Chapter Text
The bell tinkles warmly as Akaashi Keiji steps into The Sleepless Crow, surveying the coffee shop. It's a little larger than he expects, but comforting and homey all the same. A different tinkling grabs his attention, and Keiji looks around for the source. He finds it in the form of a young man standing in a puddle of steaming tea and the ceramic remains of what was probably a mug.
His line of sight would probably be drawn to the stranger regardless - with his spiky black and grey hair, incredible physique, and the loud gibberish he’s babbling to his friend - but what draws Keiji in the most is the fact that the stranger keeps sneaking looks back at him. It’s only after they accidentally lock gazes for a second too long that Keiji glances away, cheeks heating faintly.
Keiji deliberately keeps his eyes from straying towards the stranger’s table and surveys the rest of the cafe. His project partner isn’t anywhere to be seen. Keiji’s eyebrows crease slightly as he looks down at his watch. It’s a couple minutes past three and Keiji’s sure they said they’d meet on the hour. His project partner doesn’t seem like the type to be late either. His eyes wander to the menu proudly proclaiming the value and quality of the refreshments served at The Sleepless Crow, which banishes any thought he might have entertained that he had gone to the wrong coffee shop.
Officially out of ideas, Keiji decides to wait it out and goes up to the counter to buy himself a drink.
---
Bokuto Koutarou doesn’t notice the table rattling until Kuroo slaps his thigh, leaving it red and stinging underneath his shorts.
“I’m sorry!” he groans, sliding his hands down his face. “I don’t even realize I’m doing it!”
“Bo, I’m gonna lose my mind if you don’t stop,” Kuroo grumbles, “so start realizing please.” Across the table from them, Kenma looks up at them from between his hair.
“If you need a distraction you can always buy me a drink,” he says. Koutarou pats down his pockets only to find them void of his wallet or any spare change. He tries to think about where he last had it, and comes up blank.
“Dude, I think someone stole my wallet,” he says.
“Unlikely,” Kuroo says, as Kenma hums noncommittally, “because I saw it on the kitchen counter before we left today.” Koutarou grimaces, trying to remember, and then shrugs it off.
“Looks like you’re out of luck,” he stage whispers to Kenma. Kuroo rolls his eyes and fishes in his pocket for money.
“I’m adding this to your tab,” he says to Koutarou as he hands it over.
“What about Kenma’s tab?” Koutarou whines. Kenma looks up briefly at the mention of his name while Kuroo shrugs. Koutarou glares at him, and then stomps toward the counter.
“What about Kenma’s tab?” he mocks himself. “Of course Kenma doesn’t have a tab, he’s only been in love with him since the third grade.” The nearly bald guy at the counter gives him a funny look which Koutarou ignores and places their orders - a sweetened green tea for Kenma, a black coffee with cream for Kuroo, and hot chocolate for Koutarou. He pockets the change because screw you, Kuroo, and heads over to collect the drinks.
“Something on your mind, Bokuto-san?”
Koutarou blinks and looks over the counter at the barista, who doesn’t even seem to be paying attention to what his practiced hands are doing. He sighs, slumping over the counter with his head on his arms after recognizing Sugawara. He heaves another sigh.
“Don’t be dramatic, Bokuto,” Suga chides. “I know you’re only doing this to weasel a free muffin out of me.”
“Will it work?” Koutarou peers hopefully up from underneath his eyelashes.
“Maybe,” Suga says, a twinkle in his eye. “But only if you actually tell me what’s wrong.” Koutarou bites back another sigh as he rubs his eyes and unfolds himself off the counter.
“Everyone’s falling in love except for me,” he says seriously, looking deep into Suga’s eyes. Suga manages to keep a straight face but his eyes twinkle with mirth.
“I’m serious!” Koutarou wails. “Everyone’s in love around me - it feels like I’m gonna be lonely forever.”
“And what makes you think that?”
“Look at them,” Koutarou says, gesturing wildly over his shoulder. Suga stands up on his toes as he peers over toward what Koutarou assumes is the disgustingly cute couple that Kenma and Kuroo make.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Suga says, blinking. Bokuto frowns, and whips around to look at his friends - just as Kuroo brushes a stray hair off Kenma’s cheek, and the latter smiles up at him, a disgustingly fond look on both of their faces.
“You set me up!” Koutarou howls, whipping back around to Suga’s distractingly innocent smile.
“I did no such thing,” Suga insists. Koutarou just mumbles incoherently, slumping over again as Suga slides the finished drinks over to him. “I’m sorry, what was that Bokuto?”
“I said,” Koutarou grumbles, “just because you’re blind to how disgusting people are in love doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”
“I am not blind to people in love!”
“Why don’t you ask Sawamura if you are?” Koutarou snickers. Sugawara glares at him.
“You just lost your muffin privileges.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“...”
Suga sighs and slides over the muffin, along with the drinks Koutarou actually paid for.
“You’re the best, Suga,” Koutarou grins, looping his fingers through all three handles of the mugs, lifting them carefully up with his right hand as he grabs the muffin with his left.
“Don’t break those,” Suga says sternly, nodding to the precarious grip Bokuto has. But he smiles nonetheless as Koutarou waltzes away feeling victorious.
“Took you long enough,” Kuroo huffs, as Koutarou maneuvers his way back to their table. “It’s past three - he’s gonna be here any second.” The muffin plate clatters onto the table. Koutarou can feel Sugawara glaring daggers into his back as he remembers why he was so jittery in the first place.
“Oh for goodness’ sake, Bo-” Kuroo snatches two of the mugs from his grip before he drops something else. “He’s just Kenma’s lab partner. You volunteered for this.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a lot different when you realize you actually have to meet the guy who’s gonna be psychoanalyzing you for the next three weeks!” Koutarou snaps back.
“Speak of the devil,” Kenma says softly.
Koutarou turns as the bell above the door chimes, signalling the arrival of a new patron. He’s tall and lean and lithe - like a runner, or a gymnast. Artfully tousled hair ruffles as he runs his hands through it, and Koutarou can’t help but think I want those hands on me.
The mug shatters on the floor and belatedly, Koutarou realizes he dropped Kenma’s tea. He’s dimly aware of Kuroo in the background -
“Damnit Bokuto!”
- but he’s too busy staring at the impassive face of the god in human form who decided to grace them all with his presence today. For a moment, their eyes connect, then Koutarou looks wildly away.
“Whossat,” he gulps, wheeling to face his friends. Kenma has an uncharacteristic smirk on his face.
“That, Koutarou, is Akaashi Keiji,” he says.