Archive of Our Own ^beta

There’s something about the way the light filters through the leaves that fascinates Kuroo. He sits on the quad during his prep, one hand splayed over his biology textbook, the other digging through a bag of chips. The air is cooler, signalling the beginning of autumn and as he recites carbohydrate reactions in his head there’s a shadow that looms over him, effectively blocking out the light and the wonderful orange filter that Kuroo had been admiring.

He doesn’t even have to look up to know who it is. Instead, he pops a chip into his mouth. He chews it slowly and purposefully before he flips the page. “Get out of my way.”

There’s a laugh above him. Full. Loud. The figure moves away and Kuroo’s vision is filled with brilliant autumn: hues of red, orange and gold dancing along the light. A red jersey, Gold eyes.

A hand reaching down. A soul to love, someone to fall for.

Kuroo blinks as he stares up at Bokuto Koutarou, backlit by the sun. From this angle he looks like the sun, and Kuroo is Icarus, so near yet so far. Bokuto stares at him, that mischievous quirk in his mouth. Kuroo knows that mouth: he’s seen it grinning before a game, slanted down during a slump. He’s imagined kissing it, happy and carefree, imagined it trailing up his neck, soft whispers of passion.

“Are you ready?” Bokuto asks, and Kuroo feels his heart stutter. Suddenly he feels like he’s on the edge, wind whipping around him. Bokuto looks like he’s flying, arms extended like he’s about to set up a spike. The wind blows the leaves, making them shake. Kuroo’s mouth turns down.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Kuroo says, voice steady as it can be. His heart is stuttering a tap dance in his chest.

Bokuto’s head quirks and suddenly he feels like he’s a million miles away. Kuroo’s heart years for him, and as Bokuto laughs, offering him a hand up. Kuroo can feel Bokuto’s muscles through his jacket, can smell the subtle spice of his cologne. Like this, Bokuto is the sun, and Kuroo is the dreamer, wishing with every fibre in his body to jump up and cradle it. He almost does--almost presses his lips against the crook of Bokuto’s neck, almost lingers for too long. But Bokuto pulls away, too fast, too soon , eyes bright, mouth smiling.

Because Bokuto is the sun. And Kuroo is the dreamer.

And the dreamer is afraid to fall.

i.

Autumn is by far Kuroo’s favourite season.

And Kuroo’s worst.

As he walks to his dorm from his morning chemistry lab, he wraps his scarf tighter around his neck, sighing as the warmth seeps down to his shoulders. It’s chilly in the mornings, but smelling the crisp autumn air, and seeing the sun heat the red and orange hues of the leaves creates a sombre tone that Kuroo keeps for the rest of the day.

The wind blows, and the leaves rustle. A red maple leaf flies by his face, and he quickens his pace, dark shoes contrasting the pale sidewalk. The sun heats up his face, and he’s glad for the quick moment before it’s ruined by a body slamming into his, causing him to drop his textbook onto the ground.

Kuroo lets out a small, incoherent curse as he reaches down to pick up his textbook, and he lets out a huff as he stares at the pair of shoes that had caused him to drop it. Irritated, he looks up, squinting as he recognizes the dark hair, volleyball jacket, and the sweatpants that have an old high school insignia embroidered on its thigh.

“Sawamura,” he grumbles, standing up.

Sawamura Daichi sends Kuroo a grin as he tips down his head in acknowledgement. He’s swapped his usual ‘preppy college boy’ outfit for his usual workout clothes today, and Kuroo can’t help but feel like he looks more rugged, more real. He places his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth between the balls and the heels of his feet.

“What do you need?” Kuroo sighs, recognizing the petulant look on Sawamura’s face. He leans back, tucking his textbook under his arm. “You’re never near the science building, Sawamura. What do you need?”

Sawamura bites his lip before he closes his eyes and sighs. “We need another middle blocker for the next couple of tournaments. Kazehara injured his ankle and we need somebody to cover for him.”

Kuroo tilts his head, dark eyes regarding Sawamura. “What about your reserves?”

“I only have reserve setters, Kuroo.”

“So? They can play.”

“I-- We want you.”

“Why do you want me ?”

“Why are you so adamant on not participating?” Sawamura rolls his eyes. “Listen, you’re one of the best in this university. I can’t not ask you to be my wing spiker.”

Kuroo rolls his eyes as he sidesteps Sawamura and heads towards his dorm, walking at a much brisker pace than he’d originally been walking at. “I have too much on my plate right now, Sawamura.”

“Kuroo!” Kuroo hears the faint pitter-patter of Sawamura’s shoes against the pavement and stifles a sigh. “Please, I won’t ask for any more favours after this. I just really need a strong addition to the team. And I know that you signed up for the club in first year. Oikawa talks a lot about how much you want to play.”

Kuroo turns around, a deadpan expression on his face. At this point, Sawamura’s face is tinted slightly pink, and the vein on his forehead is popping. Kuroo raises an eyebrow. Sawamura never turns red unless he’s being forced to do something he doesn’t like, something against his will. Sawamura huffs as he pushes his hands into his pockets. “If this is about what happened between you and Boku--”

Kuroo lets out a strangled groan, interrupting him. The latter stares at Kuroo in affronted shock. Kuroo tilts his head back and looks up towards the sky. He sighs once, twice, before he looks back at Sawamura, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Fine.”

Sawamura raises his eyebrows in surprise before he grins. Running a hand through his hair, he shrugs. “Thanks, we really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kuroo says, running a hand through his hair, “but you owe me. Lunch for two weeks, and new volleyball gear. My kneepads are hidden with my high school disappointment.”

“I promise,” Sawamura laughs. “You can come in tomorrow at like three. Oikawa already told coach that you’d accept.”

Kuroo rolls his eyes, hands stuffing into his own pockets. The wind blows, and Kuroo can smell the thick spice of Bokuto’s cologne, can feel the man’s heavy yet reassuring presence beside him. Kuroo turns his head. Black meets gold.

Bokuto stands across the lawn. He’s walking out of the building, one hand running through his messy hair, the other wrapped around a girl. She’s small, tiny against Bokuto’s large frame. Kuroo feels searing pain in his chest, heat burning, filling him with rage. His eyes sting and he looks away. Sawamura’s eyes look from Kuroo’s to Bokuto’s and back again. He opens his mouth to say something, but Kuroo waves him off.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Kuroo says, forcing a smile onto his face. Sawamura looks like he wants to offer some sort of consolation, but Kuroo turns and walks away, refusing to look back.

Kuroo fights tears as he nearly sprints from the quad. He can’t help but see Bokuto’s smile, his eyes, his arm around the girl. Can’t help but remember the way she fit against his frame, the way she seemed to mould into him. As Kuroo reaches his dorm, he tries his best to keep his breaths even, but he gasps when he feels hot, heavy tears fall from his eyes.

Bokuto is the sun. Has always been, even in high school. Even when they were children, and he was the chubby kid who kept the snake away from the cat, the Asian who talked to foreigners in broken English and a happy smile. Bokuto is the sun, and Kuroo has always been the shadow, scared and uneager to meet the day.

As he recalls Bokuto and the girl, Kuroo knows it’ll never be a possibility between them, that the shadow and the light will never meet. For if they do, one must disappear.

When Kuroo enters his dorm room, he’s not surprised to find Oikawa on his couch, one hand furiously swinging the wii remote, the other holding his phone. When he takes sight of Kuroo, his eyes immediately widen and he hurries to pause his game. Beside him, Kenma looks up from his console, mouth pulling downwards at the sight of Kuroo’s red-rimmed eyes.

“I’ll get the tea ready,” Kenma murmurs, standing up. Kuroo and Oikawa watch him leave with silent eyes before Oikawa sighs and pats the space next to him sympathetically. Kuroo trudges, feet sliding against the carpet until he unceremoniously falls onto the couch. Oikawa’s hand immediate falls onto his hair, long fingers carding through the strands. Kuroo hums, head nestled soundly in Oikawa’s lap. They stay like that for a long moment until Kenma comes back, the fragrant scent of tea diffusing into the room.

Kuroo feels the weight of Kenma’s small frame as he leans against Kuroo’s legs. Popping an eye open, he watches as the smaller man sits on the floor, knees tucked to his chest and eyes glued onto the game in front of him. There’s another quiet moment before Kenma speaks up.

“Kuro? What’s wrong?”

Kuroo chooses this moment to turn his head, face burying into Oikawa’s thighs. He smells like chamomile and something stronger, more masculine. Iwaizumi. Kuroo groans. Oikawa’s hand returns to his head. “Tetsu-chan?”

“Nothing,” Kuroo mumbles, voice muffled through Oikawa’s thighs. He turns his head. “It’s autumn. I always get like this.”

“No, you don’t.” Oikawa sits up, forcing Kuroo’s head to lift from his lap. Kuroo braces himself onto his forearms and stares at Oikawa’s slightly red face. “That’s just an excuse. You love autumn. It’s the month of volleyball, the month of new beginnings, the month of black cats . Tetsu-chan, what’s wrong?” Kenma nudges his calf.

Kuroo shakes his head. “I want a pumpkin spice latte.” Kenma scrunches his nose.

“Has it really come to this?” Oikawa squats so he’s level with Kuroo. At a close-up view, Oikawa’s freckles are visible through the slight layer of foundation that he wears. Kuroo’s eyes trace them. He thinks of Icarus, thinks of the stars, thinks of the one thing he can never reach. “That you can’t even tell us what’s wrong?”

“Oikawa,” Kuroo huffs, rubbing his face with the heel of his hand. “It’s really--”

“If you say ‘nothing’ one more time,” Kenma warns, “I’m redacting your rights to Luna.”

Kuroo’s eyes widen. His eyes scan the room until he finds the aforementioned cat on the coffee table, licking her sleek fur. She makes eye contact with Kuroo, green eyes widening, and she mews before she hops off the table and scampers towards Kenma’s room. Kuroo turns to face him.

“Don’t you dare.”

Kenma says nothing. He stares, gold eyes boring into Kuroo’s.

Gold. White. Boku--

“I’m sorry,” Kuroo blurts. “I promised I wouldn't whine about it but it’s autumn and you know what happened last autumn.”

Oikawa’s eyes go through a myriad of expressions. Kuroo finds it hard to look away. One moment, his eyes reflect puzzlement, and the next they reflect anger, hard and devoid of warmth. Kuro recoils.

“It’s really not that big of a deal--”

“Of course it is,” Oikawa hisses, standing up. Kenma startles beside him, and buries his face into Kuroo’s calf. “After what he did to you--”

“ He didn’t do anything,” Kuroo interrupts, resting his head onto his bicep. “It was me and my stupid pining.”

“He still hurt you,” Oikawa murmurs. His hands come up to card through Kuroo’s hair and Kuroo hums at the motion. “I’m still sorry about that.”

“I know you are.” Kuro closes his eyes. “It’s not your fault. Never was.”

Oikawa says nothing, and Kuroo hums as his hand rests on the nape of his neck.

“It’s starting to get cold,” Bokuto marvels as he pulls his scarf tighter around his neck. Kuroo’s eyes catch the movement, catch the way that his muscles ripple through the thin sweater he has on. He has to rip his eyes away. Bokuto’s eyes flit from the sidewalk to Kuroo’s textbook. “Are you sure I’m not distracting you or anything?”

Kuroo shrugs, mouth sliding into a smirk. “Maybe.”

Bokuto stares at him, dumbfounded. Kuroo raises an eyebrow and Bokuto’s eyes clear, giving way to gold joy. Kuroo stares.

Bokuto laughs, lighthearted. “Bro, you can’t do that.”

“Can’t I?” Kuroo pushes his hands into his pockets.

“You can’t,” Bokuto groans, hand coming around Kuroo’s shoulders. Kuroo laughs, heart stuttering in his chest.

As they walk, the autumn wind swirls around them. A leaf gets stuck in Bokuto’s hair, and Kuroo sputters, hand coming up to pick the leaf out. As he does, Bokuto turns around, gold eyes softening. Kuroo feels his breath catch in his throat and he unconsciously leans in. Bokuto does too, for a moment before his eyes flash, molten lava sparking like a flame.

Bokuto pulls away, jaw set. “Don’t.”

Kuroo jerks, mouth pulling down. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what came over me.”

“It’s fine.” Bokuto’s voice is hard. Cold. Like the autumn is fading and the winter is approaching. The warmth that the leaves, the coffee, the hazy sun gives him dissipates, and he’s faced with the cold, hard feeling that Bokuto gives off. “Let’s go. I want you to meet someone.”

“Meet someone?” Kuroo purses his lips.

“Yeah.” Bokuto’s eyes gain some of that light again, but this time it’s colder, calculating. “Mari-chan. My girlfriend.”

Kuroo’s eyes widen. Hot wax feels like it’s dripping down his arms, painful, scalding.

Icarus falls.

It hurt. So much .

“As you can tell, we have a new member joining us.” Sawamura’s voice booms through the gym, filling the empty space. Kuroo grimaces from where he’s sitting on the floor. From all the stories that Tsukishima had told him about Sawamura’s leadership skills, he knows that the season won’t be particularly easy for him. Even from Sawamura just speaking, he can sense the leadership, one that Kuroo obviously never possessed in high school.

“Kuroo?” Sawamura’s voice jars him back to reality, and shakily, he stands up, desperately trying to ignore the stares that he receives. He's skinnier than he used to be, having stopped the sport in his first year of college; however, sparse visits to the gym have helped to maintain his figure. But, looking at the other players, Kuroo’s uncertain whether or not he’ll be able to keep up.

“As he said, my name is Kuroo Tetsurou.” Kuroo’s face slides into a smirk as he bows. “Please take care of me.”

Just as Sawamura begins his next topic of nationals and plays that they need to improve on, the gym doors slam open with a loud crash, revealing two panting figures that Kuroo knows well.

The first is Oikawa, perfect hair perfectly tousled. His shirt is on backwards and he's panting, as if he'd ran from his dorm to the gym. He probably did. Kuroo turns his head to glance at Iwaizumi, who's sitting behind him. As expected, his face is red and he refuses to look at Oikawa. Kuroo stifles a giggle.

The other, well, the other Kuroo would rather not see. Bokuto Koutarou stands, chest heaving. He's wearing his jersey over a pair of sweats and he's grinning, mouth slanting up into that easy grin that Kuroo, up until last year, had been used to seeing directed at him. Golden eyes scan the room, and they stop at Kuroo. They lose their mirth and they reflect confusion. Kuroo knows he should look away,  but he can't. He's glued to the spot by that golden stare, and it's almost as if he's back in that coffee shop, warm scents of pumpkin and caramel surrounding him, watching a person he thought he knew.

“Kuroo,” Bokuto says eyes filling with sadness, and something stronger. Anger. “What--”

“You two are late!” Sawamura booms, voice as angry as Bokuto’s eyes.

“Sorry Dai-chan,” Oikawa pants, one hand coming to rest on his chest. His gaze flits nervously between Sawamura and Kuroo. “I had a lecture run late.”

Sawamura raises a disbelieving eyebrow before his gaze turns to Bokuto. “And you?”

Bokuto grins, eyes falling into easy humor. “Girlfriend didn't want me to leave.”

Ahh, there it is, Kuroo thinks as he looks down at his kneepads. His mouth tastes sour and his heart beats a frenzy in his chest.

When Sawamura speaks next, he doesn't sound too impressed. “Go get changed, the both of you. And when you come back, two laps of digs.”

Kuroo hears the door to the change room close and he fights to bring his eyes up. There's a bustle of movement as Sawamura calls their first drill, and as Kuroo stands to get into the feed line, he can't help but remember hard gold, cold and unforgiving.

“So,” Oikawa drawls during their first break. He has one hand around a water bottle, the other around Iwaizumi’s shoulders. Iwaizumi, on his part, looks like he wants to shove Oikawa off. “You didn’t tell me you joined the volleyball team.”

“Personal invitation from Sawamura.” Kuroo stretches out his calf muscle. “Any other circumstance and I’d be studying at home.”

“Right,” Oikawa says. His voice sounds sarcastic, sardonic even, but when Kuroo looks up from his leg, he sees the worry in Oikawa’s eyes. “And how are you holding up?”

“Fine,” Kuroo sighs as he stretches his hip. “I’m a bit more out of shape than I thought I’d be but other than that, I’m good.”

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. “Even with Bokuto?”

The name causes Kuroo to tense, and he holds his stretch for longer than he intended. He looks up, catching Iwaizumi’s green eyes. Kuroo blinks before he eases out of the stretch and shrugs.

“Fine, I guess.”

“Oh?” Iwaizumi’s eyes move towards Bokuto where he stands next to the net, spinning a ball in between his hands. “You haven’t talked in awhile, from what I’ve heard.”

Kuroo’s gaze follows. In the university’s colours, Bokuto looks like he did in high school, white jersey taut against his muscles as he moves. Kuroo’s taken back to nationals in his third year, when they stood at opposite ends of the court and Kuroo had felt as if his entire world had been ripped from him as Fukurodani won the game. Mouth turning downwards, he shrugs.

“Loss of communication.”

“I see.”

Kuroo nods slowly before he resumes his stretching. There’s a few moments of silence before the heavy thuds of footsteps approaches them. Kuroo doesn’t bother to look up, too invested in his stretching to do so.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Bokuto’s voice croons and Kuroo flinches. Warily, he looks up. From this position, Bokuto definitely looks like the sun. The overhead lights act as a backlight, creating a slight halo around his head. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing,” Oikawa replies, and his voice has gone cold. Kuroo flinches. “Done with your drills?”

“Obviously,” Bokuto smiles. His eyes, golden as ever slit from Oikawa and Iwaizumi to Kuroo, and his eyes flare. Gold glows like embers under a flame. “And what do we have here?”

Kuroo slides an easy smirk on his face as he finishes his stretch. He leans back onto his forearms, pretending that the pain searing across his chest is nonexistent. Bokuto’s eyes hold a challenge and Kuroo makes sure to match it. “A stray cat finding a home,” he replies. “How’s life, bro?”

Bokuto’s eyes hold the same defiance as he brings his water bottle up to his mouth, taking a long sip. “Good. Business is a bitch. What about you?”

“Same old, same old.” Kuroo stands up. “Biochemistry takes up more effort than I thought it would.”

“I told you, in first year.” Bokuto seems to take pride in that. Kuroo shrugs.

“Obviously you did.”

It’s awkward for a moment as the group falls silent. Kuroo shifts nervously from foot to foot. He steals a glance at Oikawa, but the man seems to look anywhere but the two of them. Kuroo lets out a huff before he vaguely motions to the water fountain.

“I should go grab some wat--”

“Why are you here?”

Bokuto’s voice, cold and calculating rips through, escalating the tension. Oikawa stiffens.

“ Kou-chan !”

Bokuto looks sheepish for a moment. “Sorry, that came out harsh. What I meant to say was why are you in the volleyball club?”

Kuroo shrugs. “I’m doing Sawamura a favour.”

Bokuto sends him a deadpan look. “You didn’t want to join in first year.”

“I didn’t want to join in first year--” Kuroo sighs. “Look, if you have a problem with me, I don’t mind leaving.”

“No,” Bokuto says quickly, and Kuroo flinches. “I was just...curious.”

“Of course,” Kuroo nods politely. “I’ll just go get a drink of water.” He slowly turns around.

“Kuroo,” Bokuto calls, and Kuroo stops. He doesn’t dare turn around. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Kuroo hides his smile behind his hand.

When practice ends, Kuroo walks home with Oikawa and Iwaizumi, awkwardly fitting into their trio. He feels intrusive, and as he shivers from the cool autumn breeze, he wishes he had someone there to hold his hand like Iwaizumi does with Oikawa. He walks two paces behind, watching wistfully as the two bump into each other playfully. He decides, as they walk under a tree, that the only thing missing from this scene is a scarf that’ll tie the two of them together.

Kuroo likes the quiet. The sun warms his face ever so slightly as the cold wind bites his nose. He can feel autumn ending, can feel the beginning of winter as the colours slowly fade. They’re reaching the peak days of autumn where red and orange give way to--

“Oikawa wait up!”

Gold .

Kuroo turns his head around to find Bokuto jogging towards them, his clothes dishevelled. His hair lies limp and tousled, and Kuroo decides that it’s a good look on him, one that should be admired under the low amber light of a bedroom, white sheets fluttering beneath them, sweat dripping down--

“Bokuto,” Oikawa says slowly, eyes flitting between Kuroo and Bokuto nervously. “What’s up?”

Bokuto’s excited. He hops nervously from foot to foot and he laughs. “Where are you guys heading?”

“Home,” Iwaizumi replies gruffly. “I mean, we’re dropping Kuroo home we’ll probably stay there for a couple hours before we head out. Why?”

“Well,” Bokuto says, fingers fidgeting with the straps of his bag. “I was wondering if I could join you?”

Oikawa’s eyes flit to Kuroo. Biting his lip, Kuroo shrugs. “Sure.” Ignoring Oikawa’s indignified squawk, he smiles. “I don’t mind.”

“Hey,” Bokuto grins, eyes lighting up. Kuroo is taken aback for a moment. It’s been awhile since Kuroo’s seen that look on Bokuto’s face, and even longer since it’s last been associated with Kuroo. “I can’t wait! Do you still live with Kenma?”

Kuroo nods as they continue walking. “Yeah, and still in that crappy dorm, too. We’re thinking of moving out once we graduate. Can’t really afford it right now.”

“Makes sense,” Bokuto laughs. He steps into an easy skip. “I missed you, ya know.”

“Oh?” Kuroo’s pulse quickens. “Did you?”

“Yeah,” Bokuto nods excitedly. “It’s been awhile since we talked. About a year?”

More than that , Kuroo’s brain supplies, but he nods. “About.”

“Ahh that sucks man.” Bokuto pushes his hands into his pockets. “Also I’m sorry about the way I acted earlier. It was a bit inappropriate.”

Kuroo tilts his head. “Yeah, kind of. It was just the warm welcome I was looking for. You know, brash and sarcasm and your ugly-ass hair.”

Bokuto blinks, silent for a moment before he laughs, loud and boisterous. “Man, I really missed you.” His arm comes around to sling around Kuroo’s shoulders.

Kuroo flinches, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of Bokuto that envelops him. He can smell something that is distinctly Bokuto mixed in with the pine-scented detergent that he uses. Bokuto’s hair tickles his neck and instinctively jerks away. After a moment, he relaxes and melts into Bokuto’s touch.

Sighing, he lets out a laugh. “Yeah, I missed you too.”

Kenma is not happy to find an extra three people when he opens his door. His amber eyes show disappointment when he’s greeted with Oikawa’s high-pitched whining, and he sends Kuroo a look, only to freeze when his eyes land on Bokuto behind him. Kenma’s eyes narrow and he steps out of the doorway to let the party in.

“Kenma,” Bokuto laughs jovially as he enters. “Long time no see.”

“Yes,” Kenma replies as he picks up Luna from off of the ground. He scratches behind the feline’s ears. “Quite long, hasn’t it.”

“Hey, hey!” Bokuto quips, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the coat rack provided. “I’m here now at least.”

“Yes,” Kenma intones. His eyes slide to Kuroo’s, mouth turning downwards. “Kuro, can I talk to you for a minute?”

Kuroo nods as he closes the front door, and Kenma releases Luna. As the two head towards their small kitchen space, Kuroo can hear Oikawa’s screeching as Luna presumably takes her place on his lap.

“What’s up?” Kuroo asks, leaning against the counter.

“Why is Bokuto here ?” Kenma hisses, voice taking on a sharper tone. “Just yesterday you were crying about him.”

“It’s--” Kuroo sighs, breath jagged and coming out in harsh bursts. “I couldn’t refuse.”

“Yes, you can.” Kenma crosses his arms. “It’s a two letter word: no.”

“Okay but Kenma--”

“I saw how he affected you, Kuro.” Kenma’s mouth turns down. “You didn’t come out of your room for days. You didn’t tell jokes, you weren’t your usual self.” Kuroo’s eyes widen. Kenma looks hurt, one arm over his abdomen, the other on the counter.

“Kenma--”

“I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

“Kenma,” Kuroo murmurs as he pulls the smaller man into a hug. He’s trembling, vibrating against Kuroo’s steady body. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Obviously.”

“I’ll be careful,” Kuroo promises. “I won’t make the same mistakes as last time.”

“And what if you get hurt?”

Kuroo pulls away, looking into Kenma’s eyes. “Well that’s the fun in life, eh?”

The next practice begins with Bokuto slinging himself over Kuroo’s shoulders, one arm over his own face as he complains about the drills that Sawamura assigned for them to complete. Kuroo huffs, shaking the other man off.

“Captain’s orders,” he chides as he helps Tsukishima set up the net. The blonde looks perpetually annoyed at Kuroo’s presence, but says nothing as he ties the net to the post. “We can’t refuse.”

“We totally can,” Bokuto whines. “Two letter word: no.”

Kuroo stills for a moment, remembering Kenma’s warning before he lets out an amused huff. “Obviously, but we’re obligated to do this. Signed up, remember?”

“Except you, Kuroo-san.” Tsukishima sends Kuroo a weary glare. “Personal invitation, am I right?”

“Aww Tsukki, you do care,” Kuroo grins, and Tsukki flips him the bird before he stalks over to grab the volleyballs from the supply closet.

“Seriously though bro, we can totally skip.”

Kuroo sends Bokuto a weary glance. “No.”

Obviously the two letter word doesn’t work on Bokuto Koutarou because the next practice has Bokuto asking the same things. Kuroo’s tired, having come from a particularly overwhelming lecture on lipids. He really doesn’t want to put up with Bokuto’s antics, so he shrugs him off.

“Bokuto,” he whines.

“Kuroo,” Bokuto returns.

“Bro.”

“Bro.”

“Oh ho ho?”

“Oya oya oya.”

“Man, I missed you.”

“Me too bro.”

“Say, Kuroo. Why don’t we skip today?”

“No.”

“Pleas--”

“ No. ”

“Kuroo,” Bokuto says two weeks later when they’re walking home under the harvest moon. Kuroo turns his head. “I have a question.”

“Go for it,” Kuroo mumbles as he struggles to keep his textbook up.

“Have dinner with me.” Kuroo stops in his tracks.

“What?”

“Have dinner with me,” Bokuto repeats, eyes glowing under the sunset. “It’s been a while since we’ve had quality time together.”

“True,” Kuroo nods, and his heart does a little tap dance in his chest. “When?”

“Before the season ends.” Bokuto puts his hands in his pockets. “I’d like to go down to that old ramen stand we used to go to when we were kids.”

Kuroo sighs. “Those were the days.”

As the two walk in silence, Kuroo lets out a breath and laugh when it fogs in front of him.

“Fall’s coming to an end,” he remarks, and Bokuto nods.

“Winter’s coming,” he agrees. “Winter and her cold, insufferable soul.”

“Sounds like you,” Kuroo laughs, and when Bokuto returns the laugh, he can’t help but feel his heart warm at the sound.

ii.

Winter comes with same slow, languid sense as Kenma when he gets up from bed. The leaves fall first, then the cold comes, then finally the snow falls in small, gentle flakes that tickle Kuroo’s nose and leave a tickling sensation behind.

Kenma works the same way: he wakes up at the crack of dawn and sits in his bed for hours on end on his console before he finally gets out of bed to create coffee. By the time that happens, Kuroo’s already out the door, halfway to his morning lecture.

However, today when Kuroo enter the kitchen, he’s surprised to find Kenma making hot chocolate. He’s wearing an old Nekoma hoodie, and a pair of sweats. The bags under his eyes are dark and he looks at Kuroo like an angry kitten.

“Good morning,” Kuroo yawns as he accepts a cup from Kenma. After taking a sip, he gives Kenma a one-over before he tilts his head. “Why are you up early?”

Kenma gestures to the living room. “That is why.”

Curious, Kuroo turns the corner into their sitting room, unsurprised to see Bokuto and Oikawa occupying their couch. Sighing, he trudges into the living room, unceremoniously sitting on Oikawa’s lap.

“Hey!” Oikawa yelps. He swats Kuroo’s side with a pillow. “We were having a serious conversation about snow!”

Kuroo wrinkles his nose. “Any conversation about snow is a terrible one.”

Oikawa gasps, loud and affronted. “ Excuse me ?” he hisses. “You and I cannot be in the same room if you’re going to badmouth snow.”

“I hate snow,” Kuroo grumbles.

“Get out,” Oikawa replies.

“Wait there’s one thing I hate more than snow.”

Oikawa’s eyes light up. “Yeah?”

“You.”

“ Get. Out.”

Kuroo laughs as he hops off of Oikawa’s lap, sitting instead at Bokuto’s feet. Humming slightly, he feels warmth spread into his chest at the feeling of Bokuto’s hands carding through his hair. The three stay there, quiet and unmoving as Kenma’s Christmas music plays over his speakers.

“You’re like a cat,” Bokuto marvels after a moment. His hands scratch behind Kuroo’s ear and Kuroo groans. “Responsive.”

“Luna isn’t this responsive.” Kuroo tilts his head back. Black eyes meet gold, and Kuroo grins, sly and easy. “Only me.”

“Obviously,” Bokuto grumbles. “Luna would scratch me if I got anywhere near her.”

Kuroo hums. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What’s your take on snow.”

“I like it,” Bokuto says, eyes glinting with mischief, “but I hate the cold.”

“Traitors,” Oikawa hisses. “The lot of you.”

Kuroo and Bokuto laugh, warmth seeping between them.

Bokuro likes hot chocolate and snuggles by the fire. Kuroo discovers this after a snow day when Oikawa and Bokuto come in dripping wet due to the melted snow in their hair. Kenma takes one look at them and gestures to the bathroom, only seconds safe from catching Luna before she makes to leave the house. Moments later, the four of them are sitting on the couch, watching the newest drama that Oikawa’s been invested in.

“That's so stupid,” Bokuto mumbles around a mouthful of chips as he watches the hero struggle to choose between two girls. Oikawa sends him a look of disbelief.

“It's romantic!”

“It really isn't,” Kuroo mutters, watching the hero's pathetic attempts with disdain. “I'd rather be told straight up than to be led on.”

“True,” Oikawa mutters, taking a sip of his hot chocolate. “But there is a sense of romance when it comes to falling in love. Who knows, maybe he'll find love by flitting between the two of them.”

“That's called cheating, Oikawa.”

“But still!”

“Whatever,” Bokuto interrupts, standing to grab what seems like his eleventh cup of hot chocolate that night. “It's cold.”

Kuroo sighs as he lifts up the blanket that currently sits on his lap. Eagerly, Bokuto climbs under the covers, cold feet digging into Kuroo’s calves and laying his head on Kuroo’s shoulder. Oikawa sends them a look, but Kuroo pointedly ignores it, choosing instead to focus on the cheesy drama in front of them.

He doesn't know when Bokuto finally falls asleep, or the exact moment his arm falls asleep, but he does know the feeling of warmth that fills his chest. It reminds him of autumn days spent in the park, late afternoons after volleyball practice where the two of them had stayed out rather than headed straight home. He remembers days in the high school where the leaves would fall in beautiful sheets of orange and gold, colours that accompanied Bokuto’s warm voice and molten eyes.

He misses autumn just as much as he misses Bokuto.

Hours later, when the hero finally chooses the girl ( “Wrong choice!” Oikawa screeches, arm threatening to throw the remote. Kenma cradles Luna to his chest, eyeing Oikawa's limbs warily, ), Kuroo knows that he's in love with his best friend.

He just hopes that the hope blossoming in his chest isn't short-lived.

Volleyball is unrelenting, especially since the weather is horrible and Kuroo’s limbs ache from having to run from his dorm to his classes and then to the gym. More often than not, he shows up late to practice, garnering looks of disappointment from Sawamura and Coach Hideoki.

“Late again!” Sawamura booms when he enters the gym. All the other player are dressed in their jerseys, practicing their spinning drills, whilst the visiting university warms up by the bleachers. Kuroo runs a hand over his face. He had totally forgotten about the practice match.

“I'd say I'm sorry--”

“Save the excuses for later,” Sawamura replies. “Get changed. You're being pulled off of the first rotation. Next time you're late for a game, you're off for the entirety of it. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Kuroo replies. He changes quickly, and makes it out in time to see the introductions before the team begins. Oikawa and Bokuto make it onto the starter list, and Kuroo takes a seat next to Tsukishima and Iwaizumi on the bench, elbows coming to rest on their knees.

Their roster is good this season, and they're lucky, having picked up gifted first years from Fukurodani and Shiratorizawa. They win the first set easily, and Kuroo watches as Bokuto is replaced by Iwaizumi for the second set.

“You're awfully quiet today,” Kuroo comments as Bokuto takes Iwaizumi’s spot next to him. Bokuto’s usually fired up during games, but he seems more subdued, quiet today. “What’s wrong?”

Bokuto doesn't say anything, keeps his golden eyes trailed on the game in front of him. His shoulders are taut, eyes calculating, and Kuroo lets out a huff.

“We're winning,” Bokuto says after a moment. “But only by luck. They have good spikers. Strong hitters. Defense isn't too bad either: their libero is versatile.” His gaze locks onto Kuroo and he tilts his head.

“So,” Kuroo says. “What do we need?”

College has changed Bokuto, that's for sure. He hums, one arm braced on his knee, the other supporting his head. “They have strong cross-spikes, we need to watch for those. Their setter is extremely cunning. Almost like Oikawa.”

“Okay?”

Bokuto sits up and waves Coach Hideoki over. As they converse in hushed tones, Kuroo watches the game, eyes focusing on Bokuto’s points. Moments later, a timeout is called, and Oikawa stalks off of the court, face perpetually angry.

“--stealing my style!” Oikawa is saying when he joins their huddle. He throws the other team a dirty look. “Iwa-chan, it's like he's reading everything I do and copying it. So annoying!”

Iwaizumi has one arm around Oikawa, the other on his hip as he stares at the clipboard that Hideoki lays in front of them. Studying the play, he furrows his brows.  

“Haven't seen this since--”

“--high school.” Sawamura finishes. His eyes flit from the board to Kuroo. “Well we’ll definitely need you for this one.”

“Synchronized attacks, huh?” Kuroo sighs as he studies the play. It's simple enough, and Oikawa knows the signals for three plays that could fit into the one sequence. He remembers seeing Karasuno’s synchronized attacks back in high school. Plays like this require practice. “Can we really pull it off?”

“If it wipes that stupid kid’s smirk off his face, we will,” Oikawa growls and Iwaizumi hits him in the back of the head.

“Who's going to orchestrate it?”

Hideoki hums. “Bokuto, you thought of it. Who'll be the lucky six?”

Bokuto’s eyes sweep across the team. “Oikawa, Iwaizumi, me, Sawamura, Tsukki and Kuroo.”

Oikawa nods before discreetly showing the three signals that he’ll use for the attacks. The whistle signalling the end of time out goes off, and Oikawa sighs. “Let's see if it works.”

Kuroo takes a moment to look at Bokuto, eyes smiling, body relaxed.

He laughs. “Of course it will.”

It’s does, and the whole team erupts into cheers when they win the second and third sets, finishing the game. When Bokuto scores the final point, Kuroo picks him up and discreetly presses a kiss to his neck.

He's Icarus, and he's flying.

Two weeks later signifies the beginning of winter break, and Kuroo finds himself on his couch, his biology textbook in front of him and a coffee in his hand. It terrifyingly cold outside, harsh winds blowing snow into the sides of buildings and to people's faces, making Kuroo miss the warmer assurance of autumn.

There's a knock at his door, and he looks up to find Oikawa and Kenma at his doorway, each with a sheepish look on their faces. Kuroo pulls an earbud out.

“What’s up?” From the kitchen, he can hear the muffled voices of Bokuto and Iwaizumi. He sighs. “Did they break anything, I swear I'll go fix it--”

“Nothing happened downstairs,” Oikawa interrupts, and for the first time, Kuroo notices their serious expressions. He stops the music on his phone, and purses his lips.

“What’s wrong?”

Kenma and Oikawa share a look before they close the door. Oikawa leans up against the door, and Kenma takes a seat on his bed. The three are silent for a moment before Oikawa sighs.

“Is the thing between you and Bokuto really happening?” Oikawa looks down at his hands. “Are you going to give it a try again?”

Kuroo bites the inside of his cheek. The past few weeks with Bokuto have felt like the waning days of high school. They seem closer, closer than they’ve ever been before and Kuroo can feel the hope, palpable in every moment he shares with him. He just doesn’t know if it’s reciprocated.

“I don't know.” Kuroo looks away from Oikawa, eyes focusing on his notes. “Maybe? When the time comes and I gather enough courage, probably. It might be too early to say.”

Kenma hums. “We don’t want to see you get hurt again.” Kuroo turns, and the hurt is evident in Kenma’s eyes. Sadness reflected in the glassy amber.

Kuroo nods. “I don’t either.”

The three are silent for what seems like an eternity. The muffled voices fill the empty silence.

“For what it’s worth,” Oikawa says after a moment, hand closing around the door knob. “I think you should try it.”

Kenma looks aghast. “That’s a terrible idea, Oikawa.”

Oikawa shrugs. “It seems to be going smoothly. He doesn’t seem to be rejecting him, and Kuroo seems to be happy. I think you should give it a try.”

Kuroo crosses his arms. “And if it’s a repeat of last time?”

Kenma hums. “Then it’s his loss.”

Apparently Oikawa doesn’t understand the concept of confidentiality because at the next volleyball practice, Iwaizumi clasps him on the shoulder and wishes him luck.

“For what?” Kuroo asks quizzically as he pulls on his sweater. Half of the team is still in the showers, and Kuroo’s glad for the empty enclosure.

“Bokuto,” Iwaizumi says, as if it clarifies everything. At Kuroo’s confused gaze, Iwaizumi tilts his head. “Tooru told me you were confessi--”

Kuroo quickly slaps a hand over Iwaizumi’s mouth, and sends an apologetic glance at the rest of the team.

“Say that a little bit louder, won’t you?” he hisses and Iwaizumi shrugs him off.

“Your hand tastes disgusting,” he spits, and at Kuroo’s panicked gaze, he rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, you’ll be fine.”

“What makes you say that, the fact that Oikawa blew you yesterday?”

This time it’s Iwaizumi’s turn to slap a hand over Kuroo’s mouth. Kuroo raises an eyebrow. Iwaizumi pulls away when he’s certain Kuroo’s mouth isn’t moving and goes to pull on his own shirt.

“No, it’s because I see the way he looks at you,” Iwaizumi says. “It’s like the way Icarus looked at the sun.”

Kuroo stills. “Is it really?”

Iwaizumi claps Kuroo’s shoulder as he stuffs him shoes and his jersey into his bag. “Do it. You might be pleased with the results.”

Two weeks later, under the moonlight, Kuroo decides he’s going to do it.

They’re walking home after practice, and Kuroo can’t stop fidgeting with the straps of his bag. Oikawa and Iwaizumi walk a couple of paces in front of them, voices hushed so that Kuroo can’t tell what they’re saying. The winter cold is biting, the wind like razors against his skin. He shudders, and out of the blue his hand finds Bokuto’s and the warmth is there, thawing the cold in his fingers.

They’re silent for a while. Moments later, Kuroo clears his throat. “So about that dinner…”

“Yeah?” Bokuto says, amusement laced in his tone. “Have we decided?”

“Next week, maybe?” Kuroo hums. “There’s this amazing sushi stand near campus that Terushima found the other day.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Bokuto hums. They’re silent again, before Bokuto slows down. He lets go of Kuroo’s hand. “Listen, Kuroo--”

“I like you,” Kuroo blurts out. He doesn’t dare look up at Bokuto’s face. “I’ve liked you for a while now.”

It’s quiet for a while. Kuroo continues to stare at his shoes. The wind picks up, and the effect is soothing, cooling the heat on his cheeks. After a few minutes Kuroo looks up, only to find disgust written all over Bokuto’s face.

“Bokut--”

“Don’t.” Bokuto’s voice is cold as ice, hard as steel. His eyes glow with anger under the silver moonlight.

“Let me expl--”

“I have a girlfriend,” Bokuto says again, and this time, he takes a step away from Kuroo. “I thought we were being bros again, Kuroo, that we were being friends again. And then you pull this shit on me again--”

“ What ?” And this time it’s Kuroo’s voice that cuts like steel. He curls his hands into fists, nails digging into his palms. “What do you mean, this shit on me again --”

“I mean,” Bokuto booms, “that you and I are friends. You can’t just try to kiss someone out of the blue, Kuroo. You can’t just go proclaiming that you like someone, especially if they’re your best br--”

“I’m sorry!” Kuroo hisses, and there are tears streaming down his face. Hot, scalding tears that cool on his skin. “I’m sorry that I’ve been gay all my life, and that I’m in love with my best friend!”

Bokuto stills, face distraught. He shakes his head, staggering away from Kuroo. “Leave me alone.”

“No!” Kuroo says, and it comes out as a scream. Iwaizumi and Oikawa stop to turn around and look at them. “You listen to me. You’re my best friend, yes, that’s correct, but you have no right to tell me what I can and can’t do, and who I can and can’t like.” His voice hurts from screaming, but he continues. “You can’t just tell me to leave you alone. And I’m sorry that I hurt you bro , I’m sorry that the person I love doesn’t love me back!”

Bokuto shakes his head, betrayal evident in his eyes. “I have to go.” He turns around and runs, not once looking back.

Kuroo pants, as he stares at the empty walk in front of him. There’s a hand on his shoulder. He thinks it’s Oikawa’s, but he can’t bring himself to care. Crying out, he runs his hands through his hair.

Iwaizumi was wrong. Bokuto is the sun, radiant, full of light, out of reach. And Kuroo is Icarus: full of hope, but never destined to reach his dream.

He was such a fool to forget that.

“I’m sorry, ” Kuroo says as he returns the kneepads that Sawamura lent him. He looks into the gym and catches Bokuto hitting the ball, the sound resonating through the gym. Harsh gold meet black and Kuroo has to rip his gaze away. “I’ve got to study for mid-terms.”

“Nah,” Sawamura says, running a hand through his hair. “It was just for a while, anyways. Kazehara should be back next week.”

“It was fun while it lasted, anyways.”

“Yeah,” Sawamura laughs. Kuroo nods and begins to walk away. “But Kuroo--you’re always welcome here!”

Kuroo turns his head, sending the captain a small smirk. “I’ll keep that in mind, yeah?” With a small salute, he walks away.

Not once does he look back.

iii.

Soon enough the snow melts, and so does the anger in Kuroo’s heart.

Spring comes with new beginnings and new people. Kuroo finds himself in the library, more often than not with a textbook in one hand and a coffee in the other. Occasionally, Oikawa and Iwaizumi join him, but he’s usually alone with a second year named Terushima to keep him company.

Terushima is quiet when Kuroo first meets him, but he soon discovers that the younger man holds a mischievous personality, pulling pranks on the other students in the library when the librarian isn’t looking. He’s bubbly: constantly talking about a guy in his finances class. He moans endlessly about his build and his thighs.

“Eh?” Kuroo asks one day when Terushima’s whining seems endless and Kuroo really needs to focus for his lipids exam. “Why don’t you just bring him over one day then?”

Terushima’s voice is light, happy even. “He’s coming to pick me up today.”

Kuroo looks at Terushima over the top of his textbook. He’s known Terushima for all of one week, and he’s already made a move. He whistles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Terushima grins. He leans back in his chair, hands coming up behind his head. “What about you, Kuroo-san? Do you have a significant other?”

Kuroo stills. He sends Terushima a sad smile. “No. There was someone, but right now, no.”

“Oh, okay,” Terushima smiles. His eyes slide to a figure behind Daichi and his eye’s brighten. “Daichi-san!

Daichi ? Kuroo turns around and is met with Sawamura. The two look at each other for a moment before they burst out laughing. Sawamura places his paper bag on the table and moves to sit next Terushima, a smile on his face.

“Long time no see,” Sawamura grins, and Kuroo nods.

“It’s been like two months, Sawamura.”

Meanwhile, Terushima looks confusedly between the two of them. “You two know each other?”

“Yeah,” Sawamura grins, arm coming to loop around Terushima’s shoulders. Kuroo raises a brow. “He used to be in the volleyball team.”

“Ahh the one that had some beef with Bok--”

“How’s life?” Sawamura says, effectively cutting Terushima off. Kuroo sends him a grateful smile.

“Not too bad, actually.” Kuroo looks back down at his books. “What about you? How’s the volleyball team?”

“I think we actually have a chance at making nationals this year,” Sawamura replies. Terushima nods excitedly. “The boys have been working hard.”

“I’ll bet,” Kuroo says. Sawamura nods. Terushima pushes his books into his bags and nods at Sawamura. The two stand up.

“It was nice seeing you, Kuroo.” Sawamura and Kuroo exchange a handshake. “My offer still stands, from before.”

Kuroo looks up. “Which one?”

“The gym’s always open for you, man.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll see you later?”

“Of course.”

“Bye Kuroo-san!” Terushima calls.

“I’ll see you around, kid,” Kuroo laughs, and he watches as the two leave the library hand in hand.

Oikawa Tooru
    Tetsu-kun, are you available?
    I mean, are you home?

Kuroo Tetsurou
Yeah I’m always available, what’s up?
Also, I’m not home, but Kenma is lol, im heading home rn

Oikawa Tooru
    Iwa-chan broke up with me

Kuroo Tetsurou
Kenma’s home, I’ll be right there
I’m sorry.

Oikawa spends the remainder of the night on Kuroo’s couch. There’s an old alien documentary playing on the screen, but it stands forgotten as Oikawa buries his face into Kuroo’s shoulder. He sobs against it, and Kuroo wraps his arm around Oikawa tighter.

“I just don’t get why,” Oikawa mumbles, and Kuroo rubs his hand over his shoulder. “We were doing so well, too.”

Kenma sits at the kitchen, one arm restraining Luna from hopping onto Oikawa’s lap. He lets out a sigh. “Did he say anything?”

“No,” Oikawa stutters out. “All he said was ‘I think we should break up’.”

“It’s all right.” Kuroo presses a kiss to Oikawa’s temple. “It’s his loss.”

“I guess,” Oikawa whimpers. He closes his eyes. “Is it alright if I stay here tonight?”

“Of course,” Kenma stands up and Luna jumps out of his arms, immediately finding her spot on Oikawa’s lap. Oikawa’s fingers trail through her fur, and she purrs. “You’re always welcome here, Tooru.”

Oikawa looks up, eyes red. He manages a small smile. “Thanks, Kenma.”

Kenma smiles.

The next few days find Oikawa on Kuroo’s couch. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything: just watches Kenma and Kuroo as they go on with their daily lives. More often than not, Luna sits in his lap, and after three days of having Oikawa decorate his living room, Kuroo has had enough. On the fourth day, he throws Oikawa’s gym bag at him, and the latter stares at it, a blank stare on his face.

“Put those on, we’re going to the gym.” Kuroo pulls on his jacket, and watches as for the first time in a while, an emotion other than sadness creeps onto Oikawa’s face.

“Why?” he says, face filled with disgust. “I don’t have practice today.”

“Exactly,” Kuroo says as he pulls on his shoe. “I borrowed the keys from Sawamura. We have the gym to ourselves today.”

Oikawa’s gaze goes from Kuroo back to the black television screen. “I don’t want to.”

“Come on, Oikawa,” Kuroo sighs and he grabs Luna off of Oikawa’s lap. The cat hisses, but allows for herself be carried. She wriggles out of his hands and scampers off to Kenma’s room. “You’ve been doing nothing all week.”

“That’s the point.”

“Oikawa.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“I’ll buy you frozen yogurt after.”

Oikawa looks up, and Kuroo can see amusement in his eyes. He eyes the gym bag warily, pulling out his jersey and a pair of shorts before he sighs. “Fine, but only for the frozen yogurt.”

Kuroo smirks. “Of course.”

The two end up at the gym for hours. Oikawa practices his serves and Kuroo practices his recieves, and they rotate over and over again until Kuroo’s panting, no longer having the strength to continue.

“Oikawa,” he huffs. “Let’s go home.”

“One more serve,” Oikawa calls and he throws the ball up and serves it. The ball misses the water bottle target by a hair and Oikawa lets out a loud curse.

“Oikawa,” Kuroo warns.

“ One more !” Oikawa screams and he tosses the ball up and serves it. The ball swerves and hits the water bottle with frightening accuracy. Kuroo stares at him in disbelief. Oikawa goes to pick up the next ball, and Kuroo stops him with an arm to the bicep.

“Oikawa. Tooru . Please, let’s go home.”

Oikawa stares at the net one last time before he sighs, arms stretching over his head. “Yeah, let’s.”

When Kuroo goes to pick up the ball after he showers he finds that it’s dented.

The next day, Oikawa asks him to accompany him to volleyball practice.

Against his better judgement, Kuroo agrees.

It’s awkward, seeing Terushima in gym clothes rather than his usual ripped-jeans-leather-jacket outfit. Sawamura stands behind him, one eyebrow raised.

“Nice of you to join us,” he smiles. Kuroo shrugs as he pulls on his running shoes and joins Oikawa by the net. He pointedly ignores Bokuto, eyes focusing on the net in front of him, and on Sawamura’s drills.

“I said I was going to come back, didn’t I?” Kuroo smirks, and Terushima laughs, loud and full.

“Ready to begin?” Sawamura asks.

“Always.”

Bokuto doesn’t acknowledge him during the practice.

When Kuroo gets home, Kenma’s already set the table for dinner. Oikawa goes straight to the shower, groaning about the sweat stuck to his back and Kuroo rolls his eyes as he helps Kenma ladle the stew into bowls.

“How was practice?” Kenma asks quietly, and Kuroo shrugs.

“Same old, same old.” Kuroo places the bowls onto the table. “How was your lecture?”

Kenma tilts his head. “Boring.”

Kuroo laughs, and Kenma offers him a smile. As Kuroo turns to grab the rice from the stove, Kenma’s arms wrap around his waist, and his head buries itself into the small of Kuroo’s back.

“What’s wrong?” Kuroo immediately turns around, and Kenma looks up at him, amber eyes glowing like candlelight.

“Can I...can I try something?” Kenma asks, and Kuroo barely has time to nod before Kenma’s lips are on his.

Kuroo hasn’t been kissed since high school, so having Kenma kissing him is a new experience altogether. Gingerly, Kuroo places his hands around Kenma’s waist, and Kenma has his hands in Kuroo’s hair and there’s tongue and...woah.

When Kenma pulls away, his face is blank, but his eyes reflect worry. Kuroo smirks, head tilting to kiss at Kenma’s chin. “What’s wrong?” he feels like he’s repeating himself.

“Nothing,” Kenma hums. His hands fidget in Kuroo’s hair. “Was that...was it okay?”

“Of course,” Kuroo smiles, hands tightening around Kenma’s waist. “Kenma, it’s always been okay.”

Kenma’s eyes soften and he rests his head against Kuroo’s collarbone, breathing at the skin there. “Are you sure?”

“It doesn’t hurt to try,” Kuroo suggests.

“You’re right,” Kenma nods. “It doesn’t.”

Moments later, that’s how Oikawa finds them, wrapped in each other, bowls of uneaten stew cooling on the table. He doesn’t say anything, just rolls his eyes and goes for his soup, frowning at the taste.

“Kenma, there’s no rice.” He sniffs his bowl. “And this smells like Luna.”

“That’s probably because Luna ate from that bowl.” Kuroo supplies.

Oikawa screams.

It’s a weird feeling, dating Kenma.

Everything is virtually the same: Kenma wakes up late, Kuroo goes to classes. Kenma makes supper, Kuroo goes to volleyball. They fall into the same routine, except Kenma’s more susceptible to kisses and cuddles, and Kuroo doesn’t seem to mind.

Oikawa doesn’t comment on their relationship. More often than not he’ll stare at the two of them and shrug, but he doesn't say anything. As the spring slowly warms, Kuroo falls into the steady routine of life and finds that it's not too bad, after all.

Two weeks later marks the beginning of March, which also signals the approach of nationals. This also triggers Sawamura, and ultimately comes to this: the Sawamura talk of teamwork, as Terushima so fondly calls it.

“If we're going to make it to nationals,” Sawamura says, eyes flitting between Iwaizumi and Oikawa. “We're going to have to work on our teamwork. So, starting today, I don't care if you a have a past with anyone in this group, you're going to have to work as a team. Coach and I will be picking your drill partners from now up to the end of the tournament, so be prepared to talk to people that you've never had an interest in before, or to people whom you've not talked to in a while.”

Oikawa raises his hand. Sawamura ignores it.

“Your groups will change bi-weekly to ensure that you actually build a relationship between the two of you. If you can't or won't cooperate, then you say goodbye to the court and hello to the bench. Are we clear?” At the sound of the chorus of ‘yes’, Sawamura grins. He turns his clipboard around. “Your first partners are here. Meet up and start rallying.”

Kuroo waits patiently for the crowd around Sawamura's clipboard to disperse before he steps forward to scan for his name. When he finally finds it, his heart sinks and he scowls, eyes scanning the gym for Sawamura. He sends the captain and annoyed glare. Sawamura shrugs. Kuroo turns and rereads the list, making sure he's read right.

Kuroo Tetsurou/Bokuto Koutarou

“Hey.” Kuroo turns to find Bokuto staring at him, one arm around the ball. “You ready to go?”

Kuroo sighs and nods, following the other man to an empty spot in the gym. Bokuto tosses the ball up and sets it to Kuroo, who receives it with ease. The two go back and forth without a word until the drill is over, and Sawamura calls the next. On and on, the two work alongside each other. Their teamwork is still great; however, they don't say a word to each other.

The same thing happens the next practice, and the next, and it continues before Sawamura comes up to then, an angry grin on his face.

“I'd better hear some conversation,” he warns, “or you'll both get the bench.”

Kuroo sighs as he picks up the ball. They're doing volleys today, so he tosses the ball and sets it to Bokuto, who sets back. The ball comes a bit too low, and Kuroo sighs as he runs to get underneath the ball. “It's a bit too low.”

“All right,” Bokuto replies, and he volleys the ball back, this time coming up to a perfect height for Kuroo to send it back. Kuroo grins.

“Damn, are you spending time with Akaashi?”

Bokuto grins, small and wary. “Somewhat.”

“It shows.”

“What about you? Still tutoring Tsukki?”

Kuroo’s eyes find the blonde and he grins. “Occasionally.”

The two continue the drill in silence, and when Coach blows the whistle to indicate the beginning of the practice game, Bokuto stops Kuroo with a hand to his bicep.  

“Listen,” he says. “About what I said in December…”

Kuroo’s eyebrows raise. “You don't need to apologize. I'm over it.”

“It was still inappropriate,” Bokuto says, voice hard. Kuroo shrugs.

“Apology accepted, but man I'm over it. Don't sweat it.”

“You sure?” Bokuto asks.

“Positive.” Kuroo smiles.

“I heard you're talking to Bokuto again,” Kenma comments a few days later. Oikawa's gone to an evening lecture, leaving the two of them alone in their dorm. Luna sits soundly in Kenma’s lap and Kuroo settles on the couch, one arm slinging over the smaller man's shoulders.

“Yeah, a little.” Kuroo turns on the television. “Why?”

Kenma doesn’t say anything for a while, just watches the television for a long moment. Luna mews.

“Kenma?”

“Nothing,” Kenma shakes his head. “It's nothing.”

“Are you sure?” Kuroo asks.

Kenma smiles. “Positive.”

“Oh ho ho!” Bokuto calls as he gets ready to spike. “Nice recieve!”

Kuroo grins from where he is on the floor. The ball flies straight into Oikawa's awaiting bands and he sets it with unbelievable accuracy to Bokuto. The spiker slams the ball onto the other side of the net, gaining a point for their side. He laughs, turning to offer a hand for Kuroo. Kuroo takes it.

“Nice job there, man.” Bokuto’s smile reaches his eyes.

“Thanks,” Kuroo laughs. “Let's get ourselves the next point.”

“Obviously,” Bokuto grins as the whistle blows. Oikawa serves.  

They make it to nationals.

Kuroo doesn't know when he begins to get used to Bokuto’s presence in his life again. Kenma, however, does.

Two weeks after the nationals qualifier game, half of the volleyball team is holed up in Kuroo’s living room. Kenma sits in the kitchen, watching the exchange with glassy eyes, one arm around Luna, the other holding a mug of tea. Kuroo occasionally goes back to check on them, offering Kenma a hug when the evening dissipates into the night.

“Kuro,” Kenma murmurs when he enters the room for the fifth time that night. Kuroo offers a noncommittal hum as he grabs the last of the chips from the top shelf. “ Kuro .”

“Yeah?” Kuroo turns to find Kenma staring at Luna’s tail. Under the fim lighting of their kitchen, Luna’s eyes glow and when Kenma looks up, his eyes shine a bright amber--sad and solemn to match the dark pretenses. “What’s wrong?”

Kenma doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares forward. Kuroo takes the seat next to his, eyebrows furrowed as he watches the smaller man. “Kenma?”

“Are you and Bokuto okay now?”

“What?” Kenma looks up, eyes burning with hurt and Kuroo looks outside of the kitchen space, catching a glimpse of the white-haired man as he screams, hands jerking the wii controller uncontrollably as he tries his hand at Super Smash Brothers. “I guess we are.” Kenma deoesn’t say anything.

“Kenma?”

“Are you going to…” Kenma trails off. Luna flicks her tail unhappily. “Are you... unhappy with me?”

Kuroo rushes to grasp Kenma’s hands. “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“I just--” Kenma closes his eyes and sighs. “Do you think it’s working out? You and me?”

Kuroo presses a kiss to Kenma’s knuckles. Since they started dating, nothing significant has changed. Kuroo doesn’t mind it, but at the same time, he doesn’t feel. For a moment, he’s afraid that he’s hurt Kenma in a way. Afraid that he hasn’t been vocal or physical enough. Afraid that he’s become a sun to an Icarus who cannot fly. But when he finds Kenma’s eyes, he understands. He sees the troubled look in them and he offers Kenma a small smile.

“It hasn’t, hasn’t it?”

Kenma shakes his head. He takes a sip of his tea. “It feels...weird.”

Kuroo nods as he clasps Kenma’s hand. Slowly, he lets go, pats the top of it soothingly and stands up. “We can talk about it later, if you want or…”

Kenma shakes his head. “It was nice while it lasted.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” Kuroo heads towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Kenma smiles. “Of course, Kuro. Also--” he catches Kuroo before he leaves. “--Bokuto is a great person. I just hopes he realizes you are too.”

Kuroo smiles, eyes crinkling. “Thank you.”

“Bro,” Bokuto says one day as they walk to Kuroo’s morning lecture. “What’s this whole thing with Icarus?”

Kuroo stills. “Icarus?”

“Oikawa had a philosophy class yesterday, and when he came back it was all he could talk about.” Golden eyes scan the lawn. “They mentioned you too.”

“Oh,” Kuroo’s sighs. He swings his arms. “In Greek mythology, he was the son of Daedalus. They were trying to escape the labyrinth, this cage that Daedalus built, full of traps and mystery, and like he made these wings to help them. When they tried to escape, he told Icarus not to fly too close to the sun because the wax could melt, or too close to the sea because the wing would get wet. Unfortunately, Icarus flew too close to the sun, entranced by the feeling of flying, and he fell and died.”

Bokuto’s eyes glass over. “So, basically a dude has an affair with the sun and then dies because of it.”

Kuroo blinks, then sighs exasperatedly. “Yeah, there--way to sum it up, man.”

Bokuto laughs. “But why were they comparing him to you?”

Damn Oikawa . Kuroo sighs. “Usually when you’re compared to Icarus, it’s because you want something you can’t have.”

“What does that have to do with--Oh.” Bokuto stops walking. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Kuroo laughs awkwardly.

They don’t talk for the rest of the walk.

A week later finds them on the orange court. Bokuto’s nervous, pacing slightly as he does when he is, and Oikawa’s taping his fingers with odd reverence. Every now and then he’ll glance at Iwaizumi, mouth pursing, but he looks away just as quickly. Kuroo pulls on his kneepads and stretches his limbs, making sure that everything feels right.

There’s a squeak as the door to the change room opens and Kuroo’s not surprised to find Sawamura walking in, fingers intertwined with Terushima’s. Kuroo smiles as he watches the two of them sit down. Sawamura’s arm goes immediately around Terushima, and Kuroo leans back eyes closing.

There’s a moment of complete silence before Sawamura’s voice fills the room.

“We're like the blood in our veins. We must flow without stopping. Keep the oxygen moving and your mind working.”

Kuroo pops an eye open. “What was that for?”

“Thought it would help lighten the mood,” Sawamura grins. “We’ll do fine today, yeah?”

“Obviously,” Kuroo grins and when the door opens to reveal Coach Hideoki, he’s ready.

Kuroo watches as the team gets together, watches as everything falls into place around him and as he steps forward on the national court for the first time in three years Bokuto’s hand gripping his shoulder, he’s happier than he’s ever been.

(Three days later, cheers erupt as they walk onto the court, and all Kuroo can see is gold. )

iv.

They win the gold. Of course they do.

Kuroo spends the days after in muted euphoria. He lazes around in his and Kenma’s dorm, wondering if the events really happened, if they really did win the nationals. Kenma often keeps him in check with eye rolls and short bursts of sarcasm, and even though they’re no longer romantically involved, Kuroo’s glad for the support.

Of course moments like that aren’t meant to last.

Summer comes quickly, and so does Kuroo’s anxiety. His exams are coming up, and as Kuroo looks through his textbook for the first time in days, he realizes that he really doesn’t know anything about lipids and carbohydrates, and that he’s going to face failure if he doesn’t study. As soon as the season slows down, volleyball becomes a secondary priority and Kuroo finds himself more often than not at the library, Terushima and Sawamura sitting adjacent to him.

Soon enough the euphoria fades and panic sets in, and Kuroo isn’t quite sure if he’ll make it out of his finals alive.

Late April arrives and Kuroo’s cramming like crazy. With the heat comes passion and with passion comes Oikawa’s tendency to act reckless, and on more than one occasion does Kuroo find him at the gym, broken on the floor, crying as he clutches the volleyball. His knee bruised and swelling, crying for Iwaizumi. Kuroo always brings him home, seats him on his couch and coaxes food into his body, ice onto his knee. Oikawa always ends up curling next to him, Kenma at his feet, an alien documentary on the television. Kenma usually accompanies them, curled up against Oikawa’s side, petting Luna as she purrs on Oikawa’s lap.

Two weeks later, Kuroo can’t seem to pull Oikawa out of the gym. No matter what he does, Oikawa won’t stop hitting the ball over the net, won’t stop screaming in agony as he lands on his bad knee, won’t stop hurting himself.

“Oikawa,” Kuroo pleads as he attempts to pull the ball away from his grasp. Oikawa grips tightly, eyes seeing through Kuroo. “Oikawa, please, you’re hurting yourself.”

Oikawa doesn’t say anything, just wrenches the ball out of Kuroo’s limp grasp and goes to serve the ball again. Tears are streaming down his face, and as he takes a step forward, his face crumples in pain and he falls to the ground, screaming.

“Fuck,” Kuroo hisses and he hurries to bring Oikawa into his arms. The other man doesn’t let him. He continues to scream, fists hitting the ground until his knuckles are red and bruising. Exasperatedly, Kuroo goes for his phone, sending Oikawa an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry.”

Oikawa doesn’t stop him.

Kuroo dials the number that has reached the bottom of his speed dial, and waits a few moments before the line connects, and a slightly disoriented voice greets him.

“Hello?” Iwaizumi’s voice is rough with sleep.

“Hey, Iwaizumi,” Kuroo says. Behind him, Oikawa sobs. “Could you come to the gym?”

“Kuroo it’s like ten in the night, I have a final tomorrow, what's--” Iwaizumi’s cut off by a Oikawa’s loud scream. “Is--Is that Oikawa?”

“Yeah.” Kuroo bites his lip. “He won’t listen to me.”

“Dumbass,” Iwaizumi mutters under his breath. “Keep an eye on him, I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Of course.”

“And Kuroo,” Iwaizumi says before he hangs up, “thank you.”

True to his word, Iwaizumi shows up five minutes later, wearing a pair of sweatpants and his practice jersey. His hair is a mess, and he looks at Oikawa with mild horror before he rushes up and gathers him into his arms. At first, Oikawa resists, but upon seeing Iwaizumi’s face, he calms down.

“Iwa-chan?”

“You idiot ,” Iwaizumi growls, but his voice is soft, and he holds Oikawa gently. “I told you not to overwork yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” Oikawa says, and he repeats it over and over, like a mantra. “I’m so sorry, Iwa-chan.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi murmurs as he sits down on the bench, Oikawa in his lap. “I’m sorry too, Tooru.”

When they kiss, Kuroo takes it as his cue to leave.

As the first week of May ends, Kuroo finishes the last of his finals, and he finds himself with nothing to do, so he hits the gym more often than he should. Oikawa’s moved out of his and Kenma’s dorm, having found Iwaizumi once again. For an entire month, Kuroo accomplishes nothing; rather, he spends his days on his couch, re-watching that stupid drama that Oikawa had introduced.

As June approaches, Kuroo hears rumours about Bokuto, rumours that spark his interest: rumours that create trouble in his heart. Bokuto’s a playboy, according to the masses. He breaks girls’ hearts, is more often than not at the bar than at home. His grades are slipping. The volleyball team threatens to drop him.

Kuroo doesn’t believe it until one night, hours into his lipids review, he gets a call. Frowning, he catches Terushima’s name flashing on the screen and he hovers over the accept button for a moment before he answers.

“Kuroo.”

“Yo, Kuroo!” Terushima sounds drunk, words slurring together. There’s music, loud and pulsating playing in the background. “Are you free?”

“Probably,” Kuroo sighs. If Terushima wants to go clubbing, then so be it. “Where are you?”

“Some weird bar with a French name,” Terushima sighs. “Listen, could you come pick Bokuto up cause he was fun earlier, but now he’s kinda ruining the vibe.”

“I’ll find it--wait, Bokuto ?”

“Yeah,” Terushima says. “Could you like come pick him up?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Kuroo pulls on his jacket. “Send me a snap of the place, I’ll find it.”

Twenty minutes later, he has an extremely drunk Bokuto in his arms, and Terushima waves as he and Sawamura head back into the club. Kuroo looks at the other man, head resting on Kuroo’s shoulder, eyes hazed.

“Okay,” Kuroo sighs as he staggers to his car. “What will I do with you?”

Luckily, the next day Bokuto seems normal, and he gives Kuroo a half-hearted fist bump before he leaves.

“Welcome back,” Sawamura yawns as Kuroo enters the gym in late June. It’s a week after the bar incident, and Kuroo’s surprised to find Bokuto sitting on one of the benches. He looks horrible: dark circles under his eyes, hands fidgeting. Kuroo tentatively takes a seat next to him. There’s only a few people in the gym: Oikawa, Iwaizumi, Bokuto, Sawamura and him, and he raises an eyebrow.

“What’s going on?”

Sawamura sends him a weary look. “This is an intervention.”

“An intervention?” Kuroo looks at the group quizzically. “Look, I’m sorry that I can’t make all of the practices but--”

“Not for you,” Sawamura interjects. He fixes his gaze onto Bokuto. “For you.”

Bokuto doesn’t say anything, just stares at his hands.

“Your little reputation isn’t doing the club any good.”

“Reputation?” Kuroo whips his head to face Bokuto. “Wait...those rumours? They’re real?”

Bokuto ignores him. “That isn’t my fault.”

“It kind of is,” Iwaizumi says gruffly. He crosses his arms. “This club has a reputation that we need to uphold. You’re ruining it.”

“It’s either you stop,” Sawamura says, irritation creeping up his tone, “or we will.”

“What do you mean, we will ?”

“You’re off the team.”

Bokuto’s eyes widen. “You wouldn’t.”

Sawamura frowns. “Of course we will. Now clean your act up, or you’ll face the repercussions.”

Iwaizumi sighs before he checks his phone. “I’ve got to head to my lecture. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” He and Tooru leave together, hand in hand.

Soon after, Sawamura leaves as well, and it’s just Kuroo and Bokuto in the gym.

“What’s happening?” Kuroo says after a moment. His eyes don’t dare meet Bokuto’s. “Bokuto, what’s going on?”

“I’m…” Bokuto trails off. “I don’t know.”

“Bokuto--”

“Can I try something?” Bokuto interrupts, and Kuroo turns to look at him. Gold fills his vision, and suddenly Bokuto’s leaning in and a pair of lips are on his.

It’s nothing like Kuroo imagined it to be. Kuroo imagined a rush, fluttering pulses, a moment of realization, of love. Instead he gets nothing. He gets a pair of lips on his and a normal heartbeat and an incredibly awkward situation. Quickly, Kuroo disentangles himself from Bokuto.

His eyes are gold, wide with anticipation and hope, but the look on Kuroo’s face shatters it, and the gold dulls into bronze.

“I’m sorry,” Kuroo begins, but Bokuto shrugs it off.

“It’s fine,” Bokuto says with a light, half-hearted laugh. “I’ll--I’ll see you tomorrow.” He leaves.

For the first time in their lives, their roles are reversed: Kuroo is the sun, and Bokuto is Icarus; however, he can’t bring himself to care.

Bokuto’s not there for the next few practices, and from the looks on Sawamura and Iwaizumi’s faces, he won’t be for a while. As Kuroo pulls on his kneepads, he pretends he doesn’t hear the rumours that circulate around the locker room.

July takes Kuroo over to the US with Tsukki and Kenma. He spends his mornings watching the big city and unfamiliar language and he feels freer, happier , even. However, every day he misses autumn and the warmth it brings. He misses gold eyes and a hearty laugh and soup that’s made with trembling fingers. He misses mood swings and angry fights, and pillow fights and nights spent in front of the television. He misses Oikawa and his brashness, and Iwaizumi with his hard fist, but soft eyes. He misses Sawamura’s sternness and Terushima’s wild endeavours and he wishes so hard that he could be there with them.

Most of all, he misses lips against his, the cuddling, the arms around his waist. He misses the stupid yet intelligent comments, the late night walks home, and the sight of gold in everything he sees.

The next month, in August, as he packs his bags for Japan, he knows exactly what he’s going to do.

v.

“I can’t believe that I come back to this,” Kuroo sighs as he’s greeted by the sight of Oikawa and Iwaizumi on his couch. The two smile as they help the two bring their bags in. “I spent a month away from your ugly faces, and I’m greeted with them.”

“Hey!” Oikawa pouts. “My face isn’t ugly!”

“It is in my world,” Kuroo retorts.

Oikawa pouts, and the four of them get supper ready under the Japanese sunset.

Kuroo’s immediately is welcomed by the busy and prosperous college life that he oh so missed. His fourth year promises a degree, and as he begins his last year of Biochemistry, he decides that the volleyball team is a permanent thing he wants to participate in. Practices become more brutal as the team’s goal is to win the next few tournaments they compete in and finally, finally , regain the title as top in Japan. Unfortunately, Bokuto does not appear at the gym, nor at their late night friday movie marathons, nor at the group dates that Oikawa orchestrates. He’s simply nonexistent, something that Kuroo has never associated Bokuto with.

(The good thing is, that the rumours are gone as well.)

As the leaves turn orange and the days turn shorter and colder, Kuroo sees more and more of his textbook, and less of the team, until he runs into a body on the quad again, the textbook falling to the ground. He curses under his breath and goes to reach for it, when his hand bumps against another and he looks up.

All he sees is gold.

Bokuto smiles sheepishly at him as he picks up Kuroo’s textbook, offering it to him gingerly. As they stand up, Kuroo’s smile turns into a grin, and they’re embracing, arms around each other.

“How are you?” Kuroo asks once they pull away. His heart is beating a frenzy into his chest.

“I’m doing alright,” Bokuto replies, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t know you came back.”

“I did, last week,” Kuroo says. Bokuto’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It bothers him.

Bokuto nods, and the two are quiet for a long second. Around them, the wind blows. Bokuto rocks back and forth between his heels and his toes, before he gestures to the building. “I’d better go.”

“Have coffee with me,” Kuroo blurts out. “Tomorrow, before practice if that’s alright with you?”

Bokuto looks startled. “Me? I--okay.”

“Great,” Kuroo grins. “Is the Starbucks by my dorm a good place?”

“Sure.”

It’s unnerving, seeing Bokuto as nervous as he is now. He’s looking anywhere but Kuroo’s face, gold taking in anything but the onyx that lies in front of him. Kuroo purses his lips as he takes a sip of his coffee.

“How’s the year so far?” Kuroo asks, and Bokuto nearly jumps at his voice. His eyes slide to Kuroo’s nervously and he offers a small grin.

“Good.” Bokuto looks down at his hands. “And you?”

“I’m doing fine,” Kuroo says. “Biochemistry is harder than I thought it would be though--”

“Look,” Bokuto interrupts, voice hard and choked. “I--Why are we here?”

“I wanted to have coffee--”

“Please don’t lie to me, Tetsu,” Bokuto whispers and Kuroo’s breath gets caught in his throat. He weighs his options in his head before he decides, screw it .

“Go out with me,” Kuroo says, and Bokuto’s eyes widen.

“I swear, if this is some kind of joke--”

“It’s not.” Kuroo bites his lip. He’s trembling. “I really want to go out with you, Bo. I really do. So please, do me a favour and end this waiting, this pining. Go out with me?”

Bokuto stares at him, gold shining, and he grins, bright and full. “Of course, yes--oh my god.”

Kuroo’s eyes widen and he grins. Tentatively, he takes Bokuto’s hand and grins when the other man squeezes back. “Holy fuck I thought you hated me, thank god--”

“I know,” Kuroo says, and he laughs, bright and happy. The autumn leaves blow outside the window. “I know.”

Icarus flies.

Two weeks later, under the leaves of an old maple tree, they share their first true kiss, warm and sweet, like the autumn that surrounds them.

Kuroo decides that he truly does enjoy autumn.

(vi.

There’s something about the way the light filters through the leaves that fascinates Kuroo. He sits on the quad during his prep, one hand splayed over his biology textbook, the other digging through a bag of chips. The air is cooler, signalling the end of autumn and as he recites carbohydrate reactions in his head there’s a shadow that looms over him, effectively blocking out the light and the wonderful orange filter that Kuroo had been admiring.

He doesn’t even have to look up to know who it is. Instead, he pops a chip into his mouth. He chews it slowly and purposefully before he flips the page. “Get out of my way.”

There’s a laugh above him. Full. Loud. The figure moves away and Kuroo’s vision is filled with brilliant autumn: hues of red, orange and gold dancing along the light. A red jersey, Gold eyes.

A hand reaching down. A soul to love.

Kuroo blinks as he stares up at Bokuto Koutarou, backlit by the sun. From this angle he looks like the sun, and Kuroo is Icarus, so near yet so far. Bokuto stares at him, that mischievous quirk in his mouth. Kuroo knows that mouth: he’s seen it grinning before a game, slanted down during a slump. He’s kissed it, happy and carefree, had it trailing up his neck, soft whispers of passion.

“Are you ready?” Bokuto asks, and Kuroo feels his heart stutter. Suddenly he feels like he’s on the edge, wind whipping around him. Bokuto looks like he’s flying, arms extended like he’s about to set up a spike. The wind blows the leaves, making them shake. Kuroo’s mouth turns up, sliding into an easy smirk.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Kuroo says, voice steady as it can be. His heart is stuttering a tap dance in his chest.

Bokuto’s head quirks and suddenly he feels like he’s a million miles away, yet a million miles too close. Kuroo’s heart beats for him, and Bokuto laughs, offering him a hand up. Kuroo can feel Bokuto’s muscles through his jacket, can smell the subtle spice of his cologne. Like this, Bokuto is the sun, and Kuroo is the dreamer, wishing with every fibre in his body to jump up and cradle it. He does-- presses his lips against the crook of Bokuto’s neck, and Bokuto pulls away, too fast, too soon , eyes bright, mouth smiling.

Because Bokuto is the sun. And Kuroo is the dreamer.

But the dreamer is prepared, and as he stands on the cliff, looking at the sun, his wings extend behind him, strong and steady like the wind that carries them.

“Let’s go,” Kuroo says, eyes smiling, Bokuto nods.

And the dreamer takes a step forward and falls.)