Chapter Text
Akaashi Keiji has the most perfect slapshot known to man.
“He really doesn’t,” Kuroo says, amused. But Kuroo also has terrible judgement and terrible hair and he’s secretly in love with a certain tiny, terrifying singles skater and he doesn’t know a damn thing about hockey so he can’t even talk, Bokuto is going to go find someone who will be nice to him.
When he says all this, Kuroo laughs so hard he snorts. “Who?” He says, grinning. “Who else will listen to you whine about the hockey player who doesn’t know you exist?”
“Yachi will,” Bokuto says stoutly.
Kuroo rolls his eyes. “Yacchan is an angel who is too good for this world,” he concedes. “But even she will agree with me that you are being ridiculous.”
Bokuto makes a loud, aggrieved noise, arches his back, leans forward onto his elbows. “You just don’t want me to be happy.”
“I want you to be happy,” Kuroo protests. He’s got one long leg up on a foam roller, and Bokuto’s unsure if his pained faces are from the knot he’s currently working out of his thigh or from Bokuto’s life-ruining crush. “I just don’t want you to be in love.”
“Why not?” Bokuto whines, giving Kuroo the best puppy-eyes he knows how to. They’re very effective. Yachi swears they should be classified as a weapon of mass destruction.
Kuroo is unphased. “Love is bad for figure skaters,” Kuroo shrugs. “It’s distracting and makes you complacent.”
“You’re a fucking menace,” a voice comes from behind them, and Bokuto watches Kuroo’s face go white and then color from his neck to his ears with something like glee. “‘Love makes you complacent’? Are you an evil stepmother? What the fuck, Kuroo.”
“Hi Yaku!” Bokuto says, coming out of his splits and onto his knees. “How’s it going?”
“Fabulous,” Yaku says dryly, still eyeing the back of Kuroo’s head. “Don’t listen to this guy, Bokuto. Who’re we talking about?”
“Some hockey player,” Kuroo grouses, finally managing to find his voice.
“Oh,” Yaku frowns at that. “Ew. Bokuto, don’t fall in love with a hockey player.”
Bokuto groans and flops onto his back. “You guys are terrible.” He says to the ceiling. “He’s amazing, I can tell.”
“So you don’t even know this guy?” Yaku asks. “C’mon. Hockey players ruin the ice,” Yaku says. “Go fall in love with someone else who isn’t going to tear up the rink.”
“Thank you,” Kuroo says. He rolls himself off the foam roller and lands on the floor with a thump. “See, Yakkun agrees with me.”
“I never said that,” Yaku says immediately, and Bokuto tunes them out when they begin bickering.
The ceiling in the rink is high, studded with bright lights and criss-crossed by metal beams, and Bokuto stares up at it until he has to blink away yellow-green afterimages from the fluorescents.
He’s not actually in love with Akaashi Keiji- yet- but he’s certainly nursing a big fat crush on him. When you really think about it, Bokuto muses, pulling one knee up to his chest, stretching out his hamstrings, this is definitely, absolutely, almost completely Kuroo’s fault, anyway.
Last week Bokuto had stayed late in the rink’s gym with Kuroo and Daichi, a trainer there, and when they had finally showered and dragged themselves into street clothes the rink was packed.
“What’s going on?” Kuroo said, bemused. He stood on his tiptoes, looked over the packs of people. “The rink doesn’t have public skate tonight.”
“No,” Daichi agreed, rocked back on his heels. “But the hockey team is playing tonight, and they’ve been on fire this season, so people are excited about it.”
“What hockey team?” Bokuto asked.
“Since when the hell do we have a hockey team?” Kuroo said at the same time.
Daichi shook his head. “Do you guys- do you not pay any attention to what happens at the rink? Or do you guys have the most impressive figure skating blinders known to man on? You don’t know what’s going on?” He asked. “Like, at all?”
Kuroo and Bokuto exchanged looks, shrugged. “No,” they said in unison.
Daichi sighed, looked at the ceiling for a brief moment. “It’s an AHL team,” he said. “Their home rink used to be next town over, but they’re going through some major renovations, so they’re here for the season.”
“Ugh,” Kuroo said. “So that’s why the ice has been trash lately.”
Daichi elbowed him in the ribs. “Hush your mouth,” he said, but he was smiling. “They’re good for the rink, and they’re fun to watch.” He paused for a moment. “You guys wanna watch the game? I can get Suga to give us some tickets.”
Kuroo and Bokuto looked at each other. It was Thursday night, and all that awaited them at their apartment was an evening of painful rolling out via lacrosse ball. “Why not. You like hockey, I like not being bored at the apartment, it’s a win-win.” Kuroo said. “Fuck it. Hockey night.”
Daichi grinned and ducked behind an employee’s only door and came out a few minutes later, distinctly redder in the face but clutching three tickets. “Lover boy holding you up?” Kuroo said, amused.
Bokuto bounced on his toes, grabbed the profferred ticket. “I’m excited! I’ve never seen a hockey game in real life,” he said.
“How?” Daichi said, shaking his head as they pushed through the double doors- they were headed up into the nosebleeds. Suga was good, but he couldn’t work miracles. “You live on the ice, Bokuto. And I’ve literally seen you in a Penguins jersey.”
“We don’t associate with hockey jocks,” Kuroo sniffed, lifting his nose up. He broke into his hoarse hyena laugh a second later when Daichi whacked him across the stomach.
“Just never worked out, I guess,” Bokuto said as they awkwardly shuffled into the row. “I like it a lot, though!”
“NHL Center Ice is the only cable package we pay for,” Kuroo says over his shoulder. “Well. Bokuto pays for it.”
“Huh,” Daichi said, ignoring Kuroo’s whines about wanting to sit in the middle. “You kinda look like you play hockey, you know, with your build.”
Bokuto shrugged. “I get that a lot,” he said. “I got into skating too early and too fast to ever give it up though, but I’m not a big, uh, violence guy.”
“And we’re lucky to have you,” Kuroo said, reaching around Daichi to pat Bokuto on the shoulder.
Fifteen minutes later, Bokuto was staring open mouthed down at the rink. “Who is that,” he said as a player, a little slighter than the rest, managed to rip a slap shot so hard that the goalie flinched.
“Number five?” Daichi said, leaning forward. “Akaashi Keiji. He’s new to the team this year and a rookie besides, but he’s got a hell of a slapshot.”
“He’s amazing,” Bokuto said fervently.
Daichi grinned and nudged him in the ribs. “You should see him without the helmet.”
Later on, when Akaashi was thrown into the penalty box for hooking- the boys in the stands booing at the bad call- Bokuto did indeed get to see him without the helmet.
Bokuto made a frankly embarrassing noise in the back of his throat, gaze flicking from the screen to the small, dark head sitting in the sin bin.
“Oh no,” Kuroo said, aghast. “He’s hot.” Daichi started to laugh.
Akaashi dumped half his water bottle over his head and slicked back wet hair, glaring out at the rink with gunmetal eyes.
Bokuto moaned and put his face in his hands.
“Guess what, boys,” Atsumu called loudly as he entered the locker room. “One of our lovely contestants has, yes, won the incredible honor of being the subject of a figure skater’s admiration!”
“What the fuck are you on,” Tanaka said, sounding delighted.
Akaashi sighed, lifted his head from the Gordian knot that his laces had worked themselves into. Atsumu’s skates clattered as he made his way to the benches and his gold hair was almost black with sweat.
“Y’dunno?” He said. “A figure skater’s got the hots for one of the boys.”
“Stop being a fuckin’ tool,” Osamu called calmly.
“Don’tcha want to know, ‘Samu?” Atsumu retorted. “Or is it cuz you know they ain’t crushing on yer ugly ass?”
“Get fucked,” Osamu said, pulling his jersey over his head.
“You’re a fucking gossip, ‘Sumu,” Aran said from the back. “Tell us who it is already.”
Atsumu grinned “None other than our brand new baby! Akaashi is in cupid’s sights.”
Akaashi jerked his head up, stared at Atsumu. “What?”
“It’s not surprising,” Tanaka said. “Akaashi’s a pretty boy.”
“And the flow is incredible,” Aran said, ruffling Akaashi’s hair as he passed.
“How bout that?” Atsumu said, sounding much too pleased with himself.
“How do you know any of this?” Nishinoya asked, impressed.
“‘M friends with Suga,” Atsumu said, finally sitting down to unlace his skates. “And Suga knows everything.”
The stragglers left in the locker room nodded in agreement. Suga, the rink’s manager, was almost definitely omnipotent.
“I can’t believe Suga is friends with you,” Aran said. “You’re so obnoxious.”
“Hey!” Atsumu said, hand pressed to heart in mock offense. “Suga and I have a special relationship.”
A chorus of jeers sounded in the locker room. “Y’know, if it’s Kiyoko who’s in love with you, I’ll have to kill you,” Tanaka said conversationally.
“Seconded,” Nishinoya said, raising his hands.
Akaashi bit back a sigh. “Thanks, boys,” he said drily.
Tanaka and Nishinoya’s laughter is only cut off by the banging of the door, and Akaashi lets out that sigh he’d been holding.
“They’re on the ice right now, if y’wanna take a peek,” Atsumu said, slightly muffled as he struggled to pull his jersey over his pads. “I’ll even go with ya, so it’s not weird.”
“You’d make it weird, ya freak,” Osamu said, coming over and ripping the jersey over his brother’s head.
Atsumu’s hair stuck up around his face like a crown, and he frowned up at Osamu. “Would not.”
Akaashi bent his head and finally managed to unpick the knot of his laces. “I don’t know,” he says to his socked feet.
“C’mon,” Aran says. He’s already managed to take off the rest of his pads. “We’ll all go ogle the figure skater who’s in love with Akaashi after showers, it’ll be fun.”
“Yes!” Atsumu cheers, punching the air. “Knew you’d be on my side.”
Akaashi’s sigh this time is much deeper and more heartfelt.
Fifteen minutes later, Akaashi has speed showered, trying to get out of the locker room before anyone else. He dresses with more haste than care and darts out of the locker room with his bag over his shoulder, closing it carefully so it doesn’t bang.
He’s halfway out the complex when his steps slow, and then stop. It couldn’t actually hurt to go take a look, right? Just to soothe his curiosity. Get a good look at them so he could avoid them if need be.
Akaashi’s feet turn, and he heads back into the rink.
When he enters, the cold air feels like a slap upside his still wet head. There’s faint strains of some pop song Akaashi doesn’t recognize coming tinny over a portable speaker. What’s louder is the familiar scrape of skates on ice, set to different patterns than he’s used to.
He walks forward enough that the whole rink is in view, and the pair skating on it is too.
They’re a funny pair- the girl is blonde and tiny, dwarfed by the silver-haired guy who is currently skating backward in an easy glide. He turns neatly, no unnecessary movement, and is at the girl’s side in an instant.
The guy who now skates at her side looks more like a hockey player than Akaashi does. He’s broad through the shoulders, obvious power in his arms, and his thighs are wrapped in black athletic leggings that Akaashi is suddenly very thankful for.
He’s also very thankful for the short-sleeved compression shirt he’s wearing.
Akaashi shakes his head. He can feel a slight flush coming to his face, and he feels guilty. He was supposed to be coming to take a look at this girl who’s apparently into him, and here he is, ogling her skating partner.
The girl is very cute, delicate feathers and obviously athletic, but not Akaashi’s type. He takes careful stock of her features anyway, makes sure he’d recognize her in the future.
Their heads bend together, silver and gold, and seem to be conferring for a brief moment. Akaashi watches with interest as they circle the rink, hand in black gloved hand, picking up speed. In another moment, the girl has managed to get in front of her partner, still picking up speed but backward, and then his hands are around her waist and he’s lifting her in the air like she weighs nothing at all.
Akaashi’s mouth suddenly goes dry.
Oh, god. He’s a horrible person.
He still watches as the guy tilts his head to say something to the girl- while she’s still held over his head- and then gently places her down onto the ice without missing a beat. His footwork is insane.
“Yo, Akaashi, you decided to go on without us?” A voice calls from behind Akaashi, and he whips his head around, staring wide-eyed as Atsumu, Osamu, and Aran all file through into the rink.
The pair on the ice still hasn’t taken notice of them, but all the blood feels like it’s drained out of Akaashi’s face. This is a worst case scenario.
They’re headed around the rink again, skates flashing in unison as they pick up speak.
Osamu whistles. “She’s cute.”
“Nice wheels,” Aran says.
Atsumu leans on the glass, not even bothering to look at the ice. “What, yer not gonna say hi to your little fan, Akaashi?”
Akaashi holds himself stiffly. “I’m not a dick,” he says, and fights the urge to glare at Atsumu. He’s just trying to get a rise. “And you know I’m not into women.”
Atsumu just starts laughing, turns to look at the pair skating on the ice. “Hey, I never said Yachi was the one who was into ya.”
Very slowly, Akaashi’s head turns back to the ice, just in time to see the guy pick his partner up again, and raise her above his head- this time, she’s held up by just one arm.
Akaashi swallows, hard.
Another moment and the girl- Yachi, apparently- is back on the ground, and she spins in a happy little circle. On her second rotation, her skates screech, and she stares at the group of hockey players hanging out rinkside.
She tugs on her partner’s arm, and he spins to face them too, face open and curious, head tilted like a bird.
Akaashi’s eyes meet a pair of wide gold ones, and he watches, astonished, as the skater’s face goes a very cute shade of pink, flushing over his cheekbones and his ears.
A small, shy smile comes over the guy’s face, and he raises one black-gloved hand in a little wave.
As if in a trance, Akaashi raises one hand and waves back, a little awkwardly. Out of the corner of his mouth, he says, very calmly, “I’m gonna murder you, you fucking hoser,” to Atsumu.
The boys at his side immediately collapse in laughter, howling and ribbing Atsumu mercilessly, while Atsumu cries out about how he doesn’t deserve this abuse.
Akaashi doesn’t bother to pay any attention to them, as the silver-haired figure skater just grins a little wider and Akaashi’s heart beats a steady mantra of Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.