Chapter Text
Bokuto Koutarou was twenty-four, but he still felt like he was the eighteen year-old ace for Fukurodani, especially in moments like these leading up to a match.
“Bokuto!”
Bokuto Koutarou turned his head at the piercing call to meet the sight of none other than Hinata Shouyou. The redhead bounced over, shaking with so much excitement it looked like he was doing jazz hands.
“Hey, Hinata!” Bokuto matched Hinata’s energy, raising his hand for a high five. The man gleefully returned it.
“Can you believe we get to play again? I know we’re going to crush the other team!” Hinata exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air. His eyes were filled with fire.
Bokuto pumped his own fist in response. Whenever they played, Hinata would always remark how lucky he was to be able to play “again.” It was such subtle glimmers of gratitude that reminded Bokuto of how much he, himself, loved playing, and how much he appreciated his goofy teammate.
“I wonder why you’re so excited about playing this team in particular,” Bokuto said coyly.
Hinata’s cheeks turned scarlet. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Disbelievingly, Bokuto tugged Hinata into a side hug. He ruffled his hair playfully until the redhead inevitably starting jumping again, wiggling out of Bokuto’s grasp.
A hand came down roughly on Hinata’s shoulder, impeding on his springing. “You’re going to get yourself sick with all that jumping,” Atsumu quipped. He shook his head to front disapprovement, but the small grin on his face betrayed his act.
Hinata still became defensive as always, spluttering in protest, but his retorts quickly dissolved into a coughing fit. Atsumu only laughed in response, slapping Hinata’s back, causing him to cough more.
“You’re going to get me sick with all that coughing.”
Sakusa’s voice was muffled through his mask, but the team was accustomed to it by now. His eyes narrowed at Hinata, whose mouth was still tucked in the corner of his elbow.
Hinata dropped his arm but raised it within a matter of seconds to point an accusatory finger. “You’d stop getting sick if you didn’t wear that mask all the time!”
“Yeah, your immune system just isn’t built up, Sakusa!” Atusmu added, sending a wink towards Hinata.
“That… that doesn’t even make sense.” A scowl settled on Sakusa’s face. He tucked a wavy lock of hair behind his ear before walking into the locker room.
Hinata’s eyes flashed, threatening to give a final crack, but he only scrunched his nose when Atsumu tugged on the sleeve of his jersey. They followed the man into the locker room.
Bokuto smiled fondly at the interaction. This was just their dynamic. While Sakusa came off cold, he was sure to be hot on the court. He would be there for the team, as he always was, even if it felt he was aloof when they spoke. The idea shot of a volt of energy through Bokuto’s body and he remembered the impending match. He stumbled into the locker room after the others. “Wait, guys, wait for me!”
While Bokuto liked to consider himself crazy when it came to volleyball, Hinata was arguably fanatic. Having trained with him once in awhile in high school, Bokuto knew the spiker had raw talent. But anyone who’d witnessed Hinata’s journey knew that it was dedication that had fanned the flames of his success. Pure, bleeding passion. Hinata’s love for volleyball truly had no match. It was admirable, really.
Bokuto glanced over to where the redhead was now leaning against the locker room wall, phone pulled close to his face. He was giggling to himself and blushing as he read his screen.
Hinata’s love for volleyball has no match—except for maybe his love for the opposing team’s setter, Bokuto thought cheekily.
Hinata’s eyes darted around the room. Upon ensuring his teammates were all busy (Bokuto fumbled with his knee pads lazily), he started typing back furiously. Bokuto could imagine Kageyama somewhere else in the building reading the message, desperately willing the color in his cheeks to vanish.
He sighed. Young love truly was something special.
A pair of sea green eyes dashed through his mind. They were glowing, maybe out of contentment, or exasperation, or both.
Bokuto shook his head, disappointed his psyche had brought the man up yet again. It had been three years since he’d last seen Akaashi. Three years since Akaashi had hung up breathlessly. Three years since he never received a reply to the birthday text he sent.
In a way, time was lovely, for it bestowed the gift of memory—memory of loving others. But it was also cruel, because the weight of consciousness it left was shattering.
“Bokuto!” called Atsumu, a hand on his hip as he stood in the doorway. “We gotta go now, man. It’s showtime.” He flashed a grin.
Bokuto perked up at that. There was no time for moping when he was about to play. “All right!”
Playing against a genius on any division one team wasn’t exactly an easy feat. But playing against Kageyama Tobio on the Schweiden Adlers took the term “difficult” to a whole new level. Damn, Kageyama sets that ball fast, Bokuto thought as Ushijima smashed another spike right through their defense. He gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling.
Hinata’s ire, on the other hand, was boiling. Bokuto couldn’t blame him. The redhead had been trying to catch up to Kageyama since middle school, apparently. When they both ended up at Karasuno High School, their rivalry only intensified. Now, at the professional level, he finally had the opportunity to show Kageyama what he was made of. While Hinata loved his boyfriend, it was undeniable that his jealousy, pride, and admiration had festered into an intransigent desire to win.
The redhead slammed the ball down. His smile was ravacious, and the tinder in him only seemed to catch when he caught the glare of Kageyama. Neither team was giving up.
Bokuto tugged at the neck of his jersey, fanning the material in an attempt to cool himself. The heat was stifling and it was only the third set. His legs ached. The fluorescent lights were too bright. His jersey clung to him with sweat. As miserable as the circumstances seemed, Bokuto lived for this atmosphere. He craved the raw zeal of the match, the mechanical focus of all players on the court. It was the closest thing to freedom one could get.
Innate sense took over, and Bokuto knew Atusmu was going to set to him. As he launched into the air, it were as though he could feel the wings on his back unfurling. A pinpoint of light twinkled behind the blockers on the other side of the net—the perfect cut shot.
Bokuto’s legs ached. The lights were too bright. He was drenched in sweat. But none of that mattered, not when he was flying. The power of volleyball, of dedication in general, is the power to be completely lost in the moment.
The ball hit the ground with insurmountable force. The Jackals took the set.
Waves of anxiety were radiating off of Hinata. It was his turn to serve, and while he had improved tremendously since his high school days of random trajectory balls, he still doubted himself. Serving was the only time he was solely responsible for a point, the only time he was alone in a match. Knowing Kageyama was watching also made him feel sick to stomach, though he knew he shouldn’t have.
Hinata hesitated. They were at match point. They could win in a matter of seconds, but they could also lose in a matter of seconds. The course the team would take was based off of his serve.
“Hey, hey, Hinata!”
Hinata flinched at the sound of his name, turning to see Bokuto giving him a discreet thumbs up.
“You know what to do, man. You always do!” Bokuto’s tone was overwhelmingly earnest. He flashed a crooked grin.
The words sunk in. Hinata nodded, almost as if he were in trance, but it seemed to one of concentration rather than anxiety. He took a quick breath before tossing the ball into the air and hitting a vehement jump serve.
The ball was received, but the dig sent the ball back over the net to the Jackals.
“Chance ball!” Atsumu shouted.
It’s interesting, Bokuto mused, how time seemed to slow down amidst such a fast-paced game. The ball seemed to hover right over Atsumu as he outstretched his fingers to set it. Bokuto was launching in the air instinctually, but he knew the ball was going to Sakusa. Sakusa, level headed despite his fatigue, spiked the ball perfectly. The reverb of the ball smacking the floor sounded like a clap of thunder. It was the preface for the roars of Bokuto’s team that followed.
“Alright!” Bokuto bellowed.
“Nice job, Sakusa, Atsumu!”
The team’s rejoicing faded as Bokuto noticed Hinata was quiet, motionless since he’d landed his decoy jump. He was staring at right hand, tilting it back and forth. Slowly, he clenched it into a fist, then raised it to the sky. “We won!” He let his head fall back, closing his eyes.
The man’s eyes shot open quickly, however, as he seemed to register what the real victory was. He looked at Kageyama through the net. Hinata held his fist out, expectantly.
Kageyama returned the gesture, the smallest smile replacing the stoic expression he’d worn throughout the game. “You did it, boke.” There was no malice in his voice.
“I did it,” Hinata breathed.
Bokuto couldn’t help but watch his kouhai. They’d come far from the bumbling idiots they’d been for far too long. High school training camp with the two had always been entertaining. Hinata’s raw power and unrefined technique coupled with Kageyama’s natural prowess and strategic thinking were truly a spectacle, even if they often screwed up in the beginning.
“You have to trust me,” Bokuto remembered hearing Hinata plead to Kageyama after a failed quick their first year.
Kageyama had curled his lip in what Bokuto used to consider genuine dissatisfaction, but in retrospect was probably just an unwillingness to show affection. “I am trusting you, boke!” Kageyama had stood up taller. “Besides, you shouldn’t be stressing. As long as I’m with you, you’re invincible.”
Bokuto remembered frowning at the words. He had looked to his own setter and pouted, “‘Kaashi, Why can’t we say something cool like that?”
Akaashi had twiddled his fingers, surely thinking about his words. ”Bokuto-san, Kageyama-san is much more talented than me. I don’t know if I deserve to say something like that.” Akaashi hadn’t sounded sad, or jealous, or disappointed. He’d been blunt and collected, as always.
Bokuto had draped an arm around Akaashi’s shoulders, then told him, “What does that matter? Your tosses are still the best, Akaashi!”
Akaashi had raised his eyebrows as if to nonverbally question him, but leaned ever so slightly into Bokuto. It had been enough.
Bokuto wouldn’t call himself a dramatic, but he did think there was something oddly haunting and beautiful about sadness. It was mesmerizing to wade through his memories with Akaashi. He marveled at how the thought of one person could make him feel so happy and yet so lonely, and keep him captivated for minutes on end.
He hadn’t realized how strongly he was reminiscing until Sakusa called to him. “Come on, let’s line up.”
As the team bowed, the reality of their win seemed to set in. The elation that returned this time was grounded, the initial surprise having chipped away. Accompanied by it was pride, the type that was unique to having given it your all and seen the results. This, Bokuto thought, was the best kind of joy. It made him feel like he was walking on clouds. The edges of his vision fuzzed with felicity as he meandered over to the bench to pick up his water bottle.
The cheers of spectators warmed his heart, and he decided he’d better flash them a smile. Bokuto looked into the stands, still consumed by soul-crushing victory, and almost dropped his water.
Sea green. Standing right behind the front rail was a man with piercing green eyes.
Bokuto shook his head, taking a long swig of water. The energy of the match had gotten to him. When the mise en scéne around him unblurred, he flitted his eyes back to where he thought he’d seen that calm, collected gaze. It was gone.
Of course he isn’t there, Bokuto’s chided himself. Why would he be here after two years of silence?
He walked back towards the locker room.
The rain came down in sheets outside. It was late when a drenched Bokuto, poorly shielded by his travel-sized umbrella, arrived at his apartment. He felt dizzy and fulfilled. They’d gone out for an unofficial team dinner, stuffing themselves with crispy tempura and drinking too much. Hinata had somehow wrenched Kageyama away from his own team, and it was amusing to watch the two argue loud enough to draw looks from the waitstaff. The mindless bantering had been the perfect end to a stressful, rewarding day.
Bokuto fumbled with his keys, toeing his shoes off in the genkan. His quads were sore, the ache making itself known again now that he was no longer thinking about food. He stumbled towards the bathroom, resisting the urge to clock out right then and there when he caught his bed in his periphery. It would be so nice to collapse on his mattress, burrow under the covers, and finally get some well-earned-
Holy shit.
There was a person sleeping in his bed.
Bokuto rubbed his eyes to make sure the exhaustion hadn’t caught up to him. The raised blankets in the vague form of a person remained. Carefully, Bokuto closed the bathroom door, shutting himself inside. He clutched the sink, trying to calm his breathing. What does one do when there’s an intruder in their home? Defend themself? Bokuto desperately searched the bathroom for an item that could possibly be used as a potential weapon. He settled on the blow-dryer sticking out of a drawer.
Knowing he’d end up sleeping in the bathtub if he didn’t act now, Bokuto willed himself to step out of the bathroom. It was his apartment after all, right? Plus, what were the odds the intruder was actually armed or dangerous? Bokuto had heard stories from flatmates about accidentally going to the wrong apartment when they were drunk. That was possible, right? He tried to ignore the fact that he was almost positive he’d locked his door when he’d left in the morning.
Bokuto shut the door languidly, yelping at the squeak it made, and then jerking his head to see if he’d awoken the stranger. The figure remained sleeping peacefully.
He forced himself to slink closer to the bed, stepping so slowly that even he, himself, knew he was stalling. Regardless, the small square footage of Bokuto’s bedroom caught up to his tiny movements, and soon he was right next to the bed. He raised the makeshift weapon above his head, braced his arms, and prepared to hit.
He lowered the blow-dryer when he heard a deep exhale from the sleeping figure. It was soft but controlled, maybe content but maybe exasperated. Somehow, it carried a sense of familiarity. A haunting sense of familiarity.
Bokuto was stunned. It felt like minutes that he stood beside the bed, shoulders loose and blow-dryer hanging by his side, the words having been stolen from his mouth. Finally, after the feeling of being a creep in his own apartment overtook him, Bokuto managed to speak. “Akaashi? Is that you?”
At the sound of his name, the figure shifted. Groggily, he peaked up, leaving all but a pair of emerald eyes under the covers. “Oh, Bokuto-san.” Akaashi seemed like was going to say more but he paused, quirking a brow when he saw the blow-dryer in Bokuto’s hand.
Sheepishly, Bokuto, set it on the nightstand. He returned to his senses. “What, what are you doing here, Akaashi?”
Akaashi tugged the covers down his face. “Kuroo-san told me where you kept your spare key.”
Damn that Kuroo. He would do something like this.
“I’m sorry for showing up without warning. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Akaashi looked almost guilty.
“No, no, it’s fine,” Bokuto interjected, far too quickly for not having spoken to the man in three years. “I just meant why did you come back? Why now?”
“I wanted to congratulate you on your win today,” Akaashisaid matter-of-factly.
Bokuto’s head was spinning. “But your university is hours away. You couldn’t have even known-”
“I knew you’d win.” Akaashi’s tone was gentle, yet unrelentingly supportive.
Bokuto sat down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t really know where to begin.”
“Me neither.”
“I said so many hurtful things,” he started, “and then I just let you slip through my fingertips.” Bokuto flushed at how lame he must have sounded.
Akaashi didn’t seem to mind. “We both said hurtful things.”
“Do you still hate me?”
“I never hated you.” Akaashi didn’t sound disappointed, just tired.
Tired was good. Bokuto could work with tired.
“Then,” he said hesitantly bringing a hand up to trace Akaashi’s jaw, “are you still hurting?”
Akaashi closed his eyes at the motion, but didn’t lean away from Bokuto’s touch. He kept his eyes shut, inhaling and exhaling for what felt like an eternity. “I think there will always be a part of me that hurts,” he offered.
“So why are you here then?” There was no anger in Bokuto’s question, only confusion, and maybe longing.
“Because I think I realized there’s a bigger part of me that will always love you.”
For once, Akaashi didn’t cover his face at the confession of affection. He made direct eye contact with the man sitting beside him whose apartment he’d just broken into.
Bokuto met Akaashi’s gaze before he scanned his features, as he’d longed to do so many times in the past three years. The roundness in the man’s face had completely hollowed out, leaving high cheekbones and a defined jaw in its place. His nose was impossibly straighter, eyes impossibly sharper, lashes impossibly darker. His hair was cropped short, similar to how it’d been when Bokuto had last seen him, but it seemed to be framing his face tonight, alongside the dull moonlight streaming through the window.
Akaashi Keiji was lovely. Lovely as always. Bokuto swallowed thickly at the realization, the reminder. His throat was suddenly dry. “You look lovely.”
Akaashi offered a small smile. “Thank you.”
Bokuto returned the expression, but there was a hollowness in his heart. “What happened to us, Akaashi?”
“I don’t know.” Akaashi pulled on his ring finger. Bokuto was slightly surprised to see the nervous habit hadn’t been broken in their time apart.
“You just… stopped talking to me,” Akaashi said. “It was like you disappeared, and I didn’t know what to do. I’d never had to reach out before in our relationship and I, I got scared.”
“Kuroo told me about what happened the day you hung up on me.” Bokuto’s tone was even.
Akaashi froze.
“‘Kaashi, how was I supposed to be able to call you when I knew I was likely the reason for your literal panic attack?” Bokuto grimaced, balling at the sheets. “I didn’t know what to do. I was scared that I’d hurt you again if I said anything.”
“So you didn’t say anything,” Akaashi said softly.
“So I didn’t. But then it was already December, and I thought about how I might not be the first person to wish you a happy birthday, and it made me feel sick to my stomach. I couldn’t help but text you.”
“And then I didn’t respond.”
“And I didn’t know what to do.”
Akaashi nodded, trying to process everything he’d been told.
“I didn’t mean to give up on you, ‘Kaashi. I thought about you every day.” Bokuto’s voice was shaking now, and Akaashi could tell his eyes were glassy. “There were so many times I wanted to text you, or see you, or just hear your voice. I missed you. I missed you so much, Keiji.”
The way Bokuto said Akaashi’s first name sounded like a question, and it stung.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Akaashi said, sitting up. He leaned in to hug Bokuto. The embrace was awkward at first, the three years having made them both stiff in each other’s arms. But soon the time apart melted away, and it was like Akaashi was seventeen all over again. “I missed you too, Kou.”
“I’m sorry it seemed like I left you behind,” Bokuto said into Akaashi’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry I let myself get left behind.” Akaashi let his lips ghost over the shell of Bokuto’s ear. “But I’m not going anywhere this time, if that’s okay with you.”
Bokuto kissed Akaashi as an answer. It was three years later than planned, in the middle of the night with rain pouring down unceremoniously outside, but it felt like the first time, and that was all that mattered. Akaashi’s lips were still impossibly soft. His hair was still smooth as Bokuto carded a hand through it, slow and deliberate. Kissing Akaashi still felt safe.
Some things don’t change.
“That’s more than okay with me, baby.”
Akaashi flushed at the nickname.
“I missed making you blush,” Bokuto grinned, adoration tugging at his heart.
Akaashi swatted his arm.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“You can’t just say stuff like that,” Akaashi said, his face becoming increasingly redder with every word.
Bokuto raised an amused brow at the man’s blush. “Oh, so it’s like that, huh?” He pressed a kiss to Akaashi’s jaw. “Guess I’ll have to make sure my comment holds true.”
Akaashi laughed in spite of himself, and Bokuto thought it sounded like sunshine.
“Say, Keiji, why were you sleeping in my bed?”
They lay supine on the bed, tucked under the covers.
“Well, first I went to the match. I managed to catch the last set. I was going to say something, but then I figured it’d be better to greet you here.”
“I could have sworn I saw you in the stands, but then I decided I was crazy.”
“You are crazy,” Akaashi said, earning a poke in his side, “but not about that. I had a plan to cook dinner for you. I bought the meat and everything, but then you were out all night, and I got tired.” Akaashi sighed. “I guess it was foolish to assume you would come home after the match, especially since I didn’t exactly warn you that I was coming.”
Bokuto scooted over to rest his head on Akaashi’s bare chest. “S’okay. This is enough.”
“Is it?” Akaashi asked, running a hand through Bokuto’s hair.
Bokuto rolled his eyes. “We’re not doing this again.”
“I’m serious,” Akaashi huffed. “Come on, you know I’m not good with the whole confidence-in-the-relationship thing.” He sounded small.
Bokuto sighed before straddling the man. Leaning forward, he kissed Akaashi—Akaashi, who was beautiful, and kind, and forgiving, and now his again. “Guess I’ll just have to show you how to have faith,” he spoke against his lips.
Akaashi relaxed beneath Bokuto, let the affection pool in his stomach. He seemed pensive. “It’ll always be you,” he said quietly.
“Huh?”
“‘It’s you. It’ll always be you,’” Akaashi repeated firmly. “You told me that when I was seventeen, the day you confessed. I couldn’t say it back to you, but I can now.” He kissed Bokuto again. “If I could go rewind six years and tell you it then, I would.”
“It wouldn’t have changed anything.”
Akaashi frowned.
“I’d still love you the same. I always will.”
The corners of Akaashi’s mouth turned upwards. “I know. But I still wanted to tell you.”
There were so many things he wanted to tell Bokuto.
That he liked the way Bokuto’s hands were always warm, especially against his own icy ones. That he liked the way Bokuto loved every little thing so unconditionally, from volleyball, to dogs he pet on the street, to Akaashi himself. That he liked the way Bokuto’s hair looked when it was flattened down after a shower, or maybe after a night out in the rain, as it was now. That the feeling that had blossomed in Akaashi’s chest when he was told his tosses were the best felt a lot like love, even if he didn’t recognize it back then. That he’d wanted to kiss Bokuto since he was a first year. That he wished he had on their walks home after almost every summer practice, when the humidity that hung in the air, the buzz of cicadas, and Bokuto’s chattering had felt a lot like home.
Akaashi Keiji was twenty-two, but as nostalgia overwhelmed him, he wished he were younger.
Bokuto pressed a gentle kiss to his collarbone. “Don’t worry, baby. We got all the time in the world.”