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"Ooooh, Akaashi's got a date," Bokuto doesn't really hear the words at first. In fact, he processes them with such shallow intent that he almost laughs at the idea - Akaashi never has dates. Never has plans. He spends all his time with Bokuto.
So the spiker resumes on his merry way, planning out the strawberry smoothie he's going to make when he gets home, blissfully unaware of the words perched on his best friend's tongue, soon to spill off and ruin his entire night.
"Please don't make a big deal out of this," is what Akaashi says next, real heart-stopping words that have Bokuto freezing where he stands, half-naked with his head buried in his locker. "It's just a date."
It's just a date. So it is a date.
The prospect hurts like a knife to his chest - Akaashi has a date, and it's not him. Perfect Akaashi who Bokuto might be little in love with. Perfect Akaashi who spends every afternoon at Bokuto's house. Perfect Akaashi who Bokuto always thought would end up with him has a date and it's not with him.
The inside of his locker isn't a particularly interesting place - a spare set of clothes just in case, an old water bottle he never uses, some trash he didn't feel like throwing away, and what he now realizes is a borderline creepy amount of photos of him and his best friend - but he studies it like a foreign text anyway.
He's certainly not going to risk pulling away and having everyone seeing his face flushed red with the prologue of tears. No. Not going to happen. He'll just have to keep his head stuffed in this locker that has never once been cleaned and smells of stale deodorant (however that happens) for the rest of the day until he's sure everyone has left.
"Just a date. Dude, for real, you never go on dates! This is like, a big deal," Konoha seems in the mood to make everything worse. "Consider us your support team, like they have in car races. Right, Bo?"
At the sound of his name, Bokuto slams his locker far too fast, nearly slamming his head in it in the process - maybe that would've been preferable if he didn't have to listen to this physically painful conversation. With the split second he has, he plasters on his biggest, brightest grin.
What is the protocol for when your best friend you're in love with likes someone else and you feel like you're going to explode in tears at any second? No one ever told him, so he resorts to the best tactic he knows, smile. "Smile hard enough and people'll believe anything," his older sister had once told him.
Sure, she was bitter over a breakup and yes, his other sister later told him that was horrible advice he should never follow, but he still subscribes to the policy to this day. So far, it's worked out quite well for him, so who is he to judge what the original motive behind it was?
"Yeah! For sure!" He knows his voice is too loud and strained, but he can't hear it over his heart beating in his ears, so it's a moot point. Konoha makes a strange face at him, eyebrows twisted.
"Dude, you okay? Your face is really red," Bokuto swears he almost dies of embarrassment on the spot - great, as if this situation couldn't get any worse. He's never been good at hiding how he feels, especially when his feelings are strong. Unlike a normal person, his emotions just seem to slip through his fingers. It's most annoying. "You look like you have heat stroke."
He waves off his teammate's concern as casually as possible, "Yeah, no, I'm fine! Just feelin' a little sick is all."
"It's probably because of the humidity!" Washio says, muffled through his struggle to get his shirt off. Bokuto does his best to smile and nod like he normally would as he quickly zips up his bag and shoulders it. "My mom said that when the seasons change, sometimes people's ears get all weird so they feel all sick and dizzy."
What a perfect excuse. Thank you Washio.
"Ah yeah, that's probably it," he laughs- Or, more like huffs awkwardly. "I'm gonna get goin' though. Kinda tired, you know?" Another lie and probably not a very good one either. Especially combined with the fact that he's literally tripping over the bench as he delivers it, disjointed and shallow, in his desperation to escape.
"Yo, shirt," Wataru raises his eyebrows, gesturing lazily to Bokuto's shirt thrown haphazardly on the bench - as is this entire afternoon just needed that little extra embarrassment. Of course. It's just like him to almost give the general public a strip show without realizing it. "I mean, you gotta nice body, but nipples almost universally make people uncomfortable. Unless you're us. We love and support your nipples."
Konoha clicks a, "Yup."
Bokuto huffs a soft laugh as he hastily throws on the last barrier to his freedom. The room feels too hot, the air crushing, he can't even look at Akaashi, whose eyes he can feel boring into his soul at the moment. Sometimes he wishes he wasn't so easy to read - it's always one of the qualities people tell him they like most, but sometimes it's a curse more than it is a blessing.
"Right, sorry." Is what he manages in his haste, readjusting his bag over his shoulder and making a beeline for the exit as fast as someone can go without running.
And he almost makes it too. He almost, almost reaches the door, has his fingers curled around the handle when Akaashi says,
"Wait, Bokuto-San, do you want me to walk you home? It's raining," because of course Akaashi is considerate even now. Of course he's offering to go out of his way. Of course he has to be a perfect best friend who does perfect best friend things because he's perfect. Whereas Boktuo can't even manage to feel happy that his best friend has a date.
He feels like banging his head against the cold metal of the door just to drown out Akaashi's perfect voice with the clanging.
He doesn't end up doing that, most unfortunately for his sanity. Instead, he throws his brightest smile over his shoulder and wheezes out, "Nah, I'll be fine. Thanks though Akash!"
-
Well, Akaashi was right about one thing, it is raining.
More like pouring actually. The kind of rain that seeks to dive straight past your skin and chill your core, only worse because it's warm so it just feels like the sky is peeing on you. Normally he likes warm spring rain, but normally, he walks home with Akaashi who never forgets his umbrella in the locker room and doesn't mind sharing.
So, Bokuto treks all the way to Kuroo's house under the pouring rain, the gunmetal gray clouds getting a slight shade darker with each passing second. And it's quite miserable, but he thinks that, on the bright side, at least it matches how he feels. There's no ambiguity about that.
Akaashi has a date. And it's not with him. How stupid was he to think the pieces would just fall into place? Did he think it wouldn't require work or courage? Did he think it was just going to happen one day?
He honestly has no clue. He doesn't know what he thought because he always thought of that as a problem for Future Bokuto who had his life together and had learned all these fancy love words to express his feelings with. But now he's Future Bokuto and he doesn't have his life together and he doesn't know any fancy words.
He lets his head falling against Kuroo's door suffice as a knock. He can wait, it's not like he has anything better to do. It's a no-test week which means that he absolutely will procrastinate homework and since Akaashi is obviously not part of the picture, his afternoon is totally, depressingly, free.
Unsurprisingly, it takes Kuroo a few seconds, but he must recognize the telltale aura of pining misery that surrounds his friend because there's only a small wait time between the hallow thunk and the opening of the door.
Bokuto pulls his head up lazily, like his neck is having a hard time keeping it suspended, when the middle blocker opens the doo. Kuroo looks him up and down like a grizzled bartender and their sagging patron on his second divorce.
"Damn dude, what happened to you?"
"Akaashi has a date," he laments as he makes his way inside the house. He toes off his soggy shoes and soaked socks in the genkan, knowing Kuroo will remark on his cleanliness later - it's fine, he took a shower after practice. Two if you count walking to Kuroo's house in the rain.
Kuroo heaves a sigh in time with the lock on the front door clicking into place.
"With who?" Nearly falling to his ass on socked feel, Kuroo retrieves a few towels from the spare closet near the entrance draping one around Bokuto's neck and the other over his head. The spiker collapses in on himself, pulled the fluffy material down over his eyes as if to shield himself from the world - his hair is going to be a mess later.
"I dunno," dejected, he follows Kuroo's lead to his bedroom, careful not to touch anything for fear of ruining it - everything in the Kuroo household is expensive as fuck, is something Bokuto learned long before he grew out of his habit of being a bull in a China shop. "Probably some pretty girl with pretty hair and pretty eyes like his."
He feels like pouting so he does, pushing out his bottom lip as Kuroo rifles through his drawers for some dry clothes that might actually have a chance of fitting him. It's always a useless endeavor - even Kuroo's largest sweatshirt is tight around his shoulders. He appreciates the effort, though, so he doesn't complain.
"You can try these, but you're like, dummy thicc so I dunno how well it'll work out."
Bokuto catches the clothes thrown his way midair with a solemn, "Thanks, bro."
Kuroo's bathroom, much like his bedroom and the rest of the house, is enormous. And for the nth time, Bokuto wonders how he stays here alone most nights without freaking out at every little noise a house this big is bound to make. He supposes Kenma is there too a lot, but still. Personally, he doesn't quite think he could handle it.
As predicted, he dries off his hair hastily and it's a frizzy mess. Oh well, it's just Kuroo, it's not like he hasn't seen him way worse before. Slipping into the fresh clothes as fast as possible, he makes a mental note not to comment on the fact that they don't exactly fit right. He's already in the guy's house soaking wet, might as well not give him a reason to be ticked off as well.
"Hey, so your bathroom is the size of my entire bedroo- Fuck!" Bokuto nearly brains himself on the doorway to Kuroo's bathroom as Kenma has suddenly materialized on the middle blocker's bed, game in hand, eyes not even flicking up in acknowledgment of Bokuto's near-death experience. "When...did you get here? I was only in there for like, thirty seconds!"
"I've been here since practice got out," Kenma deadpans.
"What- But-"
"I was sitting on the couch in the living room. You walked right past me." Bokuto knows he should feel bad about that, but Kenma's dream in life is to be invisible so people will just leave him alone. So, in that respect, he's actually being...a good friend? "So. Akaashi has a date, huh?"
Bokuto flops face-first onto the bed with a whine, to which Kenma responds by placing the heel of his foot on the spiker's head as if to push him off. Though, he never gets around to it, seemingly too tired to put in the effort.
"I'm sad, Kenma."
"We all are. It's just weird for you."
"Was that a compliment?" Bokuto has about a minute before he fully suffocates, but he can't bring himself to move.
"No, your optimism is grating."
Bokuto releases a tortured sound from the back of his throat, falling onto his back with the last bit of his energy he can spare. (He still has to walk home after this, but that's a thought for later.)
"Where is Kuroo? He's actually nice to me," he tickles the bottom of Kenma's bare foot as punishment, which is actually a really bad idea because that earns him a real kick to the head. Kenma huffs, a wordless sound, as if to say, yeah, you deserved that. "So mean. I bet you're feeding off my grief."
Kenma laughs - a sort of genuine snicker - at that, "I wish. At least I'd have energy then," before going back to his game with a bored pout. "You're being dramatic about this. Akaashi is just a high school crush. You'll get over him eventually."
"I'm not! Akaashi is my forever person. I love him."
"You can't know that. You're seventeen. That's not even like, a third of your life," Kenma makes a good point, but Bokuto doesn't buy it. Especially not from someone as cynical as the Nekoma setter. The very same setter who's refusing to take Kuroo out on a date until they're twenty-five. (Kuroo gets incredibly sarcastic when he's indignant.) "Once you get out of high school and start your volleyball career or whatever, you're gonna find a bunch of other people you probably like more than Akaashi."
Bokuto huffs a stubborn sigh - no he absolutely will not. Bokuto's met other people and all of them are two's to Akaashi's ten. Other people are boring as hell! And not half as pretty. Other people don't entertain his need for constant approval. Other people don't know how to deal with him when he gets down. Other people don't have his back like Akaashi does.
Other people don't make him happy like Akaashi does. Why would he ever want anyone else?
Bokuto opens his mouth with a rebuttal, but Kuroo chooses that moment to enter with what looks to be a variety of different snacks, spurring Bokuto's appetite into action.
"Kuroo tell your boyfriend to stop being mean," Bokuto whines, making grabby hands for the junk food in Kuroo's arms. "He's telling me to give up on my one true love and be a miserable loner like him."
"I didn't tell you to give up. I just said it's not the end of the world. I was being comforting," Kenma kicks him again, this time in the side, not even bothering to look up from his game. Bokuto huffs, clutching the affronted area with one hand as if to guard it against another brutal attack - Kenma is truly one of those that doesn't know his own strength. "And I'm not a loner. I wish I was but Kuro's still here."
(Kuroo has hypothesized that it was because he's been a twig most of his life and only recently gained a bit of muscle mass from volleyball. Bokuto, on the other hand, has a running theory that it's all his pent-up hatred for humanity finding the only possible channel out of him.)
"You wound me, Kitten," Kuroo brushes off the insult, flopping down between Kenma's legs and resting his back against the smaller boy's chest. The setter makes a perturbed sound from the back of his throat but makes no attempt to move him - whether for lack of energy or because some part of him likes it, Bokuto has no clue. "Bo, you just need to stop thinking about it for a bit. I know it sucks, but are you planning to crash his date?"
As much as Bokuto would like to, "No..."
"And are you going to ruin your best friend's possible relationship?"
"...No."
"So then, you can just stick with me and Kenma for a bit. There's plenty of time to figure it out."
Kuroo's solution isn't really a solution at all, more of a shelter-in-place order. But Bokuto shuts his mouth anyway, picking idly at an open bag of chips sitting between them because he doesn't feel like hashing it all out at the moment.
The problem is that he doesn't want time and he doesn't want to get over it and he doesn't want to move on from Akaashi Keiji. He just wants...Akaashi.
-
"You're...not really into this, are you?"
Akaashi's head snaps to the side away from the slate-gray sky looming just outside the window of the coffee shop they're in. Whatever else you can say about him, Haru Suzuki is a beautiful human being.
He has dark eyes that are kind of sparkly and hair that's messy but in the hot way and lips that pull up into a gorgeous smile and he's on the soccer team so of course he has a nice body- But...
But Haru doesn't have golden eyes or over-styled hair or a smile so bright it's borderline blinding and he's not the captain of the volleyball team with biceps that could crush Akaashi's skull, so he is invariably imperfect and it's frustrating.
"What?" He gets out dumbly.
"You seem a bit preoccupied," Haru rephrases, clearly more for Akaashi than himself. The setter sighs knowing full-well that he's probably being a really bad date at the moment - because for real, what kind of person thinks about their best friend when they supposed to be having a romantic afternoon coffee date? "You okay?"
"Yeah," Akaashi shakes his head, apologies already on his tongue. "I'm just a little worried is all. I'm sorry."
"Worried about what?" Haru is a nice person, he really is, if not a little boring. Or maybe Akaashi's sense of what's actually boring has been forever warped by spending the majority of his time around someone who perpetually has something to say.
Jesus fucking christ. Stop. Thinking about him.
"Just my friend," friend, rich. You're such a liar. "He was acting all weird after practice and ran off in a hurry. I'm worried he might have gotten lost in the middle of a storm."
At least that part is true - Bokuto hasn't texted (which he normally would if he wasn't spending time with Akaashi), he hasn't called (also not an uncommon occurrence), he didn't even say where he was going. And it obviously wasn't home because Akaashi called his sister to make sure he got back safe and she said he was out.
So yes, he's a little worried. A lot worried. Whatever. Same difference.
Haru looks at him a moment, studying his eyes as if he can read Akaashi's thoughts like a book - the intensity of it all is a little unnerving.
"Do you wanna do this another time? I'm really free whenever after practice lets out-"
"No," he attempts his best imitation of a genuine smile, though it's not really natural. Akaashi Keiji, anyone can attest, is not a smiley person. To him, they're much akin to hugs. There's no reason to smile at most things so he doesn't, there's no reason to hug random people so he doesn't. But he's trying to make a good impression. "No, it's fine. I'm sure he's okay. Usually, we walk home together and we didn't today, for obvious reasons, so it's a...break in the norm, I guess."
Haru nods contemplatively, "You hang out with this guy a lot?"
"Why? Jealous?"
Haru's laugh is nice too - laid back and simple and easy-going, not shrill or obnoxious. But it's not rolling and low and bright and infectious. It's just...nice.
Invariably imperfect.
"Nah, I'm not one of those guys," Akaashi nods - he wouldn't be here if he was. "Guess you could say I'm not jaded enough to have that level of experience yet."
"I should hope not seeing as you're only seventeen," that earns him another laugh which Akaashi doesn't quite understand - it was a genuine remark. But he supposes he should be used to it by now. Bokuto laughs at everything, after all, even things that aren't funny and jokes that are legitimately bad.
"Yeah...yeah, speaking of, is it weird for you to be going out with someone who's not in your year?"
"I assume you're asking because of graduation coming up?"
Haru scratches lightly at the back of his neck with an awkward chuckle.
"Yeah..."
"Well, that makes sense, but two of my closest friends aren't in my year. One of them doesn't even go to the same school," it's never been a big deal for Akaashi, truthfully. Maybe it's because of who he's with, but inter-year friendships have always come rather naturally to him. "I honestly forget about it sometimes."
From there, the conversation flows smoothly, and Akaashi finds that, though he doesn't lead the most interesting life, Haru is an undeniably kind person. A kind person who likes cat videos and has a Rottweiler named Perry after the platypus in Phineas and Ferb - he says his little sister named it, but Akaashi gets the sense that's only a half-truth.
But no matter how kind and sweet and pleasant Haru Suzuki is, he's not Bokuto. He doesn't talk like Bokuto, he doesn't laugh like Bokuto, he doesn't make Akaashi the same kind of happy that Bokuto does- Not to say that Akaashi isn't perfectly content in his company just not...happy.
And it's frustrating.
Because why isn't he? Haru is nice, intelligent, well-spoken, easy to talk to and easy on the eyes to match. By all accounts, he should get the same, if not better, reactions from Akaashi, a person who values all of those things in a person. But he doesn't.
It's like putting together all the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies, following the recipe for how to make them, and ending up with a granola bar somehow. It makes Akaashi feel what can only be described as a potent shade of 'what the fuck'.
Like he's facing the universe head-on and saying, "I did what you wanted. I'm finding someone else. I found a great Someone Else. So why don't I like him?"
And in response, the universe merely shrugs and replies, "Dude, fuck if I know."
-
Bokuto feels as though he's fallen into a rut he can't get out of. A routine that's as unsatisfying as it is wrong.
Every day when Akaashi offers to walk home with him, he declines - a new, consequently worse, excuse falling disjointedly off his lips - and ends up trudging his way under matte gray skies to Kuroo's house. There he'll spend, oftentimes hours, watching a show he's not interested in, or watching Kenma's FPS games, or just moping in general. Most of the time about the same thing.
After the first few visits, he grows tired of lamenting and whining and vocalizing his distaste for the way things are, so instead he spends his afternoons in silence, not really knowing what to say if it doesn't have something to do with Akaashi Keiji.
He doesn't remember when the setter became his most enjoyable topic of conversation. Maybe it just feels that way now that it hurts to talk about him at all. Maybe it was easier to get invested in inane subjects when he knew he had the option to talk to Akaashi about them.
But that's not an option anymore. Not when practice is volleyball volleyball volleyball their breaks are all study study study and after school sees Bokuto disappearing without a trace before anyone has the chance to ask questions. In fact, they haven't even had more than a passing conversation about something two people may talk about in an elevator in two weeks.
Bokuto feels like he's losing him, which he realizes too late is a direct consequence of him not holding on tight enough. He's let it get to the point where it feels awkward to talk about and painful to think about, where he'd rather just ignore it altogether and hope it goes away.
Kenma is tiring of his visiting, that's for sure. Bokuto is tempted to point out his hypocrisy seeing as he's probably over at Kuroo's house more than the spiker is, but it's not worth the argument and their situations are totally different anyway.
His other option is to stay at home in his room and do nothing and mope all afternoon. So he chooses the life of a burden. Plus, Kuroo hasn't stopped indulging him yet, so he figures he still has a bit of goodwill left to chew through before they really get to the end of the line.
He's kind of selfish, and kind of childish, and kind of immature. So no wonder Akaashi made the sensible decision to choose someone else.
All that and you're a guy, he remembers one day while staring at himself post-shower in a fogged-up mirror.
Yeah, that too, he submits.
-
Bokuto arrives on Kuroo's doorstep like he's lost again. The endless routine continues and Bokut begins to wonder if this is how it's going to be forever.
Regardless, Kuroo opens the door and accepts his friend into his home for the nth time - Bokuto can only be grateful that Kuroo's parents are overseas. There's nothing worse than having to explain your problems to a friend's mom while she tries to tell you that it's all fine despite her not knowing who the fuck you're talking about.
It's not like Bokuto can tell his own parents. Hell, they'd probably throw him out at the first mention of the word 'gay'. So he settles for being glowered at by Kenma every time he intrudes on his and his not-boyfriend's quality alone time. (He's promised them that once he graduates he'll stop going to them for everything, but all three of them know that's a lie.)
Honestly, he expects today to be exactly the same as every other day - why shouldn't it be? Kuroo will try to cheer him up with witty commentary on B-rated movies, Kenma will reluctantly pat him on the head for comfort occasionally.
It's kind of nice after a while. The image of Akaashi during spike practice fades and he doesn't feel his stomach churn so much.
However, today is not the same as every other day. because today happens to be the one day of the year that Kenma is positively losing his shit.
Bokuto honestly thought it would come later in spring after all the rain dug up the allergens. But no, today is the day. And as soon as Bokuto steps into Bokuto's house, Kenma and Kuroo are doing something they never do with words: arguing.
"I just don't understand why it has to be her, Kuro!" Kuroo holds up a single index finger as Bokuto slips off his shoes in the genkan, dejection temporarily forgotten for the sake of the argument playing out before him.
"Why the hell do you care?! You didn't wanna date me anyway!"
"I said I wasn't ready!"
"I can't put my love life on hold for you, Kitten!" Kuroo rolls his eyes, expressions morphing as if he's in front of the setter despite the fact that they're arguing from two rooms away.
"I'm not asking you to! But Kaori is a fucking bitch! She made my life hell in middle school and now you're going out with her?!" The sound of Kenma stomping through the house like a five-foot-six monster echoes. Kuroo looks like he just had the fear of god put into him, panic manifesting on his features in slow motion. Bokuto would find it funny if he could at all grasp the situation.
Kenma rounds the corner of the entrance, face twisted with surprisingly potent rage, and- "Oh my fucking god you're here now?!"
Bokuto cringes where he stands, suddenly feeling out of place in the Kuroo household. Should he just go? Should he just pretend this never happened in the first place? He's only experienced an angry Kenma once before and it wasn't anywhere near this level.
Despite what most people think, Kenma isn't half as chill as he seems. The illusion of his laid-back attitude simply comes from his apathy toward most situations. He doesn't care about the vast majority of things enough to even speak on them, so he doesn't. People mistake the fact that he doesn't give a shit for being level-headed.
But when he does care, he explodes like a grenade with the pin pulled. And really, there's no stopping the kinetic impact of it.
"I swear to fucking god, Bo. If this is about Akaashi- You know what, it's always about Akaashi, isn't it?!" Bokuto swallows - okay, so he's either about to get the verbal ass-kicking of his life or some really good advice. You really never know with angry Kenma. Sometimes it's an interesting combination of both.
There's a moment of silence, something Bokuto never thought he would appreciate, where Kenma just looks at Kuroo with a totally blank expression. Well, it's blank to Bokuto. It must be an open book to Kuroo though, because the middle blocker shakes his head with foreboding on the horizon.
"No, Kenma. Don't."
"Fuck you, I'm telling him," Kenma shoves his best friend aside with a hand to the abdomen and Kuroo drops his head, scrubbing a hand over his face with a resolute sigh as if giving up. "Kuro, you need to think more than one step ahead and Bokuto- Fucking- You need to get your head out of your ass!"
"Whoa uh-"
"He's trying to get over you! He asked someone out because he's trying to get over you!" Kenma screams, cheeks flushed and nose wrinkled as if Bokuto's ignorance in itself disgusts him. "Akaashi never goes on dates! Have you seen him? He could've dated everyone in your entire school by now but he hasn't because of you!"
"I-"
"You're stupid! I say this with love but you're fucking stupid!"
And then there's silence. Well, silence save for the words ringing in his head on repeat. He's trying to get over you. They don't sound real or possible, really. They sound like a lie his mind may have fabricated to cushion his fragile ego. Maybe some kind of figment of his imagination.
But no. Kenma said them and Kenma doesn't lie- But he has to be lying, right? He has to be because Akaashi isn't even gay, right? He has to be lying because Akaashi wouldn't choose his best friend who's failing mathematics over literally any other incredibly attractive guy in the school. He has no future if it's not in volleyball and he's been fucking sulking like a child for two weeks-
"What?"
"Oh my god," Kenma looks like he's ready to drop to the ground and accept death as an old friend. "You're so dense I honestly don't know how you're graduating in a few months."
-
Akaashi isn't one to give up on things, even when he definitely should. Even when he doesn't particularly want to do them.
He spends more time than he should psyching himself up in the mirror - there's a lot of come on he's really hot, and just don't accidentally moan your best friend's name while you're making out and you're golden. Which shouldn't be in there but has to be anyway. All along his mental wall, he posts sticky notes of all the things not to do.
Don't talk about Bokuto. Don't think about Bokuto. Don't compare him to Bokuto. Actually, try not to talk about personal relationships altogether. Avoid the subject of religion. Don't ask about his parents. And do not say Bokuto's name. But that was a given anyway.
And thus, he's ready for his second date. Well, ready is kind of an overstatement, but Haru is going to be at his door in fifteen minutes so it's not like there's much he can do about it now. So instead of standing in the mirror trying to fix his unruly hair with as little effort as possible, he sits in the living room and waits, staring at his text conversation with his best friend.
The one he hasn't used in two weeks but has opened more times than he can count in the last twenty-four hours. The one that Bokuto used to use to text him goodnight and good morning every single day like clockwork. The one that he hates looking at but can't help drowning in anyway.
Two weeks. He hasn't talked to his best friend in two weeks. Which shouldn't be a lot but feels like forever. He spends lunch with Haru which he hates himself for. But only because he can feel himself falling every single time he's with Bokuto no matter how hard he tries to stop it. He chooses control. And it sucks and he doesn't like it, but it's the lesser of two evils.
Spacing out isn't something that comes naturally to Akaashi, so when a sturdy knock on his front door cuts through his thoughts, he damn near drops his phone on his parents' very expensive glass coffee table.
Hastily recollecting himself, he sets the small glass device aside and makes his way to the front entrance of his home and opens the door to reveal Haru, looking absolutely, classically handsome in jeans and a t-shirt. Akaashi should feel butterflies. To make up for it, he smiles.
"I was going to obsess over what to wear, but these are the only clothes in my closet and we're staying in anyway," he greets with a shrug. Akaashi huffs out a laugh - a genuine one, which feels like a small win - as he steps aside to let Haru into his house. "You look nice, as always."
Akaashi looks down at his lackluster, everyday outfit.
"Really?"
"Dude, you're like, the prettiest guy in the school," and damn, if Haru isn't good at flattery. Akaashi blushes, not of his own volition, and releases an (at best) awkward little chuckle. (At worst he probably sounds like a flustered middle schooler with their first crush. He's never been good with compliments.)
"I doubt that, but thank you."
Haru waves him off as he examines Akaashi's house from floor to ceiling, "Doubt all you want. I ain't no liar."
This isn't going bad. Plus, you're going to watch a movie, which means you don't have to talk at all and accidentally fuck something up.
Akaashi likes to think of himself as a realist, but a small spark of foolish optimism takes root in his chest at the idea. A spark that tells him that maybe there's no reason to feel so afraid.
They end up watching Godzilla because Haru's cousin is "kind of obsessed with it" and he wanted to "see what all the hype was about." To which Akaashi had instantly agreed because he was too busy thinking off all the mental roadblocks he could put up to phase out Bokuto before Haru got there to even think about what they were actually going to watch on a movie date.
One of the many reasons Akaashi Keiji should not be allowed to take the lead in budding relationships.
It's not all that bad. Definitely not the most interesting movie he's ever seen, but he's always preferred more intellectually stimulating movies - documentaries, psychological thrillers, neither of which are particularly good date movies. Most people find documentaries boring anyway and you should never ever watch psyche thrillers with someone you're romantically interested in lest they worry for your mental health.
In the end, Pleasent Haru and his class-A selection of viewer-ready films saved the day. It's nice. It's easy(ier than Akaashi had originally worried it would be). It's still not right, having someone else's arm draped around his shoulders, not having running commentary about predictions and observations flowing at a constant rate, not having Bokuto nearly squeeze him to death at every startling noise-
Stop thinking about him.
-But it's nice. Nice. He wonders how long it would take him to get used to this.
It's only about halfway through the movie that things start to become problematic for the setter. Problematic in that, halfway through, Haru gives him that look. That look that almost universally asks, can I kiss you? Without words. Akaashi missed the build-up to this point. Can't quite remember how they got here.
And it gets worse.
"Can...I kiss you?" Haru asks, voice all soft and gentle, no a clear and valid option should Akaashi choose to accept it.
"Yes." He says, regrettably so.
Soft lips meet his and Akaashi's first thought is, nice. It's kind of strange, kissing someone. He's never done it before. Is this what it's supposed to feel like? What's supposed to happen when you kiss someone? Haru's hand secures itself on his waist, thumb pressing against his hip bone, the other cups his jawline oh so gently. Akaashi lets it all happen because this is good. This is what he wanted.
Haru tastes soft and kind of minty, like that vanilla chapstick they give you at the dentists' office, and the way he kisses is much the same - all slow movements and easy, always leaving Akaashi an escape should he so desire it. The setter doesn't use it, but his mind keeps a close eye on the metaphorical back door.
Even gentler still, Haru parts his lips and presses his tongue into Akaashi's mouth with measured movements, waiting for him to protest, to say no or push him away. Akaashi does nothing of the sort. He's getting used to it. Even likes it. It's quite...pleasant. Very pleasant.
Even as Haru's hand presses into the small of his back to lean them both down, Akaashi stays with him, bringing his arms up to rest around his neck. This is good. Really good. He's a good kisser.
Bokuto would kiss harder.
What?
He would kiss harder. You know he would.
Shut up.
It's true.
Shut up.
He would kiss harder and better. You'd like it more. You don't like this-
I do like this.
No, you don't.
I do.
You don't.
Haru lays them both down on the couch, hands strong and stable on Akaashi's waist now as their hips slot together, then their chests - Akaashi can feel him breathing, the rush of his heartbeat. It's quite a different feeling.
He's kind of heavy.
Bokuto would be heavier. I mean, he's got that ass-
That's a really weird thought, Keiji.
Well, it's your thought. I'm you, remember?
Oh shit. Right.
Then Haru's lips move from his mouth to his cheek, creating a gentle path down the edge of his jawline, down the sensitive skin of the column of his throat. And it's...nice. Very...nice. And Haru's lips on his neck kind of tickle? But his heart is beating fast but for all the wrong reasons. He should be feeling more, right? Is sex- or the start of it- or whatever this is, supposed to be this anti-climactic?
Nice word choice, Keiji, Akaashi's eyes scan the ceiling above as Haru's lips come to rest on his Adam's apple.
His lips are really soft.
Bokuto's lips would be chapped. Because he never wears chapstick. Even when you remind him.
Why would you think of that right now?
I can't help what you think of. Keiji, man, your subconscious is a riot. Gotta lotta Bokuto up here, don't you? You're thinking of your best friend's lips on your neck now, aren't you?
Only because you put the thought in my head. Thanks for that.
You're welcome.
That was sarcasm.
I know, I'm you.
It's when Haru slips a hand under his shirt that things start to get bad. Because his hands are soft and uncallused which makes sense because he plays soccer not volleyball. He spends his afternoons kicking and running, not hitting and spiking. And his fingers aren't thick and strong - actually, they're much like Akaashi's, slender, graceful, dexterous. Invariably imperfect.
You're thinking of him again. His hands, his mouth, his eyes. Not very virtuous of you, is it Keiji? What are you going to do? Let him fuck you while you think of someone else? That's kind of amoral, isn't it?
I don't want to think of him. I don't. Want. To think. Of him.
But you do, don't you? You kinda do. I mean, I'm you. I would know. Just a whole buncha Bokuto Koutarou up in this head of yours. I mean, come on man. You think your own subconscious doesn't know how much time you spend on him? You're supposed to be smart-
I don't want Bokuto-San.
That's a rich fucking lie, man. You do want him. You want Koutarou. Stop being a fucking liar, dude. You can't lie to me. You want him. You want him. You want him to smile at you and laugh with you and touch you and-
"S-Stop, stop" Akaashi gasps out. And then, "...I'm sorry. I-I'm sorry."
To his credit, nice guys that he is, Haru stops without a second thought - his hands freeze and pull away slowly, his lips detach from Akaashi's neck, he hovers over the setter and oh god, Akaashi can't even look at him. His face burns with shame and his entire body feels like it's seconds away from going up in flames. All he can manage to do is lay there and look to the side, the glass coffee table reflecting the pictures of the movie still playing.
Never once in his life has he more wishes he could disintegrate into nothing.
"Hey, don't apologize...it's okay," Haru says with a gentle smile, understanding and patience written clearly across his features - Akaashi hardly feels he deserves it. Every voice in his head screams you shouldn't have.
You shouldn't have lied to him.
You shouldn't have dated him knowing you didn't like him.
You shouldn't have fallen for your best friend.
"Just take your time-"
He doesn't need time.
"We- I-..." he doesn't know where that sentence was supposed to be going, and it only makes his embarrassment burn hotter when he realizes he just interrupted Haru for nothing.
Which is why he doesn't know whether it's a blessing or a curse when Haru finishes his thought for him.
"You don't want to do this, do you?"
A pause. Akaashi opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out, his throat too dry to form actual syllables.
"It's okay. I'm not upset," should be a reassurance, but it only makes the setter feel worse - worse because he should be upset, worse because he's being too kind and Akaashi doesn't deserve it, worse because, honestly, Haru deserves better. This whole thing is wrong and it's all Akaashi's fault for fucking it up beyond the point of recognition. "Do...uh...do you wanna tell me why?"
Don't. Don't-
"You like someone else, don't you," Akaashi kind of wants to cry. Even as he nods, he has to keep his eyes plastered on the warped image of Godzilla and MUTO fighting just to keep himself from sobbing with shame. "I'm gonna take a chance and guess that it's this best friend you talk about a lot?"
Again he doesn't say a word, but the silence is confirmation in itself - yes, he does like Bokuto. He more than likes Bokuto. And yes Haru is a fucking rebound for someone he hasn't even dated yet, the worst kind because there's not even a good reason to be hung up, you just...are.
"So I'm going to guess that you asked me out...to get over him-"
It's at that moment - as if things couldn't get any worse - that the door to his house swings open and there's a loud, "Akaashi!" proclaimed into the air in a voice that he'd recognize even if they spent years apart.
Fuck me, this is not happening.
"Oh- Shit- I-" Haru is looking up in an absolute panic and Akaashi can only follow his lead, pushing up on his elbows and craning his neck over his shoulders to see, just his luck, Bokuto standing in his doorway.
Hair down, gorgeous as ever, his lips part around silent words and golden eyes widen in abject shock.
"I'm- Sorry I didn't mean to- I didn't know that you-"
"Bokuto-San-"
"I'll go," no, fuck, why? Why the fuck is this happening? Why like this?
You should be asking yourself why you gave him your house code.
Shut the fuck up.
"Bokuto-San," is all he can manage, pleading, borderline desperate.
There's not enough vocabulary in the world to explain himself right now. All that comes out is a strangled noise from the back of his throat. A garbled cry for help that only the universe understands as such - the very same universe that's laughing its ass off at his current predicament. It probably invited all its friends over to watch him crash and burn. The fucking sadist.
"I'm so so sorry," Bokuto says, hands outstretched - those hands. "I had no idea you were having someone over- I mean like, I shouldn't have just walked in- Well like, I know your house code, but like, I still should've knocked, and I know that- You know what? I'm just gonna go."
Fuck.
"No," Akaashi starts on a sigh, but he doesn't know how to finish it, so it never has an end.
Just a no. No don't leave. Don't leave me. Not yet. I didn't even get to tell you- I'm sorry.
But his no never gets a conclusion because, in the next moment, Bokuto is slamming the door in a haste, leaving only Haru, Akaashi, and all his bad decisions.
He looks back at Haru with a clenched jaw, eyes watering and burning with the effort to keep tears in.
"Well, I can see why you chose him," Haru's voice is overfilled with sympathy, with guilt he shouldn't hold. "He's really hot."
-
[You have 3 messages from ❤️kaashiii❤️]
❤️kaashiii❤️: Bokuto-San, I'm sorry.
❤️kaashiii❤️: I didn't know you were coming over.
❤️kaashiii❤️: Can we talk about this tomorrow?
-
Friday feels like torture.
Bokuto has always hated academics - they've never quite suited his vibe - but today he feels forced to drag himself through each class. Like pulling a backpack of lead around with him.
His parents always told him not to get too invested in one person, that people would hurt and mar and scar a soul like his. A soft soul, a gentle soul, a lover not a fighter. And they were right, but not in the way they'd expected to be.
Akaashi did nothing to hurt him, not like they'd anticipated, but it still hurts like hell. Like a knife to his chest because of two things:
One, Akaashi was never half as straight as he'd thought. He always liked guys which means Bokuto always had a chance and he just didn't take it. Knowing that he was right there hurts as much as anything else. Right there and Bokuto was too stupid to so much as ask.
Two, Akaashi liked guys which means he could've chosen Bokuto, but he didn't. And that's the worst part.
Even practice feels like a chore - a fact as disappointing as it is rare. Each drag of his arm through the air feels like he's being pulled through molasses by the endless flow of time. Slow, pointless, honestly a little bland. The same way everything feels when he makes a bad spike. Just...meh.
Akaashi doesn't even make eye contact with him, which he honestly could've expected. Why should he? It's awkward as fuck, walking in on your best friend about to bang some guy. Especially when you're gone gone gone for him- Your best friend, not the 'some guy', which is arguably worse. But moving on.
When the last five minutes of practice roll around, Bokuto can't take it anymore. (If time is so constant then why does it feel like it's slowing down just for fuck with him?) So he summons up his best bullshit excuse and plods over to Coach Yamiji with as depressed a look as he can muster (it really isn't that hard).
He can feel Akaashi's eyes on his back as he does, he can feel the way they burn a hole between his shoulder blades. And the urge to turn around and catch his best friend in the act, glare an I-caught-you at him. But he doesn't because he knows the moment he makes any move to even so much as look at the setter, Akaashi will go back to ignoring him.
As he should, a small part of him says. He hates that part of him, but it might just be right. People grow out of each other. This is just Akaashi growing out of him.
He ponders the idea as he goes through the ordinary motions of stripping and showering and thinking. Normally, he might sing. But things don't feel very normal right now, so instead, he stands and stares at the wall, at the white grout between the tiling. If only life could be so orderly and clean.
Really, why shouldn't Akaashi leave him behind? He's stupid, he's only got one shot at an actual future, he's kind of lame if he does say so himself, he can't even regulate his emotions enough to act like a normal human being. Akaashi may be a year younger, but he's smarter, more mature, and more composed than Bokuto by miles. Honestly, he should move on. Go off to college and find people who...match his vibe, or whatever.
He knows he's about to take a second shower in the downpour so he doesn't bother with toweling off his hair. Instead, he lets the stray droplets litter his shirt as he readjusts his bag over his shoulder and pushes his way out of the locker room.
There's a path that the students of Fukurodani fondly refer to as Love Lane - it started because of something genuinely romantic, the pink cherry blossoms trees that were planted as part of the school's going green initiative. Then it got less romantic when kids started using it as a place to test out voyeurism. But Bokuto still likes it. It's cute and it leads directly out onto the road that takes a straight shot to his house.
Even when it's raining and he knows the trees are going to be drowned out the next morning, it's still nice. Kind of makes him feel better about Akaashi - if Love Lane is experiencing rough times when he is, who's to say he won't bounce back in the same way it does after storms?
But his bud of optimism is promptly stomped on as he hears a breathless,
"Bokuto-San, wait."
He freezes for a split second, just a tiny fraction of time, before trudging ahead - he just wants to go home. He doesn't want to talk to Akaashi right now. He doesn't want to because he doesn't think he can look at his best friend's face right now and not want to cry or scream or something.
So he keeps walking as if Akaashi will realistically think his own name didn't reach his ears. Or that maybe he'll get the message - not now, maybe later. Possibly never.
But either his kouhai is not as perceptive as he'd initially thought, or he absolutely doesn't give a fuck what Bokuto wants.
"Koutarou!"
That stops him dead in his tracks. Not once in their entire history of knowing each other has Akaashi called him by his first name. Not even at the very beginning when he'd insisted on it.
"Koutarou, wait."
So he waits, against his better judgment, until he can feel Akaashi's presence behind him, expecting him to turn around. Expecting him to be fine with it all. He won't get what he wants. But neither will Bokuto. So he supposes, in that respect, they can be dissatisfied together.
"I'm sorry," why the fuck is he apologizing? "I'm sorry, I didn't know you were going to come over." He parrots his texts from the night before. The ones Bokuto had turned off read tags for.
"I didn't-..." He takes a sharp inhale of breath as though he's about to confess to a crime. "I would've told you, but I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. At least not until you graduated. So you could...have more of a choice- fuck I don't know what I'm saying."
"Make me uncomfortable?" Bokuto hadn't really intended on talking so soon but he can't help turning around and finally looking his best friend in the eyes.
And what pretty eyes they are - Kenma was right about everything, apparently, including the part where Akaashi could have anyone on earth he wanted and all he'd have to do is look at them. Especially when his eyelashes are clumped together with rain and his cheeks are flushed and he looks so beautiful in the rain and-
Shut up shut up shut up shut up.
"Yeah, I...Well," Akaashi looks to the side. Bashful is a fucking good look on him. Everything is, but cute and sweet and slightly embarrassed, Akaashi is borderline godly. Bokuto wants to kiss that slight frown off his perfect pouty lips. "I know it's not really normal. And I don't know how you feel about...you know. About me being-... About me liking guys."
Bokuto can honestly say he didn't see that coming - in no world would he have thought Akaashi would worry about what Bokuto thinks about his sexuality. They tell each other everything! (Almost everything.) Why would this be any different?
"What? No!" Boktuo shakes his head, flinging waterdrops out into the storm. "Why would I- I'm- Me too. I mean-..." he squeezes his eyes shut - this is the worst way someone's ever come out to their best friend, he thinks. "I mean that I like guys...too. I'm gay- Bi- I don't know. Girls are hot. So are guys. Especially-..."
You.
"Oh," is all Akaashi says.
"Yeah."
He feels his stomach drop, goosebumps rising on his skin despite the humidity. Akaashi likes guys but not him. Akaashi could like him but he doesn't. Not anymore. Akaashi is...a hopeless, out of reach, fantasy of a person. A real person who's also a fantasy. Maybe that's what an angel is.
And Bokuto thinks about it - he really does. Most things in his life aren't spared a second thought, things have always come easy to him. Volleyball, easy. Talking to people, easy. Schoolwork, not so easy but it doesn't matter because he's planning on signing with a pro team after graduation anyway. But Akaashi isn't easy.
In fact, he's really really complicated and Bokuto can feel him slipping away.
Maybe it would all just be easier to-
"Hey, I um," I like you. I like you a lot. "I need to tell you something. And I kinda need you not to talk until I'm done. 'Cause I don't think I'll get through it all if-...yeah."
He swallows. Akaashi nods, patient friend that he is. Bokuto would already be interrupted if the tables were turned. He shakes his head of the thought - this is the only now - and exhales through his nose. Don't overthink it. Just say it and get it over with.
"Alright. So, I really...I really do want to be happy for you. That sounded really bad. I mean, that I do want to be supportive and...I don't know. I really want you to be happy. But when I heard you had a date, I-...I was just sad," he confesses, voice shaky even despite his best efforts to keep it steady. Slowly, gradually, he's falling apart at the seams, and with him, his words. "I was sad because I always th-...I always thought it would be me."
The lump in his throat is doing him no favors. Instead, it feels like it's suffocating him.
"Like, you know...when you just kinda have this stupid, blind faith that things are j-just gonna work out? I always thought that- that would be us," it feels even more shameful saying it out loud than it does just knowing it. Because it sounds so naive. I thought it would be us. I thought was us. "I guess what I'm saying is- I thought we had more time. And apparently, we didn't?" The tears are diffusing into his voice. "I guess I always thought that I'd tell you in college because you said you never wanted to meet your soulmate in high school. I guess I was stupid and thought we were soulmates."
That hurts, that hurts, that hurts, his heart cries.
"Because- I really really like you. More than like. And I always thought it was an eventually kinda thing...like eventually, I'd tell you and by then you'd just magically like me back? I don't know- I don't know what I thought just-...When I heard you had a date it made me sad and that's fucked up," he crying now, eyes puffy and burning, words broken to the point where they're barely words. "Because I'm supposed to be your best friend-"
"You are my best friend."
Bokuto finally gathers the courage to look up and Akaashi is crying, which is an image as beautiful as it is horrible - Bokuto hates it when he cries. It's like a knife to the chest because Akaashi never cries. Akaashi is always composed and always put together. And when he breaks it's terrifying.
"That's why I went out with Haru in the first place," just hearing his name hurts, even though it shouldn't and that's not even fair. "Because you're my best friend, Koutarou. And I shouldn't want to kiss my best friend. But I do. So I had to do something about it!"
Akaashi is falling apart, something Bokuto doesn't think he's ever seen before. It hurts like hell.
"What was I supposed to say to you, Koutarou?! That I think your eyes are beautiful and that your smile could cure cancer? Am I just supposed to walk up to my best friend, who I thought was straight yesterday, by the way, that I would give anything for him to look at me as more than just a friend?" His voice is strained and it echoes off the cobblestones. And Bokuto really wants to hold his hand through it but he just stands there like a dipshit.
"I wish you had."
"I wish I had too." That's about the saddest sentence Bokuto could've hoped for - I wish I had. It's past tense and over and done. Nothing more to be done about it.
They both pause, frozen in time for a second as the rain continues around them. He should go. He really should go home and move on from this.
They talked it out. There's nothing more to say. Akaashi liked him and now he has a boyfriend and Bokuto just figured it all out a little too late. And that's that. What else can he do but go home?
"I'm gonna go now-"
"No you're not."
Akaashi doesn't give him a chance to so much as turn around before taped fingers are gripping his forearm and yanking him forward.
Their lips collide under the rain and it...kind of hurts at first. Their teeth clack together and their lips are slightly misaligned. And it starts out like every awkward first kiss you laugh about when you're older.
But then Akaashi brings his other hand to Bokuto's neck and tilts his head, slotting their mouths into place and everything is exactly how it should be. That's the feeling he gets. Of right-ness and belonging and this is how it should've been all along.
His lips are soft. Not like Bokuto's which are chapped and dry because he always forgets to use chapstick, even when Akaashi reminds him. But the setter doesn't seem to care because he opens his mouth for Bokuto and kisses him deep and hard and long. There's nothing particularly gentle about it. Not like he'd imagined kissing Akaashi would be like. It's demanding and intense and perfect.
He doesn't even realize his arm is looped around Akaashi's waist until they pull away and breathe staggered breaths into a humid spring storm. But he doesn't let him go.
"You have a boyfrie-"
"No, I don't," Akaashi groans, voice wrecked as he tucks his head against Bokuto's shoulder. "I broke up with him- Or, he broke up with me. I don't know. Regardless, we're not together. I don't think we really ever were. That's what you walked in on."
"But you guys were-"
"About to have a really awkward conversation about our feelings. Nothing more than that. I mean, yes we kind of made out but it wasn't- He wasn't-... you," Akaashi sounds like he's confessing to murder. "I couldn't stop thinking of you when we were kissing and- I don't know...I don't know. He wasn't you but I didn't want him to be. I didn't want to like him."
"You're surprisingly good at articulating your feelings in the rain," Bokuto is smiling, he knows Akaashi hears it in his voice. But why shouldn't he? Why shouldn't he be absolutely one hundred percent happy? Akaashi just snorts - fucking adorable. Bokuto has no idea why he tries to act professional all the time.
"What?"
"Yeah!" He bounces back with his usual enthusiasm despite the scratch of his voice. "Remember that time when you got an eighty-seven on a test instead of a hundred? I asked you what was wrong and you almost had an aneurysm!"
"Do you know what an aneurysm is?" Bokuto can hear the soft laugh in his voice but he's smart enough not to point it out and risk losing it.
"Not at all!"
"Bokuto-San," Bokuto wrinkles his nose at the formal title, but some things have to change gradually, right? "What did you...want to talk about? Yesterday? When you walked in?"
He hesitates - Kenma's probably going to murder him for this.
"Well- I mean, Kenma said that...he told me you," he doesn't know how to say this without feeling awkward - the thought that Akaashi actually likes him enough to have to get over him is still edging on impossible. Is it irrational that a part of him still worries Akaashi will burst into laughter and tell him it was all a joke? "Were trying to...ehm-"
"Right," Akaashi doesn't sound in the least bit amused. Bokuto, however, can only breathe a sigh of relief that he wasn't made to finish that sentence.
"Anyway, I didn't really know if I believed him or not and then I saw you and Football-God-Kun and my brain just like kinda went-" Akaashi cuts him off with another kiss - tender and slow. How do old married couples get tired of doing this? Bokuto wants Akaashi to kiss him like his for the rest of his life. "..W-well not like that...more like it screamed. But I like that better."
It's then that Akaashi finally smiles - all sweet and full of promise, like a ray of sunshine peeking through the ever-darkening clouds above. Bokuto takes a mental picture and holds it close.
Akaashi isn't a smiley person. He doesn't smile unless something is really worth it.
If there's anything better than being worth Akaashi Keiji's smile, Bokuto hasn't found it yet.
"What's that look for?"
"You have the prettiest smile," Bokuto grins, some of the most genuine words he's every spoken. "You should wear it more often."
Then Akaashi has the audacity to blush in a way that damn near stops Bokuto's heart beating in his chest. Dark eyes flick to the side, an absolutely beautiful display of bashfulness that makes Bokuto wish his phone wasn't buried in his bag.
"We should get out of the rain before one of us gets sick," is the response he receives, rather huffy and a bit petulant, like he doesn't quite know how to accept the compliment given. Akaashi never does. It's one of the things Bokuto loves most about him.
"Okay, but can you come home with me? Pretty please?" Bokuto squeezes Akaashi's hand and draws him closer by the waist to add emphasis to his request. Akaashi just shakes his head, tucking it under Bokuto's chin in the next moment.
And it all feels very right. Even despite the rain and the discomfort of his soaked clothes. It feels right.
"Why don't you come with me. We have strawberry mochi."