Chapter Text
It had been four months since Tetsurō Kuroo’s second school year had started. Every morning since Kenma, being a year younger than Kuroo, had come to Nekoma, Kuroo walked with him to school.
Kenma was his best friend since childhood and he had joined the volleyball team — something Kuroo had found surprisingly easy to talk him into, since he’s always been a very lazy person.
But because Kenma was very smart and strategic, Kuroo was certain things were going to be good, now that he was their setter. He wanted his team to be the best, since he was captain now.
He pretended not to be surprised when they chose him as the new captain, but he was. And also deeply touched. He was determined not to let them down.
His other close friend, who also calls himself his best friend, was Kōtarō Bokuto. He didn’t know him nearly as long as he knew Kenma, but he loved spending time with him. They were the same kind of crazy, and he thought Bokuto was one of the kindest people on earth. He would catch a bullet for those he held dear and Kuroo felt like he would never betray him. He also wanted to protect him, in case his kindness was ever taken advantage of by the wrong person. Of course, he sometimes took advantage, but since he was his best friend, he thought it was okay.
They’d met at a training camp during their first year of High School. He noticed how strong Bokuto’s spikes were and was truly impressed, which he of course would never tell Bokuto. He noticed that some of the third-years made fun of Bokuto, because of his loud voice and his dramatic poses. Bokuto’d pretended not to notice, but he looked so hurt that it’d stung in Kuroo’s chest.
That’s when Kuroo felt the urge to be his friend for the first time.
On the last day of that training camp, they held a barbeque. Bokuto was in charge of getting the skewers from the grill. He did it with so much energy, that most of them landed on the ground and some inside the grill, on the ash.
Kuroo then helped him pick them up and put them on plates. Some of the others started yelling at Bokuto, saying that they’re not edible anymore.
Bokuto seemed like he was about to cry, so Kuroo stuffed his cheeks with a hot skewer and said: “I’ll eat them all then.”
Bokuto looked at him in awe and they’d been the only ones then to eat the skewers. Kuroo had 8 and Bokuto had 12 plus two steaks.
They were so full that they had to lay down in the grass, holding their stomachs. And they just laughed about the whole situation.
That was the start of their friendship. They exchanged numbers and met frequently – as often as possible. It just really wasn’t easy, since they went to different schools and were in different volleyball teams. Still, they had that kind of friendship where they just remembered all the funny things that’d happened so they could tell each other later.
All in all, Kuroo enjoyed his second year in high school much more than the first one. Some subjects were still a drag, but some were difficult and therefore quite interesting.
This Monday was filled with ups and downs: They got back an essay – they were supposed to write about what makes a good leader. Kuroo had concluded that he already was a great leader because he led the promising volleyball team of Nekoma. Apparently, the teacher thought it was too self-centered, or not modest enough, or whatever.
Then came Math, which was much better, because Kuroo was just good at it without being judged based on personal opinions of some teacher.
English – was okay. He was above average and felt confident with his English, until he actually had to talk to tourists a few weeks ago, who were looking for some character café. He was out with Bokuto, whose English was way worse, so he didn’t even notice how much Kuroo struggled and admired him after that. He smiled as he thought about that, when the teacher called him out, asking him to read a passage. It went surprisingly well, considering he wasn’t really paying attention to class before.
Kuroo sometimes drifted off, not because he couldn’t concentrate, but because most things were just not challenging enough. He thought of himself as smarter than the average student. Not only when talking to Bokuto.
In Biology, Kuroo’s favorite subject, they learned human physiology – the muscular system. Very interesting for an athlete. It was the only subject where he even raised his hand sometimes. Rarely. Not enough to be that kid. But it was kind of fun then, especially since the others never seemed to know the answers.
At lunch, he met Kenma in the cafeteria, who was frustrated, because the teacher confiscated his playstation portable. He tried cheering him up, but of course, it didn’t work.
In History, he almost fell asleep, thinking about why the hell they would put that after lunch.
Then came P.E., where he could finally get some fresh air and move around.
He stayed in the gym after that, because volleyball practice was right after.
They practiced blocking and receiving. He tried helping Kenma, who hated blocking. Probably because he was really short. At receiving, however, he seemed to be a natural.
Kuroo lived with his father and his grandparents, in a loving home.
His mother left them when he was just a baby. He stopped asking about her long ago, since he’d noticed it made his father sad and he was sure he didn’t even need her, since he did get a lot of love and attention from his father and his grandparents.
They usually had dinner together when Kuroo came home from practice and they always wanted to know everything that’s been happening at school. Kuroo didn’t mind telling them.
After taking a bath, he did some homework and went to bed.
Just like that, the school week went by and the weekend came. Kuroo relaxed together with Kenma until Sunday.
On Sunday, just like the year before, Nekoma was scheduled for a training match with Fukurodani to welcome the new players. Bokuto had been boasting nonstop about his new setter and how he was sure to win. Kuroo thought otherwise.
He picked Kenma up to walk to the gym with him.
“Stop making that face, it’s weird,” Kenma muttered when he finally appeared and Kuroo grinned to himself.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Kuroo greeted him.
“Morning. Why does the match have to be so early when it’s Sunday?”
“Were you up all night playing video games again?”
“No. Not all night.”
Hopeless, Kuroo thought.
As they approached the gym, Kuroo noticed someone standing in front of it — alone, composed, almost cinematic in how put together he looked. He stood upright beside the wall, his bag neatly placed by his feet. A Fukurodani jacket hung from his shoulders. Could that be him?
“Hello there,” Kuroo said, stepping forward. “I am Nekoma’s captain, Tetsurō Kuroo. I’m looking forward to our match. This is Kenma.”
Kenma lifted his gaze from his game long enough to give a small bow. The stranger mirrored the gesture.
“Keiji Akaashi,” he replied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Bokuto-san has told me about you.”
Kuroo clicked his tongue quietly. No wonder Bokuto liked him.
“Where is Bokuto-SAN and the rest of your team?”
“They should arrive shortly. I got here a bit early.”
Kenma shot Kuroo a sidelong glare — he’d noticed the time discrepancy. Kuroo had lied about when the match began, knowing full well Kenma’s tendency to run late. In his defense, if the match really had been scheduled earlier, they would’ve arrived five minutes late.
“Why are you so early?” Kuroo asked.
“I don’t like being late,” Akaashi replied.
Too perfect, Kuroo thought. He didn’t quite buy it.
Kenma went back to playing his game, and Akaashi began typing something on his phone when a loud shout broke the calm.
“AKAAAAAAAAASHIIIII!”
Bokuto came charging toward them, panting as he skidded to a stop in front of Akaashi.
Kuroo stepped forward and clapped him firmly on the back. “Oi, nice to see you too, you idiot.”
“Kurooo!” Bokuto beamed, pulling him into a half-hug.
“Hi, Kenma,” Bokuto said next.
Kenma gave a brief nod, not bothering to look up. Kuroo sighed — his two best friends, and they didn’t really get along.
“So, you already met Akaashi,” Bokuto said. “I hope you’re not at an advantage now.”
“Yeah,” Kuroo teased, “Kenma just told me our strategy to defeat you, based on his height and all the secrets he told us.”
“Akaaaashi…” Bokuto groaned, sounding betrayed.
“I think Kuroo-san was making a joke,” Akaashi said softly, though there was something unreadable in his eyes.
When the match began, Kuroo did what he always did — he teased Bokuto. It wasn’t cruelty; he just knew how Bokuto’s self-esteem could crumble mid-game.
Nekoma’s coach hadn’t been able to make it that day due to a family emergency, so when Bokuto shouted across the net, asking if the coach needed a break from them, Kuroo couldn’t resist.
He told him their coach thought Bokuto’s play style was boring and predictable.
At first, Bokuto only got angry, trying too hard to change things, eventually ordering his team not to pass him the ball. Kuroo almost felt bad — but this was for their own good. In a real match, they’d need to handle this better.
Nekoma won the first set. During the break, Kuroo glanced toward Bokuto, wondering how to make it up to him later. He saw Akaashi lean in to whisper something in Bokuto’s ear. Kuroo noticed that Akaashi’s shorts seemed a bit shorter than those of the others. Did he make them shorter?
Bokuto’s expression shifted — sadness melting into calm, then sharpening into a predator’s grin.
Kuroo didn’t like that look. He was right not to.
After whatever Akaashi had said, Fukurodani swept the next two sets. Bokuto was unstoppable, and Kuroo finally understood — Akaashi wasn’t just their setter. He was the one who gathered Bokuto’s shattered confidence and pieced it back together, making him even stronger than before.
After the match, Kuroo explained that his teasing was only to help. Bokuto believed him. Always too trusting.
“Oh well, we’ll win the next one,” Kuroo told his team. Kai Nobuyuki, his vice captain, nodded optimistically, the others seemed frustrated about losing, even though the other team’s ace broke at the beginning of the game.
As he walked home with Kenma, listening to the tinny sounds of Kenma’s handheld game, Kuroo found his mind returning to Akaashi — and the way something about him lingered, unsettling and intriguing all at once.
The following week dragged on endlessly and by Friday, Kuroo was determined to unwind — maybe find some company for the weekend, no strings attached.
He jogged, worked out, showered, ate and sat down with his phone to check out the best college parties nearby. That was when Bokuto’s message came through:
“We need to talk. Please come over.”
Kuroo frowned. He had other plans, but remembering the events of last week, he sighed, grabbed his keys, and headed over to his best friend.
When he rang the doorbell, no one answered. Bokuto’s parents were out of town, but Bokuto should’ve been home. Using the spare key Bokuto had given him, Kuroo let himself in.
Inside, Bokuto sat on his bed, his hair damp and unstyled, eyes distant. Kuroo was almost relieved he wasn’t naked.
“Oi, what’s wrong with you?” Kuroo asked.
Bokuto looked up, eyes glassy. “Kuroo… I’m in love!”
Kuroo raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, but you’re not my type.”
“It’s Akaashi,” Bokuto blurted. “He’s so beautiful.”
Kuroo blinked, then smirked faintly. “Huh. I remember when I told you about a guy I’d been with, and you were shocked to learn I liked both.”
“I don’t like both, I only like Akaashi.”
Kuroo sighed. This was going to be tough. At least if he was right about Akaashi – and he usually is right about stuff like that. He had been with a lot of people, and Bokuto had never been intimate with anyone.
Once, he took him to one of these parties and tried to hook him up with someone, but it just really was not his thing. Unfortunately, if he really is right about this, it’s Akaashi thing exactly.
Maybe, he thought, it was just his looks. So he asked his friend: “What do you like about him?”
Bokuto finally looked at him and said: “I don’t even know, where to start. Since he’s in the team, we got even better. He knows exactly what kind of set we need.”
“Okay, so following that logic, I’m in love with Kenma now?”
“He’s also beautiful. His eyes make me want to undress.”
That’s probably the plan Kuroo thought, when Bokuto carried on:
“His lips look so soft. When he thinks about something, he sometimes licks them. I think he doesn't even notice.”
Like hell he doesn’t.
“The way he says Bokuto-san makes me feel like I’ve never felt before. Really strong and attractive.”
“You feel strong just because he says your name?”
Bokuto nodded and then continued: “I don’t know, if you’ve noticed,”
I’m pretty sure I have.
“-but sometimes, I lose all my confidence during a game.”
Yep, I have. “You don’t say?!”
“It’s true. I feel like I’m not worthy of doing a spike. But Akaashi. Akaashi knows just what to say to me to make things better.”
“Well, good for you.” Kuroo said, half sarcastically, when he remembered how they’d almost won.
“And his skin seems so bright and pure. His legs are so long that it gives the illusion his jersey shorts are shorter than the others. His thighs look really soft.”
Illusion, yeah, right. Kuroo had already noticed they were shorter and he was sure it was not a coincidence.
Bokuto’s voice was different, when he added: “Most people make fun of me for being so emotional and loud all the time. Akaashi takes me seriously.”
Kuroo felt a bit sad, because he’d always hoped Bokuto might not have noticed. He sat down next to him and put his arm around him, asking: “Do you even know if he likes men?”
Bokuto turned to face him and grinned, when he said: “One time, I accidentally pulled down my underwear, too. Akaashi stared kind of long.”
“Hahaha. Well, if that’s not proof, I don’t know what is.”
He listened some more about how pretty and perfect and sweet Akaashi was, about how they now eat lunch together every day, how Bokuto picks him up from his classroom, how Akaashi’s classmates probably suspect they’re together, how Akaashi seems to look at him when he changes, how Akaashi does everything he says during training, which can’t be because he’s the captain, because no one else was so devote, so submissive.
***
That night, Kuroo had a dream about Akaashi’s thighs. He touched them and they were amazingly squishy. It wasn’t one of his typical, wet dreams. But when he woke up, it was still wet.
The dream didn’t let him go all day and he tried remembering, if Akaashi’s thighs really were a bit soft for an athlete. And he kept thinking about how his shorts really were shorter than those of the other Fukurodanis.