Work Text:
Keiji is in the middle of completing his English essay when his phone buzzes.
Hunched over his pillars of papers looming over him, he tears his gaze away from his bright computer screen, eyes wandering towards the source of the vibration sitting neatly by his pencils.
Instinctively, Keiji clicks on the text notification, taking the device into both his hands as he tries to recall the last time Kenma bombarded him with texts in a drunken haze, prepared to be his emotional support shoulder to cry on.
His fingers still when his eyes read the number ID, lips pulling into a small, imperceptible frown.
+81 682 729 382: Hey hey hey!! Yukie!
+81 682 729 382: Tetsu gave me your number and I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime again hahaha! I had a blast last time :D :D :D
+81 682 729 382: Let me know when you’re free!!!
Knitting his eyebrows together, his fingers dance across his phone screen. The small burst of excitement slowly fades as he types out his response.
Keiji: This isn’t Yukie. You have the wrong number.
Blunt and to the point. Checking Kenma’s activity (and squinting at the taunting “last seen three hours ago” staring back at him), he sighs before turning his phone off.
He is just about to get back into writing his essay when his phone pings yet again.
For a moment, Keiji just stares at his screen in disbelief when he notices that the stranger responded to him in multiple texts.
+81 682 729 382: OH SHIT
+81 682 729 382: You’re really not Yukie????
+81 682 729 382: But Tetsu gave me this number :0
Keiji: Then he must have given you the wrong number.
+81 682 729 382: Damn.
+81 682 729 382: And we were supposed to go on a date next weekend!!!
Keiji fights the urge to roll his eyes, to snap back with a snarky comment when he is made acutely aware of his own dating life… or, lack thereof.
In hindsight, it’s not that Akaashi had any real problems finding himself dates - he was handsome enough not to send the other person running in the opposite direction and according to Kenma, had a decent enough personality once you got to know him.
(He took the compliment with narrowed eyes, but couldn’t complain at the end of the day. Turns out that despite everything, Kenma is the one with the boyfriend and Keiji, pointedly, isn’t.)
Of course, he makes up the telltale excuse, the memorised mantra he keeps on the tip of his tongue whenever anyone enquires about any potential girlfriends.
“I’m just focusing on my studies for now.”
“Oh, I’m looking for the one, you know?”
“Actually, I don’t think I’ll ever find a girlfriend because guess what. I’m gay.”
Keiji bites the inside of his cheek as he turns off his phone for good now. His fingers feel heavy against the keyboard but he forces himself to write out the next sentence.
He tries not to think about the stranger too much, not bothering another glance at his phone for the rest of the evening.
+81 682 729 382: The date has officially been declared a success!!!!!!!
Keiji: This is still the wrong number.
+81 682 729 382: I know!!
+81 682 729 382: I’m just keeping you updated in case you were wondering :D
+81 682 729 382: My name is Bokuto btw
+81 682 729 382: What’s your name
Keiji: Have you ever heard of the term “online safety”?
Keiji: I’m not giving you my name. You could be a serial murderer for all I know.
+81 682 729 382: But I gave you mine :((((
Keiji: I could be an axe murderer.
+81 682 729 382: ARE you an axe murderer?
Keiji: Why are you still messaging me.
+81 682 729 382: Maybe I’m bored, stranger :D
+81 682 729 382: And Tetsu won’t answer my texts.
+81 682 729 382: So why not talk to you instead??? :D
+81 682 729 382: Right?
+81 682 729 382: Hello?
+81 682 729 382: Stranger????????
+81 682 729 382: D:
“Who are you texting?”
Keiji tears his gaze away from his screen, fingers stilling against his device.
If he wanted to be completely honest, he wondered why he hadn’t blocked that guy’s, Bokuto’s, number on sight.
Despite their last encounter, the guy still hasn’t taken a hint and continued to blow up his phone every day, asking pointless meandering questions that ultimately led to nowhere, and made his blood boil, nevertheless.
In the course of a week, Bokuto (potential axe-murderer) had rudely interwoven his pitiful existence into Keiji’s life, one idiotic text message at a time.
Whether he received a drunk 3 AM text on a Sunday (and a very hungover one the next day) or was pestered for questions about himself (the usual: “What do you look like?”, “How tall are you?”, “Can you please tell me your name?”) to which he’d give nonsensical throwaway answers because he wouldn’t be caught dead humouring this guy, even if for a split-second.
“Just some guy,” comes Keiji’s reply, way too smooth for his own liking.
“Some guy”, he says, but the name saved on his phone had rotated a few times already. He scrapped calling him “Bokuto”, only God knows if that was his real name, anyways. It didn’t bother him too much, though, since pet names have always been his strong suit. It’s not like Keiji was one to complain.
At first, he had thrown his contact number out of the equation immediately. Why save a phone number you’ll never speak to again?
But their little innocuous exchange must’ve broken the dam, sending the flood water straight into Keiji’s direct messages. If this is the response he got to being polite, then Keiji’d seriously rethink his moral choices.
On that day, he learned two things.
One, Bokuto had the reading comprehension of a three year old. Two, Keiji felt a masochistic twinge of amusement at the sheer stupidity of the whole situation.
And so “+81 682 729 382” turned into “DO NOT ANSWER”, then changed to “Ignoramus” until Keiji realised that Bokuto had the brain capacity of a peanut and quickly changed it to “Baby”.
Keiji bit his lip, reading over Bokuto’s latest message (Baby: Wait but I thought that mouthwash was edible) before settling for a standard frown. His fingers worked fast as he typed back a short response (Keiji: You are going to die, Bokuto-san.) before hitting send and looking up again.
Kenma, who is sprawled across his bed, is looking back at him expectantly. “A friend?” he asks tentatively, which makes Keiji’s frown deepen.
“No,” he huffs, tossing his mobile onto his bed. It bounces against the cushions, nearly landing on Kenma’s head. “Some dork. Won’t leave me alone.”
He watches as Kenma slowly reaches for the phone and swipes up, having already memorised his PIN code. “You’ve saved him as ‘baby’.”
Keiji looks at him, face stoic as ever. “So? Not that type of baby.”
“How many types of babies are there?”
“The romantic kind.” Keiji looks down at his fingernails, then shakes his head. “And the hateful kind. I am mocking the loser, Kenma. I am calling him a baby.”
Kenma seems to be enjoying this too much, much to Keiji’s dismay. “Of course.”
“He won’t leave me alone. He’s clingy - like a baby, keeps messaging me, talking to me, asking me pointless questions. I wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up at my lecture tomorrow.”
A small smile forms on his lips. “So, a stalker then.”
“An annoyance.”
“A pest,” Kenma mimics, then chucks his phone back at Keiji. “Really, you’re starting to sound like Kiyoomi.”
Sakusa Kiyoomi, the same Kiyoomi who spent the last three weeks complaining about the detestable sports science major in his year before Kenma and Keiji inevitably ran into them heatedly making out in the storage closet.
“Oh, you know that that isn’t fair,” Keiji sighs, then runs a hand through his black hair. “Sakusa-san had the biggest crush on Miya-san. It would take a fool not to notice.”
“A fool, huh?”
Keiji’s face darkens. “Kenma, if you are implying what I think you are implying—”
“Why haven’t you blocked him, huh?” Kenma counters. He sits up atop his bed, crossing both his arms. “He’s an annoyance, and yet you keep answering his texts. If he were a scam caller, you would’ve had him blocked yesterday.”
“It’s not the same thing,” Keiji says because, really, it’s not. Keiji had tried blocking him countless times before, but yet there’s something about him, some greater power that keeps on stopping him.
When Kenma doesn’t reply, Keiji just repeats himself, drawing his knees to the bottom of his chin.
“It really isn’t,” he says, but he’s not sure Kenma hears it.
Baby: How old are you?
Keiji: Older than you, I’m sure.
Keiji: You text like a child.
Baby: Ohoho I will let you know that I am 20 in September!
Baby: My natural youth astounds most people yes I know
Keiji: In September?
Baby: Are you younger than me LOL
Baby: Wait your not like underage or something
Keiji: I am 19 in December.
Baby: Youre so young wtffff lol
Keiji: Old man. I wonder how you are the oldest one here.
Keiji: Just yesterday you were asking me about the repercussions of tax evasion.
Baby: Ok but taxes are scary bro
Baby: I always bring my bros over and we fill them out together
Baby: It’s a testament to our friendship
Keiji: Genuinely what is wrong with you.
Baby: Wouldn’t you like to know ;;)
Keiji: I really wouldn’t.
Baby: BUT I would!!!!!!
Baby: What is your major
Baby: Wait no let me guess
Baby: Accounting
Keiji: Just because I know how to file my taxes doesn’t mean I’m studying to be an accountant.
Baby: You totally could be
Baby: I can so imagine you with those accounting glasses hunched over a computer lol it’s just a general vibe
Keiji: You are… so wrong. But weirdly right.
Keiji: Lit major. I do wear glasses.
Baby: Cute :)
Keiji: What about you?
Baby: Well the girls do say that :))
Keiji: What is your major, Bokuto-san?
Baby: Oh! Physics!
Keiji: Are you serious?
Baby: Yeah :D I applied to the uni as a joke between Tetsu and I but it stopped being funny when I got accepted
Keiji: Oh my God.
Baby: But I want to become a pro volleyball player!!! Play for Schweiden Adlers or MSBY
Keiji: MSBY Black Jackals are way better in my opinion.
Baby: ??
Baby: You’re into volleyball???
Keiji: You could say that.
Baby: Marry me please.
Baby: Let’s do it as soon as possible
Baby: Where do you live?
Keiji: I sure wonder.
Baby: Just because your area code is 81 and we’re speaking in Japanese doesn’t mean you have to LIVE live in Japan
Baby: Maybe you bought the slickest new phone model on your Christmas getaway in Japan and left to go to the back to Austria with all the kangaroos and fish and spiders
Keiji: First of all, Australia.
Keiji: Second of all, yes. I live in Japan.
Baby: ME TOO!!!!!
Keiji: I would’ve never guessed, Bokuto-san.
Baby: Actually I lied I AM from Australia how does it feel to be deceived
Keiji changed Baby’s nickname to pathological liar.
Keiji: Devastating.
pathological liar: >:D
pathological liar: Gay marriage isn’t legal in Japan tho
pathological liar: D^:
pathological liar: Maybe we should move to Australia
Keiji: Why did you assume I was a boy?
pathological liar: You text like one
pathological liar: No kaomojis and all that :p
pathological liar: Are you not a boy?
Keiji: I am a boy.
pathological liar: Same
Keiji: Wouldn’t that make you a girl? You use emoticons in practically every line of text.
pathological liar: Hahahaha it would!!! Flawed logic, works only half the time XD
Keiji: Half of the time.
pathological liar: We should meet up sometime tho
pathological liar: If we both live in Japan
pathological liar: Even if not to get married and just hang out or something
Keiji: Do you know how big Japan is?
pathological liar: Well yeah but
pathological liar: Actually
pathological liar: Do you live in Tokyo?
Keiji: Just because Tokyo is the capital city of Japan doesn’t mean that I have to live there.
pathological liar: It’s a statistical probability, isn’t it?
pathological liar: Just answer the question XD
Keiji: .
Keiji: How do I know you’re not a wanted criminal?
pathological liar: Aaaaand I’ll take that as a yes :D
Kenma is rustling with a thick scarf and a hoodie that’s way too big to ever be mistaken as his when he pokes his head into the room.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” he asks, drumming his fingers against the door frame.
Keiji groans into his hands, glaring blearily at the unfinished essay staring back at him. He feels another half-hearted excuse rise in his throat.
“I’m sorry, Kenma,” Keiji says finally, swivelling around on his chair and giving him a rueful look. “It’s due today.”
Kenma looks at him, then shrugs. “I know you don’t want to hang out with us because my boyfriend’s there,” he says, then raises an eyebrow. “I’m sure that Kuro has a lot of single friends that are dying to meet you.”
“It’s not that.” Keiji revels in a poorly concealed blush, cheekbones reddening slightly in the cosy afternoon light. “Kuroo-san is a really nice guy, clubs just aren’t my thing.”
For a moment, Kenma lingers by the door, as if almost hoping that Keiji’d change his mind. He opens his mouth, as if to say something, before giving him a small smile and slowly walking down the hallway.
Keiji watches him go, as he always does, and pointedly ignores the stinging in his eyes.
Eyestrain, Keiji thinks to himself, lowering the opacity on his laptop by a few bars before resuming his work.
Keiji: Do you think that I am boring?
Parasite: Boring?????
Parasite: Why would I think that?
Keiji: I spend all of my free time working on school assignments. I avoid social events and barely have any friends, excluding my roommate.
Keiji: I am, for the lack of a better term, a loser.
Parasite: Hey you’re not a loser
Parasite: Just because you’re more closed off doesn’t mean that you’re a loser
Keiji: I bet that you’re going out with your friends tonight. Why wouldn’t you be?
Parasite: I am actually
Parasite: But just because I’m going doesn’t mean I’m better off than you or something
Parasite: I’m going to be thirdwheeling for the whole time XD
Keiji: Oh.
Parasite: Yeahhhh I’m tagging around because I love Tetsu and his boyfriend is kind of nice but still
Keiji: What about the girl you were dating?
Parasite: Oh Yukie?
Parasite: Didn’t work out in the end
Keiji: I’m sorry.
Parasite: Don’t worry about it lol
Parasite: Are you seeing anyone? Any lucky girls ;)
Keiji: No. I barely have friends, why would you think I have a girlfriend?
Parasite: You sound like a cool guy :D
Keiji: Oh, and I’m gay.
Keiji: So I’ll never have a girlfriend.
Parasite: Oh
Parasite: Well, a boyfriend then ;)
Keiji: Bokuto-san.
Parasite: Okay okay LOL
Parasite: Say, do you have any hobbies?
Keiji: Well, I do play volleyball for the college team.
Parasite: You WHAT
Parasite: AND YOU NEVER MENTIONED THAT????
Parasite: How can you STILL think that you’re BORING after that!!!!
Keiji: Well, I’m not that good. I mean, I don’t think I’d pursue it professionally or anything.
Parasite: So what??
Parasite: That’s still really cool and not boring at all, stranger-san!!!!
Keiji: Akaashi.
Parasite: What?
Keiji: My name. It’s Akaashi.
Parasite: Akaashi
Parasite: Even your name is interesting Akaashi
Keiji: Yes, well. You think that everything is interesting.
Parasite: Yeah :)
Parasite: Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?
The moment that Keiji stops dreading Bokuto’s texts is the moment he knows something is afoot.
His annoyance seems to slowly fade with each passing day, exasperation slowly blooming into fondness at the questions he’s hurled into by an often very confused Bokuto.
Slowly, as the days go on, he begins to paint a mental picture of the boy living behind a screen, taking out his thinnest brushes, some bristling, fraying on the edges, and splaying them across his messy table. He fills the blank slate aegean blue - the colour of a gentle December sky, a quiet hushed sigh.
Spruce and indigo bleed into each other, seeping deep into the canvas, staining at his fingers, getting stuck underneath his fingernails. Ivory blossoms out of porcelain white, like snowdrops blooming in the vast beds of snow, meticulously interweaving porpoise grey, flicking on specks of lead and graphite.
Keiji’s heart swells with aureolin - a bright, canary yellow, tumbling, tumbling down into pools of honey, seas of amber, his eyes churning liquid gold, or so he claims.
Bokuto seems to claim a lot of things.
Keiji learns Bokuto’s height (186.1 cm), his favourite meal (yakiniku), the fact that his former classmates accused him of bleaching his hair when he was in fourth grade, having to explain that it was all natural (but who would believe a nine year old with hair as white as driven snow?).
He chips away at the margins of his canvas, digs his fingers into the cotton, and gnaws at the edges. He creates a whole explosion of colour, an ignition of cerulean and saffron unravelling whenever he closes his eyes. Waiting, hoping, itching for a text.
From The Bogeyman, from an owl in a human’s body, from the man trapped in his phone. (From DO NOT ANSWER, and An Axe Murderer (maybe), and friend).
Keiji wonders if he feels it, too.
Bokuto-san: Heyyyyy Kaashi
Bokuto-san: Just a quick question
Bokuto-san: How often do you clean your oven?
Keiji: I don’t clean my oven very often.
Keiji: Maybe every three months. Why?
Bokuto-san: Three?
Keiji: I’ve heard of some people who do every six. Depends.
Bokuto-san: I don’t know about you but I’ve been having to clean my oven like every few days
Keiji: You’ve been cleaning your oven every few days?
Bokuto-san: Yeah???
Bokuto-san: I must be built different HAHA
Bokuto-san: The bottom of the oven gets all greasy and gross obviously I’ll clean it up
Bokuto-san: Tetsu always threatens to beat me afterwards because it gets so dirty
Keiji: The baking sheet?
Bokuto-san: ?
Bokuto-san: My oven has those metal grill things in it
Bokuto-san: I put it on that
Keiji: Bokuto-san, you’re putting your food directly on the grills?
Bokuto-san: Yeah to grill it
Keiji: …
Keiji: Bokuto-san.
Bokuto-san: Akaaashiiiiiiiiii
Keiji: I don’t know what to say.
Keiji: You have to use a baking sheet to prevent grease from seeping into your oven, Bokuto-san.
Bokuto-san: Ohhhhhhhhhh
Bokuto-san: That makes so much sense
Bokuto-san: You’re so smart Akaashi :DDDD I can always count on you :DDDDD
Keiji: No problem, Bokuto-san.
Keiji: Please tell your friend not to beat you anymore.
Bokuto-san: Aw Akaashi you care about my wellbeing? :D :D :D
Keiji: I’d rather my friends not get beat up, yes.
Bokuto-san: Friends, huh?
Keiji: Maybe. I only text you all the time.
Keiji: I think I might be a bit lonely, Bokuto-san.
Bokuto-san: Well not to worry
Bokuto-san: I’m here!!!!!!!!
Bokuto-san: Metaphorically and physically :D
Keiji: Oh, yes.
Keiji: I can see you standing outside my window.
Keiji: Why are you so short? And holding a baseball bat?
Bokuto-san: It’s a surprise Akaashi
Keiji: Well then.
Keiji: Don’t threaten me with a good time.
Bokuto-san: ;)
“I don’t know why you insist on dragging me here,” Keiji says for the third time that evening, but still lets himself be manhandled into the doorway.
“Kuro is playing in the quarter finals.” Kenma, growing tired of his incessant whining, points his finger and jabs it into Keiji’s chest. “You’re here to keep me company on the bench whilst I ogle my boyfriend.”
Keiji eventually gives up on fighting Kenma, swallowing what's left of his dignity and his self-wallowing pity and instead allowing himself to get dragged through the hallway, past the hoards of people coming to cheer their team on.
It’s not long before the two run into Kenma’s boyfriend or, rather, spot him over the sea of students, sticking out like a sore thumb. Tall and handsome, his face splits into a blinding smile when he spots them, walking over with a bright hop to his step.
“You must be Akaashi Keiji,” he says with a nod. Then, he snaps his fingers. “And you’re Kozume Kenma.”
“Ha ha.” Kenma rolls his eyes, intertwining his hand with Kuroo’s. “This is my roommate and best friend, Keiji. Keiji, this is Kuro, my boyfriend.”
“It’s nice to finally put a face to the name,” Keiji says, bowing slightly. “Kenma talks a lot about you.”
Kuroo’s eyebrows raise slightly. “No bad things, I hope.”
The look Kenma sends him is cryptic at best, eyes narrowed and lips pulled into a straight line, and makes Kuroo break out in boisterous laughter before leaning down to ruffle his hair.
“When’s your match starting, anyway?” Kenma asks, voice muffled by Kuroo’s thick sweater. He lets out a squawk, pushing his face away with both hands.
“Coach will be chasing us into the locker room in a few minutes,” Kuroo says when he finally disentangles himself from Kenma. “I still haven’t seen Bo anywhere. I need to beat him into shape when I finally catch him - disappearing right before the match! The audacity.”
“He’s your wing spiker?” Keiji asks, wracking his brains for any mentions of a “Bo”. Kenma doesn't talk much about Kuroo's teammates, although the name does seem to ring a bell.
He hates how his mind immediately wanders to Bokuto, biting down any rising hope in his chest.
“Alongside Suguru.” Kuroo squints his eyes. “Come to think of it, I haven’t seen him around either.”
“He’s probably making out with his girlfriend somewhere,” Kenma pipes up, then hacks into his elbow. Keiji can’t tell whether it’s because of the girl or Suguru himself.
Keiji’s eyes travel between the two before he jams both hands into his coat pockets. “I think I’m going to look around for a vending machine. Get myself an iced tea,” he tells them, then looks at Kenma. “Do you want a drink?”
“A coke, please and thank you,” Kenma hands him a five hundred yen note. “I’ll be waiting for you at the entrance to the court.” His eyes narrow slightly, lips quirking up in amusement. “Don’t get lost, alright?”
“If you do get lost, just scream. I’m sure a good samaritan will find you and guide you to safety,” Kuroo says with a smile. “Can’t have you miss out on our big game, Akaashi-kun.”
“Fingers crossed that someone tall and handsome runs into me, then,” Keiji drones, but doesn’t miss the faint smile etched upon his face.
He watches them leave, fingers intertwined together as Kenma leans into his boyfriend’s side, and he ignores the twinge of jealousy, pang of craving at their relationship.
Retrospectively, Keiji does realise that the reason he might’ve been so opposed to hanging out with the two of them was for exactly that reason - the undeniable envy writhing in the bottom of his stomach.
A large, sane part of Keiji feels the shame burn up in him whenever he thinks of it for a little too long. He should be happy for Kenma who has spent a concerningly long amount of time pining after his childhood best friend just to find out that it’s been mutual all along.
But there is a small, miniscule, infinitesimal part of Keiji, hidden underneath his apathetic exterior that tries to convince himself that he does get to be a little selfish sometimes.
Fiddling with the note in his fingers, he pushes past another gaggle of people, eyes darting around the building in search of a vending machine.
He passes by a few groups of girls giggling manically at something before he spots one.
His legs come to a firm halt, however, when he sees a man hunched over the vending machine, pathetically trying to reach inside for a drink that seemed too high up for his hand to reach, stuck between the glass and dispenser.
Keiji’s lips pull into a frown when he catches a glimpse of the man’s side profile and he is, in fact, handsome. Shit.
He doesn’t know whether to approach him or just walk away, awkwardly hovering behind him with the yen note held outwards like a peace offering.
It didn’t help that the man, having seemingly sensed his lingering presence, turned his head over his shoulder and widened his eyes. “Shit, sorry.”
“No, it’s okay,” Keiji manages, words getting stuck against his teeth as if it were his first time talking. He takes a step back. “It’s no rush.”
The man sighs, hitting a palm against the glass but it’s futile. The drink does not move. “I’ve been at it for five minutes now,” he says, then tries shaking the machine again.
Keiji lurches forward, legs moving before his brain registers it. He presses his hands firmly against it. “Don’t do that,” he says instinctively. “Do you know how many people get killed by vending machines?”
“Um,” the stranger’s face grows amused. “It’s the first time I’m hearing about it.”
“They’re deadlier than sharks,” Keiji huffs out, tapping a finger against the glass. “People keep shaking them, and they tip over and crush them. Here- I can just.” He presses the button for a coke and iced tea, feeding the machine the yen note. “And it’ll knock it down, see?”
The stranger stares at him for a second, then his face splits into a wide grin. “My hero.”
They both watch as the two drinks move forward before the coke lodges itself between the glass and comes to an abrupt halt.
For a moment, no one speaks.
Keiji immediately feels his cheeks heat up as he covers up his mouth with both his hands, whilst the stranger begins laughing loudly, using the vending machine to support himself.
“Oh,” Keiji breathes out, unable to keep a straight face. Soon, a small smile cracks on his lips, embarrassment washing over him like a tidal wave. “Well…”
The man stands up, just slightly taller than Keiji, grabbing the machine with his big hands. “Let me try shaking it one more time,” he tells Keiji, then winks at him. “If I die, will you cover for me in court? I’m up in a few minutes.”
Keiji’s cheeks flush again, pressing his hands against the cool glass. “You’re playing for Waseda University?”
“The one and only,” he preens, standing up a little straighter. “Not to put pressure on you or anything.”
“I actually play on the Tsukuba University team,” Keiji says, suppressing a grin when the man looks over at him. “Setter. We’re kind of good.”
The man looks away, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Phew, is it just me or is it really hot in here?”
“You’re so embarrassing,” he says with a laugh, stepping up next to him.
“Here, just let me.” Keiji presses against the vending machine, letting it lean backwards before pulling his hands away. The machine falls back to place with a loud thud, and both items go shooting downwards.
“Oh shit,” the man says, then whips his head around. “You’re like- a real lifesaver, bro. An angel on Earth.”
“And you should be getting ready for your volleyball match,” Keiji quips, handing him the can of melon soda. “I’ll see you on court, then?”
He asks it tentatively, shyly, knowing he’ll probably never run into him again, but the guy just smiles back, lopsided.
“Yeah,” he says, reaching over. “I’ll score you a service ace.”
“Do you promise a service ace to all the boys you meet in passing?” Keiji asks, standing up. His eyes narrow when the man stumbles over his feet slightly, walking him through the hallway.
The guy laughs. “Only the ones that help me get a drink once the vending machine gets stuck,” he says, and Keiji fights off another blush.
Bokuto-san: I just met the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen and I haven’t asked him for his number
Bokuto-san: KAAASHIIIIII kill me PLEASE
Keiji: I didn’t know you swung that way, Bokuto-san.
Bokuto-san: Me neither!!!!! He’s so pretty though oh my goddd D:
Bokuto-san: I’m never going to see him again DDDD:
Keiji: Why didn’t you ask him for his number?
Bokuto-san: I was so nervous and also running late and I was so nervous did I mention I was nervous
Keiji: Three times, Bokuto-san.
Bokuto-san: Because I WAS nervous ohhh he probably thinks I’m so stupid
Bokuto-san: He’ll never want to talk to me again oh it’s so over for me
Bokuto-san: Hey ‘Kaashi
Bokuto-san: Have you ever met anyone so beautiful that everything just stops for a moment
Bokuto-san: Like you freeze because they are so hot
Keiji: You know what, Bokuto-san?
Keiji: I think I might’ve.
When the match begins, Kuroo spots the two of them and begins waving like a maniac.
Keiji waves back, a little unsure, whilst Kenma flips him off.
The guy he had run into is standing right next to Kuroo, squinting at the stands. His face brightens slightly when he sees Keiji, raising his hand.
Keiji can’t see his name on his jersey, but he catches the large number four emblazoned on his back.
He ends up scoring three service aces throughout the entire game, fisting his hand in the air every time the referee blows a whistle in their favour.
They are waiting by the exit when they finally spot Kuroo making his way towards them, number four and number one following shortly behind.
“Congratulations,” Keiji says politely. “You were incredible on court.”
Kenma raises both eyebrows, clicking his tongue. “I’m surprised that Owl Head over here didn’t forget how to hit his cross shots.”
The “owl head” in question huffs up his chest, cheeks colouring indignantly. “That was one time!”
“I’m counting up to three instances…” Kuroo looks over at jersey number one, then begins shaking his head. “The jury disagrees.”
“The jury claims perjury,” Jersey number one says, narrowing his eyes. “The jury claims you’re full of shit.”
“This here is our darling outside hitter.” Kuroo waves his hand around, slipping a hand over his shoulder blade. Keiji tries not to stare into his eyes for too long, the snake-like pupils drilling back into him. “Don’t be afraid, he doesn’t bite.”
“You’re Keiji, right?” Jersey number one says, then nods over to Kenma. “Daishou Suguru. This is Bo.”
“Hi,” Keiji says, revelling in the fondness blooming in his chest.
“I didn’t know you were friends with Tetsu,” Bo says, getting a weird look from Kuroo.
“Wait, you two know each other?”
“I ran into him when I was fetching your coke,” Keiji jumps in, then waves his hand. “We’re acquaintances.”
Kuroo glances at Kenma with raised eyebrows, mouthing acquaintances under his breath. Keiji doesn’t miss his lip quiver when they meet eyes, nor does he overlook jersey number four’s not-so-inconspicuous shove.
“The team is going out tonight,” Kuroo continues as if nothing had happened, smoothly maneuvering himself over to Kenma. “If you two would like to tag along?”
Kenma looks at him like he’s grown three heads.
“You know I’d never give up the chance at getting free food,” he deadpans. Daishou snickers down at him.
Keiji almost doesn’t notice jersey number four skulk up to him, giving him a gentle smile.
“Hey,” he says, quiet, clement, dropping his voice down for only him to hear. Keij looks up at him, at the sweat hanging off his brow, wet strands of hair falling into his eyes. His skin is glistening, unfairly so, and Keiji can’t do anything but swallow down his nerves.
“Hi,” Keiji echoes again, then bites his tongue. “Three service aces, huh? Colour me impressed.”
Bo waves his hand, cheeks beaming at the praise. “I was going for four, see, like my jersey number,” he jerks his thumbs to his back, turning around, “but their libero was just too good! That Noya is an animal.”
“I’m actually kind of glad that I didn’t let you get crushed.” He adjusts his glasses, pushing them up to the bridge of his nose. “I doubt I would’ve been able to cover for you.” His eyes flit to Kenma, squabbling with Daishou over the restaurant of choice (“We should get to choose, it’s our victory dinner!” Daishou hisses, for the nth time. Kenma shuts him up with an eye roll.), then lets himself smile. “Amongst other things.”
“Amongst other things,” Bo repeats under his breath, then shakes his head. “Are you coming with?”
Keiji would like to argue about the half-written essay tucked away on his computer, about the countless other deadlines looming just around the corner, tailing him like his own shadow.
But how can Keiji say anything, negate himself and cower away, when Bo is looking at him like he’s hung the moon.
“I suppose I’ll have to,” he sighs, but leans over into his space, giving him a rueful smile. “Although it seems I’ll be doing a lot of third wheeling.”
The guy barks out a laugh, sharp and pointed like his canines. “You have no idea how much I third wheel whenever we go out. Although,” his eyes travel down, “I guess we’ll have each other.”
Keiji fights off a blush. “Yeah,” he says, then sticks out his hand. It’s stiff and probably shaking slightly, and he jolts when he feels a bigger, rougher one clasp around it, but it’s something. “Nice to meet you, Bo…”
“Koutarou,” he supplies, giving him a small smile. Letting go after a beat too late, he fumbles for his phone in his back pocket. “Actually, could I have your number?”
“Oh.” He reaches over and hands over his phone, ignoring how fast he was to pull it out. He cringes slightly, hoping his excitement wasn’t too visible on his face - only God knows why he’s so eager. “Here.”
“I’ll send you a direct message,” Bo says after handing his phone over. Keiji, who has just finished typing in his own number, trades phones. “Here. I’ll say that it’s Koutarou.”
His fingers glide over the screen as his voice suddenly grows slower, enunciating every syllable as he types it into the message. “Hey… there… Kei-ji… this… is… Kou-ta-rou…”
Keiji sees a notification pop up when he hits send, and his finger immediately clicks on it. It takes him a few seconds to register who actually sent it to him, a few more seconds for the cogs to finish turning in his brain.
Well, it’s not that hard when he notices the text he sent over to him a mere hour ago still lingering at the top of their chat.
“Bokuto-san,” he says, whipping his head up. But no, it can’t be—
The man, jersey number four, Bo, no, Bokuto gives him a strange look. “Yeah,” he says with a smile. “That’s me, alright.”
But Bokuto isn’t listening to him, not really listening to him, not when his smile turns a little stilted, eyebrows drawing together in such innocent confusion, it makes Keiji’s heart burst with endearment.
“No, you’re Bokuto-san.” Keiji turns his phone around and scrolls a little higher, past their exchanges of texts, waves of “Bokuto-san”s and “Akaaashiiiiiiii”s, past their incessant bickering and seas of emoticons, and it finally clicks.
“‘Kaashi?” Bokuto blurts out, eyes wide, lips parted, and Keiji’s name has never sounded so sweet.
It’s almost as if all he can do is nod wordlessly, moving his head up and down as he fights off the dryness taking refuge in the back of his throat. But really, what more is there to say when the Bokuto is standing right in front of him, eyes as bright as Sirius, tracing faint constellations across the moles on his arms.
He’s everything and nothing that Keiji could have conjured up in his head, shoulders broader and more muscular, fingers bent and crooked, and wrapped in tape so worn out that it’s beginning to fray at the edges.
He’s cranberry blue, a typhoon, facial features sharper than he was expecting, and yet his face is graced with a boyish sort of, lopsided grin, one that reveals a little too much when his lip curves upwards. He’s the calm before the storm, the familiar petrichor in the morning, when the grass is still wet and soft.
“It’s you,” Bokuto says, hands stiffening up as he raises them slightly, only to let them fall to his side. “It’s really you!”
Keiji keeps nodding, slowly drawing up his hands as they find their way to Bokuto’s cheeks, touching him as if he were made of glass. It’s tentative, the way his fingertips graze his skin, anxious yet doting.
Something rises in his throat when he feels Bokuto’s hands ghost over his own, squeezing over his knuckles.
He opens his mouth and, in a fit of surprise, laughs, incredulity and affection melting into one as he hooks his fingers around Bokuto’s, until they’re intertwined, until the space between them is nothing but spectral.
“Why’re you crying, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto asks.
It takes Keiji a moment to register his words, another two seconds to realise that his eyelashes were, in fact, adorned with tears.
“I’m not crying, Bokuto-san,” Keiji lies. His voice warbles, embarrassment blooming on his face like hyacinths, but his lips are still drawn into a tentative smile. “I’m just really, really happy.”
Bokuto’s mouth quirks up. “I thought you wanted nothing to do with me.”
“An evident misstep from my part, I do admit,” Keiji says, then shakes his head. “For all I’ve known, you could’ve…”
“Been an axe murderer, I know,” Bokuto supplies for him. “Still convinced?”
Keiji gives him one good, hard look. “I think I’ll need to be the judge of that,” he says, and pointedly ignores Kuroo and Kenma’s baffled looks when Bokuto begins to laugh.
Keiji: So, the most beautiful guy you’ve ever seen, huh?
Bokuto-san: I have no idea what you’re talking about Kaashi
Keiji: Of course, Bokuto-san.
Keiji: And quit staring at me from across the table.
Keiji: Or else I might think that you like me or something.
When he hits send, Keiji feels a leg brush against his own underneath the table.
He lets himself smile for a split-second, then he kicks him back.