Archive of Our Own

Kei steps off the train and he is hit with the smell of wet soil and loneliness.

The station is deserted so he drags his suitcase across cracked gravel, hoping it’ll stay that way.

The rumours will be bad enough, no need to make them any worse. 

It's the same as he remembers, flickering street lights and broken vending machines. A picture of rural desolation. Home.

He's halfway down the road leading to the town centre when a car pulls up next to him.

“Tsukishima-kun, is that you? I didn't know you were back.”

Kei hides a grimace in favour of a polite smile. 

“It was a spontaneous decision. Nice to see you again, Sakamoto-san,” he explains, but none of it feels particularly sincere. Nevermind that nothing about his decision was spontaneous, but rather a creeping realisation shaped and built up by desperation to something so monumental that he couldn’t ignore it any longer.

Sakamoto smiles at him, one of her ringed fingers tapping at the steering wheel. He can see her think. Remembers that expression all too well when he used to help out at the library where she used to sit down and do her crosswords, occasionally offering him a ride back home when it was particularly cold and stormy outside. 

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she says with a sympathetic smile. Kei already knows he won’t like what will come next. “Really, it’s tragic with—”

“Yes,” Kei says, too sharply to be polite, effectively cutting her off before she can finish. They both know what she was going to say, even without her opening her mouth, no need to actually say it out loud. Kei’d rather not. Just a little longer, he tells himself. Next time he’ll let them say it. Next time. 

“Ah,” Sakamoto says, nodding, but her smile is fraying at the edges. “Would you like a ride home? I think it’s about to rain soon,” she offers. Out of pity or general kindness, Kei doesn’t know.

He wants to decline, part of him longs to feel desolate and lonely and aching, but even then he’d rather not return home drenched, so he accepts her offer with a mumbled thanks. 

“Oh, Kuroo-kun must be so happy that you’re back,” she tells him brightly once he’s taken a seat.

Kei averts his gaze to stare out of the window, momentarily losing control over his features as a grimace flits across his faze. 

“I hope so,” he says, voice even, but he can hear the resignation in his words. 

“I’m sure of it,” Sakamoto says with unwarranted enthusiasm, but Kei figures that’s what it’s been like to the outside world. Kuroo and Tsukishima, tied together by the same breath whenever mentioned out loud. Inseparable those two. But Kei figures he’s lost any chance of that.

“Thank you,” he offers weakly. “Is it alright if I turn the radio on?” 

He doesn’t even wait for her reply, hand reaching out and soon enough music rings out, drowning out any further attempts at conversation. Kei sighs in relief.

It’s a short ride, nothing in town is really farther than a stone’s throw away from each other, but when they pull into the driveway, they are greeted by darkness. A black hole in the otherwise illuminated street, not a single light on behind the windows.

“Oh dear,” Sakamoto starts. “Seems like nobody’s home. Will you be alright?”

He appreciates the concern, really, he does, but right now he cannot get out of the car fast enough, even if that means stepping into a cold and empty house. 

A tight smile. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, another lie added to the list. “Thank you again for the ride.”

Sakamoto nods, still hesitant but she lets Kei climb out of the car without further complaint, only pulling out of the driveway once he’s unlocked the front door.

Emptiness greets him. 

“I’m home,” he calls out into the quiet.

Nobody answers, as expected.

It hurts, even though he knew there was only a slim chance of his mother—or, either of them, really—to be home, but there’s a dissonance barely kept at bay in his chest, between the warmth and comfort of his childhood and the despondency hiding in dark, vacant hallways. But then again, he expected that too.

Kei locks the door behind him, slips off his shoes and then proceeds to carry his suitcase upstairs to his room. He doesn’t sway on his feet, walks in a steady line before he drops into bed, wiggling out of his clothes and then burying himself into his blanket. 

He feels off-kilter, nonetheless.

◅ ▻

Kei wakes before he’s ready, shaken from sleep by the loud chirping of birds outside his window.

Another thing he didn’t miss.

With a groan he rolls onto his stomach, burying his head under a pillow. It's barely enough to mute the sound. He allows himself to drift off a little more,  yet sleep refuses to take hold of him—rejections stings bittersweetly—so he finally forces himself out of bed.

The wooden floor is cool beneath his feet and he walks around on tiptoes, bare-footed, until he manages to locate his slippers, hidden away underneath a bookshelf.

He yawns, he stretches, then grabs the first knit sweater from the closet he can find—chunky and forest green—slipping it on with sluggish movements.

The smell of his mother's preferred laundry detergent is faded but it hits him straight in the gut regardless. He digs his fingers into the wool, threading them into lopsided holes as he wraps his arms around himself. 

Outside the birds still sing.

Bracing himself, he makes his way down for breakfast.

He hears the sound of the radio first, upbeat and bubbly, yet tinny through the old speakers. Second is the soft hums of a bright voice on top of it.

He stops in his tracks at the bottom of the stairs, chest constricting painfully for a moment. He watches his mother in front of the stove, swaying offbeat to the music, ladle in hand. 

Against his will he feels his face twist, corners of his mouth dropping. He bites his lip to keep them in place. 

“S’that Matsubara Miki?” he asks in reference to the radio, voice strangely choked up.

His mother spins on her heel, yet keeping the ladle secured inside of the pot—she’s probably dissolving miso paste.

“Kei,” she smiles at him. 

Kei has to avert his gaze for a moment. He feels like he might tear up any second. Blinking rapidly, he tries to calm down.

His mother smooths over it. “I saw your shoes. Did you get home alright?”

When Kei remains stock still, she clicks her tongue in reprimand. “Come here, let me see you.”

It breaks the spell that has him frozen in place, and he steps forward. With every step it gets easier to breathe, but at the same time he suddenly feels too big for his body. Doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands, has to remind himself to keep breathing, inhale exhale, one step in front of the other.

He stops in front of her. Smiles, and is relieved to find it comes easy this time. 

“Look at you, my college boy,” her smile is warm, yet tinged with sadness. “So handsome.”

Kei swallows, dropping his gaze to the ground no longer able to look her in the eyes. He has to keep himself from flinching when she reaches out to smooth out his hair, carding fingers through the strands hanging over his forehead. He also keeps himself from leaning into the touch, locked in place. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him.

She pulls away after a moment, turning back to the stove. 

He watches her stir, waiting for the miso paste to fully dissolve, before she turns back to him, both hands free now with the ladle set aside.

“I was going to go to the hospital again today. Do you want to come?”

“No,” Kei replies sharply, borderline frantic as he tries to get the word out, almost cutting her off in the process. He takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut. “I already made plans.” 

When he opens them again, he watches his mother’s face drop, shoulders slumping slightly. “...Kei”

He has to avert his gaze. “I know,” he says. He does. He’ll have to. Eventually. Bracing himself, he offers a weak, “Tomorrow.”

Glancing back up, his mother nods slowly, face still pinched. Then, she relaxes into a tentative smile. “Okay. Tomorrow.”

◅ ▻

Breakfast is a muted affair and Kei doesn’t even wait for his mother’s car to pull from the driveway before he makes his way into town.

He doesn’t have any plans, mostly just wanders around feeling out of place. Like anyone can just glance his way and see he doesn’t belong here, but nobody calls him out on it. 

The neighbours smile, though it doesn’t reach their eyes, and welcome him back. 

They keep their conversations light, not bothering to dig beyond the surface and Kei is thankful yet irritated by it at the same time.

Everything looks the same, the faces, the streets. The stationary store by the corner is still there, albeit closed down—he glances at the shut window fronts, spray painted by whatever kids have picked up vandalism as a hobby while Kei was gone, and he can’t help but wonder if people see him the same way. 

Just a reminder of the past. Closed off, barely recognisable.

Down the road is the same old café that always was, same flowers blooming in the pots out front, the waiters still wearing the same old uniform. Probably all the same waiters even, he thinks, and his eyes go searching on their own.

He doesn’t know what he’s looking for until he sees him, familiar navy apron and all, black hair the way Kei remembers it, maybe a bit longer. And would you look at that, he’s wearing glasses now.

Kei freezes, air punched from his chest, eyes glued to Akaashi’s back as he watches him jot down a customer’s order on his little notepad. He doesn’t know why seeing him hits him so hard—he should’ve expected this. There’s no way he could’ve returned home without eventually running into him. Them. But maybe he was hoping for a longer grace period.

Akaashi taps the pen against the notepad the way he used to back then, a little signal of ‘I’m done writing now’ and with horror Kei realises he’s about to turn and he’s about to look and then he’ll see Kei and—whatever comes next, he’s not ready for it.

Spinning on his heel, he escapes into the store to his left, hating himself a little for it. Hiding away like a coward.

Bells tinkle above him, and his eyes meet rows of old records, CDs mounted on walls. Cassette tapes in the back, right with the used electronics. He breathes in the slightly dusty air, and with the musty smell comes the memory and his shoulders tense because, of course, there’s no way he’d be so lucky—

“Holy shit,”  declares a voice, which is not the greeting Kei had anticipated, but barely a second later he finds himself pulled into a sweeping hug, pressed into a firm chest by strong arms and he can only groan as Bokuto squeezes him with enough force to lift him off the ground. 

“Tsukki, you’re back,” Bokuto says right by his ear, loud enough that Kei winces, but he can also hear the smile in his voice, feel its warmth and it trickles down Kei’s throat with every breath taken, nose buried in the junction of Bokuto’s neck.

He wants to cry. 

He cannot.

Instead he squeezes Bokuto back with just enough force, and when Bokuto puts him back down, releases him from his grasp, arms sliding back but never fully letting go, instead grabbing onto Kei’s elbows securely like he’s afraid Kei will float away, he is seconds from coming undone.

He grabs Bokuto right back, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh below Bokuto’s elbow and Kei thinks if he holds on tightly enough, he won’t shake apart.

“Yes,” he replies, swallowing down all the other words that want to escape, but he is pleased to find that his voice is solid. Not a hint of the cracks that are hiding underneath.

Bokuto beams at him, hair still wild, eyes bright, and there’s not a hint of malice to be found in his expression.

Kei is so relieved that he feels guilty for it, unsure whether or not he’s allowed to have this.

“I didn’t know you were back,” Bokuto says and a few years ago Kei would’ve rolled his eyes, and snarked that that much was obvious but this Kei just ducks his head, allowing Bokuto to anchor him.

“I’m so excited you’re back,” Bokuto tacks on, almost like he’s just now fully realised the meaning of his words, and he doesn’t mention Kuroo like everyone else has been so intent on doing. Doesn’t assure Kei that Kuroo will be just as excited to see him. 

Bokuto is not a liar.

His smile does eventually waver, giving way for a frown as he tilts his head at Kei. “Wait, how are you back?” 

Maybe it’s because Bokuto is still holding on to him, maybe it’s because Kei never really could deny him anything, but he finds himself telling a truth he hasn’t been ready to face yet. “I dropped out of college.”

He doesn’t mention Akiteru. But then again, Bokuto probably knows. Kei hasn’t met a single person in town who doesn’t.

Bokuto digests that revelation for a moment, and Kei’s eyes drift back out the window, pulled back by Akaashi’s form. 

He’s still outside, but working another table this time. Kei can see his profile, the way he pushes his glasses back with one knuckle, tapping his pen against his notepad.

“Oh,” Bokuto says. “But are you happier now?”

It pulls Kei back toward him, and he doesn’t have to think about it long. 

“Well, I’m no longer miserable,” he aims for it to come out like a joke, dry and sardonic. It only earns him a frown. 

Then, slowly, Bokuto nods. “That’s good.” 

Kei finds himself looking back out the window but this time, Bokuto follows him. 

“What are you— Oh, look! It’s Akaashi! Let’s say hi!”

“No,” Kei panics, trying to pull away, thinking maybe Bokuto will let him hide away down the depths of the store, but he only allows Kei to slip so far, before he catches one of Kei’s hands in his.

“Come on,” and with that he pulls Kei with him as he practically races out the door, across the street to the café Akaashi works at.

Kei keeps his eyes resolutely trained at the cobblestone beneath his feet, doing his best not to stumble and fall as he tries to keep up.

He doesn’t have to wait for Bokuto’s bright “Akaashi!” to know they’ve arrived, because he can feel those blue eyes piercing through him even without having to look up.

He lifts his eyes regardless. Kei’s always been a glutton for punishment when it comes to Akaashi.

The encounter is more devastating up close. There are a million things Kei can read into the line of his shoulder, the tension of his neck, but Akaashi’s face is a blank page, even with his eyes flickering down to where Bokuto and Kei are still intertwined.

“I seem to have missed quite a bit,” he says, dragging his eyes back up. “Hello, Tsukishima.”

Kei feels his cheeks heat up with the implication of it,  but even the embarrassment is not enough to make him let go of Bokuto’s hand. Not when it’s the only thing to keep him from running away right now.

“Yeah, you did!” Bokuto exclaims, oblivious to the unspoken conversation that is happening between them. “Did you not see Tsukki walking down the street earlier? I thought I was dreaming but then he came walking right into my store!”

Akaashi watches them quietly for a moment. Then he clicks his pen, shoving it into the breast pocket of his apron. “I see.” He turns to focus on Kei. “Does Kuroo know you’re back in town?”

Reflexively, Kei squeezes Bokuto’s hand. He forces himself to meet Akaashi’s eyes.

“Did you?” he asks.

Bokuto squeezes his hand right back.

Akaashi quirks a singular eyebrow at him. “I wasn’t aware that Kuroo and I were considered on the same level.”

It confirms Kei’s worst fears. Akaashi knows . 

His cheeks feel hot again, and Kei’s eyes drop away, flitting back and forth between the patrons at the café behind him, and his breath is stuck in his throat, almost like he expects Kuroo to be hiding in the masses. 

What if you are , he wants to ask, but he’s not brave enough.

Akaashi takes pity on him. “You should come to the party this weekend.”

Next to Kei, Bokuto perks up. He gasps. “Yeah, you totally should!”

Kei doesn’t have to ask what party. It’s always the same every year, the big bonfire hosted by the mayor’s son. Daishou Suguru. He hasn’t been in ages. He’s not sure if he can bear it.

With great hesitance he pulls his hand from Bokuto’s grasp, ignoring the quiet displeased noise it earns him, instead shoving them deep in the pockets of his pants. 

“I’ll think about it,” he offers. The best he can do at the moment. He bites his cheek, but the words worm their way out regardless. “Are you going to tell Kuroo?”

Akaashi’s eyes challenge him. “Are you?”

Fair enough, Kei thinks.

◅ ▻

He doesn’t meet Kuroo, doesn’t think he could stomach it, so he lets Akaashi and Bokuto get back to work, leaving them with promises that he’ll be in touch—and he means it this time.

He keeps himself busy by wandering around town, carefully avoiding some of Kuroo’s favourite haunts, but eventually his feet begin to hurt and he makes his way back home.

His mother’s car is still missing from the driveway, and for a brief moment that thought is terrifying enough to have Kei’s hand twitch as they want to search for his phone. A fruitless endeavour when he knows he left it on his nightstand that morning.

Still, fear is rarely rational. He forces himself to keep going, step by step. It’s fine. She’s fine. Either still at work or at the hospital.

This time he doesn’t call out when he steps into the house. 

He feels lonely regardless. 

After fixing himself a quick dinner—he labels the leftovers and puts them away for his mother to eat when she comes home—he escapes to his room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

It’s easier like this. He can almost pretend like this. That Akiteru is just two doors down the hallway, head bent over the tiny figurines he likes to pant. That their mother is downstairs in the kitchen, singing along to city pop. 

That he could just stick his head out the window and find Kuroo grinning at him, daring him to come on an adventure. 

That any second there would be a knock on his door and Akaashi would walk in and settle on Kei’s arm chair and watch him read.

Almost. 

The quiet shatters the illusion. He never thought he’d grow to resent it, not when it used to bring him so much peace, prone to headaches as he was, easily overwhelmed by too much noise. Now the silence makes his skin itch.

But there’s a thought.

He’s up on his feet before he can think about it. 

The boxes he’s looking for are hidden away in the attic, left to collect dust, saved for the day one of them needs them. Kei thinks that time might be now. 

They are unlabelled but it doesn’t take him long to find the right one, even if the clouds of dust stirring around him have him sneeze enough to bring tears to his eyes. It takes twenty minutes to connect the record player, another ten to find the album he’s looking for.

When he does, he’s meticulous about clearing off any dust from both vinyl and needle, running his thumb over the faded cream-coloured cover. Copying what he has seen long gone hands do so many times before him.

When he finally lowers the needle down, he cannot help but hold his breath. 

It connects with a soft crackle that has Kei’s hairs standing on end. ‘This is where the magic happens’, his father used to whisper right then and there, one finger pressed to his lips, his other arm slung over Kei’s much smaller shoulders, pulling him close. Signalling him to listen.

The first guitar lick still sounds the way Kei remembers. Haunting and echoey—like something from a dream. Rising and melting into the chime of cymbals. 

He turns the volume up. Basks in the echoey quality.

His heart drops the same second the beat kicks in. His lungs feel like they’re about to cave in, forcing to draw a shuddering breath.

He thinks he might cry.

Abruptly pushing himself upright from where he was crouched in front of the record player, he lets himself fall into his bed, blindly reaching for his abandoned phone on the nightstand.

He was right, it’s much easier to imagine life outside of his doors with music on. But in a way it’s also much worse than the previous quiet. Because Kei’s ghosts wake with the music, and it leaves him to wonder if maybe being lonely would be better than this. Certainly easier.

His phone screen lights up at the double-tap of a finger, flooded with messages. He scrolls through them, spots a couple by Akiteru which he ignores for now. There’s one by Akaashi but he cannot think about that either.

Most of them are by Yachi, starting with a string of panic that makes him feel horrible about himself, then giving way to angry scolding—hesitant as it may be. Yachi is still Yachi after all.

He shoots her a quick message that is mostly an apology, followed by a vague offer to talk tomorrow.

He doesn’t wait for her reply, just turns his phone on silent and places it back on his bedside table.

He falls asleep to the thrum of the Dire Straits in the background, long before his mother returns home.

◅ ▻

An empty house is what greets him when he wakes up, but this time his mother has left traces. A yellow post-it stuck to the fridge, telling him she told Akiteru he’d stop by today in her loopy handwriting. There’s breakfast on the table and a bouquet of flowers on the window sill, basking in the glow of the morning sun.

The house feels warmer than it did yesterday.

He barely makes it through breakfast, before his phone rings—a kpop tune that is just as bright and bubbly as the person Kei has set it for.

Swallowing down the last bite of his tamagoyaki, he braces himself for a moment. Then he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hello. Did I just wake you? I’m so sorry, I told him it was way too early, but we just didn’t want to wait any longer—”

“It’s fine,” Kei interrupts her, taking a sip of tea while Yachi runs out of steam. “It’s not that early.”

“Oh. Oh. That’s good, then.”

He can tell she’s lost her footing, and something about it makes him smile. Suddenly he feels ridiculous for having been scared of this.

She draws in a hesitant breath, the noise sharp over his phone’s speaker. “How are you doing? Did you get home alright?”

He swallows, taps his fingers against the wooden table. 

“The journey was fine,” he eventually offers, knowing full well that she’ll be able to see right through him.

“That’s good, I’m glad,” she replies, voice muted. There’s a pause as she’s ringing with whatever she’s going to say next.

“Did you meet anyone yet?” The question is stilted, inelegant the way it’s phrased but it hammers home regardless. He bites his cheek, glad she cannot see him over the phone.

“I ran into Bokuto and Akaashi yesterday,” his face heats up at the memory. “But I haven’t seen Kuroo. Yet.”

“Kuroo”, Yachi latches onto the name, voice unsure. “Is he the one…?”

“Yes.” His voice comes out flat. “He’s the one I kissed.” He might as well say it out loud. 

She draws another sharp breath. “Are you going to—”

“No,” he cuts her off, almost reflexively. Then he sighs. “I mean, I will. Eventually. Just… not today.”

There’s a bit of rustling on the other side—he suspects she might have nodded in response. “Well, I guess that’s better than nothing.” Another brief pause. “What about your brother? How is he doing?”

“I—,” he clenches and unclenches his fist. “I haven’t seen him yet.” Then, because he ridiculously feels the need not to disappoint her, he adds, “I was going to today. I’m just—” He cuts himself off, unable to admit it out loud. 

Scared. He’s scared.

Yachi understands regardless. “You know you don’t have to do this alone.”

“I know.” He does, rationally. It’s just not something he’s ever considered. Maybe he should. “How are things with you?” 

“Oh, well, you know,” she replies, voice lighter than before. “Pretty much the same. Hinata and Kageyama are much more…” She pauses, looking for the right word.

“Imbecilic?” he offers with a wry smile.

“Kei,” she hisses, voice reprimanding. “Much more chaotic now that you’re gone, is what I was going to say. Yamaguchi says hi, by the way. And that you should unblock him.”

Kei clicks his tongue, more relaxed now that they’ve slipped back into familiar territory. “I will unblock him when he’s ready to admit that Jurassic Park is a masterpiece.”

“It’s not,” a second voice calls out, sounding farther away. Yamaguchi. “It’s overrated, you just think the guy in the leather jacket is hot.”

“Traitor,” Kei hisses. “Take me off speakerphone right now.”

Yamaguchi cackles in the background. “Sorry, Tsukki,” he shouts as Yachi frantically fumbles with her phone.

◅ ▻

Bokuto shows up twenty minutes after Kei texts him, and the second Kei opens the door to him on his doorstep it gets easier to breathe.

“Heya Tsukki,” he greets him with a smile, jangling his car keys with one hand. “Ready to go?”

Kei bites his tongue to stop himself from replying something sappy like now I am, instead only nodding sharply in return.

“Thank you for doing this,” he offers quietly, having to force the words out from where they’re stuck in his throat, as they walk over to Bokuto’s beat up Toyota Corolla. A little owl keychain dangles from his rear view mirror—a gift from Akaashi, if Kei remembers correctly.

“Sure thing,” Bokuto shoots back with half a shrug, sliding into his seat. “Y’know you never ask for help with stuff like that, right? I was kinda glad you texted me.”

Kei does know. “I’m kind of glad I texted you, too,” he offers in return. Something about Bokuto’s smile makes it easier to say.

Bokuto beams. “Really?” He doesn’t wait for Kei’s answering nod, shifting the car into first gear and pulls them from the driveway.

“I thought after the thing with Kuroo, you might’ve reached out, but you just kinda vanished.”

Kei’s throat seizes. The thing with Kuroo. “You know about that?” 

Bokuto takes his eyes briefly off the road to give Kei a look. “‘Course I do. I’m not stupid.”

“No, you’re not,” Kei agrees softly. He feels unbalanced, but something about addressing the unspoken lifts an invisible weight off his shoulders. And maybe it’s just because Bokuto is Bokuto, that they can just say it like that and be done with it for now. Like it’s just an inevitable truth of the universe—the sun rises every morning and two years ago Kei kissed Kuroo. 

Bokuto hums softly, but doesn’t offer anything more in return. Instead he fiddles with the centre console, pushing a series of buttons until music comes pouring from the car’s speakers.

The soft strumming of a guitar has Bokuto lighting up instantly. “Did you stand there all along?” He sings along with the music, unashamed and off-key.

Kei’s heart clenches in his chest. He wraps his arms around himself, holding himself tightly as if that will stop him from falling apart. Like it’ll keep him from doing something stupid.

“Cigarette daydream,” Bokuto keeps singing. He turns to grant Kei another smile. “Y’know, that song always makes me think of you.”

The singer continues in the background. “So sweet with a mean streak. Nearly brought me to my knees.”

Kei’s heart is hammering in his throat so fast he thinks he might die. “Why?” he asks, and his voice sounds so fractured with all the emotions he’s trying to keep at bay. 

“Mh? Oh,” Bokuto shrugs. “Dunno. It just sounds like you,” and then he goes right back to humming like he hasn’t just twisted the proverbial knife stuck in Kei’s chest. 

“I was going to text you about it, too, but I wasn’t sure you’d want to hear from me,” he eventually adds, sounding somewhat sheepish.

I always want to hear from you , Kei thinks and the thought surprises himself, but it’s the truth. He can feel it. 

And it’s not just Bokuto, he realises. It’s Akaashi and Kuroo, too. But Akaashi and Kuroo aren’t here right now. Bokuto is. Because Kei asked him to, and Bokuto answered. 

He doesn’t know how much that means.

Bokuto goes back to humming along to the music, and Kei, at a loss for words, reaches out and gently—hesitantly—places his hand over Bokuto’s where it’s resting on the stick shift.

He feels like a horrible person.

He feels in love.

What a terrible combination.

◅ ▻

The nurse directs him to room 604 while Bokuto vanishes to procure them some coffee, but not without squeezing Kei’s shoulders first.

It’s the memory of Bokuto’s touch that has him taking a deep breath and knocking on the door without further hesitation. It’s the memory of his reassuring smile that has him walking in after his brother’s voice tells him to come in, steps confident and unshaken. 

The second he spots Akiteru in the hospital bed, all of that falls away. Kei is stripped away down to the bare bones of the six year old he used to be, who used to stare up at his older brother like he’d hung the stars.

“Kei,” Akiteru starts, mouth twisting into something ugly and upset, and Kei has to put a stop to that before it even starts. He has to.

He lifts a hand abruptly, effectively cutting Akiteru off, and he finishes his journey down the room, sinking into the chair that is right next to Akiteru’s bed.

The smell of hospital is unpleasant, drags up memories that have Kei’s stomach churn but he shoulders through it. He glances at Akiteru, watches him gnaw at his lip, before his eyes flit away again. He knits his fingers together tightly, knuckles white and it hurts. He doesn’t let go.

“I need you to know,” he starts out, voice shaky. He feels so much younger than he is. He tries again. “I need you to know that I’m not—,” he chokes. “I’m not upset with you.” 

And he isn’t. He could never be when what happened was an accident, and Akiteru wasn’t at fault. But it doesn’t change the fact that Kei is much more intimate with loss than he would ever like to be. Akiteru knows that too.

“I’m just—” Terrified. He’s so fucking terrified. He doesn’t know how he breathes half the time.

He knows what people think of him. Kei, closed off, independent. But the truth of the matter is, if he were to lose Akiteru. If he were to lose him, too. 

“I just don’t know what I’d do without you,” he forces the words out, no matter how painful it is, and something about saying it out loud, it unlocks something in his chest that has the tears streaming that had been refusing to come.

“Oh, Kei,” Akiteru mutters, soft and warm, gathering Kei into a hug–as much as he can, shackled to the bed as he is.

“I’m fine. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

Neither of them can look the other in the face. 

Losing a father is one thing. Losing his brother, too. Kei doesn’t think he could survive it.

“You better,” Kei aims for reprimanding but it comes out wet and stuffy instead. “I won’t forgive you so easily if you get into another car accident, you know.”

Akiteru chuckles, flicking Kei into the forehead, effectively breaking the sombre mood between them. “I know.”

The moment lingers between them, but eventually Kei pulls away, back beginning to cramp from the awkward position they’ve found themself in. 

A series of knocks interrupts their companionable silence, and before Akiteru can invite their visitor in, the door already slides open, revealing Bokuto, somehow cradling three paper cups of coffee in a single hand.

“Hey hey hey,” he whisper-shouts at them, with a smile. Then his eyes drop to Akiteru’s leg, eyes going big. “Man, I’ve never seen a cast that big before. How are you doing? Want some coffee?”

He offers Akiteru one of the paper cups which he accepts with gratitude, before handing a second one to Kei, keeping the last one for himself.

Kei takes a hesitant sip, noting with pleasure that Bokuto remembered to dump some cream and sugar into it. 

When he looks back up, Akiteru wiggles his brows at him. 

“Bokuto, huh? Not gonna lie, I thought it was going to be—”

Kei rolls his eyes. “Kuroo, yes I know.” Everybody always thinks it’s Kuroo. And maybe it is. Just not always.

Akiteru tries to flick him again, this time on the nose, but Kei dodges him. “Actually I was going to say Akaashi.”

Kei frowns. “What, why?” He asks before he can stop himself. He regrets it immediately, of course he knows why.

His brother only smirks. “Oh, I don’t know. Might have something to do with a particular game of seven minutes in heaven my little brother once told me about, but who’s to say.”

“Shut up,” Kei hisses, glancing at Bokuto to gauge his reaction.

If he’s bothered by the revelation, he doesn’t show it. He’s smiling, bright and easy. There’s a sparkle in his eyes as he says, unthinking, “Yeah, we’ve all been there.”

He punctuates the whole thing with a sip of his coffee, before pulling a chair over to sit down next to Kei. Once he does, he reaches out, taking Kei’s free hand into his. 

Easy as breathing.

Life doesn’t seem quite as daunting as it did before.

◅ ▻

The lights are on when he gets back home. 

He finds his mother in the living room, curled up on the sofa, a book resting on her lap, reading glasses perched on her nose.

On the table next to her rests a mug. Tea that has probably long been forgotten, turned cold and bitter.

She looks up at the sound of his footsteps. “How did it go?”

He swallows, unable to find the words.

“Kei? Honey?”

He walks over to her, slowly sinking down on the sofa next to her. Allows her to pull him into a hug.

“I dropped out of college,” he whispers into the embrace.

At first, there’s nothing. Then her arms around him tighten with a surprising amount of strength. 

“Oh, Kei,” she says, and she sounds heartbroken, but not disappointed. “It’s okay. It’s going to be alright.”

For some reason, he believes her. He feels lighter than he has in days.

◅ ▻

Kuroo works at the bookstore.

He works at the bookstore and he always takes his break at two in the afternoon, so when Kei walks into the store, he doesn’t even bother to look up, when he tells him firmly, “I’m sorry, Sir, but I’m about to take my break, could you come back in five?”

Kei clears his throat. “If you want me to.”

Kuroo’s head jerks up like a whip, allowing Kei to witness the wave of emotions that rushes across his face. “Tsukki,” he starts, voice tinted with awe, but then his expression turns stony and his eyes darken with anger.

“It’s been two years,” he says.

It hurts. But it’s nothing Kei doesn’t deserve. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry,” Kuroo repeats, voice thick with disbelief. “You kiss me, you tell me you’re in love with me, and the next morning I find out you’re leaving town and ignoring all my calls? And now you’re telling me you’re sorry?” 

Kuroo’s voice has been rising with every word that comes pouring out, and Kei has to keep himself from flinching at how harsh he sounds.

“I am,” he says because it’s all he has left to say for himself. “I really am. I was just—” Terrified. It’s not an excuse. Everyone is scared. “I’m sorry.”

“You made me feel like shit,” Kuroo exclaims.

“I never wanted that.” Kei swallows, wringing with himself. Eventually he says, “I felt like shit, too.” 

That apparently takes the wind out of Kuroo’s sails. He runs a shaky hand through his hair. “Shit, Tsukki, is that supposed to make me feel better?”

It would, if Kuroo was anything like Kei. But Kuroo was always the better person out of the two of them. Nothing of Kei’s vindictive streak to be found.

“No, I guess it wouldn’t,” he mumbles.

Kuroo sighs. “Fuck.” 

He raps his knuckles against the counter. “Two years is a long time.” He doesn’t sound upset about this, mostly just resigned. He glances at Kei’s again, then away, mouth twisting unhappily. 

“Fuck,” he says again.

Kei has never heard him swear this much in one sitting. He watches him, but the fight is bleeding from Kuroo’s shoulders, gone as quickly as it came. The only lingering ghosts are his heaving chest and shaky fingers. 

When he glances at his face, Kuroo’s eyes are already waiting for him. Searching. 

Worried, even. If Kei allowed himself to hope.

“How are you holding up? I heard about Akiteru.”

Something about the shift in tone startles Kei, though maybe it shouldn’t. Kuroo cares for others more than he does for himself sometimes.

Kei smiles at him, a weak thing full of too many teeth and fraying at the edges—more grimace than anything. “What do you think?” 

He’s tired. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this tired before. 

Kuroo sighs again, briefly throws his head back to stare at the ceiling like it holds all the answers to the questions of the universe. With another deep exhale, he lowers his head back down, taking a hesitant step forward. Then another. 

“Come here,” he says quietly, voice rough, and with that he opens his arms and Kei falls into the hug before he can think twice about it. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. And what is it about hugs that makes the words spill from Kei’s lips so easily? His heart stumbles in his chest. Any second now, he thinks. Any second now he’s going to fall apart and Kuroo will be left with all of Kei’s broken shards draped over his arms, cutting into his chest. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

He’s terrible for this, he knows. He doesn’t deserve it.

He’s taking it anyway.

Kuroo’s breath is hot against Kei’s ear. “I know,” he says. Not it’s okay. And that’s important. Kei knows.

When they pull apart, the world slots back together. The final weight lifted off Kei's chest. And things may not be okay now, but he sees in Kuroo’s eyes that they can be. Maybe they will.

He takes a step back, and Kuroo’s hand, previously pressed to Kei’s back, slips away, drifts over Kei’s shoulder and grabs him by the jaw. 

The touch is gentle, but enough to have him halt in his tracks. He blinks up at Kuroo, feeling shocked, yes, but not surprised. 

What was it about universal constants? The sun always rises in the morning and Kei kisses Kuroo Tetsurou.

He takes another step back. Kuroo’s hand falls from his jaw.

“I’ll see you at Daishou’s party?”

Kuroo blinks, glances down at his own hand with a look of surprise. He doesn’t smile, but his eyes are warm when he nods. “Guess you will.”

◅ ▻

Bokuto’s the one who picks Kei up for the party. He greets him with a boisterous smile, and something hard and plastic he shoves into Kei’s hand.

Kei looks down at his hand in surprise, turning the little box over until he realises—it’s a cassette tape.

“It’s the song,” Bokuto rushes to explain. “The one that made me think of you. I know tapes aren’t actually the norm anymore, but we’ve got this old player at work you can use to make mixtapes and I thought—” He cuts off abruptly, shrugging his shoulders in a ‘what can you do motion’.

Kei cradles the tape to his chest, gripping it hard enough for hard plastic corners to dig into his skin. He thinks he might float away, drift into the sky.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. 

“Sure thing, Tsukki,” Bokuto beams again, and Kei’s heart clenches painfully in his chest.

Oh, he likes him so much. He likes him so much it hurts.

This time he’s the one to reach out and grab Bokuto’s hand first. It’s warm and solid in Kei’s grasp. 

He hopes he doesn’t have to let go of it any time soon.

He’s so tired of being scared.

◅ ▻

His cheeks feel like they're on fire, and he pushes himself off the log where he’s been chatting with Mika, Daishou’s girlfriend—Bokuto gone somewhere to fetch drinks—with a mumbled excuse of fresh air, which in hindsight doesn’t make any sense because they’re outside but she just nods with a smile, because she’s far too kind than any of them deserve. Especially Daishou.

He steps away, deeper into the forest and away from the warmth of the bonfire, fiddling with his phone. There’s a new text message from Hinata, declaring his and Kageyama’s intentions to visit Kei by the time break comes. 

Kei promptly tells him to stay far away from him, but it only earns him another text. you love us stingyshima.

He rolls his eyes at the ridiculous string of stickers that follows, but doesn’t bother correcting  him.

“So this is where you’ve gone to hide.”

Kei spins on his heel, startling slightly. But it’s only Kuroo, smirking at him, tips of his hair glinting orange in the light of the bonfire.

Only Kuroo. What a ridiculous thought.

“I saw you arrive with Bokuto earlier,” he states, the smirk falling away for something more gentle.

Kei nods. And then, because he’s trying this new thing where he talks about his feelings, or maybe just because it’s Kuroo , he says, “I like how I feel when I’m with him.” He winces at the words. “I’m sorry, that must sound horribly selfish of me.”

But Kuroo just shakes his head at him, slowly but surely. “No, I don’t think it is.”

Kei’s not sure how that can be. Not when he just admitted he only likes Bokuto because of the way it makes Kei feel about himself.

But that’s not true, is it. Kei has always liked Bokuto, for plenty of reasons and rarely ones that involved himself.

Kuroo continues, oblivious to Kei’s inner turmoil. “He makes you believe you’re lovable. That’s something.”

He says something like it’s everything.

There’s a lump forming in Kei’s throat.

“It’s not—,” he starts, scrambling to explain, because while Kuroo’s right, that’s not all there is to it. “You didn’t— I—” 

He takes a deep breath, tries again. “Back then, nobody could’ve.”

The corners of Kuroo’s mouth turn downwards and he regards Kei for a long time. Then, after he finds whatever he’s been looking for, he nods. “Yeah, I know.”

“But I—” Why is it always so hard? Why can he never say it ? “It doesn’t mean things have changed.” 

He winces at his own words again. Bad phrasing. Everything has changed. Everything and nothing. 

“What I mean is, I still feel—”

Kuroo cuts him off before he can finish. “Yeah.” 

Kei’s stomach drops.

Kuroo continues. “Me too.”

He doesn’t look Kei in the eyes as he says it, instead looking back toward the bonfire. Kei follows his eyes right to where he spots Bokuto, waving his arms animatedly through the air as he tells a story to Akaashi who is watching with a blank expression, but Kei suspects he might be hiding a smile.

“I think we all do,” Kuroo says, never taking his eyes off of them.

◅ ▻

“Tsukki,” Bokuto exclaims, perking up when Kei steps back to the fire.

It feels natural, slotting to his side, intertwining their hands with one smooth motion. The cassette tape in the pocket of his jeans digs into his thigh with every step but he can’t bring himself to mind.

It feels right to stand there with Akaashi, too, who is smiling at them, just the tiniest quirk of a lip, like he knows something they don’t.

Kuroo doesn’t follow too far behind, clapping his hands. 

“Okay, who here wants a marshmallow? Tsukki, don’t wrinkle your nose at me, we all know about your sweet tooth.”

“Dude, I love marshmallows,” Bokuto bursts out excitedly, dragging Kei along with him as he follows into Kuroo’s footsteps.

His hand squeezes Kei’s briefly.

Kei squeezes right back.