Archive of Our Own

Bokuto opens the door and immediately smashes face first onto the floor.

He scrambles to his feet in a hurry,biting back tears. The security system beeps insistently at him from the wall. He punches in 4412 while his free hand pinches his nose shut to stop him bleeding all over the clean floor. He kicks off his shoes and reaches where he knows his slippers will be, swearing at the tiny step in front of the front door the entire time.

At least this time he put down the bags to get his keys, so the food is intact. He brings it in and shuts the door behind him. Locking it so nothing will give him away.

After the gracelessly painful entrance and the rush that followed, he takes a second to stand in the hallway, and breathe in deep. Cleanliness, coffee and if he does so long enough, his aloe face cream. Bokuto’s got his own place, his room back at the training center, but it doesn’t smell or feel so much like home as Akaashi’s one bedroom does.

He sets the food on the breakfast bar and opens the windows. Greeting the plants above the full sink. They’ve got different pots, they’ve grown in the time he hasn’t come here. The soil is not dry. They do need water, but they’re not drying out. Which means Bokuto’s hunch and timing are still impeccable, as always.

He spots a big box of miniature donuts on the counter, with a big red bow on top. It’s open but it looks near full. Bokuto eats three, knowing Akaashi isn’t one for sweets. He’ll eat some, not finish them, feel bad for wasting food as the expiring date approaches and end up trying to finish them in two days. He considers, and grabs two more.

As he chews through cinnamon sugar goodness he reaches below the sink for the small plastic pitcher and waters the plants on top of it, then the ones in the living room, the two in the bathroom and the big one in the bedroom.

Every time he does this he can’t help but smile at Akaashi’s attempt to fill the dog shaped hole in his soul with as many house plants as possible. Bokuto’s sure he would’ve taken the apartment that had the bath in the kitchen just because they did allow small pets if it hadn’t been twice as long to get to his college.

With a steeling breath he heads over to the desk/dining table. (Akaashi does have a proper desk, in the bedroom, but it’s not “big enough”.) The mess is telling enough. Bokuto only touches the papers that he knows for sure can be moved or rearranged, if he moves anything else it will be the last thing he does.

Not that Akaashi would kill him, he would just sigh tiredly and give him an even more exhausted stare. He wouldn’t even get mad, he would just look a little sad about having to rearrange his stuff and that look makes Bokuto want to jump from the terrace.

He plugs in his wireless headphones, not needing to check if they need to be charged. They do. The sky is blue, grass is green, Bokuto will always break his nose on Akaashi’s front door step and Akaashi’s wireless headphones will always need charging.

He dusts off the coffee table, and turns on the small speaker on one of the bookcase shelves, his phone connecting to it immediately. He hits shuffle and throws it on top of the couch.

He feels pent up, his anticipation building from the second he stepped into the train headed here. The unused energy makes him feel jittery, so he walks back into the kitchen and gets to washing the accumulated dishes. He’s thankful he got here before another cup got piled on top of the plates. Maybe his timing hadn’t been as good as he thought, he had cut it quite close.

Hands and mind thankfully occupied he doesn’t even realize when the clock above the counter hits three thirty seven. Neither does he hear the lock open, the four digit code being entered, the door locking.

He nearly breaks the bowl he’s scrubbing when he hears the familiar, “Bokuto.”

“Shit! Fuck, oh Akaashi!” With a dexterity that impresses even himself he places the bowl down, shrugs off the rubber gloves and leaps across the kitchen in the time it takes Akaashi to put down his messenger bag and place his water bottle on the breakfast bar.

Akaashi nearly bends under the sudden way Bokuto throws himself at him. Normally he wouldn’t ambush him like this, but he’s caught him off guard and it’s been too long. Longer than he wants to think about.

Akaashi grasps at his sleeve, trying to keep balance. “Your shirt is wet.”

It is, all of Bokuto’s stomach soaked in water and dish soap. He pulls back, not wanting to get Akaashi’s sweater damp, but as he pulls away Akaashi presses closer, both hands clinging to his arms. His face burying against his neck.

Oh. Bokuto hesitates, then brings his arms around him. A hand against the back of his head, an arm wrapping entirely around his torso, he really likes the way he can fully embrace him with only one arm. Akaashi’s own hook around his waist and a bit of weight Bokuto didn’t know he was carrying drops off.

-

He’s here. Right fucking here.

He’s not even concerned about slowly having the air choked out of him as Bokuto’s hold on him tightens. The muscles in his arms slowly shifting against his back as he’s pulled even closer. That's fine, if Akaashi got to choose his preferred way of dying, this would be near the top three.

Bokuto holds him for the not short amount of time that it takes Akaashi to stop reeling and put himself back together. He’s sure he would’ve held him for longer, but he can feel the way his clothes slowly absorb the water from Bokuto’s and the cold is so clashing, coming off the hot and humid train station, he can’t help but pull back before he starts shivering.

“You’re doing the dishes,” Akaashi points out, stupidly. Mostly because it was the fact that nearly had him in tears upon arriving.

“Well, there were a lot of them,” Bokuto replies as an explanation.

Akaashi knows that, he was one dirty coffee cup away from eating straight off the pans.

“I was getting to them,” he says instead.

Bokuto doesn’t call his bluff and goes back to finish the task, stopping by the counter for a sugared donut. Akaashi will give him the whole box. He’ll either smuggle it in once he’s back in the training center or have the rest of his team come out to eat them in secret like they do with most of the stuff Akaashi sends him. He misses a lot of things about being an athlete, but the strict dieting isn’t one of them.

He’s so tired he doesn’t even try to stop him so he can show some proper host etiquette, he even leaves him alone in the kitchen, collapsing on the living room couch instead. It’s less than six steps away, Akaashi’s apartment isn’t big enough to really leave someone alone in any of the rooms, but he still feels slightly guilty.

“How were finals?” Bokuto asks, louder than actually needed by the distance between them.

“I’m not thinking about it,” Akaashi replies.

He sees him nod his head in sympathy with no pity behind it.

“How’s training?” He asks back.

“Fun,” Bokuto replies, sounding sincere and excited. Akaashi can feel the way his crushed soul slowly begins to resurrect. “Hard, too. Tsumu’s sets are easy to hit but I’m still trying to really enjoy them, can’t get my full strength behind them if I don’t, and now that I’m trying a new technique it’s hard to do both.”

Akaashi hums, hoping he’ll continue. He does, giving him a summarized version of everything he’s told him over texts and calls and few video calls over the past four months, all while he does his dishes.

Maybe Akaashi died. He wasn’t sure the last twenty page essay hadn’t killed him, but now he’s starting to seriously consider that it did. Akaashi’s dead and this is an ideal version of the afterlife, a god saw the level of suffering he went through in the past two and a half weeks and let him be greeted into death by a house keeping Bokuto. He’s willing to make peace with his rushed demise if that is the case.

Said otherworldly gift comes into the living room eating another donut.

“I brought some of Samu’s onigiri, so don’t get mad at me for eating your fancy gift donuts.” This is definitely heaven.

“Who sent you?” Akaashi asks, wanting to know which god to thank.

“Tsumu? He doesn’t let me buy it from anywhere else, even when I told him his brother raises the prices when I mention that his twin sent me.” He gets sugar on his coffee table. “You wanna eat?”

Akaashi nods, getting up from the couch. Bokuto sets the table as Akaashi warms up the food.

“You’re soaked,” He needlessly points out when he catches him stuffing the kitchen’s hand towel under his shirt. “Go change.”

Bokuto smiles sheepishly and heads over to the bedroom. When he comes out, wearing the shirt he left the last time he visited, everything’s ready and Akaashi doesn’t apologize for starting without him.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Akaashi starts. “But is everything okay?”

Bokuto blinks at the question. Akaashi eats slowly, waiting for the answer. It’s not unlike him to show up suddenly, he’s done that before, still seeking him out if he’s got something going on. The problems are not as small as they used to be, he still remembers his third year of high school, how they both needed to check in every night. Codependency, everyone had joked and Akaashi hadn’t laughed.

When he’s ‘stuck’ on something (what gets to him isn’t really the problem itself anymore, only if he can’t figure it out for a long time) he unexpectedly stops by. He crashed at his apartment for a whole weekend when he was figuring out how to adapt to Miya Atsumu’s way of playing. And for him to appear on a day when he’s supposed to be training is unprecedented.

“No,” Bokuto replies, although it’s muffled by the mouthful of rice he’s just bitten into. “You’re not.”

Akaashi pauses and straighteners up. “Huh?”

“You got me worried, Akaashi!” Another bite of rice.

Akaashi goes through the last week of texts, calls and shared posts in his head in the time he takes a sip of water to fill the silence. He’s not sure what he did or said that could possibly have Bokuto concerned for him. Or maybe it was the lack of contact, from how ridiculously occupied he’s been the past weeks. He makes a face when he remembers that maybe in his sleep deprived or late night texts he mentioned something strange, those he can’t recall so well.

Bokuto’s eyes are well too knowing, and not for the first time Akaashi wonders if he can stare straight into him and read his thoughts, one by one.

“Your hands,” He says. Akaashi looks down at them unconsciously. “Last time I called you they were all bandaged up.”

Akaashi is thrown back. Seventeen year old Bokuto holds both his hands in only one palm. ‘You should stop tearing at your fingers, Akaashi. How are you gonna set for me if they are all bloody?’

Is that all it took? For Bokuto to skip out on practice for a national level team? The sight of Akaashi’s fingers, covered in bandaids and tape over his laptop camera for the moment it took him to push his hair out of his eyes.

“Also last week you texted me at four am and then at six, you would rather not sleep than only sleep two hours, you only pull all nighters when you’re really really busy. And when you pull an all nighter you usually end up pulling more and this time I’m not really here to carry you and force you to sleep.”

Akaashi stares at him for a long time. It seems Bokuto’s content with holding his gaze and stealing off his plate.

“So I was worried,” He continues. “And Tsumu got mad at me because I wasn’t concentrating enough to actually be useful during practice, he’s the one who suggested it and helped me sneak out this morning. He wanted me to come earlier, but I didn’t want to interrupt you during finals.”

This is all information that Akaashi could barely process with more than five hours of sleep during his whole week. He shakes his head to snap out of it. But it doesn’t help him at coming up with a reply.

“Also I really wanted to see you,” Bokuto tops it off. “And it’s your break already! Any plans, Akaashi?”

“Job hunting,” Akaashi replies, dumbly.

“What about that offer you got?” Bokuto asks, already knowing the answer.

Akaashi still makes a face. “Manga is not really my area.”

Bokuto laughs as if on cue in the repeated conversation. “I still think it would be so cool, you could tell me what happens in all the big series before anyone.”

“And then you would tell Miya and I would be fired,” Akaashi finishes their script, Bokuto laughs again.

“I wouldn’t tell! Not if it got you in trouble.” Akaashi believes him.

They finish the food in comfortable silence. Akaashi wants to talk to him, since he’s actually here for once, but he’s still very much reeling over the fact that He’s Here. And because of a detail so minimal as Akaashi’s late night texts.

He couldn’t concentrate. Because of him.

It’s stupid. He knows. Akaashi knows, he’s known since they lost nationals in Bokuto's third year. He doesn’t look upon the memory all that much. It triggers too many feelings and it leaves him feeling hollow and too full at the same time. Not like the memory would ever fade.

He knows how Bokuto felt (feels) about him. But he never allows himself to think about it. And to hear it, so overwhelmingly loud, after not seeing him for so long, after even longer since Akaashi’s last slip up.

“I’ll do the dishes,” Bokuto announces loudly, getting up fast.

“Bokuto,” Akaashi starts.

“No, you don’t get to argue,” he interrupts. “I’m your guest so I get to do whatever I want.”

“That's not how hosting etiquette works,” Akaashi argues.

“I can’t hear you over the sound of the water,” Bokuto replies.

Akaashi gives it up. Cleaning the rest of the kitchen instead. He really has to turn his apartment back into a livable space. The plants have been watered and he tilts his head in surprise, then pretends not to notice the way Bokuto tries and fails not to smirk smugly.

Akaashi’s chest presses tightly against his lungs forcing him to retreat into the living room to breathe. He’s too sleep deprived for this, he can practically feel the thin ice he’s standing on top of cracking under the weight of his heart. He’s slipping. It was just a matter of time before he did it again, and today seems like the perfectly orchestrated catastrophe.

Bokuto showing up out of the blue, for him, greeting him in glorious domesticity that Akaashi never gets to see. And he could swear he’s gotten even more shredded.

Maybe he died and this hell. Or purgatory. A space with trails perfectly designed to make him break. Akaashi leans against the wall and puts his face on his hands.

He tells himself to focus, fucking focus, rememb-

“Akaashi?”

-

Bokuto watches him jump like he’s been poked with something sharp. Akaashi’s features go carefully blank, not meeting his eye.

Bokuto is not trying to “make this more difficult” (at least, not on purpose), so he doesn’t push it. Yet.

He offers him a way out, knowing that Akaashi will take it. “Hey, since the kitchen’s done, have you got any new movies?”

The edge of Akaashi’s lips quirk ever so slightly, grateful and fond. “I’ve got some last month but I haven’t watched any, I haven’t gotten the chance.”

Bokuto claps his hands. “No better way to kick off your break!”

Akaashi lets a full smile slip out this time. Bokuto feels himself leaning towards it. “Sure, I’ll set it up.”

“You can start getting your soul back,” Bokuto points out.

Akaashi pauses and laughs quietly. “Yeah, finally.”

Bokuto doesn’t pay attention to the movie. And he’s willing to bet Akaashi isn’t either. His living room furniture consists of a two person couch and a plastic chair that doubles as his desk chair, not to mention that the couch is too small for Akaashi to sit in comfortably by himself and he’s never had as much, well as much body, as Bokuto does.

Even when they're up against the opposite armrests their arms brush whenever they shift.

Bokuto doesn’t really register the proximity, he’s always been the kind to be physically close with his friends. And Akaashi’s touch, after so many years practically in each other’s shadow, is not really an exception. Or it wasn’t.

It’s been months since they’ve even been in the same prefecture, even longer since they’ve been in the same room. Alone.

Akaashi sighs softly at something (maybe he is actually watching the movie), shifting and resting his head against his hand as he leans into the armrest.

Bokuto doesn’t want to get caught staring, when he does Akaashi kinda holds his eyes in a ‘what do you want?’ way and he knows he can’t really answer that right now. Yet he can’t look away from his profile, the lights of the tv reflecting on his glasses, the little sunlight coming from the window blurring the outline of his dark hair.

He loses himself in space just a bit. Akaashi’s painfully cheap couch, the still apartment air, Tokyo never quieting down outside the window. The faint dialogue from the movie, the lingering smell of dish soap and Akaashi’s quiet yet grounding presence.

It’s weird for him to have moments where he feels completely still and not in a bad way. To stop so completely and not want to go again for as long as possible. Akaashi’s apartment is where he’s had most of those moments. And like every time, when he realizes he’s in one he wants to stay in it, stay here next to him, as long as he can.

He wants to take his hand, the one carefully folded across his stomach, to take in the anxious damage. Kiss it better, which he knows he’ll either hate or pretend to. He wants to take his hand and freeze them here, forever or for as long as they’ve been apart. Reality can leave them alone, until they’ve catched up to the time that’s passed.

“You’re the one that wanted to watch a movie,” Akaashi mutters.

Bokuto feels his face flush and he snaps his neck straight ahead. He wants to hold his hand, and not feel like it will slip away like water between his fingers. But he can’t, because if he did that’s exactly what it would feel like, water flowing at the same pace the minutes of his short visit run out. And he won’t do it anyway, he doesn’t want to “make this more difficult”.

He steals one last glance at him, because he’s here and he can. Akaashi is looking at him already. They both look away.

-

Akaashi isn’t watching the movie. Although he wishes he was, in his mind he’s watching all the times he’s fucked up. It kind of feels like watching a ‘previously on, how you keep fucking up’ because he feels his resolve wavering just by knowing that Bokuto is right here. Remembering feels like a build up to another mistake.

They were never together. Not really. Because Akaashi knew (knows) their ways go in too different directions since he started his second year of high school, since he noticed how Bokuto was only gearing up when he was already winding down from volleyball.

He’d been right when they’d placed second and he’d been right when Bokuto got pulled away from the rest of the team by scouts. He’d been right on the bus, crying his eyes out while Bokuto clutched recruitment pamphlets in the hand that wasn’t holding his. And he’d wished he hadn’t been right that same night, when he’d leaned down to kiss him breathless.

The remaining time of his second year had been… nice. Because Akaashi hadn’t denied himself anything, yet. They could have each other and ignore the days slowly ticking down.

He’d been right when Bokuto moved to Osaka, and a year after he started college.

It hadn’t been about distance (well… not entirely), but about time. Neither had any. And the last thing Akaashi would ever do is hold Bokuto back. From anything.

He had asked, and Akaashi had justified his answer. He hasn’t asked again.

So they were not together. But as Konoha (who was too invested in it for Akaashi’s liking) had so eloquently put it, they are Not not together.

Five times. Five times over the last four and a half years, he’s fucked up. (It’s so mortifying to think that he’s always the one that slips, and he’s also the one that asked not to complicate things in the first place.)

Akaashi sighs, wanting his head to stop enumerating each and every single misstep that had him stumbling and crashing. Akaashi’s graduation day, the first weekend he’d visited his apartment (the day he’d helped him move in had been a close one), Bokuto’s twentieth birthday, those two weeks after he came back to Japan from the 2016 olympics.

The most recent one was the weekend after world championships, when Akaashi had a miraculous three days off and was able to get out of Tokyo for the majority of that time. He’s only held back from slipping for so long now because every time he remembers meeting Miya Atsumu fresh off the Black Jackals common showers, wearing Bokuto’s boxers as shorts and little else, his soul dies a little. There’s no better motivant for repression than pure shame.

Right now he feels like he’s already missed the step, and is waiting from the crash. He’s falling, slowly but surely. Bokuto will leave, like he always does, and Akaashi will burn. The question is if he can seal his coffin before that happens.

“Is it okay if I stay the night?” Bokuto asks as the movie passes it’s climax and begins to close up. Akaashi stiffens. The question has been answered. No way he can keep it together for that long.

“Won’t you get in trouble?” he asks, like they’re children.

Bokuto smiles sheepishly and shrugs, the movement bumping Akaashi to the side. “I’m already in trouble, why not make it worth as much as possible.”

“That’s a terrible mentality.” He sighs heavily. “But yes, of course you can stay.” He doesn’t add the ‘whenever you want, you have your own keys for a reason. Stay all weekend. Stay for longer.’

-

Bokuto finds his toothbrush where it was four months ago. His pajamas in the same drawer, his slippers in the same corner. The word ‘home’ echoes in his head as Akaashi orders dinner and he steps out onto the small balcony. He misses Tokyo, a place more full energy than even him. He stays and listens and doesn’t notice when he joins him until Akaashi’s arm is against his own.

He thinks it’s been too long, but he won’t push it. He still gets to ride out Tsumu’s “insane jealousy” (at least that’s how Omi put it), after all these months anyways.

“I miss the city,” Bokuto whines, like he always does when he looks out of this exact balcony.

“It must miss you, too,” Akaashi replies.

When their food gets there they eat standing up at the balcony, using the railing as a precarious table. Talking about literally anything. He knows that if anyone else heard them at that moment they wouldn’t be able to understand a single thing.

That effortless understanding about everything, from actual adult problems (“You should stop calling them that, all your problems are and will be adult problems.” “Akaashi!”) to a debate on what the coolest gymnastic move is, is something he never really has with anyone else. Being with Akaashi is easier than anything, and he gets spoiled fast. He’ll be readjusting for probably the whole day when he gets back.

It’s not late, but Bokuto can see that he’s tired. Worn down from exams and everything that comes with them. But he won’t say anything, so Bokuto does.

“I’m beat,” he declares after they clean up all the take out boxes.

“Oh.” Akaashi glances at his wrist. “Yes, it’s past your bedtime.”

“Don’t call it that, Akaashi!” Bokuto whines. “It’s a training regime!”

Akaashi turns away so he won’t see the smirk on his face.

They struggle in the bathroom for a few minutes before Bokuto accepts defeat and goes to use the kitchen sink, nearly placing his toothbrush inside the utensil holder. He changes into some sweatpants he left before and watches Akaashi try to get ready for bed, then get distracted by how messy his bedroom actually is, and start to clean up.

Bokuto rolls his eyes and remembers. Oh, he’s actually here now.

“Koutarou!” Akaashi exclaims, his hands around his neck for balance.

“The mess will be there tomorrow.” He throws him onto the bed and Akaashi bounces gracelessly on the mattress. He throws himself at him, nearly crushing him if not for his arms holding him above him. “I’m really tired,” he lies.

Akaashi’s glare is normally very effective at getting him to apologize or shut up, but not when he’s blushing this hard. Bokuto holds his stare. Suspended in an incomplete push up over him until Akaashi breaks and looks away.

“Fine.”

“Great!” He falls to the side and the bed creaks dangerously. Before he can give him a chance, Bokuto turns off the light and rolls face down. “Goodnight.”

“N-night,” Akaashi stutters.

Bokuto is happy to listen to him exist beside him until sleep catches up with him.

-

It’s a testament to how completely exhausted Akaashi is that he falls asleep almost immediately after.

He wakes up during the night, convinced he forgot to turn in at least one assignment and that he’s gonna be late for one of his final exams. His heart battering against his chest while his breathing remains weirdly steady. He turns around, sure that it’s at least ten in the morning and he’ll be forced to retake the class or even the whole semester, since he’s so incapable of keeping his shit together, until he catches sight of the gigantic led light clock he bought for this exact reason.

It’s almost three in the morning. And he’s finished with exams. He throws his head back into the mattress, relieved and frustrated at the same time. Upon the abrupt and almost violent movement something -someone- shifts on the other side of his bed and Akaashi’s heart rate doubles even past his nightmare induced fit.

His mind, already nearing the edge of breaking, usefully wonders ‘oh my fucking god, again? Really?’ Akaashi sits up, once more. But no, it’s fine, they’re fine, they were so tired, christ.

“-kaashi?” Bokuto mutters. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Akaashi quickly replies.

He must hear something in his voice because he sits up, too. And without opening his eyes he wraps an arm around him completely and tugs back. “You didn’t forget to do anything, and even if you did, you’re not getting done right now, it’s like five.”

“It’s two fifty three,” Akaashi corrects, letting himself be dragged down onto his back.

“Even worse,” Bokuto mumbles.

Akaashi sighs, feeling weirdly lost in time. He’s always woken up at horribly early hours of the morning. He did so every night during all the nights they were at nationals, each year. Sure he’d left something undone or simply worried awake. It took two times of Akaashi accidentally waking him up for Bokuto (who once slept through a fire alarm going off during one of his math lessons) to also wake up whenever he did, alway using physical force to bring him back down.

He leaves his arm around him, adding to Akaashi’s suffering. It’s not comfortable, he’s way too heavy for it to be, but Akaashi appreciates the pressure, it’s grounding. Bokuto’s already snoring when he pulls himself closer. His head invading Akaashi’s pillow.

He glances over at him and leans in ever so slightly. He falls back asleep with Bokuto’s hair pressed against his cheekbone.

-

Bokuto wakes up when the sunlight starts to shine through the cheap paper blinds. His neck aches, he tries to move to lessen the soreness but Akaashi presses his face against his head even further, following his movement. He’s not even sure how he ended up holding him so closely.

Bokuto allows himself a moment to meltdown not so quietly over Akaashi’s unconscious movement. Taking advantage of the fact that he’s still asleep to fake cry over him. Akaashi’s bad at receiving compliments or even watching someone find him pretty, beautiful, cute, amazing, etc.

It’s barely seven, so he’s probably still deeply sleeping. Despite his easily interrupted sleep, it’s very hard to wake him up early. It’s even harder to get him to stay awake afterwards. He’s never really liked mornings, and it seems like university has only worsened his hate for them.

Bokuto takes the chance, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head. Akaashi breathes in suddenly, but he doesn’t wake up. Bokuto lies back down just for a moment, enjoying being the first one awake. A moment turns into a while and he falls back asleep, an arm still around Akaashi’s chest.

He sacrifices his morning run for breakfast, although it ends up with the same result. No wonder Akaashi “Once walked three kilometers during summer to save up on the train fare” Keiji ordered take out last night, the only thing Bokuto finds when he opens the fridge is sadness. He has to go to the store, so he might as well run there.

Akaashi’s apartment is further into the city than their old highschool and their last houses. But Bokuto is thrilled to walk the familiar streets and places. He buys stuff to prepare, figuring that he can make breakfast and Akaashi can keep the rest of the raw ingredients so he won’t keep living off coffee and spite.

He’s still asleep when he gets back to the apartment almost two hours later, Bokuto’s sure that he would sleep the day away, recovering from the end of the semester (he has done so, the first time Bokuto thought he had died). But he’s selfish enough to wake him up as soon as breakfast is done. It’s not every day that he can visit, and even when Akaashi’s break is starting, he doesn't know when they’ll see each other again.

He opens the curtains and Akaashi lets out a sound that Bokuto thought only large cats could make.

He bends down over him, too close to his face. Akaashi’s deep green eyes blink open a couple times, the hatred in them growing as his brain comes awake.

He glares at him, eyes narrowed. Bokuto beams at him.

“Before you murder me and hide my body in your very empty fridge,” Bokuto says as his goodmornings. “I made you breakfast.”

“Your body wouldn’t fit in my fridge,” Akaashi replies, sounding rough. He pauses for a long time, apparently content to hold eye contact with him. Bokuto can even tell when his mind starts coming awake. He blinks and softly asks. “You made me breakfast?”

Bokuto pulls away and offers him his small laptop table with his plate on top as response.

Akaashi looks at him, then at the food a couple of times. For a solid second, Bokuto fears he might cry. As if to hold back tears, Akaashi violently shovels a spoonful into his mouth. He goes to sit on the opposite side of the bed , his own breakfast waiting at the bedside table.

Akaashi stares at him the same way Bokuto was staring at Akaashi last night on the couch.

“What are you thinking?” Bokuto asks over a mouthful.

“You’d make an excellent house husband,” Akaashi replies almost immediately.

“I know!” Bokuto exclaims, triumphantly. “I’d be great.”

-

Akaashi doesn’t let him wash the dishes, threatening violence. Not that he would ever carry it out, even if he was physically able to.

He considers it for a second, his mind drifting as he scrubs a pan. He knows all of Bokuto’s physical and psychological weaknesses, but knowledge wouldn’t get you very far in a fight. He remembers the sound of one of his spikes hitting the court floor and that is enough for him to settle his own internal debate. He would totally die.

“If I fought you seriously,” Akaashi starts, “Do you believe I’d have a chance?”

Bokuto doesn’t question this odd turn in conversation. “That depends, are you mad at me?”

Akaashi snorts.

“It would be like fighting a puppy,” Bokuto replies and Akaashi can only be half offended. “Like, I could totally kick you away but imagine the emotional toll.”

He gives him a look over his shoulder and Bokuto responds with another. They converse via heavy and loud eye contact before Akaashi gives up and admits defeat. Bokuto walks around the kitchen, grabbing a donut and disappearing into the living room.

When he’s done he finds Bokuto back out on the balcony. Akaashi feels the urge to walk up to him and wrap his arms around his back, to confirm his initial theory. He doesn’t, settling in by his side as usual.

Now that the night’s gone time seems to run out faster. He doesn’t want to ask when he’ll be leaving. He also selfishly doesn’t want to ask what he wants to do for today. Bokuto might want to revisit the city, and Akaashi wants to keep him here. Pretend his apartment is an untouchable space where they can have each other and there are no outer factors to consider.

Akaashi’s twenty one. He knows he ideally shouldn’t want to be seventeen, just to go back to a time where such space existed. There were times, during practice, when everyone had already left and it was just the two of them in the gym, and Akaashi was certain the world was empty save for them. The world was empty because it was meant just for them.

Bokuto would hit toss after toss after toss and he’d keep asking for sets. For Akaashi’s sets. And at one point he must’ve realized that it wasn’t about improving anymore and that threw Akaashi off balance, he felt untethered in the best way. He wants that back, endless afternoons to spend with him. Nothing else to be preoccupied about. It felt timeless.

Not these stolen hours for months at a time. With their wildly different careers that are leading them further apart.

Bokuto leans in against him, snapping him back into the present so fast Akaashi does a double take. Upon the second look he realizes that under his hair (he didn’t style it up this morning), Bokuto looks slightly down. It’s impressive how fast Akaashi’s mind shifts, his thinking doing a full one eighty in a single moment, now his only point of focus is: ‘fix that’.

Akaashi leans into him as well in response, and as a way to prompt him to talk. Bokuto folds around himself, his face suddenly buried in Akaashi’s neck.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Bokuto mutters, sending shivers down his back when he feels his breath against his collarbone. “And it’s nothing good, is it?”

Akaashi can only sigh in response and rest his head against his.

“If I invited you to the gym,” Bokuto starts. “Would you go?”

Akaashi’s mind stops and restarts. They talk about Bokuto’s practice, he goes to see all his games, they’ve watched matches together, but it’s been too long to remember since he’s even thought about playing himself.

“And do what?” Akaashi asks, stupidly.

“Toss to me,” Bokuto huffs, warm air against Akaashi’s skin. “What else?”

Akaashi shakes his head, not as a reply, but as a way to discard the idea that Bokuto can secretly read his mind, again.

He gives in, because how can he not. “It would be nice. You might have to be a little patient, in the time I remember how to do it.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” Bokuto straightens up so fast the almost headbut would’ve knocked Akaashi out. “I’ll always know how to hit your tosses, no matter how out of it you are.”

Akaashi smiles. “Yes, I remember that.”

“Besides, I don’t think you can forget how to be good at something,” Bokuto adds. “And you were so good as a setter.”

The old yet surprising praise has Akaashi looking away.

“It’s so much fun to keep playing with everyone,” Bokuto says. “But sometimes practice is missing something. It’s missing you, I think.”

Akaashi stares out at the city, counting the cars to keep it together.

“We didn’t practice, really. It was something else and I miss it.”

Akaashi closes his eyes and shakily exhales. It might be different now, but whatever understanding they have isn’t going to fade out, that’s a fact he shouldn’t allow his mind to forget, or twist.

“Would it really be okay?” Akaashi asks, unsure of trusting an offer that sounds that good.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Bokuto tilts his head. “Coach wouldn’t mind as long as I’m practicing and you’ve already dropped by the training center-” At the mention of that occasion Akaashi adverts his gaze to the floor before his face can turn completely red. “-Ah, and if Tsumu tries to start something I’ll simply kick him out.”

He puffs his chest out making Akaashi raise an eyebrow.

“So will you go?” Bokuto asks again. “When you have the time?”

Akaashi laughs softly and nods. Bokuto’s smile hits him almost as hard as one of his serves.

-

Bokuto could only wait to visit long enough to let Akaashi's finals end, which he considers to be very kind of him. But that also means he didn’t give him any time to recuperate, which could be said was kind of inconsiderate of him.

A small part of him feels guilty as he watches Akaashi down a third cup of coffee just to keep himself awake, instead of sleeping the day off like he usually does when he’s right out of a semester.

“You sure you don’t want to take a nap?” Bokuto asks, shyly peeking into the kitchen from the edge of the doorway.

In response Akaashi takes a long sip of his mug, maintaining eye contact the entire time. Bokuto slowly backs away into the hallway.

He follows a few moments later, sitting with him on the couch, his cup refilled. “I can’t spend your whole visit asleep.”

“I’ll sleep with you,” Bokuto offers and pretends not to notice the way Akaashi’s face flushes red. He takes a rather violent swing of his drink and sets the mug down on the coffee table, not bothering with one of the volleyball coasters piled up on the center.

“I’m not tired,” Akaashi insists.

“With that amount of coffee, you’ll probably never be tired again,” Bokuto points out.

“Want some?” Akaashi teases and Bokuto pulls a face. They both know he hasn’t had (and won’t ever have) coffee since the incident.

They come to an unsaid agreement when Akaashi turns on his tv and settles in by his side. There’s little else to do in the apartment and Bokuto isn’t cruel enough to ask him to change out of his pajamas and go out on top of staying awake.

He kicks his legs up onto Akaashi’s lap who narrows his eyes before shoving them off. Bokuto pouts, turning to face him and leaning into him to show how hurt by the action he is. His chest against Akaashi’s side, pressing him into the corner of the couch. Akaashi glares at him until he cracks, snorting as he starts laughing, a hand against his cheek pushes Bokuto’s face away.

“Get off,” Akaashi mutters. “You’re crushing me.”

Bokuto eases up a bit and Akaashi uses the chance to practically slither from underneath him, letting him fall against the armrest with no warning. Bokuto scoffs in offense, barely regaining his balance and hoisting himself up to lean his shoulders against the armrest before Akaashi’s already on top of him.

No way in hell they fit on the couch horizontally, even if Bokuto kicks his knees up on top of the opposite side. Not that Akaashi seems to care as he straddles him and rests himself onto his chest, his head leaning on his shoulder. Half cuddling him, half using him as a pillow, he continues to watch whatever the tv is now playing.

Bokuto stays frozen under him, suddenly remembering how cruel Akaashi can be. It’s pretty unfair of him to literally crawl over him and expect Bokuto not to ask for more.

“Is this for throwing you on the bed yesterday?” Bokuto asks.

He can feel Akaashi laughing, even if he doesn’t make a sound. “Yes.”

Bokuto groans, throwing his arms around Akaashi’s waist and hiding his face in his hair. “Your tendencies towards revenge when I don’t expect it scare me.”

Akaashi hums as if to say. ‘They should.’

“Did I use tendencies correctly?” Bokuto asks.

“Yes,” Akaashi replies.

Bokuto spreads his palms over Akaashi’s back, feeling it rise with his breath and the quick beat of his heart. It’s going too fast for him to be acting so calmly. Bokuto smiles against his neck, feeling a smug happiness at knowing he has an effect over him, too.

He taps a finger against his shoulder blades in time with the rhythm, feeling him shudder. Akaashi slaps his bicep and Bokuto puts his hands up in defeat for a second before wrapping his arms around him again.

Bokuto sighs, making Akaashi shiver. It seems to be the last straw because he starts to pull away and Bokuto has to cling to him and drag him down.

“Bokuto,” Akaashi says in his ‘stop it’ tone.

He relaxes his hold and Akaashi is able to push himself up a bit. Bokuto tilts his head, realizing they’re in the same position as last night, only inverted.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto replies in his ‘c’mon’ tone.

He’s close enough that Bokuto can feel the movement of his chest as Akaashi takes a deep breath. Bokuto raises an eyebrow, questioning.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto repeats, in his ‘please’ tone.

Akaashi shuts his eyes and Bokuto laughs, amused but feeling weirdly guilty.

He starts to say something else, maybe to tease him some more, but before he can Akaashi’s hand is around his neck, a thumb over his jaw.

Bokuto freezes as their lips meet. Fast and forcefully and disorienting, before Akaashi practically starts to run away. Bokuto holds him tighter, sitting up to follow him, cause he’s not the one who started it, so he feels allowed to keep it going. He seeks him out blindly and Akaashi shakes and breaks, his hands holding the back of his neck and buried in his hair.

Bokuto is always caught off guard by the way Akaashi kisses him. Even when there was no line to cross, he kisses with an edge of desperation, like if he lets Bokuto pull away he’ll disappear completely.

“Fuck,” he hears him swear in between kisses. And it’s enough to make him laugh against his lips.

“Fuck, damn it,” Akaashi mutters. A kiss, frustrated and (Bokuto doesn’t have another way of describing it) starved. “I was doing so well.”

Bokuto hums, not really listening. Taking what he can get for as long as he’ll be allowed.

-

Akaashi comes down with his chest against Bokuto’s back, finding himself on his bed. Wrapped around him in a way that could be generously described as ‘clingy’. He’s got one hand holding Bokuto’s, the other folded between them.

His mind starts to catch up with his heart and he sighs deeply, burying his face against Bokuto’s shoulder blades. His cover suddenly turns, making him jump and sit up. Bokuto follows.

“Akaashi,” he says. But before he can add anything else, Akaashi reaches out, interrupting him. His hair is more of a mess than usual. Akaashi’s fingers comb it back unconsciously, almost out of instinct.

Bokutos blinks, gold shining when caught under the light streaming in from Akaashi’s wide open bedroom window. He looks at him and his gaze is tearing him open.

Akaashi tries to breathe past the knot in his chest. Or rather, he holds his breath so it won’t crawl up his throat and spill out of his lungs.

‘Don’t do it,’ He orders himself. ‘Don’t tell him that you love him.’

But he does, more than anything. It's not even an action anymore, it's a state of being. Going on seven years, it’s easier than breathing. ‘Don't say it. Don't let him say it back.’ But he knows that Bokuto does, sometimes it feels like he's the only one that could.

‘Don’t do it.’ It's gonna make it so much harder when he leaves again.

Akaashi startles when he feels Bokuto take his hand, he got too lost inside his thoughts to notice when he reached out.

He guides his hand up, spreads their palms open, keeps them pressed together.

“You know,” Bokuto starts, his tone ill matched with the exaggerated pout on his face, it’s too quiet, serious. “Wouldn’t it be nice if you kissed me and didn’t immediately regret it?” He laughs, and it’s humorless.

Akaashi inhales sharply, his hand stilling against Bokuto’s fingers.

“I’ve never regretted it,” Akaashi replies, sharply. “Never.”

Bokuto’s pout deepens as he looks away, his hand dropping on his lap. Akaashi sighs.

“Hey,” he tries. “Look at me?”

He does. “I miss you,” Akaashi blurts out. “And whenever I kiss you, I miss you even more, when you leave.”

“I know,” Bokuto replies. “How you feel! I mean! Not that I know that you miss me that much-” He drops back onto the bed with a groan. “But, like shouldn’t we have this whenever we can? Instead of all this, line toeing...

Look-” He sits up suddenly again, almost throwing himself off the bed. “I get why you said what you said, way back then. But, Akaashi. I haven’t changed my mind, and neither have you.”

“Bokuto-” Akaashi starts, not really sure what the end of that sentence is. Luckily, he’s interrupted.

“Have you?” Bokuto asks, suddenly panicked, as if Akaashi hadn’t had his tongue down his throat less than an hour ago.

“No,” Akaashi patiently replies.

“Good,” Bokuto breathes in relief. “Okay.” He jumps off the bed, smoothly walking into his slippers. “Are you hungry? I’m making lunch.”

Akaashi blinks, watching him calmly walk out of the bedroom. He stares at the doorway until he hears the fridge door open. Incredulous and exasperated.

“Koutarou!” He leaps off the bed and storms into the kitchen. “Where the hell was that conversation going?”

“Oh!” Bokuto exclaims. “Yeah, so are we together? I know what you said, and I know that I see you maybe twice every six months but I don’t think it matters.” He resumes, taking pans out of the cupboards and ingredients out of the fridge.

“I think you were right, back then. About time and experience, where we are going, but,” he shrugs. “It’s been four years and, Akaashi. I don’t think I could love anyone else.”

Akaashi stares at him for a long moment, because what the fuck is he supposed to say to that.
He sighs instead, and walks further into the kitchen, taking out ingredients from the fridge for whatever they’re making.

He holds his hand out and Bokuto wordlessly hands him a knife. He dices some vegetables, and Bokuto joins him, setting the pot to boil in the stove in silence.

“I think we were never not together,” Akaashi finally says.

Bokuto spins around, the movement too sudden, Akaashi barely has time to pace the knife down on the counter before he’s having all the air squeezed out of his lungs.

“The water is gonna overflow,” Akaashi says, that’s how long he’s been holding him. Bokuto lets him go.

Bokuto presses a kiss to his neck, climbing up his jaw until his cheek. Akaashi tries not to laugh. So overwhelmed, he might start giggling. They keep making their meal in charged silence, it’s not uncomfortable, but there’s something building.

He watches as Bokuto tries the dish, then burns his tongue on the spoon. Akaashi’s chest overflowing at such a simple sight. He wonders what it would be like, to have this every day.

To make food and eat together every day, it’s not an uncommon line of thought for him. They’ve discussed it, half jokingly so it wouldn’t be so difficult to. An apartment for two instead of one. Not that it would be so different from his current one. Half of Bokuto’s wardrobe has already been ‘forgotten’ here.

So Akaashi's thought about it. Of course he has. He has one year left of college and he's got to continuously tell himself that he can't leave Tokyo and whatever future he could build to follow him blindly. Again. He tries to snap himself out of it. A bit angry at his mind for rushing so fast after barely the initial ‘yes’ less than twenty minutes ago. But still…

His attention is drawn to the bright light of energy in front of him.

“What?” He asks, not looking directly at him, focusing on his food instead. He needs sunglasses to look at Bokuto’s face right now.

“We are together,” Bokuto declares.

“Yes,” Akaashi replies, patiently.

“Nice,” Bokuto smiles, and goes back to his plate.

-

Akaashi watches the sun set and it’s like watching a timer run out. It doesn’t bother him as much as it would’ve yesterday.

“Okay,” Bokuto says, joining him in the balcony, he’s showered and changed out of his sweatpants and is wearing one of Akaashi’s biggest sweaters, not that he’ll tell him to take it off, hair styled up, shoes on hand. “I found my keys…”

“But?” Akaashi prompts.

“I have no idea where my phone is,” Bokuto admits, defeated.

“Want me to call it?” He offers.

Bokuto looks away. “It’s dead.”

Akaashi sighs, resigned.

For such a small apartment it takes a considerable amount of time to find Bokuto’s phone and they’ll have to wait a bit while it charges, so he won’t get on the train without no music to listen to.

“Thanks,” Bokuto says as Akaashi hands it to him once he fishes it out from under the couch. They must've kicked it under earlier. Then he steps into his space and Akaashi leans into him, Bokuto pauses.

Akaashi tilts his head, questioning.

“I get to kiss you now,” he points out, his tone pleasantly surprised.

“Yes,” Akaashi says and meets him halfway.

Akaashi wishes Bokuto’s phone was like his and it took it three hours to charge, but it chimes at them, interrupting, less than forty minutes later.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto says, between his lips. “I have to go.”

“Yes, you need to catch your train,” Akaashi replies, making no attempt at getting off from his lap.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto pleads. He shuts him up with another kiss.

In the end he has to physically lift him in order to free himself. Akaashi does not pout.

Akaashi loves him, he only knows love from him. But he won’t change out of his pajamas to walk him to the train station.

He stands at the doorway, reciting every one of Bokuto’s things, to check if he has them and hands him a bag with the box of donuts and some left overs inside.

“Okay, that’s all I think,” Bokuto says. He steps out of his apartment, stumbling in the front door step and swearing, his frown melts as he turns to face him once more, a hand in his pocket.
The Tokyo lights behind him frame his board back and when he bends down and into him Akaashi doesn’t know how he’s supposed to let him go.

He shouldn’t have to. He kisses him and grips the collar of the sweater. He can’t.

“You’re forgetting something,” Akaashi says when they pull away.

“Really?” Bokuto asks, raising an eyebrow as he places the bag down and pats his pockets.

“Yeah,” Akaashi turns, heading down the hall. “Hold on.”

He knows exactly where it is, pulling out of his nightstand drawer without having to look. It’s technically Bokuto's, he’s the one that bought it because he “Had to have it” before realizing he can’t use it when practicing or playing so he gave it to Akaashi, since “you have to have one, too.”

Bokuto blinks when Akaashi presents it to him, holding it between his fingers at eye level. He opens his mouth, about to question him. Akaashi asks before he can.

“Marry me.”

Bokuto freezes, his eyes widening. His mouth drops open and he steps forward, tripping on the step.

Akaashi doesn’t break their look, but he shifts as if to say ‘well?’

“Yeah,” Bokuto says, his voice choked. “Sure.”

Akaashi places the ring in his left finger, then walks him to the door, picking up the bag and handing it to him again.

“Text me when you get there,” He instructs, trying not to laugh as Bokuto trips out of the apartment. “I love you.”

“I’ll text you from the train,” Bokuto replies with a smile. “I love you, too.”

-

“Hey, man.” Atsumu greets him from the doorway of his room, stepping in. “I managed to cover for you with coach, you owe me.”

“Thank, Tsumu,” Bokuto replies, relieved.

“So how was your surprise visit?” Tsumu asks, leaning against the table in the way that annoys Sakusa so much.

“Fun! I brought donuts,-” Bokuto points at the bag on the chair and Atsumu immediately dives for them. Resurfacing with one in his mouth and another in his hand. “-Got engaged.”

Atsumu chokes so violently, Bokuto has to slap his back a couple of times.

“You what?!”