Archive of Our Own

The sirens had been distant at first; a soft, anxiety-inducing lullaby. Bokuto had ignored them for a while, until the sound swelled louder, filling the room just as the wail filled his head, pushing him to the brink of panic. He’d wanted to run then, but Kuroo had stayed calm, and Bokuto knew he needed to do the same. He pretended he wasn’t nauseous, pretended his heart wasn’t a constant thunder in his ears, pretended the gun wasn’t shaking in his hand like the last quivering leaf of autumn.

“Keep it moving,” said Kuroo, shoving the barrel of his pistol into the back of the bank manager’s neck. “Fill up the bag. We’re running out of time, which means you’re running out of time.”

The manager shoved a handful of stacked bills into the laundry bag Bokuto had smuggled into the bank, tucked discreetly underneath his jacket. The man’s hands were shaking just as badly as Bokuto’s.

Bokuto started to speak, barely stopped himself from saying Kuroo’s name. “Umm… the sirens. They’re close now, they’re probably-”

“I know,” said Kuroo. He didn’t look at Bokuto. “It’s fine.”

“But if they-”

“Hey.” Kuroo sliced a glance over his shoulder. His gun hand was steady but there was a spark of something in his eyes that may have been the first flicker of panic. “It’s fine, okay? We’re fine. I promise.”

Bokuto swallowed hard and nodded. His voice was a rasp as he said, “Okay.”

Kuroo eyed him for a second more, the lower half of his face covered by a ragged black cloth. When he turned away, he pulled back and slammed the butt of the gun into the bank manager’s head. He crumpled, and Kuroo stepped over him to finish filling the bag himself. He cinched the top together, passed it off to Bokuto, and tucked the gun in the back of his pants. “Let’s go. Out the back, like we planned.”

Bokuto hefted the bag over his shoulder and almost tripped over the ankle of a hostage. He nearly went down, but Kuroo grabbed the back of his jacket and yanked him upright. The hostage shrank back against the wall, as if expecting retaliation, but Bokuto leaped over her and raced toward the back of the bank with Kuroo on his heels. Bokuto stumbled a few more times before they reached the door, his vision impaired by the hood pulled tight around his face. Kuroo steered him in the right direction every time, a strong hand bunched into the back of Bokuto’s jacket to guide him.

The sirens were closer, peaking to a volume that turned Bokuto’s blood to ice. He slapped a hand against the door when they reached it, staring blankly at the handle. “Kuroo…”

“We have to move, Bo!”

“What if they’re on the other side of the door waiting for us? What if-”

Kuroo pushed him aside and ripped open the door. Bokuto went rigid, waiting to be swarmed by the police. A hand tightened around his arm, and he yanked away before he realized it was only Kuroo.

“You have to keep it together,” said Kuroo. He’d tucked his hair beneath his hood but it was falling back into his face, plastered to his forehead by nervous sweat. “We’re almost out, okay? Stay with me.”

“Yeah,” said Bokuto. His voice was tight, strained. The condensation from his breath had soaked into the cloth tied around his face, leaving it damp. “Okay. I’m with you.”

Kuroo reached for him again, and this time Bokuto didn’t pull away. He followed Kuroo’s lead as they exited into the alleyway behind the bank and the pitch of sirens grew even louder.

Bokuto whipped his head back and forth, checking for unwanted company in the alley and finding none. Kuroo dragged him forward, boots scraping against asphalt, tossing quick, sharp looks over his shoulder.

The line of buildings across the snug alley were an assortment of businesses, offices and stores. One of the structures was a two-story stack of brick that had been abandoned for the past five years. It was there that they ran, surging through the door that had been lockpicked the day before. They crossed the threshold into near darkness and Kuroo turned to slam the door shut. He engaged the slide lock – that had been installed just yesterday, too – and pressed his back against the wall to catch his breath. Bokuto sank into a crouch to do the same, worried that his heart would slam straight out of his chest.

It was a miracle that they’d made it out of the bank. They’d stayed too long, longer than they’d planned. They hadn’t considered how many tries it would take the bank manager to unlock the safe, his motor skills deteriorating further and further with each tense second. Kuroo had shoved him out of the way and keyed in the code himself, as the manager dictated it, but too much time had already been lost.

Bokuto had known they would get caught. He’d expected to be slapped into cuffs at any second, thrown into the back of a police car, locked so deep in prison that he would never see the sun again. He saw it now, peering through the small cracks of the boarded windows, dust dancing in the tiny flares of light.

“Look at me,” said Kuroo. His voice was low, gentle, but still the loudest thing in the building. He crouched too, and it was only when he pried at Bokuto’s fingers that Bokuto realized he was still holding his gun.

He forced his grip to go limp and Kuroo took the pistol, tucking it in the back of his pants alongside his own. He slipped his hand into Bokuto’s, to fill the empty spot, and pressed his other fingers against the side of Bokuto’s face.

Bokuto tried to focus on Kuroo but his mind was spinning too quickly for him to focus on anything at all.

Kuroo pushed his hood back and yanked down the cloth covering his face. He took a deep breath of fresh air and did the same to Bokuto, freeing him from the makeshift disguise.

“You’re fine, Bo,” said Kuroo. He sounded like he meant it, so Bokuto tried to believe him. “You’re fine, but we have to move. We don’t have time for a crisis right now, okay? Later, when we make it home.”

“What if we don’t make it?” whispered Bokuto.

“We will.” Kuroo raked a hand through Bokuto’s hair. His hood had pressed it flat. “I promise. You trust me?”

“Of course.”

“Okay then, come on.”

Bokuto took a breath, tried to mend some of his shattered nerves, and rose. Kuroo mimicked him, and rewarded the effort with a quick kiss to Bokuto’s temple. They approached the front of the building, Bokuto dragging along the bag of money, Kuroo stripping off his jacket and shirt to reveal the handles of the pistols against his bare lower back.

“Pull up the floorboard,” said Kuroo. He removed the guns and put them aside, leaning against the wall to yank off his boots. “You remember which one?”

Bokuto did remember. He’d burned it into his mind the day before, because even if they made it out of the bank with no issues, they still couldn’t mess this part up. He paced to the correct floorboard and wedged his fingers beneath the splintered corner, prying it up with a haunted-house creak. Beneath was a stack of clothes, pale shades that were at odds with the head-to-toe black that he and Kuroo wore. Bokuto retrieved them and handed half to Kuroo, who’d stripped down to his underwear.

“Thanks,” he said, shaking out a pair of khakis and stepping into them. “You too. Move fast.”

Bokuto tried, but he was still shaking so badly that he had little coordination. He’d only managed to claw his way out of his shirt by the time Kuroo was redressed, looking a bit disheveled but nothing like a bank robber.

“Here, let me,” said Kuroo. He pushed Bokuto’s hands away and worked at the front of his pants, popping the button and working them down Bokuto’s hips. Bokuto let him, holding Kuroo’s shoulder for balance as he stepped out of them. With Kuroo’s help he dressed himself in a pair of white Bermuda shorts and a spring-colored shirt that left his arms exposed. They were clammy, just like the rest of him.

“Stuff the money down there,” said Kuroo, gathering their black clothes and tossing them beneath the floorboard. “I’ll grab the guns.”

Bokuto did as he was told, with a touch of difficulty. The bag of money was bigger than the gap in the floor, and he fussed with it until Kuroo gently nudged him away and did it himself. When it plopped to the dirt floor beneath, the bag still closed tight, Kuroo wiped the guns off on his shirt to erase any potential fingerprints and tossed them down, too. Bokuto replaced the floorboard and mechanically followed Kuroo to the front door. It was boarded up just like the windows, but like everything else, they’d prepared it the day before. It opened easily when Kuroo twisted the knob, and he stepped onto the street casually, as if exiting a long-abandoned building in the middle of the day, directly after a bank robbery, wasn’t suspicious at all.

Bokuto had no choice but to follow him, despite the lingering quiver of his limbs. Kuroo calmly shut the door behind them and locked it tight, slipping an arm through Bokuto’s and pulling him into the crowd.

Kuroo had said, when they were planning this, that no one would spare a second glance at them. He’d insisted that people were too caught up in their own lives to notice anyone else, and Bokuto had thought it was ridiculous.

Now, mingling with the office workers milling about during their lunch hour, fixated on their cellphones and their handheld foods, he realized Kuroo had been right. No one looked at them, no one spoke to them, and certainly no one pointed and screamed that the two of them had just robbed a bank.

It was a twenty-minute walk back to their shared apartment. Bokuto wouldn’t have made it by himself, because he was barely even aware of where he was. He existed half an hour in the past, when there had been a gun in his hand and a row of terrified civilians at his feet.

He didn’t realize they were home until he blinked and discovered they were no longer on the sidewalk. Bokuto was in the middle of their small kitchen, his shoes by the door although he couldn’t remember taking them off, a cup of hot tea being pressed into his hand.

“Drink it,” said Kuroo. “You’ll feel better.”

Bokuto didn’t think he would ever feel better, but still he did as Kuroo said. The tea was almost scalding on his tongue, but he didn’t even flinch.

“Say something,” said Kuroo, eyeing him with a crease of concern between his brows. “You haven’t talked in a while. Usually you never shut up.”

It was an attempt to lighten the mood, but it fell flat.

Bokuto took another drink, cleared his throat, and said, “We shouldn’t have done that.”

Kuroo sighed and turned to pour a second cup of tea, propping a hip against the counter as he took a sip. The window over the sink was halfway open, and the sounds of foot traffic filtered through the tattered screen. “We did what we had to.”

“But I-”

“Stop,” said Kuroo. “It’s done. We’ll deliver the money tomorrow, when the police have cleared out, and this will all be over.”

“This is my fault,” said Bokuto. He stared into his tea, grip going tight around the cup. “I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this. If we’d gotten caught… if you’d been arrested because of me, I don’t-”

“I said stop.” Kuroo’s voice was sharp, cutting Bokuto’s sentence short. “We didn’t get caught.”

“But if we had-”

“Then we would’ve gone to jail for the rest of our lives, probably,” said Kuroo. “I knew that when we left this morning. It was always a possibility, but it doesn’t matter now. It’s done.”

Bokuto closed his eyes, tightly enough that the tears burning in them couldn’t slip out. “I’m so stupid.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that.” Kuroo took the tea from him and put it aside. When he returned, he squeezed Bokuto’s face between his hands, encouraging him to open his eyes again. “You made a mistake. It happens. We’re fixing it, and that’s what matters. We’ll give them the money tomorrow and they’ll leave you alone. You’ll be free again. No more yakuza, no more debts, no more anything, okay? Just you and me.”

Bokuto tried to swallow, but it didn’t quite work. The lump in his throat refused to go down.

“It was my plan,” said Kuroo, more gently. “If we’d been caught, it would’ve been my fault. I talked you into it.”

“But I’m the one who got the debt in the first place. It’s my fault, Tetsurou, all of it. You could’ve gone to jail. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this, I shouldn’t have-”

Kuroo must have heard the hysteria creeping into Bokuto’s voice, because he leaned in and sealed his mouth over Bokuto’s, cutting him short before he could devolve into panic. Kuroo’s fingers dipped into Bokuto’s flat hair, curling into a loose grip, cradling him as if he was made of glass rather than flesh and bone. Bokuto held onto Kuroo, because he was afraid he would vanish if he let go.

“Nothing bad happened,” said Kuroo. He stayed close, so close that Bokuto felt the shapes of the words against his mouth. “We made it out. I’m not in jail, okay? I’m not in jail and I’m not anywhere else. I’m right here with you.”

“But if they-”

“But nothing.” Kuroo kissed him again, lingering just long enough for Bokuto to forget what he’d been saying. “Tomorrow you’re free. We’ll leave town. Move somewhere else, out in the country somewhere. Miyagi, maybe. I have some old friends who live out there.”

Bokuto pressed his forehead against Kuroo’s shoulder. A warm hand curled around the back of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he said. The words were thick, muffled into Kuroo’s shirt. “I’m sorry this happened. You tried to tell me when it first started and I didn’t listen. I’m sorry I got caught up with them, I’m sorry I-”

“Don’t, Bo.” Kuroo tipped his head against Bokuto’s. “There’s nothing to be sorry about. I get it.”

“I could’ve gotten us both killed.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I-”

“Enough, Koutarou.”

Bokuto clamped his mouth shut and swallowed again. The lump was bigger.

Kuroo rarely used Bokuto’s first name, even though they’d known each other for years, even though they’d loved each other nearly as long. Kuroo was careful with it, as if it was a secret to hold close to his chest, to whisper only on scarce occasion; usually against Bokuto’s lips at midnight, when they were moon-drunk and Bokuto’s mouth tasted only of Kuroo.

“It was worth it,” said Kuroo quietly. His voice rumbled against Bokuto’s cheek. Kuroo threaded a hand through mismatched hair and said, “Getting you out of that mess was worth anything. Don’t talk about it anymore, not until tomorrow, when we have to hand over the money. Today nothing else matters, just you and me, here and safe.”

Bokuto slipped his arms around Kuroo’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer. “I’m sorry.”

Kuroo sighed. He took a step back and Bokuto almost panicked, but Kuroo didn’t go any further. He brushed a kiss against Bokuto’s cheek, then the corner of his lips, and then against his mouth, deeply enough that Bokuto’s breath drew short, that he forgot everything except for the heat of Kuroo’s tongue curling against his own.

“Let’s go to bed,” said Kuroo. His fingers tucked beneath the edge of Bokuto’s shirt, knuckles grazing bare skin. “It’s been a long day.”

It was barely one o’clock in the afternoon, but Bokuto couldn’t argue. It had been a long day, possibly the longest of his life. He was drained, and his feet dragged against the stained tile floor as he followed Kuroo into their shared room.

The bed was cheap, the sheets were threadbare, and there wasn’t a single item of decoration in the cramped apartment. Still, it was home, and as soon as Bokuto collapsed onto the too-old mattress, a small measure of relief trickled into the black pit of dread roiling in his gut. That relief grew more potent when Kuroo curled up beside him, the bed dipping beneath their combined weight. The pillows were too flat, so Kuroo rested his head on Bokuto’s stomach instead, one long leg dangling off the edge of the mattress. On a typical day Bokuto would have complained that he was heavy, but this wasn’t a typical day, and Bokuto thought he would never have a single complaint about Kuroo ever again.

Bokuto was lucky to have him. He was lucky to be with Kuroo, right there in that shitty apartment. He was lucky, and because of his stupid mistakes, he’d almost thrown it all away.

Kuroo rolled off of him and propped up on his elbows with a frown. “You’re not allowed to think about it, either. No talking and no thinking.”

“You don’t know what I was thinking about.”

“Yeah, I do. I could practically hear it. You’ve never been subtle.” He moved closer, his heat soaking into Bokuto’s side. “Let it go. If you obsess over it like this you’ll lose your mind.”

“You always say I don’t have one of those anyway,” said Bokuto.

Kuroo smiled. It seemed to come to him easily, as if they hadn’t just robbed a bank, as if they were the same as always. The normalcy of it stoked that small spark of relief flickering in Bokuto’s chest, and it slowly grew to chase away the shadows of dread.

“That’s true,” said Kuroo. He tapped his knuckles against Bokuto’s forehead, gently. “It’s totally empty in there. Hear that echo?”

Bokuto’s mouth twitched with an almost-smile.

“There you are,” said Kuroo. He kissed Bokuto’s cheek, the brush of his lips lingering. “Move past it, Bo. We did what we had to do. We’re okay. Just let it go.”

Bokuto’s chest was tight, he cupped Kuroo’s face in his hand and the tension eased. Kuroo leaned into his palm, dark lashes fluttering over golden eyes.

“I love you, Tetsurou.” Bokuto whispered it as if it was a secret, although it was the exact opposite. He would have told anyone that he loved Kuroo, would have shouted it out the window to the pedestrians below.

“You too, Bo.” Kuroo kissed him, and when he started to pull away, Bokuto hooked an arm around his neck and kept him there. Kuroo melted over him, long and lean and warm, his weight giving Bokuto the feeling of security he’d ached for all morning.

Bokuto slipped a hand beneath Kuroo’s shirt, feeling his way up the bumps of his spine, lingering between his shoulderblades. Kuroo shifted, bracing his elbows on either side of Bokuto, slipping a knee between sturdy thighs. Bokuto sucked in a breath and Kuroo licked into his mouth, leaving his taste branded across Bokuto’s tongue. Bokuto reached higher, his fingers brushing the base of a long, lean neck, pushing Kuroo’s shirt up to catch beneath his armpits.

Kuroo broke away and licked his lips, his golden stare simmering. “If you want me to take my clothes off, you can just say so.”

That had an edge of teasing, but Bokuto was completely serious, if a little breathless, when he said, “Take your clothes off.”

Kuroo kissed him through a tilting grin before sitting back on his heels and peeling his shirt off. He pushed a hand through his hair and worked at the front of his pants, awkwardly shoving them down his hips and struggling to untangle them from his ankles.

He was behaving as if nothing was wrong, as if nothing had happened at all. If Bokuto hadn’t known better, he could have easily believed Kuroo had never broken a law in his life, that he’d never held a bank full of people at gunpoint to fix his partner’s mistakes. It was especially difficult to believe something like that had happened an hour ago, that Kuroo had recovered so quickly.

Maybe Kuroo was right. Bokuto wasn’t doing himself any good by hanging onto it. The worry would drive him mad, and Kuroo had said everything was fine. It must have been true, because Kuroo wouldn’t lie to him. Kuroo never lied to him.

“You too, then,” said Kuroo, when he’d stripped himself bare. “It’s only fair.”

Bokuto sat up, his stare never leaving Kuroo, and pulled his shirt over his head. He tossed it blindly aside, and was only halfway out of his pants when Kuroo pinned him down and kissed him again. Kuroo’s wandering hands finished the job, and Bokuto kicked the rest of his clothes off the edge of the bed, sighing against Kuroo’s mouth as they settled in, bare skin against bare skin.

Kuroo left a soft nip on Bokuto’s bottom lip, dragged a kiss to the edge of his jaw, and stared down at him while his fingers traced idle patterns across Bokuto’s collarbones. His eyes dipped down, and Bokuto knew Kuroo was looking at the tattoos. They painted half of Bokuto’s chest and arched up to cover his shoulder in shades of black and gray.

Kuroo had told him they were a bad idea. Kuroo had told him everything was a bad idea, and Bokuto had been too stubborn to listen.

Bokuto curled his hands around Kuroo’s hips, smoothed his palms up his ribs and back down again. “I’m sorry, Tetsurou.”

Kuroo’s contentment twisted into a frown. “What did I say?”

“I know, but-”

Kuroo kissed the words away, licked them right out of his mouth, and Bokuto sank back and let him. Long fingers tickled across Bokuto’s ribs, dancing downward to linger at his hip. They crept lower, and Bokuto arched into the touch. Kuroo smiled against Bokuto’s mouth, and it felt a little smug.

“Just chill,” said Kuroo, “before you have an aneurism.”

“I’m not gonna… Tetsurou.” The name was edged with the first hint of a moan as Kuroo stroked him, slow and smooth.

Kuroo licked a trail from Bokuto’s shoulder up the line of his neck. “Relax, Bo. I’ve got you.”

Another moan stuttered from Bokuto’s lips as Kuroo’s hand moved, his grip firm but careful, the roll of his wrist slow. He shifted against Bokuto, hard heat pressing into his hip. Bokuto reached for him, but Kuroo caught his wrist and pushed his hand aside.

“I said I’ve got you,” repeated Kuroo.

“I’ve got you, too.”

“No,” said Kuroo. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve got both of us.” He shifted more solidly onto Bokuto, their hips pressing together in a way that stole Bokuto’s breath. Kuroo spat into his hand and reached between them, wrapping long fingers around them both. This time when he stroked, the sensation was more, and Kuroo’s name dribbled from Bokuto’s mouth in sloppy syllables.

Bokuto’s hips kicked upward of their own accord, making the contact half-stroke and half-thrust. Kuroo licked at Bokuto’s throat again, left a gentle bite at the side of his neck and soothed it with a kiss.

Sometimes the two of them fucked like it was a competition, like they had something to prove, but this was different. This wasn’t about sex. This was about tasting each other’s breath and feeling each other’s heartbeats, about intimate reassurance, about proving they were alive and free and still together, despite everything that had happened in the past, despite everything that had happened that morning.

Bokuto needed Kuroo in a way he’d never needed anything else. He needed him, and he couldn’t believe he’d almost ruined this.

“Tetsurou…”

“Don’t.” Kuroo kissed his mouth, gently bit at his lip. “It’s fine, Bo. We’re fine.”

Bokuto wrapped an arm around Kuroo’s waist and draped the other around his neck, pulling him back down. “I love you.” The words were muffled against Kuroo’s lips, unintelligible, but he knew Kuroo would understand.

Kuroo rocked against him, the tight curl of his fist holding them together. Bokuto whined, and after a few more strokes, it dragged into a moan. His breath came more quickly, chest rising and falling beneath Kuroo’s heat, his heartbeat sprinting in a way entirely unlike it had that morning.

He was lost in the thrall of Kuroo’s mouth and his hand and his very existence, and when he came with a messy mumble of Kuroo’s name, the sharp gasp in his ear suggested Kuroo was doing the same. When Kuroo slumped on top of him, it was in a tangle of long limbs, untidy hair, and stickiness that both of them ignored. Bokuto held Kuroo close, not minding the weight of him, or the tickle of dark hair against his cheek.

When their breathing had steadied out and peace settled between them, Kuroo said, “When we leave town tomorrow, we’re not gonna talk about what happened today. Not ever. We’ll just forget about it, okay?”

“Sure,” said Bokuto. He knew he’d never forget, but if it made Kuroo happy, he’d agree to anything.

“We’ll start over.” Kuroo turned his head to press his lips against Bokuto’s jaw. “Clean slate. I think I’ll get a job at a restaurant. I’m a great cook.”

Bokuto smiled despite himself. “You’re an awful cook.”

“Yeah, but they won’t know that.”

“You’ll get fired your first day,” said Bokuto. He rolled to the side but didn’t loosen his hold on Kuroo, keeping them face to face, legs intertwined. “Or they’ll make you be a dishwasher or something.”

Kuroo shrugged. “That wouldn’t be so bad. I’d work my way up to a chef in no time.”

Bokuto kissed him, just so Kuroo wouldn’t see the way he was grinning.

“What do you want to do?” asked Kuroo, when they broke apart.

“Don’t know,” said Bokuto. “Don’t really care.” As long as he had Kuroo, nothing else was important.

“We should clean up,” said Kuroo, “and then really try and get some rest. I know you didn’t sleep last night.”

Bokuto didn’t bother arguing. Kuroo was right.

“C’mon.” Kuroo sat up and tugged Bokuto with him. “We’ll have to pack tonight, too. Which shouldn’t take long, we’ll just throw all of our clothes in a bag.”

Bokuto mumbled a vague agreement and tucked his face against Kuroo’s shoulder. A hand slipped through the back of his hair, gently. “Thank you, Tetsurou. For everything.”

“Don’t thank me,” said Kuroo. “I’d do anything for you, Kou.”

Bokuto wished he could say the same. If he wanted what was best for Kuroo, he would disappear. Bokuto was only trouble, had only ever been trouble. It would be better for Kuroo if they’d never met.

But he was too selfish to leave, too lost without Kuroo, so he let himself be lead to the shower and embraced beneath the hot spray of water.

Bokuto couldn’t make himself leave, but he could make sure they were never in such a bad situation again. If they made it through tomorrow, if they got out of the city in one piece, he would never do anything wrong again.

He didn’t always know what was wrong and what wasn’t, but Kuroo did. Bokuto hadn’t listened before, but he would now. Now, and forever.

They parked the rental car three blocks away from the abandoned building that they’d fashioned into a makeshift hideout. Kuroo was the designated driver, because Bokuto had never learned to drive properly. Everything they owned was in the trunk, with plenty of room to spare. They didn’t have much. Kuroo had never minded, but Bokuto had always wanted better for them. That was why he’d gotten them into this mess, but he wouldn’t make that mistake again. He was happy with what he had, because he’d almost lost everything.

They mingled into the midday crowd, walking side by side. Kuroo had slipped on a pair of mirrored sunglasses, but Bokuto had lost his matching pair a few weeks before. He squinted against the sun as they paused across the street from the building, watching the crowd for a while to confirm nothing was suspicious, funneling through the busy crosswalk when it seemed they were clear.

The door opened easily, with only a low scrape of hinges. A plume of dust greeted them. Kuroo stepped inside first, and Bokuto was only a step behind until Kuroo’s outstretched hand slapped into the middle of his chest, stopping him.

Bokuto opened his mouth, but the sudden tension in Kuroo’s shoulders left him mute. Kuroo pushed his sunglasses up to perch in the nest of his hair as he eyed the inside of the vacant room. Bokuto mimicked him, but he saw nothing unusual. Water stains still dappled the ceiling, boards were still nailed over all the windows, and the steps of the corner staircase were still collapsed.

“Wait here,” said Kuroo. He spoke low, and in a tone that made the hair rise on the back of Bokuto’s neck.

“But what-”

“Be quiet,” said Kuroo, “and wait here. Something feels off.”

Bokuto swallowed back his questions and did as he was told, straddling the threshold with the sun soaking against the back of his neck. He checked over his shoulder, but everyone passing by didn’t even look at him. They were too caught up in their own business to care about Bokuto’s.

Bokuto refocused, just as Kuroo pried up the edge of the loose floorboard.

Before Kuroo even spoke, Bokuto knew.

Kuroo let the floorboard drop, and the sound of it slapping into place was like a gunshot. His eyes were wild as he turned to Bokuto. He opened his mouth, but the voice that filled the room didn’t belong to either of them.

“Tokyo Police! Put your hands behind your head and get on your knees!”

There was motion in the far doorway, the one that led to the back of the building that opened into the alley. A pair of men dressed in solid black gear emerged, and the stomp of boots on squeaky floorboard suggested there were more to follow.

Bokuto couldn’t move, not immediately. Panic crackled on the air like electricity, and Bokuto felt as if he’d been wrapped up in a live wire.

“Bo, you have to run!” Kuroo was just as panicked. Bokuto saw it in the flash of his eyes, heard it in the waver of his voice. Despite his fear, Kuroo wasn’t frozen in place like Bokuto was. He moved, putting himself between Bokuto and the officers, hands flung over his head so they wouldn’t have an excuse to shoot him. “Go now, and don’t you dare stop!”

Something about the snap of his voice, scared and desperate but sharp enough to slice, gave Bokuto the ability to move. He turned and ran, shoving through the crowd as he went, ignoring the shouts of “Stop!” and “Police!” that followed. Those commands were distant, and they didn’t seem to be getting any closer, so he kept running.

Two blocks away he ducked into a busy restaurant and wove his way through the packed tables as calmly as possible, holding his breath so no one would hear him panting. He didn’t know if it worked, because he couldn’t focus on anyone around him. All he could think about was Kuroo.

Bokuto went into the bathroom and locked himself in a vacant stall. He pressed his back against the door, hid his face in his hands, and bit down on the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.

Even behind his closed eyelids, with the starburst of static lights that flashed when he clenched them too tightly, Kuroo’s face was perfectly clear, as if it was right there in front of him instead of back at the abandoned building, at the mercy of the police. Bokuto saw it just as he’d seen it before he’d turned to flee: wide eyes, high eyebrows, a flash of teeth from his open mouth. His shoulders had been stiff, when he’d placed himself between Bokuto and the police. He’d been scared, but still brave enough to step up and protect Bokuto, when it should have been the other way around. All of this was Bokuto’s fault. He should have been the one who’d told Kuroo to run, the one who’d been bold enough to stand his ground.

Bokuto should have done a lot of things in his life, and he’d fucked up every single one of them.

He stayed in the bathroom stall for a while; twenty minutes, maybe thirty. Time didn’t seem real to him anymore, so he couldn’t be sure. He only knew that no police came for him, which meant he’d gotten away.

He would have to be careful, when he left the restaurant. Maybe they hadn’t gotten a good look at him, but if they had, he was easy to pick out of a crowd. Kuroo was right about that; Bokuto had never been subtle. The car was only a block and a half away. The rental office had given them two keys, and one of them was in Bokuto’s pocket. He wasn’t a great driver, but he was good enough to get himself out of the city. He would have to scrape together a new plan after that, but for now, he couldn’t think any further ahead.

He could barely think at all, because his head was full of Kuroo.

He remembered the first time they met, back when they were stupid high school kids. Bokuto hadn’t liked Kuroo, at first. Kuroo was one of the smart kids, always doing what he was told and never getting into trouble. Bokuto had been the opposite, and had assumed Kuroo only saw him as the delinquent kid from history class. When they’d gotten to know each other, Bokuto had realized he’d been wrong about that. He’d been wrong about a lot of things.

He remembered when they'd gotten their first apartment together, and it had been even shittier than the one they’d just moved out of. They'd been fresh out of school, with Bokuto slaving away at a minimum wage job while Kuroo worked nights and attended university during the day. They’d hoped for a better future, then.

But Kuroo had never finished his degree. Bokuto had gotten into trouble, and they'd both picked up extra jobs to try and pay off the debts he’d made.

Kuroo could’ve had a good life, on his own. He would have graduated at the top of his class, because he was too smart to do otherwise. He would’ve found a good job, with a good salary, and lived in a good apartment. Maybe he would’ve fallen in love along the way, with a clean-shaven colleague or a curvy businesswoman. Maybe he would’ve been happy.

Maybe, but he would never know, because Bokuto had taken all of that away from him.

When Bokuto left the restaurant, there were no police officers waiting. People bustled past on the sidewalk, and even the ones who pushed past him didn’t even look at his face. No one recognized him. No one knew he was wanted for bank robbery, and no one was shouting for the police.

The sun had sank a little lower, but it was still bright in his eyes as he squinted out in the distance, toward the concrete cluster of buildings beyond which the rental car was parked. He only needed to cross the street and dip through a few parking lots to reach it. If no one noticed him now, it was likely he would make it.

He started walking, moving against the crowd, his heart sinking lower and lower with each step. By the time he slipped into a back alley, the sun at his back and the bank only a stone’s throw away, he was certain his heart and his gut and everything else was dragging along on the asphalt behind him.

A police cruiser was carefully wedged in the small alley. Bokuto wondered if it had been there all along, if he and Kuroo would have seen it and gotten away if they’d come through the back door instead of the front.

It didn’t matter, now. Not much mattered at all.

Except that an officer was dragging Kuroo out of the abandoned building, his hands cuffed behind him and his head down. The officer yanked open the back door of the cruiser and Kuroo moved to step inside, but his eyes caught on Bokuto and he stopped. There was something on his face, dread or fear or desperation, but Bokuto could have sworn that there was a touch of relief there, too.

Kuroo opened his mouth, but was shoved inside the car before he said anything. It didn’t matter. Bokuto knew exactly what he would have said, and he wouldn’t have listened.

Maybe Bokuto could have gotten away. Maybe he could have rebuilt his life and had a future.

Maybe, but any future without Kuroo wasn’t worth having.

He folded his hands behind his head and walked forward, until the officers noticed his approach, until he was flung to the ground and cuffed and tossed into the back of the cruiser alongside Kuroo. Kuroo’s nose was bloody. Bokuto thought he must have put up a bit of a fight, to try and buy Bokuto some time to run away. Bokuto expected anger, but Kuroo only seemed resigned. He offered a smile that was more of a grimace, the pain in his eyes unrelated to the blood dripping down his chin.

Neither of them spoke, because there was nothing to say. Bokuto moved closer - awkwardly, because his hands were bound behind his back - until his shoulder was pressed against Kuroo’s.

They sat in silence until an officer yanked open the front door and dropped into the driver’s seat. She glanced at them in the rearview, and dismissed them to speak to someone on the radio. It was only when the cruiser was halfway through the city, headed toward the downtown jail, that Bokuto spoke.

He wanted to apologize. He wanted to say he was sorry, and that all of this was his fault, and that Kuroo would have been better off if they’d never met. All of that was true, but he knew Kuroo wouldn’t want to hear it. Instead he said, voice tight with emotion, “I love you, Tetsurou.”

Kuroo leaned into him, his weight reassuring. Bokuto wondered if he’d ever be this close to Kuroo again.

“I love you too, Koutarou. No matter what.”