Archive of Our Own

Present Time

Confusing times call for confusing measures, but he’s at least 45% sure that is not how the saying goes, so Bokuto still has no idea why he is standing alone in a gym with Akaashi, who looks damn near ready to commit mass genocide.

He keeps eyeing the double doors as if someone is about to burst in, dressed in drag and doing the hula. Bokuto has to double-triple-check behind him to confirm that no, that is indeed not happening, and to think about why that disappoints him.

Akaashi, the angel, speaks for the first time since calling them there five minutes ago. There are beads of sweat bunched up at his temples.

“Bokuto-san, I like—”

Cue the gym doors slamming open so hard Bokuto’s surprised they’re still attached on their hinges. In marches Kuroo, eyes flickering around frantically; Hinata is nestled comfortably in his arms, drool mixed with sweat dribbling down his chin and—holy shit, he’s unconscious. He is unconscious. Why is he unconscious?

“BO!” Kuroo shouts, voice cracking. “Quick, help me hide before Kenma finds us!”

It’s at that moment that Fukunaga, from the corner of the gym, hidden away from them all, decides to clear his throat. “Casper is calling me,” he says, and the door creaks closed behind him.

This all takes approximately 4.89 seconds, and Bokuto Koutarou simply cannot handle it.

To fully comprehend what should be done next on his part, he reflects back on the past few days—wait, no, weeks. He has to be thorough with this shit in order to figure out just what the hell is going on, and how to counteract.

The furthest he dares to backtrack is exactly two weeks from the start of the training camp, eighteen days ago.

Eighteen Days Ago  

Bokuto Koutarou would like to think that he is the best person to go to for advice, and while he’s fairly decent at saying the right things at the right time when people do ask for his expertise, the fact is that when Kuroo is in the vicinity, or talking to him, or even just mentioned in the conversation, something goes haywire in his brain. It’s like their braincells are so used to working together when they get up to shit that any hint of the other person—anything at all—wipes out the impulse control and activates the instant need to create chaos.

So, with that in mind, when Kuroo video chats him that evening, it’s really not that much of a surprise that Bokuto ends up with scorched popcorn, half-popped kernels blanketing his kitchen, and his shirt in shambles. He douses himself with a bucket of water in case he missed some of the flames licking up the fabric that he couldn’t see.

Kuroo wheezes on the other end of the line as Bokuto pouts, wiping away some of the hair plastered to his forehead.

“Dude,” he groans, “this was my favorite shirt.”

“Relax, it’s just a shirt.”

“Akaashi got it for me.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, you should’ve had a damn lid on the pan,” Kuroo counters, and Bokuto sees from the picture of the little box on his phone screen that Kuroo is still trying to hold back his hideous laughter, possibly even tears. Bokuto wishes that he were here so he could force him to eat some of the decimated popcorn, or at least help him clean up.

Honestly, he’s lucky that his parents are away on a business trip, and that his siblings are at their extracurriculars. They would never let him live this down. They still hold the Hair-Dye Incident over his head, since they’re very well reminded of it every day.

Bokuto gazes down solemnly at the t-shirt, the little breast-pocket adorning an adorable gray owl. Well, it used to be adorable. He must host a funeral for it later; it deserves that much respect, at least.

“You didn’t tell me that until after I already put the popcorn in the pan. It was too late!” he defends, rooting around in the pantry for the broom.

“It’s common sense, dumbass!”

“You’re the dumbass!”

“You have the atomic number of 67, you Ho.”

“Whatever, cathole.”

At that, they both snicker. Bokuto sweeps his arm over the counter to scatter the mess of food on the floor, pointedly ignoring how his clothes dribble water on the tiles.

“Okay, that was pretty good, I guess,” Kuroo concedes.

“It’s no fair when you bring out the chemistry insults. I don’t even know what you’re saying.”

“That’s the point.”

Bokuto flips his phone off over his shoulder as he begins the clean-up of the kitchen. It isn’t really that bad, and would probably only take about ten minutes to tidy, but he can’t take any chances. The silence is a little uncomfortable as he disposes of the evidence of his fuck-up in a spare trash bag. He’ll take it out in a few minutes; he can’t risk anyone seeing the remains in the garbage can.

Kuroo’s voice is a little staticky as he speaks, but it’s a welcome sound. “Hey, Bo?”

“Hm? What’s bothering you, bro?”

“Nothing.” He hears Kuroo fiddling with something, probably crinkling the chemistry homework he had pulled out at the start of the call. “Uh, do you ever, like, get a weird feeling? It’s like—fuck, I don’t know.”

This is a little weird, and kind of concerning. Kuroo doesn’t usually think about his words with Bokuto. Ever since they met in first year, they’ve both sort of just blurted out their thoughts when they were with each other. It’s always been easy like that. Kuroo hesitating to speak? Yeah, Bokuto’s curiosity is sky-rocketing right now.

“Take your time,” Bokuto says, and it takes all his will-power not to reach through the phone and shake Kuroo’s shoulders to get him to spit it out.

Luckily, Kuroo doesn’t take too long. “Okay, so, it’s like—Kenma’s finally starting to open up a little more, right, and I’m glad. Fuck, I really am, but at the same I’m angry? Not at Kenma, but when he’s hanging out and talking with someone else, I’m angry at them. I think.”

Oh, Bokuto knows this one.

“You’re jealous.”

Kuroo’s picture plunges into darkness as Bokuto washes the dishes, and there are unidentifiable clattering sounds coming from the other end of the line. Bokuto can only assume that Kuroo is either having an epiphany, choking on his own saliva, or he dropped his phone. Possibly all three.

“What?” Kuroo is finally in the screen again, and Bokuto barks out a harsh laugh at his red ears and hair mussed up even more, as if he ran his fingers through it a few times. “Bo, shut the fuck up, no I’m not.”

“You totally are,” he insists through his chortling, putting away the dishes in their designated homes around the kitchen.

“I know what jealousy feels like, I’m not stupid. Shut up, don’t respond to that.” Bokuto purses his lips. “I’m not jealous.”

“Well, fuck if I know what to tell you. Ask someone else?” he suggests.

“I asked Yaku before you.”

“Before me? Really? I’m offended.” He’s not. Okay, maybe a little.  

“Oh god—”

“Well? What did he say?”

Kuroo doesn’t answer, and Bokuto doubles over in wild laughter once again.

“He said—he said the same thing?” Bokuto attempts to ask.

“I’m not jealous,” Kuroo announces through the phone, and then he hangs up.

Bokuto calms himself down after a few more minutes of losing it, and then he steps back to admire his handiwork. The kitchen sparkles under the fluorescent light, and the trash has been taken out. Just in time, too, since the front door rattles with the first person to arrive back home.

His sister, younger by two years, calls into the house, “I’m home,” and steps into the kitchen.

Bokuto offers a giant smile in her direction. “Welcome home!” Kana immediately halts in the doorway, eyes narrowing as they flicker around the kitchen and then settle back on her brother. Bokuto pretends that he is definitely not panicking internally.

“What did you do?”

“What do you mean? I didn’t do anything.”

She steps closer, and Bokuto gulps.

“The kitchen is…”

“It’s fine,” Bokuto finishes for her. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with it.”

“That’s what I mean. It’s too clean,” she sniffs suspiciously, grey orbs shifting to his clothes, and that’s when he remembers—fuck. Kana grins, eyes flickering to the phone on the counter. “Your clothes are soaking wet. You were on call with Kuroo-san, weren’t you?”

Bokuto huffs in defeat. At least she’ll never get the truth out of him.

“And why does it smell like burned popcorn in here?”

Motherf—

“Oh, come on!”

***

Bokuto does not mention any of that to Akaashi the next day, especially about ruining that shirt. He doesn’t have a death wish—or, at least, a disappointment wish. He can picture the exact face that Akaashi will give him the moment the words spill from his mouth. His lips will part in a silent sigh, and then purse into a Kermit-the-Frog face, and his eyes will become even more hooded and slack, and Bokuto is getting upset just thinking about it.

So, he does not tell him, and he doesn’t explain why he permanently smells like burned popcorn either, though he’s pretty sure that’s a given.

However, Kuroo’s dilemma does bug him for the day, from the time he wakes up in the morning until the end of the second practice. It bothers him so much that he’s too stuck in his head, and so he messes up more than he would like to admit during practice, and that’s just plain embarrassing as the captain of his team. He has an example to set!

He even forgets to beg Akaashi to stay late and set extra for him. Bokuto is the first one to enter the locker room after clean-up, and the last one to leave because he sits on the bench after changing, just staring into space for a whole five minutes.

Akaashi is waiting for him outside, but Bokuto only gives a nod in his direction as they start walking down the sidewalk.

There’s nothing else to describe what Kuroo’s feeling. He’s jealous, but he won’t accept it. It upsets Bokuto—just, just a little bit—because out of the two of them, he’s the one who’s better at feelings. Sure, Kuroo absorbed all the book smarts, and many people look at Bokuto like this, this child that throws random tantrums, but when he feels something, he feels it, and he knows exactly what he’s feeling. Why can’t Kuroo trust him with that? Okay, wait, maybe he’s being overdramatic. Maybe. He should probably trust Kuroo that Kuroo trusts him, and maybe he’s just in denial over his feelings, and—

“Bokuto-san!”

Bokuto snaps out of his daze, stopping abruptly before he’s about to slam straight into a stop sign. A smile paints itself on his lips at the ridiculousness of it.

“Oops,” he chuckles, but before he can continue on the path home, there is a tugging at the sleeve of his blazer, and he swivels around to meet piercing blue eyes that never fail to make him grin. “Huh, what is it ‘Kaashi?”

“Bokuto-san, are you alright?” his kouhei questions, furrowing his eyebrows just the tiniest bit. It’s adorable.

“Yeah, of course! Why?”

“You have been spacing out a lot today. More than usual. The team is concerned about you.”

Oh, that’s—that’s no good. That makes him feel a little guilty, actually, and he visibly deflates, hair included. He didn’t mean to worry everyone. He’s the one that should be worried.

He gives the most convincing grin that he can muster. “I’m totally fine! Just thinking, ya know?”

“That’s dangerous, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi quips.

“Ahgaaaashiiiiii! No, it’s not, shut up! I think all the time!”

“I just witnessed you almost run into a stop sign. I saw you, don’t try to deny it.” Bokuto turns away with a pout, trudging down the street at a snail’s pace. There’s really just no winning for him this week, is there? Akaashi catches up with him in no time. “So, will you tell me what it is you’re thinking about?”

The vault is sealed, absolutely clamped shut and locked; he promised to himself this morning that he would not spill any of the details of Kuroo’s issues.

Still, Akaashi gazes at him with those eyes, and Bokuto sort of just—unravels. Thankfully, he keeps the details of what his sister had dubbed the Popcorn Fiasco out of orbit, but still ends up mentioning how his shirt got ruined on accident, along with Kuroo’s problem.

“I’ll get you another one,” Akaashi says without hesitation after he’s finished his explanation, and before Bokuto can protest or even thank him, he adds, “and as for Kuroo-san…Jealousy does fit, but maybe ‘possessive’ can work as well?”

Bokuto just stares at him until Akaashi flushes a light pink.

“Huh?”

“Well, think about it—and watch out for stop signs as well—” Bokuto scowls— “but they have been friends for a very long time, and you’ve mentioned that Kuroo-san isn’t used to seeing Kenma-san interacting with other people. So, perhaps Kuroo-san just feels as though he’s being replaced, and needs assurance that he’s not. Maybe your theory is correct. There is a wide range of options.”

Bokuto hums loudly in acknowledgement, slinging his arm around his kouhei’s shoulders and pulling him close. He rests his cheek against the other’s temple as he types out this theory—as Akaashi called it—to his friend, and then slips his phone back in his pocket.

“Thanks, ‘Kaashi!” he shouts, smiling, and then it’s as though he drank fifty shots of expresso. He has all of his pizazz back that has been absent today, so he begins to ramble about anything and everything that comes to mind, like the new volleyball strategy they went over last week and hey, hey, hey Akaashi did you change your shampoo? It smells nice. Akaashi’s cheeks dust flamingo pink, though his expression remains impassive.

As they’re nearing the point where their paths split, a question pops into Bokuto’s mind like a cork exploding off a champagne bottle.

“Say, Akaashi, have you ever been jealous or possessive?”

Akaashi sputters, the pink shifting into a crimson that causes a laugh to bubble out of Bokuto.

“I'll take that as a yes, then.”

Present Time

“Bo!” Kuroo shrieks. “Why are you choosing now to space out?” This situation, honest-to-god, could not become any more stressful. He half-expects Kenma to appear out of thin air any second now, and Hinata’s dead weight in his arms is beginning to feel a tad bit too heavy for him to just lug around. Where’s a wheelbarrow when you need it?

“I was thinking!” Bokuto snaps. Great, now he’s mad at Kuroo. Just what he fucking needs. “Maybe if you just, oh I don’t know, acknowledged your fucking feelings, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now!”

“I was acknowledging my feelings!”

“Bullshit!”

“What do you think I’ve been doing these past four days?”

“You’ve been pulling these damn stunts with Hinata!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Akaashi interrupts, rubbing at his temples with closed eyes. “What stunts?”

They are both silent, and Kuroo swears that if Bokuto cracks under the pressure, he will also crack under the weight of Kuroo’s fist. Thankfully though, Bokuto swipes his eyes to the side, avoiding Akaashi’s irritated gaze.

That, however, does not stop it from landing on Kuroo, and goddamn, when was a second-year able to actually intimidate him?

Well, Kenma, but that’s completely besides the point.

“What stunts?” Akaashi repeats slowly, threateningly. Fuck Fukurodani; with the way Akaashi’s expression is slicing through his resolve, he should’ve joined Nohebi. Those snakes.

“I—” He cuts himself off, mouth dry. Then, “It’s nothing. I just, uh, paid a little more attention to Hinata these past few days. Senpai-to-kouhei, nothing special.”

Akaashi sharply turns back to Bokuto, who is startled, and his slight shake of his head confirms that no, Kuroo is lying, and please don’t hurt me I will literally do anything for you I will lasso the moon I will build a house for you by myself I will streak through a supermarket just please let me live.

“Elaborate, Kuroo-san.”

His tone suggests that there is no room for protest, and so Kuroo—tentatively, so tentatively; shit, this is humiliating—begins to explain the events from the past few days, since the start of the training camp Karasuno had spontaneously joined.

Four Days Ago

Kuroo Tetsurou is not jealous. He is not.

No matter how many times Bokuto and Yaku and even Kai nag him about it, about how he just needs to accept it, he refuses.

Kuroo may be a lot of things, good and bad—tall, sly, nerdy, provocative, maybe even arrogant—but he is not jealous. Bokuto even suggested possessive, which—what the fuck? That’s even worse. As it turns out, Akaashi was the one to imply that, which means Bokuto had spilled the beans to him, which means that Kuroo has one more person in his business that he most certainly does not want there.

The training camp is supposed to be a reprieve. He can focus on his team and volleyball and can push all thoughts revolving Kenma away, locked in a chest to be analyzed later. Or maybe not; they can probably just stay away, right?

Wrong. Very, very wrong, especially when he is reminded that, right, he’s going to be sleeping beside Kenma for the camp. Kenma always pushes their futons together as close as possible for these types of things; he claims that Kuroo is like a human furnace compared to how he feels like an icebox all the time. Usually, Kuroo has no problem with this at all. His best friend needs him? What’s wrong with that?

Everything. Nothing. He doesn’t fucking know anymore, honestly.

The training camp starts, all the teams arrive, and it’s okay, actually, because Kenma still sticks to his side like glue, and it’s a comforting presence that he has known for most of his life. Kuroo is fine. So yeah, take that Bokuto, Yaku, Kai. Kuroo is fine.

But then Kenma is not there by his side, instead turning to one Hinata Shouyou, an energetic little first year from Karasuno that is bouncing all over the place and shouting about Tokyo Skytrees and pulling Kenma away and that pit in Kuroo’s stomach is not jealousy, and definitely not possession. Fuck that and fuck no.

The first day passes, and wow, Karasuno sucks. Kuroo was originally expecting at least to struggle with their team, but after their fourth round of diving drills—he lets loose his snickers and doesn’t regret it, not even when Daichi drills holes into the side of his skull.

It’s after dinner and after everyone’s bathed that Bokuto and him can finally commence operation ‘Make the First Years Suffer,’ which involves a little bit more giggling than actual torture.

They swing by Karasuno’s sleeping room with matching smirks, Akaashi and Kenma chatting politely behind them, and greet Daichi rather loudly.

“Heyo, Cap’n,” Kuroo calls out, and Tsukishima across the room glares at him, making a show of placing his headphones over his ears. Some green-brown haired punk—Yamaguchi?—flops down beside him.

Kenma makes a beeline for Hinata, who gives an enthusiastic, “Kenma!” and Kuroo pretends he doesn’t want to vomit.

Daichi turns to them with a half-formed scowl. “Is there something you need, Kuroo-san?” His silver vice-captain snickers from behind him, offering a thumbs up.

“It’s tradition that on the first night of training camp, all the teams’ first years play a little game. Third years referee, of course,” he explains, sly grin in place.

“It’s three years old,” Akaashi mutters.

“Our third years made us do it, and plus, it’s really fun!” Bokuto says.

Karasuno’s tiny libero bounds up to them. “A game? What kind of game? Do second-years play too?” Daichi reigns him in with a light slap to the back of his head, and Kuroo wheezes.

“Hide ‘n Seek!” he proclaims. “The first years have to hide and the second-years have to find them.”

Karasuno’s vice-captain—Sugawara, Kuroo finally remembers—is already cackling, pulling everyone to their feet, while Daichi still appears skeptical.

“This is okay with the coaches?”

“As long as everyone goes to bed at a reasonable time.”

“Count me out,” Tsukishima drawls.

“Come on, Stingyshima, it’ll be fun!”

“No thanks, shrimp.”

“Hey—”

“What’s the point?” Karasuno’s starting setter asks, scowling. Or maybe that’s just his face. Damn, poor guy.

“Team bonding, mostly,” Kuroo answers.

“Then I’m definitely not doing this,” Tsukishima says.

“If you don’t, I’ll bug you for extra, extra blocking all of this week,” Bokuto threatens cheerfully.

“Unfortunately, he’s not bluffing,” Akaashi confirms solemnly.

Tsukishima huffs, and Kuroo has to strain to keep his amusement from showing on his face. A lot of the first years from all the teams have some serious attitude this year, and it’s absolutely hilarious.

“Fine.”

And so, they all set off to the gym where the other teams have settled, all separated into groups by year. The air is charged with nervous energy as all the team captains situate the second-years facing a wall, hands covering their eyes. The first years stand by the gym doors, awaiting orders, and the third years are just done, honestly.

“Alright,” Kuroo yells. Everyone quiets so they can hear him. “You know the rules, and if you don’t, too bad. Second-years, count to forty—Yamamoto, you lead—and first-years, go hide. Anywhere is fair game, as long as you aren’t near the coaches’ quarters. Third-years, make sure there is no cheating!”

“How do you cheat at Hide ‘n Seek?” the timid ace from Karasuno asks.

“Fuck if I know,” Kuroo laughs. “Now, ready everyone?”

“Set!” Bokuto calls.

“GO!” they both shout together, and off everyone goes.

There is this pressure in Kuroo’s stomach that is relieved once Hinata’s head of orange hair is out the door and away from him, away from Kenma. He feels horrible, really, terrible that he dislikes the little first-year so much when he’s done nothing to earn Kuroo’s disproval.

It’s just that, well, it’s been one day—Kenma has known Hinata for one day, and he’s already talking to him so much and showing him his PSP, teaching him how to use it, and even sharing a little bit of his dinner with him. Kuroo has known Kenma for years and the little pudding head still struggles to string together words around him. It hurts, and it makes Kuroo mad. Not jealous. Never jealous. What does Hinata have that Kuroo is jealous over? Nothing, that’s what.

The thing is—or, one of the things, actually—it’s not just Hinata either. It’s Yamamoto and Fukunaga and Lev, dear god, Lev. Kuroo puts him through the ringer at least four times a week and sics Yaku on the poor boy every chance he gets.

Is he a bad captain? Probably.

The counting stops, and all the second years turn around. Some sprint off in search of their prey, while others stalk slowly towards the doors. Unsurprisingly, Bokuto and Akaashi head off together, Bokuto smiling and Akaashi looking at him fondly, longingly.

Kenma makes his way towards Kuroo, unenthusiastic, and Kuroo ruffles his pudding hair, letting the thin strands slide through his fingers. It’s in moments like these—quiet and close—that Kuroo acknowledges how lucky he is to have a best friend like Kenma.

“I wanna go find Shouyou.”

Shouyou. Not even Hinata. First name basis already.

Kuroo smiles.

“Okay, let’s go.”

He leads them down the hallways, enjoying the silence besides the pinging coming from Kenma’s PSP and the faint light that caresses his face, lighting up his button nose and pink lips. He’s beautiful, really, but this is borderline cheating, and Kuroo may be many things—jealous not being one of them—but he is not a cheater.

Kuroo is just about to remind Kenma that he needs to be looking for the first years, that Kuroo can’t do it for him, when he catches a flash of carrot-top hair disappearing behind a closet door.

And Kuroo’s heart clenches, because Kenma will definitely find Hinata if they pass by that door, given how loud the first-year is. He’ll find him, and then they won’t leave each other’s sight the rest of the night. Kuroo just wants a little more time.

“Oh,” he says, and Kenma blinks up at him. “I think I saw Shrimpy-chan down that hall.” He points down a random hall, one that Hinata does not occupy.

Kenma starts walking in the direction previously mentioned, and only stops to turn around, looking at Kuroo when he doesn’t follow.

“I have to piss,” he says, watching Kenma crinkle his nose. “I’ll catch up in a few minutes. Go on.” He shoos the younger boy down the hall, and once he’s sure he’s far enough, he turns to the closet little ways down his own hall.

Upon closer inspection, the key is stuck in the lock, which is just plain stupid. He turns the key and hears a satisfying click, which is muffled from the shuffling coming from inside the closet. Yeah, Kenma would’ve found him in record time.

He waits a few minutes, just to see if Hinata will notice that he has no way of leaving the room—he doesn’t—and then sets off in the direction Kenma had been last seen wandering in.

Kuroo meets up with Kenma, who throws a side-eye at him, but he thinks nothing of it.

He talks about the state of their volleyball team and about the game Kenma is holding in his hands for the rest of the night.

They never find Hinata.

***

The next stunt isn’t really a stunt to begin with. Tsukishima and him are practicing fairly efficiently the next night, and Hinata and Kenma are right outside the gym talking.

Kuroo is all dandy and swell, pushing bile back down his throat and teaching Tsukishima everything he’s picked up over the years about blocking, but then he hears something over the squeak of shoes and spiking of volleyballs.

Kenma laughs.

Actually fucking laughs. Not a breathy chuckle, not a tiny snort. A full-on belly laugh that resonates in the air.

Kuroo almost loses his lunch.

He’s turning, reacting before thinking, and marching to the double doors to poke his head out of them. He finds Kenma covering a wide smile with his hand and Hinata not bothering to.

Kuroo forces his signature eerie grin when they both look to him. “Hey,” he greets, “Shrimpy-chan, did you wanna practice with us?”

Hinata agrees—because of course he does; this kid never passes up a chance to play volleyball—and skips into the gym. Kuroo doesn’t spare a second glance to his best friend, mostly because he knows the guilt will bury him alive if he does.

He’s being a horrible, toxic person—he knows he is. Kenma is opening up, making friends outside of the one childhood hoodlum that he’s grown up with, and Kuroo is ruining it for him. He can’t stop himself though, and that’s what’s so scary to him. He wants the best for Kenma, he really does, but he can’t stop himself from being selfish.

Kuroo recruits Bokuto and Akaashi—who are luckily walking by the gym right then, talking in murmurs—and is relieved when Bokuto nearly tackles his new “student” in a hug and starts to rant excitedly about volleyball. Akaashi follows a little more reluctantly.

For the rest of the extra practice, Kuroo makes sure that Hinata stays within a foot of him and at least ten feet away from Kenma. Bokuto gives him a look, but Kuroo ignores it over and over until his friend eventually stops trying, focusing on teaching Hinata the importance of feints.

Kuroo is not jealous. He is not.

***

The next night, another “tradition” ensues. This one, however, is quickly agreed to in contrast to the many complaints they had received on the first night.

Everyone is gathered in the largest gym, chatting up a storm as music echoes across the floor. People are dancing, laughing, having fun, and just chilling, and there are even some coaches seated in the corner, wheezing as they sip on their sake. They say it’s just water, but Kuroo knows better.

Hinata pulls Kenma into his arms during a slow song, leaving Kuroo to sit by himself among throngs of people. He expected this though—orchestrated it even. Maybe Kenma will tire of Hinata always forcing him out of his comfort zone; maybe he’ll see how clumsy the ball of orange energy is and label him as a human disaster that he should probably avoid. Kuroo hopes for it, however horrible that is.

If anything, Kenma seems as though he likes Hinata even more the longer he dances with him. Kuroo observes as they swirl around and around, bumping into people violently along the way—poor Bokuto and Akaashi being just one of the many couples—and Hinata even manages to effortlessly pluck another laugh out of the pudding head. Kenma is happy. He is smiling, and Kuroo would be happy too, if only it had been him to make Kenma feel that way. There’s no way that he would ever be able to if he hadn’t already. No chance in hell he could make Kenma that visibly joyful.

Time passes. Five minutes turn to fifteen, fifteen to thirty, thirty to sixty, and then everyone is packing up and getting ready to go to sleep. Kenma wanders back over to the emotionally constipated mess that is Kuroo Tetsurou, murmuring, “Kuro, it’s time for bed.”

“I know,” he says, yawning as proof. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

Kenma nods, and to Kuroo’s surprise, threads his fingers through the matted mop on Kuroo’s head before joining Fukunaga on the way back to their team’s room. Kuroo shifts through the crowd until he is away from it all, laying in the grass and looking up at an endless sky.

Someone flops down next to him, and he doesn’t even have to think to know that it’s Bokuto.

“Why don’t you just talk to him?”

He sighs. “I don’t know.”

“You’re making things worse, you know.”

“I know,” Kuroo bites out, feeling Bokuto shift uncomfortably beside him. “Sorry, Bo, it’s not your fault.”

“’S fine.”

It’s not. He should apologize again, and again and again, because Bokuto has always been an extraordinary friend to him. Despite how difficult it is for him to sit down and listen, letting someone else do the talking for a change, he proves that he can do just that time and time again, just for Kuroo, just so Kuroo can speak to someone.

“Bo—”

“Akaashi has another theory,” Bokuto interrupts, and Kuroo can hear the smile in his voice as he talks about his favorite kouhei.

“Oho, really?”

“Yeah, about what you’re feeling.”

“Well, what is it?”

There is a pause, a hearty chuckle following shortly after. Bokuto hops to his feet.

“You’ll figure it out on your own. You’re smart, Tetsu, and you’re a good guy.”

He sifts these words over in his mind as Bokuto walks off.

Kuroo Tetsurou is not jealous. He is not.

He’s not jealous, but he’s something.

Present Time

“That was a nice story,” Akaashi sighs, “but that still does not explain why Hinata is currently passed out in your arms.”

“Oh.” Kuroo smiles sheepishly, and Akaashi has never wanted to deck someone so bad in his life. “It’s because of a dare. Which may or may not have involved a beehive.”

“Fabulous.”

This is not how he imagined his night to go, especially when Bokuto and him haven’t been able to discuss what Akaashi had brought them there for in the first place. Now he has to push all of his carefully thought-out words to the back of his mind while he fixes—whatever this hot garbage pile is. Since apparently both Bokuto and Kuroo are Out of Order.

“Okay, so here’s what we’re not going to do,” Akaashi stresses.

“Tell Kenma about this?” Kuroo interjects hopefully, but Akaashi levels an unimpressed glare his way to shut him up.

“Hide Hinata’s body,” he finishes.

He makes his way over to Kuroo and ignores the way he flinches under his gaze, checking Hinata’s pulse with two fingers and nodding to himself. When he glances back up, Kuroo has the gall to look offended, as if Akaashi thought him incompetent to know if Hinata had died or not. Considering who he is and the way he’s been acting for the past few days—weeks, maybe—Akaashi wouldn’t even be surprised.

There is no blood, not even a bump on Hinata’s sweet little head, but he still sleeps soundly in Kuroo’s grasp. Akaashi is slightly more concerned about what Fukunaga is doing right at the moment, if he’s told anyone anything he had witnessed before booking it out of the gym on a flimsy excuse. He probably won’t mention anything to anyone. Probably. Hopefully.

He’ll tell Kenma though, Akaashi just knows he will.

They don’t have much time before they have to face his wrath.

“Akaashi, hey,” Bokuto prods softly from a few feet away, and Regular Akaashi would swoon over the tone of voice he’s using, but Regular Akaashi isn’t here right now, and in his place is Irritated Akaashi, and Irritated Akaashi does not take well to babying.

“What?” he snips, taking guilty pride in the way the third-year shrinks in on himself.

“It’s okay,” Bokuto continues, “there’s nothing to be too stressed about. It’s fixable.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“What is your problem?” Kuroo huffs. “I’m sorry that I’m dragging you both into this, but it’s no reason to be that mean.”

Akaashi scrunches up his nose, tries to reign in his emotions, but it’s practically impossible now that Irritated Akaashi is in control. He just wants to scream. Better yet, he just wants to go home. Instead, he’s stuck at this stupid training camp, facing a fear that he didn’t even want to face in the first place, and dealing with untangling Kuroo’s mess of confused emotions. Seriously, how is he supposed to tell the guy he’s in love with his best friend when Akaashi can’t even deal with his own love life without being interrupted?

“My problem is that your little stunts keep causing me problems.”

“What are you even talking abou—oh. Oh.”

Bokuto looks confusedly between the two of them. “Huh?”

“Oh, shit, Akaashi.”

Yeah, oh shit. What the hell did he think Bokuto and him were talking about in a gym, by themselves, with no volleyballs or equipment in sight?

“What, what, what?” Bokuto asks, shaking Akaashi lightly by the arm. His whole body ignites at the touch, and he sighs.

“There’s been something I’ve wanted to tell you for a while now, Bokuto-san, and I’ve been trying for the past few days. Unfortunately, I keep being interrupted.”

And so, Akaashi indulges them in his side of the events of the past few days, feeling his heart sinking down, down, down into the pit of his stomach. There can be no good outcome of this.

Seven Days Ago

Akaashi Keiji is not a person that can be easily annoyed, but he would be lying if he said that he hadn’t thought about setting that bitch Komi on fire about a thousand times since the start of his second year. Konoha had even offered his assistance, but Akaashi had declined. He’s starting to regret that now.

The fire that he could start with Komi’s clothes could never even compare to the burning that ignites in his chest every time he lays eyes on Bokuto Koutarou though, and it’s weird.

It’s weird for so many reasons, but mostly because Akaashi has never felt emotions in such bursts of energy before. He feels passively, calmly, acknowledging sentiments such as sadness or happiness and then moving on.

People struggle when trying to decipher through his indifference, but they never have to take a gander at Bokuto’s emotions. Bokuto is a vibrant painting splattered with a kaleidoscope of colors, whereas Akaashi is just sort of—eh, he’s a smudged charcoal that sits in the corner that no one pays much attention to.

It’s Friday morning, and with it comes another round of teasing from his senpais—one in particular that Akaashi may or may not have already mentioned has a wish to be set aflame.

He’s standing in the doorway of the gym, analyzing his teammates and subtly tracing Bokuto’s smile with his eyes, when there is a rough elbow thrown in his side. Komi stares up at him with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and all Akaashi wants to do is throw him out the window—better yet, throw himself out the window. He doesn’t even really want to be anywhere within the vicinity of his teammates right now, not when he’ll be spending a whole week in close quarters with them this coming Monday.

“So, you just gonna stand there and wax poetic about Bokuto’s calves all day or you gonna practice?” Komi snickers, reaching up to ruffle his kouhei’s dark hair, and it takes all the patience Akaashi has gathered throughout his years to not push him away and cause a scene. Komi, the bastard, knows he’s testing his limits.

“I didn’t know you knew what ‘waxing poetic’ meant, Komi-san,” he says in lieu of dumping a bucket of gasoline on his senpai, who gives an offended squawk. Akaashi bites the inside of his cheek. “And I was not staring at Bokuto-san’s calves.”

Because he had been staring at his biceps, thank you very much.

“Sure,” Komi sneers, before he is pulled away to stretch with Konoha, who tosses an apologetic glance back at Akaashi. He waves him off.

The remainder of practice is utilized in the form of a scrimmage. Akaashi is, of course, on Bokuto’s makeshift team, and he has to stop himself every few minutes from staring at the slivers of skin noticeable every time Bokuto spikes a ball to the other side of the net.

It’s safe to say that Akaashi stays in the appliance closet a little longer than usual after clean-up, fanning his cheeks. Normally, he would be able to blame looking as though he had literally been doused in magma on the effort of practice, but he didn’t really move around a whole lot today. He had probably been off his game, too, if Komi’s conniving smirk and Bokuto’s pout at having lost the match have anything to say about it.

Akaashi changes slower than usual, and when Bokuto tries to wait for him, he tells him he has errands to run for his mother and to go on without him. Bokuto complies, albeit ever so hesitantly—which melts Akaashi’s heart a little more, and he almost asks him to accompany him on his fake chores, but holds out—and Akaashi lets a sigh escape his lips.

Just as he is finishing buttoning up his shirt, Konoha speaks up from the bench.

“Coach is going to give you a talk soon if you keep playing like that,” he warns, though there is a hint of a smile in his voice. Akaashi almost adds him to the list of people that need to be set ablaze in the foreseeable future, but decides against it. Konoha is his only true ally right now; he’s just as gay for Komi, for some reason.  

He nods, saying, “I apologize. I’ll do better,” as he always does when there are days like this, because there have been, and that’s a little mortifying now that he thinks about it.

Konoha doesn’t let up. “You should tell him.”

Akaashi whips his head around. “What?”

“Tell him.”

“Why don’t you tell Komi-san?”

“I need a little more time.”

“And so do I.”

“Akaashi.”

Nope. Nope, nope, nope; he is not having this conversation right now. He does not care if this is his senpai or not, someone will be thrown out a window in the next ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven—

“Just—think about it, okay?” Konoha suggests, patting Akaashi on the back before heading towards the door. “Bokuto values you as a person more than anything. He wouldn’t ever let this cause a rift between you two.”

With that, he bids adieu, and Akaashi is left with his head in his hands.

***

The commute over to the training camp is the decisive factor.

Bokuto is loud and energetic and getting everyone pumped up for the week ahead of them, and Akaashi sits next to him with a book that he pretends to skim, but is actually listening to the sound of his captain’s voice.

Within twenty minutes, Bokuto has settled down. Akaashi starts to read his book for real, occasionally glancing out the window, when there is a pressure on his shoulder.

A moment he’s daydreamed about plenty of times before happens. Bokuto picks—out of all the possible places to rest his head as he dozes—Akaashi’s skinny-ass shoulder, and Akaashi just freezes. He wishes he can scoop this moment up in his arms and just hold it against his chest forever. He resolves to relax into Bokuto’s body heat instead, leaning his own cheek ever so slightly against Bokuto’s spiked hair.

The tufts are soft, despite popular debate. They smell like fruity candy. Akaashi wants to run his fingers through the gelled locks, wants to kiss the top of Bokuto’s head and thank him for being a good captain, a good person, wants to link pinkies with him on their walks home and give him a kiss on the cheek goodbye.

He decides that he will tell him. This week, even, whenever a chance presents itself.

***

The chance—rather, the first one—arrives fairly quickly. As in, that night.

Akaashi is reduced to a nervous wreck, puddles in his palms and trying not to hyperventilate as he paces down the hallway with Bokuto at his side. The game of Hide ‘n Seek is almost over, most of the first-years found already and gathered in the gym. Akaashi figures they’ll have a few minutes to themselves.

He’s woefully unprepared, but determined all the same. Konoha better be ready with tissues and ice cream after this shit crashes and burns. He’s counting on it.

What Akaashi is not counting on is the closet they pass by, and the muffled, “Hello? Hellooooooooo? Somebody?” that emits from behind the door.

Bokuto shrieks from beside him, “Ghost!” and something slams into the door from the inside.

“Hello?” the voice says, louder, excited. “Is somebody out there? Please let me out of this damn closet!”

Akaashi automatically reaches for the handle where a key is lodged in the lock, of all the stupid places for it to be. Bokuto grabs his hand though.

“Akaashi, no! What the hell are you doing? It’s a demon, don’t let it out!” and Akaashi has to remind himself that he has a crush on this oaf before he can retort.

“Akaashi-san?” from inside. “Bokuto-san, is that you?”

Bokuto yelps again. “How do you know my name, demon?!”

“Demon? It’s Hinata!”

“Oh.”

Why—just why is this himbo the one that he chose? Out of everyone on the planet, this one? Really?

And then Bokuto doubles over in laughter, and his smile shoots an arrow straight through Akaashi’s heart and—oh, that’s why. Almost forgot.

They get the door open easily enough, and Hinata leaps out of the room with a frown in place. “There’s no light in there!” he shouts, jabbing a thumb back into the little room and then slamming the door behind him.

“How long—”

“Ten minutes!”

Oh, okay, that’s not that—

“From the start of the game!”

Bokuto’s eyes widen to the size of saucers, and Akaashi is worried they might pop out of his head and roll onto the floor.

“That’s like two hours!” Bokuto exclaims. “What the hell? Did someone lock you in there?”

“I don’t know!”

They start jabbering to each other for the rest of the walk back to the gym. Akaashi remains silent, stewing in mild annoyance. At the same time though, he’s glad to push back a confession that he’s not sure he even wants to do.

Next chance he gets, he’ll be more prepared.

***

He is more prepared, actually. A lot more prepared. He has a whole speech and shit, and he planned out the route of their little walk so that they end up in a park, alone and under the stars when he finally spits it out.

He’s going to do it, damn it; Konoha and Komi already have bets going with the rest of the team that they don’t think he knows about, but he does. He’s not an idiot.

Plus, one of the first years told him.

So yes, he’s going to do it tonight, and then he is going to curl up on his futon, eating his indignity one bite at a time, and shake Konoha down for one of the dark chocolate bars that he always hides in his duffel bag during training camp. Akaashi had been particularly stealthy about obtaining this information; Konoha still ponders over the Great Hershey Heist of last year.

“Where are we going, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto whisper-shouts, bumping shoulders with him. It’s finally the end of the day, and they’re making their way out of the gym they previously occupied, strolling along.

“It’s a surprise, Bokuto-san.”

“Why can’t you just tell meeee?”

“Because then that would ruin the surprise.”

Bokuto opens his mouth to retort, but is cut off by Kuroo’s shout from the doorway of a gym they’re passing.

“Hey, Bo! Akaashi! Wanna practice with Tsukki, Hinata and I?”

Akaashi is not one for severe cursing, but fuck, because he wants himself thrown out the window, not his opportunities.

But then Bokuto is looking at him with those eyes and that hopeful curl of his lips and he knows that Akaashi will never say no when he’s making such a pitifully cute face. Akaashi gives in with a wobbly smile.

On their way inside, they by-pass one peeved Kenma glaring down at his PSP, and the gears in Akaashi’s mind rotate in place.

***

Bokuto yanks him out onto the dancefloor, and they are close. So, so impossibly close, to where Akaashi is resting his chin on top of Bokuto’s shoulder, and their chests are pressed together.

Their hands fit together like lost puzzle pieces finding each other again after years apart, shoved in between couch cushions and wedged behind desks. His heart is beating so fast and so hard and so loud that he’s sure everyone can hear it. Akaashi feels emotions so mildly all the time; he’s always caught so off-guard when Bokuto is near and it’s like an explosion of color to his charcoal-smeared canvas.

Konoha sits with Komi across the room. They are both watching with attentive eyes, money in their hands, and Akaashi resists the urge to stick out his tongue at them.

They don’t ruin the moment, though. They can’t, not when Bokuto smells like Starburst and laughter, and Akaashi forgets why he was ever anxious to be in his presence.

“I’m worried about him,” Bokuto murmurs out of the blue.

“Who?”

“Kuroo.”

“Ah.”

Bokuto pulls away just slightly, to where they can see each other’s faces. “He keeps looking at Kenma dancing with Hinata.”

Akaashi finds them dancing about ten feet away, and beyond them is—yes, Kuroo appears as though someone had just stolen his kitten.

“Maybe—well, maybe Kuroo-san is in love with Kenma-san?” he suggests, thinking nothing of it. It’s his turn to pull away when he catches the look on Bokuto’s face: complete and utter shock.

For a moment, Akaashi’s heart stutters in the worst way imaginable. Is Bokuto straight? Or worse, is he homophobic? Shit, now he knows he’s overthinking it. Bokuto literally came out to the team as bisexual over four months prior.

“You really think so?” Bokuto asks, eyes darting back and forth from Kuroo and Akaashi. Then, “Holy shit, that would make so much sense. That would explain everything.”

Akaashi chuckles just the tiniest bit. “Yes, it would, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah!”

They sway like that, one of Bokuto’s hands on his waist while one of his own rests on his shoulder. Akaashi’s eyes flicker down to his lips if only for a second, and he thinks Bokuto does the same.

They’re leaning in now, and Akaashi doesn’t even care that everything he had planned is flying not so straight out the window. He does everything mildly, with an impassive face to match. He’s ready for a change. So, so ready.

As Bokuto and him are a mere inch apart, he absentmindedly wonders if Bokuto tastes like Starbursts, too.

He never finds out though, because Hinata and Kenma bump—actually, fuck it, they literally collide with them as if they’re two grannies going at it over the last carton of prune juice. Akaashi falls on his face while Bokuto barely manages to stay upright, and in the distance he hears Komi’s rabid guffaws and Konoha’s exasperated groans, along with his, “Oh, for fuck’s sake!”

Akaashi can’t help but agree.

Present Time

 “Ugh,” Hinata gurgles. He regrets all life choices leading up to this moment. There are so many things wrong with this situation right now. For one, why the hell isn’t he on the ground, and oh god he’s going to fucking puke— “Owwww.”

“Hinata?” a voice asks way, way too loud. He knows, instantly, that’s it’s Bokuto. He’s been listening to Akaashi talk quietly for about three minutes now, just catching the end of his story, and he feels absolutely terrible.

“Hinata, are you alright?” Akaashi’s voice asks, and Hinata would like to respond no, no he is definitely not, because it feels as though Kageyama served about a million volleyballs into his brain, but he cannot seem to form the words with his lips.

Hinata is set on his feet, leaning heavily against someone. He looks up, and Kuroo’s face stares down at him, and he just about shits himself because he is scary—almost as scary as Daichi-san, and that’s saying something. There should be limits to how terrifying a person’s face can be, especially when being looked at by someone who had apparently just woken up from a coma, if Bokuto’s rambling about how he had fallen unconscious is anything to go by.

“I’m—I’m fine!” he eventually manages, though it’s half-hearted. Kuroo loops his arm under his armpits to hold him up.

“I’m sorry,” Kuroo says, and Hinata almost asks why until he remembers—oh, right, Kuroo’s partially the reason why he got attacked by a falling beehive.

“’S all good,” he slurs, even though he’s sure that it is not.

“Shouldn’t we like, get him checked out or something?” Bokuto questions.

“It appears he’s fine, though could probably use an icepack?”

Hinata nods in response and an awkward silence befalls onto the quartet. That is, until Bokuto scuffs his sneakers onto the smooth gym floor, and then asks, “Aka—Keiji, you like me?” and damn, because that is a loaded question if Hinata ever heard one. Did he use that saying right? Yeah—yeah, probably not.

“I believe I’ve stated that several time, in various ways.”

“Wait,” Kuroo interjects, “so, all that stuff—the shit about noticing what he smells like and thinking he’s the most beautiful person on the planet—that’s you having a crush on him?”

Hinata winces at Akaashi’s harsh sigh.

“That’s me being incredibly gay for Bokuto-san, yes.”

Hinata almost chokes on his spit, but Bokuto beats him to it. Kuroo’s eyes widen as if he had just realized the secrets to the universe. Hinata kind of wants to ask what they are, because passing his next math test would be nice.

Wait, back up, didn’t Hinata ruin something for Akaashi?

“Oh my god,” he gasps. He’s The Worst Person ever, in the history of the world. Tsukishima once told him that herbivorous dinosaurs would eat him because he’s just that horrible, and he’s beginning to believe that’s true. “I’m so sorry! I had no idea! I didn’t mean to bump into you! I’m so, so, so, so sorry!” He bows at a near 90 degree angle, and Kuroo has to lunge to catch him before he falls over from dizziness.

“I had no idea,” he repeats.

“I did,” a new voice says, and they all freeze.

Well, three of them freeze; Hinata stands there wondering why Bokuto, Akaashi and Kuroo look like Kenma had forced them to listen to dubstep.

Kenma hovers in the doorway of the gym, his usual pinched expression on his face as he blocks all means of escape.

“Kenma, I think I’m in love with you,” Kuroo blurts out.

If looks could kill, Hinata should be in the Witness Protection Program, because he’s pretty sure Kenma is murdering Kuroo right now.

Akaashi has the audacity to laugh.

“I cannot believe you are just figuring this out.”

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Kenma adds, then turns his gaze onto Hinata, who feels a shiver run up his spine. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Ga-huh?”

“Just letting him shove you around and shit.”

“Why am I getting attacked?”

“Because a beehive fell on you, and it was apparently a dare.”

“Oh, I gotta hear this,” Bokuto pipes up.

Everyone looks to him expectantly, and he turns to mush under all the pressure. To actually explain his thought process, and the events leading up to the Battle of the Bees, which was definitely not his fault, he has to start from the beginning.

Four Days Ago

Hinata Shouyou tries really hard at everything he does. Whether it be cooking, his grades, or even just his daily chores. Hell, he tries to be the best at being a big brother to Natsu. He even bought a book on being a brother, and actually read it, without outside intervention—his mother. Everything thrown at him, he gives his absolute, 100% effort.

Sometimes, though, it seems like it’s not enough.

He burns the food more often than not. Despite all his studying, he’s never actually gotten above a 70 on a test. His mother has to remind him about which chores to do every day. Natsu sticks her tongue out at him and snubs him on the days when he screws up.

Still, though, these things can be fixed.

So why can’t it be that easy with volleyball?

It seems like there’s a misunderstanding—there has to be, because Hinata Shouyou is not selfish. Kageyama keeps telling him he is, but what is that even supposed to mean? All he’s doing is trying his best at volleyball, like he does with everything else. So why is everyone upset at him when he says he wants to open his eyes when he spikes a goddamn volleyball— you know, like everyone else on both sides of the fucking court?

He can’t even rant to anyone about it either. Everyone is on that asshole Kageyama’s side; even the coach won’t look at him for more than a few seconds! He doesn’t understand what he did or is doing that’s so wrong.

The only person that actually listens to him is Kenma, and they’ve known each other for, like, one day. It’s sad. Really sad.

Kenma’s nose is in his PSP as Hinata finishes his venting—and he isn’t tearing up. Nope, he would never. Not even at the fact that the team he had waited all of middle school for is nowhere in sight, and he’s pouring his heart out to the setter of their rival team.

“So, yeah,” he finishes lamely, “it’s a…conun-drum.”

Kenma raises an eyebrow at that. Hinata chuckles wetly.

“Uhh, Yachi-san taught me that word,” he explains.

The setter hums in acknowledgement and goes back to his game. A few seconds later, after they get the call to get their asses back inside, break’s over, Kenma tells him, “You can hang out with me this week.” Which—if Hinata is deciphering what he overhead Kuroo call ‘Kenma’s Dialect’ correctly—means I shall protect you from all assholery henceforth.

And Kenma, well, Kenma is a good friend.

He’s a bullshit protector, though.

That very same night, Hinata is locked in a closet for over two hours. No light, nothing to do, all of this boredom makes him hungry, and when he gets out he’s going to beat Kageyama’s ass to where he won’t be able to drink milk from just a straw anymore for doing this to him.

Sure enough, that’s what he attempts to do, but Daichi-san pulls him back before a kick can land soundly in Kageyama’s groin, and he is sent to the corner with his futon. He seethes for the rest of the night.

Nothing too major happens after that—he hangs out with Kenma as he promised, practices a lot with Bokuto too, almost wrecks Kageyama’s shit again, and has fun with the training camp “traditions” that the third years instill. His team captains keep focusing on that third thing. They’re on Kageyama’s side though, and Hinata refuses to surrender to traitors; he will come out victorious in this war.

“We’re not traitors,” Suga-san gasps, offended.

Daichi-san huffs a sigh from beside him, pinching the bridge of his nose. “There is no war.”

Hinata puffs his cheeks out and finds the ground infinitely more interesting than their half-baked explanations, just like Natsu, and ultimately decides not to mention the cayenne pepper powder previously sprinkled in Kageyama’s futon.

“How did you even get that?” Kenma asks later on, when Hinata is hiding in the Nekoma quarters. Drills will be extra painful the next day.

“Narita-san says he likes to watch the world burn.”

It is on the fourth day when things go a little—awry. Kageyama, well, he apologizes, says he’s working on a new toss for Hinata and to please tell your little sister to stop calling him every night; he has absolutely no idea how to respond to, “Kageyama-oniisan, do you think unicorns fart glitter?”

God, he knew he could count on Natsu.

Hinata’s on his way to deliver the news to Kenma about how he’ll finally be able to eat his food without the worry of it being tampered with, when Kenma’s boyfriend—Nekoma’s captain—stops him in the hallway.

Well, he doesn’t stop him, but his presence is enough to cause Hinata’s feet to stutter. No, seriously, he looks like a drug dealer who’s had a little too much of his own product.

“Hey, Shrimpy,” Kuroo greets, that eerie grin on his smug face. What he’s smug about, Hinata has no idea.

“Hello, Kuroo-san,” he pouts, “I’m not a shrimp!”

“Oho, really?”

“Yeah!”

“Hmm,” Kuroo muses, rubbing his chin. Hinata watches as he glances over to the yard, where a tree rests with branches so high up, Hinata has to crane his neck to see one. “Still, though, bet you can’t touch one of those branches.”

“You’re on!”

So, Hinata makes his way outside, stretches his legs and his arms, and takes a running start towards the tree. It should be easy, actually, because Izumi and Kouji like to dare him to do this type of impossibly crazy shit all the time.

Like he suspected, it is. He just barely touches the lowest hanging branch, which has to be at least ten or eleven feet off the ground, and smiles at Kuroo when he lands.

Kuroo, though, Kuroo is not smiling. He frowns, and then his eyes flicker up and they widen. “Hinata,” he starts, “Hinata watch out!”

Hinata looks up just in time to see a giant beehive bounce from branch to branch before tipping over the one he had just touched—which happens to be directly above him.

And then—lights out.

Present Time

“Shouyou,” Kenma says quietly, “I thought you were smarter than this.”

“I am!” Hinata squawks.

“Obviously not,” Akaashi says. Kenma notices that he is purposefully not facing Bokuto, who can’t stop the spiels of laughter falling from his lips.

“You-you,” Bokuto splutters. “I fucking can’t, oh my god.”

“You thought I was Kenma’s boyfriend?” Kuroo finally speaks up. Kenma has half the sense to just dropkick him then and there.

“That’s the part of the story you focus on?” he snaps.

“Wait, you aren’t?” Hinata asks, confused. “But you’re always together, you look at each other when you think the other isn’t looking, and sleep with your futons pushed together?”

Kenma, who isn’t shocked quite often—not even when he plays horror games in the dead of night—almost goes into cardiac arrest. “Since when were you this observative?”

“Tsukishima and Yamaguchi do it too, and they’ve been dating since the start of the year.”

“You owe me 2,000 yen,” Akaashi and Kenma say simultaneously, each to their respective captains. Ah, so he isn’t the only one placing bets on others’ feelings. They both give each other a subtle nod.

“Okay, not fair,” Bokuto grumbles, “how come you could tell but we couldn’t?”

“The same way I could tell I have feelings for Kuro, and that he’s been terrorizing Shouyou for this whole camp,” Kenma explains nonchalantly, as if this isn’t record-breaking news for the four other people in the gym. Now there are four pairs of eyes on him—if he didn’t count Fukunaga, who is trying to discreetly watch this week’s disaster unravel from a crack in the gym’s door—and Kenma feels for his PSP in his pocket. Maybe he should monitor his words more closely from now on.

“Wait—hold up. The fuck?” Kuroo haws. “You have—and you knew? How?”

“I used my eyes.”

Six Days Ago

Kozume Kenma has been knee-deep in unrequited affections for his best friend for years, since his second year of middle school. Which is stupid; who falls in love in middle school?

He does, apparently.

Kenma blames his father, first and foremost, because he always has on these stupid romcoms that Kenma always finds himself a little bit more interested in than he knows he should be.

While the realization of being in love with Kuroo is jarring, and should probably have shoved him into a state of depression from which no one could have pulled him out, it is also natural. It’s like pushing buttons on his controller or setting a volleyball; it’s expected, and natural, and a little comforting, especially when he figures out, hey, Kuroo’s in love with him, too.

He has his doubts, of course—who is Kenma without his doubts?—when Kuroo talks about this one girl or this one guy who had confessed to him and the next thing Kenma knows, he’s taking them on a date. But then Kuroo is at his doorstep with a convenience store bag filled with snacks and his favorite movie, and they are snuggling up on Kenma’s bed while Kuroo tells him about how his date had stood him up or decided they didn’t want another.

Which is complete bullshit. Kuroo may be a snarky dork with a mild obsession with nuclear explosions, but he’s also—actually, no, that’s literally what he is. They can take it or leave it, and Kenma would be more than honored to take it. The thought mildly disgusts him, but it’s a good disgust.

It’s funny at first, hilarious even, how Kuroo doesn’t notice how completely infatuated he is with Kenma, and how the feeling is reciprocated. Yaku and Kai and Fukunaga and Yamamoto and even Lev have guessed at it—and then the whole team knew. It was funny then, but now it’s like damn, Kuroo, get your shit together.

Kenma isn’t even surprised at the level of stupidity the situation reaches when Kuroo starts to show traits of jealousy, out of all things. He glares at anyone Kenma so much as stands next to, and it’s so toxic that Kenma begins to avoid him, just a little bit. He hides in the bathroom during breaks and stays in his classroom for lunch a little more.

Fukunaga questions him about it one day. Well, questions is a strong word, since it involves actually speaking. It’s more like he inquires with his eyes, and eyes alone.

They stretch together before practice on Saturday, two days before the start of a training camp Kenma is dreading, when Fukunaga turns to him with that stare. Yamamoto once described it as a tarsier deciding whether or not to jump you. Kenma’s not even sure how Yamamoto knows what a tarsier is, but looking at it now—yeah, that seems about right.

“It’s nothing,” Kenma mutters so that no one else hears. “Kuro’s just being weird.”

Given that Kuroo is always weird, Fukunaga keeps staring.

“I think he might figure it out soon,” Kenma says, and this—for whatever reason—seems to satisfy the other second-year. Fukunaga turns away, and the conversation is left at that.

The next two days pass unceremoniously, with Kuroo being annoying and Kenma hiding under the covers on his bed. He doesn’t want to go, just wants to stay home and sleep and hope the whole situation blows over.

This doesn’t happen. Instead, he meets Hinata Shouyou. He’s a first year that’s way too happy in the morning and has a passion for volleyball that Kenma can’t possibly match. Kenma likes him, actually, likes being around him and talking to him. He’s different from everyone on his team, and kind of a breath of fresh air compared to how much he’s been suffocating these past few weeks.

And Kenma is that breath of fresh air to Hinata too, which is nice. He’s never realized how good it feels to help someone like this—not only is he trying to do Hinata a solid, but also Akaashi. If Kenma hadn’t butted in and said that Hinata could spend the week with him, he’s absolutely positive that he would’ve been hanging around Bokuto like a kid playing on the monkey bars. So yeah, pretty much saved the day there, too.

Somehow, though, Hinata makes everything with Kuroo worse.

It’s not his fault, of course, but now Kuroo is sticking closer and closer until Kenma has to dodge him just to go to the bathroom. He might be in love with the doofus, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss seeing his own shadow.

Also, Kuroo is giving himself way too much credit. Is he even trying to be sneaky? It’s the first night, with this ridiculous game of Hide ‘n Seek, and Kenma wants to find Hinata before another person can. Kenma knows the agony of awkwardness; god help Hinata if someone from his own team finds him.

After that flimsy bathroom excuse, Kenma walks ahead and then promptly swivels around to follow him and see just what kind of scheme Kuroo is cooking up now.

He arrives at the scene just in time to observe as Kuroo locks the door to a closet, which is weird in itself, but then he sees him press an ear against the door. So, someone must be in there. Kenma already has an idea who it is.

As the night passes by and they don’t find Hinata, Kenma’s suspicions are confirmed.

***

It’s not so obvious after that. A few stray dirty glances here, a snarky comment there, Kuroo accidentally interrupting Akaashi’s attempts to confess everywhere.

Kenma is fed up with it by the third night.

Hinata pulls him up to dance among the masses, and he’s expecting at least a little bit of intervention from his best friend, but there’s nothing. No tug to his sweatshirt, no angry scowls, not even a hint of a frown. Kuroo smiles—a little on the bitter side, though—and Kenma doesn’t like where this is headed at all. He’s plotting something.

There’s no interruption when Kenma dances with Hinata. Every time he throws his gaze over to where Kuroo is sitting though, he still sees that same bitter smile curling at his lips. Kenma doesn’t like it, doesn’t like it at all. He despises it when Kuroo is jealous, but hates when Kuroo is self-destructing even more.

Kenma is so caught up in the expression on Kuroo’s face that he allows Hinata to lead, and shit, that’s a mistake. They knock into Akaashi and Bokuto, and Kenma hears a succession of simultaneous groans and laughter. He narrows his eyes at the exchanging of money taking place between Fukurodani players, and curses to himself. This time it had been him to screw shit up for Akaashi.

He gives what he hopes is an apologetic glance to the setter in question, and receives back what he can only perceive as, “Goddammit,” from gunmetal blue eyes.

***

Later that night, when Kuroo returns to the Nekoma sleeping quarters with puffy red eyes and a tired smile, Kenma doesn’t speak to him.

The team settles in for bed, and their futons are pushed together as usual.

Kenma has never been one for affection, physical or verbal. It’s never come naturally to him, never felt entirely comfortable.

Kuroo lays down on the bedding with his back to the setter, and Kenma shifts closer so that he can feel the body heat Kuroo radiates. He hooks one of his feet under Kuroo’s ankle and grips the fabric of his t-shirt tightly in a small fist.

Kenma, in all three and a half years since realizing his feelings for the person in front of him—with his heart clenching painfully and eyes squeezed shut—has come to a conclusion:

Being in love with someone shouldn’t be this hard.

Present Time

This situation, Fukunaga thinks, is whole-heartedly messy.

Heh.

“Wow,” he hears Akaashi say, “you really are emotionally constipated.”

“Just say I’m stupid and leave.”

Fukunaga blinks, shifting in his place from behind the gym doors. Eavesdropping isn’t something he attempts often, but when he does, it’s rewarding.

For instance, now he knows that Yamamoto thinks he looks like a tarsier.

He will figure out what to do with that information later, as well as where to hide Yamamoto’s duffel bag, and how to get into Konoha’s. No chance in Satan’s Kingdom he’s just leaving those chocolate bars in there.

“Oh my—I just realized, fuck!” he hears Bokuto exclaim. The boy in question turns to his setter. “I never told you I liked you back, did I?”

For once, Fukunaga understands the burst of laughter leaving Hinata’s lips.

“I’m beginning to question if I still like you, Bokuto-san.”

“That’s mean, ‘Kaashi!”

“No, what’s mean is that you left him to stew for the past fifteen minutes,” Fukunaga hears his captain snicker.

“But you haven’t addressed Kenma yet either, Kuroo-san,” Hinata points out innocently.

“Hush, Shrimp.”

“No, no, he has a point,” Akaashi sneers.

“I think you owe a few people apologies.”

“Shut up, Bo.” Kuroo sighs, running his free hand through his hair. “You’re right though, I’m—sorry. Really sorry.”

“For what?” Kenma prompts.

“For—everything. Sorry for doing all that shit to you, Hinata, and for not listening to you, Bo, and Akaashi. Man, I never meant to get in your way.”

Kuroo turns to face Kenma, and Fukunaga can see the desperation in his captain’s expression.

“I don’t even know where to start with you. I’m so sorry for not realizing sooner, and for acting like a complete asshole to you and everyone on the team.”

“It’s okay, Kuro.”

“It’s—it’s really not.”

“Maybe we should talk about this in private.”

Just then, Hinata clears his throat loudly. “Yeah, Daichi-san will kill me if I don’t eat with them tonight, so I'll go now.”

Akaashi nods, resembling a tomato. “I believe Bokuto-san and I have a few things to discuss as well.”

“Are you sure you can walk, Shouyou?”

“Yeah, I’m totally fine!”

Before Fukunaga can process what’s happening, the doors are being thrown open, leaving him exposed. Hinata yelps and stumbles back at the sight of him, and he’s a deer in the headlights of five people’s eyes on him.

And his phone.

“He’s been recording,” Kenma whispers, horrified. Akaashi visibly pales.

“Oh, fu—” he hears Kuroo say, but Fukunaga cuts him off.

“Gotta flash,” he says, a small grin in place as he ends the video. The shutter on his phone clicks, as well as the light emitted from it.

Then he darts off, expertly weaving through the hallways. He doesn’t know if he’ll make it out of this alive, so he sends the video to Yamamoto to preserve its contents. After a few minutes, he can’t hear the sounds of them following him anymore.

Looks like he’s the one that got away.

Heh.

Okay, next plan:

Go get that chocolate.