Chapter Text
Before this, Keiji had only interacted with Bokuto Koutarou that one singular time.
It had been early autumn, a few leaves were still holding on to being green while some yellow ones were already drifting through the air, and Keiji had been sitting on a bench, reading his worn copy of God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater. Then suddenly, the sun that had been keeping him warm was obscured and Keiji looked up to see who had walked over to him. The answer gave him butterflies.
Bokuto was wearing a stark white hoodie with the sleeves rolled up and a bright smile that rivaled that autumn sun. Rivaled it and won, if you asked Keiji, but he was a bit in love with this boy he’d never spoken to before, so perhaps that disqualified his opinion.
”You’re Konoha’s friend, right? Akaashi Keiji?”
Bokuto Koutarou knows who I am? Knows my name? Keiji’s brain snagged on these new, earth-shattering facts and failed to get around to actually answering the question.
In his silence, Bokuto swooped down to join him on the bench. Keiji had only ever seen him move with confidence and ease and this was no exception. When Bokuto did it, the simple action of sitting down seemed as if it was…inevitable, as if it was predestined and had been sanctioned by some deity.
This boy who Keiji had spent too much time contemplating nudged him with an elbow and teased, ”Unless he was lying to me?”
Despite Bokuto Koutarou just having touched him for the first time—or perhaps it wasn’t really touching since there were four layers of clothing between them, or even five, in case Bokuto was wearing a long sleeved shirt beneath the hoodie—Keiji’s brain kicked back into gear and he answered, ”He wasn’t. Yes, that’s me.” Politely, he inclined his head.
”Cool!” Bokuto grinned at him. ”I’m Bokuto Koutarou.”
”I know,” Keiji said, and felt a not-often-felt urge to facepalm. ”I mean, it’s nice to meet you.”
”You too, I…I’ve seen you at our games, so you know I play volleyball, right? Konoha told me you used to play, too, in high school?” He gave Keiji another playful nudge. ”Course, he could have been lying.”
”I did play,” Keiji confirmed. Not wanting to be boring, he thought he should add something. ”I played setter.”
”I’d bet your sets were super great.”
Keiji couldn’t help but chuckle. This was all so unexpected. ”Super great?”
”Yeah,” Bokuto said, making eye contact, and making Keiji’s heart skip a beat. ”But literature’s your major now, though, right? So, I’d bet you love books a lot?” He tapped twice on the cover of Mr. Rosewater. ”What’s this one?”
They spoke for a long time. Keiji certainly hadn’t taken Bokuto for an attentive listener, but he’d underestimated him. This boisterous athlete seemed content to let Keiji ramble on without end and whenever he did trail off, he’d offer an encouraging nod or prompt him with a question.
By the time Bokuto got up and grabbed his duffel bag to head to practice, Keiji had told him practically the entire plot of the book; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d talked so much.
Feeling awkward just sitting there looking up at the other boy, he stood up as well. ”Good luck at practice,” he said, fiddling with the belt loop at his hip.
”Thanks!” Bokuto beamed at him as he slung the bag over his shoulder. ”We have a game on Saturday. Uh…will you come?”
Keiji had already told Konoha he would and marked it down in his calendar, so he nodded. ”I will.”
”Sweet.” Bokuto shot him another smile, but it was a more subdued one this time. A sunset smile instead of a smile like high noon.
They said their goodbyes and once alone again, Keiji sat back down on the bench and felt dazed, as if he’d returned from a trip to an upside-down world.
The next day, he confronted Konoha about it, leaning across the cafeteria table and keeping his voice down.
”You talked to Bokuto Koutarou about me?”
It was unthinkable. Unless it was for a practical purpose, Keiji had a hard time wrapping his head around people as much as thinking about him when he wasn’t around. Let alone talking about him! Perhaps his mother and sister would gossip about his dating life behind his back, but for Konoha and Bokuto Koutarou to discuss him? Unthinkable.
”…Yeah?” Konoha answered, before he had quite finished chewing. ”You came to a game, and he asked who you were, after.”
”And you told him what my major is?” Keiji said in an impressively normal voice, considering he had just found out that Bokuto had apparently asked Konoha about him!!
”Yeah? He asked. Look, yesterday he asked what I thought the ideal size of a piggy bank was. It’s really random with him, Kaashi.” Konoha took a sip of his soda and added, in an offhanded manner, ”He asked where you got the scar on your hand, too.”
At that, Keiji dropped the conversation. Continuing it without revealing his fixation with the captain of the volleyball team would not be possible. His head spun, and continued to spin.
For days, he hardly thought of anything but how the handsome boy he had liked from afar suddenly had gotten close enough to touch and had listened so intently to him speak about his favorite book. He thought about how much longer it was until the next volleyball game… He thought about if maybe they’d end up talking again there…
Until suddenly, the other shoe dropped, and abruptly, he wasn’t allowed to focus on something as silly as a crush anymore. In all the months since then, he hadn’t been to a single game…
Now, Keiji remembered that first encounter while lying in an unfamiliar bed, surrounded by evidence of there having been a second one. There was the bedroom with a shelf full of signed volleyballs and an owl calendar, the incriminating mess of the bedsheets, the dark kiss marks trailing down Keiji’s chest…and the weighty arm slung across his abdomen.
Bokuto’s hair fell into his eyes and half his face was smushed against the pillow as he breathed slow and deep, each exhale falling onto Keiji’s shoulder. There wasn’t a trace of tension on his very handsome face and he looked to be sleeping away, dreaming peaceful dreams or not dreaming at all. Out of him and Keiji, in sleep, he turned out to be the calm one.
In these months between encounter one and encounter two, Keiji had hardly caught of glimpse of Bokuto—the campus was large and he didn’t have the time to go to volleyball games anymore—and on the few occasions where they had run across each other, when Keiji had thought Bokuto might come up to him again, he hadn’t.
And yet, a few fateful coincidences and they’d ended up like this…
It had started with Konoha ending things with the girl he’d been seeing. Keiji was behind on everything from his reviews to his essays and couldn’t afford to lose a night of studying, but empathizing with the dreadful awkwardness of breaking up with someone, he’d offered to take Konoha to a bar.
But Konoha wanted to go to a club. To be a supportive friend, Keiji had acquiesced, but when they found Watari there, intermittently lit up by strobe lights, it felt as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. With Watari willing to take over the friend-duties, Keiji could easefully finish his glass of wine and then head home early. He’d even have time to work on his essay a bit, while somewhat inebriated—he would never deliberately drink before studying, but on the occasions where it had turned out that way by happenstance, the results hadn’t been so bad.
Just as he was about to leave, his phone started blaring—a call from his sister. He couldn’t reject it. Phone in one hand and wine glass in the other, he elbowed his way through the crowd to somewhere secluded enough for him to make out her words. After getting through the call, he felt deeply ready to go home.
He turned around to shove his way to the exit and raised his glass to down the remainder of his drink on the way. Only, the wine didn’t make it to his lips…
The glass collided with a broad, firm chest and the wine spilled crimson all over a white dress shirt. And not just anybody’s white dress shirt. Not just anyone’s gorgeous chest.
”Whoa,” said Bokuto Koutarou.
Keiji stared up at him with wide eyes.
”Akaashi?” Bokuto’s initial stunned expression gave way to a wide grin. ”Hey!”
Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the way Bokuto had his sleeves rolled up, but for some reason Keiji’s instinctive reaction was to grab him by his warm, strong wrist and pull him over to the bar, where he grabbed copious amounts of napkins and began to press them into Bokuto’s hands.
”I apologize,” he said, finally finding his words. It began to sink in just how embarrassing this was, as well as what a bother it would be for Bokuto. ”I’ll reimburse you for your shirt.”
”No way,” said Bokuto, casually dabbing away at his shirt with the napkins. ”Don’t worry about it.”
”I insist,” said Keiji, chewing on his lip.
”Then I insist, too,” Bokuto countered. ”And since you did spill your drink on me, you kinda owe me, so I win.”
There wasn’t a trace of how Keiji had inconvenienced him on his face, just a toned-down (for him) smile that reached his eyes. Dream guy, Keiji’s mind supplied. If someone had spilled their drink on Keiji, of course he’d be polite about it too, but could he really keep even a hint of irritation from showing? That seemed quite difficult. Unless the one who did the spilling was Bokuto—in which case, Keiji wouldn’t mind at all.
Bokuto can make a ruin of my clothes anytime, he thought, and blamed it firmly on the alcohol.
”You’re very kind, Bokuto-san,” he said.
Still with a smile, Bokuto deposited the red-stained napkins onto the counter. ”All gone?” he asked, gesturing broadly to himself.
There was, of course, still a massive stain on the previously pristine white shirt, and the wet fabric stuck to his muscular chest. As well, a few droplets of wine clung to his chin and neck.
Indicating their locations, Keiji said, ”You have a few drops here.”
With a wine stained napkin, Bokuto dabbed at his cutting jawline, but failed to catch all the stragglers. Taking the paper out of his hand, Keiji found a still clean part of it and carefully wiped those drops away one by one. Because he wanted to help! Not because his intoxicated mind was in gutter, and wouldn’t stop imagining Bokuto ruining his clothes.
Drop by drop…
This was when their eyes met—and lingered.
Bokuto had very, very beautiful eyes. They were large and they were liquid gold, but more than these obviously striking characteristics, the most enrapturing quality they held was their intensity. Keiji could feel his heart beat and the blood coursing through his veins. With those eyes on him, he felt alive.
”You’re so nice, Akaashi,” Bokuto said, maintaining that dizzying eye contact. He lifted his hand to wrap around Keiji’s wrist where he was still holding the napkin against his chin, frozen in position, and rubbed his thumb in a tingling circle.
”It was my mistake,” Keiji mumbled.
”What was that?” Bokuto leaned down until their lips were inches apart. ”I couldn’t hear.”
Keiji didn’t repeat himself. Instead, he closed his eyes and waited to be kissed.
He’d never had a hookup like this before, but for Bokuto Koutarou he had made an exception. Just watching him play volleyball made Keiji feel like he was basking in starlight, so of course he wanted to be close like this, to bask in the young man so intimately, so carnally, in scorching heat.
The sex had been…very good. Bokuto had made him forget everything about himself and Keiji had liked that very much. As for his part, he felt he hadn’t contributed much except for being embarrassingly, obviously into it. Bokuto had done practically all the work, but he hadn’t seemed to mind, as he poured endless amounts of enthusiasm and stamina into their love making.
When it was over, he’d even cuddled up to Keiji’s back and whispered, ”I knew you’d be the best,” which had prompted Keiji to roll over, bury his hands in his hair, and kiss him very needily.
But although that had been a very sweet thing to say, Keiji knew not to take it to heart. Most likely, those had just been random words the slipped out after sex. Perhaps saying such things was even basic hookup etiquette. Keiji had to remind himself that he didn’t have any experience with these things and that that’s what they’d done. They’d hooked up, not made love, he belatedly corrected himself.
For an hour, Keiji lay there and relived last night, stole glances at the sleeping boy next to him and took in Bokuto’s bedroom—he had a haphazardly stacked pile of books on his desk and Keiji was curious what they were, but the spines weren’t facing him. By the time Bokuto woke up, the digital alarm clock read 12:08.
At first, he blinked his bleary, beautiful eyes in confusion, but only a second later he was smiling and pulling Keiji in for a deep kiss. ”Mornin’,” he murmured, sleep having turned his deep voice raspy.
”Good morning,” Keiji reciprocated, his own voice breathless from the kiss.
”Last night was awesome, right?” Bokuto inquired as he carded through Keiji’s hair.
”…Yes.”
”You enjoyed it?”
”Mm-hm,” Keiji agreed, and the sound quickly turned into a low moan when Bokuto bent his head to kiss and suck on his neck.
”I could tell.”
And Keiji could tell he was grinning against his skin.
But he didn’t mind the confidence. Credit where credit is due, and all. Besides, he’d been half-worrying, half-expecting Bokuto to usher him to leave as soon as they woke up, or at least that the atmosphere between them would be strained and they’d have nothing to say to each other. This was infinitely more preferable.
In the end, though, they still didn’t end up saying much to each other—but it wasn’t due to any awkwardness…
They did it again.
Bokuto’s bedroom was bright with sunlight, this time, and after, they did it in the shower. By the time Keiji was leaving, standing in the hallway with his hair blow-dried and dressed back in his clothes from yesterday, they’d still barely communicated at all outside of Keiji’s moans and Bokuto’s dirty talk. But Keiji supposed this was appropriate for the situation.
Bokuto had offered him breakfast: ”I can’t cook, but I have bread and probably a topping for every day of the year, so we can definitely find something you like. Or, if you like traditional breakfast, there’s a place right at the end of the street—they’re great!—I can get you whatever you want and be back here in five minutes!”
But Keiji had declined: ”Your offer is very kind, Bokuto-san, but I’m afraid I can’t stay any longer as I have things I have to attend to this weekend.”
Now, he swallowed and said to Bokuto—who wore an unzipped hoodie with nothing underneath it, ”Okay, goodbye, then. Thank you,” and put his hand on the handle.
Just he started to scrunch his nose at having said thank you, Bokuto interrupted his embarrassment.
”Let me get that for you,” he said, covering Keiji’s hand on the handle and pulling the door back shut. With his other hand he cupped Keiji’d cheek and kissed him again. Heatedly.
When he pulled back, he smirked, and Keiji understood just how clouded over with dazed desire his eyes must look.
”Thanks,” Bokuto teased him and kissed his cheek.
Keiji felt very much swept off his feet and it took him a beat to remove his hands from Bokuto’s hot, bare chest and float back down to Earth.
When he did, he managed an unstable, ”Goodbye,” gazing up at Bokuto. Clearing his throat, he added, ”Bokuto-san.”
”I’ll drive you,” said Bokuto resolutely.
Twenty minutes later, Keiji’s door closed behind him and he leaned back heavily against it. Of course he regretted not having stayed longer. As long as he could. It was true he had a to-do list as long as Yangtze river, but this had been an opportunity to have breakfast with Bokuto Koutarou at three in the afternoon, his responsibilities hadn’t been the reason he gave that up.
He’d just been so mortifyingly unable to act normal, like he wasn’t completely infatuated, already. If he lingered any longer it felt like Bokuto would sit him down and spell out for him what exactly a hookup entailed. But, so what? Even if he’d ended up having to endure something crushing and embarrassing like that, it would have been more than worth it, but he’d given it up because he got scared. Keiji closed his eyes.
He’d done what he’d done. If he were ever lucky enough to get a second chance, he’d be sure to take it, but he held no such delusions.
It wasn’t that he thought Bokuto was out of his league—he knew many people were interested in him—but still, they were practically from different galaxies, weren’t they? Bokuto was so bright, brighter than the sun, and wildly alive, while Keiji felt like a husk of who he used to be on more days than not.
No, it was perfectly clear that he and Bokuto Koutarou were bound to walk different paths in this life, but for one night, those paths had crossed. Keiji would treasure the memories. He felt a bit foolish acknowledging just how much their heated encounter had meant to him, since he didn’t really know Bokuto, after all. But he felt like he did. Bokuto coaxed out the romantic in Keiji; made him think of past lives and kismet.
With a sigh, he pushed away from the door and made for the kitchen area of his small studio apartment. At this point, he really was starving. Wistfully, he chopped vegetables and absentmindedly, he fried them with rice. He had a bittersweet feeling, but he remembered to be very grateful.
He hadn’t expected to see Bokuto again only two days later.
Keiji was making his way from the cafeteria to Classic Literature 201 when he spotted Bokuto and two of his friends from the volleyball team walking in his direction and being very loud. Fortunately, Keiji was not loud, and thus much less conspicuous.
The standard code of conduct for a hookup was to ignore one another afterwards, right? Keiji couldn’t stand the idea of seeing Bokuto deliberately ignore him, so he had to find a way to not have them pass each other in this hallway. There weren’t any adjoining corridors he could flee into and if he turned around he wouldn’t have Bokuto in his field of vision anymore, so he’d lose all control over the situation. His eyes landed on a vending machine.
Excellent. Keiji steered his steps towards it, deliberately neither speeding up nor slowing down his pace. He put in the number for an iced coffee—some caffeine could never hurt—as Bokuto got closer and closer in his periphery. His fingers fumbled as he got his wallet out, but he managed, and the iced coffee got dropped, only…
Only it got stuck.
Damn it.
Bokuto was almost there, he couldn’t start banging on the machine now! He ended up giving it a frankly pitiful hit and it was needless to say that the iced coffee remained stuck.
Bang.
In the moment where Keiji had been focused on his unsuccessful attempt, someone had stepped up behind him and slammed a palm into the machine, dislodging the can.
Keiji recognized that hand, knew how it felt on him, and he’d been missing the scent that all of a sudden enveloped him.
”You’ve got to put your back into it,” Bokuto said.
He leaned down and picked up the can, handing it to Keiji.
”Thank you,” said Keiji, grateful that being polite came automatically to him, because he hadn’t been prepared for this.
”Next time, don’t bother with this one.” Bokuto leaned against the vending machine and gave it a pat. ”There’s a vending machine in building C, on the second floor by the blue windows. It has like five times as much stuff and it always works.”
Keiji’s lips twitched into a small smile. ”I’ll be sure to remember.”
Not quite knowing how to act with Bokuto’s golden gaze on him, he busied himself popping open the iced coffee and taking a small sip.
”Is it good?” asked Bokuto.
Keiji nodded, although he could barely taste it.
”That’s great.” Bokuto grinned at him. ”You look good too.”
It seemed the entirety of the hookup code of conduct Keiji had made up in his head, had only been that: made up. Bokuto certainly wasn’t adhering to it, and the fact made Keiji feel happy and nervous. ”Thank you, Bokuto-san,” he said. ”You do too.”
He really did. Now that Keiji knew what he felt like, Bokuto looked twice as enticing, and he’d already found him exceedingly handsome from the start.
”Oh, yeah?” Bokuto’s demeanor turned sunnier still at the compliment. ”You think so?”
”Mm.” Keiji felt his cheeks heat up.
Bokuto laughed. ”Thanks, Akaashi.”
He took his hand and placed it at the juncture of Keiji’s neck and squeezed, the tip of his finger slipping beneath the collar of his sweatshirt.
A shiver shot down Keiji’s spine. It didn’t take much, not with him.
Bokuto dropped his head forward, letting it be supported against the vending machine. He hadn’t been standing at an appropriate distance in the first place, but now the entirety of Keiji’s visual field was well and truly conquered.
”You know, you’ve a lock of hair that’s basically wound itself around the frame of your glasses.”
”I do?”
”Mm. It’s real cute. You’ve also got some coffee above your lip, which looks adorable too.”
Surrendering the battle against the blushing, Keiji pulled down the sleeve of his sweater and wiped at his upper lip. ”Did I get it?”
With a boyish grin, Bokuto said, ”You did. But you still look just as sexy.”
”Bokuto-san,” Keiji admonished, his gaze jerking to the side to check if anyone was close enough to hear. ”Keep your voice down.”
Chuckling, Bokuto answered, ”Got it,” in an exaggerated whisper. He turned to lean his back against the machine, giving Keiji some breathing room, but his next words, spoken under his breath, took no such considerations. ”Those jeans are sexy, too.”