.”

Konoha placed a hand over his mouth, snickering. Beside him, Komi’s shoulders shook. Even Washio’s lips twitched upwards. But Bokuto didn’t laugh. Something in his face went unguarded in a way that made Konoha suddenly feel like he was intruding on something private after all.

“Understandable concern,” Bokuto replied casually, despite the circumstances that had his nerves going haywire. “But no owls have flown away, okay?”

“...Bokuto.”

Bokuto flinched at his name, peering closer at Akaashi’s face. To his dismay, no, Akaashi had not suddenly woken up. “Um... yeah, I’m still here too. I didn’t fly away either.”

Akaashi’s head turned toward him. His unfocused gaze seemed to land on his captain’s face, if only just for a moment. 

“...good.” He murmured, swaying.

“Dude,” Konoha frowned. “He likes you even when he’s unconscious."

“He’s asleep,” Washio corrected, but even he sounded less certain now.

Bokuto just shrugged, color rising in his cheeks. “A win is a win.”

They began to herd Akaashi gently back toward the living room, moving cohesively together. It was like escorting something fragile, ready to redirect him if he were to veer toward anything dangerous. Like the stairs leading to the basement.

But then Akaashi stopped near the couch, and ever so slowly, lifted his hands upwards. Fingers spread wide, wrists angled with perfect precision. An invisible ball cradled in his fingertips, sent arcing toward an invisible spiker with the same care and attention he brought to every set when he's awake. The muscle memory was so ingrained that even sleep couldn’t erase it.

Everyone watched as Akaashi acted out the motion of setting a volleyball, sharing looks of amusement.

“I feel like this just shows we play volleyball too much.” Sarukui said, humorously.

“Never too much volleyball,” Bokuto retorted softly, though he too was watching in wonder.

But then the moment was over. Akaashi’s arms dropped, and he began the slow trek back to the kitchen. Konoha opened his mouth, probably to make a quip about Akaashi's dedication, but a mumble from their setter cut him off. 

The words were too quiet to make out, just a low mumble.

“What was that?” Bokuto followed Akaashi a little closer, angling his head to try and catch the words.

“...they’re coming.” Came the ominous response.

The comedy of the situation drained away almost immediately. 

“Uh, who’s coming, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto asked nervously.

Akaashi didn’t respond, continuing to wander away from them until he came to a stop near the kitchen counter. A fruit bowl sat innocently atop it, filled with apples and oranges. Akaashi’s gaze appeared to be stuck to it, raising a hand slowly until it closed around an apple.

“...they’re coming.” He repeated.

Bokuto moved closer, drawn by something that pricked at the back of his neck like a warning. “Okay, Akaashi, let’s maybe—”

The apple left Akaashi’s hand with startling force.

Thunk.

It hit the wall hard enough to split the apple, pieces dropping to the hardwood floor with a wet sound. The impact echoed through the house like a gunshot. 

Silence.

“Holy shit,” Komi breathed, eyes wide. “That was—”

Another apple sailed through the air; Konoha ducked with a yelp.

“Evacuate! He’s armed!” Came Bokuto’s whisper-yell. He stepped in as Akaashi reached for another fruit, placing himself between the sleeping boy and the counter. He held his hands up placatingly, like he was approaching a wild animal. “Your kitchen privileges are officially revoked, buddy.”

An orange flew through the air anyway, slamming into the kitchen light switch near where Washio stood (or had stood, before he dodged away).

Click.

Bright light suddenly dropped over the kitchen. Everyone whined, throwing their hands up to shield their eyes from the sudden illumination.

“That was actually impressive.” Konoha said, squinting through his fingers. “Great accuracy. Terrible target selection.”

"Is he trying to kill us?" Komi asked, only half-joking.

Before their eyes could adjust, someone flicked the light off again, plunging the kitchen into darkness. 

“I don’t know, but we should hide anything sharp.” Bokuto said, subtly moving the fruit bowl out of Akaashi’s dazed reach. “Just in case.”

Though Bokuto hadn’t been entirely hasty in his suggestion, the boys moved faster now. Sharp objects disappeared into drawers, and throwable items were cleared from surfaces. Komi hid the TV remote and other items in the living room, and Washio relocated the knife block out of reach. Konoha held the top of a pot as a shield, and Sarukui made sure to stand in front of the silverware drawer.

Akaashi still seemed intent on defending himself against whoever was “coming”, hands lazily roaming the surface of the counters. He seemed confused by the absence of ammunition, his fingers flexing in the air as he searched. 

Until the crease between his brows disappeared and his hands dropped. 

He drifted away from the kitchen, satisfied with the mess he’d created.

The rest followed, quieter now. They were more aware that they were seeing something Akaashi would never show them while awake. This was an unguarded version of him, all his preoccupations laid bare in the strange logic of sleep.

But they didn’t notice Onaga until it was too late.

Not until Akaashi's foot caught on his outstretched arm, the sleeping first-year having rolled half out of his sleeping bag at some point during the chaos.

Akaashi stumbled, balance suddenly gone, arms reaching for purchase that wasn’t there.

Bokuto lunged, hand outstretched— too late.

Akaashi hit the floor with a heavy thud that sounded worse than it probably was. The impact was jarring enough to rattle the windows and to cause empty cans to wobble on the coffee table. 

His eyes snapped open immediately. The blankness was gone, replaced by focus and bewilderment.

“What… ?” He pushed himself up slightly, trying to reorient himself in the dark room. His gaze landed on Bokuto, whose hands were still outstretched. “Bokuto-san?” He sounded different now, more present.

A wave of relief settled over his teammates, signaled by sagging shoulders and collective exhales.

“You tripped,” Bokuto explained, dropping to his knees beside him. His hands remained hovering, as if wanting to touch but unsure if he should. “Are you okay? Anything hurt?”

“What do you mean I tripped?” Akaashi asked slowly, moving to sit properly. His eyes took in the dark room, and could spot oddities in the low light. The scattered fruit, the shifted furniture, the knife block sitting on top of the microwave, and his teammates all staring at him with varying expressions.

His eyes widened.

“Why is everyone awake?” Akaashi asked then, his tone bordering on accusatory and terror.

Everyone remained quiet, reluctant to explain.

After a moment, Washio sighed. “You were sleepwalking.”

Akaashi went very still. “Oh,” he mumbled, mortified. “Oh, no.” His hands lifted to cover his face, shoulders curling inward like he was trying to become smaller. “I'm so sorry. I should have—I meant to warn you, I just—I'm so sorry."

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Bokuto reassured quickly, placing a comforting hand on his back. “You didn’t break anything, and no one died. Pretty successful in my eyes.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is,” Akaashi grumbled into his palms.

“You threw fruit,” Konoha said flatly. “Nearly took my head off.”

“Washio too, but you hit the light switch with an orange instead.” Komi snickered. “Quite impressive.”

Akaashi made a sound similar to that of a dying animal.

“And you were looking for me,” Bokuto said softly, smiling. “You were worried I flew away.”

Akaashi peeked through his fingers, and even in the darkness Konoha could see the embarrassment on his face. “I hate this. I hate everything about this.”

“Don’t forget the sets he did, too.” Sarukui added, unhelpfully.

“Please. Stop talking.” Akaashi muttered, though there was no real heat in it.

“Alright, c’mon,” Bokuto stood and offered Akaashi his hand, palm up. “Couch, for real this time. No more adventures.”

Akaashi took it, letting himself be pulled up. He was a little unsteady, whether that be from sleep or embarrassment, it was hard to say. Their hands linger together for a beat longer than necessary, before Akaashi let go.

The team dispersed with mumbled goodnights and the rustling of sleeping bags being reclaimed. Konoha shot Akaashi one last amused look before burrowing back into his spot. Komi whispered something to Sarukui that earned a snort. Washio simply yawned once before lying back down.

Bokuto hovered as Akaashi settled back into his spot on the couch, pulling the blanket up. "You good?"

"Yes. Thank you, Bokuto-san."

With that, the house fell quiet again.

But Akaashi continued to stare at the ceiling, tracking the faint shadows cast by the streetlights outside. As much as he tried, his mind wouldn't settle. It kept replaying the mortifying moment of seeing his teammates' faces, the fruit scattered across the floor, and his own voice saying things he didn't remember. Not to mention the sets he'd performed in his sleep.

About fifteen minutes later, he sat up. He was purposely careful to remain quiet, but clearly he hadn’t been quiet enough.

"Woah, hey," Bokuto's gentle tone came immediately from the darkness, still alert despite the time in between. "It's sleep time, Keiji.”

"It's okay, Bokuto-san,” The use of his given name nearly had Akaashi blushing. “I'm awake."

“Oh.” Bokuto said, sounding almost embarrassed. “Everything okay?”

"Yes." Akaashi drew his knees up slightly, wrapping his arms around him. "I just—" He exhaled, the sound barely audible. "I can't stop thinking about it."

There was a pause, then the sound of Bokuto carefully extracting himself from his sleeping bag. "About what happened?"

"About how embarrassing it was." Akaashi's voice was barely above a whisper, but Bokuto could hear the frustration in his tone. "I woke everyone up. Made you all deal with... whatever that was."

"Akaashi." Bokuto's voice was soft but firm. The couch cushion dipped as he sat on the edge of it. "You weren't a burden."

Bokuto must be a mindreader, because that was exactly what Akaashi was describing himself as.

Akaashi turned his head slightly, just enough to see Bokuto's silhouette in the dim light filtering through the windows. He could make out the slope of his shoulders, the familiar shape of him, but not the details of his expression. Maybe that made it easier.

When Akaashi didn't respond, Bokuto continued. "We were worried, sure. But that's different from being burdened. You're always so... together, you know? Always thinking three steps ahead, always taking care of everyone else. It's okay not to be sometimes."

"I know. But I hate not being in control."

"I know. I don't like it either, actually." Bokuto was smiling, despite his words. "When I'm in a slump, or when I mess up during a game, I hate that feeling of everything slipping away from me. Like I can't trust myself." 

Akaashi turned to look at him more directly, surprised. Bokuto rarely talked about his dismal moments like this.

"But you're always there.” Bokuto said, softer. "You always know what to say. You know how to pull me back, how to make it better." He paused, and Akaashi could feel him gathering courage for the next words. "So if you need us to be there for you sometimes, that's what we're here for." Another pause, longer this time, weighted with something unspoken. "That's what I'm here for.”

Akaashi's throat felt tight. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, and feel the warmth from where their knees touched. “You said… I was looking for you?"

"Yeah," Bokuto's voice carried something tender, though there was humor in it as well, like he was trying to lighten the weight of the moment. "You were really worried about it, too. You thought I flew away, or something."

Akaashi frowned, more so at himself. "I don't remember it, but..." He trailed off, unsure how to articulate the feeling. His grip tightened on the fabric of his sleep pants. "Of course I was worried. You're—" He stopped, the words catching.

You're the reason I push myself.

You're the person I think about first.

You're everything.

"...you're important to me."

"You're important to me, too." Bokuto's reply came with little hesitation, but now he too sounded a little unsteady. In the darkness, Akaashi felt Bokuto's hand move, feeling the tentative brush of fingers against his own. 

Akaashi let his hand drop to the little space between them on the couch. 

Bokuto's hand found his immediately, fingers sliding between his own and squeezing gently. It was such a simple thing, holding hands in the dark, but it felt monumental. Like crossing a threshold they'd been standing at for months. Maybe longer.

"More than... just important,” Bokuto said then, sounding more confident with Akaashi’s hand in his. “Like, the most important."

Akaashi huffed a laugh. Not because the situation was funny, but because he knew he’d never understand Bokuto’s ability to simply speak his mind.

"Bokuto-san," he said slowly, barely audible. "You make everything make sense. You make me want to be better, not because I have to, but because I want to be someone worthy of setting for you. Of standing beside you."

Bokuto's thumb brushed over his knuckles. "Akaashi, you're already so much more than worthy. You're the best setter I've ever had, sure, but you're also just... you're you. And that's—" His voice broke, and he had to pause. "That's everything to me."

The silence that followed felt heavy with things unsaid, with words hovering just at the edge of confession. Akaashi could feel his pulse in his throat, could feel the warmth of Bokuto's hand in his, could feel the small space between them that again felt both like too much and not enough.

Akaashi realized suddenly he wanted to lean in. He wanted to see if Bokuto might meet him half way. 

But fear held him frozen. Fear of misreading this moment, of wanting too much, of ruining the most important relationship in his life by asking for more than was being offered.

"Bokuto-san," he whispered, and his voice shook. "I—"

"I know," Bokuto breathed, and somehow he seemed to understand what Akaashi couldn't say. "It’s okay. Me too."

Their hands tightened around each other, holding on like lifelines.

"Thank you," Akaashi said quietly, squeezing back. "For not making me feel worse about this. For being here."

"Always." Bokuto yawned, but didn't let go. Instead, he shifted, and Akaashi found himself adjusting to make room as Bokuto lay down on the couch, his head coming to rest near Akaashi's hip. Their hands remained linked, Bokuto's thumb tracing absent patterns against Akaashi's hand. "This okay?"

"Yes." Akaashi's free hand moved almost unconsciously to Bokuto's hair, fingers carding through it gently. The strands were surprisingly soft, still slightly mussed from sleep. Apparently the electrified look was natural. "This is okay."

Bokuto hummed contentedly, his body relaxing into the couch. Into Akaashi's touch. "You're not gonna have any more weird dreams, right?"

"I hope not." Akaashi's fingers continued their gentle movement through Bokuto's hair. "But if I do, at least I know you haven't flown away."

"And I won't." Bokuto's words were starting to slur with approaching sleep. "I'll always be right here."

Akaashi watched as Bokuto's breathing began to even out, his face relaxing. The hand holding his went slack but remained tangled with his, and Akaashi found he didn't ever want to let go.

"Goodnight, Bokuto-san," Akaashi whispered.

There was a soft mumble that might have been: "G'night, Keiji," and then Bokuto was truly asleep.

This time, when Akaashi closed his eyes, sleep came easier. The embarrassment was still there, tucked away to be processed later, but it was better now. Manageable.

Because Bokuto was here, and that made everything else feel a little less overwhelming.

The morning sun filtered through the windows. 

Washio woke up first; his internal clock was annoyingly reliable even on weekends. He blinked at the ceiling for a moment, disoriented by the unfamiliar surroundings, before remembering where he was.

He sat up carefully, trying not to disturb Komi whose legs had somehow ended atop Washio’s own.

The living room was a disaster: empty bottles, chip bags and blankets lay everywhere. Sleeping arrangements had shifted dramatically, each teammate of his having resulted in odd sleeping positions. Like Konoha laying starfished with every blanket of his throw off.

And on the couch— 

Washio stared.

Bokuto lay curled up on his side, head pillowed on the middle cushion of the couch with one of his legs hanging off the armrest. Akaashi was in a mirrored position, though curled up tighter, the side of Bokuto’s body being his pillow instead of an actual one.

Like they’d fallen asleep sitting up, and collapsed on top of one another.

But that wasn’t even the best part. Their hands had remained loosely intertwined throughout the night.

Washio searched for his phone to take a picture.

For blackmail purposes. Obviously.

"Dude," came a sudden voice. It was Sarukui, who was staring at the couch with undisguised glee. "Dude."

"I know."

"Do they… ?"

"I don't think they know they are."

Sarukui grinned, but in the way that meant he was up to no good. "Oh, this is gold." He began the search for his own phone.

"What's gold?" Onaga mumbled, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Then he paused to take in the room when his eyesight unblurred. “Holy hell, what happened last night?”

The other two exchanged glances.

“Nothing. Look,” Sarukui pointed.

Onaga looked. His eyes widened. "...oh my god."

"Right?"

"How long have they been like that?"

"All night, probably." Washio was still taking pictures from different angles. "They were the last ones awake."

"They're holding hands," Onaga whispered, like he was witnessing something sacred.

"I knew this was going to happen. I shoulda bet money on this.”  Sarukui grumbled, suddenly peeved.

"They're going to be embarrassed when they wake up," Komi interjected. He'd been awake for the last minute or so, just listening. "We should probably—"

"We should definitely not," Onaga interrupted. "We should let this play out naturally."

"You're evil."

"I'm a good friend. There's a difference."

Due to the chatter, Konoha stirred. He groaned, and sat up. His hair was sticking up like he was about to be struck by lightning. "...what time is it?"

"Eight-thirty," said Washio.

“What did I say about waking me before noon?”

“And let you miss this?” Sarukui said, pointing to the couch again.

Konoha turned to look. It took him a moment to process, but then he grinned. “Oh, that’s adorable.”

“I know, right?”

“There’s no way that’s platonic."

“Fellas, is it a crime to hold hands with your best friend?” Komi joked, an eyebrow raising.

Konoha leaned over to link his pinkie with Komi’s.

Komi wrenched his hand away. “Don’t touch me, Konoha.”

“Hater.”

“So… should we wake them?”

“No. Let’s stare at them until they wake up.”

“You’re fuckin’ weird, dude.”

Konoha leaned over to smack Sarukui, but Sarukui dodged out of his reach.

Onaga, who’d since noticed the knife block on top of the microwave, turned to the others. “So, what actually happened last night?”

The others turned to stare at him, again.

“Team bonding confidentiality.” Konoha said smugly. “Wake up next time someone steps on you.”

“What?” Onaga looked horrified. “Who stepped on me?”

“I wouldn’t say he stepped. It was more of a trip.”

“Who did?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,”

“WHO?”

“Exactly.”