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When Keiji met Bokuto Koutarou for the first time he had no way of knowing he would grow to love him so completely, so irrevocably, so immensely.
It wasn't exactly something he could've easily predicted.
Of course, there was the initial attraction Keiji had to him, but even that was emotional rather than physical. This boy who soared high off the shiny floors, an ascending angel reaching so delicately for the ball, only to slam it hard and furiously onto the other side of the net, with an intensity, with a power only those born of the heavens could have, thunder and lighting, wind and fire, rain and hail. In his smile, in his eyes, in the way he walked, in his cries of victory, Bokuto Koutarou possessed all these things, destruction and beauty all in a single person.
Maybe in hindsight, there was no other path Keiji could've taken after seeing that match, no path that wouldn't have eventually led him to Koutarou. Led him to one day walk alongside him, tossing with his own mortal hands lightning bolts to be hurled down by his spiker, smiting any who dared question the power of his team, who dared to rip victory away from him.
His mother had always told him to reach for the stars, after all. And Keiji had seen for himself, had felt for himself, that there was no other place he wanted to be.
And yet, surely the typical person would probably gawk at the pair Keiji and Koutarou made. Especially if they knew how different the two were from each other, black and white, yin and yang. Keiji thought about this sometimes how if he were an outsider looking in, he'd probably have a doubt or two about the nature of their relationship, about their compatibility with each other.
How ironic was it then, that their biggest supporters were their friends, the ones that loved them most dearly were the ones who couldn't agree more that they were a near perfect match, puzzle pieces that very much looked as if they wouldn't fit together, but in all reality, complimented each other's every curve and edge.
At the very least, that's what Keiji thought to himself, and when his hand was in Bokuto's, he thought that perhaps, no one else's hand could fit so perfectly in his.
But for argument's sake, he could at least understand why people seemed confused.
Bokuto was loud. Very, very loud.
Put quite simply, Keiji was not that.
If Bokuto had an inside voice, many hadn't had the pleasure of hearing it. Every word that left his mouth came out not only with a great volume, but with emotion, whether that was happy, overwhelmed, sad, angry, defeated, whiny.
It was often whiny.
Bokuto was passionate, about everything, anything. To Keiji, who most often than not, had his featured schooled into a calm, neutral disposition, who spoke with a quietness that made it seem he had been born and raised in a library, who was always thinking first and foremost, what to say, and what not to say, what was appropriate to share with others, and what was much too intimate, Bokuto's tendency to express everything that came to mind so freely, without a care in the world seemed...
Incredibly tiring.
It had to be, Keiji reasoned, to constantly be stripping your own skin, reaching inside yourself and giving to others what you felt, what you thought, without knowing if they'd accept you, or simply toss your words to the wind to be blown away, as if they'd never come out of your mouth.
But, Bokuto, his Bokuto, did it without thinking.
And so, it was also.. incredibly brave of him as well. To Keiji, at least.
Bokuto had a lot of friends, was quite popular with his classmates, whether that was because of his behavior in a classroom setting that almost always gave him the title of class clown or because of his talent in volleyball that took his team to nationals time and time again. Or maybe it was just his kindness, the way he so effortlessly made anyone feel welcome and understood, whether that was a perfect stranger, or someone he had known for years.
Despite these qualities that Keiji admired, that he felt people solemn gave Bokuto credit for, Keiji sometimes, got the feeling that when people listened to Bokuto talk, they were listening, but not really listening.
Bokuto talked a lot. About things that matters, about things that didn't, things that made your lips twitch with a smile, things that wrinkled your forehead in thought.
He talked, talked talked talked talked, and talked a little more after that.
Keiji supposed that after a while, it was all too easy to dismiss what Bokuto was talking about with a, "Oh, really?', "Wow,", or just a hum of affirmation, so that he wouldn't suspect that you weren't listening.
Keiji had done it himself, surely, on days where his patience was running thin.
The thing was...
Bokuto was not dumb.
Of course he knew when people weren't really listening.
And it made Keiji almost unbelievably, unexplainably angry and frustrated when people assumed so, just because, yes, maybe he could be a little air-headed at times, and yes, sometimes the things that were said in passing flew over his head quite completely.
But, personally, Keiji thought that it was actually, very endearing the way his head would tilt oh, so slightly to the side when he was confused. Or how his eyebrows would furrow in puzzlement, the way his nose and lips would scrunch up while the gears in his head turned and turned.
Bokuto was proud. Confident, sometimes exceedingly so.
And yet, he never hesitated to let people know when he didn't quite understand something.
Keiji liked that. He liked that a lot.
Liked that although Bokuto's grades were concerning at the very least, he was different from those in his advanced classes that would rather be slightly confused about a topic instead of admitting it and risk wounding their pride, their "reputation" of intellect.
And Keiji liked explaining things to Bokuto, liked how he'd hang on his every word even if his explanation or the subject at hand wasn't particularly thrilling, liked how even if he didn't understand with the first explanation or the second, even if he was frustrated, he was persistent in his pursuit to understand, as he was with almost all things.
Persistent.
Pertinacious.
Patient.
When he wanted to be anyway.
But when it came to Keiji, it seemed there was nothing quite as accurate to describe Bokuto.
Especially, in those couple of weeks, (although it had felt more like years), when the two of them had come to the realization that their feelings for each other were more than friendship.
They had always been close, and so the gradual change into more almost, almost went unnoticed. It all happened so naturally. So easily, seamlessly, without thinking.
Keiji touching Bokuto's shoulder with his fingertips to grab his attention turned into a hand staying there even after the conversation had passed. On their walks home, late at night after practice, even after spending much of the day together, neither wanted to part. And so Bokuto would come home with Keiji, and they would make dinner together, watching a movie if it was the weekend, homework if Bokuto's visit was on a weekday.
Or sometimes Bokuto would take Keiji by the wrist and lead him to his house instead.
The first couple times this had happened Keiji had dug his feet in, quite literally, the rubber on his sneakers squeaking against the street pavement. He had learned, with half annoyance and half resignedness that there wasn't much Keiji could say that could deter Bokuto from doing so.
And well, Keiji would never admit this out loud, but he seldom minded.
Without fail, similar to a bloodhound picking up a scent on a trail, Bokuto always seemed to know when Keiji was having an off day, a day when the thoughts in his head were jumbled and overcrowded him, without Keiji even having to say anything at all. If it was anyone else, Keiji would have been terrified at the prospect of someone knowing him so well, and sometimes it did spike a feeling of fear in his hands, in his stomach, but it always passed. It was only natural for Bokuto to be as attuned to him as Keiji was to Bokuto, given the amount of time they spent together on and off the court.
And so, Keiji would bite his tongue on the "I'm not sure this is a good idea, Bokuto-san.", the "I don't want to intrude on your family.", the "Really, Bokuto-san, you're being ridiculous, let me go, I'm fine-".
Bokuto knew somehow, that Keiji going back home to his deathly-quiet house, that was almost ways sans parents, would just amplify the voices in his head, would make him miserable at best, and close to his breaking point at worst.
Bokuto was the first one to say something.
It wasn't unexpected, per se. They were both beating about the bush, they both knew they were beating about the bush, and maybe both of them were a little scared of taking the next step, one more than the other.
They had been laying on the couch in Keiji's living room, watching a movie Bokuto had picked, one with big explosions and action scenes, English subtitles put on for Keiji.
The truer statement was that Bokuto was laying on the couch, and Keiji was laying on Bokuto, his thighs thrown over Bokuto's so he could stretch his legs out. He was cuddled against Bokuto's side, his left arm wrapped around Keiji's back to keep him close, and his right hand sandwiched between both of Keiji's in his lap because fiddling with Bokuto's fingers was somehow calming in a way his own never were.
And so, it was impossible not to notice when Bokuto's drew his hand out of Keiji's, and reached for the remote to lower the volume so that the gunshots from the movie were completely silenced.
By the time Bokuto's eyes were on his again, Keiji had already begun to sweat.
"Is.. something wrong?" His voice came out shaky despite his attempts to steady it.
Bokuto's gaze went downcast, his hand coming to sit on Keiji's knee, thumb rubbing mindlessly against the skin there. Keiji repressed a shiver.
" 'Kaash, what are we doing..?" Bokuto looked up at him again, his eyes soft, but also something else Keiji wasn't sure of.
Keiji had already started to back up off him, his hands starting to tremble at his sides, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't- I-"
"No!" Bokuto almost shouted, his hand squeezing tight on Keiji's leg, to keep him there, or to reassure Keiji and maybe himself too, he wasn't sure. "I like it! Whatever this is! I do! I just are we- are we dating or-?"
Keiji's heart beat haphazardly in his throat, and he found it hard to swallow. "Well-"
"Because if we are that's great! I like this! I like how we are! Being here with you, that's where I want to be."
This is so-like Bokuto, his mind supplied helpfully, to say such things without a moment of hesitation, without a second thought.
Keiji's cheeks burned and his hands hadn't ceased their shaking, but maybe with how much he admired Bokuto, it was time to take a page out of his book.
"Yes." Keiji voice cracked. He blinked furiously with the effort of keeping his mind clear, and either looked like he was trying not to cry, or like a total lunatic. But, this is what he wanted, what he had wanted for years now, and he wasn't going to let his tendency to overthink take that away from him anymore.
Bokuto's hands tightened on Keiji's, and he leaned forward to better look into Keiji's face, seemingly searching for something. "Yes..?" He asked softly, almost as if Keiji was a wild animal he didn't want to scare off.
There was no going back now.
"Koutarou," Keiji looked up into gold, bright eyes, and his heart swelled with the tears gathering there. "go out with me. Please. I want you to be mine- and, well-" Keiji's gaze dropped into his lap, at their hands, entwined, and he hoped with everything he had that they could stay like that forever. "And I'd like to be yours, if you'll have me-"
He was cut off by a pair of soft lips pressing against his, and when they broke away it was because Bokuto was laughing, his forehead against Keiji's. "You've had me since the moment you walked into that gym." His smile was bright, like the sun, but to look away surely was a grave sin when he was looking at him like that.
"So-"
"Yes, yes, a million times yes." Bokuto laughed again, a beautiful thing. "And if you asked me to marry you this instant, I'd say yes then too."
Keiji swallowed down the heart in his throat, and found that when the tears finally ran down his face he could not stop them. Bokuto wiped them away, his hands still in Keiji's.
"Well, good," Keiji smiled, "because I'll be asking you that soon as well."
"Keiji!"
That night, the pair walked back to their old high school, and Keiji told him for how long he had loved Koutarou, so completely, so irrevocably, so immensely.
Maybe in hindsight, it hadn't been so hard to predict.